Free Tough Love by Nancy Holder Page B

be sad if they lost the farm, too. Not up to him what happened, but he liked to think he had his wings around this family. The Rodriguezes were part of Grace’'s family, through love if not blood.
    He kept vigil until Rhetta fell asleep. Then he pulled a saddle blanket from the tack shed and draped it over her, cautioning Mama Buttercup to hold her peace. In her sleep, Rhetta smiled faintly, and Earl knew she was having a little conversation with her Father.
    Who was Earl’'s Father, too.
        Saturday was supposed to be her day off, but after Doug picked up Clay, Grace drove over to the OK All Day minimart and walked up and down the street. Forensics was all done; the yellow police caution tape and the little evidence flags were gone. Based on the tape, Ham had tried to get a warrant to inspect the Sons of Oklahoma compound for a white truck at the same time that Grace and Clay had fallen asleep watching Astronaut Farmer.
    Ham called Grace in the morning to vent: The judge had turned down Ham’'s request. Grace was indignant, and Captain Perry agreed that they should have gotten the warrant. But a cop was a cop and a judge was a judge, and for now they had to wait it out.
    Grace was not okay with that. She didn’'t want to end the weekend empty-handed. All those forensics shows on TV might get things wrong now and then, but they were right about one thing—--the first twenty-four hours of a case were the most crucial. You had a much better chance of closing it if you found something to go on in that critical day.
    So she was out fishing. She had her fingers crossed for good, solid leads that took her straight to Malcolm’'s killer, although she’'d settle for more evidence that would snag them a warrant. Grace had a mental list of what they had so far: Rhetta had taken those sweet tire track impressions, but she hadn’'t picked up any on the actual street Malcolm had died on. That didn’'t mean there weren’'t any, just that she hadn’'t lifted them. Rhetta also hadn’'t weighed in yet on the rooftop situation.
    As far as the department knew, they had obtained all the pertinent surveillance tapes from the minimart cameras; and while they proved that the white truck was in the vicinity, they didn’'t prove that it had actually run Malcolm over. That was the judge’'s rationalization for turning them down. Grace thought that was bullshit; she’'d gotten warrants on less than that.
    They could have had two vehicles out here, she thought. One to run him over, one to watch. Maybe Sons had to make their bones just like other gangs. As far as she was concerned, that was all they were—--a thug club.
    Slowly she inched down the same side of the street as the minimart. Back up on the other side. She studied the small houses as she passed them, secured behind chain-link or wrought-iron fences—--the walls flecked with chipped paint, security bars and aluminum foil in the windows, rickety porches and brown crabgrass in the pavement cracks. A few of them sported bright American flags planted in weedy yards and stickers on mailboxes that read WE SUPPORT OUR TROOPS. Grace had never seen a sticker that said WE SUPPORT OUR COPS.
    She ambled around the corner, onto the street where Malcolm had died, pulling her soft green jean jacket around herself as a blast of wind flapped at the hem. She was cold; maybe she’'d invite Ham over tonight and get warmed up.
    On any other occasion, the thought would have made her smile. But she was drawing closer to the place where they had found Malcolm’'s body. She stopped, staring, digging her hands in her pockets. The sound of Malcolm’'s laughter echoed in her heart.
    She looked across the street, wondering if someone was watching her, someone who had lied to Butch and Bobby about having seen it happen. Then she turned around, cocking her head as she took in the yard directly facing her. The privet hedges were nicely trimmed, and there were no weeds. In lieu of the standard cracked