Chapter Twenty-Five
Meredith trudged through the damp woods with Chico wedged under one arm.
The little dog wasn’t a fan of hikes, and he didn’t like getting his paws wet.
Thankfully, he only weighed six pounds, so she didn’t mind carrying him.
The nature preserve was lush and green, dripping with rain and bursting with plant life.
An explosion of Texas bluebells lined the path on both sides.
After a short distance, she arrived at the bank of a meandering river.
A quaint footbridge led across the water, to a gravel parking lot.
The lot was empty, which killed her idea of asking a friendly nature lover for assistance.
At the edge of the open space stood a little brick building that Meredith hoped was an open bathroom.
The rain abated into soft mist as she approached the bridge. She was soaked to the skin and shivering. She wished she’d packed a better jacket. As she stepped onto the wooden planks, two vehicles approached the parking area.
Squad cars.
Meredith froze like a deer in headlights.
After a moment of indecision, she retreated from the bridge and dove beneath a cluster of sage bushes.
She had no idea if they’d spotted her, and she couldn’t see if they were coming.
She crouched in the mud, holding Chico tight.
Through the thick foliage, she caught sight of the brick building at the edge of the parking lot.
As she cowered there, one of the officers stepped into view.
It was the same man who’d woken her up less than an hour ago.
He opened the door to look inside the bathroom.
The second officer joined him in the search. He was a stocky man in his fifties. Meredith couldn’t make out the details of his face or physique, but she had the sinking feeling that he was Wade’s father, Sheriff Hendricks.
Both officers glanced at the ground, as if looking for muddy footprints. Meredith was glad she hadn’t gone into that bathroom. Their body language didn’t convey urgency. She held her breath, praying they’d give up and go away.
No such luck.
The younger officer pointed across the bridge.
Meredith crouched lower, trying not to panic.
If they investigated this side of the river, they’d find her.
She crawled away from the trail on her hands and knees, with Chico tucked under one arm.
She ducked behind a tree and pressed her back to the damp bark.
She could hear their voices, but not individual words, as they came closer. Chico heard them, too. He let out a sharp yap that pierced the misty air.
Meredith clamped her hand over his little muzzle, too late. Her heart thundered in her chest and pounded in her ears. The voices went silent. Then there was only the sound of wet leaves and rustling branches.
She assumed she’d left footprints or some sign of disturbance on the trail.
Maybe they’d follow that path instead of searching the copse of trees where she was hiding.
She couldn’t count on it, so she looked around for a rock to throw.
She held Chico’s mouth closed with one hand, and picked up a big stick with the other.
Her plan was to toss the stick toward the water.
The officers would hear the splash and think she’d gone that direction.
Meredith peered around the tree and saw no one. She drew back her arm and hurled the stick with all her strength. It didn’t land with a splash, but more of a muted thump. A muffled groan followed.
She clapped the hand over her mouth, horrified. She’d hit one of the officers!
In the next instant, a uniformed man stepped around the tree to capture her. She almost dropped Chico in her fright. The dog snarled and snapped at the man. Jaws free, he latched on to the officer’s hand and bit.
This was Sheriff Hendricks, no doubt about it. Meredith didn’t have to read the nametag. His eyes glinted with menace, and he had a star pinned to his shirtfront. Face mottled with anger, he yanked his hand away from the dog’s mouth.
“You’re under arrest,” he said to Meredith.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, swallowing hard. “Chico is protective.”
“You gave my deputy a head injury.”
Hugging the Chihuahua to her chest, she glanced toward the path. The friendly officer who’d offered to help her earlier stood there, glowering at her.
“It was an accident, I swear,” she said. “I wasn’t aiming at him.”
“Slate, take this dog off her hands so I can cuff her.”
The deputy seemed reluctant to follow this order. When the sheriff gestured for him to hurry along, Slate stepped forward. Meredith passed him Chico, who was surprisingly docile now that he’d drawn blood.
“You don’t need to handcuff me,” Meredith said. “I’ll cooperate.”
“Take off your backpack and turn around,” Sheriff Hendricks said.
When she followed these directions, he snapped a pair of cold metal cuffs on her wrists. Then he patted her down roughly, recited the Miranda rights, which she’d memorized while watching television, and led her across the footbridge.
Before she could begin to process the trouble she’d brought upon herself, she was sitting in the back of a squad car, shivering from cold and fear.
