Page 81 of Three-Inch Teeth

“I already checked out of the Alpine Motel.”

Bottom snorted and said, “No wonder you don’t want to hang around. That place is a dump and the owner, Kolb, is one of those mouth-breathing locals I was warning you about.”

“It’s okay, really. Mr. Kolb was fine.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you stayed there much longer. Did you look carefully for peepholes and such?”

Sheridan stiffened in her chair. She was shocked.

“Seriously?” she asked.

“I’ve heard things,” Bottom said, but not convincingly, Sheridan thought.

“Anyway, we have plenty of room here,” he said, gesturing to the staircase that led, she guessed, to several bedrooms upstairs. “I won’t even charge you.”

Sheridan got a warning vibe that she’d learned over the years to take seriously. He was a little too insistent. And a man who thought about peepholes might know something about them, she thought.

“No,” she said. “I really need to get back.”

It was almost true, but not quite. But Sheridan wanted to maintain good relations with her customer while firmly declining his invitation at the same time.

“You’re not eating,” he said, pointing to her empty plate with the tines of his fork. “Dig in. Katy is a great cook. That’s one of the biggest reasons I insisted she come with me.”

“I don’t usually eat breakfast,” Sheridan said. “But it does look good.”

She’d learned from going on ride-alongs with her dad that it was always a good policy to accept meal invitations from hunters, landowners, or, in this case, clients. It might be construed as insulting to refuse, he’d told her. He claimed that he sometimes ate three breakfasts in a row while patrolling elk camps and was therefore miserable for the rest of the day.

“If drinking bad coffee and eating dry eggs is what it takes to be neighborly, it’s worth it,” he’d said.

So she took the platter of pancakes and slid two onto her plate, followed by two slices of bacon.

“Katy makes the best pancakes,” Bottom said with approval. Then his cell phone chimed and he looked at the screen. “My bankers,” he said. “I need to take this.”

“Sure, no problem.”

Bottom rose from the table and turned to the door that led to the front porch. He called toward the kitchen door, “Katy, come on out and give Sheridan some company. You need to eat, too.”

Then he stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

*

COTTON PUSHED SLOWLY through the door with her eyes down and didn’t say a word. She slid into the chair opposite Sheridan. Her mouth was pursed into a scowl and she came across as either angry or very tense.

As Cotton took two pancakes for herself, Sheridan lifted the handle of the syrup container and handed it across the table to her. The ceramic container was the shape of a bear and the syrup poured out of its open mouth. Cotton glanced up at it and quickly looked away.

“Okay,” Sheridan said, taking the syrup back.

Without staring overtly, Sheridan observed as Cotton generously buttered her pancakes and then lifted the top one and slid a fried egg between them. Then another on top of the stack. As Cotton did it, Sheridan again felt the curious pang of discordant familiarity that she’d noted before. Something about Cotton’s eyes, features, or mannerisms unnerved her. When had she encountered this old woman who refused to look at her or speak to her? And why the brazen animosity?

“There’s something I wanted to ask you before I leave this ranch forever,” Sheridan said.

After a beat, Cotton said, “Mmmmm?”

“Look, I think we somehow got off on the wrong foot and I’m not sure why. What I’m wondering is if we ever met each other before. Or maybe you’re confusing me with someone you had a bad experience with?”

Cotton shook her head almost imperceptibly.

“So we haven’t met?”

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