Cowboy Conspiracy

by Joanna Wayne

  She looked over his shoulder and reread the message silently.

  Nice car, bitch, but not nearly as hot as you are.

  Can’t wait to see you naked and begging for my…

  She turned away before the nauseating clawing in her stomach got worse.

  Wyatt mumbled a string of curses. “Sorry,” he said. “Cop talk, but I’d like to know how this pervert got your cell phone number.”

  “Likely from my computer. I emailed my new phone number to Mother. I had forgotten all about that until I saw this note. I should call Sheriff McGuire and let him know that I heard from this lunatic.”

  Wyatt stood, took her hands and tugged her to her feet. “Call him on the way into town. You need to go to the storage facility. I just need to escape.”

  “You won’t be escaping, Wyatt. I’m your biggest problem now and I’ll be with you.”

  His fingers tangled in the loose curls at her left cheek, lingering for heated seconds before he tucked the hair behind her ear. Her pulse quickened and she looked away to keep him from sensing how his touch affected her.

  “I know this situation is hard on you, Kelly, but I can and will keep you and Jaci safe. All you have to do is let me.”

  “I can hardly turn that down.”

  Unless it meant dragging him and his whole wonderful family into danger. Then she’d be on her own again, and this time without the FBI to back her up.

  MOVING THE FURNITURE from the van to the storage unit went much faster than Kelly had anticipated. So she was really pleased when Wyatt suggested they explore her new hometown while they waited on the sheriff’s call saying she could pick up her belongings.

  She stared out the windows of Wyatt’s truck, enchanted anew with the town she’d visited fewer than half a dozen times in her entire life. Hilly, lakeside resorts were sprouting up all around the town, yet Mustang Run had managed to hold on to its small-town charm, especially here on Main Street.

  The narrow street was lined with quaint boutiques, coffee shops, bakeries and an ice cream parlor, all tucked inside small clapboard shops that had been standing for almost a century.

  Crates filled with string-tied bouquets of colorful blooms lined the walk in front of a florist. Antique dolls rested in wooden cradles in one storefront. Beribboned square-dance dresses decorated the mannequins in another.

  “I love the way they’ve revived this area without losing its historic character,” Kelly said.

  “But some things have changed,” Wyatt said. “There used to be a movie theater on one of these corners. I remember seeing Batman Returns there at least five times.”

  “I take it you were a Batman fan.”

  “Best crime fighter of all time.” Wyatt stopped at a crosswalk for a rotund man and his two leashed poodles. “When was the last time you were in Mustang Run?”

  “I was here briefly when Mother and I met with the attorneys to settle Grams’s estate. That was ten years ago. I had to fly back to New Orleans the same day for a jewelry show, so I barely had time to check out the house I’d just inherited.”

  “What about before that?”

  “I came in for my grandmother’s seventy-fifth birthday. I was twelve at the time. Her friends threw the gala on the front lawn of her house. It was quite an affair. Even Mother flew down for a day, and she detests Mustang Run.”

  “You must have come back here for your grandmother’s funeral.”

  “The funeral was in Boston. When Grams’s Alzheimer’s began to worsen, Mother moved her to a nursing home near her so that she could make sure Grams was cared for without her having to make regular trips to Texas.”

  “You obviously didn’t see much of your grandmother when you were growing up.”

  “We visited, just not in Mustang Run. Grams flew to Boston to see us twice a year, once at Christmas and once in August when the Texas summers got too hot for her. And a couple of times when I was still in elementary school and Mother had to travel out of town for a seminar or a conference, she’d send me to visit Grams. I used to tell her even back then that I wanted to live in Mustang Run one day.”

  “No wonder she left you the house.”

  “That I failed to maintain.”

  “Do you have insurance?”

  “Yes. I’m just not sure I have enough. I called my agent. He’s supposed to call me back on Monday.”

  “What did your Mother have against Texas?”

