Whisper a Warning Page 7

  “We’ll dust them for prints, but I don’t think we’ll get any good prints. And we can’t be sure they have anything to do with the disappearance.”

  “Of course they do,” added Willow. “Dancin’ Joe’s sure isn’t the kind of place that the Burdetts would go to. It’s a rough country bar up north of the city. Whoever stole that truck ate that food, you can be sure of that.”

  “And of course, you know that for a fact,” snarled one of the detectives who was labeling the evidence in a plastic bag.

  “Careful, partner,” Rockford cautioned the detective with a grin, as he saw the tightness in Willow’s jaw. “You’re getting ready to dance with a porcupine.”

  The man sauntered off.

  Opening the passenger door of the truck, Willow slipped into the cab. The worn vinyl of the seat reminded her of the Burdetts—hardworking, dependable. She felt her eyes get moist but pushed the emotion away.

  The keys were in the ignition, as they had been when the truck was found. Fingerprinting dust was everywhere, left behind by the technicians who had collected the prints. Willow’s hand shot out and started the engine. It leapt to life.

  “Hey,” called Dunn, stepping quickly to the door. “What are you doing?”

  “Just seeing if it starts.” Willow heard the engine running, but she heard something else, too. The radio in the truck had turned on with the ignition, and a country tune was blending in with the engine noise. “Boot-Scootin’ Boogie” was piped into the truck. Willow smiled, and turned the key again, silencing the truck and the radio. She slipped out of the seat.

  “Come on, Rockford, we’re done here,” she said cheerfully, waving good-bye to the detectives. “We’ll leave these gentlemen to waste all the time they want.”

  “Willow . . . keep cool. They’re doing their job.”

  “They should have done their job yesterday. Then maybe we’d know where the Burdetts are—and if they’re okay.”

  He took her arm, and quickly escorted her around the building toward the car, before she could make a scene. He held the real estate envelope tightly under his arm.

  “Nice legs,” one of the detectives said under his breath with a low whistle, watching Willow’s retreat.

  “But what a mouth,” said Detective Dunn, with a punch. They went back to work.

  “I can’t believe they’re just going to wait around for that stupid Porter Blank to come back tomorrow,” Willow growled under her breath as they left the police station in her Miata.

  “Stupid Porter Blank—nice judgment. I didn’t realize you knew the man well enough to make an assessment like that.”

  Willow gave a guilty smile as she shifted gears. “Point well taken, counselor. Maybe the guy’s a regular doll. I don’t know, since I’ve never met him. But to get involved with Charley Morse . . .”

  “I have to admit I don’t know Porter too well myself. I’m the new kid in town. Why don’t we just wait and see? Maybe there’s a simple explanation for this whole thing.”

  “If there’s a simple explanation, I’m going to find it.” Her jaw took on a determined look again.

  “Why don’t you let the cops do their job, Willow? They’re going to check out the prints, they’re checking out Morse, Porter will be back tomorrow. It’s not their fault that nobody knows where he went.”

  “Waiting until tomorrow may be a disaster if those two nice old people are in trouble.”

  She was chewing on her lower lip, and Rockford felt the tightening in his gut again. How could she do this to him, without even trying? “We’ve got no choice, Willow. We’ve got to wait. How about going to dinner with me tonight? If we do something distracting, the time will go faster.”

  The words were out of his mouth before his brain had a chance to censor them. He braced himself, waiting for the rejection that he knew would come.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay? You’ll go out with me? Tonight?” His heart beat faster.

  “Yep. We do have to pass the time. But I have a few conditions. I get to pick the place, and the suit has to go. You have to change your clothes, okay?”

  He would have agreed if she had asked him to jump to the moon.

  “Do city slickers own a pair of jeans? How about a flannel shirt? Boots?”

  “Not on your life.”

  They had pulled up to the curb at the real estate office. “Well, pardner, this country bumpkin has a hankering to go out with a cowboy tonight. Jeans, or no date.”

  Her laughing eyes met his, and all of a sudden his heart felt light. Heck, he had milked a cow. He could certainly get a pair of jeans.

