Page 195 of Love Bites

His eyes had a determined glint. I dropped my purse on the floor at my feet. I could use a glassful of courage, anyway. “Where are those cookies?”

He pulled a plate out of the stove and set it on the counter in front of me.

“Did Margo make these for you?”

Harvey shook his head. “My mama’s own recipe.”

Sweet gooey goodness drew a groan from my throat. The crazy old buzzard surprised me at every turn—including the small armory of shotguns and rifles I’d stumbled upon in his bedroom while taking pictures. How many guns did one man need? It’s not like they were disposable. “So, you still hearing funny noises out behind your barn?”

“Yep. I found a mutilated deer carcass back there the other morning. A big, 12-point buck.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Mutilated? Like by a poacher?”

“Nah. They’d have taken the antlers. That’s an impressive rack.” He grinned. “Kind of like your neighbor’s.”

“You mean Miss Geary?” Harvey had ogled Aunt Zoe’s neighbor the evening we’d gone out to eat with the kids. She’d been weeding her flower bed wearing a tube top, short-shorts, and a pair of heels. I hoped my legs looked half as good as hers when I hit sixty.

“Damned straight. I have to get me some of that.” Harvey growled and took a big bite of cookie. “So what’s on tap for today? Anything fun?”

Chewing, I shook my head. Nothing I wanted Harvey to know about, anyway.

Last night after the kids went to bed, I’d snagged the previous Wednesday’s copy of theBlack Hills Trailblazerfrom Aunt Zoe’s workshop, looking for any details I could find on the most recent missing girl, Tina Tucker. She’d made page two. Why not the front page? Did Deadwood’s mayor have his boot heel on the chief editor’s throat, squelching any tales that might tarnish the town’s good-times reputation?

The article consisted of text only, Tina’s ‘Missing’ poster’s picture absent. A few short paragraphs explained how Tina had left her grandparents’ house around seven Sunday evening to walk the four blocks home to her mom’s place. She’d never made it. Tina’s mother had gotten a flat tire on the way home from her job at a Sturgis diner. She’d pulled in the drive an hour later than usual and found the house empty, her daughter gone without a trace.

The police said they were looking into the matter. What that meant, I have no idea, but the “no current suspects” bit didn’t make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. The mother was “not fit for an interview,” per Tina’s aunt, who also mentioned the little girl’s “shocked and devastated” grandparents. I wondered why nobody brought up Tina’s father. Was he dead? Or no longer in the picture like my kid’s dad?

My gut ached after reading the story, my heart torn for the grief-stricken family. I’d checked in on Addy and Layne two more times before going to bed, wishing I hadn’t sold my baby monitor with most of my other belongings when I’d moved back in with my parents last year.

All of my middle-of-the night fretting about missing girls had spurred me into action this morning. Before heading to work, I’d looked up Addy’s new friend’s address in the phone book, planning to drop by Kelly’s house for a surprise visit after leaving Harvey’s. If all was hunky-dory there, I’d consider letting Addy spend the night. While I didn’t want to let Addy sleep out of my reach, I knew my daughter—there’d be no end to this when-can-I-have-a-slumber-party-at-Kelly’s whining.

“Thanks for the picnic the other night,” I said, grabbing another cookie. “The kids enjoyed themselves.”

Harvey nodded while pouring me a Kahlúa. He topped it off with some milk. “That Kelly Wymonds girl sure was quiet the whole evening. You think her head is still all messed up from her little friend disappearin’ last summer?”

I froze in mid-chew. “How do you know about that? Did Kelly say something to you?”

“Naw.” He pushed the glass of Kahlúa my way. “I remember reading about it in the paper. That was the first girl gone missin’, ya know.”

For someone who lived in Boonieville USA, Harvey had his stethoscope on Deadwood’s back, listening for any rattles.

“So I’ve heard. Do you know Kelly’s dad?”

Snorting, Harvey said, “That dip shit? Sure, I do. He could have been a big-time football player. But after too much boozin’, he didn’t have the gumption to graduate. The local colleges didn’t want him after he flunked out of school.”

I sipped my drink and crammed half a cookie in my mouth. My picture of Kelly’s dad was morphing. Now I could add “alcoholic” to the growing list of disparaging adjectives likeover-sexedanddim-witted. Addy’s chance of getting to spend the night at Kelly’s was shrinking faster than a rain puddle in Death Valley.

Harvey gulped his Kahlúa and milk like it was a shot. “Hard to believe that knucklehead could produce such a cute daughter. She must take after her mama.” He refilled his glass.

“How do you know all this about Kelly’s dad?”

He shrugged. “Drinking holes are filled with homemade shrinks and drunken gabbers. You choose your role depending on how early in the day you show up.”

I preferred playing the shrink. My dirty laundry didn’t need airing, especially in such a small town. It’d taken me years to live down that damned incident with the cop in the movie theatre bathroom.

“I hear you’re gonna try to sell the Hessler house,” Harvey said, biting into another cookie.

Christ, the ink was barely dry on the contract. “If you’re going to tell me it’s haunted, you’re too late. I’ve already heard about it.”

---