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Sam turned to Kevin. Kevin’s heartbeat picked up, a mix of nerves and excitement making his hands feel unusually clammy.
“Do you feel ready to take on Rita?” Sam’s question was casual, but it carried the weight of a test.
Kevin could barely nod before the keys to the Crown Vic spun through the air toward him. He snatched them from their arc, the jingle of authority loud in his grip. A smile split his face, broad and bright.
Sam’s lips quirked. “Rita will appreciate the pomp. And we can always use the goodwill.”
“I’m on it,” Kevin replied, his voice steadier than he felt. The keys were warm, the metal edges biting slightly into his palm—a reminder of responsibility and the trust now placed in him.
The team returned to their tasks, but Kevin couldn’t stop smiling as he moved to the door.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Sam, Jo, and Lucy made their way to the paint store, nodding to townspeople and stopping for kids to pet Lucy. Some people greeted them warmly. Others avoided them. They were used to it.
“About time the police station got a touch-up, huh?” one of the locals commented with a grin. Either they had misinterpreted the purpose of their visit or knew about Reese’s painting project.
Inside the paint store, the smell of turpentine and sawdust mingled in the air. The store was an organized chaos of color swatches and dusty paint cans. Behind the counter stood Mel, a gruff old man with a shock of white hair that matched the streaks on his apron. His hands were permanently stained with the testimony of his trade, and his eyes, though sharp, carried the gentle weariness of years of experience.
Sam and Jo approached the counter.
Mel scratched the stubble on his chin, a smudge of white paint highlighting a weathered crease on his cheek. “Ran out of paint, did ya?” He cocked a grizzled eyebrow at Sam. “Told that girl Reese she’d need another gallon, at least.”
Sam shook his head. “No, not here for paint, Mel. We’ve got something else on our minds.” He showed him a picture of the bandana on his phone. “See these paint splatters? You recall anyone buying paint like this?”
Mel peered at the fabric, his eyes squinting as if the colors might jump out with a clearer explanation. “Those garish colors? Nope. Can’t say I do. Who’d want their walls to scream like a carnival midway?”
Sam’s mouth twitched at the corners, almost a smile. “Well, we’re thinking the person who chose them might not be aiming forHomes and Gardens’ approval.”
Mel let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Sorry, can’t help ya. My customers have better taste than that.”
Jo, who had been quiet, piped up. “Are you sure, Mel? It could be important.”
The old man shrugged, a gesture that spoke of a long life of seeing too much yet never enough. “Maybe someone bought it at another store. There are plenty around. I think I’d remember those colors.”
Sam put his phone in his pocket. “Thanks, Mel. If you think of anything, let us know.”
Mel gave a noncommittal grunt, already turning back to his work, his mind on the paint and brushes that were his world.
Sam and Jo stepped out into the sunlight, the door jingling a goodbye behind them.
Sam nodded. “You win a few, you lose a few. Come on, let’s get Lucy back in the Tahoe.”
Sam closed the Tahoe’s door, securing Lucy in the back. His eyes fixed on a figure across the street. A man in a tan-and-black baseball cap was slipping a pack of cigarettes into his coat pocket.
Jo followed Sam’s gaze. “Didn’t Jackson say he saw someone with a cap like that lurking around the sanctuary?”
“Yeah, he did.” Sam’s voice was flat, his gaze still locked on the man who looked like he was staring into some sort of art gallery. “And look who it is. Ricky Webster.”
Jo’s eyebrows drew together, a wrinkle forming on her forehead. “Ricky? That’s weird.”
Ricky had been a suspect in their last case and had been cleared, but Sam always thought there was something weird about him.
They watched Ricky light a cigarette, his movements furtive, a twitch in his shoulders as if he were expecting someone—or running from something.
“We should have a chat with him,” Jo suggested, already stepping off the curb.
Sam nodded. “Let’s not spook him.”