  “I’ve got this sudden urge to buy a pair of jeans. Can’t figure out why.”

  “The department store in the shopping center might be a good place to start,” she offered as they climbed out of the car. “I’ve got to do some paperwork at the office. Can you pick me up at my place at six? I live in the cottage behind the barn at Higher Horizons Farm. It’s right down the road from the Burdetts’ place.”

  “I’ll be there. In my jeans.” He grinned, feeling like a boy waiting for Christmas.

  “Make sure you’re hungry, cowboy.” She waved goodbye and walked toward the office door. “By the way, can you dance?”

  “Like Fred Astaire.”

  “That should be a sight.”

  “So where are we going?’’ He thought of the wild and sophisticated clubs he had frequented in his New York past. He couldn’t picture such a place existing here.

  “We’re going to Dancin’ Joe’s, out on the highway. You’ll love it.”

  He thought of the take-out trash the police had found in the Burdetts’ truck, DANCIN’ JOE’S, it had said. “Willow, what are you up to?”

  “I’m going to Dancin’ Joe’s tonight with you or without you. Like I told you. . . I don’t like to wait. Are you coming?’’

  He hesitated for a minute, staring into the deepness of her eyes. “See you at six, cowgirl. Somebody’s got to see that you stay out of trouble.”

  He was rewarded with a radiant smile. “Don’t forget the jeans, city boy!”

  He watched her disappear into the office, and took a deep breath. Jeans. Since the rain had stopped, he decided to walk the few blocks to the shopping center. He was amazed to hear himself whistling on the way.

  Chapter Ten

  He sure looked good in jeans. Willow suppressed a grin as she glanced at him while they were climbing into his car. The jeans were molded to him as if they had a right to be there. A pair of boots peeked out from under them. He wore a plaid flannel shirt, the vibrant red and green eye-catching under the tan suede jacket he wore.

  “So do I pass inspection, Ms. Blake?” His eyes were twinkling, and the crooked smile that lit up his face made her melt. She laughed out loud. “You caught me looking at you. You look great. Right off the range. Rockford Cowpoke.”

  “Wait,” he exclaimed, reaching into the backseat of the car. “This is the best.” He pulled out a worn tan cowboy hat, plopped it on his head, and, pushing it back, gave her a cocky grin.

  Her eyes got bigger. “Amazing. But that hat’s not new.”

  “I bought it used at the saddlery. I thought it would make me seem more . . . real. Like I fit in. When we start asking questions. Thought I’d show you you’re not the only clever person around here!”

  Willow was impressed.

  He started up the gray sedan, noticing Willow looking around the car.

  “You don’t like the car? I promise I’ll drive carefully.”

  “It’s not that. It’s just that this car doesn’t seem to . . . fit you.”

  The car had several years’ wear on it, and was a neutral color, with stiff vinyl seats. It simply didn’t match the silk-suited lawyer she had taken to the barn the day before.

  “You make quite a detective, Willow. It’s not mine—it’s a rental. I didn’t bring a car with me when I moved here a few weeks ago. I didn’t bring much. Things were not good at home.” She saw a
look of pain cross his face.

  Willow raised a palm toward him. “Stop. Sorry I was prying. I just figured you for a fancy foreign car. You know, like a Lamborghini or something.”

  His face looked shocked. “It’s okay. I must be a caricature or something. My car is a Lamborghini. What color?”

  She thought for a moment. “Silver,” she said, squinting. “With a fantastic sound system.”

  He smiled meekly and nodded his head. “I guess I’m a predictable cuss, huh? No surprises.” He started the car, and his face looked sad.

  She had seen the look only seconds before when he had mentioned home. She didn’t know the cause of the pain that seemed to envelop him at certain moments, but she wanted to erase it.

  She reached out a hand, and touched his arm gently. He looked at her uncertainly.

  “The hat, cowboy,” she said with a wink. “The hat was a pleasant surprise. I love it.”

  He took a deep breath and smiled. “I can’t believe it. I’m looking forward to going to Dancin’ Joe’s.”

  They headed for the highway.

