Max read David’s headstone. “David King, Father. Fair thee well! The breeze is steady, strike the spurs, West to ride to seek the cabin, seek the key. Stand with Pride and Majesty.” Max paused. “Dad had that picked out before he…I mean I had nothing to—”
“Max?” Joy tilted her head.
“What?”
“Oh, never mind. My eight-cylinder brain is working overtime.”
“It usually does, but tell me anyway.”
“Read together, they say: Father. Father and mother. Fair thee well! The ship is ready. The breeze is steady. Anchors up! Strike the spurs. Soar o’er swells, West to ride to secret shores to seek the cabin and open doors. Seek the key to the three. Stand, undivided. With Pride, with Joy. And majesty and trinity.”
David King
1953-2018
Father
Fair thee well!
The breeze is steady.
Strike the spurs.
West to ride
To see the cabin
Seek the key
Stand
With Pride
And Magesty
Sam Burton
1955-2018
Father and Mother
The ship is ready.
Anchors up!
Soar o’er swells
To secret shores
And open doors
To the three
Undivided
With Joy
And Trinity
Joy said, “Father, father, mother. Seek the key to the three. Stand undivided. Trinity. Can this be a clue to our real parents? We’re twins with the same mother but two fathers.”
Max hesitated to answer. He ran his hands over his head. “Um, I hate to state the obvious, but trinity also has a religious connotation.”
“But Sam claimed to be Buddhist, a little bit. So why would he say ‘trinity’? Unless he means father, father, mother.”
“Sam was a father and mother to you. More mother than David King, if you look at your house compared to mine—one of them could decorate—Sam—and one could not—David.”
Joy acquiesced. “I know. You’re right.”
“Besides, David King’s report of the night he and Sam raided the house, found us tiny tykes, and hauled our tiny butts to safety before the house exploded also reported that three transients died in the fire caused by the gas leak: two men and a woman.”
“You’re right, Max. Whoever our parents were, they’re dead.”
“And if you don’t go all eight-cylinder on me, my father’s epithet is about riding a horse, heading West—into the sunset—to seek the cabin in the sky and ultimate majesty. I admit, the wording is not like David King—I’d expect something more like ‘Gosh dern, I’m with the worms,’ but the funeral director probably helped both of our fathers put these together, which is why they sound similar—except one’s about the west and one’s about the sea.”
“Right, it’s not like either of them knew they were going to die this year.”
“Wait! I got it! Do you know what my four-cylinder brain just figured out—they did this so we’d find each other. If we both came to their graves, we would meet. It was their assurance we would meet, one day, and they also ensured it would be after they both had died.”
Joy let out a huge sigh of relief. She laid down a bunch of daisies on each grave. “Mystery solved. You know, bro, we make one hell of a team.”
“I figured that one out a while ago. Geez. Keep up, would you.”
Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.
Max, Joy, and Steele rode their horses into Summerfield Farm, a historic and cultural center. Max rode a brown and white pinto named Patch; Joy had picked out a sleek black horse named Pepper; and Steele asked for a gentle horse, as it was his first time riding. The cowboy hooked Steele up with a white horse named Marshmallow.
Onlookers—locals and tourists—tipped their hats or waved; children pointed and giggled.
Max wore western gear, jeans and a western shirt, and tipped his hat in response; Joy wore her stretch tactical pants with a black tank top, her black western boots, and a new black hat. Steele wore jeans and a T-shirt with his western boots.
The trio passed by the refurbished water tower: a metal tub with a conical roof that sat on a platform atop wooden braces. “Summerfield Farm” was painted across its face in red and white.
They clomped past the windmill, gently turning in the breeze.
As Max shifted with the gait of the horse, he eyed the wooden buildings, mostly painted white except for a huge red barn at the end of the street. Max imagined Little Wolf riding alongside James Jr. or eating in the cook-house where the men were fed. As he passed by the main house, he imagined Little Wolf’s heart race as Mercy waved to him.
Max passed by a sign that indicated various shops within the complex: Colton’s Leather Goods and Saddlery, Trail Grub Steakhouse restaurant, Ma and Pa’s Jam and Pie Shoppe, Duds and Dresses clothing store; Tip to Tail, a shop selling hats, boots, and belts; Prospector’s Place, a jewelry store; and—their destination—Sal’s Saloon Too, a second, much smaller bar and grill than the one in Grape Gulch.
A couple and their little boy waved at Max, Joy, and Steele from a stagecoach rolling by in the other direction.
Max waved back. “How’s Marshmallow, Steele?”
“She’s still under my butt,” Steele replied.
“Ready for a trot?” teased Joy.
