Murder on the Third Try

by K. P. Gresham

  “I’m afraid you’re on the wrong side of the law on this one, Sheriff,” Ballard continued. “Your man here is a lying SOB.”

  “Actually, I would think you’re the one in a peck of trouble,” James W. said easily, handing the ID back. “Angie and I know that Matt’s in the witness protection program. Seems if you’re the man tasked to protect him, you’ve done a lousy job.”

  “I can’t save a man from being stupid.” Ballard leaned forward to study his charge.

  James W. shot a quick look at Angie, then her phone, then back to her. He mouthed the word, “Record.”

  Ballard continued, unaware of the exchange. “He’s the one who chose to become a public speaker when he should’ve been staying out of sight. He’s underestimating Howard Rutledge’s reach.”

  As Ballard talked, Angie touched the camera icon on her cell phone, then hit record. She lowered her phone to her side, making sure the camera was pointed Ballard’s way.

  “Actually, he picked becoming a man of God,” James W. said. “Big difference.”

  “Not really.” Ballard turned to face the sheriff. “He’s a blowhard who likes to hear himself talk.”

  “I’ve heard him preach, Ballard.” James W. kept the deputy occupied.

  “So have I,” Angie said. “He’s no fake.”

  Ballard turned to her. “Well, he’s no saint, lady. He’s trying to put away a very, very good man who has done a lot for his community.”

  “Bullshit.” Angie came around the bed, phone in hand. “Matt’s lost family members because of whoever this guy is.”

  Ballard’s face reddened. “So? That only means Matt’s whole family is incompetent. Which will be fully proven in court, by the way.”

  James W. pushed his hat back on his head. “Seems to me the feds have the wrong deputy protecting Matt. You think he’s lying.”

  “Damned straight I do. He’s looking for a scapegoat to blame his family’s misfortunes on.”

  “And you know this how?” James W. asked.

  “I know somebody who knows somebody. This man of God is a vindictive, dangerous, sonuvabitch.”

  “And you feel you’re the right man for the job to protect him?”

  “Hey. I do my job and I do it well.”

  “Says the fed standing beside his client who, by the way, has been shot in the head!” Angie was furious.

  “His shooting had nothing to do with Matt’s prior situation. Your man here put his holier-than-thou act out in front of the wrong man, your town drunk, no less. This Gibbons guy put a bullet in your preacher’s head.” Ballard sneered at James W. “Like I said, I can’t protect stupid.”

  James W. said, “That’s where you’re wrong, Ballard. Zach Gibbons didn’t shoot the preacher. Someone else did. Someone who was a crack shot. Someone who was smart enough to make sure everybody believed Zach pulled the trigger. And that someone is still out there.” James W. stared the man down. “Or maybe he’s in here.”

  “That’s preposterous.” Ballard’s face reddened.

  “We’ll see. Now here’s what’s gonna happen. You have obviously been compromised. This crap about ‘I know somebody who knows somebody?’ I’m damned sure you never disclosed that to your bosses. If you had, they sure as hell would’ve assigned someone else to the case. So now, you’re gonna let the local authorities take over Matt’s safety.”

  “Why the hell would I do that?”

  “Angie?” James W. nodded her way.

  Angie wiggled her cell phone and smiled sweetly. “You’re on candid camera, Mr. Federal Deputy.”

  Ballard stared at the phone.

  “See?” She turned it so he could see the app was indeed recording.

  James W. stepped forward. “If you interfere with my protecting Matt, I’m gonna show that video to your bosses. I wonder what they’ll do to you when they find out you’ve withheld vital information that your objectivity has been compromised in this matter.”

  “I’ve done nothing wrong,” Ballard sputtered.

  “You’ve done nothing, that’s for damned sure.” James W.’s tone turned lethal.

  Ballard grabbed for Angie’s phone, but James W. pulled her away in time, then shielded her with his body. “That’s enough of that crap, Ballard. Now get your own phone out and dial up your boss.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “’Cuz you’re gonna tell him that you think it would be a good idea to allow the local authorities to take over the care and protection of Matt Hayden. Then you’re gonna get the hell out of here, or I’ll arrest you on suspicion of being an accessory to his assault.”

