by Brenda Novak
“That doesn’t mean Charlie killed them.”
“It means he could have. Look at the other pictures.”
Rod went back to the shots of Charlie’s house. They had the same date stamp but showed no truck anywhere on the premises. And they also had times written on the backs—times that were within seconds of each other but twenty minutes after the picture of the truck in the desert.
It was hardly a smoking gun, but…it did raise some questions. “So Stuart was watching Charlie’s place and following him?”
“That’s right.”
“You think he was following Charlie last night?”
“I do. I think Charlie somehow guessed that Stuart was onto him and shot him.”
Rod wasn’t so sure. “Charlie’s been out of town. We haven’t even been able to reach him.”
“Not according to this.”
Bruce took out another picture of Charlie’s vehicle. This one showed it turning out of his drive. The surprising part was the date. It had been taken the night before last, when Charlie was supposedly gone. “Interesting.”
“That picture suggests he’s been home,” Bruce said.
Stuart’s research was amateurish and haphazard—circumstantial, at best. But he’d obviously believed in his suspicions enough to have done a lot of surveillance. Had he been hoping to impress Sophia by solving the puzzle of the UDA murders? Had to be. Either that or he’d wanted to come off as a hero to the whole town, because he sure as hell didn’t give a damn about the poor murdered UDAs.
Still, the fact that he’d wound up dead while trying to keep an eye on Charlie was unnerving, especially since Rod knew Sophia was out at Charlie’s place right now.
Suddenly in a much bigger hurry to get back to her, he stood. “I’ll look into this. Let’s keep it between us until we have concrete evidence.”
“No problem.” Bruce met his gaze. “Just…catch the son of a bitch who shot Stu, okay?”
“I’ll do that,” Rod promised.
His father stared at him for a long second. “I wish things could’ve been different between you and me.”
“You’re not supposed to worry about that anymore, remember?”
“I’m only saying.”
“There’s still the future. So how am I getting back to town? You taking me?”
“No. Edna needs me tonight. I’ll drive you to the house and give you the keys to one of the farm trucks. I can send a worker to retrieve it in the morning. Where are you staying?”
“The Boot and Spur.” Rod started for the door, then thought of something else. “By the way, does Charlie smoke?”
“Like a chimney,” he said. “Always has.”
Starkey’s widowed mother met them at the hospital in Douglas, where Starkey had been taken by ambulance. The doctors weren’t making any promises as to his chances of survival. They hadn’t said much at all. But they were doing their best to save him. At least, that was the message conveyed by the middle-aged nurse who’d just poked her head into the room to give them an update.
“Do you think he’ll live?” Rafe asked Sophia, his face pale and somber.
Sophia didn’t know what to say. The situation didn’t look good. Starkey had taken two bullets, one that had barely missed his heart and one that had punctured a kidney. That had been part of the nurse’s update. Fortunately, neither of those injuries had proved instantly fatal, but he’d lost a lot of blood. Maybe too much.
“I’m praying he does,” she responded. He’d saved their lives. How he’d found the strength to interfere when he did, she had no idea. He’d been so weak when she’d seen him slumped in the doorway. The only thing she could figure was that he’d heard her call for Rafe and realized his son was still alive but would die if he didn’t do something. “He’s always been tough,” she added, and that, together with a smile, seemed to have the most positive effect on Rafe.
“I’m praying, too.” Careful not to come too close to his grandma, who sat on his other side, he settled back in his chair.
Starkey’s mother, her face pinched with worry, glanced at him, but she didn’t speak—to him or to Sophia. She’d been silent almost since they’d arrived. But Sophia hadn’t expected her to be friendly. Somehow she blamed Sophia for Starkey’s inability to straighten up and live a law-abiding life. She’d once claimed that he’d be a different person if Sophia had married him.
Sophia knew he wouldn’t have changed. But she wasn’t going to argue with the woman. Grandma Starkey had lived a hard life. She’d worked in a two-bit diner for the past two decades and didn’t have a lot of reserves—mentally, physically or financially. She would’ve taken Rafe from Starkey years ago if she’d been in a better position to raise him.
