Strangers by Bill Pronzini Page A

night.”
    â€œHow can you be sure?”
    â€œI know him, that’s how. Better than anybody. Besides, me and him were together.”
    â€œOnly until midnight or so, from what I’ve been told.”
    â€œMore like twelve-thirty.” Pause while she swept a hand through her long blond hair. Then, defiantly, “And I mean we were together, you understand? Why would he want to go rape somebody right after we got it on twice out by Chimney Rock? How could he? I mean, he’s not Superman.”
    I could have given her the “rape is a crime of violence” speech, but it would not have been worth the effort. At her age and with her mind-set, sex would always be a primary motivator.
    She said, “I told the sheriff that, but all he said was it didn’t matter and I’d better not go around announcing it if I didn’t want to ruin my reputation. As if I care what people think.”
    â€œWere you and Cody alone together the entire evening?”
    â€œYeah. Well, except for Rick Firestone. He had a flat tire on his truck and no spare, so Cody picked him up after we got back from Chimney Rock.”
    Rick Firestone. Another friend on the list I’d gotten from Parfrey’s assistant. “Was Firestone with Cody when he dropped you off?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDo you know if they got together afterward?”
    â€œNo. Ask Rick.”
    â€œI’ll do that. Did Cody often go driving around alone in the middle of the night? That’s what he claims he was doing late that night.”
    â€œSometimes. If he says he was out driving alone, that’s what he was doing. He likes to race, see how fast he can buck his Jeep on some of the old mining roads around here.”
    The door to the Sunshine opened and the orange-haired proprietress stepped out. “Alana,” she called. “You’d better get back in here. Mrs. Jackson is due for her ten-fifteen.”
    â€œComing.” Then, half to me and half to herself when the orange head disappeared inside, “Bitch. Wonder she hasn’t fired me yet for being Cody’s girl. Probably will now if I don’t get back inside.”
    â€œThanks for your time, Ms. Farmer,” I said. “And for being candid with me.”
    She nodded, shrugged, started away. And then stopped and came back, close, to run her dark-eyed gaze over my face. “You look like you’ve been a detective a long time. You really think you can prove Cody’s not a rapist?”
    â€œI intend to give it my best shot.”
    â€œThen I might as well be straight with you. But you better not tell anybody about this. I’ll call you a liar if you do.”
    â€œAnything you say is just between us.”
    â€œAll right. Cody and me bought some grass from that asshole Stendreyer a few times. But he won’t sell on credit. You have to pay him cash in advance.”
    â€œThen what? Go out to Lost Horse to pick it up, or he delivers it?”
    â€œDelivers it. He doesn’t let anybody go out to his place. There’s this spot in the desert, never mind where. You want some grass, you leave a note telling him how much you want and the cash. Then you go back in a day or two and the grass is there.”
    â€œWhere does he get it?”
    â€œWho knows? Cody says he buys it from somebody in Mexico, but that’s just a guess.”
    â€œAnything else you can tell me about him?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDo you know any of his other customers?”
    â€œNo,” she said again, too quickly. She glanced away from me, toward my car. “You going out to see Stendreyer?”
    â€œEventually, yes.”
    â€œBetter be careful. And get yourself another set of wheels before you go, four-wheel drive or all-terrain. Road out to Lost Horse’ll tear up that city car of yours.”
    â€œI’ll do that. Thanks.”
    â€œOkay. So that’s it. I have to get back inside if I want to keep my