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“I didn’t change the sequence. I hadn’t remembered it correctly.”
“Until when, Kerra? Before or after you talked me through it last night?”
She avoided looking him in the eye.
“That’s what
I thought.”
She defended herself against the accusation behind his droll remark. “I wasn’t completely honest with you last night because you’d made me—”
“Afraid.”
“All right, yes! You sneaked into my room after you’d left with the sheriff, which was frightening enough, but then you demanded to know if I’d seen the men who’d attempted to kill The Major. What was I supposed to think?”
“You were supposed to think that a son would want to know who’d tried to off his father.”
“A son who hadn’t spoken to that father in years, who emanated so much hostility you could cut it with a knife? That son?”
He glared at her then turned away, mumbling things she thought it just as well she didn’t catch. She gave both of them a short timeout to cool down, then said quietly, “I had to tell the authorities, Trapper.”
“You did what your conscience dictated and”—he snapped his fingers—“next thing I know, everybody puts me creeping around in the dark back rooms of The Major’s house, jiggling doorknobs.”
“I understand why you would take offense at the allegation, but it will go away as soon as you provide an alibi for Sunday night.”
“Right. Right.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll think of something.”
Her lips parted in shock.
He rolled his eyes. “That was a joke, for crissake.”
“It wasn’t funny.”
“You’re right. Not a damn thing’s been funny since you knocked on my office door.”
“Well, I’m sorry about that, but you haven’t helped yourself, either. How did you get my bag?”
He spread his arms from his sides. “I don’t have your bag. Glenn and those Rangers hammered me hard about that thing. I denied knowing anything about its missing status.”
“Did they believe you?”
“Didn’t stick around long enough to find out. I told them I wasn’t saying another goddamn word without a lawyer, got up, walked out.”
“They let you go?”
“They had to. They’ve got nothing on me. And, in case you’re still wondering, I do have an alibi. I was in a sports bar where I’m a regular. I had a dinner of wings and cheese fries, watched a game that went into overtime, and didn’t leave till the final buzzer. Bartender knows me. He can vouch. Plus I put the tab on a credit card, so the receipt will be time-stamped. Satisfied?”
“Did the sheriff check it out?”
“In the process when I left.”
“What about the earring? How did you explain having it?”
“I spotted it on the floor under your hospital bed last night while I was waiting for you to come out of the bathroom.” He paused, then added, “Smelling like bath powder.”
“That isn’t true.”
“It absolutely is. Baby powder, I’m guessing.”
