Asa saw him coming and his eyes widened with relief. “Cade.”
Malone turned at the sound of his name and Cade gave her a quick, appreciative glance. She’d traded jeans and boots for a long turquoise tunic of some sort, belted at the waist, over leggings that – while they looked warm – also looked sexy as hell. She said ‘hi’ but he couldn’t tell if she was glad to see him. She was much too angry with Asa for any other consideration.
“Malone, all I can tell you is I’m sorry and there won’t be any more trouble from Roland.”
“Really? Then why was he watching my trailer when Joss and I came out tonight?”
Asa stared at her. “Are you sure? I sent him to the hotel right after it happened, told him to pack his bag and head back to the ranch at first light.”
“Apparently, he didn’t listen. You should have fired him, Asa.”
Asa rubbed his brow. “Now, Malone, I can’t fire every cowboy that acts stupid over a pretty girl. I wouldn’t have anyone left to work for me except a few old timers who learned their lessons a long time ago and most the hard way. Roland acted stupid but he didn’t mean any harm.”
Cade suspected Asa wasn’t going to get far with that argument. Nor did he like the idea that Roland had been anywhere near Joss after he’d been warned by both Cade and Asa. He’d have plenty to say to Asa later.
“Well, you’d better figure out a way to keep them in line and Roland away from Joss.”
Looking disgusted, Asa jammed his head on his head. “I’ll take care of Roland tonight, Malone. He won’t bother you or Joss again. I can promise you that.”
Malone tracked his departure with a steely gaze.
“Hey,” Cade said softly. When she turned to look at him, he was pleased to see her temper fade.
“Hey, yourself.”
“Joss wouldn’t come?”
“No, not after seeing Roland.”
“I’m sorry, Malone,” and he was, “but Asa wouldn’t have had that happen for the world.”
“I know but, darn it, Roland Walker isn’t a teenager. He’s a grown man and Joss is a kid. He could see that as well as anyone. I want to pound some sense into his head.”
“And Joss is more fragile than most girls her age in similar situations. She has a history Walker doesn’t know about.”
“I’m not sure he would act any better if he did,” she said darkly.
Cade couldn’t argue the point. He wasn’t sure of that either.
From the speaker, he heard the tempo of the music shift. The dance floor was empty but, on impulse, Cade took a risk – a big risk – and swept Malone into a cowboy waltz. For a moment, she stayed stiff in his arms though her feet instinctively found rhythm with the music.
When he murmured in her ear, “I’ve wanted to do this since the wedding at Summer Valley Ranch,” Malone relaxed into the dance and Cade found himself grateful to the long-ago girlfriend who had talked him into taking dance lessons with her.
Glancing down at the curve of her cheek, Cade felt a contentment he hadn’t known in too many years. He had no intention of giving that up, not without a fight.
With a final slow spin as the music faded, he stopped them at the edge of the dance floor and nudged Malone so that her gaze followed his. Joss stood near the doorway, looking pretty in green, but also looking shy and a bit uncertain. Her hand was grasped by Luke who didn’t look unsure in the least. Apparently, he’d done what Malone hadn’t been able to do and convinced Joss to join the fun.
Chapter Ten
The back of the facility is no less well-appointed than what the fans see from their box office seats surrounding the competition arena. It is well-lit and properly maintained with stout railings for the livestock that it shelters. Unlike the highly trained athletes of the barrel racers and ropers and steer wrestlers, these animals are bedded down in small herds. They are no less well-tended than their counterparts but definitely not as pampered by separate lodgings.
I will say, although it looks as if serious effort has been given to cleanliness, the odor of droppings scooped up and placed in bins around these pens gives rise to the likelihood that the scent of illicit drugs would remain undetected in this area. At least to the uninitiated.
The first animals I pass are what the rodeo announcer called the broncs, though I cannot distinguish the saddle broncs from the bareback broncs. The next are bulls with wicked horns. As fierce as they seem, their manner is peaceful – with one another at least. The only restive group is the last, the young bovine for the calf-roping event. I cannot at once ascertain the cause for their fretful behavior and circle closer. Perhaps they’re hungry and anxious to be fed. But, no, fresh hay fills multiple racks along the railing.
Fresh hay, fresh water, no predators. I deduce, then, it is their youth that prevents them from settling. Those of us with some maturity understand the value of a good night’s rest.
Hmmm, not a hint - or a scent - of illegal narcotics. I won’t say I’ve wasted my time but I must admit my efforts have produced nothing.
I turn to leave and catch a glint, a suggestion of something shiny, not in the pen but on the other side, close to the block wall of the rear of the building. I circle around to investigate though it doesn’t appear large enough to be of much significance. But it’s been a boring sojourn, after all, and I always strive to nurture the more inquisitive aspects of my nature, so important to a top detective.
As I draw near, an underlying odor tugs at me but I see nothing untoward. The glint that caught my eye proves to be an abandoned spur, not too fancy, with a bit of black filigree inlay, and otherwise much the same as I’ve seen on the competitors. Just your garden-variety, blunt-ended spur with a leather strap worn through. But I don’t turn back. The smell has become all-prevailing and I realize the malodorous droppings have hidden more than the possibility of unlawful trafficking. They covered the scent of death, one so faint, as yet, that humans would not likely have detected it. But – surprising to a sleuth accustomed to the investigation of murder, mayhem and the like – there is no accompanying reek of blood.
