by DiAnn Mills
The manager peered up and down the hallway. “That’s why I’m here. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your voice down.”
“The young woman whom I spoke to last night said she was the manager.”
“I assure you, ma’am, that I’ve been the manager here for the past four years.”
Sissy has an ego problem. “I could use a little help in conducting a search. It may not be as exciting as last night.”
He gulped. “That’s my job.”
“It’s my job, but you can assist.”
“My pleasure.” He retrieved her upside-down salad from the floor—an authentic tossed salad. The Coke had not spilled.
With the door flung open—she snapped on all the lights. The manager followed her inside. “Let’s do this thing so you can enjoy your dinner and have a good night’s sleep,” he said.
Fat chance of either of those happening. “Honestly, I can take care of the search.” Bella grinned at him. “Don’t let anyone take my food.”
“They’d have to rip it from my hands.” The manager watched her strip the bed, and then he set her dinner on the desk to help her check every inch of the room.
“Do you need to do a dusting for fingerprints?”
Amusement sprang to her thoughts, but he was serious. “Not at this point. However, I do need a list of your guests since the victims stayed here. I requested it last evening.”
“My assistant should have had that for you last night. As soon as we’re finished, I’ll get on it.” He picked up the phone and ordered the list. “I want fresh linens sent up immediately and new pillows. Thank you.” He glanced at Bella and nodded. “Make that a change-out of everything—the ice bucket, glasses, bathroom accessories, etc.” He ended the call and turned back to her. “I assume you’d like all of the items in this room tagged like you requested last night?”
“I would.” She observed his detailed mannerisms, and respect crept to the forefront of her mind. “If you’re ever looking for another career, I think the FBI would be a consideration.”
He chuckled, the first she’d heard from him. “I’ve been to the Web site. And I speak four languages.”
“Which ones?”
“Arabic, Korean, Russian, and English.”
“Whoa. How did you manage that?”
“My parents were in the military. My father . . . Well, he never told us what his exact job is, but I’m sure it has something to do with U.S. security.”
She took one last look under the bed, then straightened. “How did you end up in Abilene?”
“I chose hotel management. Seemed a little tamer than my dad’s profession. Nothing personal, but I sorta enjoyed tonight.”
She’d laugh about that later. Bella filed everything from this conversation into her mental database. Later this evening, she’d do a search on him and the sweet gal who wanted the title of manager without the responsibility. “Do you remember anything unusual about the three victims? any visitors? conversations?”
“Not a thing. They were guests. That’s all.” He studied her for a moment. “I find it odd that you are the third FBI agent to question me about the crime.”
Three? “Who else has been here?”
“Two men from the FBI. And you.”
Her nerves flew into overdrive. “Who were the agents?”
“Steward Nostrom and William Bonney. They came two separate times.”
William Bonney, as in Billy the Kid? Had to be Brandt Richardson. “Did they leave cards? show you their credentials?”
“Mr. Nostrom did, but not Mr. Bonney.”
Figures. “What did Mr. Bonney look like?”
“Dark hair, mustache. Late forties. Limped when he came in.”
Limp? Last she knew, Richardson didn’t limp. But it could easily be part of his latest disguise. As could the rest of the appearance Mr. Habid had described.
Her gut feeling told her it must be him. Brandt Richardson.
Chapter 12
Day three of the investigation and Bella had a fourth body. Not good stats for a lead agent. But she’d made progress, something solid. Clearly she wanted to give Houston a stellar performance. Clearly she trembled at the thought of squaring off with Brandt. Clearly she feared she would shatter before the assignment was completed.
Last night she e-mailed Swartzer about the new link to Brandt Richardson. This wasn’t the first time Brandt had posed as a law enforcer in an attempt to hinder an investigation. After evaluating Lexie’s story at the Wings and Beer Bar, Bella understood Brandt could have been one of the three phone calls to Kegley.
Brandt may be a master of disguise, but he couldn’t change the sound of his voice. She’d learned from the victims’ families’ interviews that one man outside of the three initiated the treasure hunt and offered partial financial support. But none of the family members mentioned the man had a raspy voice, which indicated at least one more person was involved.
During the wee hours of the morning, while the thumping sounds of the air conditioner kept jarring her awake, Bella reached another conclusion—the need to find her father and question his involvement with Brandt. At 3 a.m., Bella whisked off an e-mail to Pete at the FIG and requested a full report on Stanton Warick. She chastised herself for not following up sooner. Depending on what she learned about him, she would inform Swartzer about her past. No point diving into that nest of scorpions until after she saw her father’s report.
After a 4 a.m. workout in the hotel’s fitness room, Bella downed a cup of coffee and headed to the High Butte Ranch. Vic would arrive later, so while she waited for him, she wanted a complete tour of the property. Other items fighting for priority on her list were the fingerprints on the candy wrapper, any updates on the cause of death for Sheriff Adams, and getting closer to Carr.