“I’ll trot with you—as soon as I’m on the ground,” said Steele. “I can’t believe you two talked me into this. Los Angeles did not require equestrian skills.”
Max laughed. “The early ranchers used Native Americans to break their wild horses. They had the know-how. I’m just breaking you ‘mail-order cowboys’ in one day at a time.”
Joy shot Max a perturbed glance. “Just because you can line-dance and you wear western clothes, it doesn’t make you a real cowboy, my friend.”
Steele added, “At least I can make jerky.”
“And I shot the deer he used to make the jerky,” said Joy. “And gutted it.”
“Whoa!” Max relinquished as he pulled Patch to a stop in front of Sal’s, dismounted, and tied the reins to the hitching post. “You’re right. You don’t need to skin me alive.”
With enthusiasm, Steele dismounted. He rubbed his butt. “When you said you’d buy me a beer, I didn’t know there was a horse attached to it.”
“It means a lot that you’re riding along with me.” Max stepped on the boardwalk. “After Dad died, I thought I’d be riding through life all alone.”
Joy had dismounted. She stroked Pepper’s forehead and glanced at Max and Steele. “I thought I’d be alone too.”
“I thought I’d be dead,” said Steele. “Max, how long before my legs go straight again? I feel like a wishbone.”
Max slapped him on the back. “One beer, and you’ll forget your legs.”
“And my ass?” asked Steele.
Max laughed. “Maybe a shot of tequila.”
Steele balked, “No tequila. I need to ride Marshmallow home to the rental place, with me attached, preferably.”
“After lunch, we’re buying you a hat,” said Max.
Joy grinned. “Oh, hell yeah, we are.” She high-fived Max. “Maybe dark brown.”
Max suggested, “Or gray.”
Steele asked, “Do I get a say in this?”
Joy spun and faced Steele. “Babe, you’d look so fine in a cowboy hat. So fine.”
Steele lit up. “A hat it is!”
Max shook his head. “Stop ruining my appetite.”
Joy laughed, “I don’t think that’s possible.”
Max pushed open the saloon doors. He grinned, “You’re right.”
The Next Case
The headlights of a steel livestock trailer pulled by a black semi cut through the inky night and illuminated the processing building of Wine Valley Meat Packers.
Travis Montana, the driver, a clean-shaven surly man, turned the vehicle around
upon seeing the cattle door slide open. Travis eased the back of the vehicle into the brightly lit doorway. He parked and cut the engine. He turned to the man in the passenger seat. “These boys better be ready to dance.”
Brad Lambe, a veterinarian with dishwater-brown hair and black-rimmed glasses, snapped, “They’re ready to moonwalk with the amount of antibiotics and growth hormone you’re using. You didn’t need to bring me. I did all I could.”
“We’ll soon find out.”
Travis and Brad hopped down from the cab. Travis reached out to shake Sergio’s hand. “Hey, Serg.”
Sergio Alvarez, a stocky man with tawny skin and dark hair with wisps of gray at the temples, reached out. “Let’s get this done, guys.”
From behind a hedge at the corner of the building Yvette Holmes, an attractive black woman and animal rights activist, held night vision binoculars with photo and video capability. She snapped pictures of Travis, Brad, and Sergio.
Travis opened the steel door on the back of the truck, which lined up with a ramp inside the processing plant.
A black and white cow lumbered from the truck bed and stepped onto a ramp and into a chute. Red rails trapped the animal on either side, so that it could only move forward. It struggled to walk. Travis reached out with an electric cattle prod and touched it to the cow’s hind end. When the animal stopped or leaned against the railing, Travis shocked it to keep it moving forward, ever closer to the stun box.
Another four cows followed the first into the chute, likewise stumbling. The cows trudged forward, heads drooping. The last cow stumbled a time or two, but Travis prodded it to keep moving.
When the first cow arrived at the end of the chute, a worker in white clothes and a blue plastic apron, closed a gate and trapped it in the stun box. The animal had no room to turn around.
Another worker pulled the cow’s head through the front grate and secured it, so the animal could not withdraw its head.
In a precise move, the worker placed a pneumonic bolt stun gun against the animal’s forehead and pulled the trigger. The bolt snapped forward and rammed into the animal’s skull with sufficient force to render it unconscious without penetrating the bone. The animal fell to the floor.
The worker at the animal’s head opened the gate and attached a chain to the cow’s rear leg. He flipped a switch, and the animal lifted into the air and along a track to where another worker deftly slit its throat and stuck its chest to bleed it out.
Cows two through four met the same fate.
The fifth cow refused to step inside the stun box. Travis slammed the prod stick against its hide time and time again to jolt the weaving animal into action.
