by Rayna Morgan
“There was hardly a week went by when he didn’t get into an argument with someone,” Dalton said, angrily. “That’s the kind of person he was.”
The boy hesitated, as his eyes clouded. “At least, that’s the kind of person he’s been ever since my mom died.”
“Is there anyone in particular your father didn’t like?”
Dalton hesitated again before dropping his head and shaking it. “Not really. He was an equal-opportunity guy when it came to people he disliked.”
Tom sensed he wasn’t getting the whole truth from Dalton but felt it fruitless to pursue the topic. He stood, reaching to shake hands. “Thanks for your help. I’ll be in touch if I need anything else.”
“Are you going to see Lucy now?” Dalton asked.
“That’s where I’m headed.”
“Take it easy on her, okay? She’s pretty shook up.”
“I understand. I got most of what I needed from her yesterday. I only have a few more questions.” Tom turned before going out the door. “Do you and Lucy spend a lot of time at the Millers’ ranch?”
“Lucy’s close friends with Katie. I work for the Millers a couple of hours every day.”
“I didn’t realize that. Is that on top of helping out on your father’s ranch?”
“Dad never paid me or gave me an allowance. He said it’s a man’s responsibility; part of being a man is taking care of your spread and your family. But I needed money for tuition and books. The Millers paid me enough to cover my school expenses. They probably paid me more than they should, but they kept telling me how important it was for me to get my degree so I could make choices about what to do with my life.”
“It was good advice they gave you. They sound like generous people.”
“They are. Generous and kind. Kinder to me than my father was.”
• • •
Tom’s next stop was the Miller ranch. The detective had done his homework as he always did before an interview. He knew the ranch was composed of more than fifty thousand acres, with twelve thousand head of cattle, forty acres of fruit orchards, twenty acres of vegetable crops, and fourteen hundred acres devoted to vineyards.
As he approached the stone columns at the entrance, an iron gate inlaid with the letter M swung open.
The disparity between the two homesteads was apparent not only in size but in appearance.
Pastures here were cross-fenced to separate grazing sheep and cattle. Several saddled horses were corralled, others roamed freely, lying under shade trees or frolicking in the fields. Men walked in and out through the doors of a huge steel-beamed barn. Dust clouds trailed behind tractors and harvesters driven by workers wearing overalls and straw hats.
Parking his car on the paved driveway, Tom was greeted with the sounds of a bustling ranch: dogs barking, people calling out, engines humming. A far cry from the dull silence of the Benson place.
Walking through the wood-carved doors of the lodge, he was met by a gentleman with white hair and bushy white eyebrows who stood tall and sturdy like a towering oak.
“Good morning,” the detective said, extending his hand. “Lieutenant Tom Elliot, Buena Viaje Police Department.”
“Welcome. Ralph Miller,” the older man reciprocated. “Nice to meet you. Haven’t seen you out here before.”
“I’m with the Homicide Division. I’m here investigating a murder that took place in town,” Tom said. “I’d like to speak with Scott if he’s available. He’s expecting me.”
“My grandson is checking on the herd with our foreman. He should be back momentarily. Can I offer you some coffee while you’re waiting? Maria is brewing up a chicory blend that’s mighty tasty. Guaranteed to get your blood moving.”
The warm hospitality of the gentleman was a welcome relief from the reception Tom was accustomed to receiving. “I could use a jump start. I had a late night.”
“I heard. The nasty business at the rodeo.”
Ralph called out for his housekeeper, and the men settled into comfortable leather chairs.
“Scott told me about it before he brought the Benson kids over to spend the night. I’m sure my grandson will cooperate in any way he can.”
Tom looked around the spacious room, surveying the stuffed animal heads on the walls. “From what I’ve heard, your grandson wasn’t part of the ranch for some years.”
“The ranch is a family tradition, passed down to me from my father. At one time, we had three generations working the land. Unfortunately, Scott and I had a parting of ways when he was in his early twenties.”
“May I ask the cause of your falling out?”
“He experienced the common yearnings of a young man wanting to prove himself, get out on his own, become his own man. He felt he couldn’t do it while he was still under the same roof with his father and me. He left and went to Colorado where he started a small spread of his own.”
The housekeeper brought a tray and poured two cups of coffee before she left. Ralph leaned across the table to pass the cream and sugar.
“I thought Scott would come back when his father had a stroke a few years later, but Scott was resolute in his determination to be his own man. By that time, he was also married with a daughter. He came for the funeral but returned to his family in Colorado a few days later.”
“What brought him back permanently?”
“I kept hoping Scott would return of his own volition, but it ended up being a tragedy that brought him back to us.”
Ralph paused, crow’s-feet forming around his eyes. “Scott’s wife was killed in an automobile accident. He decided family would help him to get over the loss, and to raise his five-year-old daughter.”
“I’m sure Scott and Katie’s presence has meant a lot these past years.”
“Their being here has meant the world to me.” A smile spread across the man’s face, making him look ten years younger. “Not wanting to miss a moment of Katie’s childhood; that’s what keeps me going.”
