Elusive Echoes (23 page)

"Whoo-hoo. Straight to the point, aren't
you?" He looped his arms lazily over the back of the barstool and
sat back, never taking his slitted dark eyes off her.

"I may be, but apparently you aren't. Either
get to it or get out."

"You've gone cold, sis. Used to be a time
you wanted to take care of me."

"You don't much look like you need taking
care of these days." She knew she'd never bully him into making his
pitch outside of his own timing, so she did the one thing that had
always worked when they were teenagers. She walked away.

She was at the other end of the bar and
headed for the kitchen when he caved.

"Okay. I sent you information I thought you
might be able to use to find your baby."

Mel looked at him over her shoulder and
affected a tone of indifference. "What makes you think I'm
looking?"

"Because you cried yourself to sleep every
night from the time they took her away until you left us."

Her composure slipped, and she turned so he
wouldn't see that he had surprised her. Too late.

"You didn't think I noticed, did you?" His
voice softened, became almost seductive. "When I found the stuff
about the baby in Nick's things, I passed it on to you, thinking it
might help you find her."

Mel stopped walking. She turned but didn't
move back up the bar. "In his things? Where's Nick?"

Denny's face took on a troubled look. "He's
gone. Last April."

Mel tried to figure out how she felt about
that and couldn't. So she changed tacks. "Why don't you get out of
the business then?"

Keeping his eyes on Mel, Denny pushed to his
feet and walked closer to where she stood. His smile didn't reach
his eyes; it never had. "I'm working my last job right now."

Mel stood still, waiting. Getting the marks
to come to the con instead of the other way around kept them on the
hook and allayed any growing suspicion. The best grifter not only
avoided showing desperation, but actually put on an air of
disinterest in the outcome.

As she studied her brother, Mel almost
believed he was interested in getting out. Almost. She wondered if
maybe he believed it himself. But it was always just one more job,
and then after that, just one more. The lure of the game was nearly
as powerful as the payout.

"And what
is
this last job you're
working?"

His face took on a mask. "It's just a little
shell game."

"Here, Denny? Where I happen
to live?" She rolled her eyes and started walking again, tossing
the challenge over her shoulder. "No one in Orson's Folly has the
kind of money
you'd
need to retire."

He showed his teeth, but it would be a
mistake to call his expression a smile. "The money's not here, Mel.
Just the con."

She schooled her features into nonchalance
before turning around. "And you need my help with something?" It
was so easy to inject that little warble into her voice, the one
that said maybe she'd make a deal . . . for the right price.

His triumphant look was brief. He was
getting good at hiding his thoughts. But she was still better at
reading him than he was at hiding. That was why Nick had often put
her on as the lead in their scams. She could read people and spot
those who would be vulnerable to the grift. Those who would eat
from her hand and believe every lie she told.

"I don't do that stuff anymore." The thought
of getting involved in a con again was nauseating, but Mel sighed,
pasted a look of longing on her face. "I've been out a long time. I
wouldn't be good enough to help you."

Denny's smile turned cunning. "That's the
beauty of this job. You don't have to do anything but stay out of
the way when you run into me. Pretend you don't recognize me."

"Oh? And where am I likely to see you?"

"Look, you don't have to stay away from
anywhere, and you can't change your routine. You'll see me around
town, and whenever you do, unless someone introduces us, you just
pretend you don't know me."

Mel smiled. "And if I don't blow your
operation, what do I get? A cut?"

"Is that what you want? Money? I was going
to let you go through the rest of Nick's things and see where he
took your baby." His smile was easy.

And completely false.

"I don't know," she hedged. "You didn't
really give me much to go on with your notes. Give me something
else, something that'll be obviously helpful. Then I'll think about
keeping my mouth shut."

Denny slumped in his seat the way he used to
when he'd been beaten. But he'd have lost that trait by now, so he
was figuring to play her by doing what she'd expect. He'd figured
wrong. Still, Mel suspected she'd overplayed her hand and backed
off a step.

