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Shane grabbed the rumpled sheet and went to drape it over Agnes, but paused, taking in her soft, round naked body for a few seconds, then carefully placed it over her. He reached down and grabbed his pants and put them on, fastening the holster for his Glock in place. He slid his feet into his boots.
A figure wearing a straw hat walked down the dock, a tackle box in hand, casting a long shadow over the water to one side. Shane opened the screen door, and Rhett shambled down the path to greet the invader.
They met near the gazebo. “Detective Xavier.”
“Mister Shane Smith.”
“How do you know that?”
“Saw the scrapbook your uncle keeps in the diner under the counter. Saw that picture of you in the hospital bed, getting the Silver Star when you were in the Rangers. Your uncle talked some about you.”
“My uncle has a big mouth.” Joey has a scrapbook on me? “Not big enough. So you were a war hero and got wounded?”
“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Shane said. “Don’t want to have that happen again,” Xavier said. Rhett peed.
Shane said, “So where is Detective Hammond this fine morning?”
“He volunteered to get some background on the wedding,” Xavier said. “See if that might explain the unfortunate break-in. I believe he knows the bride.”
Rhett continued to pee.
Shane noted the tackle box. “Going fishing? Water’s back where you came from.” He nodded to the small boat tied off at the floating dock.
“What I’m fishing for is in the house.” Xavier tried to get around Shane.
Shane moved to block his way. “And that is?” Xavier halted. “I don’t like that basement.”
“It is dank and dark.”
“I don’t like that crime scene.” He made to get by once more. Shane folded his arms. “You said it was an accident”
“It was.”
“Then?”
“I want to poke around.” Xavier tried to step around once more, and Shane edged into his way.
“Poking around can be dangerous.”
Xavier looked up at him, exasperated. “What are you trying to say, son?”
“Already said it.”
Rhett finished peeing and came over and sniffed Xavier’s shoes, seemed satisfied, and ambled toward the house. Great guard dog, Shane thought.
Xavier looked at Shane’s outfit of pants, pistol, and no shirt, and then glanced up at the porch. “You sleep outside?”
Shane turned and looked through the screen door. There was no sign of Agnes or the sheets that had been tumbled there. A woman who could wake up fast and then remove evidence silently. His kind of girl.
“Yep. I like fresh air.”
Xavier nodded, his exasperation evaporating into amusement. “Right. Miss Agnes up yet?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Right.” Xavier gave a lazy grin and walked around Shane. “Quite a woman, that Miss Agnes.”
“Yep,” Shane said, following him up the walk. “Bit sharp-tempered, though.”
