Long Time Gone (2 page)

“Pleased to meet you.” She yawned in his face. Well, okay then, not a drunk.

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “We got a shipment of grapes last night. I’m usually more alert than this. I need to go home and sleep until the next load comes in, preferably in another week.”

Allie nodded. “Harvest season. I remember. You going to have a new wine for the Hill Country Wine and Food Festival?”

“Yes.” Morgan paused, then shook her head. “No. Maybe.”

“Well, that seems to take care of the possibilities.” Cal grinned.

Morgan sighed. “Esteban’s got one ready to go, but ATF hasn’t approved the label yet. We’ve been waiting on it for weeks now, but with Homeland Security it takes forever.”

“Homeland Security?” Erik set his Dr. Pepper down on the table and pulled up his chair. “Wine is now considered a lethal weapon?”

“You haven’t tasted the wine from Castleberry’s, have you?” Morgan shook her head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be dissing the truly lousy wine being produced by our competitors. ATF, which is now part of Homeland Security, has to approve the text on wine labels and wine labels are not high on their list of priorities.”

“So what are you going to call it?” Allie asked. “Is it red or white?”

“Red. It’s Esteban Avrogado’s first blend. He asked me for some advice, and I came up with a new name so we can market it.”

Erik couldn’t tell for sure in the gloom of the Dew Drop, but it almost looked like she was blushing.

“It’s a Bordeaux blend—cabernet, merlot and cabernet franc. Only we can’t call it Bordeaux because of the EU rules since it’s not
from
Bordeaux.”

“So you’re calling it…” Allie gave her an encouraging smile.

“Bored Ducks.” Morgan looked around the table expectantly.

Six faces stared blankly back.

“Well, because it’s… I mean, people don’t always know how to pronounce…” Morgan’s lips thinned to a taut line. For a moment, she looked close to tears.

Erik had a sudden, unaccountable urge to get that look off her face. “That’s funny,” he said, pushing his lips into something that was in the neighborhood of a grin. “Bordeaux, Bored Ducks. Funny.”

Wonder narrowed his eyes. “Funny?”

Allie gave him an elbow to the ribs. Wonder winced and settled back in his chair.

“Bored ducks.” Cal grinned. “Sorry. Took me a minute. Now I see it.”

Lars nodded. “We Toleffsons may not be swift, but we usually get there eventually. I think it’s funny too.”

Allie reached for her glass. “Novelty wine labels are a good marketing tool. It’ll get the browsers’ attention.”

“It will indeed,” Wonder intoned. “All across the state, the aisles of the wine sections will be clogged with shoppers muttering ‘What the hell?’”

He winced again. For a small woman, Allie Maldonado appeared to wield a mighty elbow.

“I like it. And I’ll bet the wine tastes terrific. All the Cedar Creek wines are good, Morgan.”

Morgan grimaced. “I just hope it doesn’t take people so long to figure out the name that they forget to buy the wine.”

“Steve will buy a case.” Allie turned narrowed eyes on Wonder. “Won’t you, sweetie?”

“Sure,” Wonder croaked, rubbing his side. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Morgan yawned again. “I need to go back home and get some sleep before the next crisis.”

“Morgan, you shouldn’t drive.” Cal’s face was serious. “You’re too tired. Stay over with us.”

She shook her head. “It’s okay, I’m not driving. Ciro is having dinner with Nando. He said he’d give me a ride back if I hike over to the station.”

Erik blinked at her. The police station? Where he’d just left? What the hell was going on there now? The last thing the Konigsburg PD needed was another crisis. “I can give you a ride to the station. I need to check on a few things before I go home.”

Not exactly true, but close enough. If people were dining at the station, Erik figured he should know about it. Nando Avrogado was another of the part-time officers, and the only Konigsburg cop Erik would depend on to be able to find the keys to the cruiser in less than ten minutes. If anything happened that got Nando thrown off the force, Erik would be on the first thing heading out of town.

“Oh.” Morgan Barrett gave him a slightly dazed look, as if she were trying to remember just who he was. Then she nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”

Officer Grouch, aka Officer Toleffson, opened the door to the passenger side of his oversized pickup, and Morgan wondered if she had enough energy left to climb in.

Oh, guts up.
She pulled herself laboriously onto the seat and plumped down.

Officer Grouch climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Morgan tried to study him without staring. He resembled his brothers, but not exactly. In profile, his face looked as if it had been carved out of some very sturdy material, probably concrete. His jaw was squarish, firm, his eyes deep-set and dark. The creases around his eyes looked like canyons, as if he’d spent a lot of time staring directly at the sun.

