“Probably not enough to help, but I’m willing to share if you’ve got time to take a walk.”
Dirks fell into step with the sheriff and asked. “How long have you known Craig Danson?”
“Just since he married Avery. He seemed like an okay guy for a long time, not a go-getter, mind you, but decent. He set up office as a financial adviser for a while here in town but I don’t think trade was real brisk. He closed the place after the first year’s lease was up and Avery said he was working from the ranch. Guess that’s a business you can keep pretty much online. Must have been fairly successful, though.”
“Based on …?”
“Drove some pretty sporty cars over the years and sent Carlee to a very good university. And Avery’s way too smart to take care of a man who can’t take care of himself.”
“You don’t think he bought those cars with the ranch money he was helping himself to?
“Avery told you about that, did she?” Farley shot him a sideways glance before adding, “No, that came later. I’ll admit I did some digging when I started hearing rumors about his gambling. Not from Avery, mind you. She’s a woman who keeps things to herself until she can’t. He was making money, at least for a while. Just not from the locals.”
“These guys Danson gambled with and owes money to - are they local?”
“No. Best I can tell they’re from up around Birmingham. Fly in and out on a chartered plane. Pretty much always come in together. Don’t frequent the women. Don’t drink. Just gamble and leave.”
“Any indication of cheating?”
“Not that I know … and I would. I golf with the manager there on a regular basis.”
Dirks mulled that over, making sure he didn’t have any other questions that the sheriff could answer for him. Their conversation, which they’d kept in low tones, had been interrupted frequently by residents greeting their sheriff and giving Dirks the once-over. They’d walked through most of the town streets and would soon be fairly close to where Dirks had parked his truck.
“I guess Carlee’s running errands.”
Dirks looked up and followed the sheriff’s glance across the street where the young woman was stepping out of an office supply store. She met their gazes and strode across the street toward them. She nodded at Dirks and smiled at Farley.
“Hey, Ben. Things okay with you?”
“Fine, Carlee, how about yourself?”
“I’m good. I checked with the garage and Avery’s SUV is almost ready to go, said for sure by six o’clock closing. I’m going to leave my car parked beside the library. Don’t tow it off, okay?”
The sheriff chuckled and shook his head. “It’d be safe from me but why don’t you let me have a deputy run the SUV out there on their next round your way?”
“Well ...” Carlee smiled and shrugged “I’ve got my eye on a few things in town that won’t fit in my trunk.”
“Okay, give me your key and I’ll make sure your car gets home safe.”
“I’ll take you up on that, but I’ll bring the key and the car around to your office later. Got some places left to go for now. And I appreciate you keeping a watch on the ranch and Avery.”
“On you, too, Carlee,” the sheriff reminded. “And that won’t ease up until things settle down.”
Carlee took her leave, acknowledging Dirks with another nod. He suspected she was as unhappy with him as Avery was.
As she walked away, Dirks commented, “She and Avery are close.”
“They are that. I suspect Carlee would fight tigers for Avery. Her father’s behavior can’t be anything but an embarrassment to her.”
Dirks took his leave of the sheriff, knowing he’d learned all he was going to and knowing, too, that nothing he’d heard was going to be of much help, just as the sheriff had said. Time to head back to the ranch and hope Trey had sent that file on the gamblers.
Time, too, to have that conversation with Avery she’d been avoiding.
* * *
Avery parked the ranch truck in front of Sykes Lumber Yard and put the windows down. As she turned the engine off, Trouble stood and stretched. “I can’t imagine why you insisted on coming with me,” Avery commented. “I’ve never in my life known a cat that liked to ride in a vehicle.”
But then, she had to admit, she’d never known a cat quite like Trouble. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and slid from the truck seat. She pulled the photocopy she’d made of her attorney’s newspaper notice from her purse then realized she couldn’t leave her purse in the truck, not with the windows down. And she couldn’t put them up and lock the doors with Trouble inside. Not in this heat.
