Page 26 of Copper

She wads the tissue in her hand. “It started with a slap on my hands when I grabbed his hand in public. I didn’t think anything about it at first. I thought he was joking since it was such a weird thing to do. I passed it off as him not wanting someone to see us holding hands and it getting back to Lucy. The next time it was a shove. Not too rough. Just enough to stumble into the wall. I guess I should have walked away then. Maybe he would have understood I wouldn’t put up with it.”

“Did he hit you?”

She takes a deep breath. “Lucy had him riled up about something. He took it out on me. Slapped me so hard I had to tell Jalen I ran into a door.”

“Punching or kicking?”

She ignores the question, and her eyes darken. I’ll take that as a yes, but she doesn’t say yes or no. She stares out her picture window like she’s just noticed it’s daytime and a beautiful day. Like she wants to go outside and play in the sun now that she got this off her chest. “Do you know where he is, Officer Dwyer?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Do you think you’ll ever find him?”

“I hope so.”

She doesn’t respond. Something about her expression, the side eye she gives me, tells me I’ll get no more from her today. My phone vibrates with Coleson’s number again, and I reject the call, muttering a cuss word under my breath.

“Officer Dwyer, I need to do some work before my husband gets home. I also need to calm down. I haven’t been sleeping well or eating much since all of this happened. Work has been the only thing that keeps me sane these last few months.”

“Of course,” I say, pulling my card out of my other pants pocket and handing it to her. “If you don’t mind me asking, what is it you do for work?”

Ellen rises from the couch, and I follow. She grabs the crumpled tissues and the teacup before facing me. “My grandfather died last year and left me a campground. RV hookups. Tent spots in the summer. It doesn’t get traffic this time of year, but I have maintenance we do in the winter. I arrange work orders and take reservations for the summer. Planning music festivals and routine landscaping keeps me busy.”

“That sounds interesting. Is it possible Beck Lenin knew about it and is hiding there?”

Ellen snort laughs, and it’s a foreign sound to me. She’s only cried since I’ve been here. “Hell, no. I have a ranger that checks things every few days. He’d tell me if someone was squatting on the land. I wouldn’t let him stay on my property.”

That kind of breakup, huh?

"I’ll leave you to it,” I say just as another call from Mitchell comes across my screen. For fuck’s sake. “Excuse me, it’s work,” I say, holding up a finger to Ellen.

Walking over to a corner of her living room, Ellen moves back like she doesn’t want to intrude on my conversation in her own house and pulls her sweater tight over her chest.

“What is the problem, Mitchell?” I bark as soon as the call is connected. “I told you I had personal business to take care of and not to bother me unless you had another dead body for me to look at.”

Mitchell pauses so long that I think he hung up. When he does speak, the younger man’s voice cracks. “Well, uh, that’s the thing, sir. We found another body. Coleson’s on the scene and asking for you. You need to come in.”

Chapter 12

Lucy

“You’relate,doll.YouOK? I was about to send the police to your house,” Peter says, his feet still propped on his desk. He obviously wasn’t that concerned if he’s lounging around like he’s on a beach with a beer on a Tuesday afternoon.

“Sorry. I lost track of time. Lots to do that doesn’t involve pasties or a pole.” I plop in the rickety chair across from his desk. “You can dock me.”

Peter finally puts his feet down and leans forward, peering at me over the old garage sale desk he bought for his office when he started the club. Fast food wrappers litter his desk, and the smell of fry oil hangs in the air. My stomach growls since I didn’t have time for breakfast or lunch. I usually try to eat healthy, but I grab the brown bag in front of me, hopeful there are fries at the bottom.

I find a cheeseburger at the bottom of the sack. Peter must be saving it for later, but he raises an eyebrow and then nods, a silent invitation to it.

He may be a greasy pig on the outside, complete with slicked-back hair, unbuttoned shirt, and pinky ring, but he looks out for his family. Peter watches as I unwrap the burger and bite into it, practically swooning even though it’s cold.

“What’s going on with you and the sheriff?”

I practically choke on my bite, and I beat on my chest until the bite goes down. Peter hands me a small plastic water bottle from under his desk. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

“Don’t piss on me and tell me it’s raining. I know you dated him in high school. Brought the bastard around and showed him off at every family event. Your prom picture with the guy sat on Mom’s mantle. You act like I’ve never seen him before.”

“He’s a friend,” I say, the words coming out like a mumble around the food.

---