by Carolina Mac
Luckily she was on morning break when we arrived and had stepped out of the office for a smoke. We stood outside in the sun to tell her what we’d learned since last night.
“This Carson Wagoner was staying at the Spur, passing herself off as a business planner and trying to get y’all to sign on with her, and the next minute she’s in the company of Micky Swain at his trailer?”
“That’s right,” I said. “Are y’all going to pick up Micky Swain for the outstanding warrant?”
“I already contacted Lubbock and they’re taking care of it. I can let y’all know when he’s been locked up.”
“All well and good,” I said, “but with Swain locked up how are we gonna find Presto?”
“You think Swain knows where the bull is?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know what to think. Why would he beat the living tar out of Ronnie Palmer if he wasn’t trying to shut him up?”
“Can’t answer that.” Bonnie Sue giggled. “There have been times when I wanted to shut Ronnie Palmer up myself.”
“That’s true. Maybe it was just that and had nothing to do with Presto.”
“How are we gonna sort this out?” Clay asked Bonnie Sue.
She smiled at him and said, “We’ll talk about it when you take me to dinner tonight.”
Clay colored slightly and nodded his head. “Yeah, okay.”
I changed the subject. “What’s the word on Buster Tate? Sheriff Tucker told me y’all haven’t found him yet.”
“Nope, we haven’t found Buster and his mama calls about once every hour. We’ve searched everywhere we can think of and talked to all the employees at the mill. Mrs. Tate swears Bobby Paisley picked Buster up and Bobby Paisley swears he never was anywhere near the Tate property.”
“Who else does Bobby Paisley hang around with?” asked Jacky.
“Not sure,” said Bonnie Sue. “Don’t know him too well.”
We should talk to Mrs. Tate again.
Broken Spur Roadhouse.
MISS Jane smiled when she saw us walk in. “My boys are here for the lunch special two days in a row.” She hugged all of us and sat us down at a table. “What’s wrong, Logan. I can tell by your face, something is troubling you.”
“A bucket full of trouble is swirling around, Miss Jane, and a lot of it has to do with Carson Wagoner.”
“You think so, Logan? She was staying here for a bit, but she moved along.”
“Uh huh. When she was staying upstairs did you happen to notice who came to talk to her?”
“Let me think. That woman was always talking to somebody and trying to get into their business. She put off some of my regular customers with her pushiness and I was close to telling her to be on her way, then she packed up and checked out.”
“What day did she check out?” I asked.
“Can’t remember off hand, but I can easily tell you. Hang on.” Miss Jane hurried to her office and returned with a slip of paper in her hand. “She checked out on Monday.”
“Monday night—during the night—that’s when Presto went missing,” I said.
“Is Miss Carson connected to Presto’s disappearance?” asked Miss Jane.
“I don’t know, but she’s definitely up to her neck in something and she has some mean people helping her.”
“You boys be extra careful,” said Miss Jane. “I’ll go get y’all some lunch.”
I sat with my head in my hands at the table trying to think of all the things Carson Wagoner had said to me. I lifted my head when I thought of something possibly useful and told my brothers. “She told me her friend at the bank told her about Daddy’s will and the money.”
“Our old bank, right?” asked Clay.
“Uh huh. Daddy’s bank.”
“Wonder who that was?” asked Jacky. “Should we drive to the bank and ask questions?”
“Quite a few people work in that bank,” I said. “We haven’t got a clue which one is chummy with Miss Carson.”
Miss Jane came back with three of the lunch specials and put the plates in front of us. “Hank just came in to get the bar set up and I asked him about Carson Wagoner. He said he’d think on it while he was changing the kegs. His memory is pretty good, and he sees everything that goes on in the Spur.”
“We’ll check with him on the way out,” I said. “Thanks, Miss Jane.”
She patted me on the shoulder. “I just hate to see my boys having so much trouble and right after your sweet Daddy passed. It isn’t fair.” She picked up a napkin from our table and dabbed at her eyes.
