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“Vivian?”
Engrossed in her own thoughts, she’d missed a question. “Yes?”
“Is there anything else we can do for you here at Mountain Bank and Trust?”
“No, thank you.”
The assistant manager donned a pleasant smile. “Have a good day.”
Eager to hide the Sig in her trunk and get back to Mia’s ballet class, Vivian lowered her head and charged through the double doors, only to run into what felt like a brick wall. Bouncing back, she hit the door, which hadn’t quite closed, and dropped her purse.
Buster Hayes, six foot four and three hundred and fifty pounds of collegiate football star, had just rounded the corner; she’d plowed right into him.
“Oh, wow! I’m sorry.” He steadied her, then bent to recover what had spilled out—but froze when he saw the Sig P220 lying on the concrete between them.
Chrissy Gunther was walking toward the bank at the same time, and came to an immediate stop. “Is that a gun?” she gasped.
Vivian scooped it up, along with the rest of her belongings. “Just a little something for self-protection,” she muttered, and hurried away.
None of the waitresses at the Golden Griddle had noticed anyone using the pay phone, which left the investigation exactly nowhere.
Head pounding, Myles turned off the lights and propped his feet on his desk. Half of Pineview had called him this morning. Chester Magnuson, over at the paper. Gertie, looking to see if he’d been able to identify her husband’s murderer. The stepson, who’d arrived in town and was staying with his mother. Delbert wondered how such a thing could happen in Pineview and wanted to know what was going on with the investigation. Even the mayor had phoned.
Myles needed a few seconds to himself. But the moment he closed his eyes, Chrissy Gunther came dashing into the reception area, squawking like an old hen. He wished he could ignore her. It was his lunch hour. Surely that meant he could take five minutes. But there was too much excitement in her voice to attribute all of it to her high-strung nature. And no matter how many excuses she trumped up to talk to him, she didn’t usually drive thirty miles to do that.
“I have to speak with Sheriff King,” she told Deputy Campbell. “Right away. It’s important.”
Wishing the painkiller he’d swallowed several minutes ago would hurry and stop the jackhammer in his head, Myles forced his eyes open and got up to turn on his light. Although married, Chrissy made a habit of seeking him out. He was pretty sure she didn’t understand how he could resist her, despite her marital status.
Deputy Campbell appeared in the doorway just as he reached for the light switch. “Chrissy Gunther is here to see you. She says she might have some information on the Pat Stueben case.”
“Really? Chrissy?” Myles could see the little dynamo coming to report that the school principal wasn’t allowing her cheer squad to use the gym, even though school was out for summer. Or that the lunch lady hadn’t refunded the three dollars and fifty cents that was left on one of her children’s lunch cards, and was therefore trying to steal it. To Chrissy, those things would be worth the drive. But her world didn’t extend beyond her kids.
Campbell cast a glance over his shoulder as if he wasn’t quite sure what to think. He lived here in Libby, not in Pineview, so he didn’t know Chrissy, but the look on his face suggested that he could tell she was a handful. “So she claims.”
“Fine. Send her in.” Perhaps she’d spotted a stranger with blood on his shoes or something. Myles could always hope. No one paid closer attention to the actions and mistakes of others than Chrissy Gunther.
Hoping that whatever she had to say would be worth putting up with her flirtatious smiles, Myles stood to one side as she came bustling past him. “I saw it myself!” she exclaimed before he could even greet her.
He tried to rub away the grit in his eyes, but the stress of the murder, his lack of sleep and preoccupation with his neighbor was taking their toll. “What are you talking about?”
“The gun.”
The headache and fatigue instantly disappeared. “What gun?”
“The pistol Vivian was carrying out of Mountain Bank and Trust a few minutes ago.”
Hearing Vivian’s name added a one-two punch. A gun belonging to anyone else wouldn’t have been particularly noteworthy, not unless there was more to go along with it. Montana’s gun laws weren’t exactly the strictest in the nation; guns didn’t even have to be registered in this state, and almost everybody had at least a rifle. But someone like his neighbor toting a handgun out of a bank? “Vivian Stewart?”
“I think you’re familiar with her. There’s just one Vivian in Pineview, right? And I’ve seen the way you watch her. It’s made all the rest of us girls jealous.”
Inappropriate as it was for her to include herself in that comment, he ignored the jab. “Are you sure?”
“That you watch her?” She fluttered her eyelashes. “How could I miss it?”
“I mean, are you sure it was her?” He suspected she’d understood what he’d meant the first time, but he wasn’t about to let her draw him into the kind of conversation she obviously craved.
Annoyed that he wouldn’t rise to the bait, she propped one hand on her hip. “Positive. And she definitely had a gun in her purse. I wasn’t the only one to see it. Buster Hayes saw it, too. All you have to do is ask him.”
Myles had no idea what Chrissy was talking about. Maybe Montana had the third-most legal gun owners per capita, only a tenth of a percent behind Alaska. And maybe the prevalence of firearms per capita in a rural county, one with eighteen thousand residents, would be even greater than the more populated parts of the state. But he couldn’t see Vivian toting around a weapon. Especially a hidden weapon. For one thing, he’d be very surprised if she had a permit to carry concealed. And she didn’t like guns. He’d heard her say so when Jake asked her how old he had to be before he could buy a hunting rifle.