He didn’t look at her as he pulled away. Morgan wondered if he’d forgotten about her already. Then he glanced in her direction. “How’d you end up running a winery?”

Morgan shrugged. “I’m not really running it. My dad is part owner, but he’s laid up with a broken leg and some cracked ribs from an accident. I’m filling in until he’s back on his feet. It gives me a chance to learn the business.” At least that was the current party line.

“What about your mother?”

“My mom works in Austin. She’s a real estate agent.” Morgan grimaced. “My parents are separated.”

Not, of course, that her mother would have helped out at the winery even if they hadn’t been separated. Her mother was too smart to get roped in.

“Must be tough.” Erik’s voice didn’t sound like he really thought it was tough—he didn’t sound like he thought much about it one way or the other.

Morgan slid down in her seat to rest her chin on her chest. “It’s okay.”

He glanced at her again, then slowed at the stoplight on Highway 16. Just as he started to turn left, an SUV sped through the intersection, running the light.

Morgan jerked upright and grasped the panic handle as Erik hit the brakes.

“Aw, hell,” he muttered. “Hang on.”

The truck accelerated so quickly that Morgan was thrown back against the seat. Erik fumbled in the console and pulled out a red blinker. “Hold that on the dashboard, will you?” He flipped a switch and the blinker began to flash.

Morgan held the blinker in the middle of the dashboard, bracing herself on the door with her other hand. Erik cut hard to the right, following the taillights of the SUV. Within a few minutes the SUV slowed down and stopped in the middle of the street. Erik pulled in behind.

He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a gun in a holster, then turned to Morgan. “Stay in the truck. Keep the door locked.” He climbed out, heading toward the SUV.

Morgan’s heart hammered against her ribs. Erik stepped up slightly behind the door, talking to the driver through the window, one hand resting on the gun at his hip. After a moment, the driver’s door opened and a man in a baseball cap poured himself onto the street.

Of course he was drunk. Erik’s least favorite misdemeanor—Driving While Stupid. On the other hand, if he were to pick up everybody in Konigsburg who was guilty, he’d have at least half the town in jail. He pulled out his cell and dialed the station.

When Nando picked up, Erik could hear Tejano music playing softly in the background. “Konigsburg Police, this is Officer Avrogado.”

“Hey, Officer, I need your assistance,” Erik growled.

“Toleffson? I thought you went home.”

“I did. Some idiot ran the light on Highway 16 in front of me.” He sighed. “I’ve got a civilian in my truck. I can’t bring him in myself.”

“Is he giving you trouble?” Nando’s voice sounded wary.

“Nah, he’s plastered. He’d probably sleep it off if I left him lying in the street, but the citizens might complain.”

“Okay, let me get set up here.” Nando murmured to someone in the background.

Please, god, don’t let him have a woman there.
If they lost Nando, Erik would be stuck with Ham Linklatter and Curtis Peavey. He might as well eat his gun.

“Okay,” Nando came back. “My dad will stay here in case anybody needs a cop while we’re gone. I’ll come meet you in the cruiser.”

Thirty minutes later, the drunk was locked in the cell, and Nando’s father was giving Erik the third degree.

“How come you had Morgan out there? She could’ve gotten hurt.” He was about Nando’s size and weight, maybe six feet and stocky. He had the look of someone who spent a lot of time outside, his face burned bronze from the sun, with permanent squint lines around his eyes. He also looked like a man who didn’t take much crap. Erik decided not to give him any.

“I didn’t intend Miss Barrett to be in the middle of it. The guy cut in front of us.”

Morgan laid her hand on Nando’s father’s arm. “It’s okay, Ciro. Officer Toleffson was giving me a ride over here so I wouldn’t have to walk. It was all just lousy timing.”

Avrogado sniffed, clearly not satisfied. “So you say.”

“So I say.” Morgan’s eyes looked brighter than they had at the Dew Drop, and she was smiling. “Can we go back home now?”

After another moment, Avrogado shrugged. “Yeah, why not. You get anything to eat?”

Morgan paused to think. “I guess not. I forgot all about it.”

“Here.” Avrogado picked up a paper sack off Nando’s desk. “Carmen’s chicken. You can eat it in the truck.”

Nando cast a mournful look at the sack. Avrogado narrowed his eyes. “Go see your mama if you want more. She’ll be glad to whip some up for you when you come by home. Which I’ll expect you to do within the next two days.”

