“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Honey?” a voice called from the back of the house before a tall man in long overcoat appeared. “Oh, I wondered who was here.”
“Detectives Alvarez and Pescoli,” she said, somehow able to grab hold of her composure again, maybe because her husband was home. Her rock. Or maybe someone she could hide behind. “The
y’re from the sheriff’s department and they came by because of the attempt”—she cleared her throat—“the attempt on Dan’s life.”
Banks looked appropriately somber. “Helluva thing, that,” he said, taking off his coat. With it still draped over his arm, he extended a hand, first to Alvarez, then to Pescoli. “Nolan Banks.”
They introduced themselves and Alvarez even flipped open her badge as Pescoli sized the man up. She’d seen him around town before, a businessman in a dark suit, crisp white shirt, and striped tie. His hair was neatly trimmed, his face clean-shaven, his blond hair thinning near the temples. An aquiline nose separated close-set, intelligent eyes. In Pescoli’s opinion, Nolan Banks looked as out of place in this part of Montana as a thoroughbred at a workhorse show.
“So what’s going on here? Why are you questioning my wife?”
“Covering our bases,” Pescoli said, deciding she’d let Cara, herself, explain.
“How’s the sheriff doing?”
“He’s a fighter,” she said, wondering at the anxiety in Banks’s face.
“We’ll pray for him.”
Of course you will.
Quick footsteps pounded wildly on the stairs only to stop suddenly. Pescoli glanced up to see a girl in her early teens on the landing. She’d been gathering steam on her way downward, but at the sight of the gathering in the hallway she’d stopped short to peer over the rail.
“Oh, this is our daughter, Allison.” He smiled up at his teenager. “Alli, come on down, meet the detectives.”
“Why are they here?” she asked suspiciously, not budging an inch.
“Some questions for your mom. You heard about the shooting on the sheriff?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s like everywhere.” With more than a little impudence, she flipped her dark hair over one shoulder. “So why are you here, questioning my mom?” A pretty girl in jeans and a tight T-shirt, her inquisitive eyes fell on the detectives.
“All part of the investigation,” Pescoli answered. “We’re talking to anyone who knows the sheriff.”
“And Mom was married to him,” Alli said flatly.
Cara glanced from her husband to her daughter. “A long time ago, Alli.”
“Yeah, I know. Like ancient history.” She almost smirked as she finally deigned to clomp down the remaining steps in her boots.
“Exactly.” Cara was nodding, obviously happy that particular fact had been mentioned.
Pescoli wondered. Cara was almost too quick and too emphatic in her negations of any link to her ex.
“I thought you were Eric,” the girl said a little petulantly, and Pescoli noticed her jeans were ripped. By design. Allison’s boots, too, Pescoli knew, were expensive. Bianca wanted a pair just like them, and even the knockoffs were more than Pescoli wanted to pay.
“Eric’s coming over?” Cara asked with a disapproving tone.
“Yeah.” Allison shrugged. “I decided it would be okay.”
“You decided?” Nolan joined his wife’s concern. “That boy should get a job or go to school.”
“That boy has a job,” Allison threw back at them. “And he’s taking night classes. He got his GED, you know.”
“I mean a real job,” Nolan said. “Working as a busboy at Dino’s Pizza Parlor isn’t exactly a career path, and his night class is in tae kwon do.”
“So? What was your first job?” his daughter charged, eyes flaring. “Haven’t you bragged about, uh, what is it? Working your way up? And starting by shoveling shit for some rich guy’s horses? Herbert Long, or something.”