by Janet Dailey
“Thanks. If you don’t mind, I’ll clean up first. Something tells me it might be a long night.” He disappeared into the half bath off the kitchen where generations of Tylers had washed up before meals.
“You sit down, too, Erin,” Rose said. “I know you might not have much appetite, but you’ve got some tough times ahead of you. You’re going to need your strength—that means getting some nourishment in you.”
Erin sank onto a chair. Rose was right. If she didn’t eat she would be even more fragile than she felt herself to be. But the bowl of savory beef stew Rose set before her, accompanied by a thick slice of buttered bread, seemed more like medicine than food. She would have to force it down.
Sky took his seat across from Erin. Rose dished up two more bowls of stew, poured some fresh coffee, and joined them. No one, not even Sky, felt much like eating, but they went through the motions as they talked.
There would be a funeral to plan—but by now the family had that down to a routine. It could wait until they knew when Will’s body would be released by the medical examiner. He had died of a single gunshot wound to the head. But the sheriff would want to recover the bullet or at least determine factors like range and trajectory before returning the remains to the family. The medical examiner would also determine how long Will had been dead. But since he’d been seen leaving town around twelve thirty and had never made it home, the time would be an easy guess.
The thought of Will on the autopsy table sent a cold shudder through Erin’s body. This was her father. How could she even imagine what was happening to him? Willing the thought away, she tried to focus on the question Sky was asking her.
“Whoever set up that ambush would have known that Will would be coming back from town. How many people were aware that he’d be on the road?”
“He told Carmen where he was going,” Erin said. “Luke would have seen him leave—but so would anyone else who was working around the place. Someone who was already in town could have seen him there, too. Whoever it was must have been crazed with hate to commit such a cold-blooded act—planning it ahead, laying that tire on the road that led to our ranch, then lying in wait and . . .” Erin pressed her hands to her face as if to stem a surge of tears. Will had been a good man. But there had always been people who envied, even hated, the Tylers. The question was, who had hated Will enough to kill him?
“Does Luke own a gun?” Sky asked.
“Doesn’t everybody in these parts? Yes, he has a .38. He used it to shoot a rattlesnake when we were checking out the wash where Jasper was found.”
“Well, let’s hope the sheriff has the bullet that killed Will. If the ballistics don’t match Luke’s gun, that’ll go a long way in clearing him.”
“So you believe me, that Luke couldn’t have killed my father?”
“Luke strikes me as a decent man. I’m not saying he’s the man for you, but without solid evidence, I won’t believe he’s a murderer.” Sky broke off a chunk of bread and used it to sop up the gravy in his bowl.
Sky’s guarded reply to Erin’s question was not lost on her. But for now it would have to be enough.
“There’s somebody else,” she said, changing the subject. “Somebody’s been prowling around the ranch. I don’t know what they want, but Luke and I caught a glimpse of a man above the horse paddock—tall and thin, with long hair, maybe dressed in black, though it was hard to tell. And we thought we heard a motorcycle starting up, far away.”
“A man? You’re sure?” Sky was suddenly alert, seeming almost wary. “Is there any chance it could’ve been a woman?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. But we found a boot track above the paddock and one just like it in the wash where Jasper died. Oh—and Jasper’s pistol and money were missing.”
“Did you tell the sheriff?”
“I told the deputy—Roy Porter. I knew him from school. He said the wash was a hangout for smugglers and illegals, and whoever robbed Jasper was probably just passing through. But I took a photo of the print we found in the wash, just in case.”
“Do you still have it?”
“I do. It’s on my phone. Hang on. I left it in the office. I’ll get it.”
Erin left the table and hurried to the office. She couldn’t help being intrigued by Sky’s reaction to her story. Did he know more than he was telling her?
She found her phone. It took only a few seconds to scroll to find the photo of the boot print. She carried the phone back to the kitchen and handed it to Sky.
