Strangers by Bill Pronzini

warily, “I don’t know you.”
    â€œI’m a friend of Cheryl Hatcher.”
    The atmosphere in there cooled noticeably. The other four women stood or sat still except for slow back-and-forth swiveling of their heads between me and Alana Farmer like zombie spectators at a tennis match. Nobody said anything.
    I kept looking at Alana. “It’s important, Ms. Farmer. I won’t keep you long.”
    She stood chewing on her lower lip and fidgeting with a styling brush, trying to make up her mind. Finally she said, “All right,” cast a mildly insolent look at the orange-haired owner, and walked past me and out through the front door. I said, “Ladies,” to the others and followed the girl, the muscles on my back rippling from the combined effect of four laser stares.
    Alana was leaning against the wall beyond the shop’s front window, out of sight of the prying eyes inside, her arms crossed over her substantial chest. She gave me a wary look, but with her chin up aggressively, as I stepped around in front of her. Pretty enough, but wearing too much mascara, eye shadow, lipstick; her mouth was a glistening red O in the pale morning sunlight.
    There was a sharp, chilly wind today, blowing down across the desert wastes from the north. “Pretty cold out here,” I said. “We can talk in my car if you like.” I gestured to where it was parked nearby.
    Her mouth quirked and she shook her head. “Stay right here. So what do you want?”
    â€œTo ask you a few questions about Cody Hatcher.”
    â€œYou know Cody?”
    â€œNo. I’m a friend of his mother, as I said inside. She asked me to try to help prove his innocence.”
    â€œHow? What’re you, a lawyer or something?”
    â€œDetective,” I said, and proved it with my ID.
    She wasn’t impressed. “Yeah, well, good luck. I won’t hold my breath. Nobody can help him now—he’s screwed and that’s that.”
    â€œThere’s always hope, Ms. Farmer. If he is innocent.”
    â€œSure he is, but everybody except me and his old lady and about five others believes he raped those women. You’re not gonna find out anything to change anybody’s mind, least of all our asshole sheriff.”
    â€œWhy do you say that?”
    â€œFelix wants Cody to be guilty, that’s why. He’s had it in for him a long time. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s the one who put that knife and mask in Cody’s Jeep.”
    â€œWhy does the sheriff have it in for him?”
    â€œCody wouldn’t ever take any crap from him. And Felix didn’t like him hanging out with his dumb-ass nephew, kept saying Cody was a bad influence. One time when the three of us were together he stopped Cody for speeding and thought he smelled dope in the Jeep. If he’d found any, he’d’ve arrested Cody and me and let Jimmy go.”
    â€œ Were the three of you smoking dope?”
    Alana gave me a wise look and didn’t answer.
    â€œThe only reason I asked,” I said, “is Max Stendreyer.”
    â€œThat crazy old prick,” she said with heavy contempt. “If it weren’t for him, Cody wouldn’t be in jail right now.”
    â€œYou think Stendreyer lied about seeing him running away from the Oasis?”
    â€œWell, he must’ve.”
    â€œWhy would he? Cody ever have trouble with him?”
    â€œNo. No reason he would.”
    â€œI can think of one. Owing Stendreyer money.”
    â€œWrong. Why would he owe him money?”
    â€œWe both know why. Cody admitted buying pot from the man.”
    â€œSo what? Everybody smokes dope now and then.”
    Sure. Everybody.
    â€œAnd pays for it in advance around here,” she said. “Always.”
    â€œAll right. Then why would Stendreyer lie?”
    â€œMaybe somebody paid him to, I don’t know. All I know is Cody wasn’t anywhere near the Oasis that