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“You okay?” Alvarez asked, her eyes dark with instant concern.
“Yeah, yeah.” Letting out a long breath, she said, “Braxton Hicks. I had ’em with both the other kids.”
“A long time ago.”
“Which everyone keeps reminding me.” The contraction eased, and she straightened. Without missing a beat, she grabbed her sidearm, and together they walked outside.
“I’ll drive,” Alvarez said and for once Pescoli didn’t argue. She’d had enough arguing last night when the discussion with Luke, Michelle, and Bianca had gotten hot and escalated in the parking lot of the Sons of Grizzly Falls building. Luke seemed to think Bianca’s opportunity to be a part of the reality show was akin to finding a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
“Think of the money she could make. God, Regan, it might pay for her college. Maybe that’s not a big deal for you, but I’m not a rich man and any little bit helps.”
As if he’d paid for any damned thing since their divorce. They shared custody, and that appeared to mean that Regan shouldered all of the bills. But Luke was on the hook for college—that had been written in the divorce decree—and so, of course, he was squirming, trying to get out of it.
“Or starring in this reality show could be the start of something, maybe launch an acting career,” Michelle had piped up, a bit of envy in her words.
“Why wouldn’t you want her to do it?” Jeremy had asked. He’d shown up late for the meeting, but had added his two cents.
Only Santana hadn’t argued with her, just kept his silence as Bianca wheedled, “Mom, I want to do it. Come on. What would it hurt?”
That was it. She didn’t know, but it had just felt wrong to her. Still did, she thought, as she stared through the Subaru’s bug-splattered window at a line of clouds, thick and white, slowly inching across the blue Montana sky.
She and Alvarez continued to discuss the case on the way to the feed store, tossing out names of suspects and coming back to the big question mark that had eluded them: Who had Destiny Rose gone to meet, if anyone, on the evening of her disappearance? As far as they knew, Donny Justison was the last person to have seen her alive and therefore was still at the top of the suspect list.
They discussed potential motives for Destiny’s murder. If the girl hadn’t been killed by a random nutcase in a situation where she’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time, which seemed remote, then it was someone who knew her. The obvious motive was that she was pregnant. If the pregnancy wasn’t the reason she was killed, then why?
Destiny didn’t have any money, no trust fund. She had no known enemies, at least none that had surfaced yet, so that brought them back to the fact that she was with child.
“Maybe her cell phone records will give us a clue,” Alvarez said. “There was some kind of hiccup with getting them to us, but they’re supposed to be in today.”
“What about her laptop?”
“Zoller’s going through it as we speak.”
“Good. I gave her another assignment. Because she’s a card-carrying member of the Big Foot Believers, I asked her to check out who could have made off with the missing Sasquatch costume.”
“Let’s hope we catch a break.”
The drive only took about fifteen minutes, as the feed store where Kywin Bell worked was only a few miles from the station, past the sprawl of strip malls and fast-food restaurants in the newer section of town.
Alvarez pulled into a two-tiered asphalt parking lot. The commercial part of the store was located on the upper level and faced the pockmarked asphalt lot. The lower level serviced farmers who came for truckloads of feed and heavier equipment.
Pickups, flatbeds, vans, and a couple of sedans were parked haphazardly in the upper lot. If there had been any lines delineating parking spaces, they had long since faded.
The building itself was built of concrete blocks and had obviously been constructed for function rather than form. While the Sons of Grizzly Falls building was ornate, this one was stark. A metal awning ran across the front of the structure, shading the large windows and glass doors guarded by pallets of bark dust, peat moss, and sand.
Pescoli and Alvarez made their way inside, where the air seemed dusty despite the efforts of fans mounted high overhead. The only cashier at the front register was a man of twenty or so, whose dark hair was clipped so short his scalp showed through, and whose thick beard was long enough to boast two little rat tails that had been braided beneath his chin. He offered them a smile as they approached and asked if he could help.
The smile faded as they identified themselves, showed their badges, and asked about Kywin Bell.
“He’s in back. Loading,” the cashier, whose name tag read BRYCE, said. His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously and Pescoli wondered if he had something to hide, or if police officers in general sent him into overdrive. “I’ll show you the way.”
Quickly, head down, he ushered them along a wide center aisle that passed through sections dedicated to a variety of pets. They walked past stacks of bags of dry dog and cat food and shelves where dog toys, leashes, and collars had been suspended.
Through the pet area, they headed into another section dedicated to farm animals. Pescoli saw salt licks and saddles, veterinary and grooming supplies, pails and feedbags before Bryce showed them a staircase that looked to be a hundred years old. “Kywin’s down there,” he said. “In the grain depot.” He looked over his shoulder to the front of the store. “I got to get back to the register.”
“We can handle it from here,” Alvarez assured him as they started down the steps.
“Okay.” He hurried off.
