Wink of an Eye by Lynn Chandler Willis

of the backyard. It was 8:00 P.M. and still registering 90 degrees. I wiped a line of sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.
    â€œTell me what happened after Ryce died,” I said.
    Burke pushed away from the table and rolled himself to a cabinet under the sink. He pulled out a bottle of Jim Beam, then rolled back to the table. “Rhonda, would you be a sweetheart and grab a couple glasses?” He pointed to one of the upper cabinets.
    â€œSure.” Rhonda got two glasses and set them on the table.
    Burke poured the glasses about a quarter full, then slid one in my direction. “So, you want to know about the day Ryce died. What do you want to know?”
    â€œWho knew you were going to the auction with LeWellan Jacobs?”
    â€œRyce, Tatum. It wasn’t unusual for me to go. I go with him about twice a month.”
    If in fact Ryce was murdered, whoever did it had to know Burke wouldn’t be home at that time. The old man may not have been able to chase after the perps but he could have loaded them full of lead.
    â€œNow there were a couple calls on the caller ID that day that came up as unavailable,” Burke said. “That’s pretty unusual.”
    â€œHow many times did they call?”
    â€œFive, six maybe. About every thirty minutes up until around two o’clock.”
    â€œA little before Tatum got home.”
    He nodded.
    â€œWhy do you think Ryce came home early that day?”
    Burke shrugged. “That one I can’t figure out. There was a call on his cell phone about an hour before Tatum got home but we don’t know whose number it was.”
    â€œHave you still got his phone?”
    He shook his head. “Of course not. Denny took it as evidence.”
    â€œBut I wrote the number down.” Tatum pulled up a chair. He opened the brown file folder and showed me the number he had scribbled on the inside cover. I was growing more impressed with this kid by the minute.
    I took a sip of the bourbon. It and Sophia Ortez, so far, were the nicest things about this trip. I didn’t include my reunion with Claire. That had the potential to be as explosive as the situation in Vegas I was running from.
    â€œHave you called the number?” I asked.
    Tatum shook his head. “I didn’t want to call from here. I have to be careful what phone I call from in case they have caller ID.”
    Burke and I glanced at one another. Burke looked away, fighting back a grin. I took the file from Tatum and laid it out on the table. It was at least three inches thick, dated, documented, and well organized. There were photos of different girls, all Hispanic, all in their teens. The photos were a collection of family snapshots and school photos, none from professional surveillance.
    â€œThat one on the top is Alvedia Esconderia,” Rhonda said, pointing to the picture of a cute kid, no older than Tatum. “I taught her and Tatum last year.”
    â€œShe’s the one that started the whole thing,” Tatum added. “I told my dad what was happening and he started looking into it.”
    â€œEight young girls have disappeared in the last three years,” Burke said. “All illegals, all between the ages of thirteen and fifteen.”
    â€œYou think they were murdered?”
    Burke shook his head.
    I sighed. Weren’t there any cheating spouses in Winkler county needing my services? I loathed cheating spouses but they paid the bills. Not nearly as complicated as this was turning out to be, either. I closed the file and pressed the balls of my hands deep into my eyes, feeling a massive headache coming on. I finished off the bourbon and poured myself another round. “This … Alvedia Esconderia, is she missing?”
    â€œNo. Dad wanted her picture, just in case,” Tatum answered. “Her older sister, Alana, is missing.” He flipped the page in the file and pointed to a picture of Alana. She was a beautiful girl