A hand broke the surface of the water. You didn't need to be a coroner to know it belonged to someone dead, Dan thought, a dead woman not very old. It took the three men another five minutes to bring the body to the shallows and then pull it out of the water. The vet did a cursory once over and offered an opinion that her neck had been broken. Probably one of those point of impact things, instantaneous, no suffering.
“Should we check for anyone else?” Dan thought Sheriff Ray gave him a long look. Probably with good reason. Dan could have sworn that there had been someone on the passenger side last night. He urged Belle closer to the wrecked car. She shied at the upended tree that held the Caddy anchored, and it was then that he saw the manila envelope stuck in its branches. The envelope had had time to dry but the contents were stuck together. Dan pulled a couple pages apart, ordinary prison release papers, and then he saw the bank book.
Seven years ago someone had deposited two million dollars into an account at Midland Savings and Loan in Tatum, New Mexico, Judge Franklin Cyrus's bank. Some sixth sense nudged Dan to commit the account's seven-digit number to memory. Could be worth looking into, but he didn't quite know why.
“Looks like we might find an Eric Linden, if we look a little longer.”
Dan watched Billy Roland move his horse toward him. He had tucked the flap of the envelope inside to suggest he hadn't opened it. Something told him that was safer. Just read the name off the front. Billy Roland's expression wasn't pleasant, and he knew without being told that Billy Roland was familiar with this Eric Linden. Knew him and didn't think much of him. Odd. According to the papers, Mr. Linden had been locked up for seven years.
“Oh Jesus, that's just like Andrea. Give a lift to any poor soul needing it.”
Billy Roland reached for the envelope, opened it, quickly checked the contents, then stuffed it into his saddlebags. Someone had ridden back to the Double Horseshoe for a winch and tractor. Dan and the others waited on dry ground. There was a sack of sandwiches and a cooler of iced beer, but Dan couldn't have found an appetite with both hands. There, that sounded Texan. He was getting better at this.
Someone must have called the dead girl's father because he arrived with the tractor. A short swarthy man who had to be restrained. He seemed more angry than grief-stricken. But who could say how anyone should act at a moment like this. The Creek reluctantly gave up the Caddy. After four or five false starts the car pulled free and slid to shallow water.
It was empty. Probably a miracle that the girl's body stayed put even with seat belts. There wasn't one square inch of glass left in the car and the passenger side door was doubled back against the front fender. Dan tied Belle to a tree branch and walked over for a closer look.
There had been a time when he'd pulled this kind of detail every day. Rookie claim adjuster, appraise the damage, assess a dollar valueâ¦.Something was bugging him about the Caddy. Left rear wheel was gone. Not just the tire, the whole damned rim. Where the water had washed it clean of mud, there was bright metal, like someone had lifted the wheel off. Other than the front right tire being flat, the other tires were still on the rims.
Dan bent down to take a closer look and his hand bumped across a groove in the car's fender. He straightened to look.
Fresh crease in the paint. He'd bet just about everything he owned that Andrea and her passenger had been a shooter's target. Might explain the left rear wheel being gone. If so, someone had come out here pretty early and rearranged the evidence.
“Got something there?” Billy Roland leaned over the saddle horn.
“No. Just reflecting on how severe nature can be.” Dan heard the creak of leather as Billy Roland shifted his weight in the saddle.
“Just plain awesome.”
“Any idea who this Eric guy was?”
He thought Billy Roland started to say something, then changed his mind.
“Just somebody who wanted a ride into town, I'd say. Ray says he saw 'em at the Double Diamond around seven. As to why they were out here, well, son, I hope I don't need to spark your imagination.” Billy Roland turned his horse toward the road, then suddenly wheeled the big gelding back around. “I can't believe my lack of hospitality. I meant to say something this morning. I want you to pack up and get out of that motel. Spend your time out here at the Double Horseshoe. I know there's some paperwork needs going over.”
Conflict of interest came to mind, but Dan also saw the benefit of snooping in the open. “I'll take you up on it.”