The more time she spent with Carr, the more she’d be able to confirm his guilt or innocence and piece together the clues about the four deaths. The question persisted as to whether Carr and Brandt had worked together. Or could Carr have been implicated in the murders as part of a master plan? He didn’t seem motivated by money, especially when he’d walked away from a lucrative income in Dallas to change his destructive lifestyle.
By six o’clock, she was well on her way to the ranch. She grabbed her phone from the car seat and hit the speed dial she’d assigned for Carr’s number. He answered on the first ring.
“Good morning. This is Bella.” It occurred to her that she’d made a friend. Strange, and yet she needed to make sure she didn’t allow friendship to influence her assignment. “I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”
He yawned. “Early bird, huh?”
“Did I wake you?”
“No. I didn’t go to bed last night.”
That could be for a number of reasons—the unsolved murder case, the disgruntled and grieving deputies, possible guilt. “Anything I should know?”
“How about a black eye for starters?”
“I could list about a dozen who might want to accommodate you. Who did it?”
“No clue. It happened when I drove back home last night. I spent some time with my pastor until around midnight. When I reached here, I got out of my truck and someone grabbed me from behind.”
“What was said?”
“A muffled voice told me to mind my own business.”
“As if being a murder suspect was not your business?”
“Whatever. Since the county sheriff is dead, and the power behind the fist could have been one of the deputies, I kept my sentiments to myself.”
Possibilities rolled across her mind like roll call on the first day of school.
“Are you up to giving me a tour of your ranch this morning?”
“Sure. Have you learned anything new?”
“Possibly,” Bella said. “I’m beginning to think you might have been set up.” That information should cause him to lower his defenses. If he’d lied, then maybe he’d make a mistake or two thinking he was in the clear.
&n
bsp; “That’s worth a black eye, but not the loss of a good friend. Still can’t believe Darren’s gone.”
Silence settled between them. She remembered the devastation of losing a fellow friend and agent who took a bullet in the line of duty. “I’m sorry. Losing a friend is never easy.” She waited a moment longer. “Before I get there, have you remembered anything else to aid us in this investigation?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. About six months ago, a woman called and asked if I was interested in selling the ranch. I told her no. She persisted and offered a generous amount.”
Brandt had a history of using women for small things and eliminating those who served as barriers in his thirst for more lucrative ventures. “Did she give you her name or a real-estate company?”
“I didn’t ask because I had no plans to sell the place. Remember, I’ve been working to open a home for at-risk teen boys.”
“What about a reason for wanting to make the purchase?”
“She mentioned an investor from LA who wanted a retreat.”
“I have your phone records. We can begin there.”
“Is Vic with you?”
Was Carr uncomfortable with him? “No. You’re stuck with me, but he may join us later.”
“I’m surprised you don’t mind being alone with me.”
She should have waited for Vic or one of the deputies, but impatience overruled her better judgment. “I can handle myself, Mr. Sullivan. But if you’re worried about yourself, call the sheriff’s department for an escort.”
“I’m fine. I’ll have coffee ready. Black with a spoonful of local honey, right?”
“Thanks.” Next time she’d follow protocol and have someone with her.
* * *
Carr swallowed three extra-strength Tylenol with half a can of Mountain Dew. Now on to his coffee. Between the three, the pain in his head and the throbbing in his swollen eye should diminish. Lack of sleep, however, could not be pacified or squelched. Rest would be postponed until time permitted a payment toward the three nights’ debt of sleep.
Rubbing his temples, Carr walked onto the front porch and stared at the driveway and the road beyond the gates welcoming visitors to the High Butte. Special Agent Bella Jordan. He rather liked the FBI agent sent to lead the task force and solve the murders. Even though he shared the title of likely suspect with Brandt Richardson, he admired her professionalism. He chuckled at her earlier comment—as if he were afraid of her.
Yesterday at the hospital, many of the people stayed with Tiffany and the boys long after Darren was pronounced dead. No one wanted to believe he was gone, and all wanted to do something to help. When the majority of people had left, Bella took the Adams boys to supper and brought Tiffany a sandwich and coffee. Bella even held her hand. Strange combination for what he termed a type A personality, a woman who asserted control and power with a twist of quirkiness. The combination earned her respect in his book.
His book. What a joke. The book was God’s book, and Carr had wondered on more than one occasion if she followed it too. Maybe he’d ask. His devotion time for the past few days had left him weak and leaning on Truth. His pastor called it faith.
How were Tiffany and the kids faring this morning? The shock of Darren’s death certainly became reality as funeral preparations took over what should have been the beginnings of a summer weekend. Darren loved spending time with his family. Although the boys were older and had friends and part-time jobs, Darren did his best to plan at least one family activity each weekend.
I’ll miss him. Darren attended his boys’ ball games and swim meets, and he worked in the church and the community. Sure made Carr want to throw down the why-do-bad-things-happen-to-good-people card. He, Lydia, and Jasper planned to take food to the Adams household later.
Carr believed the deaths this week were linked, but how? He wished he had the answers to so many things, but one thing stayed fixed in his mind: whoever had brought tragedy to Runnels County had done so with planning and precision. No sloppy evidence. Darren’s autopsy would take until the middle of next week, but the funeral was scheduled for Monday. He hoped Tiffany was prepared for a memorial service and possibly a later burial. He’d have to ask Bella about how fast the cause of death would surface.
