Shifting Calder Wind

by Janet Dailey

  Deciding that she must be somewhere around the gazebo, Jessy started in that direction and met Amy Trumbo making her way back to the food tables. “By any chance, have you seen Laura?” she asked.

  “No, I haven’t.” But the question prompted Amy to start looking for her. “Here she comes.” She pointed toward the area east of the barn that had been transformed into a parking lot.

  Jessy turned, her glance instantly lighting on Laura’s familiar blond curls as she happily skipped alongside Tara. Buck Haskell trailed both of them, toting a large basket and an insulated jug. Other men had trailed their wives, laden with dishes. Yet there was something in the way Tara carried herself that made it clear this man worked for her, thus turning a simple arrival into an entrance.

  As usual, Tara looked the picture of high fashion in designer sunglasses and a halter-style sundress, her black hair sleeked away from her face and secured at the nape of her neck with a filmy chiffon scarf. And there was Laura, taking it all in.

  Jessy wondered how the woman had the gall to show up at the barbecue after all she had done to undermine her position. But gall was something Tara had in abundance.

  “What a marvelous party, Jessy.” Tara made a regal survey of the scene. “It has been ages since this place was so decorative and festive. This reminds me of all the parties Ty and I used to throw here.”

  “You’ll find this one is much more simple. We didn’t import a chef or hire a catering staff for it.” The jibe was smoothly delivered, but effective just the same.

  “What a pity,” said Tara with acid sweetness. “I would have thought Chase’s return would warrant such a special effort.”

  “In this case, the ranch hands are the ones who are giving the party. And they are doing it from their hearts, not their wallets. It makes it that much more special,” Jessy informed her. “Which is something you never quite understood.”

  “Whereas you always have, haven’t you? After all, you were born and raised here.” Tara’s smile was all saccharine.

  But Jessy took little notice of it. Laredo had moved into her line of vision. With a lifting tilt of his head, he signaled that Markham had arrived. Jessy glanced toward the barn and ranch yard, seeking to locate him.

  She was quick to spot him. Never one to blend in, Monte sported a crisp white polo shirt, khaki-colored Bermuda shorts, matching socks, loafers, and aviator glasses, attire that guaranteed he would stand out in the sea of cowboy hats, blue jeans, and boots. Again Monte carried the same oversized hamper that he had brought to their picnic a few days earlier.

  “What is it?” Curious to learn what had caught Jessy’s attention, Tara turned to look. “It’s Monte.” Raising her hand, she gave him a cheery wave. When he altered his course toward them, Tara murmured to Jessy, “How nice that you also invited some civilized guests.”

  Tired of trading insults with the woman, Jessy ignored the remark and concentrated on Monte. A new tension strung her nerves.

  After the usual exchange of greetings, which Tara managed to monopolize, Monte scanned the crowd. “Where is our guest of honor?”

  “The last time I saw him he was over by the cottonwoods talking to the Garveys.” Jessy nodded in that general direction.

  “I see him,” Monte confirmed.

  “Isn’t it amazing to have him with us again?” Tara said. “I know everyone is greatly relieved that he’s once more in charge of the ranch.” She glanced pointedly at Jessy. “Well, perhaps not everyone. After all, Jessy did lose her job. But I’m sure she will adjust to taking orders again, instead of being the one to give them.”

  “Knowing Jessy, I am certain it will be an easy adjustment,” Monte stated with total unconcern.

  “Of course,” Tara murmured, making it clear she retained her skepticism. Chin high, she turned to Jessy. “Buck has a few items I had my chef prepare. I’ll have him leave them with you. But I see these tables seem to be strictly for food. Where are the drinks?”

  “Over there.” Jessy gestured to the beer kegs. “There is beer on tap, and the stock tank is filled with a variety of sodas on ice.”

  “Is that all?” Tara managed to inject a wealth of criticism in the phrase. In an exaggerated Texas drawl, she added, “Honey, don’t you know that a barbecue isn’t complete without a jug of margaritas? How fortunate that I brought one.” She made a graceful turn to the patiently waiting Buck Haskell. “Let me have the jug so I can personally deliver this much needed addition to the bar.” He surrendered it into her care without a word. “I’ll see you in a bit, Monte,” Tara promised and swept away while Amy Trumbo relieved Buck of the other items he carried.

