Free Burn Out by Marcia Muller Page A

me—”
    A man called out to Lark, and she held up a finger. “My forensics guy wants me. When I’m done with him, I’m going off duty. Let’s meet at Zelda’s, knock back a couple, and you can tell me what I need to know.”
    The cavernous interior of Zelda’s was strangely quiet for a Thursday night. A couple of late diners lingered over coffee in the room to the left, and only a few drinkers gathered at the bar. Bob Zelda was absent—he’d told me he’d turned over the weekday-evening shifts to his son Jamie; Bob worked the weekends because he liked to listen to the country-music bands he employed.
    I took one of the tables by the lakeside windows in the bar area and waited for Kristen Lark to arrive. After ten minutes I went to the bar and got a glass of white wine. Sipping it, I realized why I usually ordered beer at Zelda’s. Five minutes later Lark came through the door.
    She pointed questioningly to my half-full glass. I shook my head, and she went to the bar; a minute later she was seated across from me with her own drink—a double bourbon.
    “So, McCone, I hear you married Ripinsky.”
    “I did.”
    “I’m married, too.” She held out her left hand; a wide gold wedding ring circled her third finger.
    “Who’s the lucky guy?”
    “Fellow officer—Denny Rabbitt.”
    “You look good,” I said. “Marriage agrees with you.”
    “Marriage to another deputy, yes. Anybody else couldn’t’ve put up with the crazy schedule. Hy up here with you?”
    “No. I’m taking some time off, but he’s busy with a corporate reorganization.”
    She nodded, clearly having asked only for politeness’ sake, placed a tape recorder on the table, and asked, “So what were you doing at the lodge tonight?”
    I outlined everything that had happened since I spotted Amy Perez outside the Food Mart, while Lark taped the conversation. “I didn’t mean to get involved in a police matter,” I finished. “It just occurred to me that Amy might be squatting at Willow Grove, and I thought I might be able to persuade her to go to her aunt and uncle’s.”
    Lark shrugged. “Seems we’re having a regular crime wave this week. You want to help me on an official basis? You did before, remember.”
    I solved your case for you and nearly lost my life in the process, you ingrate.
    Lark waited for my answer.
    I didn’t want to help out. I didn’t even want to be here talking with an officer of the law. But maybe I could find out some inside information about Hayley’s murder that I could pass on to Ramon and Sara.
    “Okay, but I told you everything I know; it’s got to be a two-way street.”
    “Deal.”
    Lark turned off the tape, got up and went to the bar for another drink. When her back was turned I switched on the sensitive voice-activated recorder in my purse. The deputy hadn’t asked if I minded being taped, and I wasn’t going to ask her, either. She was fair, and a good law officer, but I was aware that our arrangement could backfire if I didn’t have documentation.
    “Okay,” she said as she sat down again. “We didn’t have the info on the sister having taken out the life-insurance policy. Hadn’t really looked at Amy yet because we were concentrating on the Boz Sheppard angle. So far we haven’t located him.”
    “You have any background on Hayley?”
    Lark smiled. “Now
that
is where it really gets interesting.”

On my drive back to the ranch, I didn’t dwell on the facts that Lark had confided to me. She’d insisted on buying another round before we’d left Zelda’s at twelve-thirty, and even though I’d left most of my wine in the glass and was under the legal limit, I needed to pay close attention to my driving. High-desert people are generally hard-living folks, but it seemed to me that Lark, a law-enforcement officer and supposedly happy woman, had been pushing the envelope with her three double shots of bourbon.
    The country around Tufa Lake is largely devoid of traffic at that time of