A Violent End at Blake Ranch

by Terry Shames

  “The state of Texas protects your house. The banks can’t take it, so you have a place to live.”

  “But you said all our assets besides that will be frozen?” Charlotte says. “How will we live?”

  “Like you said, you’re going to have to get a job,” Adelaide says. There’s a new kind of steel in her voice.

  “What kind of job can I get?” Charlotte says.

  “You’ll work that out,” I say. “You’ll be all right.”

  “But I’ve got Trey. And Mamma has to take care of Daddy . . .” Her voice trails away.

  “Charlotte,” Adelaide says. “Samuel’s right. We’re going to work this out.”

  “I talked to Les Moffitt,” I say, “and he’s going to be in touch with you. He’ll help you.”

  “Of course.” Charlotte’s voice is full of relief.

  I’m not really worried about Charlotte. Moffitt will be more than happy to help her and her family. Charlotte’s biggest problem is that she was coddled for so long. There are a lot of people in worse situations. It will take her some time to readjust to having to make a living, but she’s smart—she’ll be okay.

  I’m more concerned about Adelaide. All along, the reason Adelaide didn’t put John into a proper facility is that she was afraid he would tell someone their secret. And now that the secret is out, she can’t afford to have him cared for in a nursing home, so she’ll have to continue taking care of him herself. He’s going to get worse and her life will be harder, but oddly enough, today I’m seeing something different in her. Being out from under the burden of her secret, she seems lighter.

  The excitement of catching Nonie Blake has died down, and I’ve completely forgotten the minor task I assigned to Trevino, when I get to headquarters one morning and find her with her feet up on her desk, looking tired but satisfied.

  “You’re here mighty early,” I say.

  “No, I’m here late. I was waiting for you to get in before I leave to go get some sleep.”

  “What were you doing so late?”

  “Come on back and find out.” She tips her chair forward with a clunk, stands up, and heads for the cells.

  I follow her to the back room, and in one of the cells a teenaged boy is sitting on the side of the bunk with his head in his hands. He jumps up when he hears our footsteps. “Chief Craddock, I’m so glad to see you. This lady is crazy.”

  I glance at Trevino, and she’s glaring at him. “How do you figure that?” I say.

  “What kind of person would hide in the bushes to catch somebody who doesn’t mean anything . . .” His voice trails away.

  “Somebody stealing people’s flowers,” Trevino says. Her voice is stern, but there’s something else there, too. Can it be humor?

  “Son, what is your name?”

  “Please don’t tell my folks,” he says, hanging his head.

  “Name?”

  “Doug Wilton. Dougie, they call me.”

  “Doug, have you got any good reason why you’ve been upsetting the flower growers in our community by sneaking into their yards at night and cutting their best flowers?”

  “I didn’t mean to take the best ones. It was dark. How did I know?”

  Trevino makes a funny noise, whirls around, and heads for the door. “I’ll be right back,” she says, and I know she’s gone off to laugh.

  “You’ve got a girlfriend, don’t you?”

  He nods.

  “And you wanted to get her some flowers.”

  Another nod. “I didn’t have any money. I didn’t think anybody would miss a few stupid flowers.”

  “All right. Here’s what you’re going to do. I’m going to give you the names and addresses of the people you’ve stolen from.” I emphasize the word ‘stolen,’ and he flinches. “You’re going to personally apologize to each of them and offer to do two hours of work to make up for it.”

  “Yes, sir. I can do that. I’ll be glad to do that.”

  I go get the keys to the cell, ignoring Trevino, who is still wiping her eyes. I open the cell. “Now get back home before your folks raise the alarm that you’ve been kidnapped.” He starts to scoot out. “Wait. Don’t let me find out you haven’t followed through with what I said, or your folks will hear about it.”

  After he leaves, I tell Trevino that it’s important the boy’s parents not know about his humiliation.

  “You think I don’t know that by now?” She shakes her head. “Small towns!”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  So many little pieces of information go into making up a novel. Sometimes writers don’t even know what they don’t know. Information finds its way into books through direct and indirect means. I want to acknowledge the unsung heroes who have passed along tidbits that helped me in my work. In particular, thanks to Lee Lofland and his team of dedicated faculty members in the Writers’ Police Academy, to Ruben Vasquez of the Georgetown, TX, Police Department Major Crimes Division, and Dr. Daniel Wescott, Director of the Forensic Anthropology Center at Texas State University.

  Also a shout-out to the speakers and panel members of the numerous conferences I have attended over the years. With few exceptions, they give their all to inform and inspire other writers to get it right.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Terry Shames grew up in Texas, a vast and varied landscape that still drives her imagination. She is the author of the best-selling Samuel Craddock series. A Killing at Cotton Hill was awarded the Macavity for Best First Novel of 2013, and The Last Death of Jack Harbin is a nominee for the Macavity for Best Mystery Novel of 2014. She is a member of Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America. Visit her website at www.Terryshames.com.