  “Tara is in fine form today, isn’t she,” Monte remarked dryly. “But jealousy rarely allows a person to hold their tongue.”

  “I don’t think I’ll comment on that,” Jessy replied, aware that his observation was much too true, and focused on the picnic hamper. “Obviously you brought more food for us.”

  “I did, indeed.” He set the hamper on the ground and began to unload it, passing the dishes to Jessy. “This time I decided to bring a sampling of traditional British fare, including shepherd’s pie and some bangers.”

  “Bangers? What on earth is that?”

  “I imagine the American equivalent would be a frankfurter.”

  “They should be a hit with the children,” Jessy murmured absently, momentarily distracted by the sight of Chase and Hattie drifting toward the grill area.

  “The man with Jessy, the one in shorts”—Hattie stole a glance at the pair, being careful not to stare—“is that Markham?”

  “That’s him,” Chase confirmed without bothering to look.

  “Laredo definitely won’t have any trouble keeping track of him in that outfit. He stands out like a stalk of corn in a cotton patch,” Hattie observed.

  Chase laughed low in his throat. “He does that.” She sighed heavily. “I’ll be glad when this is over.”

  He saw the worry in her eyes. He started to tell her that everything would work out fine, but Hattie wasn’t a woman to be taken in by empty assurances. She knew as well as he did that life came with no guarantees.

  Instead Chase took her arm and steered her toward the grill, keeping upwind of the smoke. “The steaks smell good, don’t they?”

  Catching his remark, Stumpy Niles turned. “Better pick yourself one, boss. We haven’t got ear tags to mark it, but we can burn your brand on it with a running iron.”

  Chase froze, not hearing anything after “ear tags.” There was an almost audible click in his head, unlocking the door to a whole roomful of memories.

  “Are you all right, boss?” Stumpy asked, worried by Chase’s sightless stare.

  Chase blinked, and waited, but all of it was still there. “I’m fine, Stumpy.” His smile was as cool as the determined gleam in his eyes.

  “Did you want to pick out a steak?”

  “No need. It’s Calder beef. There isn’t a bad one in the bunch.” The remark drew grins of pride from the cowboys manning the grill, but Chase didn’t stick around to chat with them. Instead he moved away, his gaze scanning the throng until he located Laredo.

  “You remembered something, didn’t you?” Hattie guessed.

  “The one damned thing that has eluded me all this time.” Raising a hand, he motioned for Laredo to join him.

  “Do you see Logan?”

  “No.” But Hattie started looking for him.

  “What did you need, Chase?” Laredo halted beside him and kept his eye on Markham, who was still by the food tables talking to Jessy.

  “I think I just remembered what this is all about,” Chase told him. “When I was checking on Markham for George Seymour, I had two different people tell me they owned the same pen of cattle. Markham had brokered the deal for both of them. There was a folder in the rental car that had a list of ear tags. The banker in Texas had made the loan on one of the deals. I wanted to check my list against the one he had been given as proof of collateral to see if th
ey matched. I wanted to be certain of my facts before I confronted Markham.”

  “And he caught wind of it somehow,” Laredo surmised. “Sounds like a helluva scam—selling the same cattle to two different parties.”

  “My guess is this wasn’t the first time,” Chase said. “More than likely it’s some sort of pyramid deal. A Ponzi scheme, I think they call it.”

  “Ponzi.” A laugh gurgled from Hattie’s throat. “That’s the word you were trying to remember. Not Carlo Ponti.”

  Laredo frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  Still smiling, Hattie shook her head, dismissing the subject. “Nothing important, just a private conversation between Duke and me.”

  He took her word for it. “Better track down Logan and tell him what you remember,” he said to Chase, his attention once again directed at Markham. “There he goes,” he observed, already shifting into action. “Looks like he’s headed back to his Range Rover. I’ll tag along to be sure. Go find Logan,” he said again and moved off.