“You’re a lot of trouble,” she said, “and no pun intended.”
Trouble merely observed her through green eyes narrowed against the glare of the late afternoon sun. The drive had taken her longer than expected. Her GPS hadn’t accounted for the poor condition of the roads.
“Stay put,” she told Trouble, knowing he probably wouldn’t and there was nothing she could do about it.
Slinging her purse straps over one shoulder, she closed the truck door and walked to the front entrance. The cavernous room she entered appeared to be part office and part showroom with samples of hardwood and natural stone countertop displayed. Apparently, Sykes believed in diversifying his business enterprise. There were three different desks but none of the leather chairs were occupied.
“Hello?”
Silence answered so she crossed to the wide doorway at the back of the showroom and found herself in a warehouse of sorts. Following the sound of voices, she made her way to the other end where two men in jeans and a woman in leggings and long, sleeveless shirt watched as a semi was being loaded with lumber.
They didn’t seem to have heard her footsteps above the sound of the forklift so she lifted her voice a little and said, “Mr. Sykes?”
The thinner, older man turned toward her. “Yes, ma’am, I’m Mr. Sykes. Can I help you with something? I’m sorry none of us were up front. Excuse me a minute.” He turned from her to the woman. “Sharon, you need to get back to your work area.”
The woman – actually more like girl, Avery realized as she turned around – rolled her eyes at him but did as she was told. She shot Avery a grin that said the girl didn’t hold her responsible for being sent back to work.
Sykes turned his attention back to Avery. “Now, ma’am, what can I do for you?”
“I’m Avery Wilson - previously Avery Danson.”
And just like that, his demeanor changed from helpful to border-line hostile. “You brought my check?”
The younger man turned around at the words and Avery could see the family resemblance between them.
“No, I’m afraid I don’t owe you anything.”
“Now see here,” he stepped closer. “Your husband sent a truck out here to pick up several thousand dollars’ worth of my lumber.”
Avery stood her ground. “Ex-husband.”
“Not at the time, he wasn’t!” His face took on a dark red tone.
She handed him the photocopy she’d brought. “You’ll want to read this.”
He read it and glared at her. “Won’t stand up in court.”
“Yes, sir, it will. I have an excellent attorney.”
“I’ll make you and him sorry,” he threatened.
The sound of a warning yowl echoed eerily through the warehouse.
“What the hell was that!”
Avery sighed as a second yowl, closer, bounced off the walls. “That would be Trouble.”
She watched as the black cat made his way closer. His back was arched and his hair bristled.
“Well, get him out of here. The next time you see me will be in court.”
“I’m confident I won’t ever see you again, Mr. Sykes, not once you show any attorney you engage that piece of paper. They won’t waste their time, even if you want to waste yours.”
With an air of calm she certainly didn’t feel, Avery turned and retraced her
steps through the business, scooping up the black cat as she went. Her knees were trembling, but she was careful not to show it. Not for the world would she let the man take it for fear, instead of the anger it was.
Chapter Thirteen
Dirks couldn’t decide if he should feel irritated or reprieved when he returned to the ranch and Avery was nowhere to be found. What he did feel was a hum of tension along with a thread of self-awareness because he recognized that tension reflected equal parts disappointment and concern. Nor did he fool himself that his concern for her safety was due to no more than a bone-deep military training that gave him a sense of responsibility for civilians in general.
Telling himself he was an idiot for being glad that one black cat was missing as well – after all, how much protection could a cat provide - he settled in to read what Trey had sent. Superficially, there was nothing that would alarm the average reader. Craig had been playing with a tight trio of independently-wealthy high rollers. That appellation - independently wealthy - should have implied that winning or losing wouldn’t necessarily be a big deal, right? It was all about the game. But Trey had dug deep. With deepening misgivings, Dirks read on through the misfortunes that had plagued a long line of fringe players. Some had been lucky enough to win large amounts from them, others unlucky enough to lose sums they couldn’t repay. Dirks flipped through pages of newspaper photocopy, a drowning on a boating excursion in the Keys, here, a hunting accident in Texas canyon country, there, and even a suicide or two.
