Free Dead Man's Rules by Rebecca Grace

Rafe.” Lottie scooped up their water glasses and carried them to his table.
    Judging by the quick action, Cere sensed that her mother feared resistance. No way! Breakfast with him was a perfect opportunity to get started on her story. He’d been hesitant on the phone, but maybe in person she could convince him to talk. She picked up the coffee mugs and set them on his table, aware of his eyes.
    “I’ll take good care of them,” he said with a warm smile.
    “Watch out for Freeda. I haven’t told you about her. She’s from the other side of the family and quite a handful.” Lottie glanced around, then back at Cere. “Where is the wild one?”
    “Picking up local information.” Cere spotted her cousin coming across the restaurant and waved. Freeda’s hands were stuffed with brochures and newspapers. She drew up in surprise as she approached and saw the sheriff.
    Lottie introduced Freeda, and for once Cere was pleased to have her boisterous cousin around. After all, it had been Freeda’s bright idea to call him at midnight. After another apology, Lottie hurried to the counter to get her meal and directed Josie toward their new table. The waitress put down steaming platters as Freeda slid into the booth.
    “Yummy.” Freeda dug her fork into the mound of green chili before stopping to look up at the sheriff. “Hey, you hung up on us the other night.”
    He looked from one to the other. “I did?”
    She turned to Cere. “That’s what you said.”
    A sudden unease enveloped Cere. His large presence made her feel small. She offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about the late night call. I’m afraid we had too much to drink.”
    “No problem.” His wide grin crinkled the edges of his eyes.
    A quick stirring teased her insides and her breath caught. She hated herself for doing it, but she checked his left hand, resting on the table. No wedding band. She dropped her gaze to the burrito, a huge tortilla drenched in a green chili gravy and sprinkled with grated cheese. It sent up a warm, wonderful, spicy scent.
    “So you’re friends with my mother?” she asked, picking at the tortilla.
    “We have a lot in common. We’re both natives who moved to the city and came back. We help each other re-acclimate.”
    Loathe to admit her mother had not said much about her new life, Cere merely nodded and took a bite. Freeda’s assessment was right—yummy.
    Her cousin joined the conversation. “What city?”
    “I spent seventeen years in Los Angeles. Went away to school and didn’t come back until a couple of years ago.”
    “You can survive in this little burg after LA?” Freeda asked.
    “It has its good points.” His dark eyes swept around the room. “No rush hour. Easy to get around and everyone knows and looks out for each other.”
    Freeda followed his gaze. “Are all these little towns like that? Like Rio de los Muertos? Do you know where that is?”
    Content to let her get the sheriff into a talkative mood with rapid fire questions, Cere focused on her food. The burrito was delicious with just the right mixture of eggs, potatoes and spicy pork chili.
    Freeda finally smacked her lips and pushed away a clean plate. “That was excellent. I’d heard New Mexico green chili was sublime.”
    “Frank makes everything himself from old family recipes. He and his relatives have run this place for fifty years.”
    Cere scanned the café, trying to think of a way to bring up what she really wanted to discuss. Behind the counter a black velvet painting of a matador in full swing rang a bell in her subconscious. “I remember coming here when I was young.”
    His face lightened, full lips twitching into a smile. “I’d forgotten until a few minutes ago about that visit. Seems I recall a feisty girl who insisted on following the boys around.” His deep voice grew teasing.
    “Sheriff Tafoya, are you calling our Cere a tomboy? She’s the only kid I ever knew who refused to wear blue jeans. Corduroy was as close