by Aimée Thurlo
“Okay, let me rephrase—six pairs of eyes are better than four,” she said.
He smiled. “Okay, let’s go.”
It was soon clear that the intruder had never made it inside the shed. Preston spotted a few deep marks on the door that told him he’d tried to break in. He looked for prints, but the ones he found on the knob were too smudged.
“What I still don’t understand is how Carl’s connected to this. Carl really cared about this ranch and its mission. He worked harder than anyone else except me.”
“My gut tells me we need to focus on who he was before he came here. No one can outrun their past, Abby,” he said. “Sometimes we fool ourselves into thinking we can, but it’s always there, waiting for us around every corner.”
“New beginnings are possible.”
“Spoken like a person who has never tried to outrun something,” he said.
“You’re wrong. My past is filled with painful memories I wish I could leave behind, Preston. I haven’t led a perfect life. You’ve put me on a pedestal, but I don’t belong there. I’ve made plenty of mistakes, some that I’ve come to regret, and I’ve taken chances when I shouldn’t have,” she said. “But here’s the thing—life goes by fast and if you spend too much time weighing all those what-ifs, you’ll miss out on what’s there in front of you,” she said, reaching for his hand.
“Taking what’s there can carry a high price...later,” Preston said in a quiet voice.
“I know.”
He took her into his arms and kissed her gently. “A cop’s life—”
“Is perfect for you,” she said, interrupting him. “You don’t have to say anything else.”
* * *
PRESTON SLEPT LIGHTLY and remained in the front room of her house that night. Close to dawn he got up and went outside to take a look around. He moved silently, melding into the twilight shadows. Everything appeared peaceful, but he knew in his gut that was only temporary. A storm waited in the wings.
As he headed back to the house, he heard a vehicle, then saw Kyle pulling in. His brother came over and handed him one of two cardboard cups with lids.
“I was going to down both coffees, but you look like you need some just as much as I do,” Kyle said.
“You’ve got that right. I was up most of the night going over Carl’s case file. I’ve given up on the idea that Carl’s murder was an unpremeditated attack by a local enemy of his,” Preston said. “The more I dig into the vic’s past, the more gaps I find in his history.”
“Like what?”
“Carl claimed he worked solo, but there’s no way he could have pulled off some of those heists by himself. The one in Denver especially caught my eye. No alarm was triggered, something only possible if two wires, in two separate locations, were cut at almost the same time. I called the investigating officer. He said that Carl had no known associates, and although he was certain Carl had worked with an accomplice, they were never able to get him to change his story.”
“Maybe he partnered up with his fence or had an insider who helped him out,” Kyle said.
“Taking it from there, what if that person knew Carl had held on to some of the merchandise instead of splitting the take? That would explain all the searches,” Preston said.
“Yeah, and Carl’s partner would have been ticked off about losing his share.”
“Anger would also explain getting beat up as opposed to shot. The killer came wanting answers. Of course now that Carl’s dead, his logical next step is finding what Carl did with the stuff.”
“Makes sense,” Kyle said.
“The problem is that it’s all conjecture. I’ve got nothing except the murder of a thief and some unexplained searches.”
“There’s a lot of ground to cover on this ranch.” Kyle took a breath and looked around. “It could be anywhere, even buried along the fence someplace.”
Preston shook his head. “No. Concentrate on the man. Everything we know about Carl tells us he was careful and paid attention to the smallest details. He would have wanted to keep stolen paintings safe and someplace he could monitor them.”
“Yeah, you’re right, but where do we begin?”
“Let’s go take a second look at the bunkhouse and Carl’s office in the barn. Focus only on places where he might have hidden a valuable painting.”
Preston and Kyle had begun looking in Carl’s office when Abby came in.
“I’m glad you’re taking one last look around,” she said. “I’ve promised Michelle the job of head wrangler, and that means I’ll have to clear out all of Carl’s things.” She looked at the charcoal sketch to her right. “I’m going to keep his southwest landscapes, though.”
Preston studied the drawing closest to her. “I recognize that place, but it’s not laid out right.” He took a closer look. “That rock formation is on the road to Shiprock, on the right-hand side, and past Kirtland, but the sketch is reversed. We’re actually viewing it from behind.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Kyle said. “Interesting perspective.”
“Something else, too,” Preston said. “I remember seeing a charcoal sketch similar to this one in Stan Cooper’s office.”
“I know the one you’re talking about, but that’s not one of Carl’s,” Abby said. “Stan’s painting is by Burt Yancy, a well-known southwest artist. Maybe that’s why Carl painted it this way, so it would have his own mark.”
Preston nodded but didn’t say anything at first. At long last he lifted it off the hook. “It’s kinda heavy considering there’s no glass and the frame’s just cheap plastic,” he said. “I’m going to take the sketch out of this and see if there’s something special about the paper.”
Preston undid the back and removed the plain cardboard backing. “It’s ordinary drawing paper.”
“He liked to sketch, but he wasn’t rich,” Abby said. “You buy that stuff by the tablet, I think.”
