by B. J Daniels
Monte swore. “I don’t want her doing that. She’s just going to stir up things best left alone.”
“Things are already stirred up, if you haven’t noticed. You’re in jail looking at spending the rest of your life behind bars. Your girlfriend is pregnant. I know about Sandra’s father. What I don’t know is if you’re protecting the Westlake family.”
“If you know about Sandra’s...biological father, then you know why I don’t want that family any more upset than they have been because of Frank.”
“Blaze thinks you wanted to plead guilty to protect Sandra, which means you think she’s capable of murdering her...biological father.”
Monte groaned and raked a hand through his graying hair. “I don’t know who killed Frank. Just that there were other people who despised him even more than I did, okay? I don’t want to see them suffer because of his death.”
“That is very noble. I suspect ultimately, you’re trying to protect Allie and your unborn child since she was married to Frank. That is quite the sacrifice just to keep Allie from being upset about her husband’s love child.”
The door opened and LJ stuck his head in. “Time to go, Monte.” His gaze slid over Jake. “Time’s up, Horn.”
Monte got to his feet. “I’m not as noble as you think I am.” With that, he let LJ take him from the room.
“You, too,” the deputy said to Jake. “You need to go. Now.”
* * *
FOLLOWING BREAKFAST, Blaze swung by the Westlake house after making sure that the pastor’s vehicle was parked down at the church. His wife answered the door in a dress, low heels and a gingham apron surrounded by the scent of homemade cinnamon rolls. Blaze had forgotten Emma Jean’s famous rolls. She used to bring them to church potlucks. Her mouth watered at the memory of how delicious they were—even though she was still full from breakfast.
“Mrs. Westlake—”
“Blaze, how wonderful. And please, call me Emma Jean. Come in, come in. I have cinnamon rolls in the oven. You’re just in time.” She waved her back toward the kitchen.
Blaze followed the short, rather plump woman through the neat living room to the bright, airy kitchen. She couldn’t help but think about Sandra being raised in this house. She felt a stab of jealousy and wondered if she was totally off track. How could anyone kill after being raised here?
Emma Jean had gone to the oven to check the cinnamon rolls. Blaze breathed in the amazing scent and took the stool at the counter that the woman offered. “Coffee?” she asked after peeking into the oven.
“No, thanks, I just had some.”
“Oh my,” the woman said, hands clasped over her heart. “You look just like your mother. Oh, I do so miss her. Have you heard from her?”
Blaze shook her head, taken aback. She forgot sometimes that she resembled her mother enough that anyone who knew her would comment. Then again, she hadn’t been around anyone who knew her for a very long time.
“I adored your mother. So, how are you? Did I hear that you’re a private investigator? Oh my. What an exciting profession.”
She had to smile. “It’s really not that exciting most of the time. I once was on a stakeout where the most interesting thing that happened was watching a caterpillar cross the road.”
Emma Jean laughed but quickly sobered. “Wilber told me that you stopped by his office.”
“Did he also tell you what we talked about?”
The older woman smiled. She had a dimple in her left cheek and sparkling blue eyes that twinkled in the kitchen light. “We have few secrets.”
“I’m trying to find out who killed Frank Anson,” Blaze said.
Emma Jean nodded. “He was an awful man. I doubt he’ll be missed all that much. I suspect you’re planning to talk to my daughter.”
She nodded. “And her husband.”
“Yes. Well, I hate to have Sandra upset, so all I ask is that you do it gently since I can see there is no changing your mind. Imagine how you would feel if you found out that Frank was your father, after in a drunken rage he tried to blackmail your family before blurting out the truth.”
“I’m sorry. This was a few weeks ago?”
The woman nodded. Blaze noticed that Emma Jean’s hands had grabbed handfuls of her apron hem and balled the fabric in her fists. “Apparently he needed money, felt desperate and didn’t care if it destroyed his own daughter’s life.”
“I’m sure Sandra was upset.”
“Upset?” She scoffed at that. “Maybe my husband didn’t tell you, but Sandra is pregnant with her first child. She’s had several miscarriages. We were so afraid that she might lose this one.” As if realizing what she’d been doing, Emma Jean released her hold on her apron and stretched out her fingers. Even her voice sounded more relaxed. “Right now the baby is fine. But you can understand why I need you to be careful when you speak with her. I can’t stop you from doing that. If you really must.” The timer went off on the cinnamon rolls. “I remember how much you used to love my rolls. You must stay and have one.”
“I can’t, really. I’m stuffed from breakfast,” Blaze said as she got to her feet.
“Then you must take two home. I understand you have a young man staying with you out at the ranch.” Word had definitely traveled to even this house.
“That is very nice of you,” Blaze said as she watched the woman cut into the pan of warm cinnamon rolls and place two large ones, dripping with brown sugar and butter, in a plastic container. Blaze started to stop the woman from using one of her containers, but Emma Jean cut her off.
“Don’t worry about getting my dish back right away.” She left the lid cracked so the hot rolls could cool and handed it to her. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again. Wilber has a wonderful service planned this Sunday.”