  “You goddamned sonuvabitch!” Ballard’s face contorted in rage. “You’re asking for more trouble than you can imagine.”

  “Are you threatening me, Deputy?” James W. glared.

  “I’m telling you! You have no idea who you’re messing with.”

  “Same to you.” James W. nodded back to Angie. “You still rollin’?”

  “You betcha.” Angie peeked around the large frame of her brother, her phone pointed directly at Ballard. “Smile, asshole.”

  ***

  Mike was confused on so many levels; it was hard for him to focus on what was happening around him. He still couldn’t see a damned thing. He was numb in some places yet suffering pain in others. His back hurt like hell—how long since he’d last sat up? Worse yet, the argument that had just taken place reverberated like a Gatling gun through his sloshed brain.

  And why the hell was everyone calling him Matt?

  The woman—Angie—was here now. Her low husky voice calmed him, even though she seemed upset. She’d been gone for a while. He had no idea how long. The trip for that CAT scan had sucked every bit of energy he possessed, and he felt he barely had enough strength to summon his next breath. Still, she was there, and that was good. “Hello?” he tried to whisper. Nothing came out.

  “Thank God. I thought he’d never leave,” he heard Angie say. “Why the heck did you agree to give him access to Matt’s medical condition?”

  “That’ll keep his bosses at bay, and Matt under my protection. We’re lucky you got all that recorded on your cell.” The man’s voice was deep. Familiar. “I’m gonna have to confiscate your phone. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  “What if Ballard comes back and tries to take Matt away?”

  She’d called him Matt again. Mike didn’t understand.

  “Why Matt?” He forced the words out, and it took almost all his strength.

  He felt a warm, soft hand touch his. “Matt, we’re here. It’s me, Angie, and James W.”

  “Not Matt,” he said then tried to shake his head. Big mistake.

  “Okay, okay,” Angie said, her voice soothing. “Don’t try to move.”

  No kidding, he thought.

  “I know it’s all confusing right now. Don’t try to figure it out.” Angie said gently. There was a pause, and he felt a light brush of lips on his hand. “I love you.”

  He tried to smile, but for some reason his muscles were too stiff to cooperate. His head began to spin as he tried to understand what was happening. He needed to retreat again, but his back ached so. “Need to sit up,” he gutted out.

  “No problem.”

  He felt the gentle rise of the bed elevate his head and with the motion, instant relief. So much easier to give in to sleep now, but he was afraid. He needed Angie and her calming, husky voice to stay. She understood everything. She’d protect him. “Stay,” he said.

  Again, he felt her kiss on his hand. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Satisfied, he allowed himself to float back into the darkness.

  Chapter Seven

  Coming Home to Pearl

  It was mid-afternoon when Bo walked up the steps to the small farmhouse. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten home before two in the wee hours of the morning. He opened the front door, hung his bandana on the hat rack, and kicked off his boots. “Pearl
?” he called into the sixty-year-old farmhouse.

  A long hallway ran down the left side of the shotgun clapboard with the front room, an eat-in kitchen, then a bedroom, bathroom, and another bedroom on the right. It was from this last room that the love of his life, Pearl Masterson, came hurrying out. “You’re home early. You okay?”

  Bo smiled. He had done nothing in his life to deserve a woman like Pearl. Twice-widowed, she was ten years older than his fifty-two years. Her diminutive shoulders were stooped, and she looked frail enough that a bird flying by might blow her over. Make no mistake, though. She was the strongest woman he’d ever known. It took a lot of courage to love a man like him.

  “Warren Yeck told me to go home and take a nap.” Bo went to the bathroom to wash up. “I’ll head back for the evening rush.”

  Pearl clasped her hands to her heart and smiled. “You talked to Angie.”

  He grabbed his towel from the basin. “Had to. She was goin’ back up to Austin to watch out for the preacher.”

  “Watch out?”

