Waking the Dead Part 11

Cait had quite a healthy streak of self-preservation. She might have been a slow learner, but she'd discovered that touching fire invariably led to a singe, at the very least.

Sharper was definitely scorcher material.

Menu forgotten for the moment, she cast a thoughtful eye around the bar. Even if the UNSUB was a local, that didn't mean he'd live in McKenzie Bridge. He could be from Rainbow or Blue River. He could, she thought fatalistically, be from any one of a number of small towns dotting Highway 126.

It all kept circling around to one thing, though. The trouble he'd gone to stash those bones. Sharper had nailed it correctly. Why go to so much trouble if you didn't live in the immediate area?

The perp would be outdoorsy, she mused. In decent shape. The sets of remains ranged in weight from eighteen to twenty-five pounds. Not a particularly heavy bag to carry, but certainly unwieldy, especially when scaling Castle Rock at night. Her gaze traveled slowly around the s.p.a.ce. The description would match most of the occupants in the bar. Certainly the group of men playing pool would qualify.

As would Sharper himself.

A shiver skittered down Cait's spine. She knew more about the man than she did anyone else in the area, including the sheriff and deputy she was working with. Knew he had familiarity with the surroundings. That he had knowledge of the cave prior to the discovery of the bodies. That he had acidic soil and hot springs on his property.

And that he very likely had the skills to break a person's neck, thanks to his time spent in the Rangers.

She tried-and failed-to picture him bent over a works.p.a.ce for hours, patiently painting tiny pictures on a human scapula. It wasn't that she couldn't envision him as an artist, she thought darkly, though it would be a stretch. But she couldn't imagine him possessing the patience necessary for such detail. She'd seen little evidence of that particular trait in the time she'd spent with him.

She continued to scan the room. The two men playing darts in the corner would fit. As would three of the men still stealing surrept.i.tious looks at her from the corner of the bar. Given the girth of one of them, though, he could be eliminated from consideration.

The waitress was slender. Not a likely candidate. Though from the occasional look she threw the bartender, she had the internal fort.i.tude necessary to maim, if not kill.

"Made your decision yet?"

Cait glanced around to find the bartender leaning on the bar addressing her. And realized with a start that she hadn't more than glanced at the menu. "Sorry." She turned on her stool to face him. "What do you recommend?"

He used her question as an excuse to rake her form with his gaze. "You look like a salad type. We do a mean taco salad, but it's late. We use fresh produce, and if I were you, I wouldn't trust the lettuce."

His honesty surprised a smile from her. "Thanks for the tip."

He leaned farther across the bar to tap at the menu. "We do a decent flat-iron steak here. That's most popular. But you can't go wrong with the blackened chicken sandwich. Comes with steak fries or hashbrowns."

"I'll have the steak fries with it." Snapping the menu closed, she handed it to him, shoving aside the splinter of guilt stabbing through her. It had been a long time since she'd stopped counting calories and regarding food as the enemy. But d.a.m.n if she could order potatoes of any kind without her mother's shriek of dismay sounding in her mind.

Of course, her mother's voice at any decibel had the power to flay her nerves raw. She'd found putting a continent between them was the only sure way to maintain their already strained relationship.

The bartender scribbled her order down on a pad, then looked up, and raised his voice. "Joanie."

The waitress hurried over, her tone when she approached more than a little annoyed. "You're closer to the kitchen than I was, Del. Honestly." She s.n.a.t.c.hed the order slip from him and sailed off to the kitchen's order counter, still muttering. Cait figured they were lucky not to be able to make out the rest of her words.

Del shot her a look. "You'll have to excuse my wife. We're short-handed, so she had to pull a double shift."

"So this is your place?" Cait tipped the bottle to her lips.

"Joanie's and mine." He made a grimace. "Well, actually her mother financed us, something she'll never let me live down. The Internet cafe is new, though. Joanie's pretty good with computers. Not everyone around here has Internet access, so we get lots of business, and not just from the resorts." He propped one elbow on the bar while he did a slow lazy swipe of the top with the damp rag in his free hand. "Whereabouts you staying?"

She briefly questioned the wisdom of answering then gave a mental shrug. It wasn't as though it would be difficult for someone to discover. And she wanted to keep the lines of communication open. Bartenders tended to know everything worth knowing about the patrons. It wouldn't hurt to find out what he had to say. "The McKenzie."

For some reason he looked a bit surprised at that. "Really? Well, they don't have access, so if you need it, we have reasonable prices . . ." His palm slapped the top of the bar. "d.a.m.n, it just hit me who you must be."

She raised a brow and took another sip from the bottle. "Who must I be?"

"You're the one working with the sheriff's department on those bones they found in the Castle Rock area, aren't you? Caitlin Fleming?" Without waiting for a response, he gave a disgusted shake of his head. "Saw the press conference yesterday." He jerked his head toward the TV behind the bar. "Andrews said they brought in a special consultant from some place out east, and well . . . some around here have been running at the mouth about you since you got here."