“The guy who shot him is dead, though, right?” Rafe piped up. He was still trying to process everything that had occurred.
Sophia nodded. She’d shot him. Then she’d left him lying on the floor of her living room. The sheriff’s department had come while the paramedics were loading Starkey into the ambulance. Because Sophia had fired her weapon, she couldn’t also work the police end, couldn’t get involved in it at all. The sheriff would handle that, and possibly the FBI. On her way out she’d passed Cooper, who’d indicated he was going to call Van Dormer.
What conclusions were they drawing from the evidence? She couldn’t even make a call to see what was going on. Cell phone use wasn’t permitted in the hospital. She didn’t want to interrupt them in the middle of their work, anyway.
Planning to step outside so she could notify Rod of her whereabouts, she stood up, but Rafe grabbed her arm.
“Where’re you going?” he asked. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
He didn’t particularly like his bony grandmother, who looked eighty instead of sixty and often muttered aloud but rarely made sense. Reading the panic on his face at the prospect of being left alone with her, Sophia didn’t have the heart to abandon him, even for a few minutes. “You can come with me, if you want. I’ll just be a minute.”
He shook his head. “No. What if the nurse comes?”
Judging by the determination on his face, he wouldn’t budge. She decided to wait until they heard about his father. But in the rush to get Starkey the help he needed, Sophia hadn’t been able to check in with Rod. She’d tried once, in the ambulance, got his voice mail and hadn’t left a message because she’d planned to call back right away. What with all the chaos and people coming at her with questions, she hadn’t had a second chance, not until everything had slowed to a crawl right here in the waiting room. And then she couldn’t use her cell.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost two. Surely Rod would’ve started looking for her by now. He must’ve already stopped by her house and talked with Van Dormer or the sheriff, so he’d know where she was and why. Or maybe when she didn’t show up at the dude ranch, he’d called the sheriff’s department to see if they’d heard anything. Those were his two most logical options and, either way, he would’ve been given the same information.
Putting her phone back in her purse, she slipped her arm around Rafe. She needed to relax and concentrate on getting him through this. Rod was probably waiting for her at the Boot and Spur.
The ranch truck rattled and chugged as Rod pushed it to go faster on the drive to Charlie Sumpter’s ranch. He’d received a call from Sophia earlier, but had somehow missed it. He wasn’t sure how; he’d never heard it ring. And now it kept transferring to voice mail on the first ring, as if she’d shut it off. Considering what he’d learned from Bruce, he was terrified Sophia had come out here and gotten herself killed. She didn’t believe Charlie was dangerous—not really. Of all the names listed on that limited partnership agreement, his was the one she’d been most skeptical of. She obviously had some affection for him. So Rod was afraid she hadn’t been as cautious as she should’ve been. The UDA killer could be almost anyone.
He couldn’t be sure Charlie was dangerous, but he was going straight to the place sh
e’d said she’d be, just in case she needed him. He couldn’t imagine where else she could’ve gone. She hadn’t shown up at the Boot and Spur. He’d called the ranch four times. He’d even had the manager check the lot for his Hummer and go down and bang on the door of his cabin.
Once he hit the long straight section of road heading toward the ranches near the border, he pushed the needle on the speedometer higher and called Sophia again.
It was no use. She didn’t answer.
What the hell was going on? Why wasn’t she picking up? He’d left her at least six messages, all of which had gone unanswered.
Had her stepfather caught up with her? Waylaid her somehow? Hurt her? That thought was almost as frightening as thinking of her face-to-face with the UDA killer. For all he knew, Gary was just as dangerous. But his best guess was that she’d be at Charlie’s, because that was where she’d been heading when he left her.
Charlie’s place came up on the right. Rod remembered it from when he was a kid. Jorge used to bring him out here to help load the pickup with wrapped meat from a butchered cow for the Family. The Dunlaps purchased one each fall.
