Free Dead Man's Rules by Rebecca Grace Page B

grown still. The two women seemed very different. While Cere appeared calm and confident, Freeda’s movements were animated and restless. Her voice was loud, as though she didn’t care who heard her. Men probably found her interesting with her nicely rounded body, wide, olive shaped eyes, and tousled piles of onyx curls.
    Cere, on the other hand, resembled an exotic doll. Damn, she had beautiful eyes. TV didn’t do them justice. They were brown with gold flecks that grew bold when she was excited. Her gaze fastened on his shirt. What was she thinking?
    “Have you ever tried to solve the mystery of that hand?” she asked suddenly.
    He shifted, and his smile tightened. “Mystery? Is there something you know that I don’t?”
    “Do you think Marco Gonzales was murdered?”
    “Suicide,” he corrected, using his official law enforcement tone. “That was the finding by the sheriff and coroner.”
    “Pffft.” Freeda waved her hand and rubbed her thumb and forefinger together. “Back then people could be bought off with a little green.”
    Cere pointed a red fingernail at her cousin. “Exactly. What about the money? Did he leave buried treasure? That’s what you told us when we were kids. Riggins wrote that it has never been found.”
    Rafe took a sip of coffee and contemplated his answer carefully. “No one knows for certain about lost money. It was another claim exaggerated over the years. I’m sorry I passed it along.”
    “Why do the stories continue?” A slight furrow appeared on Cere’s smooth forehead as she frowned. “Why do people still go out there?”
    “Are you thinking of visiting the Palladium? I should warn you. The building is boarded up. It’s been condemned and the floorboards are rotting. One of these days someone is going to fall through the upper floor.” Enough preaching. He shoved away his coffee cup. “I better get to work. It was nice meeting you both and breakfast is on me.”
    Freeda rose as he picked up their check and moved out of the booth. He reached for his hat that hung on a curving metal rack at the end of the booth.
    “Thanks, Sheriff. I hope we see you again.” She gave Cere a wink and waved across the room. “I’m going to the can. Meet you in the parking lot.”
    As Cere stood, her hand caught his sleeve. “Maybe you should take us out there, Sheriff. We’d like to see the hand in the daylight.”
    Damn, she was perseverant, but he shook his head, again hoping to discourage her. “I chase people out. I don’t give tours. Enjoy your vacation with your mother.”
    “I didn’t come for vacation.” Her eyes flashed with irritation but she waved a hand as though realizing how curt she sounded. “I mean, I came to see Mom, but I want to do a story on the handprint. I need to.”
    His insides knotted, as his breakfast churned in his stomach. Poor Lottie. She would be hurt if she realized her daughter’s real reason for coming. He didn’t ask why she needed to do the story. He knew. Ego.
    Reaching down, she pulled a reporter’s notebook from her bag. “Riggins story didn’t quote anyone who knew Marco. If you won’t do an interview, do you know anyone who might talk to me?”
    Why had he wondered what she might think about him? She was only after her damn story. Acid boiled in his stomach. This woman was no Gary Riggins, content to do a half-assed job. She would dig, pry, and eventually she might uncover some ugly truths. And she would spill it all out on national television. She could hurt a good many people, just as she destroyed the homecoming for that little actor in her last story. But he hadn’t known the kid. He would know anyone she hurt in Rio Rojo. And it was his sworn duty to protect the citizens of his county.
    He gritted his teeth as he forced an answer, hoping for one final chance at dissuading her. “No one will talk to you. My advice is to let it go. Relax. Take that vacation with Lottie.”
    He might as well have struck her. Her chin snapped