So what did she plan on doing with a pistol? Why would she be attempting to conceal it? And why would she take it to the bank?
He motioned to a chair. “Would you like to sit down?”
Chrissy’s ponytail—an obvious hairpiece since he’d seen her without it—bounced as she perched on the edge of the chair.
“I suggest you speak to her immediately,” she said.
Myles tried not to notice that the vinyl was only slightly more orange than her self-tanner. “Thanks for the advice. But first, why don’t you slow down and tell me exactly what happened?”
Rhinestones embedded in the acrylic of her nails flashed as she fanned herself. It wasn’t remotely hot in his office, but the excitement of her errand seemed to be affecting her. “There isn’t much to it,” she said. “She was coming out of the bank, bumped into Buster Hayes and dropped her purse. That’s when we both saw it. She had a handgun in there that fell out.”
Myles returned to his own seat. “You’re not suggesting Vivian tried to hold up Mountain Bank and Trust.”
“Maybe she was thinking about it. Maybe she chickened out at the last minute. Why else would someone carry a pistol into a bank?”
“Did you ask her?”
“I didn’t have the chance! The minute she realized we’d seen the gun, she grabbed it and rushed off.” Chrissy lowered her voice and widened her eyes for emphasis. “I’m telling you, she was acting really strange.”
Myles imagined Vivian as she’d been last night. She hadn’t behaved like the woman who’d done her best to ignore him over the past few months, to stay out of his way. That signified a marked change, too, didn’t it?
Or maybe not. Their feelings toward each other had been changing for some time, growing more intense. On both sides. Until last night, Vivian had hovered on the edges of his life, remaining safely out of reach. But for the first couple of years after Amber Rose died, she could’ve run naked across his lawn and it wouldn’t have raised his pulse by one beat. “In what way?” he asked.
Chrissy adjusted the strap of her blouse, which had slipped off her shoulder. She dressed as if she was one of the cheerleaders she coached—short shorts, skimpy tops and always a bow. “I don’t know. Spooked. Guilty.”
“So…how do you think this firearm you saw ties in to the murder? My deputy said—”
“It’s not every day someone drops a handgun coming out of a bank!” She put her purse on the floor, leaning forward to give him a clear view down her blouse.
Averting his eyes, he straightened his stapler. “I realize that. But a lot of people own guns around here. And the murder wasn’t committed with a firearm. So bear with me. I’m searching for a link.”
Her nails clacked as she tapped them together. “Something’s up, okay? That’s all I’m trying to tell you.”
For some reason, Myles liked Chrissy even less than he had before. She wasn’t bad-looking, but her personality… He’d heard rumors about how bossy she could be and how poorly she treated her husband. They ran a secondhand shop together, situated near the bank. He’d felt sorry for Mr. Gunther before, when Chrissy came on to him at the annual crab feed or at the bar. But driving all the way out here just because she had a tidbit of information? A tidbit about someone she viewed as a rival for his attention? That made him feel even worse for the poor bastard who’d married her.
“I’ll look into it,” he said. And he planned to. He’d forgotten to give Marley money to go to the bowling alley with her best friend this afternoon, so he had to drive back to Pineview, anyway. “Thanks for stopping by.”
She jumped to her feet. “If you’d like me to go over there with you, I will.”
He made a gesture that suggested she needn’t trouble herself. “That won’t be necessary. But…can I ask you one more thing?”
Her face lit up. “Of course!”
“How well do you know Vivian?”
“Not very well,” she confided. “I met her when we both helped out at the school last year—our girls are in the same grade. I invited her to one of my jewelry parties, but she canceled the day before.” Chrissy wrinkled her nose. “She’s not very social. I don’t know what her problem is, but I’m beginning to think she’s hiding something.”
She was hiding something. She was hiding herself and her children. An abusive ex would motivate anyone to keep a low profile, maybe even buy a gun. But he planned to check out Chrissy’s report, just in case.
Chrissy hesitated at the door. “Oh, and, Sheriff?”
“Yes?”
“I’m not sure if this is important, but in light of recent events, I think it might be.”
“What’s that?”
“When Vivian first arrived in town, her daughter told my daughter that she moved here because ‘bad men’ were chasing them.”
Myles came to an abrupt stop. He might’ve expected “a bad man.” But men? As in more than one?
Was this a lie Vivian had concocted for the sake of her children? So they wouldn’t have to know that it was their father causing all the trouble? “Did she say who those bad men might be?”
“No. But it had to do with someone breaking into their house, someone who was shot and had—” she made quotation marks with her fingers “—‘blood coming out all over.’”
Another surprise. He had no idea what it meant, and yet he felt the urge to defend Vivian and Mia. “That could be make-believe, something she saw on television.”
