A South Texas Christmas. Stella Bagwell
can’t think of one. You see, I’ve never traveled on my own and—” She paused, then went on in a disgusted way, “Oh, this was a bad idea anyway. Let’s just forget it.”
Neil jumped off the corner of the desk. “Ms. Crockett, why can’t we discuss this over the telephone? It would be much simpler for both of us. Why don’t I go have my lunch and I’ll call you when I get back? You won’t even have to be out the expense of another phone call,” Neil suggested.
“Wait just a moment,” she said in a suddenly hushed tone. “Someone is coming into the room.”
Frowning, Neil started to ask her what that had to do with anything, but she must have partially covered the receiver with her hand. He could hear the muted sound of voices in the background. The conversation went on for less than a minute and then she came back onto the line.
“Mr. Rankin, are you still there?”
“Still here.”
“Great,” she said with a measure of relief, then, “I’m sorry about that. You see, my mother works in the same house as I do. That was her. She’s going out this afternoon. I think—maybe it would be better if you did call me back. At least I could give you a brief rundown.”
Neil had the feeling he was agreeing to some sort of clandestine meeting or something worse. But he was already this far into this strange exchange. He couldn’t drop it all now. He’d be curious for the rest of his life.
“All right, Ms. Crockett. I’ll call you back in about an hour. How’s that?”
“Fine. I’ll give you my extension number. But if someone other than me does happen to answer, just say that you’re calling to—to talk to me about a computer I’m thinking about purchasing.”
Now she was prompting him to make up stories, he thought incredibly. Something smelled very fishy about this whole setup.
“I’m a lawyer, Ms. Crockett. Not a computer salesman.”
“Please! Just do as I ask. If you can’t be covert about this, then there’s no use in us going on.”
He looked at Connie and rolled his eyes. The secretary shook her finger at him.
What the hell, Neil thought. At the very worst, Ms. Raine Crockett was trying to set him up, but for what or why he couldn’t guess. He would have to find out for himself.
“All right. I can be discreet,” he promised.
“Good. Let me give you the number.”
Neil took down the telephone number, then added a last warning, “Ms. Crockett, before you hang up, let me tell you right now that if I were you, I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”
“I wouldn’t know how to do that,” she said, then clicked the phone dead in his ear.
Chapter Two
The moment Neil dropped the receiver back on its hook, Connie asked, “What was that? Or should I ask who was that?”
“Some woman down in south Texas,” Neil said wonderingly.
Connie was enthralled. “So? What do you think?”
With a wry shake of his head, Neil looked at his secretary. “You know, when Nevada first came to me about finding Linc’s mother, I never thought the search would turn into me dealing with people who have more problems than this ole boy knows how to deal with.”
Frowning, Connie said, “You’re making her sound like a mental case—or something worse.”
Neil peeled the phone number from Connie’s notepad, folded the paper, then stowed it away in his shirt pocket.
“How do you know she isn’t? You don’t know what was said on the other end of the line.”
“I don’t have to know the whole conversation,” Connie argued. “The woman is obviously searching for someone she loves. You could show a little more sensitivity, you know. What’s the matter with you, anyway? If people didn’t have problems we’d never have any clients.”
Neil had practiced law for thirteen years. Once he’d passed the bar exam and gotten his license, he’d gone to work in Farmington. Not a huge city by any means, but compared to Aztec it had been like moving from the secluded countryside to downtown Manhattan. The firm had specialized in wrongful lawsuits and he’d hated the experience so much that for a brief time he’d considered giving up law completely. Until he’d come back home to Aztec and decided to open an office of his own where he could help people with an array of needs rather than constantly suing someone.
His clients trickled in sporadically and sometimes not at all. But that was all right with Neil. He didn’t want to be one of those harried men who died before they ever had a hand on a retirement check. Like his father had.
“Yeah, yeah. I need to be a nicer person. This afternoon when I call the woman back, I’ll try to be more sympathetic.” As he hurried to the door, he shot her a wicked grin. “And don’t look at me in that shameful way, honey. You know how I hate to disappoint you.”
Rolling her eyes, Connie motioned for him to leave and chuckling under his breath, Neil shut the door behind him and headed down the sidewalk toward the Wagon Wheel.
For early December, the day was mild. Most often, this time of year brought brutally cold weather to this northern corner of the state. It wasn’t unusual to see snow and even blizzard conditions, so the warmth of the weak, wintry sun shining down on his broad shoulders was an unexpected pleasure.
The Wagon Wheel Café was situated off Main Street and had been in existence for more years than Neil had been alive. It was far from the nicest eating place in Aztec. The vinyl booths were worn and the Formica bar running the length of the room had lost its red and white pattern from all the elbows and dishes sliding over it. But the down-home, friendly atmosphere and good food made up for any shortcomings. Once Thanksgiving had passed, the waitresses had cheered up the place by hanging Christmas bells and glittery tinsel from the ceiling. Poinsettias sat on every table and behind the bar a CD player constantly spun songs of the season.
During the weekdays, Neil always ate lunch here. But he didn’t often get to lunch with the busy county sheriff. And now that Quito and Clementine were married and trying to start a family, he saw his old friend even less.
When Neil entered the café, he immediately spotted Quito sitting in a booth situated by a plate-glass window overlooking the adjacent street. A stranger to Neil was standing at the edge of the table talking amiably to the sheriff, but as soon as he walked up to the booth, the other man politely excused himself.
“Sorry if I interrupted something,” Neil apologized to his friend as he slipped into the seat. “And before you start in—yes, I’m aware that I’m late, but it couldn’t be helped.”
Quito, who had a mixture of Navajo and Mexican blood, was a handsome man of rough features and a body built like a small bull. Neil had often wished he had just half of the sheriff’s charisma. It was no wonder that the man had easily held his office for the past fifteen years.
“I’m not griping,” Quito replied. “But I was beginning to wonder.”
“Have you ordered yet?” Neil asked.
“No. I waited for you.”
Before Neil could reply, a waitress appeared at the side of their table and the two men quickly ordered the blue plate special. Today it was pork roast with brown gravy, mashed potatoes, corn and cherry cobbler. Not a dieter’s dream, but Neil didn’t have to worry about any flab on his six-foot frame. At least, not yet. But he was thirty-nine years old. Who knew what middle-aged maladies might strike him next year?
“So were you flooded with clients this morning?” Quito asked once the waitress filled their coffee cups and left the table.
Neil laughed. “Not hardly. Other than me, I think Connie’s the