The Executioners Three

Chapter Seven: The Sheriff's Nephew

Bowman grinned. "I do. And Freddie here has a great poker face." She moved in line next to Theo. He was half a head taller, but side by side, the family resemblance was unmistakable.

Freddie really couldn't believe she'd missed it.

"Hi, Gellar," Bowman drawled. "What can I do you for?"

Freddie toed out her kickstand, and after making sure the bike wouldn't suddenly topple sideways, she said, "I was hoping to talk to you. Alone."

Theo might have had the moves of a Backstreet Boy, but he was still the enemy.

"Sure. Go wash your hands, Theo."

"But you just said we're going out. I can do it there."

"And I also said, 'Wash your hands.'" Bowman's glower, which wasn't even aimed at Freddie, still made her digestive system go weak.

Theo seemed to feel the same because he instantly chirruped, "Yes, ma'am," and turned to go.

Although, before his long legs could carry him completely out of sight, he did glance back at Freddie and offer a head-cock that might have been a good-bye.

Bowman folded her arms over her chest—a literal carbon copy of her nephew from two minutes before. It was almost uncanny, actually. Except that Sheriff Bowman was the toughest person Freddie had ever met, and yet again, Freddie wanted to offer up every slightly naughty act she'd ever committed.

Which was perhaps why what came out next was a complete jumble of disorganized mayhem. Yes, she managed to describe what she and Divya had found in the woods, as well as how they'd found it. And where they'd been too. But she repeated the why of it all twice—and she definitely repeated the where at least six times.

She also might have mentioned the dead deer.

By the end, Freddie had flung off her backpack full of stolen goods and was all ready to confess to her theft too. Only remembering Divya was an accomplice kept her fingers from tearing open the zipper.

Bowman didn't interrupt. She just listened, her face a mask of detached interested, and by the time Freddie was finished, her thumb was tap-tap-tapping.

"So let me see if I got this right, Gellar: you and Divya were working at the Archives and you took the shortcut home. Then on your way home, you found a water bottle that belonged to Mr. Fontana, and you think he left it there on Wednesday."

"I know he did! It literally said, 'Wednesday run, lap two.'"

"Was there a date on it?"

"Well..." Freddie's lips screwed sideways. Had there been a date? "No," she said eventually. "But you know it had to have been from the same day. Why would he have left it there otherwise?"

"I have no idea, and I also don't make assumptions." Bowman gave Freddie a thorough, spine-tingling once over. Then fixed her gaze on Buffy. "I see you have your camera."

"Erm..." Squirm, squirm.

"Did you take pictures of the bottle, Gellar?"

"Uh..." Squirm, squirm.

"Photographing a crime scene is not allowed."

"But it isn't a crime scene. Not yet."

Bowman thrust out a flat hand. "Give me the camera, Gellar."

"But..." Freddie frowned down at Buffy. She'd only just gotten her sugar wookums back. And she'd taken three pictures of Kyle last night, while they'd hung out in the basement. She'd planned to develop the photos tomorrow and then place them with her N'SYNC shrine.