After polishing off our barbeque plates that came with a whole basket of warm cornbread, we paid our bill and stopped off at the bar on our way out. Hank was spraying the counter and wiping it down getting ready for his first customer of the day.
“I been thinking on that woman who stayed here a few days,” said Hank, “and she did nothing but talk the whole time she was here. She’d be flitting from one table to the next bothering customers until Miss Jane was fit to be tied.”
“Ever see her talking to a man—like one on one? Kind of a private conversation?”
“I get you, Logan.” Hank nodded. “Did see her talking a couple of times to that tall guy who works in the bank in Preston. His name is Silverstone, I think. Paul Silverstone.”
I reached out and shook Hank’s hand. “Fantastic memory, Hank.”
“I don’t know what any of this has to do with Kenny’s bull getting snatched,” he said.
“We don’t either,” said Clay. “None of it makes a lick of sense.”
Citizens Bank. Preston.
CLAY and Jacky waited in the truck while I went into the bank alone to snoop around. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I wanted to take a sneak peek at Paul Silverstone to see what he looked like. Maybe seeing him would ring a bell.
I lurked away from the tellers a little and pretended to be reading one of the brochures on investing. The hair stood up on the back of my neck when I heard a voice—the same voice I’d heard on the phone asking me for a million bucks.
Trying not to be obvious, I zeroed in on the voice and it belonged to a tall guy with blond hair in a dark gray suit standing behind one of the tellers.
Paul Silverstone.
He has Presto.
I rushed outside and jumped in the pickup. “Paul Silverstone has Presto or knows where he is. He’s the one who called me and asked for the money.”
“You sure, Logy?” asked Jack.
“Positive. I recognize his voice.”
“We should tell Sheriff Tucker,” said Clay, “Or Bonnie Sue—one of the two.”
Sheriff’s Office. Preston.
SHERIFF Tucker was on an important phone call when we arrived, and we had to wait for five minutes to see him. He came out of his office not looking too happy. “You boys been snooping around on your own and stirring up dust?”
“No, sir. Just doing some completely legal looking around,” I said.
“That so,” said the sheriff. “Not the way I heard it. I had a call from Bobby Paisley telling me y’all were trespassing on his property in the dark of night. That true?”
I shook my head. “Nope. Not a hair of truth to it.”
I could lie as good as the next liar—if I had to.
“Better not be,” said the sheriff. “Why y’all here?”
“Never mind,” I said. “We can see how busy you are.”
“Why didn’t you tell him about Paul Silverstone, Logy?” asked Jack. “Don’t you want the sheriff to arrest the guy who took Presto?”
“Not until we get Presto back,” I said. “Sheriff Tucker is pissed at us and if we tell him about Paul Silverstone, I bet a buck he won’t believe us. We need evidence.”
“You might be right, Logy. The sheriff didn’t seem happy to see us. Maybe we should do this on our own.”
“We’ll go home, and you can pick up your truck, Jacky. We’ll take shifts watching Silverstone until we find Presto. He’s supposed to call us today a
nd tell us where to drop off the money.”
“Money we don’t have,” said Clay.
“Okay,” said Jacky, “I’m in, as long as we’re not letting the kidnapper slide through our fingers.”
“We’re not.”
“We should stop in and see how Mrs. Tate is doing,” said Clay. “Maybe Buster turned up and he can shed some light on this mess for us.”
Tate Residence.
OLD Mrs. Tate was sitting on the porch with an arm around one of her goats, crying her eyes out when we got there.
We walked across the yard, picking our way through the goat shit, and tried to comfort her. “Guess you haven’t heard anything from Buster.”
“Not a word and it ain’t like him. Not a bit. He never took off anywhere without telling me.”
“Can we get you anything, Mrs. Tate?” I asked. “Like an order from the grocery store?”
