Criminal puzzles In Texas

Chapter Three

The highway stretched ahead like a ribbon dissolving into the horizon, the asphalt shimmering in waves of heat.
Victoria adjusted her grip on the wheel, her CSI Phoenix travel mug wedged firmly between her thighs. The coffee inside was lukewarm at best, but she sipped anyway. She was dressed in her “road uniform”: the bleach-stained jeans from an old evidence mishap and a soft gray henley whose seams had begun to fray. Clothes you didn’t have to think about.
The AC wheezed, doing its best against the desert heat. Outside, brittle shrubs clawed at the earth, and every few miles a billboard demanded attention: World’s Best Jerky – 50 Miles! … See The Thing? with a giant question mark that made Victoria huff out a laugh.
Her phone’s GPS glowed faintly in the dash mount. Five hours, twelve minutes to San Antonio. She exhaled through her nose. The number might as well have been eternity.

In the backseat, Samantha had carved out her domain with the ease of a seasoned traveler. One leg bent, the other foot braced against the window, hood up despite the heat. Her lucky swim team sweatshirt was practically armor, and those paint-stained leggings were her badge of rebellion. A sketchbook balanced against her knee, pencil scratching in bursts, her earbuds creating a wall between her and the outside world.
Victoria caught her daughter’s reflection in the rearview mirror. The way her brow furrowed in concentration, the sharp flip of each page when it didn’t turn out right — it all looked too familiar. Frustration channelled into creation.
“You know,” Victoria said, raising her voice just enough to carry, “we could put on some music we both actually like.” No answer.
“Sam?”
One earbud popped out, punctuated by a sigh. “What?”
“Music. Together. Like normal people.”
“I’m fine with mine.” The earbud slid back in, wall reinforced. Victoria drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, let out a breath, and took another bitter sip of coffee. Some battles weren’t worth fighting at seventy-five miles an hour.

The desert softened as they crossed into New Mexico. Gold and sage spread out in long brushstrokes, the horizon painted in gentler tones. For the first time that day, Victoria’s shoulders dropped an inch.
Then she spotted the sign: Roswell – 45 miles. Home of Little Green Men!
“Hey, Sam.” She tapped the wheel, pointing. “How about a detour? Aliens, UFOs, the works.”
Both earbuds came out this time. “You’re joking.”
“Dead serious. We’re not on the clock. Could be fun.”
Sam narrowed her eyes, pretending to weigh the offer. “Do we get t-shirts?”
“The tackier, the better.”
“And you’d actually wear yours?”
“On casual Friday? Definitely.”
For the first time in days, Sam cracked a grin. “Okay. But I pick the shirts.”
“Deal.”
Two hours later, they were walking side by side through the UFO Museum, blending in with the camera-happy tourists. Victoria wore a shirt stamped with a cartoon alien and I Want to Believe, while Sam had chosen one that announced Abduct Me – I’m Ready for Adventure.
“This is ridiculous,” Sam muttered, but she was already lifting her phone to snap a selfie with a mannequin in a silver jumpsuit.
Victoria leaned over a display of crop circle photographs, her investigator’s eye kicking in automatically. “Funny thing is, some of these are analyzed the same way we study evidence. Angles, lighting, perspective.”
Sam tilted her head, studying one photo. “That shadow’s wrong. If it was really that close to the ground, the light wouldn’t fall like that.” She flipped to another. “And that one? Someone definitely tossed a hubcap in the air.”
Victoria grinned, warmth blooming in her chest. “Detective Stewart-in-training.”
“Don’t push it.” But Sam’s smirk gave her away.
For a brief stretch of time, they weren’t tired travelers or mother and daughter locked in a stalemate. They were just two people sharing the absurdity of alien conspiracies, arms weighed down by tacky gift-shop bags and laughter.

By the time they got back on the highway, the sun was beginning its descent. The sky glowed violet and orange, the kind of sunset that made the whole desert look aflame.
Sam slouched into her seat, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. “If San Antonio sucks, we’ll join the circus. I’ll design the costumes.”
Victoria smirked. “I’m claiming lion tamer.”
“Mom, you’re afraid of housecats.”
“Details,” she said with a grin.
Sam laughed again, the sound lighter than it had been in weeks. Then she bent back over her sketchbook, pencil moving in quick, certain strokes.

They checked into a roadside motel ten miles later — peeling paint, buzzing neon, a pool that hadn’t yet been drained. As they walked through the lobby, Victoria caught sight of their reflection in a mirrored wall: two exhausted figures in ridiculous alien shirts, hauling duffel bags. A little messy, a little mismatched. But side by side. A team.
Later, they sat cross-legged on stiff motel beds, greasy pizza between them, watching bad reality TV until Sam’s eyes slid shut. She curled against the pillows, her sketchbook resting across her stomach, a new design already half-drawn. The bright green alien on her t-shirt peeked out from beneath her hoodie like a ridiculous badge of honor.
Victoria stretched out, staring at the ceiling while the motel’s neon sign flickered through the curtains, painting shifting colors across the room. Sleep didn’t come easily.
Tomorrow meant San Antonio. A new city. A new department. New colleagues sizing her up as “the transfer.”
Her mind replayed Derek’s words when the papers came through: Someone specifically asked for you. Must’ve been impressed by the Morrison case.
The Morrison case. Months of painstaking work. A suicide that wasn’t, evidence hidden in plain sight, a puzzle no one else could piece together. The case that left her drained, and noticed. Still, she couldn’t shake the question: out of all the places she could have been sent, why San Antonio? Why now? She rolled onto her side, watching Sam sleep peacefully, one hand curled protectively over her sketchbook. Outside, the neon light buzzed like a warning, steady then faltering, never quite holding.
Victoria closed her eyes, unsettled by the thought that some parts of the past didn’t stay buried. They waited, flickering like neon, patient and persistent, until the moment came to resurface.