Tom enjoyed listening to the older man. He had a way of sharing his life that made a person feel as though they’d known him for a long time.
The housekeeper came in with a plate of muffins. “Your favorite, Mr. Miller. Hot from the oven.”
The smell of blueberries got Tom’s salivary glands working. He took one from the plate Maria presented before Ralph objected. “Take two, Detective. You probably haven’t had any breakfast.”
“I haven’t had time to think about food for the last forty-eight hours,” Tom admitted. “It was nice of you to keep the Benson kids company last night since they have no immediate family in the area. I’ve just come from seeing Dalton.”
“Then he probably told you he’s here every day for a couple of hours,” Ralph said.
“He said the wages he gets from you pay his college tuition.”
“He earns every penny, believe me. He’s a hard worker.”
“What about his father? From the looks of the Benson place, they’re having a hard time of it.”
“Albert’s spread got away from him after he lost his wife. His heart turned cold enough to hang meat. He became a bitter, ornery man, making life miserable for whoever he could.”
“Payback for his own misery?”
“I suppose,” Ralph said, shaking his head. “We all have our way of handling the pain life doles out. I’d have to say Albert let his suffering get the better of him. It’s not what Victoria would have wanted, especially for their kids.”
“Do you know of anyone Albert’s orneriness might have made angry enough to kill him?”
“I couldn’t say. I don’t know who he crossed paths with. When he wasn’t stepping on someone’s toes, he stayed pretty much to himself.”
“When Dalton came over to work for you, did he ever mention his father being in trouble of any kind?”
“No, but that boy keeps personal stuff to himself. He’s not a complainer. If his father were in any trouble, Dalton never let on to us about it.”
Voices on
the veranda caused both men to look to the front door where two men entered, shaking the dust from their gloves and hats. “Finish rounding up the rest of the cows. I’ll be at the barn shortly to help with the ear tagging.”
The other man walked away, and Scott joined the men in the room, shaking hands with Tom before pouring himself a cup of coffee and settling into an easy chair.
“How’s the herd; any problems?” the older man asked his grandson.
“Nope. The cows are calm now, but they’ll get riled up once we start putting tags on them.”
Tom squirmed. “Sounds painful.”
“Not really,” Scott said. “Not much different than a person getting their ears pierced.”
“That’s not something I’d have the guts for either,” Tom said, causing all three men to laugh.
Ralph stood up. “I’ll let you two get to it. I’ve got my own work to do. Glad to meet you, Detective. Come out to one of our barbecues when you’re not working. We’ll give you a proper feeding.”
“I’d like that. I’ve heard about your barbecues.” The words slipped out before Tom caught Scott’s expression.
“You’ve got an open invitation.” Ralph smiled over his shoulder as he walked out. “Come anytime.”
The two men left in the room glared at each other.
• • •
The men sat across from each other, Scott with his legs sprawled out and his arms resting on a cushioned chair. Tom wondered if he should have summoned Scott to police headquarters where the witness might not have felt so comfortable, but he doubted if surroundings would make a difference. The cowboy had an air that suggested he’d feel at home no matter where he was.
The detective decided to take a less aggressive approach. “Thanks for taking the time to see me. I realize you’re a busy man overseeing a spread this size.”
“It keeps me out of trouble.” Scott’s smile fell somewhere between friendliness and amusement.
“How did Benson’s kids handle things? Dalton mentioned he and his sister spent the night with your family.”
“Yeah. I brought Lucy straight here from the fairgrounds. I found Dalton at the Benson place. I told him to stay the night with us, and we’d sort everything out this morning.”
“He was alone at his house when I met him today.”
“He’s an independent kid. I offered to accompany him, but he insisted he’d take care of things on his own. I figured he needed time alone to grieve.”
“I’ve seen a lot of people experience grief in my job. He didn’t fit the usual mold.”
“He’s not the typical kid.”
“Let’s get back to your squabble with Benson at the rodeo. What was that about?”
“It didn’t amount to much. Albert was acting like a jackass, not unusual behavior for him. Saying things about my daughter I didn’t appreciate.”
“Any truth to what he was saying?”
“None.”
“Is that what made you throw a punch?”
“A man can criticize me all he wants, rolls off like water on a duck. Say something derogatory about my daughter, we got a whole different situation on our hands.”
“Was it the first time you two engaged in fisticuffs?”
“It happened once before at a meeting of the Cattlemen’s Association. He’d been drinking before he came to the meeting. He got belligerent with me and several other ranchers. He accused us of conspiring against him.”
“Conspiring how?”
“He had some wild notion everyone was out to take his land away from him. Accused people of poisoning his livestock and crops so he’d be forced to sell. Ended up by taking a swing at me. I refused to fight him in his condition. A couple of members grabbed his arms and escorted him from the building. He was barred from the Association for disorderly conduct.”
“From the looks of his crops, there could be some validity to his story.”
“I went over there the next day and suggested that he get some tests done to figure out if his cows or crops were being poisoned. Even offered to pay for the tests.”
