The Liar

“Well, shit. Well, shit,” Forrest repeated. “Don’t touch the car.”

“I’m not touching a goddamn thing,” he said as Forrest pulled out his phone. “I didn’t hear a shot.”

Forrest took a picture from the side, one from the front. “Small caliber, and see how it’s burned around the entry wound? Held it right against her. Right up against her forehead, pulled the trigger. Somebody might’ve heard a pop, but it wouldn’t be all that loud. I’ve got to call my boss.”

“Shelby?”

Like Griff, Forrest looked back toward the bar and grill. “Let’s just wait on that a little bit. Just wait on it. We need to secure this area. And shit, we’re going to have to start talking to people inside the bar and grill. Sheriff?”

Forrest adjusted his stance, re-angled the phone. “Yes, sir. I got a body here in the parking lot of Bootlegger’s Bar and Grill. Yes, sir, that sure would be a dead one.” He glanced at Griff as he spoke, nearly smiled. “I’m certain of that as I’m looking right at her and the small-caliber bullet wound, close-contact, in her forehead. I got that.”

On a sigh, Forrest shoved his phone in his pocket. “Sure wish I’d finished that beer because it’s going to be a long, dry night now.” He studied the body another moment, then turned to Griff. “I’m deputizing you.”

“What?”

“You’re a competent individual, Griff, and you sure keep your head when you find a dead body, as you’ve just proven. Don’t shake easy, do you?”

“It’s my first dead body.”

“And you didn’t scream like a girl.” Laying a bolstering hand on Griff’s shoulder, Forrest gave it a friendly pat. “Plus, I happen to know you didn’t kill her since you were inside with me.”

“Yay.”

“She’s still warm, so she hasn’t been dead long. I got some things I need in my truck, and I need you to stay here. Right here.”

“I can do that.” Because, he thought, as Forrest walked off to his truck, what else could he do?

He tried to think it through. The woman had been inside, then she’d gone out, gotten in her car. The driver’s-side window was down.

Warm enough night. Had she put it down for the air, or because somebody had walked up to the car? Did a woman alone in a parking lot outside a bar roll down the window for a stranger?

Maybe, but it seemed less likely than rolling it down for someone she knew.

But . . .

“Why’s her window down?” he asked Forrest. “From what you told me, she doesn’t know anybody around here. She’s got to have some basic street smarts, so who’d she roll the window down for?”

“Deputized two minutes and already thinking like a cop. Makes me proud of my own character assessment. Put these on.”

Griff looked at the gloves. “Oh, man.”

“Don’t want you to handle anything—probably—but just in case. Use your phone, take some notes for me.”

“Why? Don’t you have backup coming or something?”

“They’ll be coming. This woman came at my sister. I want a leg up. Get the make, model, license plate. Go on and get a picture of the plate. She’s got a high-end rental here. We’ll find out where she got it.”

He shone his light in the car. “Purse is still in here, sitting on the passenger seat. Closed. Keys in the ignition, engine off.”

“She’d have had to turn the key to get the window down. Strange town, she’d’ve locked the car up, right?”

“Son, if you ever give up carpentry and such, I’d take you on.” Forrest opened the passenger door, crouched, opened the purse. “She’s got herself a pretty little Baby Glock here.”

Now Griff leaned over Forrest’s shoulder. “She had a gun in her purse?”

“It’s Tennessee, Griff. Half the women in that bar are carrying. Loaded, clean. I’d say it hasn’t been fired recently. Got a Florida driver’s license under the name Madeline Elizabeth Proctor, and that’s not the name she gave Shelby. Miami address. Got her DOB as eight twenty-two ’eighty-five. Got some lipstick—looks pretty new—got herself a folding combat knife.”

“Jesus.”

“Nice one, too. Blackhawk. Visa and American Express cards, same name. We got two hundred and . . . thirty-two dollars in cash. And a key card for a room at the Lodge at Buckberry Creek in Gatlinburg. Fancy.”

“Didn’t want to get rousted.” When Forrest glanced over, Griff shrugged. “She had to know Shelby had a cop for a brother. Go at Shelby, she’s going to have a cop rousting her. Plus plenty of family circling the wagons. So she doesn’t stay at the local hotel, which is pretty fancy, too. She puts some distance between herself and the Ridge, gives Shelby a phony name.”

“See why I deputized you? So, what do you figure happened here?”

“Seriously?”

“Dead woman in the car, Griff.” Curious, Forrest straightened up, rolled his shoulders. “It’s pretty serious, all in all.”