by DiAnn Mills
Deputy Roano took a step back. “Died? What happened? He was vomiting before Carr helped him into the truck, like he’d gotten food poisoning—”
“All I know is Carr took him to the hospital in Ballinger, where he died.”
The other deputy stared at the dirt. “I don’t remember Sheriff Adams ever taking a day off from work.”
“Yeah. He was on duty before anyone else and there long after the others on his shift went home.” Deputy Roano’s face looked more like granite. “Something about this isn’t right.”
“I’m sure we’ll have the doctor’s report soon. I’m on my way there once I inform a few more people. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Roano cursed. “He has a family. We were all family.”
Bella didn’t respond. Like Lydia, the deputy grieved for a highly respected man. She left the two men and walked to her car.
Deputy Roano made his way to her side. “Death number four and again Sullivan looks guilty.”
Bella still didn’t believe Carr was guilty—not really. “It’s too coincidental.”
“Go figure. Darren’s wife and family need support more than I need this job.” He cursed again, relaying how he felt about Carr.
She left Roano and drove to the crime scene to tell Deputy Wesley Adams.
“He’s dead?” The young man’s eyes pooled, and he blinked. “I talked to him this morning. We arrived here at the same time.”
“He became suddenly ill. I’m driving to the hospital now.”
“Wish I could go.” Grief etched his face. “Sure seems strange my uncle dies while investigating a triple homicide.” He glanced away, then back to her. “I’m going to find out what happened to Uncle Darren, and I won’t stop until I find out the truth.”
Bella had the same sentiments, and the scenarios mounted. Darren said he wanted to think about a few of the things he uncovered. Did he discover vital information? “I’m sorry. Lydia said you two were close.”
“Darren recruited me, then mentored me through my training and then on the job. His three words of advice for all of us were to be conscientious, diligent, and caring. He said a good deputy settled for getting the job done. An excellent deputy went over and beyond what was necessary. Everyone looked up to him.”
Bella’s insides churned. Yesterday she’d silently made fun of his daredevil feats, downplaying the man because he worked a rural area. “When is your shift over?”
“Three o’clock.”
“Can you call anyone to relieve you?”
“I’ll see what I can do. Today is the last day we were scheduled to stay at the crime scene.”
“Again, I’m sorry; and I hope you’re able to leave your shift early.”
Bella got back into her car and drove to Ballinger Memorial Hospital. She pulled into the small, orange brick facility with its grand total of twenty parking spaces. As soon as she had a signal, she called Vic’s cell phone. No answer, so she left him a message. Time to call Swartzer in Houston. Hitting speed dial, she learned he was not in the office.
“This is Bella Jordan,” she said. “We have another problem. Sheriff Darren Adams of the Runnels County Sheriff’s Department is dead.” She went into what happened a few hours before. “I’m on my way inside the hospital to find out more about how Adams died. You can call me there.”
Carr was with him before I arrived, supposedly drove him home, and then he died. That was too obvious. A setup. If Adams’s death was not a natural cause, then suspicion exponentially mounted toward Carr, and attention shifted from the real killer. How long had the killer, whoever he was, planned his every move and made provision for any alternative? Maybe she could grapple with that until one of the members of the task force uncovered concrete evidence.
The motivation for these murders needled her, and she didn’t want to discount the Spider Rock treasure playing a role. What she knew about the hunters came from eavesdropping on her father and Brandt. The random clues whispered in obscure places and the over sixty million dollars’ worth of gold lured far too many people.
Her cell phone jangled its familiar tune. A quick glance showed it was Swartzer.
“How are you doing?” he said.
“My mind’s racing.” He didn’t need to know about the rattler.
“Two days and you’ve got yourself another body.”
“That’s right. I’m looking into the cause of death. Sullivan’s involved.”
“What’s your take?”
“Setup. Too obvious, unless Sullivan believes his money can buy him innocence.”
“Does he seem like a man obsessed with money—possibly gold, as in the Spider Rock treasure?”
Bella formed her thoughts before speaking. “He’s either up for an Oscar or he’s genuine.”
“Trust your instincts and keep probing. In the meantime, I’ll send additional people to assist the task force.”
“I think I’m okay without more help. The sheriff’s department is doing a good job.” She didn’t have substantial leads, but no point in admitting her assignment was not proceeding as fast as she would like.
“I believe in your skills as an agent. Keep me posted, and be safe.”
“Thanks. I will.” Encouragement always helped. She should have told him about the rattler, but for sure he would have sent more agents to help. In her opinion, it discounted her ability to lead out the investigation, and she desperately wanted to prove Swartzer had not made a mistake.
Shaking off the rule book, she focused on the questions to be directed at Carr Sullivan. So where did the former party animal, now Christian advocate for at-risk teen boys, fit into the case? Did she dare trust her instincts that he was being used as a scapegoat, or had he become so fanatical about the Spider Rock treasure that he resorted to murder? Her hunch led her to Brandt, but had Carr thrown in with him too? Now she needed to find where either of them might have slipped up. But the first thing she needed to do was find out how Sheriff Darren Adams had lost his life.