“I hadn’t thought of it before,” she said, “but the boot that made that print is narrow enough to be a woman’s. If it is, she’s no fashionista. That long, pointed toe looks like something out of the nineteen seventies.”
Sky didn’t respond. He was staring at the photo as if he’d seen a ghost.
“What’s wrong?” Erin asked. “Do you recognize something?”
“Maybe,” Sky muttered. “But what I’m thinking doesn’t make sense. When Beau gets here, tell him he needs to make a phone call for me. I’ll tell you more later, depending on what he finds out. Right now—” He pushed his chair back from the table. “I meant to stay longer but I need to go. Thanks for the stew, Rose.”
“You’re leaving so soon?” Rose asked.
“Sorry. I need to get back to Lauren and the kids. I don’t want to leave them alone tonight. And, Rose, you may want to stay in the house with Erin. I can get one of the men to come in if you want.”
“I’ll be here with my gun. I can probably outshoot any man on the ranch,” Rose said. “At least I’ve had more experience. We’ll be fine. But I wish you’d tell us what’s got you so fired up.”
“I can’t be sure until I have Beau call Gatesville Prison,” Sky said. “But I remember those cockroach kicker boots on a relative of mine. If she’s out of prison and hanging around here, it could only mean one thing—trouble.”
* * *
Luke sat at the table in the interrogation room, with the sheriff and deputy seated across from him. He was doing his best to appear calm. But dread was a cold fist clutching at his vitals. When the highway patrol had picked him up, he’d been confident that he could explain his way out of this mess. But he was just beginning to realize how much trouble he was in.
“Am I under arrest?” he asked.
“That depends.” The sheriff, a big, walrus-like man, toyed with his mustache. “It depends on the evidence we find and the way you answer my questions.”
“I have nothing to hide,” Luke said. “I know how this looks, but I didn’t do anything to Will Tyler.”
“Then why did you follow Will after he left the ranch?”
Luke willed himself to stay calm. He knew the sheriff was trying to rattle him, asking him the same questions again and again, hoping he’d slip up and change his story.
“I told you, I didn’t follow Will. He left for town or wherever it was he went. I finished my chores, took the time to pack my gear, and headed straight for the highway. By then, Will had been gone for at least an hour.”
“Any way to prove where you went? Any gas or credit card receipts?”
“I told you that, too. The tank was almost full when I left the ranch. All I bought was coffee and pie in Plainview, and I paid with cash. Could I have made it that far if I’d taken the time to set up an ambush, lie in wait for Will, and shoot him?”
“How did you know Will was ambushed?”
“It was on the news. I was headed north when I stopped in Plainview to eat. That was when I saw the broadcast. And that was when I turned around and headed back here. I was driving south when I was stopped. You know that, too.”
“What did the newscaster look like?”
“Blond, maybe—hell, I don’t remember. All I remember is hearing the news.”
“Did you see any TV shots of the ranch, or any interviews with folks there, like your girlfriend?”
“I didn’t stick around long enough to see, and she’s not my girlfriend. It wasn’t going to work ou
t between us. That was why I left the ranch.”
The sheriff leaned back in his chair, took a toothpick from behind his ear, and chewed on the end of it. “That not working out bit—it was because her father objected, wasn’t it?”
“You already know that.”
“I do. And I know that it gave you a motive for shooting Will. Get the father out of the way, and you can get the girl and the ranch. Motive, means, and opportunity. You had all three.” The sheriff glanced at his deputy, a red-haired kid who didn’t look old enough to be out of high school. “Roy, show Mr. Maddox what you found in his truck.”
As if he’d waited for this moment in the limelight, the young deputy produced Luke’s .38 in a plastic evidence bag. “I found this under the front seat,” he said. “It looks to have been fired since it was last cleaned. One bullet is missing from the cylinder.”
“And we know that Will Tyler was killed with a single shot from a large caliber weapon,” the sheriff added.
