“Chuck?” I asked as I approached him.

As he walked toward me, his gaze swept up my legs, lingered on my breasts, and then took in my face. A smile lit up his blue eyes. “That’s me. How can I help you, pretty lady?”

Pretty lady? I felt like I’d jumped in a pond full of slime, but I forced a smile. I could play this coy, or I could be blunt. I wasn’t in the mood for games. “I wanted to ask you some questions about Ashlynn.”

His eyes darkened, and he walked past me toward the front of the building. “No thanks.”

“Did you see her yesterday?” I asked, hurrying behind him.

“Nope,” he said, keeping his gaze straight ahead.

“I took her into town yesterday, but she never showed up at work and she didn’t go home last night. I thought you might know where she is.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass where she is,” he said, dumping the bag on the front sidewalk with loud thunk, then turning around and heading back to grab another.

“Don’t you care about your baby?” I asked as he brushed past me.

He stopped and turned to face me, his eyes dark. “That’s a good one.”

That pissed me off. Maybe it was the fact my own father had turned his back on me, but the thought of him already blowing off his baby didn’t sit right with me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Look,” he said in frustration. He stopped walking and swept a hand in front of him. “I don’t know what that bitch told you, but it ain’t my baby.”

“What are you talking about?”

His eyes widened, and he leaned forward as he enunciated each word. “That. Baby. Ain’t. Mine.”

“But—”

“She cheated on me. We went for the stupid ultrasound a few weeks ago, and they said she was six months pregnant, not five like she told me.”

I shook my head, still not understanding what the problem was. “So?”

“I was in jail, lady, and I wasn’t gettin’ no conjugal visits.”

“Oh. Crap.”

“More like she fed me a crock of shit.”

I hated asking this question, but it had to be done. “Do you know whose baby it is?”

“That slut’s been sleepin’ around with anybody with a dick, so there’s just no tellin’.”

“Take a guess.”

“Probably Jonathon Whitmore’s. Rumor has it she’s been shacking up with him from time to time.”

“Got any idea about how I can go about reaching him?”

He released a bitter laugh. “You’re something else, ain’t ya?”

“So I’ve been told.”

He shook his head and then laughed again, only this time it sounded more genuine. “I like you, so sure, I’ll tell you. He lives up toward Hogan’s Pass. Blue house that looks like it’s about to fall in.” He clenched his jaw. “I hope it falls in around both of ’em.”

“But what about the baby?” I asked in disbelief. I could understand his hateful feelings toward his ex, but an innocent baby?

He turned and spat on the concrete, barely missing a potted plant. “Ain’t my kid. It’d be better off not coming into that sick as fuck family.”

“Ashlynn’s?” I asked.

“The tooth fairy’s,” he snarked. “Of course hers. They’re as messed up as they come. Her mother murdered that insurance guy. Her brother nearly killed himself and two other people, and her father is a mean son-of-a-bitch.” He paused, and I saw a momentary flicker of pain in his eyes, but rage burned it away. “And she’s a fuckin’ slut.” He spun around and headed for the large pile of mulch bags in the back.

I considered following him, but I wasn’t sure what else to ask him. His directions to Jonathon Whitmore’s house sucked, but that was the best I was going to get out of him.

“Thank you,” I called out, figuring I owed him that much.

Keeping his back to me, he lifted his right arm and flipped me off. If he flipped off the people he liked, I sure hated to see what he did to those he didn’t.

I got back in my car and pulled out of the parking lot. Maybe Marco could get me an address for Ashlynn’s other boyfriend. Or I could look it up in the phone book. I started toward the Ewing library, turning down a side street that would get me there faster. It was then realized I was on Bird Street, the street that matched the address I’d found for Jim Palmer.

Pulling to the side of the road in front of a bungalow with pretty flowers lining the sidewalk and the numbers 324 painted on the siding next to the door, I got out my notebook and searched through my notes. Sure enough, the Palmers lived at 758.

I pulled away from the curb and continued down the road for several blocks. When I was in the 700s, I saw a For Sale sign in a yard up ahead and gasped when I realized it was in front of 758.

Melinda had already put her house up for sale?

My phone rang, and my pulse picked up when I realized it was Marco.

“Hey,” I said, hating that I sounded slightly breathless.

“I think sex with you is amazing too,” he said in a low tone that set my body on fire. “But I’m relieved to know you feel the same way. Are you still in Ewing?”

“Yeah.” Did he want to go to the Alpine Inn and rent a room? Was it wrong I kind of hoped he did?

“I’d love to meet you for lunch.”

“How about a field trip?” I asked hopefully.

“I’m intrigued…”

“How about you get me an address, and we can drive by it together?”

He released a short laugh. “Way to get a man’s hopes up, then dash them.”

I grinned. “You’re an officer of the law, Deputy Roland. Isn’t sex in a parked car considered indecent exposure?”

“Public indecency, and it’s only a problem if you get caught.”

“You get me that address, and we’ll see what happens. His name is Jonathon Whitmore. I’m guessing he’s in his twenties, and he supposedly lives up near Hogan’s Pass.”

He laughed. “Challenge accepted. How about you pick up lunch, then swing by the station and get me?”

“You can get the address that soon?”

“You underestimate my desire to see you.”

I flushed again. “What are you in the mood for?”

“You,” he said, his voice deep. “As for lunch, surprise me. Get here as soon as you can.” He hung up, and I realized I was smiling like a fool.

In front of a murdered man’s house.

Guilt swept in like an arctic wind, but I told myself I hadn’t known Jim Palmer. Sure, I was learning about him, but I hadn’t known him. I wasn’t expected to grieve. I was allowed a small sliver of happiness in my life.

Except…maybe the guilt I felt was deeper than Jim Palmer’s death and Pam Crimshaw’s ruin. It didn’t feel right to be happy with Bart’s threat hanging over Hank’s head. With him carrying on with his violent chess game with the town and its people.

And when I looked really deep, I wondered how long it would take Marco to realize I was unlovable, something every man who’d come before him had discovered. How long would I have this happiness for before it was gone?