"Got their business done. In my studio." Eve's mouth was drawn into a thin line.
I picked up the gun again and did what I hadn't done before: broke it open, emptied it, tested the action. It worked. It always worked, rain, snow, sleet, or gloom of night. The mail used to be like that, too.
I reloaded the gun, put it down, went and got my socks and boots. The boots were tight and not quite dry, the laces squeaking a little through the eyeletted holes.
"What are you going to do?" Eve asked me.
"I'm going to have a look around, see if I can figure out what it is I'm not supposed to know."
"Are you sure you're all right?"
"I'm fine." I buttoned my shirt. I slipped my holster on, moved the strap around on my left shoulder searching for a comfortable, or at least bearable, way to wear it. There wasn't one. I took it off.
Leo had jumped off the couch as soon as I stood; now he was sitting by the door, brushing the floor with his tail. Suddenly his back bristled. He spun to face the door, started to bark.
"Someone's coming," Eve said.
She opened the inner door, stepped through the vestibule, Leo barking furiously beside her. I followed her out onto the porch, in time to see the sheriff's car roll to a stop in the driveway in front of the house.
Brinkman unfolded his long, booted legs from the car's passenger-side door. The heavy deputy got out the other side. Eve told Leo to stay on the porch with us and he did, growling deep in his throat.
Brinkman's face was unreadable as he stood at the bottom of the porch steps looking up. "Well," he finally said. "You sure do turn up in the strangest places, city boy."
"Is there a problem, Sheriff?" Eve asked.
"Well, ma'am, maybe not," Brinkman drawled. "I just came by to ask what you know about a car parked a half mile west of here, along Ten. An Acura." He looked at me. "Six, seven years old. Gray." Back to her: "Before I get it towed."
"Oh, Christ, Brinkman," I said wearily. "You know it's mine." Even on the protected porch the wind was cold. I suppressed a shiver.
He nodded unhurriedly. "What's it doing there?"
"I had trouble."
"When?"
"Last night."
"In the storm?"
"Before that."
"So you came here and bothered the lady?"
"Thank you for your concern, Sheriff," Eve said. "But Mr. Smith is a friend of mine."
"Well, that's fine. I worry about you, is all, Miss Colgate. All alone out here like you are."
Eve smiled. "I've managed over the years, thank you."
"Yes, ma'am, you have. Though you might want to be a little careful how you choose your friends."
"I am," Eve said. "Very careful."
Brinkman smiled pleasantly, nodded. "Your power and phone back on yet?"
"Yes," she answered. "Since about nine."
"Good. Then Smith can get a tow truck for that car. Save the county money." His grin turned nasty. "Why don't you call Obermeyer's? I hear they got a kid there real good with Jap cars."
"I hear he hasn't been in much lately," I said.
"That so? You suppose he's on vacation?"
I shrugged. "Florida's popular this time of year."
"Yeah, but it's no fun alone. You know a girl name of Alice Brown?"
"I met her yesterday."
"You were looking for Jimmy Antonelli, she says."
"That's true."
"You find him?"
"She said she didn't know where he was."
"She told me that, too. You believe her?"
"Most women don't he to me until they know me better."
"I got the pretty boys from the state to put a tail on her."
"Good luck."
"She's too high class for that punk, anyhow."
"I liked her, too."
"But what I hear," he said, lifting his hat, scratching his high, domed forehead, "what I hear, he had a new sweetie anyway. Mark Sanderson's little girl. Sweet, blond, and fifteen. And guess what?"
"Tell me."
"Her daddy hasn't seen her for days." He settled his hat. "God, I hope you're right about Florida, Smith. Lot of state lines between here and there." He shook his head, chuckling to himself. "Hey, he's not at your place, is he, Smith?" "No."
"Well, you're right. We looked."
"You searched my place?"
He made an innocent face. "We had a warrant. Nice place, too. Nice piano. Course, alls I can play is 'Chopsticks,' none of that culture stuff you city folks go in for. But it sounded pretty good. Didn't it, Art?" Behind his sunglasses the deputy nodded.
The thought of Brinkman's long, mean fingers banging on my piano brought hot blood to my face. "Brinkman—" I started, stopped as Eve's hand closed on my arm.
Brinkman smiled, walked back around the cruiser, pulled the door open. "Get that car taken care of, Smith," he said. "That's a bad stretch, and I don't want no more trouble on that damn road."
"No more than what?"
He leaned on the top of the car. "You folks had better things to do last night than listen to the radio, huh?
"Well, seems someone else had a problem, too. Someone in a blue Chevy truck. Ran off the road down there in the valley, flipped into the gorge. We're pulling it out now. Made a helluva mess." He grinned a grin that showed me all his teeth.
My heart jolted. "Who?" I asked. He didn't answer. "Goddammit, Brinkman, who was in the truck?"
"What the hell you getting so excited about? Who're you expecting was in the truck?"
I started to move down the steps toward him, but Eve held my arm.
"Sheriff, who was it?" she asked.
"Well, ma'am," Brinkman drawled, "well, that's the strange thing." He adjusted his hat again. "Doesn't seem to have been anyone in it."
"What the hell is this, Brinkman?"
"You tell me, city boy. Why would someone send a new Chevy four-by-four into the ravine, just to stand there and watch it fall?"
"How do you know no one was in it?"
"Shape that truck was in, if anyone'd been in it we'd be scraping 'em off the insides now."
"Maybe the driver was thrown."
"Well, now, we thought of that, too. Checked the area, but damned if we didn't come up empty." He started to get into the car, paused as if struck by a sudden thought. "Now, no one being in that truck doesn't mean it wasn't interesting."
"In what way?" I asked. My hands were clenching and unclenching themselves.
"Two ways. One, seems to be a little blood smeared on the seat. Not a lot, just a little. And the other, there's this nine-millimeter automatic we pulled from the cab." He grinned a final grin, said, "See you around, Smith. Miss Colgate, you take care of yourself."
He and the deputy climbed back in the car. They U- turned in the driveway, drifted slowly under the bare chestnuts back to the road.
"Why does he dislike you so?" Eve asked as we headed down the hill behind the house, Leo charging back and forth beside us.
"Last fall," I said, "when he picked up Jimmy, what he really wanted to do was get his hands on Frank Grice."
"The man you told me about?"
"Yes. He wants Grice badly. But he can't make anything stick to him. Grice is always a step ahead. It drives Brinkman crazy."
"Well, he is the sheriff, and this man Grice is a criminal."
"It's beyond that. This is Brinkman's county. Grice isn't just a crook, he's an outsider. Like I am."
Pushed by a strong wind, the heavy clouds were rushing west, but the sky they left behind remained dull and gray. I turned up my collar. Eve, beside me, wore only her sweatshirt over a sweater, and didn't seem to mind the cold. Or maybe it really wasn't that cold at all.
I went on. "Grice had people running drugs from Florida to Albany for an Albany boss, then ditching the courier cars here. That was Jimmy's job, getting rid of the cars. Everybody knew it, but no one could prove it, and Jimmy wouldn't talk. He was offered a deal but he wouldn't take it. He was prepared to go to prison." I shook my head.
"Honor among thieves?" Eve suggested.
"He's a brave, stupid kid. He thinks he's tough, but he'd've been eaten alive. But we were lucky. Brinkman wanted Grice so badly he beat the shit out of Jimmy—" I caught myself. "I'm sorry," I said.