"That's odd, since I haven't met all that many people."

"Hey, Del, we need another round."

The man waved in the direction of the shout but never looked away from Cait. "Some have gotten a look at you, and that was enough." A lone masculine dimple winked when he smiled, managing to make his words seem harmlessly flirtatious. "About the most exciting thing that happens around here is when some tourist gets himself lost and a search party has to go out after him. This whole thing has everyone in the area buzzing."

"Del!"

" 'Scuse me." His movements swift and sure, he worked the tap and reached for bottles in a manner that spoke of long practice. She watched him load a tray with the drinks, but her mind was elsewhere.

She hadn't seen the press conference herself, but she'd read a transcript of it online. Although the sheriff had mentioned hiring a consultant from Raiker Forensics, Cait's name had never been mentioned.

It was d.a.m.n sure her description hadn't been.

So where was this information coming from? And did the gossip stop with her or were there more details being bandied about specific to the case? The former was merely annoying. But if it was the latter . . . she may have to let Barnes in on it.

"Blackened chicken sandwich and steak fries." A dinner basket was set before her on the bar. Joanie took wrapped silverware and a bottle of ketchup out of her ap.r.o.n pocket and set it next to the plate. Turning, she swiped the salt and pepper from the closest table and slid that close to Cait, as well. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"This is fine, thanks." And from the looks of the slightly wilted lettuce leaf peeking out from beneath the bun, she was glad she'd taken the bartender's advice and foregone the salad. She shot the woman a commiserating look. "Long day, huh?"

Joanie's startled gaze met hers for a moment, before she gave a tight smile. "It shows?"

"Your husband said you'd been working all day."

The woman propped a hip against the next stool and nodded, her shoulder-length dark hair swinging with the motion. "I thought three kids kept me busy. I've been running myself ragged today. One waitress is out with the flu and the other just didn't show up. I could never do it on my own if business wasn't slower than normal right now."

"The lady at the motel said it had been slow all over."

Using her order pad to fan herself, Joanie nodded. "It's those old bones they found that's to blame for all this. Which is crazy because they've probably been there longer than I've been alive. What's the fuss? It's not as though there's any danger now."

"You don't think so?"

"Do you know how long it takes a body to be nothing but bones? Years and years. Everything'd be fine if they just stopped talking about it on TV and scaring off the tourists."

Cait said noncommittally, "Once whoever is responsible is caught, tourism should get back to normal."

"If they're caught. And lots of people around here depend on a good season to survive." The woman blew out a breath, sending a practiced eye around the area. "I'll tell you one thing, whoever put those bones in that cave? I'd bet a hundred dollars they're long gone. But we're the ones who're left with the fallout. That's why I say if TV stops talking about it and Tony Gibbs stops running his mouth off, the whole thing would blow over and we could get on with our lives."

"Joanie, can you watch the bar? I have to restock the beer." Del fairly flew by them without waiting for an answer, leaving his wife to glare impotently after him. Then, catching Cait's eye, she heaved a sigh and shoved away from the stool.

"Word of advice? Don't ever work with your husband. There's such a thing as too much togetherness."

Cait's mouth quirked. She doubted she'd need that particular information. "I'll remember that."

As the woman hurried around the counter to wait on the men at the end of the bar, Cait ate her meal thoughtfully. Although it brought out the usual number of gawkers, murder had a natural depression on tourism. That fact often was a prime motivator for one of Raiker's consultants to be called in the first place. Local and state politicians got nervous when they saw the prospect of the cash infusion in their town or state dwindling. That was really no more cynical, she supposed, than Andrews wanting to use the successful resolution of this case to pave her way to the governor's mansion.

"Looks good." Sharper appeared at her elbow and reached over to snag one of her steak fries.

"Help yourself," she offered with mock politeness.

Sarcasm was obviously wasted on him. He took another and bit into it, watching her reflectively. "So where'd you find a room?"

"The McKenzie." She nodded her head toward the woman at the tap. "Joanie and the woman at the motel both mentioned the effect news of the murders have had on tourism around here. Have you seen a slowdown in your business?"

He took his time answering, this time dipping the steak fry in ketchup before bringing it to his mouth. "So now the deaths have been upgraded from suspicious to murder?"

Too late she realized her mistake. "You're a pain in the a.s.s, you know that, don't you, Sharper?"

"Zach."

When she merely looked at him, he replied easily, "My name is Zach. Only my friends call me Sharper."

"These mythical friends of yours must be blessed with an infinite amount of patience. Get your d.a.m.n hand out of my plate." She picked up the table knife. He wasn't quite fast enough to avoid a rap across the knuckles.

"Stingy. You must have worked up an appet.i.te today. To answer your question, no there hasn't been a real slowdown with my business yet, although the referrals from resorts in this vicinity have decreased. But we don't necessarily only book tours in this immediate area, either."

She thought about that. It didn't preclude a local as a suspect, even if his business might be affected by the discovery of the bones. Most UNSUBs didn't plan that far ahead. Didn't consider those sorts of ramifications. Although it might explain the trouble taken hiding them to begin with, she'd expect someone worried about the effect on their business would dump them farther away from here.