"You don't have any more." Shaking her head,
she disconnected from the conversation, continued walking, and
slipped through the silver doors into the kitchen. Once the doors
swung closed, Mel sagged against the stainless steel counter,
holding on to the edge to keep from crumpling to the floor.

"Melanie, are you ill?"

She shook her head. "No, Charlie, I'll be
okay in a minute." She knew she wouldn't put off the cook for very
long, so she took a deep breath and blew it out, then stood.

Charlotte Morrow Haines was slim, somewhere
in her mid-fifties. She could be very pretty when she dressed up,
which she did only once or twice a year. Typically, she was happier
in worn-in jeans and a simple blouse. And of course her big white
apron, which she wore in the kitchen at Valentine's. Her hair was
salt and pepper, cut in short, feathery layers.

Widowed and at loose ends, having sent her
four children off into the world, she'd been working in the kitchen
at Valentine's since Sandy had first bought the place and expanded
the menu. Charlie had a natural tendency to mother, which explained
why she was comfortable in the kitchen. But more to the point,
she'd taken on both Sandy and Mel as her own and tended to be
over-protective.

And she was on the way toward Mel with a
glass of water and a concerned expression. "You're tired. You work
yourself too hard. And that useless sexpot Sandy hired said
something about you being late, didn't she?"

Mel looked up with a frown. She accepted the
glass of water and sipped. "Thanks. I'm just tired. Did LeeAnn say
something to you about me being late?"

Her lips set in an angry line, Charlie made
an impatient gesture. "She was fretting about you being here on
time or not being here at all starting a half hour before her shift
ended."

Charlie's disdain for LeeAnn was nothing
new. They hadn't gotten along from the time the young woman had
walked in looking for work. Mel sighed. It might be a moot point if
LeeAnn ended up quitting.

"I should have called to let her know I was
running behind." Mel looked around the sparkling kitchen. "Has
Ricky called in?" It would have surprised her if he had. The boy
attended school full time, worked part time for Valentine's and put
in long hours alongside Sean and Ryan at the ranch but had never
once called in sick since he'd been hired at age fifteen.

Charlie's face registered alarm. "No. He
hasn't called you?"

Mel pulled her cell phone from her pocket
and dialed Ricky's number. "Straight to voice mail." She looked at
her watch. "Give him another fifteen, then I'll call out to the
ranch. I've got to get back out front. If he comes in the back way,
have him pop his head out to let me know he got here, okay?"

"Absolutely," agreed Charlie.

Mel drew a breath for strength then exited
the kitchen. It was anticlimactic to find Denny had left. Leo
Pickens and Ed Lantree were just taking seats at the end of the
bar. Thursday was the day the two local proprietors typically took
supper together at Valentine's.

As she came to the place
where Denny had sat, she noticed he'd left her a note on a napkin.
Black ink stood out against the white napkin as the words leapt up
to grab her eyes.
In case you forgot,
Nick's girlfriend when you had your baby was Vicki Forrester. More
where that came from. –D!

Instead of his usual freakishly neat script,
he'd written each letter block-style, possibly striving to alter
his handwriting for some reason. She shook her head. That signature
was classic Denny.

"Sloppy, really sloppy, brother dear."

He'd made certain not to mention that "more"
came with a price, though, and he'd said nothing about needing her
help to run a con. She folded the napkin carefully and tucked it
into her back pocket. At this point, it was something to give to
Joe rather than DC.

She smiled a welcome to her two customers.
"Gentlemen, what can I get you this evening?"

Always the kidder, Leo Pickens, owner of the
feed and tack store, looked around at the empty bar. "Gentlemen?
Oh, you mean us?"

The normalcy of work settled her nerves. She
sincerely hoped Denny opted to stay away, at least for the evening.
Stepping into the kitchen, Mel caught Charlie's eye as she turned
in the dinner orders.

Charlie shook her head. "Still no sign of
him. I'm worried, Mel. It's not at all like the boy."

Nodding grimly, Mel dialed Ricky's cell
again and when it went to voice mail, she stepped out to the
parking lot, hoping to see him pull in. But he wasn't out there
either. She chewed her lip as she dialed Sean's number.