“That was generous. Did it stem from a sense of guilt?”
Scott’s lips thinned, but the corners of his mouth turned into a smile. “It stemmed from wanting to make sure it got controlled so it didn’t happen to my herd.”
“What were the findings?”
“Albert refused to have any testing done. I think he didn’t want to be proved wrong and made to look like a paranoid fool.”
“Is that what you thought—that he was a paranoid fool?”
“I paid him no further heed. If a man’s not willing to back up the things that spew out of his mouth, he should shut up and get about his business.”
A man entered the lodge, removing his hat and wiping sweat from his brow. He moved quickly toward Scott. “Boss, we got a problem.”
Scott nodded in Tom’s direction, and the man stepped back.
“Sorry to interrupt. I didn’t realize you were in a meeting.”
“Tom Elliot, my foreman, Miguel Torres,” Scott said, neglecting to state Tom’s official capacity.
“Go ahead,” Tom said, standing to stretch his legs and walking toward a window. “We could use a break.”
Miguel turned to his employer, twisting the band on his hat as he talked. “The stream on the back forty was blocked again this morning. This time, instead of the water being diverted off the property, it was directed toward the strawberry fields. Flooded more than half the berries before the hands discovered it.” The man lowered his head as though taking responsibility for the ruined crop.
Scott walked Miguel to the door, putting his arm around the man’s shoulders. “It’s okay, Miguel; don’t worry. Have the men salvage what they can. We’ll let the fields dry out and replant. I’ll be there shortly to look at the stream. We’ll figure out how to dig a trench so it won’t be so easy to divert.”
Tom admired the easy way Scott had with his foreman. It made him reflect on his own management style. But resuming his seat, Tom noted lines furrowing across Scott’s forehead.
“I’m no expert, but aren’t there regulations about diverting water from a stream?” Tom asked.
“Some people get touchy if they think their neighbor is channeling water off their property. There was an occasion where a contractor wanted to pipe water from an adjacent water source without checking with the farmer and authorities to make sure they were okay with it. He and his client got fined. We tend to leave it up to the NRCS to determine if someone’s overstepped their rights.”
“The NRCS?”
“Natural Resources Conservation Service. Most of the rivers and creeks in this area are named on maps and visible from the county’s aerial photos. The agency can determine fairly easily if someone’s infringing on water access.”
“Maybe it was more than an infringement on water rights. Benson said people at the Cattlemen’s Association were forcing him to sell. Was there any basis for his accusation?”
“His claims were ludicrous.”
“How can you be so sure? It sounds like you’re experiencing some of the same problems.”
“Having one field of strawberries ruined is hardly a threat to put us out of business. It only affected a couple of acres.”
“Still, it sounds like it was an intentional act on someone’s part. Perhaps the same person responsible for vandalizing Benson’s property.”
“Albert Benson’s spread isn’t worth enough to interest anyone in taking those kinds of radical measures.”
“But surely, the Miller ranch is incentive enough for someone to be willing to take such steps. Have you had any other acts of sabotage?”
Tom noted Scott’s hesitation, certain he was deciding how much information to disclose.
“First of all,” Scott responded testily, “I don’t know if the damming of the stream was deliberate. Second, it happened in an isolated part of the ranch that doesn’t have much impact on the big picture. It’s a piece ne
xt to Benson’s property.”
“Maybe someone was interested in scoring that piece and putting it together with Benson’s farm.”
Scott’s hand moved up to his face, and he stroked his chin. “Some weeks ago, Gramps told me about someone expressing an interest in buying some acreage.”
“Did your grandfather consider selling?” Tom asked.
“Gramps will never sell any portion of the land. He declined the offer like every other offer he’s received over the years.”
“Who made the offer?”
“As I recall, some young man presented it. Gramps wasn’t interested enough to find out the source.”
Scott twisted from side to side and looked at his watch. Tom assumed he was anxious to sort out his water issue.
“One last thing. Have you given any thought to who took the gun you couldn’t produce for me at the fairgrounds?”
“I’ve given it a lot of thought, Detective,” Scott said, his voice elevated by a sudden lack of patience. “I’m not naive enough to think you won’t attempt to use that gun to pin this murder on me. But I keep all my firearms locked, especially with a twelve-year-old daughter. I don’t know who broke into the storage box. Did you get any fingerprints?”
“Not surprisingly, the gun was wiped clean. So I need to ask again. If you didn’t fire the weapon that killed Benson as you claim, who else had access to that gun?”
“Sorry, Lieutenant, I can’t help you. I have no idea.”
Scott’s hesitation had lasted mere seconds, but long enough in Tom’s mind to discount his response.
CHAPTER FOUR
Paul waited for his friend at Tommy’s Burgers in midtown. The smell of grilling beef, bacon, and onions whetted his appetite. He ordered an appetizer and surveyed the selection of brews posted on the wall.
Tom slid into the booth across from him as the waitress set a plate of cheese fries on the table.