At the moment he couldn't get this Linden guy out of his mind. Spend seven years locked up with two million waiting and then get gypped out of spending it by some freak act of natureâ¦or a bullet. Dan would probably never know which.
***
Billy Roland's house exuded grandeur. Dan sat on the veranda in the coolness of early morning and enjoyed its Victorian charm; the high-ceilinged porch offered the perfect view of green fields and crisply white barns. He'd slept in a hundred-year-old canopy bed with crocheted edgings on the sheets and goose down in the pillows. It was the best rest that he'd had so far.
His adjoining bathroom had a claw-and-ball porcelain tub, probably another original, and matching pedestal sink. The bordello red of the flowered wallpaper was muted by real walnut wainscoting and varnished wood floors. If you had to live out in nowhere, this was the way to do it.
The breakfast table had been set up on the east side of the house to catch the morning sun. Silver and china rested on real linen. Everything had a turn-of-the-century look to it. Not newly purchased antiques, but rather, a grow old with the house feel like the wicker chair he was sitting on. This must have been Billy Roland's family home.
“Billy Roland's awful sorry. He should be back tomorrow night.”
He started. Dan had almost forgotten about the woman who sat across from him. He could be wrong but the hair seemed freshly done. Iris sounded apologetic, so why wasn't he convinced about Billy Roland feeling remorseful about stranding him?
Dan reached for the orange marmalade. “I'd like to spend some time today with the vet. Hank, isn't it?”
Iris nodded and poured the two of them more coffee. Amazing, but the servants seemed to be gone, too. Their intimate breakfast on the veranda hadn't been interrupted once.
“I'd like to show you around, first.”
“As long as it doesn't include any saddle time. I've 'bout had my quota for the next five years.”
Iris pursed her lips and leaned forward. “You know Billy Roland thought you might need a rub down.”
He couldn't argue with that, but he hoped it wasn't in Iris' repertoire.
“I was supposed to call over to the Ranch. I got a friend who does that Japanese stuffâShih Tzu, I think.”
“Shiatsu.”
“Whatever. Does that sound good?”
“Why not?”
He watched Iris walk into the house to set up the appointment. The view to his right took in the swimming pool and a half dozen cabanas with thatched roofs. To his left must be five acres of pasture; huge irrigation wands swept back and forth in lazy one-hundred-and-eighty-degree arcs.
“Ten o'clock, okay?” Iris had opened a window in the study.
“Sure.”
Time for a swim, loosen up the old muscles then let an expert untie any knots that were left. He could get used to living like this.
“You know Billy Roland thought we might like to go over to the fair this afternoon.”
“Fair?”
“County Fair at Harper. Just the other side of the state line. The Charolais are going to be judged. Some important guy is here from back East supposed to really know his stuff.”
He didn't know if he liked someone planningâno, wasn't a better word
controlling
âhis day? But, actually, why not? The show might help him get a feel for the Eklund investment.
***
He helped the massage therapist set up her table in a sitting room on the second floor. The orange tube top and crinkled gauze skirt gave her a hippy look. Not that that was a word in vogue today, but she reminded him of times when girls looked like that. Soft long brown hair fell over her shoulders. She seemed shy, reticent to start a conversation.
He stepped into a guest bath off the hall and returned draped with an oversized towel. She was waving lighted incense in a circle from the center of the room.
“For purifying.” She smiled through lowered lashes.
He wondered if one tiny stick would be enough for the Eklund residence.
“Let's start with you face down,” she said.
Her strokes were firm and even and lulled him into losing track of time.
“Finished. Unless there's someplace I missed?”
Was this some kind of code he was supposed to respond to?
“I'm fine. You're great.”
She leaned over him, her hair tickling his chest. It was obvious he'd missed his cue. “I've been paid to stay longer.” Her mouth was about three inches from his. She waited for him to say something, put an invitation into words, he guessed. “I mean, if you'd like a nooner?”
