Page 27 of Deadly Evidence
She straightened when he approached her window and slid a check from the Triple R beneath the old-fashioned, ornate metal grill barrier.
Easily in her mid-forties, with wispy, mouse-brown hair rimming her round face, the woman’s eyes widened behind her thick glasses as she read the front of the check.
“You’re that new guy out to the Remington place,” she marveled, looking up at him with even greater interest. She patted down the springy curls at her temples. “Heard tell they finally found someone.”
“Yeah, well...I’m glad to find the job.”
The clerk’s mouth pursed. “So what do you think of Anna?”
“She seems like a good boss so far.”
“Boss, eh?” A corner of her mouth quirked up, as if she were sharing a private joke with him. “That girl ain’t had an easy life, out there trying to make ends meet. Met her grandpa?”
“Just briefly.”
The old guy had given him a piercing look and managed a credible handshake, but he was obviously ill and stayed in his room whenever Brady was in the house for dinner.
Apparently, he spent most of his time in his bed or at his window in a recliner, dozing the day away.
“Strong stock, that family. Real hard workers and honest as they come. You planning to stay long?”
Brady glanced at the clock on the wall over the massive door leading back into the safe.
In a town this size, there probably weren’t many customers walking in on any given day, and this woman was obviously lonely and wanting to talk. “Nice town.”
Confusion flashed across the woman’s face at the abrupt change of topic, but she rallied fast. “Yessir. ’Bout big enough to stuff down a gopher hole, but the people here are real friendly.”
“Quiet place?”
Her cheerful expression faded a little. “If Joe Henson’s dog crosses the street, it’s something to talk about. ’Course, being three-legged and a mite old, he don’t find it an easy trip.”
Brady grinned. “I don’t suppose you see many strangers coming through.”
“Not unless they’re lost or selling something.” She snorted. “Except for rodeo weekends up in Montrose, but those only run every third Saturday, June through September. Why—you lookin’ for someone?”
Behind her, a half-closed door led into a small room where the edge of a desk and a computer were mostly hidden from view.
Someone inside cleared his throat, and the teller stiffened. “Oops,” she whispered, tipping her head toward that door. “I’d best get to work.”
Brady watched as she counted out a stack of twenties, three tens, and a five. “Thanks, ma’am.”
Her full cheeks pinkened. “I gave you smaller bills—easier to use around here.”
Touching the brim of his hat, he folded the bills, stuffed them in his back pocket, and headed out the door toward the hardwarestore, where he bought a pair of work gloves and shot the breeze for a few minutes with Angelo.
A lean, elderly Hispanic man with a broad smile and sharp, dark eyes, Angelo gave Brady a serious once-over the moment he stepped into the store, then grilled him for a good five minutes on where he’d been and why he’d come to Saguaro Springs.
A man who asked so many questions would likely share his findings with his cronies, establishing Brady’s “identity” even further.
Two down, one to go.And with his last stop, he’d be done.
At Juan’s Cantina, he stepped into the dark interior and hesitated for a second as his eyes adjusted to the light.
A woman who had to weigh a good three hundred pounds braced her arms on the bar and cocked her head at his approach.
Her handsome face creased into a friendly smile when he dropped a five in front of her. “Diet Coke with ice. Keep the change.”
She skated a cardboard coaster across the bar and pinned it with the glass, dead center in front of him.
