Lucy’s eyes slid over to the kitchen door as she thought about Brenda. For the most part, there hadn’t been much outright antagonism in the way the woman had addressed Hicks. It had been more akin to chastisement. Like how someone would speak to a naughty but beloved child who just wouldn’t listen.
“You’re vocal about your opposition to that community?” Lucy guessed.
“To the exemptions, the shield laws,” Hicks corrected. “Folks can pray as they want, I have no objection to that. But when dead kids are involved, it becomes my job.”
“The rest of the town? The ones not in the Church. How do they feel?” If Brenda was any indication, Lucy could probably predict the answer.
“Mostly in favor of them,” Hicks said, confirming her unspoken assumption. “A lot of God-fearing folk around here. And you have to understand, the Believers . . . They’re these people’s neighbors, their friends.”
But they were Hicks’s neighbors, friends, and constituents, too. And yet he was going against them. She wondered what his life was like in a broader sense than through the prism of this case, wondered how well he was able to walk that delicate tightrope. If he was able to at all.
Hicks rubbed a hand over his mouth, studying her. Then he seemed to make some decision and leaned forward once more. “About a month ago? There was a ruckus at the state capitol in Boise. A bill that would have struck the exemptions. But it failed in committee. A lot of hurt feelings came from that debate.”
“You’re in the minority, though? Wanting the laws gone, that is,” Lucy asked. “At least in Knox Hollow.”
“In Knox Hollow? A minority of about one,” Hicks said, holding his hands wide, palms out. Then he dropped his arms, cocked his head. “Or about three, I guess.”
“Who are the others?”
“A social worker named Peggy Anderson,” Hicks said, ticking off one of his fingers. “She was raised in the Church. She doesn’t live in town anymore, but she still keeps an eye on those families.”
“And the second?”
“My deputy, Zoey Grant. She doesn’t like the exemptions, either,” Hicks said, smile bending toward rueful. “But she thinks I’m crazy. That I’m wasting my time fighting them.”
“At least you’re trying,” Lucy murmured, tapping the edge of her mug against his. There were worse accusations.
“If that’s the bar these days,” Hicks said, then threw back the rest of his coffee in one go. When he set it down, he met her eyes. There was something closed off about him once again, and she wondered how rare the display of emotions in the past ten minutes had truly been.
“Eliza’s family is part of the Church, too?” Lucy asked. There wasn’t much information about the girl or her family in any of their databases. That now made sense, but it didn’t make for an easy case.
Hicks’s expression went curiously blank before he looked away, toward the bar. “Yes, she lives with her aunt and uncle. Rachel and Josiah Cook. Josiah’s the pastor.”
“Where are her parents?”
“Died when Eliza was young,” Hicks said, and the walls were firmly back up. Once again he was the distant cowboy she’d seen in the rain that morning. “She’s been with Josiah and Rachel most of her life.”
“How’s their relationship with her?” Lucy asked.
Hicks scratched his nose. “She’s a teenage girl, they’re not her parents. It’s not always the smoothest. But they do their best, from what I can tell.”
Lucy nodded. They were her next stop after dropping off her bags. She’d be able to see them in action soon enough.
Hicks cocked his head, studying her just as much as she was him. “Tell me something.”
“What?” she asked, nervous for a reason she couldn’t actually identify. Still her finger twitched toward her holster like it always did when she was unsettled.
“You have a confession out of Eliza Cook,” he said, and she knew where he was going with this. It was the same loop her thoughts kept riding. “She gave you the location of the goddamn murder weapon.”
Lucy nodded. Waited.
“What more could you want?”
What more could you want? What more could she want? Was there really an answer that would make sense to anyone but her?
“I don’t know,” Lucy finally said, almost reluctant, hanging on to the words as if they would give something about her away. Something important. “A motive would be nice.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHERIFF WYATT HICKS
Three weeks earlier
It didn’t take much to get into Senator Teresa Hodge’s office on the morning of the hearing for the shield laws.
Hicks had been prepared to try his hand at charming anyone guarding the door, but the clearly overworked and underpaid assistant had barely spared him a glance as she waved him through.
It had been early when he’d arrived, the rest of the building still quiet. The security guard manning the metal detector had blinked bleary, early-morning eyes at Hicks’s identification and then waved him through with an unnecessary salute. Beyond that, Hicks hadn’t encountered anyone, for which he was thankful. He had no interest in trying to find a reason for why he was lurking near Senator Hodge’s office.
Now, he lounged in the chair across from the polished mahogany desk, his boots stretched out in front of him, leaving dust on the senator’s pristine carpet. A petty part of him took satisfaction in the sight of it.
Although Hicks was prepared to settle in for a wait, he didn’t expect it to be long. Senator Hodge was known for being the first one to arrive and the last to leave. And on a day when there were certain to be news cameras following her every move, Hicks doubted she’d break that pattern now.
Senator Hodge loved nothing more than her upstanding image.
As he stared at the nearly wall-size oil painting of a bald eagle, Hicks kept careful control of his thoughts, not letting them wander to the day ahead. It was going to be tough, no matter that he knew the likely outcome, and he’d worried through every worst-case scenario on his drive into Boise the night before.
It took only another five minutes for the door to open behind him.
“Sheriff Hicks,” Teresa Hodge said, and only through years of watching her in action could Hicks hear the surprise, the strain. Hodge hated being caught off guard.
Hicks had been counting on that.
He didn’t straighten up as she crossed the room because he knew the sign of disrespect would needle at her. There were few victories he could count these days, but being able to get a rise out of Teresa Hodge was one of them.
Hodge had pasted on her politician smile by the time she came into view. It was brittle at the edges, but he guessed most people wouldn’t notice beyond the sleek hair and expensive pantsuit. “What can I do for you on this fine morning?”
Finally, he sat up and leaned his forearms against his thighs, studying her. This probably wasn’t even necessary. But right now, when everything was spinning out from beneath his feet, it felt like the only thing he had power to act on.
He shot her a lazy smile in greeting. “Senator.”
Her eyes narrowed at his tone, as he knew they would. “You’re not going to change my mind on the exemption laws, Sheriff. I’m voting against Peggy’s bill.”