Turn Left at the Cow by Lisa Bullard Page A

café and a soda at the gas station,” I said.
    He nodded after each place I mentioned, and I noticed he was making marks in a little notebook. What was going down here? Had the good people of Cowpoke decided to run the son of a bank robber out of town on some trumped-up shoplifting charge or something?
    â€œWell, Travis . . .” Deputy Dude paused really long, like he was giving me time to confess to an ax murder before slapping the cuffs on me.
    That barfy feeling from earlier was taking over my guts again; whatever was left of the pancakes, the burgers, and the caffeine was slamming around my insides, wrestling to see what would make it out first. I clamped my lips together, and I guess the deputy took that as the prisoner’s refusing to narc, because he settled his big, beefy forearms onto the table and leaned in toward me to drop his atomic bomb.
    â€œLooks like somebody was in town today spending money that came from that bank burglary a few years back. The one that the FBI figures your father was involved in.”
    There was dead quiet in the kitchen while I watched the mushroom cloud explode across that screen inside my skull.
    Sometime after the explosion, I realized Deputy Dude was still talking. “And I want to be real careful here about not jumping to conclusions, but the fact is, turns out you spent money every place the cash turned up. So I need to ask you—”
    Gram surged to her feet. For a minute I thought she was going to latch on to Deputy Dude’s ear and yank him right on out of her kitchen, but instead she nabbed the plate of cookies out of his reach and stood glaring at him.
    â€œKyle Anderson!” she said, and you could hear a rattlesnake shaking its tail behind each word. “If you’re insinuating—”
    â€œMrs. Stoiska—” He tried using his long-arm-of-the-law voice, but it was obvious that Gram was going to win this round.
    She talked right over him. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear.” She limp-marched over and put her hand on the doorknob. “Every penny that Travis spent in town today came out of my pocket. It was
my
money. If you’re accusing
me
of something, I’ll call my lawyer so we can talk about the matter further. But my grandson is off-limits. The boy hasn’t done anything wrong. And I’d like you to leave my home.”
    Deputy Dude walked over to the door. It was clear from the way his face tightened up that he thought Gram’s story was plenty fishy. But finally he lifted his hat for a moment, tilted his head toward Gram, and then settled the hat back down with a tap.
    â€œJust doing my best to try to make things easier for you and the boy, Mrs. Stoiska,” he said. “Because soon it could be out of my hands; how it all plays out from here will depend on the FBI. The two of you may be in for a few hard questions from them.”
    He looked over at me. “I understand that your grandma wants to protect you. But the fact is, there’s been no sign of that money for fourteen years. Then you show up, and two days later some of the money turns up, too. If you know anything, it could save you a lot of trouble if you tell me before the big guns get here.”
    He turned and nodded one last time to Gram. “You know how to find me if either one of you has any more to say on the subject. And for now it would be best if your grandson stays a while longer rather than head right back to California. I think it’s likely we’re going to need to talk to both of you again soon.”
    Then he walked out of Gram’s kitchen.

CHAPTER 9
    As Deputy Dude walked out the door, the world switched over to slow motion. Gram lifted her hand and started walking back to me, but she seemed to be battling gravity with each move she made. She opened her mouth and sounds came out, but they were the grown-up speak of the old Charlie Brown cartoons, all “wah wah wah” noises