Slowing so abruptly the truck shuddered, he turned into the narrow, dirt drive. His tires spun rock and gravel and his back end fishtailed, but he got the truck under control. Then he rolled down his window and crept along, taking in everything he could see in the darkness, everything he could hear on the quiet night air.
When he emerged from the trees that had initially blocked his view of the house, he saw that the Hummer wasn’t parked in the clearing. But, oddly enough, Charlie’s white pickup wasn’t there, either. Which made no sense. How could his pickup have been photographed a few days earlier if Charlie had taken it to visit his daughter in Yuma? Either he’d left it behind or he hadn’t, and this made it appear that he hadn’t.
Shoving his gun into his waistband, Rod stepped out. Moonlight fell gently on the front lawn, which smelled of freshly mowed grass. Someone was keeping up with the watering, too. And yet, even with the cicadas humming, the place had a lonely, shut-up feeling….
What was going on? Had Sophia been here? If so, where was she now? There was no sign of her.
Rod strode to the front door and rang the bell. He didn’t give a damn how late it was. If Charlie was home, he wanted to talk to him, to see if he’d heard from Sophia and to ask why he hadn’t been returning her calls, which was the reason she’d come out here in the first place.
His summons brought no response. “You’re not here,” he muttered. “I can tell you’re gone, and you’ve been gone for a while.”
He tried the door, found it locked and went around to the back. Everything was locked up tight. Short of breaking a window, there was no way to get in, no way to see if anything strange was going on. Except…
Rod looked more carefully. There was a small cut in the screen of the porch. Was it merely a coincidence that it was so close to the door handle?
He didn’t believe in coincidence. Sliding his hand inside, he flipped the lever that would let him in, and found the back door slightly ajar, as if whoever had gone out the last time hadn’t bothered to latch it. Was that person Sophia? If not, Rod thought the open door was almost as strange as the missing truck. What if whoever had been here wasn’t Charlie or Sophia?
The pent-up heat inside the house hit Rod like the blast from an oven. In this part of the country, homes that were closed up during the summer, without a few open windows to allow for an exchange of air, could be sweltering. This one certainly was—further evidence that Charlie was out of town for an extended period. No one could tolerate living in a place this hot.
Standing in the mudroom, Rod listened to the settling noises of the old house. A toilet was running in back, but that was about it. No wind buffeted the trees. No animals scurried about, padded around, meowed or barked. A kibble bowl and a neatly folded towel suggested that Charlie owned a pet, probably a dog, but he must’ve taken the animal with him.
Confident that he was as alone as he’d assumed when he entered, Rod stepped into a pitch-black room. All the blinds had been drawn to keep out the sun. Flipping the closest switch, he found himself in a clean but dated kitchen. The cupboards, the table and chairs, the clock and pictures, were simple, like their aging owner, but had most likely been purchased by Charlie’s wife. She’d died when Rod was only ten or thereabouts, so the old guy had been on his own for quite a while. He didn’t appear to have improved the place since then, but he was clearly keeping up with indoor as well as outdoor maintenance.
Spotting a calendar hanging above a small built-in desk next to the fridge, Rod walked over. The month was current, but a line had been drawn through the past week and extended for three more days. Above that line, a shaky hand had written Sumpter Family Reunion.
At least Rod now understood why Charlie hadn’t responded to the message Sophia had left for him at his daughter’s house. The daughter wasn’t at home, either. They were probably off camping somewhere, or boating at Lake Powell.
Rod checked his phone to make sure he hadn’t missed another call from Sophia, saw that he hadn’t and moved on to the living room. But, once again, it was too dark to see. He’d just begun searching for a lamp when headlights hit the front window and the sound of a motor told him he had company.
Hoping Sophia had finally shown up, he peeked out. But it wasn’t the Hummer. Someone was driving the white truck he’d seen in the photos.
31
The ambulance that screamed through town gave Gary hope. Planning to move his records for the smuggling enterprise to a new location, a more secure location, he’d been hastily packing all the files and ledgers into boxes. Now he stopped. That siren signaled good news. It had to be on its way to pick up Sophia and Rod, didn’t it? With any luck, they were both dead. But if Leonard had taken care of them as promised, why hadn’t he called?
