Page 46 of The Girl from Devil’s Lake (Joanna Brady Mysteries #21)

Naco, Sonora

“Mr. Roper?” she said, holding out her hand. “My name is Marliss Shackleford. I hope you don’t mind my dropping in unannounced like this, but I was wondering if I could speak to you for a few minutes.”

Stephen was stunned and terrified, too. What the hell was she doing here? Hoping to mask his inner turmoil, he stifled the urge to order her off his property.

“Sure,” he said as cordially as he could manage, “but do you mind pulling your car out of the driveway? That’s where I park my truck.”

“Of course,” she agreed. “No problem.”

While she moved the RAV4 back out to the street, Stephen parked the truck in its accustomed spot. Then, standing on the front porch, he struck what he hoped was a casual pose while he waited for her to finish.

“I was hoping you’d be home about now, and I trust you don’t mind my waiting around,” Marliss said as she came back up the driveway.

“Not at all,” he replied. “By the way, I read your stuff. You do a good job of keeping up with the local scene.”

Her face brightened. “Really? Thanks for saying that. I’m always happy to meet one of my followers.”

“What’s on your mind?” Stephen asked.

“I’m doing a piece on the Xavier Delgado case, and I understand you were one of the last people to see him alive. I was wondering if I could talk to you about that?”

The very last thing Stephen Roper needed right then was to have his name splashed all over Marliss’s website in connection to Xavier Delgado. This was a catastrophe, but he needed some time to figure out how to deal with it. To that end, when he responded, he forced his face to remain noncommittal.

“Of course,” he said, hoping he sounded unconcerned.

“That whole thing is a nightmare. I don’t mind speaking to you about it, but here’s the thing, and please don’t think me rude, but I’m a man of a certain age.

I’ve just done a four-hour shift at my Free Store down in Naco, Sonora, so before we sit down to talk, I’ll have to excuse myself to use the facilities. ”

Stephen Roper wasn’t someone who entertained often.

The furnishings in his home were still the same ones he had purchased all those years earlier when he’d first come to town.

They’d been fine back then, but he was sure that, through Marliss Shackleford’s eyes, they looked threadbare and old-fashioned.

Ushering her inside, his mind was racing.

From following Marliss’s posts, he suspected she had anonymous sources inside various law enforcement agencies in the area.

If she was here asking questions, someone had put him on her radar.

That meant he was most likely on somebody else’s radar, too.

So what the hell was he going to do about her?

Unsurprisingly, at that point the voices chimed in. “Get rid of her. Get rid of her.” That made sense, but before doing so, he needed to know more about what she knew.

Once Marliss took a seat, Stephen headed for the bathroom, all right, but not to relieve himself.

Shoving aside the bath mat that covered the trapdoor in the floor, he climbed down into the crawl space far enough to open the safe and retrieve the items he kept there, starting with his precious cigar box.

If things got ugly, he might very well need a weapon, so he opened the lid, removed his one-bullet derringer, and shoved that into his pocket.

He also picked up a few just-in-case zip ties and pocketed them, too. Then he emptied out the safe.

Years earlier, on the outside chance that this day might come, Stephen had contacted a bank in the Cayman Islands and created an account he’d be able to access should he ever need to.

He’d also set aside a large amount of cash that would make it possible for him to disappear.

With the money and the cigar box stowed in one of the lunch lady’s spare grocery bags, he climbed back out of the crawl space, closed the trapdoor, and replaced the bath mat.

Next he flushed the toilet and ran water in the sink long enough to wash his hands.

He returned to the living room by way of the kitchen where he left the loaded grocery bag on the kitchen counter. Then, back in the living room he settled on the sofa, facing his guest who sat with a computer open on her lap and her fingers resting on the keyboard.

“Okay,” Stephen said. “What do you want to know?”

“Has anyone from the sheriff’s department spoken to you about the case?”

“Not yet,” he answered. “I haven’t heard a word from them.”

As soon as he said that, he realized what a blunder he’d made.

He’d taken the fact that he hadn’t been interviewed as a sign that he wasn’t under suspicion when, in fact, the exact opposite was probably true.

He and the migrant kids had been among the last people to see Xavier alive, so by all rights they should all have been questioned and so should he.

Had investigators spoken to the kids? Stephen had no way of knowing, and neither did the voices in his head who were continuing to shout their alarm.

“But you did see him that day,” Marliss insisted.

“Of course I did,” Stephen answered, trying to listen to her over the voices’ racket, “although I never knew his name. He was younger than the other kids, but he was always there when it came time for me to hand out lunches.”

“Which you’ve been doing for some time.”

“Not that long,” he replied. “The sack lunches are a fairly new addition, but, other than the months while I was dealing with a cancer diagnosis, I’ve been operating what they call the Free Store for Hands Across the Border for the past several years.

In all that time, I’ve never known anything like this to happen. ”

“Don’t you think it odd that detectives haven’t spoken to you even though you should clearly be a person of interest in this case?” Marliss asked.

Stephen had already arrived at that same conclusion, but how had she?

Obviously she’d gained access to some aspect of the investigation and knew he was under suspicion.

Now she was here to get the goods on him.

At that point, Stephen’s only option was to make sure his unwelcome visitor didn’t leave the house alive.

That meant he needed to put Marliss at ease and get the two of them on the same page.

In a moment of inspiration, he knew how to make that happen.

“Odd?” he repeated with a forced chuckle. “Yes, but surprising? No. With Joanna Brady running the show, that’s hardly unexpected. She’s never been the sharpest knife in the drawer, and how someone that inept can keep being reelected time after time is more than I can understand.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Marliss agreed.

“Did you know I had her for senior English back in high school?” he added for good measure. “She didn’t strike me as all that bright back then, either. So how do you think the investigation is progressing?” Stephen continued, deftly turning the tables. Now he was the one asking questions.

“Well,” Marliss said with a shrug. “It looks to me as though she and her whole department are in over their heads.”

By then the woman had visibly relaxed, but to take care of her once and for all, Stephen knew he would need some assistance. A half-full pint jar of leftover chloroform had sat unopened in his fridge for years on end. Would it still work after all this time? He didn’t see any reason why not.

“Say,” he said aloud. “I’m feeling parched and need a little something to wet my whistle. I’m going to have a soda. Diet Coke’s all I have on hand. Would you care for one?”

“No, thanks,” she said. “I’m fine.”

You may think you’re fine , Stephen thought to himself, but you’re not fine at all!