CHAPTER 14

As he drove into town, Will felt more hopeful than at any time since Beau’s arrest. The sheriff had demanded proof that Slade was dead before he was shot with Jasper’s deer rifle. Thanks to Sky’s discovery of the brass shell casing on the hilltop, and the next day’s successful search for the matching bullet, he was carrying all the proof he needed—maybe proof enough to clear his brother.

On Tori’s advice, Beau had remained at the ranch. But Will would be picking up Tori at home on the way to the sheriff ’s office. As Beau’s lawyer, she would be there to represent his interests.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Will,” she lectured him as he drove. “Axelrod is a stickler for tying up loose ends. As long as there’s any basis for suspicion, he’ll be keeping Beau at the top of his list.”

“Hellfire, what list?” Will stormed. “As far as I know, the sheriff hasn’t even looked at anybody else. What about that tattooed bartender in the Blue Coyote? He looks like a hired hit man to me. And what about Lute? He hated Beau. And now he’s got Slade’s old job. How did the slimy little weasel make that happen?”

Will was still asking himself those questions when they walked into the wing of the county building that housed the sheriff ’s offices and the jail. Glenda Peterson, whose husband owned the town’s only gas station, gave them a breezy smile from her side of the reception desk. “The sheriff’s expecting you,” she said. “Hang on a minute. I’ll let him know you’re here.” She pressed a button on the phone and spoke a few words into the receiver. “You two can go right in,” she said.

Sheriff Hoyt Axelrod rose from behind his desk and extended his hand with a smile. “Good to see you, Tori. Will, I got your message. Have a chair. Let’s see what you’ve found.”

Will opened the manila packet he’d brought containing the bullet and casing in plastic bags and the photos of the sites, which Beau had printed from Sky’s phone camera. He slid the contents across the desk. “You asked for proof that another shooter killed Slade. Here it is.”

Axelrod scratched his thick mustache, scowling as he studied the evidence. “I’ll hang on to this,” he said. “I’ve no doubt it’s what you say it is. Judging from the ammo, I’m guessing the weapon was most likely a Barrett fifty-caliber BMG semiautomatic. Snipers used those guns in Iraq and Afghanistan. Plenty of those babies available at gun shows. I’ve even got a couple of them down in the evidence room. As far as that goes, there’s no way of determining how long that casing was there. For all I know, you could have planted it.”

Will felt a surge of frustration. Why was the sheriff determined to pin this crime on his brother? “Beau doesn’t have that kind of gun. Nobody on the ranch owns one either.”

The sheriff raised one grizzled eyebrow. “Maybe not. But Slade Haskell had one. He showed it to me last year, right after he bought it at a gun show. And Slade had a wife.”

 

Natalie was buttoning on a fresh white lab coat, preparing to open her clinic, when the front doorbell rang. Two uniformed sheriff’s deputies stood on the porch—younger men she’d seen in town but didn’t know by name.

“Dr. Haskell?”

“Yes.” Her pulse lurched. Had something happened to Beau?

One deputy thrust an official-looking paper into her face. “We have a warrant to search your house and examine your late husband’s gun safe for evidence.” He made a move as if to enter, but Natalie stood her ground.

“I have nothing to hide,” she said. “Can you tell me what this is all about?”

“We have our orders, ma’am. Now please step aside and open the safe.”

“The safe’s in the den. I’ll need to get the combination.” Natalie hurried ahead of the two men, willing her legs to support her. Something, she sensed, was terribly wrong. And not knowing what it was only heightened her dread.

Slade’s den was the one room she’d closed up and left alone. The new combination to the closet-sized safe, which the locksmith had changed while Natalie was in the hospital, was tucked inside the desk drawer. Natalie had used it only once, when Beau had found the shotgun for her. She hadn’t touched the safe since.

One of the deputies dusted the dial for prints and took samples. Both men had donned latex gloves. What was going on? Had her house become a crime scene?

Stepping back, the deputy motioned for Natalie to open the safe. She’d had no trouble before. But now her eyes refused to focus on the tiny numbered lines. She handed the paper to the nearest deputy, who worked the combination on the first try. The heavy door swung open to reveal Slade’s guns, stored vertically on supporting racks.

“Here’s the Barrett.” The taller of the two deputies lifted out an ugly semiautomatic rifle that, to Natalie, looked like nothing more than an assembly of pipes and braces. Slade had taken special pride in owning it.