Bella’s white car slowly rolled up the drive toward the house. He sighed, not certain if he welcomed another day of interrogation or looked forward to ending the nightmare for all of them. Questions pelted him like rock-size hail.
When sleep escaped him last night, he’d pulled up various Web sites and ordered a book about the Spider Rock legend. Aros would frown on his probing, but Carr had not abandoned his interest in what had driven the three victims to their deaths. The FBI agents might be the investigators, but Carr had much to lose. And for that reason, he intended to keep probing the treasure’s legend in hopes of discovering who and why. A quote he’d heard somewhere continued to ripple through his mind: “What man deems as gold and priceless, God deems as naught.”
Bella’s car door shut, breaking nature’s morning songs. He waved and offered a prayer that the barrage of deaths would end and the killer be exposed today. With an inward groan, Carr understood the futility of his prayer. But he could hope for evidence freeing him from the suspect list.
After Lydia insisted Bella and Carr eat breakfast, despite the memories from the previous morning, the two climbed into his truck and began the tour of the High Butte. They crossed bumpy pasture and drove around rocks and ruts he called his ranch. Carr noted their talk was shallow. If her mind was a mass of intricate gears, he could hear them grind and squeak.
“When are you planning to tell me the rest of the story about your shiner?”
“How was your evening?” he finally said. “Any surprises in your hotel room?”
“So the deputies ganged up on you?”
“You first.” He tossed her a grin, hoping to melt her demeanor. But he was so tired mentally and physically that any thoughts of congeniality seemed disrespectful to Darren.
“Busy, and the hotel room lived up to its expectations. Got maybe three hours’ sleep.”
“What else have you learned?”
“It’s your turn to answer questions.” Her voice lifted. “So how’s the black eye working for you?”
“Very funny. It’s my red badge of courage.”
“To do what?”
“Find out who’s behind this.”
“Noble. How many jumped you?”
“Have no idea who or why.”
“What else did he say?”
“I’d fallen under the curse.”
“Interesting. What have you learned about the Spider Rock treasure?”
“Makes me wonder if you’re researching it too.” Trying to get information out of her was like lassoing a mosquito. “It might not be a hoax.”
“At least in some people’s eyes.” Bella lifted a bottle of water to her lips. “Have you changed your mind about becoming a treasure hunter?”
“I prefer living a little longer.”
“So you believe all of the reports?”
“No. I spent about three hours doing online searches.” He swallowed hard. “Darren was onto something.”
Her attention riveted on him. “He told you that?”
“Yes. He called me from home yesterday morning. Said he was on his way and to tell Lydia that he was hungry. He sounded fine. No hint of feeling bad. He said this could be the day we find evidence leading to the killer. Then he said something was bothering him, and he hoped he was wrong. He wanted to pray about it when he got there. But it didn’t happen.”
“Wish we had the autopsy report, but that may take days. No doubt in my mind Darren was murdered.” She pulled out a notebook and wrote for the next few minutes. “Have you received any calls from a man who had a raspy voice?”
So early in the morning for a Q and A. “No. So you think Brandt Richardson called here?” When she lifted her brow, he continued. “I’ve been doing a litt
le research on my own. Plus Darren told me a few things. One of the reports about Richardson stated he had a raspy voice.”
“I see.”
“Did Richardson have contact with the victims?”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
Carr had no intentions of stating another thing until she revealed some of what she’d discovered. The FBI probably had special procedures in matters of investigation. But Richardson’s notoriety was what brought her to Runnels County. If she had any idea where he was hiding, she didn’t let on. “I understand divulging certain information might be against the bureau’s guidelines. But their lives aren’t on the line, simply their reputations.”
“And integrity and the need to capture those who fall under our jurisdiction.”
He’d press her later. “Where’s Vic been keeping himself? Haven’t seen him since yesterday morning.” Was the other agent onto something?
She glanced at her watch. “I imagine he’ll show up before noon.”
The three-hour drive around his ranch, which consisted of more stops and starts than he cared to mention, turned up nothing. Back at the ranch, Bella wanted to see the stables again. With a firm resolve never to enter law enforcement or investigative work, Carr led the way to the stables. He had a small office there, and he invited her inside. She’d seen it before, and at this point, all he wanted to do was show his sincerity in finding the killers.
Jasper worked at the other end of the stables, readying a stall for a mare about to foal. Carr should be helping him. A man Jasper’s age needed to take it easy. As he grabbed the office door to close it behind him, Jasper’s voice clamored for attention.
“Well, I’ll be.”
Curiosity snatched hold of Carr. “What is it? Has she foaled?”
Jasper didn’t answer, as though he’d been struck speechless.
“Jasper?”
“I’m in the stall. Not sure what to do with this. Looks like we might have a problem.”
Carr trod down the concrete walkway with Bella beside him to where Jasper leaned against the open stall. The man pointed to a corner. “Found this under a fresh pile of hay—hay I didn’t put there.”