  The parking lot was well lit, and filled to the brink with pickup trucks, vans, and assorted cars. Dancin’ Joe’s had a big Saturday night crowd. They parked off to the side, hearing the twang of guitars and the beat of drums well before they even reached the door.

  Rockford watched Willow stride confidently before him. She was dressed in a western jacket, with an abundance of fringe down the arms. She wore a plaid shirt with white mother-of-pearl buttons, over a short tiered jean skirt. About a mile of long, shapely leg could be viewed from under the skirt, her legs ending in hand-stitched cowgirl boots. Her short blond hair was worn soft and wispy, and her face was glowing with life.

  She amazed him, the way she could switch styles and clothes as easy as turning channels on the TV, and still always look comfortable. She looked like she belonged in boots and fringe, the same way she had looked like she belonged in the wispy yellow chiffon he had first seen her wear.

  He took her elbow as he opened the heavy wooden door. They had arrived at Dancin’ Joe’s.

  They were immediately engulfed in a fog of cigarette smoke. Ears rang as the electric guitars vibrated in the air, cutting through the smoke and raucous racket of happy customers. They pushed their way through the mingling customers, and headed for the bar.

  Waitresses dressed in sequined cowgirl outfits held trays high above their heads as they deftly stepped through the crowd, delivering drinks to couples seated at small round tables, or standing around the room in groups. Miraculously, Rockford found them two seats at the bar, recently vacated by a couple who had joined the dancers on the wooden floor in the center of the room.

  “Not quite New York, eh, cowboy?” Willow asked with a grin. Two bearded guys were arm wrestling farther down the bar.

  “Amazing. I wouldn’t even know how to describe it.”

  “It’s an adventure. Enjoy it. We’ll just hang around, try to fit in.”

  Rockford looked around skeptically. “Well, anything’s possible. What are you drinking?”

  “Order a beer—or a beer, if you want to fit in. This isn’t the Hilton. I’m having a Coke.”

  “Have to keep a clear head around me, Willow? Alcohol might make you give in to your feelings?” He was joking, but Willow’s eyes met his, and he could see she was serious.

  “I saw enough of what alcohol could do when I was a kid. It’s not for me. I never touch the stuff. But you can order whatever you’d like, it doesn’t bother me.”

  It was another clue to the mystery of Willow Blake, and he took it in stride without asking pressing questions.

  One of the bartenders was heading their way.

  “Two Cokes,” Rockford said softly.

  “Two Cokes for the teetotalers at the end,” the gruff man yelled. They both winced.

  “You don’t have to drink soda on my account,” she said after a minute.

  “Maybe I do. Maybe it’s my own feelings I ought to keep a clear head about. Besides,” he said with a crooked grin, “I don’t care for beer, and I doubt they carry my expensive brand of Scotch in this place.”

  The Cokes were plopped down unceremoniously in front of them, and the bartender disappeared. They drank in silence.

  “We’re probably the only customers in this joint who are drinking soda.” Willow laughed, glancing around.

  “So much for fitting in.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it. There’s other ways of fitting in and meeting people.” She was standing suddenly, and taking him by the arm.

  Willow was heading for the dance floor, where boots were flying, heels were clicking, and dozens of dancers were moving to the beat.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he grumbled as she led him onto the floor. “This is an adventure that could put me in traction.”

  But she smiled up at him, and he decided to give it a try.

  The band was starting a new song; the guitars twanged, setting Rockford’s nerves on edge. Willow led him to the edge of the dance crowd.

  “Just try to follow along. This is a popular country dance song.”

  “Boot-Scootin’ Boogie” was reverberating through the smoky room, and the dancing crowd went into action, heels clacking in unison, bodies moving to the well-choreographed pattern of the song. At least most of the bodies were moving. Rockford was horrified.

  “They’re all doing the same steps,” he whispered in anguish, as he watched the flying feet around him. Willow was moving with the crowd with grace and ease. He stared at her with suspicion. “You know how to do these steps, don’t you? You tricked me.”