  Careful to stay well behind Markham, Laredo set a course that angled in a slightly different direction yet kept Markham in his range of vision. He made a quick scan of the vehicles, trying to spot where Markham had parked. As late as Markham had arrived, Laredo doubted he had found a place close to the barbecue site. More than likely it was somewhere in the ranch yard.

  Laredo slipped into the maze of parked trucks, satisfied to merely catch glimpses of Markham. He never caught Markham looking around to see if he was being watched. The man simply kept walking, lugging that oversized hamper, in no apparent hurry at all to reach his vehicle.

  As Laredo suspected, Markham turned into the row of pickups parked in front of the barn. Within seconds he lost sight of him. Only then did Laredo quicken his pace, but it was an automatic thing, not done with any sense of urgency.

  When he drew level with the spot, he glanced down the row. There was Markham’s Range Rover, the fourth vehicle from the end. Laredo headed in the general direction of a blue pickup parked beyond it close to the corral. He kept stealing glances at the narrow walkway on the driver’s side of the Range Rover, trying to spot Markham. The closer he got, the more uneasy he became.

  Markham wasn’t there, not in the vehicle or anywhere near it.

  Laredo grimly scanned the entire area. There was no one around except for two boys carrying fishing poles and a tackle box. Which left only one place where Markham could be—in the barn.

  That uneasy feeling turned into a full-fledged fear that manifested as a kind of anger. Laredo swore bitterly under his breath, torn between wanting to warn Chase and needing to stop Markham. Instinct told him there wasn’t enough time to reach Chase. Knowing he only had one choice, he reached inside his boot and pulled out his pistol.

  He yelled to the two boys, “Get Logan—and get him quick! Tell him we’ve got trouble.” Halting, they stared wide-eyed at the gun in his hand. “Run!”

  Laredo heard the tackle box hit the ground, but he didn’t hang around to watch them take off. He moved to the side door and slipped inside. No lights were on, giving a shadowy darkness to the interior. He took a step to the side and listened to the eerie stillness. Markham had to be somewhere toward the back, but where?

  Hugging close to the stalls, Laredo began moving along the alleyway, constantly scanning the shadows and upper reaches of the barn. His heightened senses magnified every sound from the whisper of his clothing to the hammering of his pulse.

  There were too many places for Markham to hide in the massive old barn. Laredo knew he was running out of time to find him.

  “I know you’re in here, Markham!” He lifted his voice, letting it echo through the timbered rafters. He strained to catch some sound that would betray Markham’s location, but all he caught was a faint scrape, coming from somewhere off to his left. “Give it up, Markham! Even if you get Chase, you’ll have to get past me!”

  There was a faint thump mixed in with a muted chink. The tack room. Laredo remembered there was a window in it that overlooked the river and the barbecue site.

  Laredo worked his way toward it, sinking deeper into the concealing shadows of the opposite wall. Markham had to be sweating now.

  Determined to increase the pressure, Laredo called again, “Even if you get lucky and get past me, Logan will be waiting for you. Chase remembered everything. By now Logan’s already heard the whole story. And we both know ballistics will match the slug they took out of O’Rourke to your rifle. You’re finished, Mar—”

  He was still in midword when the tack-room door flew open. Simultaneous with a muzzle flash was the reverberating boom of a high-powered rifle. At almost the same instant that Laredo squeezed the trigger, a board not three inches from his head exploded in a shower of splinters. The rifle clattered across the concrete alleyway.

  The sudden silence was deafening. Wisps of gunsmoke hung in the air, its acrid odor mingling with the hay smell. Laredo kept his gun pointed at the bare-legged man lying motionless across the tack room’s threshold. Sweat ran down Laredo’s face, and his ears still rang with the thunderous clap from the rifle while his breathing ran shallow and fast. He worked to even it out.

  The barn’s side door burst open, letting in a long flood of light. Laredo wheeled as Logan ducked inside, gun at the ready.

  “It’s okay, Logan.” Laredo raised his weapon skyward. “It’s over.”

  Still cautious, Logan moved out of the shadows and slowly approached the body. He kicked the rifle well out of reach, crouched next to Markham, and checked for a pulse.

