Sandy looked in time to catch a flash of red. “The red one?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I swear I’ve seen it five times in the last two days.”

Sandy frowned. “A lot of people around here drive red trucks.” She studied her friend, who appeared sincerely rattled. “Is this part of our minds running away with our thoughts?”

Bree’s laugh was feeble. “I think you’re right. I’ve been looking over my shoulder for a while now.”

“You’re not the only one,” admitted Sandy. “My neck is sore from looking behind me.” She stood and tossed her empty coffee cup in the garbage can at the end of their bench. “I think we need something stronger than coffee.”

“I’m with you.”

TEN

Ollie stepped through the door of the Dairy Queen and inhaled.

Grease. Sugar. Meat.

His mouth watered.

Burgers, fries, and ice cream were some of his favorite highlights of joining the outside world, and the run-down Dairy Queen provided them all. At first he’d visited the DQ a few times a week until he realized a large chunk of his hard-earned money from his new jobs was being eaten away. Literally. Now the DQ was a luxury he allowed himself once every other week. He told the woman behind the counter which burger he wanted and then paused as he struggled to decide on the ice cream. He’d tried every dessert available, but there was something about the combination of vanilla soft serve, hot fudge, and peanuts that kept calling his name.

“Tough decision?”

Ollie turned around. Behind him was a young woman with a sweet smile and purple stripes in her pale hair who stared right into his eyes. His stomach fluttered, and he swallowed hard, unable to form words.

“I like the dip cones myself.” She continued to smile, encouraging him to answer.

“Peanut Buster Parfait,” he blurted, unable to pull his gaze from perfect green eyes. She looked a little older than he, but that could be all the makeup. Since he’d lived with Truman, he’d learned he was a horrible judge of age.

“Is that what you want today, Ollie?” asked Gloria, the DQ employee patiently waiting for him to decide.

He spun back to the counter. “Yes. Parfait.” He counted out cash and handed it over.

“I haven’t had a Peanut Buster Parfait in years,” said the green-eyed goddess behind him.

He glanced back at her out of the corner of his eye as he shoved his wallet back in his pocket. Talk to her.

“It’s good.” Brilliant.

“Then it must be time for me to have one again.” Still smiling, she ordered and then joined him at the far end of the counter, where he’d moved to wait for his food. “Haven’t I seen you at the coffee place in town?” She looked expectantly at him.

“Probably.” How had he not noticed her?

“I’m new around here. Really haven’t met anyone.”

His mind raced for a witty reply. “It’s a nice town.”

“I really hate eating alone. Would you mind if I sat with you?”

“No . . . I mean, that’d be fine . . . It’d be great.”

Her pleased grin made his knees feel like soft serve.

“Here you go, Ollie.” Gloria pushed a tray across the counter to him and winked. A flush heated his face, and he wondered if it was noticeable. “Enjoy your lunch.” She waggled her eyebrows.

“Where’s the ice cream?” he asked.

“Oh, whoops. Hang on.” Gloria grabbed two clear cups next to the soft serve machine and skillfully whipped up two parfaits. She set them together on the counter in front of Ollie and his new friend. “Here you go, you two. Have a great lunch.”

She’d never delivered his food with such enthusiasm. He moved one of the parfaits to his tray and followed the younger woman to a booth with orange seats. He sat, overwhelmed by the fact that this gorgeous, talkative creature wanted to eat with him.

Conversation topics.

“I’m Ollie.”

“Tabitha.” She took a huge bite of fudge and closed her eyes in ecstasy. “You’re a bad influence on me.”

Watching Tabitha eat hot fudge made him slightly dizzy. Unable to move, he stared until her eyes opened. She licked a spot of chocolate off her lip. “You eating?”

He’d forgotten his food. “Yeah.” He unwrapped his burger, unable to start his Peanut Buster Parfait. Is that how I look when I eat one? He took a big bite of greasy burger and chewed. No flavor. His taste buds had gone on strike.

“How long have you lived here, Ollie?” she asked as she focused on her ice cream.

He swallowed. “About two months.”

“You’re a newbie like me.” Her eyes twinkled.