Cursing Taylor for leaving him on tenterhooks, Gary paced in the front of his store, where he could see the street. Maybe Leonard was watching the action, making sure it all went as it should. Or maybe he was having difficulty getting to a place where he felt comfortable talking. Either scenario was possible, but Gary was more inclined to believe Taylor was relishing the fact that he had him at a disadvantage.
“Bastard.” Unable to wait any longer, he called Leonard’s cell. It rang several times before transferring to voice mail. What was going on? What was happening? He hated not knowing.
More agitated by the second, he was about to try again, when Leonard called him. “Finally,” he muttered, and punched the talk button. “Did you do it? Is it done?”
Whoever answered wasn’t Leonard. At first, Gary couldn’t place him. He was talking too low. But then he realized it was Sheriff Cooper. “Leonard’s dead.”
“What? What about Sophia? And Rod?”
“Sophia shot Leonard. Scene’s a mess. I don’t know where Rod is.”
“Where can I find them?” Leonard didn’t matter, except that he hadn’t done his job. All Gary cared about was making sure Sophia and Rod couldn’t ruin him and the business he’d worked so hard to build.
“I can’t talk. I’m going to do you a favor and destroy this phone. And if the phone records are requested in an investigation, I’ll do my best to switch them out. That’ll sever any obvious tie you have to Leonard, make it look as if he’s the only one to blame for what happened here. If you have any records of any amounts you’ve ever paid me, destroy them immediately,” he said, and hung up.
Gary’s left arm began to tingle and the pressure he’d been feeling in his chest grew worse, until it felt as if he had an elephant sitting on him. Afraid he might be having a heart attack, he gingerly lowered himself to the floor and stretched out on his back. Take it easy. You’re gonna be okay. Deep breaths. That’s it. It’s not over. You’ll find them. You’ll save this thing yet.
And he would. As he played back what Sheriff Cooper had just told him—the bit about destroying Leonard’s cell phone so n
o one would see the calls between them tonight—he remembered that Leonard had also sent him a series of texts. The pain began to ease. Pushing himself into a sitting position, he reread them.
Taylor: No worries. They’re coming back here.
Gary: How do you know?
Taylor: I’ve got big ears.
Gary: You’ve bugged her place.
Taylor: Office and car, too. Info’s dependable. Trust me.
Gary: We need both people.
Taylor: I know. I’m on it. If I miss them here, I know where they’re staying.
Gary: Where?
Taylor: At the Boot and Spur.
Gary had asked if Leonard meant the Boot and Spur Dude Ranch about five miles out of town because he was pretty sure that was closed at the height of the summer. He’d never received an answer. But it didn’t matter. He’d been given enough information to find them.
The truck parked in front of his neighbor’s house wasn’t one James Simpson recognized, but he knew it couldn’t be Charlie’s. They’d spoken just this morning. James had assured him that he’d irrigated the fields, and Charlie had said he wouldn’t be home for another three days.
So who was this? Patrick Dunlap? That would be his guess. Prior to his death, Stuart had opened his big mouth to his older brother and talked about his suspicions. Now Patrick was here to find his brother’s killer.
“Shit. Why can’t everyone mind their own business?” James checked the .45-caliber Glock he’d purchased in Phoenix several years ago. The gun had no serial number and was supposedly untraceable. Which was a good thing. Because it was about to be used in another crime. So was the silencer he’d purchased at the same time.
The door squealed as James opened it, and he reluctantly got out. It wasn’t as if he wanted to kill Patrick. Hell, he hadn’t wanted to kill Stuart. He’d had no choice. Stu wouldn’t quit snooping. He kept trolling the ranch, night after fucking night, making James’s job more difficult. James couldn’t allow that. If Stuart kept at it, he’d eventually see or hear something he shouldn’t and, as much as Kevin talked about hating illegal aliens, he wouldn’t be happy to hear that it was his son who’d taken it upon himself to do something that might be effective.