  He straightened. “He’s dead.”

  “I can’t say I’m sorry.” Laredo joined him as Logan glanced into the tack room.

  On top of the picnic hamper sat a wooden case that had held the rifle’s disassembled parts. Seeing it, Laredo remarked, “Want to bet that hamper has a false bottom?”

  “No, thanks. I don’t like the odds.” Logan stepped back from the doorway and glanced at the gun in Laredo’s hand.

  After an instant’s hesitation, Laredo offered it to him, butt first. “I imagine you’ll need this. That stall board over there will tell you it was a clear-cut case of self-defense.”

  “I know. I heard you shouting to draw Markham’s fire.” Logan held the gun for an indecisive moment, then leveled his gaze at Laredo. “I assume this isn’t registered.”

  “Not hardly,” he replied dryly.

  “That’s what I thought.” Logan tucked it inside the waistband of his jeans. “It may be a bit easier for me to explain what I was doing with an unregistered firearm than it would be for you . . . considering you weren’t here when the shooting took place. Right?”

  “There are two boys who might say differently,” Laredo reminded him, “although I’m grateful for the gesture.”

  They both knew his past wouldn’t hold up to close scrutiny. Even if the shooting were ruled to be justifiable, there would likely be extradition papers waiting for him.

  “Those are Triple C boys. They aren’t going to say a word,” Logan told him. He nodded toward the door. “Go on. Get out of here, and let Chase know what went down.”

  PART FOUR

  A shifting wind

  Blows soft and cool,

  And once again

  A Calder rules.

  Epilogue

  The horse herd swept over a rise in the plains, their summer-sleek coats rippling with muscle in the morning sunshine. With Hattie at his side, Chase sat atop the fence, the heels of his boots hooked on a lower rail. On either side of them was a twin.

  “Here they come, Grampa!” Too excited to be satisfied straddling the top rail, Trey stood up to point at the approaching herd.

  “I see them.” It was something Chase had witnessed endless times in his life, but it was new to these three, allowing him to enjoy the spectacle through their eyes.

  “Look at all the colors, Grampa,” Laura marveled, staring wide-eyed at the glistening mix of sorrels, bays, grays, and buckskins.
<
br />   “What a sight,” Hattie exclaimed as the drumbeat of their hooves reached them, the sound of it like a low roll of thunder. “I’m glad you insisted I come watch.”

  His side glance moved over her with intimate warmth. “I never intended for you to spend all your time in the kitchen when I suggested that you do the cooking at The Homestead.”

  “What are you gonna do with all them horses, Grampa?” Laura frowned curiously as the herd swept toward the open gates to the big pen, accompanied by a quartet of riders.

  “Roundup time is just around the corner. We’ll need the extra horses to fill out each rider’s string.” But his answer sailed over her head, requiring a further explanation.

  By the time he finished, the last of the horses had trotted into the pen and the gates were swung shut. Two of the outriders peeled away from the gates and rode over to join them.

  “Hi, Mom. Hi, ’Redo.” Trey rushed the greeting. “Next time can I help get the horses? Me an’ Joe, we could do it.”

  “We’ll see,” Jessy replied.

  Trey took it as a “yes.” “Yippee!” he shouted and launched himself off the fence. “Come on, Laura. Let’s go look at the horses.”

  Hattie watched the pair race to the big pen. “Oh, to have that much energy again.”

  “Getting to be a dim memory, is it?” Laredo teased, but his expression was much more serious when he directed his attention to Chase. “I saw Logan pull in earlier. What did he want?”

  “He stopped by to give me an update on what they have learned so far about the scope of Markham’s operation.” The news of Monte’s death had caused an initial flurry of headlines that had died within a few days. The ongoing investigation into his activities had garnered little media attention, but the ramifications of it were proving to be far-reaching. “The numbers they have right now indicate that Markham supposedly sold close to one hundred and fifty thousand head of cattle. So far they have located about thirty thousand. Which leaves over a hundred thousand head missing, at a value of roughly fifty million dollars. And that might be just the tip of the horn.”