Near You (Montana Series #2) - Mary Burton Page 0,76

bars. I hit pay dirt at the fourth establishment. Nena had been in town about a month and was working as a waitress. Apparently, she was working her way across the country and had stopped in Montana to take in the sights. She’d established a history of missing work, so when she didn’t show for work, no one went looking for her. They just assumed she had moved on to the next town.”

Ann skimmed the woman’s police record and studied her mug shot, featuring a thin, angled face, pale skin, dark eyes, and brown hair. “Only she didn’t get far.”

“Her phone is not sending a signal now,” he said. “She appears to have one credit card, which was used multiple times this week. Mostly small gas stations and food places that don’t have surveillance cameras.”

“Did she get to know anyone while she was in town?” Ann asked.

“She hooked up with a guy by the name of Jerry Cantrell. He works at the local garage. He wasn’t in yet this morning, but he should be at work by now.”

“Can I join you?”

“Sure.”

He glanced up at the academic building, as if daring prying eyes, before he leaned over and kissed her.

She savored his taste. “Hello.”

“Been wanting to do that for as long as I can remember,” he said.

“It hasn’t been that long.”

“Feels like a lifetime.”

“Maybe we can get away for a couple of hours of private time soon.” The heat simmering behind the words conjured memories of his body pressing against hers.

“Soon. Very soon.”

Drawing in a breath, he put the car in gear and drove to the auto repair shop on the north side of town. The two walked into the shop together. Bryce showed his badge to an older man behind the counter and asked for Cantrell. The whir of a pneumatic screwdriver blended with a Kid Rock song and drifted out from the garage when the old man opened the door.

Bryce stepped in front of Ann and brushed back his jacket. Her brother had made it clear that moments like this could be dicey. No telling what kind of trouble a cop’s arrival could trigger.

Inside the garage they found a short man with muscular arms covered in tattoos. He sported a white bandage at his right temple. He wiped grease from his hands as he eyed Bryce with suspicion and for Ann showed a flicker of appreciation. “I’m Cantrell. What can I do for you?”

Bryce showed his badge and identified himself and Ann. “We have a couple of questions about Nena Lassiter.”

Cantrell shook his head and dropped his gaze for a moment before asking, “What has she done?”

“Why do you say that?” Bryce asked.

“We hooked up three or four times while she was in town. And it was fun. Then she took off with a couple hundred bucks from my wallet. Did she rip off another guy?”

“Not that we are aware of,” Bryce said. “Did she talk about herself?”

Ann noted Bryce was avoiding a homicide notice, which likely would have put the man on guard. Once his defenses were in place, he would start filtering his responses.

“She was from California,” Cantrell said. “She had dreams of seeing the country.”

“What brought her to Missoula?” Bryce asked.

“Said she was here to catch up with a friend. They met once or twice, and then he dropped her.”

“Did you catch the friend’s name?” Ann asked.

“Thompson, I think,” he said.

“Paul Thompson?” she asked.

“That’s right. Don’t tell me those two are on some kind of Bonnie-and-Clyde joyride.”

“Nena is dead,” Bryce said.

The news struck the smirk from Cantrell’s face. “Shit. How?”

“Did you ever meet Paul Thompson?” Bryce asked.

“A couple of weeks ago. He and Nena met at her bar before it opened. When I got there, they ended whatever it was they were doing. He gathered up his papers and left.”

“Did she say what they were talking about?” Bryce asked.

“No. And I didn’t press. Our relationship wasn’t based on conversation.”

“Did Nena say anything else to you about Thompson?” Bryce asked.

“No.”

“What about Elijah Weston?” Bryce asked.

“That crazy guy that got out of prison? Hell no. With Nena and me, it was just about the sex. We didn’t talk much. And I sure didn’t do anything illegal with her.” He ran his hand over his head. “How did Nena die?”

“She was stabbed to death,” Bryce said.

“She suffered a horrific death,” Ann said. “If there is anything you can tell us . . .”

Cantrell rested his hands on his hips. “It sure as shit wasn’t me,” he said. “I don’t