* * *
JAKE WENT STRAIGHT to the bar from the jail. It was still early, but several regulars were already perched on stools with their elbows on the bar, sipping coffee and watching the news on the television on the wall.
Bar owner Ron Pierce was about Jake’s age, tall and muscular with the body of a bouncer. But he flashed Jake a smile as he came down the bar. “What can I get you?”
“I could use a Bloody Mary.”
Ron laughed. “You have come to the right place.” The bartender went back down the bar and began to make his drink.
Jake looked around, curious how a man his age had come into bar ownership. From what he was able to find out, Ron had come up with a fairly large down payment and was now paying down the mortgage at a surprising rate. But there couldn’t be that much business in a town this size.
So he suspected Ron had a business on the side. What that had to do with the man visiting Monte in jail, Jake had no idea. Not unless Monte had gotten into the drug business along with buffalo.
Ron put down a bar napkin, then set the drink in front of him. A pepper, an olive and a slice of lime were skewered onto a toothpick and floating on top. “Holler when you need another.”
He’d thought about asking the man point-blank why he’d visited Monte in jail. But following his instincts, he bit the pepper off the toothpick and smiled to himself. He liked spicy and this pepper was a doozy. He took a sip of his drink and saw Ron get a text on his phone.
Excusing himself, the bar owner went back into his office. The regulars took no notice, but Jake watched in the mirror over the bar as the man came out with a small package wrapped in brown paper. Ron headed down the hallway past the sign for the restrooms toward the back door.
Jake took another drink, then pretended to head for the men’s room. Hurrying down the hall, he reached the end just moments after Ron had exited into the alley. He pushed open the door just wide enough to watch through the crack as the bar owner walked up to the driver’s-side window of the car idling in the alley.
The window came down. He handed off t
he package. Allie Anson handed him a white envelope thick with what Jake would bet was cash. He quickly turned and ducked into the men’s restroom only seconds before he heard Ron come back inside.
Jake stepped to the sink, washed his hands and was reaching for a paper towel when he heard the door open a few inches and then close. He listened to Ron’s footfalls disappear down the hall before he came back out to take his spot on the barstool. He sipped his Bloody Mary as the bar owner went into his office, coming out empty-handed, and returned to the bar.
“Is your drink all right?” Ron asked as he came down the bar to stop in front of him. The bar owner had heard him in the hallway. That was why he’d peeked into the men’s room. He was afraid he’d been followed.
“Rough night last night,” Jake said. “I thought maybe the hair of the dog would help...” He picked up his glass and finished the last of his drink. “Not sure another one is going to cure me, though, but thanks.” He pulled out his wallet, tossed a few bills on the bar and smiled at the man as he slid off his stool.
Ron seemed to relax a little as he scooped up the money. “Hope your day gets better.”
“I’m sure it will,” Jake said as he left.
* * *
BLAZE FELT OFF balance as she left Emma Jean’s house carrying the warm cinnamon rolls. She put the container on the passenger seat but didn’t start the engine. She’d planned to pay Lonny Dean, Sandra’s husband, a visit. But finding out that she was pregnant and there was a chance she could lose her child...
“Maybe I don’t have the stomach for this anymore,” she said to herself as she reached to start the engine. Also, the smell of the cinnamon rolls was killing her. Before she could shift into Drive, a pickup came roaring up and pulled in front of her, blocking her retreat.
Shane Garrison jumped out, leaving his truck running, and came toward her. She’d parked in front of another car, which was directly behind her. Unless Shane moved his pickup, she wasn’t going anywhere.
She put down her driver’s-side window, wondering what this was about. She just hoped that his son Ty was all right. She’d called the hospital the day after she’d gone to visit and was told that the boy had been released.
“Shane,” she said as the rancher bent down to look into her window. “Is Ty all right?”
He looked confused for a moment. “My son? He’s fine. Well, as fine as he can be with a broken arm and a lot of bruises.” He waved that off. “I saw you sitting here and...” He looked away for a moment.
“I want to thank you again for the other night. The barn fire.”
“I’m a volunteer fireman. I would have done it for any fire, any rancher.”
She wondered if he would get to whatever it was he wanted to talk about but said nothing as she waited.
“This is probably not the place to discuss this. Like I said, I saw you...”
He finally looked at her again. “I figure you’ll be selling your place, you know, with your father in jail and all. A bunch of us were thinking that we might be able to raise enough money, at least for a down payment. I just hoped that you’d give us a chance.”
“Don’t you think this is a little premature? My father hasn’t been convicted of anything.” She saw him pull back and look embarrassed. “But, Shane, I promise you, if it comes to that and I do put the ranch up for sale, I would definitely consider your offer.”
That seemed to relieve him.
“Thanks,” the rancher said and took a step back, looking ill at ease. He walked to his truck, climbed in and took off in a cloud of diesel exhaust.
It bothered her that Shane already had her father convicted and off to prison. Not if she could help it, she thought as she pulled out onto the street and headed for the jail.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JAKE GOT THE call as he was leaving the bar. He thought it would be Blaze, but saw that it was Herb Perkins.
