Free Valley of the Lost by Vicki Delany Page B

way across the crowded dining room.
    Frank Clemmins nodded, barely suppressing a glower, as Eliza introduced her husband to the table. Clemmins looked like a tough guy, with hair shaved right down to the scalp, black bristles making a crescent pattern around the naked dome of his head. Winters knew that under the man’s summer dress shirt, his arms bulged with muscle and a rattlesnake was tattooed around his upper arm. They’d met not long ago when Clemmins’ partner, Reginald Montgomery, had been murdered. Clemmins had been a suspect, although not for long.
    José, the model, was a darkly tanned, pouting man looking to be in his well-preserved fifties, with cheekbones so sharp you could cut meat with them and lips like a pampered woman. A lock of thick black hair, highlighted by a single silver strand, fell over his forehead. He wore a tight white T-shirt and a small gold earring in his left ear. A denim jacket was tossed over the back of his chair. He was sitting down, too close to Eliza, so Winters couldn’t see too much of him, but José’s chest was broad under the T-shirt and his arms were muscled.
    Winters was introduced to the people he didn’t know. José, the model, who, unfortunately, was not with a date. And the new partner, Steve Blacklock. In this casual town, in high summer, Blacklock was the best dressed of them all. He wore a gray business suit with a starched white shirt and a gray tie shot with thin pink threads. His face was well worn with tired brown eyes sunk into bags you could carry to the Laundromat. A woman with badly dyed blond hair, small eyes outlined in thick black eyeliner, and sagging breasts revealed by a deeply scooped blouse, sat beside him. She was Blacklock’s age at least, maybe a bit older. Clemmins introduced her as Nancy Blacklock.
    Winters ordered a draft, and, without looking at the menu, said he’d have whatever Eliza was having for her main course.
    She lifted her wine glass and smiled at him over the rim. He was about to settle into his chair, ready to relax and try to enjoy himself when he saw her give José the same salute.
    Conversation swirled around him. Mostly about the problems of building a resort in this environmentally correct age. Frank Clemmins babbled on about the importance of his project in maintaining the viability of the Grizzly bear habitat. He was mainly directing his arguments to Eliza: clearly he was aware that she wasn’t entirely convinced of the virtues of the project. José sighed heavily and announced that people rarely appreciated true beauty. He was looking into Eliza’s cleavage as he said it.
    Winters leaned back to allow the waiter to place his meal in front of him. Oops, he’d ordered a spinach salad. Clemmins and Blacklock were being served with steak and ribs respectively. Both had Caesar salad on the side and baked potatoes piled high with sour cream and crumbled bacon.
    “Where are you from, Mr. Blacklock?” he asked. Merely for something to say.
    “Call me Steve, please. My family’s from Washington State, but I’ve been living in Vancouver for five years or so. Not much on earth outside of Dubai hotter than Vancouver real estate these days, John. Now it’s the Interior’s time. I hope you own property, John.”
    “A small place outside of town.”
    “Expand, if you can,” Blacklock said.
    His wife giggled, and finished her glass of wine. Without waiting for the waiter to assist, she reached across the table and grabbed the bottle by the neck and poured herself another. The glass was large, and she filled it almost to the rim.
    “Buy, before it’s too late and the boom’s passed,” Blacklock continued. “Isn’t that right, Nancy? Take the plunge, now, when you have the equipment.”
    Mrs. Blacklock laughed out loud. Winters got a better view of her poached salmon than he wanted.
    He looked at own his wife. Eliza stuffed a spinach leaf into her mouth, trying to avoid his eye.
    “Good advice, I’m sure,” he said.
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