  “Looks like Zach ain’t the one that tried to kill him.” He placed a kiss on her cheek, then nodded to the back bedroom. “How’s Judith?”

  “About the same.” Pearl’s brow creased. “I still think we should’ve done the feeding tube.”

  Bo pulled her close. “That’s not what your sister wants. She made you promise.”

  “I know.” She burrowed her head in his shoulder. “But it’s so hard watching her go this way.”

  Bo searched for something to put the smile back on her face. “What’s that delicious smell? Supper?”

  His change of subject had the desired effect. Pearl smiled. “Pulled pork.”

  He followed her into the kitchen. “That’s a lot of food. You expecting company?”

  She headed straight for the crock pot sitting on the gray Formica countertop. “Thought I’d take some over to Sherylene Seegler. By the time you hit the third week of widowhood, folks stop callin’ on you and food donations dry up.” She took off the lid, and steam rose into the air.

  Bo went to the fridge, pulled out a coke, then sat down at the small café table in the corner. “Feels good to get off my feet.”

  “I’m glad you’re getting some help,” Pearl said. She ladled more Dr. Pepper-based liquid over the bone-in shoulder, then put the lid back on the crock pot. “Sounds like Warren was eager for the job.”

  “Not so much,” Bo said. He took a drink from the bottle. “I think he was actually worried about me. He was playing trivia in the bar when Dorothy Jo passed out last night.”

  “He’s good people.” Pearl sat down across from him. “Are you sure you don’t want me to help out in the kitchen? I love to cook.”

  “Honey.” Bo leaned forward. “Tongues will wag if it gets out about you and me. Especially Elsbeth’s.”

  “It’s been over six months that Ernie’s gone. And folks knew ours wasn’t a happy marriage to begin with.” She reached for Bo’s hand.

  “It’s not the timing thing. It’s the fact that you, a church-going pillar of the community—with a Wilks pedigree no less—would be going out with an ex-con who killed a man. Heck, if they found out we were practically living together—”

  “It’s none of their business. And I’m tired of living my life trying to meet everyone else’s expectations. You...” She squeezed his hand. “You are the love of my life. I was too young to marry Roth. When he died, we hadn’t even been married a year. And we all know my marriage with Ernie was based on a convenient deal he made with Miss Olivia to take me off her hands.” She stood, leaned over the table, and kissed him. “Not this time. I’m in love with you, Bo Peveto, and I don’t care who knows it.”

  “And I love you.” Bo cupped his hand to her cheek. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. Especially by Elsbeth. She’s your best friend.”

  “Then she should be happy for me.” Smiling, Pearl plopped back down in her chair and folded her arms across her chest defiantly. “If Elsbeth tries to get in between you and me, she’ll be the one that gets hurt.”

  ***

  James W. waved to the retired officer he’d just hired to help guard Matt. “Meet you at Brackenridge,” he called, then climbed into his truck. After the unexpected confrontation with Deputy Frank Ballard earlier, James W. had moved to a higher gear to reinforce the security around Matt.

  If this Rutledge guy had infiltrated the federal marshal’s organization, it was entirely possible that other law enforcement agencies had been infiltrated. What if the Texas Rangers had been compromised as well?

  His cell phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. He looked at the caller ID, smiled, and punched the “accept” icon. “Hello, son,” he said. “How’s my boy doing?”

  “It’s been a day,” Jimmy Jr. replied. “But things are looking up.”

  “How so?” James W. noted the hopeful sound in his son’s voice. He could picture the younger version of himself—forty pounds lighter and with no gray in his hair—settled in his gubernatorial campaign office, looking out on the Texas state capitol’s pink granite edifice.

  “Ever heard of the Texas Philanthropic Society?”

  “Heck, yeah.” James W. started the truck and flipped the air conditioner on high. “They run the state’s politics. Good people, though.”

  “Well, apparently they’re backing my candidacy.”

  James W.’s chest swelled with pride. “Then they’re backing the right man.”

  “I’ve got another problem, though,” Jimmy continued. “Mom.”

  James W.’s lungs deflated. “What now?”