She could hear the smile in his voice when
he answered. "Hey, Sweetness, I was just getting ready to
leave."

"Sean." She chewed on her upper lip. Oh, how
she hated giving him worrisome news. "Ricky never showed for work
and he hasn't called."

His answer was immediately serious, his tone
sharp. "When did you expect him?"

"He's scheduled for four o'clock but he's
almost always here by three-thirty. His phone goes right to voice
mail." Mel blew out a steadying breath. "I know that doesn't seem
too late, but—"

"But it's not Ricky's style. I know, Mel."
She heard him draw his own deep breath. "I'll check with Ryan and
Dad to see if they know anything. Call me if he shows?"

"Of course."

As Mel closed her phone, a troubled feeling
settled in her stomach. She pressed the tips of her fingers to her
temples and rubbed in a circular motion, hoping to stave off the
killer headache that threatened.

An hour later, still no Ricky, and nothing
from Sean. It took less than an hour to get from the ranch to town,
so Mel knew something was wrong. Cold on the inside, trembling on
the outside, Mel kept mixing up orders. Thankfully, the bar had
fewer customers than normal, even for a Thursday. When her cell
phone chirped, she whipped it from her pocket, almost dropping it
in her haste.

"Sean?"

The service was spotty, and she only heard
some of the words between clicks on the line and bursts of static,
but she got the gist. "Got him . . . sending . . . home . . .
explain when . . . get there."

By the time Sean pulled open the front door
and walked in, some ten minutes later, Mel had calmed down. His
grin seemed a little strained, but he'd said Ricky was going home,
not to the hospital or the police. She wanted to run over to him,
but something in his demeanor kept her rooted behind the bar.

She delivered a beer to Henky Tenbaum, then
met Sean at the other end of the bar. Her lips twitched when she
noticed the black smudge extending from one cheek up over his nose.
"You been overhauling an engine? You're covered in grease."

"Ricky had engine trouble." Sean wiped at
his cheek, and managed to smear the mark. "He was stranded in the
one dead cell zone between home and town and he'd grabbed the
broken two-way."

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah. He'd have had a long walk if you
hadn't been worried about him, though." Sean scratched his jaw. "I
think that old truck's a goner. Ricky and I got it to Blackstone's
and I sent him home in mine." He winked at Mel. "I thought I might
use my spare key to your place and crash here so I can check with
Blackstone tomorrow when he opens. What do you say, Sweetness?"

A slow smile tugged at Mel's lips. "Oh, and
I bet you're picturing yourself using that key about now, running
up there, maybe soaking in my tub, then kicking back, aren't
you?"

Sean answered back with a sheepish grin.
"Kinda, yeah."

"Yeah." She nodded twice, morphed it into a
headshake. "Uh-uh. I don't think so. See, you just sent my only
waiter home, leaving us very short-handed this evening."

"Yeah, Ricky was really
shaken. Sorry about that, but I don't see what I . . . can . . ."
He caught sight of Mel's secret smile. "Oh, no. Heck,
no
. I'm no
waiter."

Mel sighed and set a sorrowful look on her
face. "Oh. Okay. I know you worked hard all day. You go ahead and
take yourself off and have a rest. I'll sneak in so I don't wake
you later." She turned, shoulders hunched, and started to walk
toward the other end of the bar.

"Okay," he called out.

She pivoted and flashed him a huge grin.
"Really?" Then she allowed her laugh to bubble out. Sean added
infinite levels of delight to her life. When she was with him, her
heart did funny acrobatics in her chest. And teasing him was just
one of those perks that made life so interesting. "Relax. I'm
messing with you. I've got this covered. You go on up."

"Oh, no. I can't leave you without help."
His voice was smooth and he smiled sweetly. Mel knew she was about
to regret teasing him in the first place. "Give me ten minutes to
clean up and you've got yourself a waiter for the evening."

Chapter Fourteen

"You did good tonight." Mel
flipped the lock on the front door and killed the light on
the
open
sign. The
jukebox played one of her favorites, a lively pop song, but it
would wind down on its own.