Behind His Blue Eyes by Kaki Warner Page A

introductions earlier, he might have thought the man mute.
    â€œWell,” Mrs. Brodie said for the third time. “I’ve dallied long enough. You’ll be home by five?” she asked the sheriff.
    â€œI’ll be there.”
    â€œBecause Pru still has packing to do, and won’t be able to stay long. And Brin keeps taking the baby out of his cradle and carting him over to show the neighbors, and no telling what mischief Joe Bill is up to. You have to speak to them, Declan. I can’t—”
    â€œI’ll talk to them, Ed. I promise.”
    â€œYes, well . . .”
    In an effort to hurry the parting along, Ethan tugged on the front brim of his hat. “I’ve enjoyed meeting you, ma’am. Hope to see you again soon.”
    â€œI look forward to it, Mr. Hardesty. And Declan,” she added with a hint of steel in her voice. “I’ll see you at five.”
    â€œFive,” he said.
    â€œGood. Now eat your lunch, dear. I fixed your favorite.”
    As soon as the door closed behind her, the sheriff let out a deep breath. “Thanks.”
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œTalking. Every time I do, I get into trouble.”
    Ethan chuckled. “New mothers can be like that.” He had no idea if that was true, but he’d heard it somewhere and it sounded about right. New mothers, new wives, flighty adolescents, any hardheaded, shortsighted, contentious female—they all defied logic.
    A hundred and fifty dollars.
It was unheard of. An outrageous amount of money for a simple right-of-way. He would probably have to pay half of it out of his own pocket, just to save face.
Hell.
    Redstone was right. She had played him like a trout.
    Pushing that unsettling thought aside—along with the disturbing realization that he was more amused by the notion than angry—he explained why he had come to Heartbreak Creek.
    The sheriff nodded. “Tait said the railroad was sending someone.”
    Brodie didn’t sound upset about that, Ethan was pleased to note. A lesser man might have taken it as interference or a lack of faith in his abilities to handle the situation. “Rylander told me about the woodcutter’s death,” Ethan went on, “and the missing watch. Could a raven or pack rat have carried it off? They’re drawn to shiny objects.”
    â€œMaybe. Or he misplaced it. Or lost it in a poker game and was afraid to tell his wife. I’m more concerned with how a man who knew these woods as well as Hendricks did got clumsy enough to fall off a bluff.”
    Good point. “Has there been any recent damage to the sluice?”
    â€œA landslide took out a hundred-foot section.”
    Rylander hadn’t mentioned that. “A natural occurrence?”
    Brodie shrugged. “It happens in steep terrain.”
    â€œMind if I take a look at it?” Ethan didn’t need permission. But he also didn’t want to overstep. Doing so would only make his task harder, and might put him on the bad side of a man who could do serious damage if he took offense.
    Besides, Ethan liked the sheriff. He admired his easy manner and confident attitude and the patience the fellow had shown toward his high-strung wife.
    â€œSure.” Rising, the sheriff plucked a dusty hat from a hook on the wall. “I’d like to talk to some of the workers again myself.”
    â€œNo rush. Go ahead and eat your lunch.”
    Brodie looked down at the covered plate on his desk. With the enthusiasm of a man peeking under a shroud in an undertaker’s parlor, he warily lifted the edge of the cloth, took a look, then let it drop over the plate again.
    â€œNot your favorite,” Ethan guessed.
    â€œI was hoping her sister, Prudence, made it. My wife’s not much of a cook.” Then with a broad grin and more animation in his dark eyes than Ethan had seen since arriving, he added, “But she’s got other compensating