  “Mom’s been calling all day. I haven’t talked to her yet, but the last message she left is a doozy.”

  “I’ve been avoiding her calls, too. What’s she up to?”

  “Mom said if she doesn’t hear from me right now, she’s gonna call the Dallas Daily News herself and raise hell. You and I both know the only response to that article must come from my office. Period.”

  “I’m behind you all the way,” James W. said. “Do you want me to handle her?”

  “No. On this one she needs to hear it from me.” There was a rustling noise on the phone. “Got to go, Dad. Wish me luck with Mom.”

  The line went dead, and James W. put the truck in gear. Pendergast? Frank Ballard? How the hell could he protect Matt when there were so many unanswered questions? Hell, this was even more treacherous than he’d imagined.

  And if Matt was in danger, so was Angie. That he could work on.

  He sped out of the parking lot.

  ***

  Angie was surprised when she looked up from her bedside chair to see her brother standing at the curtain. He looked dog-tired. “Are you planning on moving to Austin to personally oversee Matt’s security?” she teased.

  “Wanted to take a beautiful redhead to supper.” He nodded toward Matt. “How’s the preacher doing?”

  “Once I got him comfortable he’s been sleeping like a baby. The nurse said he’ll probably sleep for hours.”

  “Good. Then we’ll have time to get a few things taken care of.” James W. stepped aside to let a uniformed man in behind him. “This here’s retired Sergeant Earl Bauers, twenty years with the Texas Rangers. He’s gonna take the evening shifts guarding Matt.”

  Angie studied the broad-shouldered man with ebony skin. Like Rudy, the guard from last night, the sergeant looked a little dangerous, which was fine with her. She shook his hand and was pleased with his firm grip. “It’s an honor, Sergeant.”

  “Sheriff Novak filled me in on the situation, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll watch over your man here. Why don’t y’all get yourselves some supper?”

  Angie hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “You don’t need to ask me twice.”

  James W. gave the sergeant some last minute instructions, then guided Angie through the hospital and out to his truck. Once inside, he pulled out his phone and hit the call button for Siri. “Directions to Hawk’s Indoor Shooting Range.”
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  Angie sent him a questioning look. “That doesn’t sound like much of a restaurant.”

  “It ain’t.” James W. waited for the map to load, then put the cell phone in its slot on the dash.

  “We’re going to practice shooting? Now?”

  “Hawk’s has one of the best weapon selections in town.” He started the truck and hit on the air conditioner. “We’re gonna have to hold your old Colt 45 for evidence. That weapon shot both the pastor and Zach Gibbons.” He looked her steady in the eye. “Honey, someone wants to kill Matt. If you’re gonna be at his side, that means you’re a target too.”

  Angie’s head snapped back as if she’d been slapped. She took a moment to let that sink in. “Well then,” she said after a pause. “I guess I’d better get me a gun.”

  Chapter Eight

  The Trivia Team

  Mandy Culver stood at the bar waiting for Bo to finish pouring shots for another table. “Looks like we’re gonna need seven machines,” the trivia captain said. “We’ve got a full team tonight.”

  Bo pulled the trivia consoles from their charging docks. “I thought you had a game on Monday,” he said.

  “We’re in the regional play-offs this week,” she reminded him. “As long as we keep winning, we’ll be playing. Could be every night this week. Hope that won’t be a problem getting the table.”

  “Not at all. Let me know before you leave tonight if you need me to reserve it for tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Bo.” The blonde child care director hefted the boxes above her head and made her way through the crowd.

  Chelsea came up to the bar and picked up the shots Bo had poured.

  “Did you know about the trivia game tonight?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  “We shoulda reserved the table for ’em.”

  She sent him a glare. “Who died and made you the boss? Besides, I was keepin’ an eye out for them.”

  She huffed away and Bo shook his head. Every day her attitude was getting worse.

  The bar was busy for a Tuesday night, and that was fine with Bo. The more he had to concentrate on pushing drinks out, the less time he had to dwell on the fact that Pearl’s sister could pass at any time and there wasn’t a darn thing he could do to help.