I follow the airborne trail around a corner and find the body propped upright between two beams. This is not good. I recognize the young cowboy. There’s no sign of a struggle but, as I tell myself, the chap certainly didn’t break his own neck, now did he? I check to ensure the presence of an intact spur on each boot and make a mental note of the lone, abandoned one as possible evidence.
I do hope Master Luke has a good alibi as his altercation with the deceased, one Roland Walker, received much publicity. Time to find Mr. Silver Eyes and make known the death of the cowboy.
* * *
Malone preferred not to acknowledge, even to herself, the sparkle of awareness that zinged through her every time her glance met Cade’s And that seemed to happen all too often. They’d danced, sure, and it had been nice – more than nice – but she’d ‘been there, done that’ with him. She didn’t plan for a repeat even though they were two very different people now. And that - the differences - was part of the point. Her life had moved on from Cade and it confused her that he wanted to revisit a past that had been so hurtful, at least for her. She never thought of herself as a coward. She’d taken on and won some of life’s hardest challenges. She’d carved success and happiness out of what appeared, at times, to be solid rock. But, with all that, some things took more courage than even she could boast.
Cade’s popularity as director of the rodeo association gave her easy opportunity to put distance between them and she’d taken advantage of that. She found a glass of water and carried it as a buffer between herself and any other offers to hit the dance floor. Although she had no problem telling the cowboys no – she’d done it for years – it softened the refusal to claim thirst and a need to catch her breath as if she’d been dancing every dance. She wondered sometimes why they continued to ask at every opportunity.
As she chatted in a corner with long-time friends, a glimpse of black fur caught her
attention and she gave a second look. Trouble wove his way through denim and leather. There was intensity to his movement that caught her eye. She chided herself he was always similarly focused in his quest for food he thought worthy of him, though she would have thought he’d had plenty earlier. When it became clear he was making a bee-line for Cade, she excused herself from the conversation and made her way back across the room where Cade was deep in conversation with one of his staff.
She’d had several conversations with Tammy Lynn since leaving the wedding and each had ended with an admonition to pay attention to Trouble. He knew things. He was with Malone for a reason. She had only to wait and he’d prove that to her.
If she believed all that, then Trouble’s determination to seek out Cade should have irritated her. Instead, all she felt was resignation that fate seemed determined to keep them together tonight.
The cat reached Cade seconds before her. He stretched upward and placed his paws on Cade’s jeans. Without missing a beat in his conversation, Cade idly rubbed the cat’s ears and found himself swatted for his effort.
Malone smiled despite herself. Trouble had a way of making his intentions known. “Come on, Trouble, I’ll go see what you’ve found.”
Cade glanced her way, then back at Trouble. Malone was surprised by the look of acceptance in Cade’s expression. It seemed they were both coming around to Trouble’s unique abilities. “Why don’t you wait here and I’ll check out what’s bothering him?”
“Nope. He’s with me ... he seems to have forgotten that at the moment.”
Trouble appeared to have caught a hint of the tartness of her tone. He looked up at her and blinked slowly. She wasn’t sure if she should take it as an apology but it would have to do.
After a quick look around the room reassured her that Joss was well-occupied on the dance floor with Luke, Malone walked to where her jacket hung from one of the many coat racks placed near the door. She wasn’t surprised when Cade’s Australian Shepherd met them there. She’d noticed that, even when the dog appeared to be in solid slumber, if his master moved, he knew it.
Trouble led the way out of the warmth and music and into the beauty of the night. The wind had died with the onset of dusk and stars had overtaken the sky. It was cold but not bitterly so.
Her pulse leapt as the streak of black took them toward the barns, then settled as Trouble bypassed the one where the competitors’ horses were stalled. She felt Cade’s occasional glance her way, but neither had spoken since leaving the reception hall.
They passed the bucking stock and Trouble slowed his pace. For the first time, Malone felt a slight sense of dread. Something wasn’t right but she couldn’t have said for sure how she knew that. She wished for a flashlight. The barn wasn’t in complete dark, but the few lights that burned high along the walls weren’t enough.
Trouble sat in the middle of the hall and looked up at them with a sound somewhere between growl and rumble. When he had their attention, he batted at a spur barely discernible in the dark. Cade hesitated. It could belong to anyone. Competitors lost equipment every day, a broken hook, a broken strap were common mishaps. He’d likely never find the owner. But Trouble thought it was important. Cade picked it up and slipped it into his back pocket.
Blinking, Trouble stood and led them around another corner.
Malone felt shock hit the back of her throat in the form of nausea and she swallowed hard. Cade said the ugliest word she’d ever heard him utter before pulling her into him so that the young man’s body with its grotesquely twisted neck was hidden from her sight.
* * *
Cade made a calculated decision and hoped it wasn’t a wrong one. The first call he made wasn’t 911. It was to Deputy Marshal Ryder. 911 was next. His third call was to Asa Morrissette.
