Page 112 of The Talk of Coyote Canyon

Hendrix gestured toward Ben’s Dodge Ram. “If you didn’t do it, there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll tell the police this picture doesn’t match the tires on your truck, and they’ll have to look elsewhere.” He wasn’t sure the police would ever really get involved. As far as he knew, Jay hadn’t even bothered to file a report. But he was using whatever leverage he could to make this happen. He needed something solid to present to his aunt.

Uncertainty replaced Ben’s earlier conviction. “I didn’t do it!” he said, more emphatically this time.

“Then the tread won’t match, and you’ll be eliminated,” Hendrix repeated.

“Oh, go ahead and let him,” Delia said.

Ben still seemed torn, but he didn’t argue with her, so Hendrix walked to Ben’s truck and knelt down to compare tread patterns.

Ben, who’d followed him, stood over him while he did it, hands jammed in the pockets of his worn jeans. Delia came out, too.

“See?” Ben said, clearly relieved when it became evident that the patterns weren’t anything alike.

Hendrix said nothing, just walked the few steps required to reach Delia’s old Tacoma.

“Now you want to checkmytires?” Delia cried as they watched him.

Hendrix said nothing as he worked his way around the vehicle. Since they weren’t actively trying to stop him, he didn’t see any reason to leave without getting what he’d come for. But none of her tires were a match, either.

He stood to face them. “You’re good. I’m sorry to have bothered you and appreciate your cooperation.”

“Of course we’re good,” Ben snapped, ignoring his apology. “What, did you think I might’ve taken Delia’s Tacoma to ruin that well? Or she might’ve done it with me?”

Hendrix raised his hands, making it clear he wasn’t looking for a fight. “Like I told you, I’m just trying to eliminate anyone who has any motivation to see something terrible happen to Ellen.”

“You and your aunt and uncle have disliked her the longest—and the most,” Ben pointed out.

Hendrix slid his phone in his pocket. “Exactly why I’m worried about where the blame will fall.”

“Maybe itwasyour aunt who sabotaged the well,” Delia said. “We have the same stylist, so I’ve been at the salon when she’s been there, too. I’ve heard some of the things she has to say about Ellen.”

“She had no business saying those things,” Hendrix said as he started toward his own vehicle. “She doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about.”

“Wait... You’re on Ellen’s side now?” Ben called after him, but Hendrix didn’t bother to answer.

Stuart had asked Ellen if she could take a few minutes to talk to him in private, and Talulah had said she had to go out front and open the diner, anyway, so they could use the kitchen.

It took her a few minutes to get what she needed, however. The two of them had been standing and waiting, feeling uncomfortable knowing they had what would, at the very least, amount to an awkward conversation ahead of them.

Ellen was more nervous than she would’ve been had she not been involved with Hendrix. Before the past couple of weeks, she had only herself and her own feelings to worry about. Now she had his, too—and didn’t want to mishandle this, since she might not be the only one to pay a price if she did.

“I’m just about there,” Talulah said as she finished squaring things away and carried the lemon cake she’d frosted into the front, along with an almond coconut cake from the fridge, then returned for a chocolate cream pie and a pan of thick brownies with chocolate chips inside and mint frosting on top.

“I can help you carry everything out,” Ellen offered when her friend came back a second time.

“No. I’ve got it,” she insisted and grabbed a cherry cobbler from a cart where she could stack what she baked. “I just forgot this. You’re good now.”

When the door swung shut behind Talulah, Ellen looked at her father. She had such mixed emotions where he was concerned. Sometimes, she couldn’t believe he was as bad as she imagined. Other times she felt his actions spoke for themselves. “What is it you want?” she asked quietly. She’d learned from when he’d visited her at the Slemboskis’ that it didn’t take much for him to leave without speaking his mind, and she didn’t want him to go before telling her why he’d sought her out to begin with. She’d kicked herself for doing that the last time.

“I have a few questions for you,” he said. “I’m hoping you’ll be willing to answer them.”

“If you’re going to ask me if I sabotaged the Haslem well so I could make it look like it was your wife, I didn’t,” she said.

He was holding two manila envelopes, but he slipped his free hand into the pocket of his work pants and stared at the floor for a few seconds before lifting his gaze. “I wasn’t going to ask that. I know you’d never vandalize someone else’s property.”

“Really?” she said, truly surprised. “How wouldyouknow?”

“You’ve never been dishonest.”

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