Morgan turned back to Erik with a half-smile. Her face was heart-shaped, he noticed for the first time. Curling brown hair the color of toasted pecans. “Thanks for the ride, Officer.”

“Any time.” Erik found the corners of his mouth edging up for reasons he didn’t really want to examine. “Sorry about all the excitement.”

“I’m not.” The half-smile turned full, and he got a hint of what her face must look like when she wasn’t exhausted. “It’s the first time I’ve been all-the-way awake for two days.”

“Come on, Morgan. We’ve got stuff to do.” Avrogado’s voice was impatient. Morgan’s smile faded as she followed him out the door to the parking lot.

Nando sighed. “Okay, I’ll flip you for who gets to spend the night here with the drunk. At least one of us won’t have to go to the council meeting tomorrow.”

Erik closed his eyes. Ham Linklatter. The Hand of Doom. He’d been able to forget about it for the past hour, courtesy of Morgan Barrett, who’d be staying around Konigsburg no matter who the next chief of police was.

Yet another reason to be pissed at fate.

Chapter Two

Mayor Hilton Pittman climbed the stairs to the Konigsburg city council chambers, keeping his most benign smile firmly in place. It wouldn’t do to let the council know just how triumphant he really felt. He was on the verge of taking care of the town’s police problems, without getting dragged down with them back when the problems went nuclear. He’d had a feeling Olema was going to be trouble when the city council hired him, but he’d let them go ahead with it. Spectacular failures could be useful, as long as they weren’t his.

They’d listen to him now. And he’d make sure things worked out correctly this time.

Brinkman trailed along behind him, carrying his briefcase like a good assistant so that Hilton would have his hands free to greet any potential voter who might be hanging around the chambers. Not that many people would be hanging around today since the council was in closed session considering the applicants for chief of police. Nonetheless, as Hilton arrived at the top of the stairs, he wasn’t completely surprised to see the entire Konigsburg police force seated in a row of chairs outside the door to the chamber. Since the entire force consisted of four men, one full-time and the others part-time, they didn’t constitute much of a crowd. Pittman frowned slightly, wondering who was taking care of things in town while the men were sitting there. Probably the dispatcher, Helen Kretschmer.

Just as well Helen hadn’t come along. One look from her gave Hilton instant indigestion.

Hilton nodded at Ham Linklatter, the next chief of police, his smile warming. Linklatter wore a stiffly pressed khaki uniform, resting a new white Stetson on his knee. The bright pink flesh of his face always seemed too thin, showing the shape of the skull underneath. His pale blond hair was damp, probably from his morning shower, and he wore it plastered across the bald spot that was developing in the middle. He was smiling broadly, revealing squarish white teeth that made him look even more like a walking skeleton. Linklatter was not a prepossessing specimen.

Plus, of course, he was a moron.

On the other hand, he took orders well. And he knew all about sharing. Those were Hilton’s two main requirements for a chief of police, and Ham fulfilled both of them one hundred percent.

Hilton glanced down the row at the other cops. Curtis Peavey had placed his hat under his chair and sat with his eyes closed, his head drooping. Peavey usually worked nights so he could help his son-in-law with his peach orchard during the day—Hilton figured he wasn’t used to being in uniform when the sun was shining. He’d probably stick around after Ham took over because he was only a couple of years from retirement, although god only knew what his retirement pay would be like, given the miniscule salary the part-timers pulled down.

Next to Peavey, Nando Avrogado leaned back in his chair, studying the hall through half-closed eyes. He glanced at Hilton without much interest. His beefy arms were folded across his chest, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Hilton had once seen Avrogado bring down a rampaging drunk with a single punch. He was a good enough cop, but a potential troublemaker, given that, unlike Linklatter, he actually knew what he was doing. But he had family in town since his father was part owner of one of the wineries, and he’d probably want to stick around even with Linklatter as chief. Chances were he’d bite the bullet and take orders from Ham.

Which was more than Hilton could say for Erik Toleffson, the last man in the row. Toleffson was a wild card as far as Hilton could tell. If Avrogado could bring down a drunk with a single punch, Toleffson could do it with a single piercing stare. And he had the singular effect of making Nando Avrogado look average-sized. All the Toleffsons were huge, but Officer Erik Toleffson was the biggest. He seemed to cast a shadow over Hilton every time they’d spoken, which was as infrequently as Hilton could manage. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t picture Toleffson taking orders from Ham Linklatter. Which meant Toleffson would probably need to hit the road. If he didn’t go of his own accord, he might have to be helped along his way.