While he waited for the authorities to arrive, he hit Aleta’s number.
“What’s up, boss?” he could hear the surprise in her voice.
“I need a favor, more than one.”
“Sure.”
“Wrap things up and get everyone out the door as soon as you can. Tell them I hope they all rest well and wake ready for a successful round two.” He checked his watch. “It’s only a quarter of an hour early so hopefully no one will question.”
“I’m questioning,” Aleta said.
“You question everything and I’ll answer – but later. I also need you to make sure the girl traveling with Malone gets to their trailer safely. Make sure she locks herself in and tell her Malone will be there soon.”
“Something bad has happened, hasn’t it?” Aleta’s voice held gloomy resignation.
“Yeah.”
“What else, boss?”
Beside him Malone’s teeth chattered, though he suspected that was due more to shock than cold. “See if you can scrape up a thermos of coffee or two. All hell is fixing to break out here and we’re going to have plenty of company.”
He told her where they were and smiled faintly as she said, “On that, boss.”
Because it had been nearly time to close the festivities for the night, he hoped he might get lucky enough that some contestants didn’t hear about the death until morning. The police had been asked to come in the back entrance without lights and sirens. He’d emphasized the need to avoid panicking the livestock, but not being surrounded by several dozen contestants and event workers would be a definite benefit.
* * *
I did not sufficiently appreciate the efficiencies of Mr. Silver Eyes’ assistant. That was remiss of me. The statuesque red-head arrived not only with two flasks of coffee, she also brought a small offering of cream, with the chill nicely removed, for me. Even Townie wasn’t forgotten, being gifted with a thick beefsteak bone.
Tsk-tsk. Ms. Rodeo cradles the coffee in her hands for warmth but seems frozen in place and does not drink. I can sympathize. I recall all too well my first glimpse of violent death. It leaves an aura not easily dispelled.
Although I don’t think Mr. Silver Eyes is immune, he remains stoic as he orchestrates the comings and goings of various entities, giving directions and providing information as needed and making phone calls when requested. Periodically, he turns his gaze on the woman beside him. Whatever he is thinking remains unspoken.
An ambulance is backed with care into the narrow opening not too far from where the body, now strapped to a gurney, awaits transport. Pictures have been taken from every conceivable angle. Surfaces have been dusted for fingerprints. I have no doubt a multitude will be found with none relevant to the case. This was no clumsy deed done in a fit of rage. It takes skill to deliberately break a human neck. Skill and a cold-bloodedness that mercifully few possess. But there are benefits. It’s quick. It leaves little trail. No murder weapon to discard. No blood which could be carried away in tell-tale sign.
Asa Morrissette looks as if he’s been gut-punched. As Walker’s employer, and with no family present, he signs the paper on the clipboard that is handed him by the ambulance driver.
As the ambulance pulls away, an officer walks up to Mr. Silver Eyes. “I’ll need to speak with a Mr. Roberts now.”
So at least one of the hangers-on who drifted in has told a tale out of school. I sigh. Humans rarely realize the ill effects of their gossip.
“Aleta, would you ask Luke and his father to come to my office? We’ll join them there.”
“I don’t need his father,” the officer protests.
“Luke is seventeen. You won’t talk to him unless his father allows. Or I can go ahead and call an attorney now.” There’s steel in that tone though he has been nothing but polite until now.
The officer yields and we all troop back to the show office building. Mr. Silver Eyes places his arm around Ms. Rodeo. She doesn’t lean against him but neither does she push away. I flank them on one side, Townie on the other. The canine continues to display some limited uses, I acknowledge.
Within moments, we are all crowded into one small space. Aleta quietly closes the door on us. To my sur
prise, though the officer glares around the room once as if counting heads, he asks no one to leave. At Mr. Silver Eyes’ discreet nod, Luke’s father has agreed his son can answer a few questions. I understand that reasoning. It is often these preliminary forays that set the tone for the real investigation. That twisted neck is the work of a cold-blooded - and likely professional - killer. The sooner the authorities realize that Luke doesn’t fit the bill, the sooner they will direct their effort more appropriately.
The officer flips open his notepad and begins asking questions any decent mystery writer could have crafted. Why had Luke and the deceased traded blows earlier in the day? Had they known each other previously? When was the last time Luke saw the deceased? Where was Luke during the two hours prior to the body being found?
With his father’s hand resting upon his shoulder, Luke acquits himself well, remaining quiet-spoken and polite and without hesitation in his responses. His youth comes through as surely as the unlikelihood that he had the skill or the bulk or the sheer ugliness of nature it had taken to break Walker’s neck, much less the time. He’d been with his father or friends during a timeline he was able to recount without hesitation. The only response that draws even a hint of consternation is when Luke told of being with Joss, talking her into attending the reception and escorting her there.
The officer glances around in resignation. “I suppose this Joss is also seventeen.”
“Sixteen,” Ms. Rodeo says, “And asleep.” I surmise her concern. If questioned by the authorities, Joss may well disappear in a panic.
Turning for Trouble Page 9