  “Not Texas, Mustang Run. All she ever said was that there was nothing to do here. Mind you, my mother thinks a day without intellectual stimulation is like a day without carob. Mother never has a day without carob.”

  “Sounds disgusting.”

  “Carob’s not that bad once you get used to it.”

  “That’s what they say about broccoli, but you can’t prove that by me. I’m a meat and potato kind of guy, but a few ears of corn on the cob or a pot of purple hull peas are okay every once in a while.”

  “What else should I know about you?”

  “That I become a real grouch when I get hungry. How about stopping for lunch?”

  “I’m still full from breakfast,” Kelly said. Actually every time she thought of the repulsive text message she grew nauseous and she wasn’t ready to trust her stomach with food. “But I could use a cup of coffee.”

  Wyatt pulled into one of the angled parking spaces. She hopped out of the truck, considered getting her jacket from the backseat but then left it. The wind had died down and with the noonday sun bearing down on them, her borrowed sweater was warm enough.

  Kelly scanned the signs and storefronts until she spotted Abby’s Diner.

  “We should eat at Abby’s. She and my grandmother were fast friends. Even when Grams’s Alzheimer’s progressed to the point she couldn’t remember her, Abby called to check on her once a week. And for her birthdays she always mailed Grams a homemade sweet-potato pie.”

  “Then Abby’s it is.”

  Neither his expression nor his tone indicated he liked her suggestion. “We can go somewhere else if you like.”

  He shook his head. “One spot in Mustang Run is as good as another.”

  He strode toward the restaurant, the muscles in his arms flexed as if he were gearing up for a fight—or a rendezvous with his past. But he was right, there probably wasn’t anywhere he could go in Mustang Run where he wouldn’t risk that.

  Mouthwatering odors reached them long before they entered the diner. Once inside, the noise level and tempting smells reached a crescendo. It was half past one, but all the tables and booths were taken and the two seats available at the counter were not together.

  A wisp of a hostess with long blond hair smiled flirtatiously at Wyatt and added an exaggerated sway to her hips as she walked over to where they were standing. Good-looking cowboys were apparently still in style at Abby’s Diner.

  “There’s a ten-minute wait,” she said. “The food is worth it.”

  “Do you guarantee that?”

  “If not, dessert is on me.”

  “Can’t very well turn that down,” Wyatt said.

  As the hostess walked away, Kelly leaned in close enough to whisper in his ear. “If you play your cards right, dessert could probably be her.”

  “I could say the same for those two cowboys at the counter who are eyeing you.”

  She checked them out. One gave a little salute. The other only nodded and grinned. “They’re just being friendly,” Kelly quipped.

  “Uh-huh. Ye-haw.”

  For a cop, Wyatt had a terrific knack for defusing the tension in a situation or in a day. And for making a couple of sexy cowboys seem as exciting as watching fish swim across a screen saver.

  Five minutes later, the hostess seated them at a back table that was tucked away in a corner niche by itself. As crowded as the restaurant was, it actually offered a degree of privacy.

  Wyatt chose the seat that gave him a view of the door. “I always like my back to the wall. It’s a cop thing.”

  That l
eft Kelly with a view of a booth where three men wearing mechanic’s overalls were shoveling down pie topped by mountainous meringue.

  A middle-aged waitress set glasses of water in front of them and handed them menus. “The special today is chicken-fried steak with creamed potatoes, gravy and pinto beans. Or you can have a side salad instead of the beans.”

  “Just coffee for me,” Kelly said.

  “And I’ll take the special,” Wyatt said without bothering to look at the menu.

  “With biscuits or corn bread?”

  “Corn bread. And iced tea.”

  “I’ll have it right out.”

  “You must be hungry,” Kelly said as the waitress walked away. “Did you see the size of those chicken-fried steak orders coming out of the kitchen? The steaks were spilling over the edge of the plate.”