Preston remained silent. He was sure there was something he wasn’t seeing—yet.
He closed his eyes for a moment, like Hosteen Silver had taught him to do, and concentrated, calling on Falcon to help him.
A moment later he opened his eyes. Setting the sketch aside, he examined the backing for several seconds. “Carl slit this cardboard in half, then glued it back together around the outside. There’s something sandwiched inside there.”
Preston worked the two layers apart carefully and pulled out another painting, an oil depicting a rodeo scene. “This one’s by Whit McCabe. I don’t know much about art, but I’ve heard that name.”
“He dates back to the early 1900s,” Abby said. “We studied him in school. ‘Rodeo’ isn’t his most popular painting, but if it’s authentic, I bet that painting would bring in six figures.”
“Okay, so why wasn’t this ever reported as stolen?” Preston asked, lost in thought. “Then again, maybe it was, and after the insurance was collected, the case faded into the background. Art’s not my specialty.”
“Daniel could do a fast background check on it,” Kyle said, texting Daniel and sending him a photo of the painting. “There’s got to be a sales record for anything that valuable.”
“I have a feeling that this is what the intruder has been looking for all along and why he’s been tearing this place apart,” Preston said. “Carl hid it well. It was easy to overlook. We did, even after taking it out of the frame.”
“Once the news about this painting spreads, the killer won’t have reason to come back here and I won’t have to worry anymore.”
“Not necessarily. What if—” Kyle started to say more but then clamped his mouth shut when he saw Preston shake his head, then gesture for them to meet him outside.
“Ask Daniel to come over, Kyle,” he said once they were out on the sidewalk. “I want to have this place swept for bugs. The kil
ler, probably someone who spends time here, knew Carl had something he wanted. It’s possible he kept his eyes—and ears—on Carl before making his move. I would have if I were in his shoes.” He looked at Abby. “I’d like to have Carl’s office, bunkhouse and even your place checked for electronic listening devices. Are you okay with that, Abby?”
She nodded. “If you find something, will you be able to track it back to the killer?”
“I hope so,” Preston answered.
“Do you think there are other paintings still hidden here?” She glanced at Kyle, remembering what he’d started to say, then looked back at Preston.
“It’s a possibility,” Preston answered.
She swallowed hard and gestured to the pickup and small sedan just pulling into the parking lot. “That’s Stan in the truck and Bobby in the sedan,” she said. “I should go.”
“Take care of whatever you need. I’ll handle things here and let you know if anything new comes up.”
* * *
ABBY WALKED AWAY from Preston quickly. She’d barely held it together, and she didn’t want him to see her fall apart. If everything they’d said about Carl was right, then she was at least partially responsible for the trouble the ranch was in. After all, she’d hired him.
Abby took a deep steadying breath and forced a smile as she greeted Bobby and Stan.
“Stan, what brings you here so early?” He was wearing his suit and bolo tie, so she knew he hadn’t come to volunteer tending the animals. “More bad news?”
“Yeah, Abby, I’m afraid so. I went over the accounts and we need to talk.”
“All right,” she said, wondering how many hits a person could take and still remain standing. As she glanced over at Bobby and saw his shaky smile, she knew the answer. She would never give up.
“Let’s see what the bad news is and how we can turn it around,” she said, leading the way to her office.
Bobby took her hand and smiled.
“Have you had breakfast, Bobby?” she asked, knowing he tended to skip it altogether if his foster father was in a rush to get going. That’s why she kept cereal and milk in the office fridge.
He shook his head. “But it’s okay. I’m not hungry.”
“Go to the kitchen and pour yourself a bowl of cereal anyway while Stan and I talk.”
As Bobby left, Abby offered Stan a seat on the chair across from her desk.
“I made all the payments this month and checked to make sure everything went through. After I finished, I took a closer look at your cash reserves. You’re in trouble, Abby. Your operating funds are lower than they’ve been since opening day at Sitting Tall Ranch. Painting the buildings and buying hay for the rest of the year took a chunk out of your account.”
“Donations slow down in the summer and pick up in the fall. That’s the way it always is.”
Stan shook his head. “It’s more than that, and you know it. Word’s out that J&R Sports Paradise is going to buy the empty acreage next to yours. The Double T ranch is already planning to add their land to that deal rather than get a lower offer later on. If those acquisitions go through and you won’t take J&R’s offer, things are going to get real tough.”
“I know,” she said.
“J&R will go to court to have this entire area rezoned, shutting you down. They have the resources and political clout to make that happen. Your best option is to preempt that by selling out now to my investment group. That’s the only way you’ll have enough money to relocate. Try to fight this in court, and even if you win, the legal costs will bleed this ranch dry. You could lose everything.”
“That’ll never happen,” she said. “This ranch has friends, too. I intend to fight.”
“At least raise enough money to lawyer up. Sell some of the animals, maybe the llamas and the camels. That could buy you some good legal representation when J&R starts to get ugly.”
“Those animals were donations to this ranch. I can’t do that.”