“Would you, Logan? I haven’t got a scrap left to eat and the goats are out of grain. These babies are partial to corn meal. Buster brings it home special from the mill.” She started wailing again with no end in sight. She buried her face in the fur of the smelly goat while she held it so tight around its neck, the poor thing choked.
“We’ll get you fixed up, Mrs. Tate. You try to cheer up a little.”
“Can’t cheer up without Buster. He’s my baby.”
“Right. We’ll be back.”
We were all in the truck when Jacky had a thought. “Now might not be the best time but ask her if anybody was with Bobby Paisley when he picked up Buster. I don’t think we asked her that specifically.”
“Okay, sure.” I hopped out of the truck and went back to talk to her. “We’re trying to find Buster for you, ma’am, and we were wondering if there was anybody with Bobby Paisley when he came to pick Buster up.”
She nodded her head. “Another fella was with Bobby. Let me think what he looked like. Umm… more like a kid, I’d have to say. Dark hair.”
“Right, thanks. We’ll be back in an hour or so with some groceries for you.”
“Mighty nice of you boys. Always did like Kenny.”
Clay stared at me across the console when I hopped in behind the wheel. “It was the kid we saw with Bobby in his barn.”
“Okay,” said Jack. “Bobby’s helper. He might talk to us.”
“We’ll drive into Preston, buy some groceries and pick up a bag of goat food at the mill.”
McKenna Ranch.
AFTER we took care of Mrs. Tate—and she seemed to be grateful, especially for the goat chow—Clay and I tried to catch up on ranch work while Jacky took his own truck and drove to the bank in Preston to wait for Paul Silverstone to get off work.
Kate wasn’t talking to me much after I more or less told her she and the girls would be minding their own in the bunkhouse from here on out. No matter. Things were heating up and I had no time for drama queens in my life.
With Jack watching Paul Silverstone and Clay taking Bonnie Sue to dinner like he promised, the girls and I were on our own for chores. I opened the barn door and that’s when I got the second phone call about the money.
“Got the money ready, McKenna?”
I know who you are, Paul Silverstone.
“I’m ready but my bank isn’t. You’ll have to give me another day. Nothing I can do about it.”
“I said today was the day.”
“Don’t care what you said,” I snapped at him. “I can’t get the money today. The cash isn’t ready.”
“Umm…”
“Give me back my bull. Tell me where he is.”
“Not happening, McKenna. I’ll give you until tomorrow at six to get the money and if you don’t have it by then, your bull is a goner.”
“Where do you want the money?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, you do that.” I ended the call wanting to choke Paul Silverstone and I didn’t even know him.
Citizens’ Bank. Preston.
JACK parked down the street from the bank in a spot where he could see everybody coming and going from the parking lot. The bank was closing for the day, and Silverstone should be leaving soon and going home—home or to meet his kidnapping partners—wherever.
Jack started his truck as Paul Silverstone nosed out of the parking lot onto the road in an old black Nissan. He was driving one-handed and talking on his cell phone at the same time.
Giving Silverstone space, Jack followed from a distance.
Silverstone made several turns through town and ended up at a triplex on Maplegrove Avenue, a street near the west edge of Preston. He parked, unlocked the door of his unit and went inside.
Jack called Logan. “Silverstone drove home from work and he’s inside. He made a call on the way home.”
“Yeah, that call was probably the one he made to me, Jacky. I told him in plain English we couldn’t get the money until tomorrow. He was mad but he gave us until six tomorrow night.”
“Good, Logy. We needed more time. We’ll have him by then and we’ll make him tell us where Presto is.”
“Stay with him, Jacky. Clay is coming to relieve you after his date with Bonnie Sue.”
“Okay, good. I could use a break.”
Texas Steak House. Preston.
CLAY gave Bonnie Sue his best smile and tried to remember all the things he was supposed to find out from the sheriff’s office. The server came by and he ordered a Lone Star for himself and a glass of wine for Bonnie Sue.
“I love hearing you sing, Clay,” said Bonnie Sue. “You should make a CD.”
