Second Honeymoon

Chapter 37

MAYBE IT WAS just a coincidence or maybe it was karma, but the song streaming through Sarah’s iPod headphones the next afternoon as the plane began its descent into Salt Lake City was Sheryl Crow’s “A Change Would Do You Good.”

She could only hope. Fingers crossed. Toes, too. But you know what else? She hated the way it had ended with Ted. She just hated it. It was embarrassing, just awful. And sad, too. She thought that she’d loved him.

The drive from the airport out to Park City was a good start. With nothing but wide-open road in front of her and soaring mountains on the horizon, it was like a forty-minute deep breath. Convertibles never looked good on expense reports, so Sarah made the most of the sunroof on her rented Chevy Camaro 2SS.

Sometimes it just feels damn good to stick a hand up toward the sky at sixty-five miles an hour and feel the cool air whip past your fingertips.

Sooner than she thought possible, she was in Park City at the police department.

“Agent Brubaker, I’m Steven Hummel. Good to meet you,” said the local chief of police.

He greeted her personally at the front entrance of the station instead of sending out his secretary or some assistant. That was always a good sign. A good rapport usually followed.

Sure enough, Chief Hummel was the down-to-earth sort, which made sense for a town that could have doubled as the western field office of L.L.Bean. Park City was a hiker’s paradise in the summer and—the two-week invasion by soulless Hollywood types for the Sundance Film Festival every January notwithstanding—a skier’s paradise in winter.

Hummel may have been buttoned up in his uniform, but as she looked at his tan, weathered face and tousled salt-and-pepper hair, Sarah could easily picture his off-duty look. Jeans, a plaid shirt, and probably a cold, locally brewed beer in his hand.

“Come,” he said. “Let’s head back to my office. We’re ready for you.”

Halfway there they were intercepted by a gum-chewing young buck of an officer who “just happened” to be in their path. Clearly, he was angling for an introduction.

“Agent Brubaker, this is Detective Nate Penzick,” said Hummel, obliging.

Penzick stuck out his chest. His hand followed. “Welcome to Park City,” he said.

Except there was nothing about his tone that made Sarah feel welcome. Right away she knew Penzick was the homicide detective assigned to the O’Hara case.

This happened occasionally when she would show up in a town or city—an officer, or maybe two, who didn’t want to be told how to do his job by some federal agent. Not that Sarah ever had any intention of doing that. Still, for the Detective Penzicks of the world, the preconceived notion stuck like glue. All FBI agents think they’re hot shit.

“Thanks,” said Sarah with a smile, ignoring Penzick’s tone as well as the G.I.-Joe-meets-kung-fu handshake he was giving her. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Kill ’em with kindness, she always believed. Although on this particular afternoon, after the night she’d had, it took a little extra willpower not to grab this guy by his starched lapels and explain that wannabe macho guys weren’t exactly on her Christmas card list right now. So cool it with the attitude, dude, okay?

Penzick squinted. “The chief has been pretty tight-lipped as to why you’re here, but I’m guessing it has to do with the O’Hara murder,” he said.

“That’s right,” said Sarah. There was no point lying to the guy.

Penzick was chomping so hard on his gum you could hear his jawbone cracking. If Chief Hummel was as laid-back as a Sunday afternoon, this guy was Monday morning rush hour.

“So what’s up with the secrecy?” he asked. “I mean, we all play for the same team, don’t we?”

Sarah glanced at a frowning Hummel, who was immediately regretting the introduction.

“No, seriously, what’s the deal?” pressed Penzick. “What’s the government hiding this time?”

Hummel finally stepped in. “I’m afraid you’ll have to forgive Nate here,” he said. “He hasn’t been the same since The X-Files went off the air.”

Oh, snap.

“Very funny, Chief,” said Penzick. But he got the hint. Shut it down, cowboy. He turned to Sarah, adopting the most polite tone he could fake. “I look forward to working with you, Agent Brubaker.”

“Don’t worry, Nate,” said Hummel, glancing at his watch. “I’d be surprised if Agent Brubaker is still in Park City an hour from now.”

Sarah turned to him. This was news to her, straight from the left field bleachers. Huh? I just got here. Where do you think I’m going?

Hummel didn’t let on, at least not in front of his young detective. “As I suggested before,” he said, “let’s go to my office.”