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Royce bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to control his knee-jerk reaction. He couldn’t snap at this woman he didn’t really know. Instead, he forced his lips into an insincere smile, reminding himself that he felt the same way Briar did, it was just irritating to have it shoved in his face.
“Well, Rexville hasn’t changed that much.”
Royce moved behind Garrison’s desk, although he supposed he needed to start thinking of it as his desk, for a year anyway, and sat down. The chair creaked under his weight and he added new desk chair to his mental list.
“The tow truck driver, Jordan, said you could set me up with a car. I need to get out to Tor’s house.”
Royce thought it was interesting that she called her father by his first name even though Royce had done the same thing with his. He wondered if it was for the same reason Royce had, an attempt to keep a mental distance between herself and the man who had fathered her.
“Do you want to know where he is right now?”
She shrugged, her gaze still taking in the state of the office. “Over in Bridgeton at the funeral home, I assume. Who do I need to contact? And Jordan said you could set me up with a car?”
Royce thought about it for a minute. There was a car in the back lot of the auto shop he might be able to loan her but it needed some work first.
“I might have something for you tomorrow but not tonight.”
She stared at him for a long moment. Obviously, this was not the answer she wanted.
“There’s not a car available in the entire town?”
He shrugged and leaned back in the chair. “Rexville hasn’t changed much over the years. Did you think we had a rental agency here these days? Why don’t you have a seat and we can go over what little I know. I’m sorry about your father, he will be missed.”
Her eyes narrowed further, and she did not sit down. “Thanks, I haven’t really processed it yet. We didn’t talk much.”
Royce tried not to notice that, yes, she was almost as tall as he was, and her dark blond hair was wet and disheveled, and long enough to brush across the top of her shoulders. Long enough for him to imagine running his hands through it. He snapped his gaze away from her hair and back to her eyes. What was wrong with him?
“I don’t want to sit down,” she said impatiently. “I want to get out to the house.”
Repressing a sigh, Royce glanced at his watch. “It’s pouring and dark, and the roads are crap. There’s no hurry. We can go out to the house tomorrow, together.”
“What kind of experience do you have to be a sheriff anyway?” she demanded, finally sitting down in one of the chairs across from the desk, the one that Royce had cleared off earlier.
Briar’s question was valid, but it pissed him off. He took a deep breath before replying.
“Well,” he answered calmly, “I was a Criminal Investigations Warrant Officer for over fifteen years, so I think I’m pretty damn qualified.” He quirked an eyebrow. “I could be wrong, though.”
Briar peered at him as if she was trying to tell if he was lying. She must’ve decided he wasn’t because her expression lightened a small amount.
“A CID warrant officer? I’ve heard good stuff about you guys. I still want to go out to the house tonight, though. Where did you think I was planning on staying?”
He hadn’t thought about it, and from what he’d heard, he didn’t think she’d want to stay out there.
“When was the last time you were in town?”
A spasm of what looked like guilt—something Royce was far too familiar with—crossed her face, and her gaze flickered to the stack of boxes on the floor.
“I haven’t been back since I was seventeen.” She glanced back at him and he wondered if she was remembering the last time they’d seen each other. Did she know he’d left town just days after she did? “Tor and I didn’t always see eye to eye, and I wanted more out of life than what Rexville had to offer. As an adult, I realize there was a lot going on I didn’t know about at the time.”
Tor Nilson had been a talented furniture maker, although, as Royce understood it, he’d been making less and less of it as he’d gotten older. He’d lived alone at the end of Old Dodge Road, and Royce doubted the house was in the same state Briar remembered.
“I don’t think you’re going to want to stay out there.”
Royce hadn’t driven out to Tor Nilson’s house yet because he’d only been sheriff for twenty-four hours and he still had an auto shop to help run. And King Security, although he was still trying to sort out if it was a conflict of interest. Until he learned otherwise, he’d keep his hand in, at least on the administrative end. Today, at least, he’d managed to talk with one of the EMTs who’d responded to the call, and they’d said Tor’s house was a wreck.
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
“I will, tomorrow. Eight hours isn’t going to change anything. We’ll go first thing in the morning.”