  “Nice appetizer size.” He stared at a spot over her left shoulder. “Don’t get too comfortable. We are about to have company.”

  Before she could ask who, Sheriff McGuire stepped into view.

  “I’m glad I ran into you two here,” the sheriff said. “It will save me a phone call.”

  “Does that mean I can get my things from my car now?” Kelly asked.

  “Anytime after four. That’s the latest word from my evidence team.” McGuire slid into the empty chair kitty-corner from her. “They’ve finished checking the interior,” he said, lowering his voice, though there was little chance of it carrying to the next table over the din of clattering dishes and noisy chatter.

  “Any success?” Wyatt asked.

  “Nothing of consequence.”

  “He must have left fingerprints,” Kelly said.

  McGuire shook his head. “Unfortunately, it’s not as easy to collect a usable print as it looks on the CSI shows. Wyatt can tell you that. They did lift a couple of viable prints from the Corvette, but it may take a while to determine if they belong to the thief or someone with a legitimate reason for being in the car before it was stolen.”

  Kelly felt the disappointment mounting again. “Have you been able to trace the text message sent to my phone?”

  “We’re working on that. These things take time and if the text was sent from one of those pay-as-you-go phones, it’s impossible.”

  A different waitress approached their table. This one was chubby with short graying hair, sparkling blue eyes and a smile that showed a row of tea-stained teeth.

  She punched a finger into the sheriff’s forearm to get his attention before propping her hands on her ample hips. “What are you doing hiding in the back corner?”

  “Making new friends and avoiding the ornery cook.”

  “Just for that, you’ll pay for your pie today, lawman.”

  “You’ll change your mind about that as soon as I tell you who this is I’m sitting with.”

  The woman looked over both Kelly and Wyatt and then slapped her hands against her cheeks in surprise.

  “Lands to Goshen. It’s Wyatt. Sure can’t deny you’re a Ledger. You could have been cloned from Troy. He must be higher than the price of gas with you back in town. When did you get in?”

  “Last night.”

  “I’m Abby,” she said. “You probably don’t even remember me. What were you when you left here? Twelve? Thirteen?”

  Finally, Wyatt smiled. “Thirteen and how could I forget you? You used to give me and my brothers free ice cream if we snuck in while Mother was shopping.”

  She chuckled. “And then I’d tell you not to tell Helene I’d spoiled your lunch.”

  “We always did.”

  “She didn’t really mind. Your mother and I were the best of friends. I taught her to make pie crust. She taught me how to grow my own herbs and how to put together a flower bouquet that looked twice as good as the ones from the florist. But even we never thought we’d end up practically kin one day. I guess you heard that my neice Viviana married your brother Dakota.”

  “I heard.”

  “Helene would have been tickled to death with that. I swear, I miss her to this day. Of course, I don’t miss her the way Troy misses her. I don’t ’spect he’ll ever get over losing her. They had problems, sure, same as the rest of us, but I’ve never seen two people who loved each other more.”

  McGuire tore open a package of crackers from the skinny basket in the middle of the table. “You do go on and on, woman. Quit talking a minute and see how good your guesser works with the woman sitting next to Wyatt.”

  Abby cocked her head to one side and studied Kelly. “I give up.”

  “That’s Cordelia Callister’s granddaughter.”

  “Well, bless my bones. You’re Linda Ann’s daughter.” Abby dropped into the empty chair and laid a hand on Kelly’s arm. “It is so good to see a Callister back in this town. I was beginning to think they would have to bring in a wrecking crew and tear your old home place down.”

  “I hope to get the house fixed up and move into it,” Kelly said.

  “Your grandmother would love knowing that. She missed Linda Ann like crazy, but I can’t say I blame your mother for kissing this town goodbye after that wedding fiasco.”

  Now Kelly was totally confused. “You must have Mother mixed up with someone else. She didn’t get married in Mustang Run.”

  “No, and didn’t that just turn out for the best?”

  “Didn’t what turn out for the best?”

