Had Turnbull gotten the same impression? If so, why hadn’t he said anything to me? As a test? To see if I’d ask about bringing it to the attention of an FBI profiler?
I couldn’t fathom being an FBI profiler. Sitting in an office, running probability and statistics on potential violent behavior. Knowing someone was out there waiting to strike again and being unable to stop it would be worse than dealing with the victim, the family, and the crime scene.
Dishes rattled, and I opened my eyes as Mitzi slid my soup in front of me, hash browns to the left, bread to the right. “Anything else?”
“Nah. I’m good for now.”
The soup was hearty, the hash browns crispy and greasy. I was mopping up the last of the gravy with my dinner roll when the bench seat across from me creaked. I glanced up into Rollie Rondeaux’s placid face.
That was a surprise. Rollie had all but vanished from my life. I’d called him after I returned from Quantico, but he had never called me back, or stopped by the ranch just to shoot the breeze, or take me for a joyride in his crappy truck. It’d been months since we’d laid eyes on each other. And to be honest, I was a little pissy about the situation, even when I knew what’d changed things between us: my status as a federal employee.
Mitzi clomped over with a cup of coffee for Rollie and rattled off the pie selection.
After he ordered pie, I wiped my mouth and casually asked, “What brings you into town?”
“Outta diapers, and Besler’s is the only place that carries the tiny ones Verline wants.”
“How is Verline?” Rollie’s live-in, Verline, had given birth to their second child prematurely, right after I’d returned from Virginia. I’d made a care package. Okay, Hope had done all the work, but I’d delivered it to their trailer.
A package neither Verline nor Rollie had acknowledged.
Rollie rubbed his fingers over his jaw. “Verline is…” He sighed. “Ain’t no way to describe how she’s been actin’ lately. I volunteered to go on a diaper run. Now that I’m out of the house I don’t wanna go back.”
“That doesn’t sound good. Trouble in paradise?”
“Paradise.” He snorted. “Like hell most days. I’m too old for this cryin’-baby stuff, Mercy. I’m definitely too damn old to deal with a temperamental woman. Half the time I wanna throttle her.”
I frowned.
“She’s drivin’ me crazy, hey. Drivin’ me to drink.”
“Like you’ve ever needed an excuse to drink. Besides, you’ve always said Verline makes you crazy. It’ll blow over.”
His braids swayed when he shook his head. “Not this time.” He sipped his coffee. “What’s goin’ on with you and Dawson?”