Texas Outlaw (Rory Yates #2) - James Patterson Page 0,17
be thorough.”
He laughs, enjoying the condescending way I’m talking about Ariana. This seems to satisfy him, and he heads out the door.
Ariana looks at me and mouths the words, Thank you.
I give her a nod, and then I catch Harris walking back into the station.
“I forgot to tell you,” he says, “I told the local newspaper guy you’re helping us out with something. I didn’t want to say what until I okayed it with you.”
I appreciate the chief deferring to me. He might not have wanted me here—and maybe he can’t be trusted—but so far he hasn’t given me any resistance.
“Can you put him off for a while?” I say. “I don’t want to talk to him if I can help it.”
“Will do,” Harris says. “But I know this guy—he’s going to keep calling and calling until he’s able to interview you.”
“If you can stall him for a few days,” I say, “maybe we’ll have this whole thing wrapped up by then.”
I’m stalling, too. It might not hurt to do an interview with the local newsman—the media could be used to our advantage—but I still need to learn more before I say anything.
When the chief is gone, Ariana and I discuss our plan of attack for the next day. Susan Snyder had recently gone on dates with two men—Ariana had asked around enough to find this out—and one date was on the same night she died. We’ll try to interview both men tomorrow.
Before we call it a day, I ask Ariana why the chief finally gave in and agreed to call the Rangers.
“Did you threaten to quit?”
She says she did, but that isn’t what made the difference.
“He wouldn’t have cared if I’d resigned,” she says. “I threatened to go before the town council and tell everyone why I was resigning. Then I’d go straight to Tom Aaron, the editor of the paper, and I’d tell him. He thought about it for about twenty-four hours and then decided to call the Rangers.”
“We’ll figure this thing out,” I tell her, but truthfully I don’t feel any closer to understanding what’s going on than I did yesterday. “Good work today,” I add as we head to the door.
I want her to know the condescension I used in front of Harris was just an act.
“Thanks for your discretion,” she says.
I think about asking Ariana to join me for dinner at one of the restaurants in town—not a date, just two colleagues who both have to eat. But I figure it’s probably best not to blur any lines in our relationship. Besides, I’m not sure she would accept the invitation.
We can work together without being friends, her demeanor says.
Maybe that’s a good thing. I do have a girlfriend, after all.
Chapter 19
AFTER I EAT a quick plate of tacos at Rosalia’s, I head back to the motel as the sun is going down. I try to call Willow but don’t get an answer. I grab my guitar and sit on the porch outside my room and start plucking at the strings. I place on a chair in front of me a little notebook of songs, with lyrics and chords. I know a lot of songs by heart, but this helps me practice new ones.
My guitar is a Fender acoustic-electric, which lets me practice quietly by myself, but it can also be plugged into an amp if I ever have the occasion to play on a stage, which hasn’t happened since high school. It’s a nice intermediate guitar, a step up from a beginner’s instrument but not quite what a pro would use. Willow has offered to buy me a fancier, more expensive guitar, but this one suits my needs. And it’s a pretty instrument, with a body made of laminated spruce and basswood, and a neck of mahogany.
One of the great things about being with Willow is playing together. I sang and played guitar in a band in high school, but I wasn’t ever good enough to take a shot at making a career of it. It was just fun. Willow and I will sit on the porch of the house and play and sing duets. Her talent blows me out of the water, but she humors me and seems to have a good time. Playing tonight makes me miss Willow even more.
I practice playing the Kenny Chesney song “Better Boat.” It’s a mellow song—just an acoustic guitar and vocals—about a guy riding the waves of life, with a guitar part that’s just tricky enough to