The accompanying report had been written in Trey’s sparse style and, really, he didn’t need to use many words. Trey knew Dirks was more than capable of reading between the lines. Danson had put himself opposite some really bad guys, himself and anyone associated with him.
Restless and mad as hell at a man too stupid to know what he’d done, Dirks reached for his cap and strode out toward the paddocks.
Tucker was leading a horse back to the barn as a small car pulled out toward the open road beyond the ranch. Tucker greeted him with a smile that faded quickly. “You don’t look happy.”
“Understatement.”
“Anything I need to know?”
Dirks hesitated then shook his head. “Nothing you don’t already, really. Danson’s an asshole.”
“No argument, there. After I put this fellow up, I’m headed out to check the progress on the enclosed riding path. The contractor finally showed back up to work. Want to tag along?”
Restless and, admittedly, curious, Dirks nodded and fell into step with Tucker.
* * *
As they bounced along what was little more than a cow path, Dirks asked, “What, exactly, is an enclosed riding path?”
“Well,” Tucker scratched his head, “I don’t really know how to describe it. I don’t have anything to compare it to. It’s an Avery invention. She got the idea from Sergeant Mallette who keeps pushing for her to let him ride outside the paddock.”
“That’s the young man who lost his vision overseas?”
“Yeah, an IED.” Tucker’s tone was grim. “Stinkin’ shame.”
“It always is,” Dirks agreed. “So young Mallette wants to extend his boundaries.”
“And Avery is determined to help him do that. She set aside five acres and hired one of the local contractors to enclose a walking trail. Took us several nights to lay out the design to make the best use of the acreage because she wanted it to be something that would give the rider a sense of open spaces, not just a bigger circle than the riding paddocks they’re usually in when they ride. There couldn’t be any angles to give a horse reason to stop, so it’s all curves.”
Tucker stopped the truck close to several large trees that Dirks thought were some kind of oak but not the huge, live oak that covered so much of the South. The sun was large and red and almost riding the horizon. Before them were a half dozen or so tanned, leathered workmen in well-worn jeans and tee shirts and what seemed to him like a maze of fence posts, hundreds of them, with no particular pattern.
As they climbed out of the truck and walked closer, Dirks could see the railing that was going up. Instead of three evenly spaced rows of railing similar to that around the riding paddocks, six boards were being fitted top to bottom in the middle of the span. And, instead of being placed on the outside of the posts for a nice, neat look, they were being nailed on the inside. Dirks opened his mouth to ask about the oddity then realized the safety of the design. A rider without sight would not find his boot hung in an unexpected and potentially dangerous position against a fence post. Avery was taking no chances with the well-being of Mallette, or any sightless riders who placed their trust in her. She wasn’t building for beauty but for safety.
Tucker shook hands with one of the men, greeting him by name, and slapping an arm lightly to his shoulder. “Dirks, this is my cousin, once or twice removed. Hadley Small, Dirks Hanna.”
Dirks held out a hand and found the man had a grip that matched the muscles bulging from his forearm.
Hadley, it turned out, was foreman for the group. He glanced at his watch and called it a day. He walked back toward the trees with Tucker and Dirks even as he kept an eye on his crew while they gathered up their tools and placed them in the job boxes attached to the work truck.
“I’m glad to see you and your men back at work here,” Tucker said.
“Yeah,” Hadley agreed, “me, too. Close to home for a change. What happened here, anyway? Jake just pulled us off out of the blue and sent us to another job two counties over. I asked him more than once about coming back to finish but he wouldn’t even talk with me about it.”
“Just a misunderstanding,” Tucker said, but his voice was grim.
