Page 17 of A Little Taste
I know what I ought to do, and it’s take care of Owen and keep the town running. It’s not magic. It’s hard work, and I’m doing just fine.
* * *
“My guess isthese tracks were made with some kind of lightweight all-terrain vehicle. One with wide tires.” Britt is on her knees examining the path cut through Terra Belle’s cucumber vines. “Three-wheelers were outlawed in the eighties, but some are still out there, especially in small, rural pockets.”
She gets close with the digital camera and takes several photos from different angles. She places small, numbered cards all over the field, and she places another one beside the tracks.
When she’s done, she lifts a long strand of damaged fruit and carries it to where I’m standing out of her way. “See these tracks? The square treads are typical of an old-school ATV. Our getaway vehicle was a three-wheeler.”
My eyebrows lift. “That’s a very specific clue.”
Her cheeks flush a pretty pink, and her full lips fight against a smile. “That’s why I’m here.”
She’s impossible to ignore, taking command of the scene, confidently organizing everything we’ve found into sections and numbers.
Instead of Daisy Dukes and cowboy boots, today she’s wearing a long sleeved, zip-up canvas bodysuit in fatigue green. Her blonde hair is cinched up in a tight bun, and she has big, clear goggles over her eyes. Plastic gloves are on her hands as she carefully turns the vines and takes pictures.
Since we got here, I’ve been pretty much standing aside watching as she meticulously sifts through every bit of evidence and takes pictures from all possible angles. I can’t get over how focused she is on this tedious work, and I have to admit, she’s good at it.
She’s also fucking magnetic as shit, working the crime scene like a seasoned professional. My eyes are drawn to her every move like I’m watching one of those crime shows.
I watch as she slowly walks to the far edge of the field, eyes fixed on the ground. Then she stops short, dropping to a knee. “Sheriff!”
My breath hitches at her shout, and I pick my way to where she’s kneeling. “You found something?”
“Look!” She stands, holding a beat-up brown work boot. “Does this belong to one of your men?”
My brow arches. “Doug is my only man.”Besides you,I don’t say. “I’m pretty sure he didn’t leave a boot here over the weekend.”
“We need to run this past Terra, make sure it’s not hers or a friend’s.” She carries it with two gloved fingers to her dog, holding it out for him to sniff. “I’m going to put a card here to mark the spot where I found it.”
Nodding, I step aside as Edward puts his nose to the ground and follows a trail through the crime scene.
She follows him back to the spot where she found the boot and holds up a hand, frantically waving me over again. “Come here, quick!”
I do my best to avoid stepping on any of her cards as I pick my way to where she’s calf-deep in cucumber vines.
“What is it?” I’m not sure why I’m whispering.
“Lean down here, and look at this!” She’s whispering as well, but she’s excited. She drops to a squat, and I bend closer, catching the bug of her enthusiasm. “What do you think made these markings?”
While I’m squinting at a series of linear channels pressed into the soft soil, she pulls out her camera and takes several more pictures.
“A hoe, maybe? Or a shovel?” I can’t think of what else would make such deep, narrow indentions.
“They begin right past where I found the boot, like he stepped out of it in the middle of walking.”
Straightening, I study her green eyes shrouded by science-class-looking goggles. “What are you saying, Britt?”
“I think whoever did this was wearing that boot, and when it came off, he had to keep going on his prosthetic foot.”
My eyebrows shoot up, and I take a knee, getting closer to study the markings again. Sure enough, looking at them from this angle with that in mind, it’s got to be.
“Fuck me,” I mutter. “The perp has a prosthetic leg. How did we miss that before?”
“You’re not required to get as close as I am, and something like this is easy to miss in a farm where equipment is used for harvesting.”
I’m not going to lie. I’m impressed as hell. “So now we have a potential suspect with a fake leg who owns a three-wheeler. I can’t imagine too many people will fit that profile.”