Slate transported Chico to the station while Meredith rode with the sheriff.
The five-minute ride felt like an eternity.
She moistened her lips, uncertain of her next step.
She had to ask for a lawyer, or a phone call. What she absolutely could not do was talk to anyone in a department headed by Hendricks. He was a man who’d abused his own wife. He wouldn’t be sympathetic to Meredith’s plight.
He might even deliver her to Tripp.
The idea brought ice to her veins, and she shuddered harder.
The metal cuffs were too tight on her wrists.
She could feel the bruising pressure as the sheriff pulled her out of the back seat.
He directed her through a back door and into a holding cell with a concrete bench.
When he removed her cuffs, she brought her arms forward to massage her wrists.
Pinpricks of sensation tingled through her hands.
She winced at the additional discomfort as Hendricks locked her inside and walked away.
“I want to call my lawyer,” she said at his retreating form.
His laughter echoed in her ears.
Deputy Slate settled into a desk across from the holding cell.
“Where’s my dog?” Meredith asked.
“I put him in a crate. He’s fine.”
“When can I make a phone call?”
Slate opened up his laptop and started typing. “What’s your name?”
“Mary.”
“Mary what?”
“Meadows.”
He sighed, shaking his head. “Why don’t you tell me your real name?”
“That is my real name.”
“Not according to the ID you were carrying.” He held up a card to show her. “This says Wynona Hendricks.”
Meredith’s stomach dropped. He must have searched her backpack. “That’s not mine.”
“Did you steal it?”
“No.”
“What about that truck?”
“What about it?”
“It’s registered to Victor Chisolm.”
“I just bought it. The pink slip is in the glove compartment.”
“We’ll take your prints and photo when we run you through the system. It will save time if you cooperate now.”
Meredith fell silent. She wasn’t interested in saving them time, but she was worried about her sister in Oklahoma. She hadn’t even made it halfway to the border. She needed to expedite this unfortunate detour, and she needed help.
She needed Wade.
“I work for Wynona,” she said finally. “And I know the sheriff’s son. I know Wade.”
Deputy Slate gave her a closer study. His gaze traveled from her wet, bedraggled hair to her muddy boots. “How do you know Wade?”
“We both live at his mother’s ranch in Lost Lake. If you call him, he’ll clear this up.”
Meredith held her breath as Slate considered his new information. She hoped to avoid the arrest process and be released, but she was taking a risk. Wade didn’t get along with his father. Mentioning his name might not have the impact she anticipated.
Slate pushed away from his desk, ID in hand, and disappeared from sight.
*
Wade paced the driveway in anxious strides.
Daisy brought the tennis ball, eager to help him relieve tension. He tossed the ball high into the sky. Wynona joined him after a few moments. She’d put on a pair of jeans and a concert tee from a 1980s metal band. Something had changed between them, like a wind shifting directions.
“I’m sorry I hit you yesterday,” she said.
Wade shrugged, as if it hadn’t bothered him. “I’m sorry for saying Billy followed your footsteps.”
“He had a drinking problem.”
“Yes.”
“Then you weren’t wrong.”
“He was a criminal. That wasn’t your fault.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle, seeming unconvinced. “Why did Eric take you off the case?”
Wade tossed the ball again. “He didn’t care for my methodology.”
“What did you do?”
“I requested a forensic sketch without informing him, and I let Meredith help me with research. Those were the reasons he gave, anyway.”
“You think he has other reasons?”
“Maybe,” Wade said. “How long have you known him?”
“Since we were kids. I saw him every summer.”
“He grew up in Lost Lake?”
“Yes.”
Wade gaped at her. “Did he know Cameron Pickett?”
“Probably. They were about the same age.”
“Jesus Christ, Mom. You didn’t think he’d notice the resemblance?”
“I thought someone might. That’s why I told you not to come here.”
He kicked at the gravel, cursing under his breath. “I’ve been walking around like the fucking ghost of my own father, investigating his death, and you haven’t said a word. I have a forensic sketch coming in today. If it’s accurate…” He trailed off as he realized something. “Nava already saw it.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“The forensic pathologist sent the sketch to Sheriff Nava instead of me because he suspected a genetic relationship. Cops aren’t supposed to investigate crimes involving family members. It’s a valid reason for him to take me off the case.”
“But does he recognize that the person in the sketch is Cameron?”
“Why wouldn’t he, if they knew each other?”