  He was trying to follow Willow’s feet, but his mind didn’t seem to be working quickly enough. He turned the wrong way and ran right into a tiny brunette dancer.

  “Ow, cowboy. Watch your turns!”

  He turned and glowered at Willow, who by this time was laughing out loud.

  “Don’t you New Yorkers know how to dance?” she teased, seeing his exasperated look.

  Again he tried to follow the crowd. Right, left, turn. This time he backed into a big bearded man.

  “Get your feet going the right way, buster, or we’re going to have to take this outside.”

  Rockford grabbed Willow’s arm. “You’re going to have to send me to dancing school before I’m willing to take on Brutus back there. I’m finished. I’ll wait at the bar. This was a failure.”

  “It was perfect. Sit at the bar and wait, and see what you can find out. Watch what happens here, because I’ll be doing the same.”

  He shook his head, and reclaimed his bar stool.

  The song ended seconds after he left, and instantly, several men were standing around Willow.

  “Nice dancing, babe,” a youngish man said, his shaggy blond hair reaching over his shirt collar. He was looking her over appreciatively. He made her skin crawl, but she smiled back. The band started a new song, slower, the kind you dance with a partner.

  “How about a dance?” propositioned the blond. “I can promise you your feet will remain intact dancing with me, instead of that clod you came in with.”

  “Oh, he’s a great guy,” she said with a smile. “He just needs dance lessons. He’s from the city.”

  The blond one nodded, as if that explained everything. He held out his arm for a dance, and Willow went toward him, swaying to the music. On the bar stool, Rockford bit his lip, watching. What was she up to?

  “So are you a real cowbody, or just dressed up for dancing?” she whispered in her partner’s ear.

  “I’m a real country boy, ma’am. Herb’s the name. What’s your name? I haven’t seen you around here before.”

  “I’m, uh, Willa,” she said softly. “It’s my first time here. How about horses? Do you ride? Live on a farm?”

  “I spend some time on farms. I live in an apartment right now, until I get my life in order.”

  “I have friends who have a farm—horses, cows, the whole works. I li
ke to visit there. Maybe you know them. The Burdetts? They live out on Old Silo Road.”

  “Never heard of them. Come on, let’s make the most out of this dance. You’re a great-looking girl.”

  He pulled her closer, wrapping a muscled arm around her back. Her chest was crushed into his; she could feel his thighs pressed against hers. Her stomach began to roll as he tightened his grip.

  “Uh, I’ve got to excuse myself,” she said quickly, pulling away. “Little girls’ room. You know how these things are.” She took off across the smoke-filled room, leaving him to shake his shaggy blond head. He turned his attention to a redhead with braids who was sitting alone at a table.

  Willow felt a sense of relief as she escaped. She did go to the ladies’ room, to wash her hands, and dampen her face, as if to remove the feeling of his hands touching her. She was totally grossed out, and had gained no information for her trouble. She had to try another tack.

  The tiny brunette who had been practically stepped on by Rockford in the dance line came into the ladies’ room, stopping at the mirror to reapply her abundance of makeup.

  “That’s some hunk you’re with,” the brunette said, making confirmation as she pushed her face close to the mirror. “What’s his name?”

  “Uh, Rocky. He’s Rocky.”

  “Too bad he can’t dance.”

  “He’ll learn. He’s new around here.”

  “So are you. You’re not a regular here. Where’d you learn how to dance like that? You’re pretty good.” The brunette looked envious.

  “Oh, I’ve been around. Thought I’d try a new place. You’re pretty good yourself.”

  “Well, thanks. Lots of strangers around here lately. It’s getting to be some kind of trend, this country dance stuff. But some of us have done it forever, you know?”

  “Ever run into a stranger named Charley Morse? Kind of a tough guy, little bit of a New York accent?”

  The brunette narrowed her eyes. “What’s somebody like you looking for somebody like Charley Morse? You’d be better off sticking to that klutzy cowboy you got there. Safer.”

  Willow’s heart began to beat. “You know Charley? Can you tell me how to find him?”

  “Not on your life. Not on my life. Forget it. Just go teach your cowboy how to dance, before somebody does it for you.”