“I’ve only been in Eagle’s Nest two months,” he clarified. “I’ve always lived in Central Oregon . . . in a more remote area.” A pickle crunched in his mouth. He couldn’t taste it; he didn’t care. “Where are you from?” Composing a solid question pleased him.

“I live in Los Angeles. I’m just in town for a little while.”

Disappointment made his heart drop. She wasn’t staying. His fantasy of a girlfriend with purple hair burst like a balloon.

“I’d like to learn more about Eagle’s Nest before I have to leave,” she said encouragingly. “I bet you know some. We could hang out for a while.”

“Sounds good.” He tried to revive his enthusiasm. How long is a while?

She leaned across the table, making her breasts press against her shirt, and held his gaze. “I heard they found a murdered body not too far away.” Her voice was appropriately quiet, but fascination burned in her eyes.

Alarms rang in Ollie’s head.

“Do you know if that’s true?” Tabitha asked. “Or are people making stuff up?”

“It’s true,” he admitted.

Her eyes widened. “Oh! How scary . . . Did they catch who did it?”

“It happened a long time ago,” Ollie informed her, feeling a little guilty for talking about the dead. “It wasn’t really a body . . . Just a skeleton was left.” An image of the skull’s bullet hole flashed in his mind.

“Do they know who it was? Or how long ago it happened?” She took another bite, her gaze never leaving his as she hung on every word. Melted soft serve dripped on the table.

“Well . . . don’t tell anyone, but they think it’s related to a big robbery that happened in Portland a long time ago.”

“You’re not talking about the Gamble-Helmet Heist, are you?”

Ollie froze. “How’d you know?”

“Everyone knows about it.” She shrugged and looked at her parfait as she scooped up fudge and peanuts. “If it’s related to that, then whose skeleton is it?”

Ellis Mull. He’d heard Truman and Mercy discussing it yesterday, but something stopped him from saying it out loud. “Dunno.”

“Surely you’ve heard something.”

Is that what it looks like when someone bats their eyelashes? Ollie abruptly felt as if he’d been trapped. “Nothing.” He took another bite of his burger and studied the girl through fresh eyes. “What are you doing in Eagle’s Nest?”

She looked at her ice cream. “Work stuff.”

“What kind of work do you do?” Now that his brain was functioning, the world appeared crystal clear, and a murky cloud of suspicion clung to Tabitha.

“I just need to write up something. Say . . . is there a movie theater around here?” she asked with hope in her eyes.

“No. The closest theater is in Bend. What do you write?”

Her winning smile had lost some of its warmth. “Just little articles. Like what it’s like to live in a small town such as this one.”

“Usually it’s pretty great to live here. Do you have a business card?”

Now her smile vanished. “Why?”

“Because I’ve hinted several times that I want to know what you do.”

“Well, I haven’t pressured you to tell me what you do.” She thrust her chin forward and stubbornly tilted her head.

“I work in the warehouse for Lake Ski and Sports, and I also detail cars at a dealership in Bend. I’m not in school, but I take online courses and plan to start at the community college for summer session. See? It’s not hard to be forthright.” He held her gaze as he took another bite of burger, thoroughly chewed, and then swallowed. “Why do I feel like you’re playing me? I’ve got nothing anyone could want.” Except access to the police chief and an FBI agent.

Tabitha slipped a card out of her purse and pushed it across the table.

TABITHA HUFF

STAFF WRITER

THE MIDNIGHT VOICE

“You write for a tabloid.” He’d scanned the headlines in stores as a kid, hungry for information. Any information.

“I don’t write anything that’s not true.”

“I recently saw a headline about the president having seven toes on one foot.”

“I didn’t write it.”

“You have higher standards?”

“It’s a job. My pieces are factual and well written.”

“Why did you target me?” Does she know I found the body?

She stirred her fudge into the melting ice cream, watching it blend together. “I saw you leave the house where Agent Kilpatrick spent the night. She doesn’t live there, right?”

Ollie ignored her question. “You followed me? After you’d already followed Mercy to the house?” Dread crawled up his spine. Mercy and Truman were not going to like these facts.

“I didn’t get any information when I talked to the FBI agent, and I figured the police chief wouldn’t talk to me either, so I decided on a different approach when I spotted you.” She was all business now. The earlier flirtation was completely gone.

“How’d you find out about the remains?”