“I know it sounds far-fetched. I thought the same thing at first. I mean, not every mother is as diligent about what their children watch as I am. But now I wonder…”
Myles wondered, too. Was Mia speaking about an actual event? If so, how did this tie in to what Vivian had told him? Was there one man she feared—or more? Did she really have an abusive ex?
And, if so, had she killed him?
Myles stood on her porch. Vivian could see his blurry image through the misted oval glass, recognized the blue of his uniform and knew why he’d come. Because of Chrissy. Buster wouldn’t have bothered the sheriff. Buster wasn’t a nosy troublemaker like Hope’s mother, who was generally known as the bane of the elementary school staff, if not the whole town. Unfortunately for Mia, Hope was turning out much the same. Before school ended for the summer, Hope had purposely excluded Mia from her popular clique.
Frowning, Vivian pushed away from her computer, where she’d been using Gchat to convince Claire that Pat’s murder had nothing to do with her mother’s disappearance. She’d been answering some of the emails that’d flooded her box over the past twenty-four hours, too. The blue-jean cutoffs and Little Big Town T-shirt she’d donned when she got home wasn’t really what she’d choose to wear in front of guests, especially male guests. But she didn’t want Mia to know the sheriff had come, didn’t want her to overhear the questions Myles might ask. So she got up and hurried to answer before he could ring the bell.
Fortunately, he knocked first, and not very loud. He could probably see her inside the living room, just as she could see him on the porch.
Determined to keep their encounter as brief as possible, she opened the door slightly. “Yes?”
When his gaze dipped to her chest, she knew he’d already noticed that she wasn’t wearing a bra. It’d taken less than a millisecond for her breasts to become his focal point and raise the tension between them. But the tension itself was nothing new. That was why she’d been bold enough to proposition him last night. She’d never dreamed he’d refuse her.
“Vivian.” He bent his head.
Forcing a polite smile, she used a similarly formal tone. “Sheriff. How are you today?”
“I’ve been better.”
So had she. For a lot of reasons. The most pressing was Rex. She couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d once meant to her, couldn’t stop wondering if he was still alive and whether or not she’d contributed to his downfall. Although she’d grown used to living with fear, guilt was new and more difficult to tolerate. Then there was the embarrassment she’d been trying so hard to avoid. With Myles standing less than two feet away, it was virtually impossible to shove the memory of her offer and subsequent rejection into the recesses of her mind.
She considered apologizing for her behavior and blaming it on the wine, but she wasn’t one for excuses. The alcohol hadn’t changed how she felt, only revealed it. He probably understood that as well as she did. Besides, if he thought she was a tramp, maybe he’d make her life easier by staying away from her and refusing to let Jake hang out with him.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She paused, but he didn’t take the opportunity to come to the point of his visit. Instead, silence fell.
“Can I speak with you for a few minutes?” he asked when she didn’t invite him in, as he’d obviously expected.
“Of course.”
His eyebrows slid up. “Do we have to do it right here?”
Mia would be less likely to overhear if they chatted on the porch. “Why not? It’s a beautiful day. I’ll join you.”
Stepping outside, she closed the door quietly behind her and crossed the wooden planks to one of the rocking chairs she’d picked up at an antique auction last summer. She loved these chairs. Their weathered look fit perfectly with the wide veranda and stark simplicity of her hundred-year-old house. Her hundred-year-old house.
But maybe not for long. If she had to go on the run, there’d be no way to make the payments. She wasn’t even sure she’d have the money to survive. She’d have to lean on Virgil, and how long could she expect him and Peyton to take care of her? It was possible they’d have to leave what they’d created, too.
“You’re not curious about why I’m here?” he asked, trailing after her.
She sat down and pulled her legs up to hide her chest. “Judging by the uniform, it looks official, so…I’m guessing you haven’t stopped by for a quickie.” She’d thought making light of her blunder would ease the awkwardness between them, but her joke didn’t draw the grin she’d been angling for—or any other indication that they could laugh about last night.
Instead, his gaze slid over her bare legs, making her regret the reference even more.
“Forget I said that,” she muttered. “It was my way of apologizing for putting you on the spot after you were kind enough to come to the rescue of my refrigerator. That’s all.”
“It was an apology?”
“That’s right.”
“Not a suggestion.”
She cleared her throat. It definitely wasn’t a suggestion. “I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.”
“How sorry are you?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m just wondering if you’re sorry enough to change your mind about letting me buy you dinner.”
Most men would be grinning while they threw out a line like that, but he wasn’t. Hugging her knees closer, she shook her head. “More like…embarrassed enough to avoid you in future.”
His eyebrows knotted in frustration. “You’re not giving us a chance.”
And he wasn’t used to that. She couldn’t name a single unattached woman, at least one anywhere close to his age, who wouldn’t drop everything to spend a couple of hours with him. All she heard was, “That poor Sheriff King. How he loved his wife.” While it was a compliment, it was almost always spoken with a certain wistfulness that said the speaker would like to be next in line.
Vivian wasn’t any different. She felt that same desire to have what Amber Rose King had enjoyed. But that wasn’t something she could have, not unless she somehow managed to free herself from the past. “Maybe I don’t have a choice.”