“Oh, hell!” Luke exploded, losing his patience despite his best effort. “I used the gun to kill a rattler. Erin was with me. You can ask her.”
“I’ll do that—though she might lie to cover for you,” the sheriff said. “And I’ll also check your hands for gunshot residue. Not that I expect to find any. A man plotting a careful murder would have thought to wear gloves.”
“Fine.” Luke had had enough. “Do what you have to. I know the circumstances look bad, but you won’t find a shred of solid evidence against me, because I didn’t do anything.”
“So you say.” The sheriff rocked forward, the front legs of his chair thudding against the floor. “But I think we’ve got enough to hold you for now—and we know that you’re capable of violent behavior, Maddox. We did some checking on your background. Just three years ago, you served six months for assault against a man who’d hired you.”
* * *
Hidden by the shrubbery at the far corner of the parking lot, Marie waited for the last customer to leave the Blue Coyote. She didn’t have a watch, but the height of the moon told her it was after midnight. Even at this hour, the night was warm. She was sweating beneath the black leather jacket and jeans she’d worn to blend with the dark shadows. She’d even smeared her face with soot and covered her hands with the black silk glove liners she kept ready in her pocket. She couldn’t take a chance on being seen. There were too many people around who might remember her from her waitressing days. The ugly scar on her face was hard to forget.
A buzzing mosquito lit on her cheek. She felt the prick as it sucked her blood. But she didn’t move as the blue neon coyote on the sign out front went dark. Abner Sweeney came out through a side door. Turning, he used a key to lock the dead bolt behind him, then walked around to the back of the building and drove away in his SUV.
Marie waited a few more minutes to make sure he wasn’t coming back. Then she approached the building, keeping to the shadows. There was no outside security light and no alarm system—she’d already checked for signs of those things. Still, it paid to be careful.
The front entrance and side door, which led to the office where the safe was kept, were locked with dead bolts. But the door at the top of the outside back stairs, used by generations of pleasure-seeking men, had simply been boarded up, which implied that the door itself didn’t have a secure lock. Marie was carrying a canvas satchel with a few tools in it, including a small flashlight and a short crowbar. She also had the pistol she’d stolen from the old man in the wash—which she hoped to heaven she wouldn’t need. All she wanted was to find the heroin and hit the road. Accomplish that, and she’d be free. Erin Tyler could live her privileged little life, and Stella could burn in hell.
Moving like a shadow, she crept up the back stairs. This would be the riskiest part of her plan. Here she would be exposed, with no way to hide. And prying off the boards could make enough noise to attract attention. But short of breaking a window, there was no other way in. She would have to trust to stealth and luck.
A half dozen scrap boards were nailed at angles to the door frame. Keeping low, Marie started at the bottom. Using the crow bar, she found getting them loose was easier than she’d expected. Whoever had nailed them in place hadn’t taken the time to do a good job. Once she’d freed the first three boards, she was able to reach through to the doorknob, push the door inward, and crawl in through the space she’d created, dragging the tool bag behind her.
Once inside, she closed the door, stood, and turned on her flashlight. With luck, any person looking up from the ground would see only the higher boards that were still in place.
The door opened into a dingy hallway. Off to her left was the stuffy, urine-scented room where she’d slept when she worked here. Unlike the waitresses before her, she hadn’t entertained men up here. A few of the bar’s customers had been bold enough to pat her skinny bottom, but one look at her face had been enough to scare them off. That little room had been miserable, but not as bad as Gatesville. No matter what happened, Marie reminded herself, she would never allow herself to be hauled back there. She would die first.
But right now she needed to find Stella’s heroin stash.
The hall ended in an inside stairway, descending into the bar. Marie made her way down, trying to think like Stella, with the law closing in, a half-million-dollars’ worth of heroin on her hands, and no fast way to sell it. Where could she hide it? Not upstairs. The second floor was too flimsy. In the office, maybe? Under the floor, beneath the filing cabinet, or better yet, under the heavy iron safe?