Not that Hilton found that prospect all that troubling. Given his choice, he’d prefer that Toleffson hit the road ASAP since Toleffson was undoubtedly the smartest cop on the force. But getting him out the door might require some help, preferably from somebody more menacing than Linklatter. A problem Hilton would have to address at a later time. He pushed through the door to the chamber.

Horace Rankin, the city council president, had taken his seat at the end of the council table. He rapped his gavel against the tabletop as soon as he saw Hilton enter the room. “Okay, everybody, we’re all here. Let’s get settled now. We’ve got business to conduct.”

Hilton slid his benign smile, momentarily displaced by the sight of Erik Toleffson, back into place. Showtime.

Horace pushed his wire-frame glasses up his nose, chewing reflectively on the ends of his walrus moustache as he contemplated the meeting agenda. “Since we’ve got some people outside waiting to hear about the chief of police decision, I’m going to suggest we change the order of items, move the reading of the minutes down to item four or so. Any objections?”

One of the council members shrugged. The other two seemed to be occupied pouring water or digging through the piles of paper in front of them.

Hilton thought about objecting. He wouldn’t have minded if the cops became bored and left before they got to the chief of police item. The whole Ham Linklatter thing wasn’t going to be a popular decision. Fortunately, it was a done deal no matter what the other police officers might think.

Horace plowed ahead. “Okay, then, first order of business is hiring a new chief of police. Mayor Pittman has asked for five minutes to address the council. That okay with everyone?”

Portia Grandview gave Hilton a narrow-eyed look, while Dan Albaniz rubbed his eyes. Arthur Craven stared down at his hands. Hilton smiled back benignly.

“Not hearing any objections, you have the floor, Mr. Mayor.” Rankin’s voice dripped sarcasm.

Hilton chose to ignore it as he stepped to the lectern at the other end of the table, collecting his notes from Brinkman on the way by. Not that he needed notes, but it looked more professional if he had them. “Dr. Rankin, members of the council.” He nodded in their direction. “While the choice of a new chief of police is your decision, I’d like to give you my input on this most important personnel matter. You all know Ham Linklatter. He’s a Konigsburg boy, born and bred. Moreover, he’s been with the force for four years, rising from part-time to full-time status. He brings a wealth of experience to the job.”

At least two of the council members looked like they’d just bitten into something sour. They were probably remembering that most of Linklatter’s experience had been with a chief of police who’d been crooked as a dog’s hind leg. Fortunately, Linklatter had been involved in arresting the other crooked cop who’d been the chief’s assistant. The chief himself had gotten away to parts unknown. Not one of Konigsburg’s finest hours.

“He’s been with the force in good times and bad. And he’s shown his honesty and integrity throughout those times.” Probably because he wasn’t smart enough to be a crook, but that was neither here nor there.

“I’m pleased and very, very proud to recommend Ham Linklatter for the position of Konigsburg Chief of Police. I hope you’ll all agree he’s the best man we have available.” Hilton smiled at each council member in turn. No one smiled back.

Rankin pulled a large white handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose with a loud honk. “Thank you for your input, Mr. Mayor. You can take your seat now.”

Hilton managed not to lose his smile entirely, but he did it through gritted teeth. Last council election, he’d canvassed to see if he could find an opponent for Rankin, but no one had been willing to take the old coot on. Next time Hilton would have to dig a little deeper.

Rankin balled up his handkerchief and stuffed it back in his pants pocket. “As we were going through candidates for this job, it struck me we needed to hear from someone with a little more law enforcement experience than we had on the council. I asked Sheriff Friesenhahn to do an evaluation of the department for us. Go see if he’s out there yet.” He nodded at Brinkman, who was rearranging Hilton’s notes.

Brinkman blinked at him. Normally, he only took orders from Hilton, but this appeared to be a special case. He rose to his feet and started toward the door.

Hilton gritted his teeth again. Rankin was trying an end run, using Ozzie Friesenhahn to get around him and Ham Linklatter. It wouldn’t work, of course, but it was an unnecessary complication. Friesenhahn was a legend in Kramer County, having been re-elected more times than any other individual in county history. He was also completely outside his influence, which made him a very dangerous man indeed.

Brinkman opened the door and the sheriff stepped into the room, one floorboard creaking ominously beneath him.

Friesenhahn weighed somewhere in the neighborhood of three hundred pounds. He moved with all the grace of a lumbering bull elephant, the seams of his dark uniform pants straining to contain the bulk at his waist. When he arrived at the table, he removed his white Stetson with its leather hatband and silver star, placing it in front of him.

