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Duncan rolled his eyes. “The rich really do live in a different world from everybody else.”
“They sure do. Good job, by the way. Photos of the scene went up on their online system an hour or so ago, and it looks great. There’s almost nothing of use left. The rear end of the car was partially intact, enough to read the plate. So they were able to make a prelim ID. They’ll wait for dental records to confirm—she’s nothing but bone—but with her driving record, I don’t see them bothering with DNA or anything else. They’ll call it an accident and file it away in their cleared cases.” He grinned. “I’m impressed.”
“It was mostly Dex telling us what to do. I just did what I was told.”
Apollo chuckled. “That’s how you learn, kid.”
Duncan didn’t think he wanted to learn that particular lesson—but actually, yeah, he did. He didn’t want to be in another position where he had to dispose of a body, or make one, but if he were in that position again, and he needed to protect someone he loved, yeah. He wanted to know how to do it. To be sure.
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~oOo~
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About two hours later, Duncan was about to turn onto the gravel lane that led to Ragamuffin Ranch when a black police cruiser pulled up to the turn, coming from the ranch. The state-shaped logo on the door marked it as Oklahoma State Police. Two uniformed officers sat in the front seat.
They pulled out and made obvious note of Duncan, who was obviously about to turn in. He put a confused look on his face and lifted his hand in a vaguely friendly greeting. The driver nodded, and they drove on.
Duncan made the turn calmly, then checked to make sure the cops were out of sight. Then he did the half mile of that lane in a flash. He skidded into his parking place and jumped off.
Phoebe was on the porch, coming down to meet him.
“You okay? Everything okay?” he asked as he trotted to her.
She smile. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I was about to text you.”
He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. “Tell me what happened.”
She led him to the wooden bench next to the porch steps, and they sat. “They asked me if I knew Lydia Copperman. I told them I did, and they asked when I’d last seen her. I told them when, and that I’d asked her to leave.”
“That’s good. How’d they take it?”
“Fine, I think. I think they believed me.”
“Well, it’s mostly true.”
Her smile was a little hesitant, but it showed up. “Yeah. One of them is a vet. He saw the sticker there on the storm door. We traded a couple stories. He was over there about the same time I was. I told him about the IED.” A blush rose on her cheeks. “I think that helped. I feel dirty about it, but I think knowing I got hurt over there ... helped them believe me.”
Drawing her close to him again, Duncan kissed her head. “It’s not dirty. I’m glad you used what could help.”
With a sigh, she went on. “They asked me what kind of car she was driving when she was here, and I told them it was a black Land Rover, one of the really expensive ones. Then they showed me some pictures from the scene—the back end of her car, pointing up from a deep ravine or something like that. I said it looked like hers.” She looked up at him. “Duncan, I think they really believed me. I think that’s it.”
A light, evening breeze was tossing loose wisps of her hair around; Duncan brushed them from her face. “I told you everything’s going to be okay. Just like I promised.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist. “Just like you promised.”