“It’s been thirty years,” she said. “People forget names and faces from the past.”
“Some people forget. Some don’t.”
Wynona threw the ball for Daisy. “If worse comes to worst, I’ll confess.”
“You can’t confess without implicating Dad.”
“Why not? I’m the one who did murder, not him.”
“Stop saying that,” Wade growled. “You didn’t do murder. It was self-defense.”
“A judge might not agree.”
Wade feared she was right. “Leaving the scene of an accident is a serious crime, regardless of cause of death. So is covering up evidence, and improper burial. You won’t get a slap on the wrist for this.”
While they stared at each other, acknowledging the tricky situation, Wade’s phone buzzed with an incoming call.
He checked the screen. It was his father.
Or rather, it was Boyd Hendricks, the man who’d raised him.
The lack of a biological connection didn’t change Wade’s feelings toward him.
They’d shared an uneasy alliance, which had crumbled after Billy’s death. Now they were adversaries.
“Speak of the devil,” he muttered. “Hello?”
“Wade,” his father said in greeting.
“Dad,” he replied in the same tone.
“I have a detainee who might interest you.”
Wade glanced at his mother, uneasy. He held the phone so she could listen to their conversation.
“She calls herself Mary Meadows. Pretty little thing, but she’s in a heap of trouble.”
“Why is that?”
“Her dog bit me, and she attacked my deputy.”
“Let me talk to her.”
Boyd didn’t say no. Wade heard the faint echo of footsteps, and the hum of background noise at the station.
“Wade?” Meredith said. “Are you there?”
“I’m here.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice trembling.
“Are you hurt?”
“No. I’m okay.”
“Sit tight,” he told her. “I’m coming right now.”
Boyd Hendricks returned to the call with a cluck of his tongue. “I thought you might want to rescue this one.”
Wade struggled to remain calm. On the inside, he was screaming. He couldn’t believe Meredith had been detained in Last Chance, or that she’d attacked a deputy sheriff. She was a goddamned magnet for disaster—and he was desperately in love with her. “I’m sure she didn’t mean any harm.”
“How well do you know her?”
“Well enough.”
“What’s her real name?”
“Let’s discuss that in person.”
“She had your mother’s ID, and she hasn’t been cooperative. The charges against her are racking up.”
Wade’s temper flared. “Can you please just wait until I get there?”
“Are you suggesting that I abandon proper procedure and give your girlfriend special treatment?”
“I’m saying that if you touch a single hair on her head, I will destroy you.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, son. You sound like your mother.”
His father hung up without saying goodbye. Wade stared at the screen in a cold fury. As he put the phone away, he noticed Wynona’s appraising look. “What?”
“You told the truth about Billy.”
“Yes.”
She nodded, as if accepting it as fact now. “Boyd is angry with you for refusing to cooperate in his cover-up.”
“I cooperated in the cover-up.”
“Not the way he wanted.”
“No,” Wade said. “We had a falling out over it.”
“He’s still upset.”
Wade understood what she was getting at.
His father was a vindictive person, and Meredith was caught in the middle.
Boyd wanted to punish Wade and watch Meredith squirm.
Wade doubted his father would go through with the arrest paperwork, however.
Boyd didn’t know about Meredith’s assumed identity, or her country-music-star ex.
As long as she didn’t panic and spill her secrets, she was safe.
“I’m going to kill him,” Wade said anyway.
“No, you’re not. You’re going to talk to him rationally and smooth things over.”
“I just threatened to destroy him.”
“He’ll get over it. You can make a deal with him.”
“What am I supposed to offer?”
“It’s a two-hour drive. You’ll think of something.”
He dragged a hand down his face.
She touched his shoulder. “You’re a fine investigator, and an intelligent man. You’re persuasive. Use those strengths to your advantage.”
He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I have to go.”
“Should I come with you?”
“No. It won’t help.”
Wade was in a hurry to leave, so he climbed behind the wheel of his truck.
He left Nolan Ranch in a cloud of dust. The distance to Last Chance felt like an eternity.
He passed Rocksprings, where the new water tower gleamed in the midday sun.
He passed Junction, Gilchrist, and Mason.
He was too distracted by his thoughts to listen to music. An hour later, his phone rang again.
It was Sheriff Nava. Wade didn’t answer.
He turned on the radio as he drove down the final stretch of highway. A breaking news report astounded him.
Cranking up the volume, he kept listening.