Reasonable Doubt by Tracey V. Bateman Page B

had to drive thirty miles to Springfield to find a place still open at ten o’clock. She never made it to the store. The man who killed her had been drinking since four that afternoon. He was so plastered he doesn’t remember the accident.” Her voice choked and she drew a short breath. “He spent five years in prison. I heard that he returned to his happy home, and his wife and children welcomed him with open arms.”
    “Is this why you decided to become a cop?” Justin asked quietly. “Because of your mom?”
    She shrugged. “I guess so. I had high hopes of closing down the bar in Briarwood. But of course that didn’t happen. So I thought I’d intimidate the drunks to stay off the road. But just the other day, Junior Conner—” she glanced sideways “—remember him?”
    “Vaguely.”
    “Anyway, just the other day, he got behind the wheel of his truck and almost killed a group of teenagers. I tell you, if I had my way, he’d go to prison for the rest of his life.”
    “Maybe he’ll get some help while he’s locked up,” Justin replied.
    “I’m sure he will. And he’ll be sober for about thirty minutes after he gets out of jail.”
    Justin decided not to press. Better to stay on neutral ground for now. Keri was in no mood to consider the possibility of genuine rehabilitation.
    Slowing the Jeep, she carefully maneuvered around so that they were headed back toward the cabin. “We’ll hook up the chain. Even with four-wheel drive and chains on the tires, I don’t know if we can get enough traction to get your car out of the ditch.”
    “It’s going to be tricky. Want me to drive the Jeep?”
    Her withering look was loud and clear. He grinned and held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry.”
    It took only a few minutes to connect the two vehicles with a heavy chain. While the engine warmed, he opened the glove box and pulled out his cell phone. He checked his messages. Four. All from Bob. All withinthe past three hours. The last one occurring only ten minutes before they got to the car.
    Something must be up for him to call so many times in such rapid succession. Justin’s stomach flopped. What if the killer had been found? Or what if the witnesses had admitted they were lying?
    He punched in Bob’s number. After several rings he got the answering machine.
    He left a short message, pocketed the phone, and concentrated on steering while Keri pulled his car from the ditch.

Chapter Seven
    S o much for a peaceful two-week vacation, Keri groused to herself as she filled the sink with soapy water. It was bad enough that Justin’s presence brought her nothing but anxiety, but now Ruth had breezed in with her exhausting, larger-than-life personality and upped the energy level in the small cabin about ten notches. She’d also brought a TV/VCR combo so the boys could watch cartoon videos. Not that Keri begrudged the boys a few minutes of fun, but what about her vacation? And being as how she and Ruth were the only single women occupying the cramped cabin, Keri had to share her room with the woman. And her bed.
    With a half growl, she plunged her hands deep into the bubbles to locate the sponge. She attacked the dishes with vengeance, taking out her frustration on the remains of Ruth’s special Texas-style fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy and green beans swimming in bacon grease. Had the woman never heard of light meals or reduced fat? Keri shook her head. How Ruthkept a pretty decent figure for a woman her age, she’d never guess.
    As the pile of dishes began to shrink, Keri’s mind bobbed from one person to the next until settling on Josh and Billy. She had to come up with some way to help them deal with their mom’s death—especially Josh. He had barely said three words most of the day. Keri wasn’t sure if it was because of the trauma of his horrible dream, or if he felt silly after Justin told him there was no evidence anyone had been outside of his window in the recent past. Regardless,