Lost in thought, and with her eyes and the light on the sagging wooden steps, she almost slammed into the solid door at the bottom of the stairs. This was something new. Marie shoved against it, twisting and rattling the knob, but nothing budged. The door was securely locked from the other side. This was why no one had bothered to secure the door at the top of the outside stairs. It was no longer possible to get into the bar that way.
Swearing, Marie gave the door a final kick and turned around to go back the way she’d come. That was when a blinding light flashed on from the top of the stairs. Her dazzled eyes could make out the silhouette of a man standing in the open doorway, half shielded by the remaining boards.
“Blanco County sheriff,” a young voice called out. “Drop your weapon and come out with your hands up.”
Trapped in the stairwell, with no way out, there was only one thing to do.
In a lightning move, Marie drew the old man’s pistol, aimed up at the dark figure, and fired.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BEAU HAD CAUGHT A RED-EYE FLIGHT FROM DC AND PICKED UP A rental car at the airport. Erin and Rose, who’d both slept fitfully, if at all, were up before dawn, having coffee in the kitchen, when he walked in.
Erin jumped up and ran to him. As he held her close, murmuring words of comfort, she fought back her tears. She’d needed Beau to come. But she couldn’t just fall apart and let him take over the situation. She had to show him that she could be strong. That’s what her father would have expected of her.
She eased away from Beau and stepped back. Now she could see that he looked exhausted, his face unshaven, his bloodshot eyes set in shadow. The news of Will’s death must have been as hard on him as it had been on her—maybe even harder, because the two brothers had missed their last chance to make peace.
“Thank you for coming, Beau,” she said, taking charge. “Sit down and have some coffee. I know you’re tired, but we need to talk.”
Beau filled a mug from the carafe on the counter. As he took a seat, his gaze fell on the pistol that Rose had laid on the table, but he didn’t ask about it. “So get me up to speed and tell me what I can do,” he said.
Erin told him everything she knew about Will’s trip to town, the ambush, and the shooting. “The medical examiner still has his body,” she said, forcing herself to talk about it as if this were some stranger, and not her father. “We can’t plan the funeral until we know when it will be released.”
&nbs
p; “What about arresting the bastard who shot him?”
Erin had known the question was coming, but it still landed like a blow. Roy had called her late yesterday, as a friend, to let her know that Luke had been picked up and was being held as a person of interest in the shooting.
“The sheriff is holding Luke,” she said. “There’s some circumstantial evidence against him. But I know he didn’t shoot my father. He couldn’t have—he wouldn’t have.”
Beau gave her a knowing look. “What makes you so sure, Erin?” he asked gently. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?”
“Only because I haven’t had time,” she said. “You need to hear it all.”
She told him from the beginning, how she and Luke had fallen in love over Will’s objections, and how Will had ordered Luke to leave her alone. “That was when Luke decided it would be best for all concerned if he were to leave,” she said. “After Dad left for town, Luke finished his chores, packed his gear, left notes for Dad and for me, and drove away.”
“And where were you all this time?”
“She was with me,” Rose said. “We left early to build a fence around my grandpa’s grave. When we got back to the ranch, it was about noon. By then, both Luke and Will were gone. Later, when the sheriff talked to the cowboys, two of them claimed they’d heard Luke and Will arguing in the barn—though it seems Will was the angry one.”
“And because Luke was on the road, he has no alibi for the time of the murder,” Erin added. “But he didn’t do it, Beau. You’ve got to believe me.”
“All right, I’ll believe you—for now. Has Luke been charged?”
“I don’t think so. Roy said they were just holding him.”
“What about evidence?” Beau asked. “Have they recovered the bullet?”
“Not as far as I know,” Erin said. “But they’re not telling me much, and I can’t talk to Luke.”
Beau sipped his coffee. “I take it you’re asking for my help.”
“You’re a federal officer. The sheriff will listen to you.”