Instead, the animal’s front legs gave out. It crumpled to the floor.
Two workers dragged the inert animal forward into the stun box. One worker placed the pneumatic bolt gun against the animal’s forehead and fired. The animal didn’t move. The worker secured the leg with a chain and flipped the switch to hoist the animal into the air and send it along for processing with the others.
Sergio remarked, “Another ‘downer’ Travis?”
Travis adjusted his black cowboy hat, turned to the side, and spit on the floor. “He made it to the gate, and you get paid.”
Brad turned away. “I’m waiting in the truck.”
The cows moved along the overhead track from the blood-letting station to the hide-stripping station, where workers peeled their skin like peeling fruit.
Next, workers inserted hooks into both hind legs and severed their forelimbs and heads.
Another man gutted them, removing their organs.
And finally, a worker held aloft a carcass brisket saw. The blade shifted from a higher to lower-pitched whine when it landed between the hind legs and cut into the spine to sever the carcass in half.
Once rendered into two pieces, the severed halves moved into the cool-storage room to age.
Travis and Sergio exchanged final mumbled words, and Travis turned to leave.
Javier Morales, the middle-aged meat inspector for the plant, hung in the shadows. He watched as the others cleaned up. When just about to turn and head home, he felt a metallic object against the back of his skull.
With a pneumonic pop, he crumpled to the concrete floor and sank into dark, cold oblivion. Blood oozed from the hole in the back of his head.
Author’s Note
Thank you for spending time with me in Wine Valley. While each novel can be read as a stand-alone murder mystery, Max and Joy’s personal quest to discover their bizarre past will unravel more with each book, so reading then in order is recommended.
The suspects’ secret lives will continue to add unexpected twists, romances will build, all amidst harrowing danger and emotional upheavals. What more could one ask for than bizarre tales of murder and heart-stopping suspense in a pristine setting with old friends and new ones.
If you like the series, please leave a review and comment on Amazon. Word of mouth is incredibly powerful. A few words or a phrase or a sentence—it all helps. Thanks again!
Note: I use professional editors, and I proofread several times, but if you spot an error or just wish to connect, please email me at [email protected].
Shiraz and Slaughter
Wine Valley Mystery Book 6
Honor among thieves means to kill anyone who threatens to expose you.
This heart-stopping suspense begins at Wine Valley Meat Packers in the dead of night. A cattle rancher and the plant manager process a few cattle after hours. A killer lurks in the shadows.
Det. Max King and Dr. Joy Burton arrive to find a corpse with a hole punched in his skull with a pneumatic bolt gun, like those used to stun cattle.
In this bizarre case, Max and Joy follow a lead. One discovery of corruption leads to another and another in a chain of dishonesty that threatens the lives of people across the nation.
Left unchecked, corruption grows into a cancer that devours the innocent.
Step into the vineyards and revel in the wicked world of Wine Valley. Read Shiraz and Slaughter today.
Books in the Wine Valley Mystery Series
Merlot and Murder: The Beginning (FREE)
Burgundy and Bodies, Book 1 (May 2, 2019)
Pinot Noir and Poison, Book 2 (May 9, 2019)
Syrah and Swingers, Book 3 (May 23, 2019)
Rose and Rocks, Book 4 (June 27, 2019)
Grenache and Graves, Book 5 (Aug. 1, 2019)
Shiraz and Slaughter, Book 6
Pinot Grigio and Pesticide, Book 7
Gamay Noir and Ghouls, Book 8
Claret and Carnage, Book 9
Viognier and Venom, Book 10
More murder, mystery, and mayhem to come . . .
Other Books by the Author
WARRIORS & WATCHERS SAGA SERIES
Epic Mythological Fantasy
Seven ancient gates of evil will open, unless a quirky group of teens become warriors.
“Original and consistently entertaining from cover to cover.” Midwest Book Review
Evil Speaks (Reader’s Favorite 5-Star Review)
Evil Hears (to be released in 2019)
Evil Sees
Evil Touches
Evil Feeds
Evil Deeds
Evil Desires
______
STAND ALONE HISTORICAL ROMANCE
Unveiling
What would you sacrifice to fulfill your destiny?
Stay Up to Date
In appreciation of each and every reader, I created a Facebook group called Woffington's Reading Warriors: Mystery, Murder, Magic & More specifically for readers to join together and share their interests, discuss books, and to communicate directly with me and fellow Reading Warriors!
I post updates, previews, new releases, insider information, and awesome offers in this group.
Visit my website at sandrawoffington.com.
Follow me on Amazon, Facebook or Instagram.
Come for the Mystery—Stay f
or the Magic!
Grenache and Graves Page 17