“Yes, you can. It’s business, and it’ll help you raise some cash and cut down on your overhead. The camels, in particular, could bring in a decent sum. There are recreation parks and zoos that would appreciate camels with training.”
She swallowed hard, but not trusting her voice, she remained silent.
“You need to save what you’ve got, Abby. Think about it, okay?”
She walked him to the door without saying a word. Everything had gone so wrong, so fast.
After Stan left, she closed the door behind him and slumped back against it. “Don’t the good guys ever win anymore?” she whispered to the empty room.
“Sure they do,” Bobby said, coming in.
She straightened up immediately. “Bobby, I thought you were having breakfast.”
“I was, but you and Mr. Cooper weren’t whispering, so I heard what he told you,” he said. “I figured you needed a friend right now.”
“Bobby, listen to me. You can’t tell anyone what you heard, okay? I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but I’ll make things work. When I first began talking to people and asking for funds, a lot of them refused to believe Sitting Tall Ranch could ever be more than a dream.” With a smile and a shrug, she added, “Sometimes you just have to follow your heart.”
“I won’t say anything, Abby, but you really need a rich friend, someone who can help you keep this place alive.”
She smiled at him and shook her head. “The ranch can always use donors, but I’ll never pick friends based on how much money they have. That’s not a good way to measure someone’s real worth.”
Bobby thought it over, then nodded.
“Why don’t you go help Michelle with the animals?” she said, then added, “Lock the door on your way out.”
“Okay, Abby,” he said, and left.
* * *
PRESTON MET DANIEL over by the ranch’s bunkhouse, but an ingrained caution kept him glancing back in the opposite direction. He saw Stan leave Abby’s office first, then Bobby came out minutes later.
“Did you hear what I just said?” Daniel asked.
“Yeah, you want to know why I didn’t call the department and ask them to sweep the place,” Preston said, focusing on his brother. “The reason I didn’t is because I’m trying to avoid leaks to the press. That would just complicate things right now.”
“I hear you. My equipment’s a generation ahead of the P.D.’s anyway,” he said with a quick grin.
“Our budget these days is nearly nonexistent,” Preston said. “Here comes Bobby. Watch what you say around him. He’s a sharp kid.”
Bobby approached Preston a moment later. “Can we talk?”
“Sure,” Preston said, leading him away from Daniel.
“It’s about Abby. She’s in trouble.”
“What’s going on?” Preston asked quickly.
Bobby started to say something, then shook his head. “I can’t say, I promised, but I overheard some stuff. Maybe she’ll tell you.”
“Okay, I’ll go talk to her,” Preston said.
“Good. I have to help Michelle right now. Looks like I’m the only volunteer who shows up early these days.”
Preston told Daniel where he’d be, then went back to the ranch’s office. The door was partially open, so he didn’t bother to knock.
Abby wasn’t in the main room, so he went to the kitchen. What he saw blasted a hole through his gut. Abby was sitting at the table and crying softly.
“Abby, what’s wrong?” he asked, pulling her into his arms.
“No one’s supposed to see me like this,” she said. Taking a breath, she stepped back and quickly wiped the tears from her face. “Didn’t Bobby close the door?” She smiled. “No, of course he didn’t, the little sneak. He went looking for you, didn’t he?”
“He’s a smart ki
d and he’s totally loyal to you, as I am. Now tell me what happened.”
“So he didn’t tell you?”
“He said he’d promised you that he wouldn’t.”
Abby nodded, then with a trace of reluctance, told him what Stan had said. “It scares me, Preston, but I’m not going to sell the animals or the ranch. If I can’t fix things here, that failure will hang over me like a cloud, and that’ll keep me from ever getting the backing I’ll need to start over. I have to make my stand here.” She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Sometimes you just have to go for it and be willing to accept the consequences if things don’t pan out.”
“No matter what it takes, I won’t stop until the killer’s behind bars,” he said, tilting her head up and meeting her eyes. “You’ve got my word.”
“I’ll do all I can to help you,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “No more falling apart.”
He wanted to hold her but knew that wasn’t what she needed from him right now. “Abby, you’ve got courage, but you need a little help. Remember when we spoke about fetishes?”
She nodded. “You said Falcon was wrong for me, but you knew the right one.”
He reached into his pocket and brought out the small leather pouch. “Open it.”
As she held the tiny carved figure of White Wolf, he saw her expression change from weary determination to fascination. She’d opened her heart to him, and now the beliefs that had always given him strength were helping her.
Somewhere along the way he’d fallen hard for Abby, and the connection between them was as real as the White Wolf fetish she held in her hands. Leaving her would tear him apart, but when the time came, he’d do what had to be done. He wouldn’t allow the darkness of his world to cast its shadow over hers.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said softly. “Tell me more about Wolf.”
“White Wolf. This fetish is for those who think with their hearts. She’s all about loyalty, protectiveness, caring and love. She bestows insight.”
“What an incredible, precious gift.”
“White Wolf is now your spiritual sister. When you feel hemmed in by circumstances beyond your control, clear your mind and think about White Wolf, then see what ideas come to you.”