Mason's Daughter Read Free Page B

money into her pocket. “Didn’t care much for them eggs today, did he?”
    “I . . . I guess not.”
    “That wife of his, Miss Trixie, she was a saint, I reckon.”
    Nodding, I reach for my purse, but Lois pushes my hand away. “Coffee’s on him.”
    I sigh and pick up the appointment book. If both Colton and Big Jack won’t change their minds, fighting them will make my misery worse. Is pain better than unanswered questions? I can’t rest without finding out what really went on with Jack.
    Why did Colton hide Jack’s book in the kitchen drawer? It couldn’t be Saint Trixie or my crazy mother, rival guardian angels maneuvering from heaven. How was my father involved in Jack’s wheeler-dealing? What made Big Jack lie about knowing those names?
    One significant person in Mason’s Crossing has always helped me find answers. I hope Officer Avery has let her out of jail by now.

CHAPTER THREE
    Sheriff Mike Avery sits at an olive green metal desk behind the counter of the police station, filling out paperwork. When I set my purse on the countertop, he doesn’t raise his head.
    I drop my keys. “Did you arrest all those Earth Day demonstrators yesterday?”
    “Oh, hi, Sally.” He stands up so fast his chair tips over. Chuckling, he bends and sets the chair upright. “Nah, our jail’s too small. State troopers carted off ‘most everyone to Austin.” He drops his pen on the stack of papers and approaches the counter. “Can I get you some coffee?”
    “No time, but thanks anyway. I’m here on business. For Angelique.”
    “But you’re not her daughter or her lawyer.”
    “I’ll pay her fine.” Brave words, but I know she will reimburse me.
    “Too late to spring her. I already sent Angelique on her way.” He glances over his shoulder at the wall clock. “About an hour ago.”
    Since we first met in elementary school, our paths crossed often enough for me to consider Mike a friend, but not a confidant. Yet there is something about his demeanor I find comforting. Or maybe it is his penny loafers.
    “I caught the news last night. She insisted you book her and lock her up, didn’t she?”
    “You know how stubborn she can be. I offered to drive her home after the diner delivered her favorite supper, but she wanted to keep the faith.” He shakes his head. “I’m throwing her fingerprints out.”
    I admire Mike Avery for his old-fashioned good manners and because he sings like Elvis with his weekend rock-and-roll band. “Is that why you have so much paperwork today?”
    With a laugh, Mike sidesteps around the counter, pushes through the swinging gate, and stops about two feet from me. “How’s Colton’s ankle? Not still limping, is he?”
    “All healed, thank goodness.”
    “I climbed on the same roof when I was about his age. Lucky for me, I didn’t fall off.”
    “Let’s hope Colton’s luck improves.”
    “It already has. The owner didn’t want to press charges after all.”
    “He was pretty angry. What changed his mind?”
    Mike glances at his loafers. “Teenaged boys need to keep busy.”
    “Speaking from personal experience or so you’ve been informed?”
    “Both.” He smiles and ducks his head. “I take my nephews fishing on the Brazos every chance I get. Maybe Colton would like to come along sometime.”
    “Thanks, that’s very kind of you. He likes to fish.”
    I have every reason to trust Mike Avery. On the morning Colton discovered Jack’s body in our garage, Mike arrived first on the scene, and he labored for two days afterward to rule out any suspicion of foul play.
    A comfortable silence settles between us. We might as well turn the clock back eighteen years and meet in the high school cafeteria. “I should let you get back to work. Is there anything else to handle for Angelique?”
    “She was going to stop by the judge’s office to pay her fine, but I’ve got the paperwork ready to dismiss.”
    I ask if he would like me to deliver the documents across Courthouse