“Was this your husband’s rifle?” the deputy demanded.

“Yes.”

“Has it been fired recently?”

“Not unless Slade took it out on the range before he was killed. If you want to take it, feel free.”

“We don’t need your permission, ma’am. It’s evidence.” The deputy produced a large, folded plastic bag from his pocket, unfolded it, and held it open while his partner slid the gun inside. Why? Natalie asked herself. The only fingerprints on it would be Slade’s—and Beau’s, of course, since he’d moved the weapon out of the way to get her the shotgun.

Dear God, was that what they were looking for?

“We’re done here, ma’am. Thank you for your cooperation.” The deputies walked out as abruptly as they’d come. Natalie stood in silence, staring into the open gun safe. She didn’t fully understand what had happened, but she sensed that her shattering world had been dealt a final blow and was about to implode into dust.

The jangle of her cell phone, which she’d slipped into her lab coat, startled her. She snatched it up and glanced at the display name.

“Tori, what is it?” Natalie felt as if she were struggling for air.

“I just spoke with the sheriff. According to him, Slade had a semiautomatic assault rifle, a Barrett.” Tori’s voice was taut with strain. “It should be in his gun safe. I know Beau had to open the safe to find your shotgun. Think carefully. Did either of you handle that rifle?”

“I didn’t, but Beau did.” Natalie’s throat tightened with each word. “He lifted it out of the safe and put it back.”

“Then I’ve got bad news. Slade was most likely killed with that kind of weapon. Sky found the bullet and casing at the scene. The sheriff ’s men will be coming by to collect the one you have. Try to stall them until I get there.”

“Tori, they just left.” Natalie felt her knees giving way. She sank onto the arm of an overstuffed chair. “They took the gun, and it’ll have Beau’s prints on it.”

 

“There’s no way the ballistics will match.” Beau gazed around the circle of gloomy faces. Tori, Will, Sky, and Jasper had joined him in the ranch house parlor to discuss the latest development in the murder case. “They’ll run the routine tests, compare the bullets, and that will be the end of it.”

“But that could take time,” Tori said. “The nearest ballistics lab is in Lubbock, and I know for a fact they’re backlogged. Meanwhile, the sheriff and the DA will be building their case against you any way they can.”

“What the hell kind of case can they build against an innocent man?” Will exploded with frustration. “Why aren’t they looking at anybody else? Like that bartender?”

“About that bartender . . .” Beau had heard back from his friends at the DEA that morning. It wasn’t great news, but he had to share what he’d learned. “They ran facial recognition on Sky’s photos and got a hit. His real name is Nick Tomescu. He’s in the database for some petty crimes like shoplifting and possession but no violence involved. Back in Jersey he was a runner for the Rumanian mob—took a plea deal when he got busted, which may be part of why he’s holed up in the boondocks under an alias.”

“But can he shoot?” Jasper demanded.

“Nobody seems to know. He has no military record, and if he’s a hit man, he’s managed to keep it off the books.”

“So he’s not a great candidate for our shooter, but we can’t rule him out,” Sky said.

“At least my friends were thorough,” Beau said. “Here’s another tidbit they dug up. The man is Stella’s younger half brother. They were raised together—same mother, different fathers.”

“So it might look as if he’s protecting her,” Tori mused, “but it could be more like Big Sister is protecting him.”

“Let’s forget him for now,” Will grumbled. “I don’t care if the man’s a blasted saint! But if you ask me, Slade and that Stella woman were involved in some illegal business with those trucks. What if Slade knew too much, and Lute was given his job as payment for shutting him up?” His fist crumpled the empty beer can he’d left on the coffee table. “And speaking of Lute, he could be the key to this whole mess. Could he be the shooter?”

“I’d pick him as the one who stole Jasper’s gun and fired the shots into the body to frame Beau,” Sky said. “But Lute never had a steady aim. Even lying down, with a high-powered scope, he’d have been damned lucky to make the shot from that hill. But if he didn’t do it, maybe he knows who did.”

“So where is the little bastard?” Will demanded.

“Somewhere between here and that ranch in Mexico where he was hauling hay,” Sky said. “Leave Lute to me.”

The conversation might have continued, but just then Bernice, who’d kept up with all that was happening, came rushing in from the kitchen. “Come look at the TV! Hurry! You’re not going to believe this!”