She exited her car and entered the hospital. Unfortunately, due to the nature of the deceased’s unusual death and connection to Carr, she needed to order an autopsy, including toxicology tests.
* * *
Carr watched Tiffany from across the waiting room at the hospital, where she hadn’t moved since the doctor pronounced Darren dead. They’d spoken briefly when she first arrived at the hospital with her three sons. The four were in shock, in disbelief that a beloved husband and father was gone from their midst. Carr remembered what Darren had said when the two drove away from the High Butte.
“I’m not supposed to be sick. I’m the sheriff who’s investigating three murders. I have more important things to do than throw up.”
“You can resume the investigation later,” Carr had told him.
Darren had moistened his lips. “This is bad. Worse than what you could imagine.”
Carr knew Darren was not referring to the flu. When his friend felt better, he’d planned to ask what he meant. Too late now.
A voice over the intercom requested a doctor and pulled Carr back to the present. He glanced at Tiffany surrounded by family and friends who had arrived initially to pray for a man to be healed; now they offered sympathy and comfort. Soon they’d be arranging a funeral. Too many well-meaning people shoved their way through the crowd and intruded on those offering condolences. Carr would rather sit back and pray, then make his way to her when the others parted.
Tiffany took Pastor Kent’s hand and bowed her head. Her graciousness to those around her seemed to exceed the sorrow of losing her husband. She was a role model for all men and women who walked through similar losses.
Darren’s oldest son stood and walked into the hallway. Carr caught the boy’s eye. Too young to be fatherless. Too young to have the responsibility now resting on his shoulders. The boy nodded and stepped into the restroom. No doubt to cry where no one could see him.
The cause of death ate at him like acid. Darren had the same symptom
s as flu or food poisoning—severe vomiting, fever. But as Carr drove him through Ballinger and north of town toward his home, the man had begun to convulse.
“I’m taking you to the hospital.” Carr had whipped the car around and stepped on the gas.
Darren didn’t respond, and shortly thereafter, Carr realized he was unconscious.
He never understood why so many prayers went unanswered. He hadn’t known God when Michelle lay dying, but he’d prayed for something, someone, to save her. When he and Jasper discovered the bodies of those men, Carr prayed for them to have a spark of life. But it had been too late. A few hours ago, he prayed for Darren to fight whatever had attacked his body. He died too. Perhaps the words spoken to the great Healer weren’t the right ones.
Carr walked down the hall to the drinking fountain. His thinking bordered on ludicrous. A man’s prayers were heard because of the condition of his heart and his relationship to God, not his choice of words. Yet the grieving for Darren brought back Michelle’s overdose and the raw ache of finding the murdered victims on his land earlier in the week.
God, when will this end?
Deputy Roano followed Carr into the hallway. “What happened once you left the ranch with Sheriff Adams?” He leaned on one leg and crossed his arms. Hostility oozed from the pores of his skin.
The hospital was not the place to argue. “He continued to vomit and then began to convulse. When that happened, I rushed him to the hospital.”
Roano’s fiery gaze raked him. “Don’t you think it’s odd Sheriff Adams has been working the murder case and now he’s dead?”
Carr understood how the deputy felt. “Darren Adams was my friend too. And yes, I’ve thought about the implications. I’m sure an autopsy will be ordered to satisfy all of us.”
“You’d better hope there’s a good explanation for his death, and it had better come fast.”
Chapter 11
Exhausted, mentally and physically, Bella drove back to Abilene from Ballinger Memorial Hospital in what she termed “autopilot.” Hunger gnawed at her stomach, and she had a ton of online work to do. Those things could wait until later. She wanted to talk to Vic, but he had yet to respond to her phone messages. Strange work ethics for a veteran agent.
The scene at the hospital had deepened her resolve to restore peace to the community. Not that she hadn’t witnessed tragedy in past investigations. But in this case, maybe she could have done something fourteen years ago to put a stop to Brandt Richardson’s rapacity. She shrugged. Who would have believed a fifteen-year-old runaway?
Friends and family reminisced about Sheriff Darren Adams’s daredevil escapades and how much he was loved and respected. She’d watched Carr, too. He shed a few tears of his own—not the behavior of a man who plotted murder on his own property.
Shock and grief among the deputies turned to animosity when Deputies Roano and Adams turned on Carr, pelting him with questions about how Darren had died. Carr handled it well and held his own while displaying compassion for Tiffany. Bella admired his composure when the scene could have erupted into a fistfight.
Putting aside her ruminations, Bella swung her car into the parking lot of the Wings and Beer Bar, where, she’d learned from phone records, Daniel Kegley had phoned Carr last Friday night. She exited her car and stepped into the noisy bar, where the sound of country-western music blared from all four corners. This was where she should have had Vic beside her. This was where she needed another agent as witness to an interview.
The smell of barbecue sauce and chicken again reminded her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Ignoring her protesting stomach, she focused on the information she needed to acquire. After studying the layout, she eased onto a stool at the bar and studied the patrons and waitstaff. Tonight was a mix of young twenties and good old boys. What a combination, and none of them looked like company for three men determined to find the Spider Rock treasure.