“Afternoon everybody.” Friesenhahn nodded around the table, rubbing a hand across his bristle of crew-cut hair.

He pulled a pair of half-glasses from his pocket. They were probably supposed to make the sheriff look as genial as somebody’s grandpa. In reality, he was about as genial as a coral snake. Friesenhahn took a file from his briefcase and rested it on the lectern in front of him.

“Your boys have a chance to check the department out?” Rankin asked.

Friesenhahn nodded. “They’ve been keeping an eye on the place since y’all haven’t had a chief of police to speak of for the last several weeks.”

Hilton narrowed his eyes. He’d done his best to get the council to appoint Linklatter as soon as they fired Olema, but he couldn’t manage to pin them down. Instead they’d had sheriff’s deputies wandering through, potentially stirring up trouble for everybody, particularly him.

“So what’s the verdict?” Rankin settled back in his chair, folding his hands across his own not-inconsiderable belly.

“You got some good men here. But both my deputies said you’ve only got one man who could handle the chief’s job. I checked his record, and I’m inclined to agree.”

Hilton licked his lips. They could still be talking about Linklatter, with any luck. After all, his record didn’t look too bad, at least on paper.

“And that man is…” Rankin prompted.

“Erik Toleffson.”

His jaw was clenched so tightly it hurt. This was intolerable. He needed to do a quick end run around Friesenhahn. He managed to push his lips into the semblance of a benign smile again as he leaned forward. “Sheriff, I’m sure we all appreciate your expertise and the time you’ve taken to evaluate our situation. But you’ve been misinformed. Ham Linklatter is the most experienced applicant.”

He took a quick check of the council members. He’d talked to all of them, and except for Rankin, they’d all been on board with Linklatter before the meeting. Not happy maybe, but on board.

Friesenhahn shuffled his papers, peering through his half-glasses. “Linklatter’s got more time with the Konigsburg cops, but Toleffson’s got three years with the MPs, plus another three in Iowa. And he’s got a degree in Criminal Justice. As I recall—” he shuffled the papers again, “—Linklatter doesn’t have any college hours.”

Hilton’s jaw ached. Of course, Linklatter didn’t have any college hours. He’d been lucky to make it through high school from what Hilton could remember. “Sometimes life experience is more important than school, Sheriff.”

“Yeah, and sometimes it ain’t.” Friesenhahn fixed him with a piercing blue gaze. His eyes were the color of glacial ice and just about as warm. “Compare Linklatter’s time on the street in Konigsburg with Toleffson’s time on the street in Baghdad. You want to argue that, Pittman?”

He could feel his own face flushing. Time to play his trump card. “Whatever Toleffson’s experience may be, he’s only a part-time officer. Ham Linklatter has been full-time for two years. You can’t just leapfrog over seniority that way, Sheriff. Sets a bad precedent.”

“Yeah, well, your whole personnel policy with this police department stinks to high heaven, Pittman. Town the size of Konigsburg can’t get by with a part-time force. I don’t know why Toleffson was willing to come on as a part-timer. I hear he’s got family around here or something, but anywhere else he’d have been hired as full-time straight out. Hell, right now you could hire all three of your part-timers on as full time and still need more part-timers.”

Hilton didn’t bother smiling anymore—clearly, it was wasted on Friesenhahn. “Maybe the county has unlimited funds for personnel, Sheriff, but Konigsburg has to live within its means. We have the best police force we can afford.”

“Pittman, this town’s a disaster waiting to happen. You can pay for police salaries now or you can pay off the lawsuits later.” Friesenhahn turned back to the council table. “Y’all got any questions?”

“You’re saying that Ham Linklatter’s not qualified?” Portia Grandview’s voice was cool.

Hilton perked up. Grandview wasn’t a sure thing. He knew she didn’t like him, but he figured she didn’t like Friesenhahn any better.

The sheriff shrugged. “He’s qualified for what he’s doing now. Good man on traffic. You don’t want to promote him above what he can do, though.”

“Anybody else have any questions?” Rankin glanced around the table, weighing the silence. Nobody moved. Rankin nodded at Friesenhahn. “Thanks, Ozzie.”

Friesenhahn replaced his white Stetson on his head. “Any time.”

He listened to the sound of the sheriff’s heavy footsteps heading back toward the door and tried to think of a last-minute strategy. Was Friesenhahn enough to turn the tide against Linklatter? Could he come up with a quick “Come to Hilton” speech that would bring them back on board?

He glanced at Rankin. “Mr. Chairman, I wonder if I might…”