“I’m working on songs for a demo. Just haven’t had a whole lot of time lately with Presto being stolen n’all. We’ve been bustin our butts trying to find out who took him.”
“We’re looking into it, but we’ve got a lot of other cases,” said Bonnie Sue. “Takes time to sort it all out.”
“Did Lubbock police arrest Micky Swain?” asked Clay.
“I’m not sure. We gave them the information. It’s up to them to move on him. Swain is out of our jurisdiction.”
Clay took a long pull on his beer and wondered what else he should be asking Bonnie Sue. Before he could get his next question ready, she said, “I don’t want to talk about work, Clay, I want this date to be more personal.”
“Personal? Uh huh. Okay. I got it.”
She is pretty and I like her, but I don’t have time to spend on a new relationship right now.
They ordered dinner and Clay listened to Bonnie Sue chatter away about how she wanted to find the right guy and raise a family.
That guy ain’t me. I’m not ready for that yet.
Clay paid the bill and drove Bonnie Sue home. He walked her to the door and kissed her lightly on the lips as he said goodnight. “I like you, Bonnie Sue, but with things in a mess at the ranch, I haven’t got a lot of time for dating right now.”
“I’m sad our date didn’t last longer,” she said.
“Me too.” Clay told a little lie. “But I’ll see you again soon. Right now, I have something I have to help Jack with. I promised him.”
Paul Silverstone’s House. Preston.
CLAY parked behind Jack’s truck, then ran up the street and hopped in the shotgun seat. “Anything happening?”
“Nothing. If he’s in for the night and just goes to bed, this is a complete waste of time.”
Clay checked his watch. “It’s only nine o’clock. He might still go out. You go on home and I’ll watch him until eleven or twelve.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Friday, April 17th.
McKenna Ranch.
THE topic of conversation at breakfast revolved around what we would do at six o’clock. “We’re not paying the money because we don’t have it,” I said. “It was a ridiculous demand in the first place, and if Paul Silverstone looked into our bank account—like we know he did—he’d know we didn’t have a million bucks to fork over.”
“If he knew we didn’t have a million bucks why would he ask
for it?” Jacky screwed up his face and took the last piece of bacon off the plate.
I shrugged. “No idea. Maybe he was hoping we’d offer him what we had or mortgage the ranch to make up the difference—something like that.”
“I feel bad for Presto,” said Jack. “What if they ain’t feeding him or giving him water?”
“Uh huh. I’ve been worrying along those lines myself. We have to find him ourselves and not depend on the kidnappers to give him back.”
“What about Buster?” asked Clay. “Do you think he’s mixed up in this somehow?”
“He’s been gone ever since Presto disappeared. Kind of a coincidence,” I said, “but hey, might not be connected.”
“Ronnie hasn’t passed on any gems of wisdom since he got himself beat up,” said Clay. “Maybe he’s keeping his mouth shut.”
“That would be a first,” I said, “but we should check in with him just in case.”
“I’ll get a fill up this afternoon and talk to him,” said Jack.
“Let’s get some work done before anything else happens, boys. We’re miles behind on our ranch work. We’re depending on the girls to hold things together, and I don’t like that either.”
“We’ll get caught up, Logy. Don’t stress so much,” said Clay.
“I’ve got to get the charts started on the cows and Rip and Chuck will be here in an hour for another lesson.”
“Those guys any good?” asked Jacky.
“Umm… I think they both could be if they worked at it hard enough. They have the desire and lots of enthusiasm, but both of them are a long ways away from winning an event I’d have to say.”
Clay smiled. “They’ve got the best teacher, Logy.”
“Thanks.”
CLAY went to the barn to saddle his horse and Harper cornered him in the stall. With hands on her hips and fire in her eyes, she backed him into the wall. “How was your date with the deputy sheriff?” The edge in her voice was icy cold.
“Okay.” Clay sidestepped her, took the saddle blanket down and threw it over the back of his horse.