Bella glanced up when the laughter of a ponytailed woman, who tended bar, caught her attention. A couple of guys on the opposite side of the bar were making fools of themselves by trying to balance shot glasses on their chins. When one of the young men mentioned classes in the fall, Bella assumed they were college kids.
The woman made her way to Bella’s corner of the bar. “What can I get you?”
“A Coke.”
“Sure you don’t want something else?”
Bella flashed her creds. “Special Agent Bella Jordan. I’m investigating three murders, and I understand the men were here last Friday night.”
Even in the dim lighting above the bar, Bella saw the color drain from the young woman’s face.
What do you know? “Did you work that night?” When she nodded, Bella pulled photos of the three men from her shoulder bag. “Do you remember these men?”
She nodded and swallowed. “Did you say they were murdered?”
“Yes. And what’s your name?” The woman must not pay attention to media news.
“Lexie Bronson. I remember them. They sat over there.” She pointed to a nearby table.
“What else do you remember about that night?”
She paused and took in a deep breath. “They were celebrating something. At least for most of the evening.”
“Hey, I need another beer,” a middle-aged man said.
She held up her hand. It trembled. “Just a minute.”
“Go ahead. I’ll wait.” Bella smiled.
As soon as the man received his beer and the college guys ordered another round of tequila shots, Lexie returned to Bella.
“I don’t want to keep you,” Bella said. “But is there something about the men or the evening that could help with the investigation? Whoever murdered them is free to kill again.”
She appeared to contemplate what to say. “One of them—the younger man . . .” She looked at the photos again. “That one.” She pointed to Daniel Kegley’s image. “He made a phone call and was really angry. Strange, because up until then they were laughing and having a good time.”
“Did you hear any of the conversation?”
She nodded slowly. “Couldn’t help but hear him. I thought I might need to ask him to leave, but he hung up. Too much noise that night to make out anything he might have said.”
“Were any names mentioned? anything you recall?”
“Actually, there were three calls. His ringtone was a trumpet call—like a cavalry charge. The first one was probably a woman from the way he was acting. You know, all smiles and sweet, and he walked outside for a while. The second one seemed short. And the third was the angry one.”
Carr said Kegley had placed a call to him. “This is important. Think hard. Did anything else happen?”
Lexie took a breath. “During the last call, he stood and slammed the chair into the table. The other two guys tried to calm him down.”
“Were those the only times he used the phone?”
She hesitated. “I think so. We were really busy, Friday night and all. Like I said, his ringtone was obvious.”
“I understand. Thanks. You’ve been very helpful.” Bella jotted down the girl’s name and handed her a business card. “If you remember anything else, would you give me a call?”
“Sure. Hope you catch the killer real soon.”
Bella nodded. “As long as people like you are willing to help us, we should be able to make an arrest soon.”
“Do I need to be afraid?”
Odd question. “Why would you need to be afraid?”
Lexie glanced away, then back to Bella. She drummed her green fingernails on the counter. “Daniel Kegley went home with me that night.”
That’s why you were paying attention to the calls he made. “What did he tell you?”
“We . . . we didn’t talk much, and he left before I woke up the next morning.”
Bella studied her face. From her darting eyes, she was clearly terrified. “If anyone else contacts you about the murdered victims, please let me know.”
“I will
. Believe me I will.”
* * *
Holding a to-go bag of food for dinner, Bella opened the door leading into her hotel room. A healthy grilled chicken salad with lots of veggies awaited her. But first she intended to search every inch of the room for unwanted varmints—including the kind who packed a gun.
In the open doorway, she considered leaving another message for Vic before eating. He’d phoned while she was at the bar to tell her that an emergency had taken up his day. Bella wanted to discuss Darren’s death, but Vic said he’d talk to her tomorrow morning at the High Butte. Said he’d found evidence and wanted to discuss it with her. Why at the ranch when the crime scene investigation had disbanded? But he didn’t have time to talk.
“Miss Jordan, I saw you come into the hotel,” a male voice said behind her.
She dropped the bag of food while reaching for her firearm. With her fingers wrapped around her gun, she read his name badge: Charles Habid, Manager. Who was the woman from the preceding night who had claimed to be the manager?
He immediately raised his hands. Fear etched the features of the good-looking man of Eastern ethnicity.
“Does this property have more than one manager?” Bella said, suspicion mounting.
“Uh, just me, except for an assistant who works evenings.”
“FBI, sir. I’m an agent. You can lower your hands.” She set her shoulder bag on the desk and pulled out her identification. “Can you describe your assistant?”
“She’s about five feet four. Dark hair except for a few purple streaks—”
“Is her name Sissy?”
“That’s her. Earlier this week I gave the FBI what little information I had about the three men staying here who were found murdered on a ranch south of town. But Sissy didn’t say a word this morning about an FBI agent staying here as a guest. Is this connected?”
“Yes, it is. I’m conducting an investigation about the deaths of those three men.”
He frowned. “I need to discuss communication with her. Now I understand last night’s disturbance.”
Bella laughed, but she was not amused. “Disturbance is a good description. She told you about the snake in my bed?”