He sat up slowly pushing her back to stand in front of him and knew he looked stupid trying to keep the towel from slipping. She'd just offered to jump him, and he was being Mr. Modest.
“I don't think so.”
“The money puts you off, doesn't it? I mean it's being paid for already.” She continued to stare at him, then with a laugh added, “I'm probably the same age as your daughter and I can tell you're the type that that would bother.”
He almost groaned out loud. What type was that? Too old for anything under thirty-five?
“Course, there's always Miss Iris.” For being tight-lipped a couple hours ago, she was positively loquacious now. “But I never said that,” she added, then winked.
He slipped off the table and went to retrieve his clothes. By the time he got back, the massage therapist was gone. He hadn't even tipped her. That was probably taken care of, too. He found himself getting angry. Just that slow burn that comes with being used. Wasn't this some not so subtle way to get a person in the right camp? Provide a little nooky in exchange for looking the other way during the investigation? Well, Billy Roland had miscalculated. He wasn't about to throw away a career for loose change and free ass.
***
Harper was the Roby County seat. The two-and-a-half-hour drive from the Double Horseshoe was taken up mostly by listening to the vast collection of Country Western CDs that Iris just happened to have on hand. He got the distinct feeling that she'd been coached to keep a tight lip. Which was all right with him. After the morning, he welcomed the silence.
The town was bigger than Tatum, more prosperous looking with a town square. The courthouse in the middle of a half acre bordered by red-orange zinnias appeared to have had a European influence with its cut stone walls topped by turrets and rounded parapets.
“We can grab a bite in town or go on out to the fairgrounds.”
“I can wait.” Dan checked his watch. Two twenty.
At first glance there didn't seem to be a parking space left in the lot to the side of the entrance. But a gate attendant recognized Iris and waved her through then pointed to a VIP spot behind the dairy barns.
The fairgrounds must cover four or five acres. Dan admitted his surprise to Iris.
“This land is part of a co-op. 'Bout five ranchers went together. They have some real big shows like calf roping and bull riding in addition to livestock judgingâall national level.”
Lunch sounded good even if it meant standing in line to get a mug of root beer and what the sign said was the best bratwurst and kraut on a bun to be had, anywhere. They ate at a picnic table, one of ten set up as an outdoor dining area. It seemed to take Iris forever to finish. She was preoccupied with wetting a finger and snagging every stray strand of cabbage that had escaped to the paper covering the bun.
“You think I'm wasting my life stuck out there on the Double Horseshoe?”
He hadn't been prepared and wasn't sure he'd have the right answer even if he'd thought about it, but he did take a couple seconds to get organized.
“What else would you like to do?”
“Oh, I don't know. Travel, I guess.”
“People who travel always come home to somewhere. Seems like you could travel and still live at the Double Horseshoe.”
The answer hadn't been the one she wanted to hear, Dan thought, judging from how quickly she stood up, wadded up the lunch papers, and dropped them in a trash barrel.
“C'mon. The judging's about to start.”
Dan followed Iris single-file through rows of booths, all selling chances on something. Calliope music blared from a midway of rides to the right. The cow barns were ahead and Iris walked directly to the covered arena in the center and climbed six rows up in the bleachers behind the judging stand.
“I just love the smell in here.” She kicked off her sandals and wiggled tanned toes sporting bright red polish before propping her feet on the seat in front.
Dan tried hard to see what could be so appealing. Cow patties and sawdust left a little to be desired. The arena had been divided into three rings and a group of judges were making their final selections. Dairy cows, probably yearlings.
“You want a program?”
“That would be helpful.”
Iris skipped barefoot down the bleachers and disappeared through a side door. It was thirty minutes before she returned.
“Hank says we're on in fifteen minutes.”
“How's Hank?” It wasn't that Dan cared, but he thought they ought to talk about something. It was apparent Iris didn't want to watch the judging.
“Okay. Could you stand another root beer? Coke, maybe?”
Iris was absolutely wired. On something? It was hard to tell. But her energy level had certainly jumped.