With no time to turn on the big set in the den, they raced after her to crowd around the miniature TV that sat on a shelf above the kitchen countertop. The local newscast was just beginning. On the screen, a gaggle of reporters clustered below a podium erected on the steps of the county building. Looming behind the podium, his uniformed chest glittering with the medals and awards he’d won over the years, stood Sheriff Hoyt Axelrod.

“Thank you for coming, friends.” He beamed like a Texas-style Santa Claus as he surveyed his small but enthusiastically cheering audience. “I’ve invited you here to share this great moment and to say that it’s time for our party to replace Garn Prescott, a Washington insider who puts his own interests above those of the people he represents. It’s time for a new face in Washington—the face of a man with a proven record, a man who stands for law and order and justice. That is why . . .” The silence implied a drumroll. “That is why I stand before you today as a candidate for the United States Congress from the twenty-fourth district of the great state of Texas!”

 

Sky sat on the porch of the brick duplex he called home, scowling down at the unopened manila envelope that lay across his knees. On the day the will was read, he’d slid it under his mattress and resolved to ignore it. But try as he might, he couldn’t stop its secrets from troubling his mind.

Lifting his head, Sky gazed across the yard toward the sprawling ranch house. The rosy light of sunset lent a glow to its gray river-stone walls. But tonight a shadow had fallen over the Tyler home, and he’d had a hand in casting it.

When he’d searched out the bullet that killed Slade Haskell, he had only meant to help. But in the sheriff ’s eyes, the discovery had stacked the evidence deeper against Beau.

On top of all that, Sky had failed to find Lute.

Tonight, in his present frame of mind, Bull’s mysterious bequest mocked him like a silent rebuke. Maybe he should just light a match to the damned envelope and walk away.

“What’s wrong? You look like a thundercloud.” Jasper had come out of his front door, letting the screen slam behind him. Dragging his rocker to Sky’s side of the porch, he sat down.

“Been watching the news,” he said when Sky didn’t answer.

“More about the sheriff running for Congress. If you ask me, choosing between Axelrod and Garn Prescott’s about like choosing between a coyote and a skunk.”

Sky gave the old man a quiet smile. He appreciated the humor, but he didn’t feel like laughing.

“What’s that in your lap?” Jasper frowned at the sealed envelope. “Don’t tell me you haven’t opened it yet.”

“I’m not sure I want to. I once read a story about Pandora’s box, how she opened it and let loose a world of trouble. What if I’m holding a Pandora’s box?”

Jasper didn’t answer. Sky stared at him, the realization breaking like dawn. “You know what’s in it, don’t you?”

The old man nodded. “I was there when Bull sealed it and gave it to that big-city lawyer. Do you want me to tell you what’s inside?”

“I was thinking maybe I should just burn it.”

Jasper leaned back in his rocker, his eyes half closed. “You’re a strange one, Sky Fletcher. Must be the Comanche in you. They aren’t exactly the most cheerful folks God put down on the planet. Not the ones I’ve known at least. Always wandering around with gloomy faces, expecting the worst.”

“This isn’t what you’d call a cheerful time,” Sky said.

“No, but it’ll all come right. Things usually do.”

“I wish I had your faith. With the sheriff running for Congress and wanting to look like a hero, he won’t give Beau a chance. The last thing he wants is for folks to find out he arrested an innocent man.”

“Hoyt Axelrod is a pompous rooster, but he’s smart. If we want to beat him, we’ll just have to be smarter.” Jasper scratched the head of the aging Border collie, who’d plopped down at his feet. “But getting back to that envelope you’re too stubborn to open. I promise you it’s no Pandora’s box. Bull wasn’t one for fancy words, but he set quite a store by you—more than he ever let on. What’s in there will tell you what you meant to him.”

Sky shook his head. “If Bull was here tonight, he just might change his mind. If I’d left well enough alone—if I hadn’t brought Lute here and hadn’t looked for that bullet, maybe Beau wouldn’t be in so much trouble.”

“Beau’s troubles aren’t your fault. And beating yourself up won’t change what Bull left you or the fact that he’d want you to have it.”

“Then you take this.” Sky thrust the envelope toward the old man. “You can give it back to me later.”

“And when will that be, you mule-headed young whippersnapper?”

“I’ll let you know.”

With a mutter of protest, Jasper took the envelope and tucked it under his arm. Restless now, Sky rose, stretched, and walked down the porch steps.

“Where you goin’?” Jasper called after him.

“Just around.”

Fishing the keys out of his pocket, Sky headed for the shed where he kept his truck.