Harmful Intent: A Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels/Dawson Hughes Novel Read Free

headlights. Getting out I smacked my head on the doorframe of the Smart Coupe.
    A man in his late fifties, who had an uncanny resemblance to Gabby Hays, stepped from behind the counter. "Welcome to the Chuck Wagon, Veronica, I'm Hoot." He tipped his beat-up prospector's hat. "Bet you're wonderin' how I figured it was you?"
    "Is it because I don't have that western look?"
    "Rightly so. You're a smart little lady, ain't ya?"
    What was it with this little lady stuff? "I can't thank you enough for taking me in."
    "Well, now, if you're a friend of Jack Cooney's, you're a friend of mine."
    "Actually, Jack's my boss, but a friend as well. And by the way, Jack calls me Ronnie."
    "Ronnie it is." Hoot grinned. "There's somethin' about you makes me think you're not Jack's secretary neither."
    "Jack doesn't have a secretary. Scared a few away, but no, he hired me as a private eye."
    Hoot pushed his hat back on his head and pulled it forward, revealing thinning hair on his crown. "If he hired you, I know you're good."
    I settled in. The tiny bedroom, on the second floor, near the back stairs, featured a twin bed with a chintz floral spread and a small window covered with a similar but not matching calico print curtain. Not my style, but it was neat and clean, and the bed didn't sag.
    Bertha, the lunch and dinner waitress, who brought to mind the classic war-movie saying Big Bertha , occupied the larger middle bedroom. As I settled in for the night, through the wall, I heard her humming some melody I didn't recognize. Perhaps an old folk tune or spiritual. Kinda hokey, but also strangely comforting.
    Hoot and his coonhound Rascal had the front room. We all shared a bathroom with a shower in a claw-footed tub that sported a shower curtain around it.
    At breakfast the next morning, Hoot had me jump right in. I ran a super deluxe pancake special to a cowboy named Pete sitting in the back booth. Five buttermilk flapjacks slathered in butter with a small pitcher of hot pancake syrup on the side, three country sausages and two eggs over easy on a side plate, as well as unlimited coffee. Pete had a scar running the length of his chin. I later found out he was a clown in the rodeo who, when bull riders were thrown, drew the attention of the raging, thousand pound beast to himself.
    Pete grinned at me and scratched a chin that needed a shave. "Thanks, little lady. I hear tell they rush around like a banshee's a chasin' 'em where y'all come from, but honest, Hoot'll let you walk with them orders."
    That's how it went all morning, with nearly fifty percent of the men dubbing me little lady and a fair number of women calling me honey . Wouldda been useless to fight it.
    Guess waitressing's like riding a bicycle. I hadn't forgotten how from the jobs I'd held during college. I did pretty well, only mixing up one order and was feeling proud of myself when the sheriff's deputy with the piercing eyes came in but didn't take a seat.
    He stood in the doorway, his Stetson low on his brow, and his steel-gray orbs focused on me.
    Something about his gaze set alarms off in the depths of my mind. I approached him. "Can I help you? Table for one?"
    "Actually, table for two. I'd like you to sit with me." The resemblance was uncanny to that country-western star I'd seen on the cover of People magazine wearing a black ten-gallon hat and looking fantabulous in a tux.
    Hoot strode out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on the butcher's apron tied around his waist. "Well, I'll be. Deputy Dawson Hughes, what brings you to the Chuck Wagon this early? Your fancy coffee maker broke?"
    The deputy gave a short nod. "Hoot, good to see you. I need to talk to Mrs. Ingels, if you don't mind."
    Hoot frowned. "Since you know her last name, I reckon this is an official visit."
    "That it is." The deputy motioned to an empty booth.
    My gaze followed his hand, then I walked over and slid onto the seat.
    He sat after I did.
    I cleared my throat. "How did you find me here? Nobody but my