Hadley nodded. “It happens,” he said easily, “but I’m glad we’re going to finish what we started. I don’t like leaving things undone. Besides, I like Ms. Avery and what she’s got going on out here. I wish my sister, Jean, lived closer. Her second kid was just diagnosed with autism. She’s got him in a really good program where she is, but I think this thing with the horses could help, too.”
“Jean moved to New Orleans when she got married, didn’t she? I’ll ask Avery to check out some riding facilities in that area. She’s got a bunch of contacts,” Tucker offered. “I won’t keep you from supper, Hadley. I just wanted to make sure work had started again. Looks like y’all are making good progress, too.”
“The railing won’t take as long as the fence posts,” Hadley assured him.
The two chatted a few minutes before Hadley rounded up his crew for the trip back to town. Tucker and Dirks pulled out right behind the work truck.
As they rode back to the barn, Dirks asked, “What was the misunderstanding?”
Tucker told him about Craig’s sleight of hand with the lumber while Dirks listened in silence. “I expect that much material cost a pretty penny,” was all he said.
“Close to eight thousand, according to Carlee,” Tucker agreed.
“Seems like a complicated ruse.”
Tucker shot him a look. “Yep, but it worked.”
Dirks didn’t answer. Apparently, it had worked but something felt off about the whole thing. There seemed a pretty big risk to Craig of finding himself in some real legal trouble since he’d identified himself openly to the owner of the lumber yard. Dirks didn’t like the sense of growing desperation that implied.
Tucker stopped the truck in front of his barn and Dirks followed the younger man inside to help with the evening feed. He missed his gym time though there was plenty to do around here to at least stretch his muscles, if not really work them. Morning and evening push-ups did that but he was getting bored with that routine and craved the weights in his basement gym.
As they fed and hayed horses, Dirks was increasingly aware of Avery’s absence and the slowly gathering dark. He heard Leanne before Tucker did, probably because he was listening so hard for the sound of an engine to signal Avery’s return.
“Tucker! Tucker, where are you?”
&nb
sp; Before either could respond, Leanne ran breathlessly into the barn her face filled with fear and fury. “Carlee’s hurt. She was bringing Avery’s SUV back to the ranch and someone ran her off the road just past the old Roberts’ place. Deliberately – that was the word she used. The vehicle rolled and she hit her head. She thinks she lost consciousness for a while but her voice was weak and I couldn’t hear everything she was saying. Then she disconnected and I can’t get her back.”
Dirks’ first thought iced the blood in his veins. Avery was somewhere along that same road with a person who clearly intended to do her harm.
Tucker wheeled to run and Dirks grabbed his arm. “With me,” he said, taking charge because that’s what he did. And Tucker, looking shell-shocked and frantic, nodded.
Dirks turned to Leanne. “Do you have a gun?”
She nodded, her face white. “I do and I’m good with it. What the hell is going on?”
“I’m not sure, but keep whatever firearm you have on you and loaded until we get back. If Avery takes another route and misses Carlee and us, keep her here whatever it takes. Call 911 to make sure emergency service is headed to Carlee, then call the sheriff’s office to send someone out here until I get back. Tucker and I will make sure Carlee is safe.” He wasn’t sure if her startled glance had to do with the avalanche of orders, the fact that he thought a loaded gun was a necessity, or the familiarity with which he’d spoken of Avery. No ‘Ms. Avery’ or ‘Ms. Wilson’ now.
With Tucker giving directions, Dirks drove with the speed and skill he’d learned in emergency training, navigating sharp curves as easily as straightaways. He didn’t like the fact that the light was fading, partly due to the time and partly to the overhang of clouds. “How far is this place?”
“Ten miles or so.” Tucker was clearly worried. “It’s not the route I usually take. It’s shorter in distance but the road isn’t nearly as good.” He was silent a moment, then repeated what Leanne had said. “Deliberately. But why? None of this makes sense to me.”
A Box Full of Trouble Page 72