  “Her being jilted by that jerk so close to the wedding date. Right after that she met your father and Cordelia told everybody what a catch he was and how he and Linda Ann were soul mates.”

  “To his day, my mother claims she and my father were soul mates.”

  “Such a tragedy,” Abby said, “him dying in that terrible car crash before you were born. But at least she had you and she didn’t let the grief bury her like some folks do. She went right on to get her doctorate degree and really made something of her life.”

  “Mother’s definitely an achiever. But she can’t make pie crust.”

  “No, she was always the brainy one,” Abby said. “Did you know that she scored higher on her ACT than any student who’s ever graduated from Mustang Run High?”

  “No. She never mentioned that.” Nor had she ever mentioned being jilted at the altar by a jerk. Not that it mattered now, but it might explain some of her distaste for the town.

  Abby excused herself a few minutes later and the sheriff followed suit. They walked away together with Abby laughing at something he’d said.

  “I think there’s a little flirtation going on between the two of them,” Kelly said.

  “Could be.”

  “You seem distracted.”

  “I was just thinking that with so much small-town familiarity around Mustang Run, I don’t see how anyone could ever get away with murder, unless that someone is a person no one would ever suspect.”

  “Not even the sheriff.”

  “Especially not the sheriff. I’m thinking about my mother’s murder, but the same theory may hold true for your situation.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “The sheriff is working this case as if you were a random victim, but what if it’s more than that?”

  “It had to be random, Wyatt,” Kelly argued. “The thief could not possibly know I’d stop at that truck stop. I didn’t even know it beforehand.”

  “The car theft was random, but what happened after that may not be. It may have become personal after the perp discovered your identity either from the paperwork in your car or from the emails and files on your computer.”

  “So you think this perp, as you call him, followed up with his intimidation because of who I am?”

  “It’s not that far-fetched considering everyone knows everyone around here.”

  “I’d never seen that man before in my life.”

  “But he may have known your grandmother. For that matter, he may have known your mother. She grew up around here.”

  “Grams has been dead for ten years and Mother hasn’t lived
in Mustang Run since before I was born. Only a very sick guy would carry a grudge that long.”

  “Like the man who sent you the text?”

  “Point made.” The complexity of possibilities was growing exponentially. “But why leave the car at my house untouched? If he’s getting payback through me, why not drive it into a creek or at least knock out all the windows?”

  “I doubt the visit was just to return your car.”

  No. He’d come back to do exactly what he’d threatened in his text. Her nausea returned.

  “I’m just tossing around ideas at this point, Kelly. But maybe when he saw the downed tree and realized you wouldn’t be returning that night, he decided it was a good time and place to dump the stolen car.”

  “And then what? Hike to the highway in a cold rain to try and hitch a ride?”

  “If he lives in the area, he could have called a friend to pick him up, or he might have walked home or to a friend’s house.”

  “It would have been a long walk.”

  “Not necessarily. I called the sheriff while you were in the horse barn. I needed him to clarify a few things, and he said there’s a road about a mile behind your house with several freestanding houses and a fairly large mobile-home park.”

  So this disgusting person might have lived close to her grandmother. He might have terrified her as she grew older and made her afraid to go to the sheriff.

  No. She couldn’t see Grams letting some goon push her around. Not with all the friends she had in Mustang Run.

  Nonetheless…

  “I’m beginning to understand why my mother hated this town.”

  HE POURED HIMSELF ANOTHER shot of whiskey and took it to the sofa. He still couldn’t believe his luck, especially when yesterday had started off so rotten.

  It was a sure sign the economy stank when you couldn’t even make a living dishonestly. He hadn’t had more than a few ounces of cocaine in the trunk of his car, a delivery for some rich broad in River Oaks who liked to inhale her afternoon delight.

  It would have been a fast, easy buck with a drug high on the side if that idiot teenager hadn’t run a red light and rammed into the side of his car.