“We’ve moved the private poker game up,” Herb said without preamble. “I’m closing early so the game will start at four.”
“I’ll be there,” he said. “Anyone I know playing?”
“A couple of new guys I’m not sure you’ve met.”
Jake nodded as he disconnected, having heard something in Herb’s voice. All his instincts told him he was being suckered in and Herb knew it. As he slid behind the wheel, his cell rang again. This time it was Blaze.
“I just tried to see my father,” she said, sounding irritated. “But he already had a visitor. Allie.” He wasn’t surprised and told her what he’d seen while at Ron Pierce’s bar.
“Drugs?” Blaze asked, sounding confused.
“That was my first thought, but I’m thinking more like a passport.”
“But Allie already has her passport.”
“But your father doesn’t, especially in another name,” Jake said.
“What are you talking about?”
“Just a theory I have. I’ll explain later. By the way, you remember that I have another poker game this afternoon.”
“That’s right.” Did she sound disappointed? He could only hope.
He didn’t mention that he thought he would be walking into a trap. “Tell me how your morning went.” He listened as she told him about Luella’s reason for visiting her father and then about Emma Jean and finally Shane Garrison’s offer.
“I have a headache and the smell of these cinnamon rolls is killing me. I think I might head home and eat one of them. I might save you the other one. Or I might not.”
Jake chuckled. “They’re all yours. Enjoy.” He knew she would save him one.
“You don’t know what you’re missing. But maybe that’s good or you would never forgive me for eating them both.”
He could tell that a lot more than the cinnamon rolls was bothering her. “Are you okay?”
“A little discouraged. I feel as if I’m spinning my wheels.”
“Don’t. I think we’re making progress.”
She chuckled at that. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
“Is that so bad?”
“I’m going to swing by the bank and talk to Martin Shores but I’m pretty sure I know why he visited my father,” she said. “But this whole thing with the passports makes me wonder.”
“Find out what you can about your father’s money. I suspect he’s had it moved to a foreign account.”
A few beats of silence before she said, “You think my father and Allie are planning to change their names, skip the country and what, exactly? Do I have to remind you that my father is in jail and facing a life sentence in prison?”
Across the street, Jake saw Deputy LJ Fraser talking to a man he recognized. “Listen, I have to go, but we’ll talk about this later, okay?” He disconnected as he watched LJ and Herb Perkins arguing in front of the hardware store before disappearing inside.
* * *
MARTIN SHORES HAD a large office with a window and a receptionist outside his door at his bank. From his window, he could see not just the competing bank across the street, but Abram Curtis’s office. According to local scuttlebutt, both men were now president of their respective banks, the two of them had been in competition since they were boys.
Martin looked up as Blaze stepped into his office. He smiled and quickly got to his feet.
“Miss McClintock, please come in.” He motioned to a chair in front of his desk. The moment she was seated, he asked, “What can I do for you?”
“Are you aware that I have my father’s power of attorney?” She saw his skepticism and reached into her purse to pull out the copy she’d had made. She slid it across the desk. “I want to know what is going on with my father’s finances.”
Martin leaned back in his chair. He was a large man with broad shoulders, gray hair cut military short and small hazel eyes. He wore an expensive suit, just as he wore his position.
In Saddle Butte, Martin Shores was somebody.
“Your father warned me that you might be coming in,” the man said.
“Interesting way to put it,” Blaze said.
With a sigh, Martin sat forward, pulling his computer to him. He tapped on the keys for a moment and then looked up at her. “If you’re concerned about your financial future should your father go to prison—”
“I take care of my own financial future,” she said, feeling her hackles rise. “I’m not asking for myself. I want to know—”
The bank president continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Monte has made provisions for you including a reservoir of funds so you can keep running the ranch, should you so decide.”
She waited not exactly patiently as he outlined the provisions her father had made for her to take over the ranch and run it. Was that really what Monte thought she would do if he went to prison? Was he that sure he was going to be behind bars for the rest of his life?
“Can we please cut to the chase?” she finally asked, interrupting the man. “Did my father send the bulk of his money to a foreign bank?”
Martin looked up and blinked. She saw the answer even on his professional poker face. She swore an oath under her breath. One minute it appeared that her father had accepted spending the rest of his life in prison. The next he’d made arrangements apparently to skip the country with Allie?
“You really should discuss your father’s business with him directly or speak with his lawyer regarding his will,” Martin said, closing his laptop and sitting back again.
She got to her feet. “I’ll do that. In the meantime, I want a complete report of his finances. Please don’t leave anything out.” She saw the man’s resistance. “Should I have attorney Clarkston Evans stop by to discuss it with you?”
The bank president was smart enough to know that she would sue him for the information if she had to. He nodded. “Shall I send it to the ranch?”
“Yes. Today.” He started to argue, but she cut him off. “Please make the time.” She leaned toward him, placing her palms on his large desk. “Has my father been a good customer over the years? I would think you’d want that same kind of relationship with me should my father go to prison and I decide to stick around. But there is another bank in town, isn’t there? I wonder how the president of the bank over there would like my father’s and my business.”