She was convinced that the dump site, just like the painting on the scapulas, had little to do with extraneous considerations like local tourism and everything with what drove the offender.

He was taking advantage of her preoccupation by making inroads on her steak fries. It was, Cait thought darkly, as if her mother had paid him to circ.u.mvent her poor dietary choices. "Don't you have a pool game to finish?"

Zach jerked a head to indicate the game in progress behind him. "Already beat them all. They're playing for second place now."

Recalling Joanie's earlier words, she said, "Do you know a Tony Gibbs?" Then watched, amazed at how quickly his expression could go wary.

"Why?"

At her c.o.c.ked brow, he finally relented. "I know him well enough to know he's an idiot. Why?"

"Because some of the people I've spoken to tonight already knew who I was, a feat in itself since this is the first time I've stepped foot in town. Joanie mentioned a Tony Gibbs talking about the case, so I wondered who he was."

If she didn't know better she'd say he was looking distinctly uneasy. "Maybe you should be having this conversation with Andrews."

"Why is that?"

"Because Gibbs is one of her department's deputies. He lives between here and Rainbow, but is in town lots of nights."

She cast a look around. "Is he here now?"

Zach shook his head. "I haven't seen him tonight. He could be over at Ketchers."

"Maybe I'll check after I leave here."

"Not alone, you won't."

Her long level look had him explaining. "It's a rough crowd. Fights break out several times a week, and some of the people that frequent the place go there for that very reason. I'd tell any newcomer to town to steer clear of the place but you especially."

Cait felt a dangerous sort of calm come over her, even as temper was spiking her pulse. "Me, especially?"

"Don't get p.i.s.sy; you know what I mean. There's not a woman alive who looks like you that doesn't know her effect on men."

Odd, she reflected darkly, how he could make the words sound less like a compliment than an accusation.

"By this time of night the majority in there are going to be s.h.i.t-faced and their behavior will reflect that. Any strange woman who'd walk in there right now is going to find herself fighting off unwanted attention. The bartender's idea of taking care of trouble is to wade into the crowd with a baseball bat. Believe me, it'd be a bad way to end your night."

Only slightly mollified, she studied him. "Okay, I'll wait until tomorrow night to check it out."

That familiar look of irritation was back on his expression. She found she almost preferred it to the punch-in-the-chest smile she'd seen on his face earlier. Irritation she could deal with. But that pull of attraction that flared to life between them on occasion was far more troublesome.

"You didn't listen to a d.a.m.n thing I said, did you?"

"On the contrary." She'd finished the sandwich. Given his a.s.sistance, the steak fries were nearly gone as well. Cait reached for her purse to fish out money for the bill. "You've convinced me it's a bad idea to go there right now, so I'll wait and check out the place earlier in the evening tomorrow. I want to meet this Tony Gibbs for myself."

"Then call Andrews and arrange it," he said flatly, his hawklike gaze intent. "No use going looking for trouble."

Because it did no good to argue with him, she merely counted out enough money to pay the bill and tip and slapped it all on the bar. "I'll take it under advis.e.m.e.nt."

"G.o.d, what is it with you?"

Since that appeared to be a rhetorical question, she didn't bother answering. Cait slid off the stool. Hitching the strap of her purse over her shoulder, she headed for the door. She was more than a little surprised to hear his footsteps following her. Downright astonished when she felt his arm on her elbow pulling her around.

She gave his hand a long look before shifting her gaze to his face. "Back off, Sharper."

"Are you incapable of listening to reason from anyone, or is there something about me that sets you off?"

"You are more than a little offsetting," she agreed. Heat was licking up her spine. She preferred to blame that on temper. "I said I'd wait. What's your problem?"

"My problem is you shouldn't go there at all. Anytime. It's just asking for trouble and there's no need for it."

She surveyed him more carefully, a bit of her own frustration fading. "Do you have some reason for not wanting me to talk to Deputy Gibbs?"

"I don't give a s.h.i.t whether you talk to him or not. I'm just saying . . ."

"We're starting over, Sharper. You want in, or is that lover's quarrel gonna take all night?" The raucous shout came from one of the men near the pool table. Looking past Zach, Cait could see all eyes in the place were on them. And she was aware for the first time how close they were standing to each other.

He dropped his hand as if he'd been burned. "Be there in a minute," he called back. When he turned back to her his eyes had cooled. "Do what you want. I'll see you in the morning."

She let him take a few strides away before something possessed her to say, "If you're that worried about the place, I guess I can let you tag along tomorrow night. Call it part of your deal with Andrews."

The look he sent her then had steam rolling off it. But he didn't say another word before rejoining his friends.

Oddly satisfied, she turned again to leave. But not before giving his broad back and narrow hips a last appreciative look.

Because Zach Sharper had a way of filling out a pair of Levis. Just because she now played it smart regarding men didn't mean she was dead.