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leg over the other.  “You convinced now that she didn’t do it?  If Emmett hadn’t arrived in that alley when he did, she’d be dead right now.”
    The sheriff paced the floor behind his desk and rubbed his chin.  “I don’t know what your daughter is caught up in, but it’s not good.”
    “What do you mean?”
    The sheriff yanked back his chair, sat down and tipped his coffee mug toward himself.  “This just isn’t strong enough for what I’m about to say,” he mumbled.  “Sally!”
    A middle-aged woman bustled through the door in a red polka-dot dress that was about five sizes too small and rode up in all the wrong places.  If she leaned over, there was a decent chance some part of it would rip and the flesh underneath would shoot out in all directions.  It was a sight neither Roland nor the sheriff was prepared to see.
    “Bring me some coffee,” the sheriff said.  “Black.”
    She nodded and shuffled back out the door.
    “I’m fine, but thanks for asking,” Roland said.
    “Aw, hell.  Sorry.  It’s just—”
    “Never mind.  Tell me what’s going on.”
    “For starters, Leo isn’t his real name.  It’s Jerome Fisher.  And his parents aren’t dead.  They’re alive, retired, and living in a condo in Florida.  I spoke to the father this morning.  He hasn’t seen his son in five years, and the last time he popped in to say hello, he stole every dime they had from their safe.”
    “I’d guess that’s why they haven’t spoken in five years.”
    Sally returned with the coffee and plopped it down on the desk.  The sheriff took a swig and swallowed.  It was hot enough to rival a mouthful of atomic fireballs, but he didn’t care.
    Roland leaned back and clasped his hands together behind his head.  “Why would he lie to my daughter about his parents?”
    “Maybe because he was married.”
    “Yeah, to Isabelle.”  
    The sheriff shook his head.  “To two other women, one of whom died after an apparent suicide, and the other, a Marsha Santino.  They are still married.  Can’t seem to locate her though.”
    Roland cocked his head to the side.  “Son of a bitch.  That’s not all, is it?”
    “The guy was a con-artist.  He’s wanted in three states for money laundering.  I want to believe Isabelle didn’t know anything about it.”
    “Of course she didn’t!”
    “If I could offer some advice, Roland…go home and talk to your daughter.”

    Isabelle brushed the thick, coarse mane that flowed down the back of her horse with her fingers.  “It’s been a long time since we’ve went on a ride together.”  
    Roland pointed to the sling that wrapped around Isabelle’s left arm.  “You sure you’re alright with only one hand on the reins?” 
    She nodded. 
    They rode out past the vineyard and through the field that ran along the backside of the property.  Roland, who usually didn’t hesitate to spark a conversation, was quiet to the point that Isabelle could hear the crunch of every leaf her horse stepped over like her ear was nailed to the ground.   
    “You want to tell me why we’re out here?”
    Roland fidgeted with the leather reins around the horse.  “I wanted some time alone with my daughter.”
    She slanted her eyes toward him.  “And there’s no other reason?”
    His eyes veered to a thicket of trees in the distance. 
    “What is it?” she said.
    “Did you hear that?”
    “What?”
    Roland tugged on the reins and brought his horse to a standstill.  Isabelle followed suit.  They sat on their saddles and neither moved.  After a short time he said, “Probably just an animal or somethin’.” 
    He grazed the side of the horse with his boot and continued.  Every so often Isabelle peeked over at him.  The years of hard work showed in every crevice of his leathery face, but she still thought he was the most handsome father she’d ever seen.     
    “Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind?”
    He twisted around.  “I