Angels Fall

head in. "Sorry. But we're starting to back up out here."
    " Tell them to hold their water," Joanie ordered, then waited for the door to close again. "You okay to finish out your shift?"
    "Yes. I'd rather have something to do."
    "Then go cook. Meanwhile, if you've got something eating at your belly, screw what Rick Mardson tells you. You can come to me."
    "Thanks. My insides feel like they've been wrung out like a dishrag."
    "I'm not surprised. It should feel better, spitting it out."
    "It does. If I were to ask you—I asked Brody, but he and Sheriff
    Mardson are friends—so it I asked you, would you tell me what you think of him? As the sheriff."
    "Highly enough to have voted for him both times he's run. I've known him and Debbie a dozen years, since they moved here from Cheyenne."
    "Yes, but…" Recce moistened her lips. "As far as police work."
    "As far as that, he does what needs doing, and doesn't make a fuss about it. You may not think there's much needs doing in a town this size. But I guarantee you, every mother's son, and daughter, in Angel's Fist has a gun. Most more than one. Rick makes sure people use them for hunting and target practice. He keeps things as peaceable as you can ex-pect when this town bulges at the seams with tourists. He does his job."
    It didn't take a hawk eye to see Recce wasn't convinced. "Let me ask you this." Joanie continued. "Anything else you can do about this business but what you did?"
    "I don't know."
    "Then leave it to Rick, and go on back in the kitchen and do your job."
    "All right. I guess you're right. Um, Joanie? I'm making that list, and I just wanted to mention that buying bulbs of garlic would be cheaper and more practical in the long run than buying garlic powder."
    "I'll keep that in mind."
    The soup was a hit, so there was no point thinking it would've been better it she'd had everything she wanted at hand.
    That was past—that constant striving for better, for best, for perfection. Hadn't she learned by now it was fine to get by? Nobody here cared if the oregano was fresh or had been sitting in plastic jars for six months.
    Why should she?
    She only had to cook, serve and pick up her check.
    She had no investment here. In fact, she'd probably made a mistake taking the apartment upstairs. It was too close to settling in. She should move back to the hotel.
    Better, she should just toss her things into her car and move on.
    Nothing to keep her here. Nothing to keep her anywhere.
    "Brody's here," Linda-gail called out. "Ticket up, he and the doc are going for the soup."
    "Brody and the doctor," Reece mumbled. "Isn't that perfect?"
    She'd fix them soup, all right. No problem att all.
    With rage just beginning to bubble, she ladled up two bowls, plated them with rolls and butter. And as the bubbling went to steam, she personally carried them out to the booth where the men sat.
    "Here's your soup. And for a side dish, let me make this clear. I don't need or want a medical examination. I'm not sick. There's nothing wrong with my eyesight. I didn't fall asleep on the trail and dream I saw a woman being strangled to death."
    She spoke clearly enough, and with the outrage of her words stinging the air, conversations stopped at the tables near the booth. For a moment, the only sound was Garth Brooks on the juke.
    "Enjoy your lunch," Recce finished and strode back to the kitchen.
    She yanked off her apron, grabbed her jacket. "My shift's over. I'm going upstairs."
    "Go right ahead." Joanie placidly flipped a burger on the grill. "You're on eleven to eight tomorrow."
    "I know my schedule." She walked out the back, round the side, and stomped up the steps.
    Inside the apartment, she went directly to her maps and guides and took out the ones that applied. She'd find her way to the spot by herself. She didn't need an escort; she didn't need some man tagging along to placate and patronize her.
    She pulled open the map, then watched it flutter to the floor from her limp fingers.
    It was covered with jagged red lines and loops and splotches. The area across from the trail where she'd stood the day before was heavily circled, dozens of times.
    She hadn't done that, she hadn't. Still, she looked at her fingers as if expecting to see red smears on the tips. The map had been pristine only the day before, and now it looked as if it had been folded and refolded again and again, drawn and scribbled on in some crazy code.
    She hadn't done it. She couldn't have done it.
    Breath wheezing,