Authors: Sandra Brown
Tags: #Crime, #Suspense, #Fiction, #Mystery Fiction, #Psychological
From older boys they learned to smoke and drink and steal. They were naturals when it came to fistfights. They emulated bullies and scorned wimps. About girls they learned that what they had between their legs was better than candy, and that when charm didn't work to get you some, intimidation usually did. Carl was a quicker study than Cecil, but Cecil got his share. Then suddenly they had been yanked from everything familiar: their friends and their environment and the freedom they'd enjoyed. Carl had hated the ranch. He hated the stink and the daily chores, the rules and table manners and Bible readings, hated the punishment Corbett doled out when he or Cecil balked at one of his rigid commands.
The feelings he had for his stepfather had raised hatred to a new level. He despised his mother for inflicting Corbett on them. He had celebrated the blood clot that traveled from her leg to her lung and killed her. The day they buried her, he and Cecil had held a private little party because they no longer had to listen to her sniveling pleas that they be good boys, that they try to get along with Delray, who could be such a good father to them if only they would let him. Memories of her whining and Corbett's harsh censure could still twist Carl's guts into knots. He raised his fist and knocked on the door, harder than he intended. A few moments later the porch light came on. Knowing he was probably being observed through the peephole, he flinched comically and shaded his eyes against the glare. The front door came open.
"Hey there, Mrs. Bailey," he said in a friendly tone. "That's a mighty bright bulb you've got in that porch light. Gotta be a thousand-watt."
"Can I help you, young man?"
She was a slight, bespectacled woman in her seventies, with pale blue hair and a sweet smile. In other words, a piece of cake.
"Sister, who is it?"
A near duplicate joined her in the open doorway, this one plumper, prettier, and even more pleasant. Carl's disarming grin stretched wider.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
J
ack figured that somewhere between the ranch and the feed store, Delray was going to fire him. Early that morning, the rancher had handed him a list of chores to do, then he had left in his pickup. He hadn't said where he was going, but Jack assumed he would check the herd to see if he had lost any more head during the night. Jack did the jobs on Delray's list, and when he was finished with those he created others to keep him busy.
He saw Delray return in time for lunch, but he went into the house without speaking. It was almost three o'clock before Delray sought him out where he was repairing a bridle in the tack room. "We're going to the feed store."
When Jack emerged from the small toilet in the barn after washing his hands, Delray was already in his pickup truck with the engine running. He didn't acknowledge Jack when he got in. They didn't make even idle conversation.
Jack was itching to know if Delray had spoken to the vet and what he had learned from the postmortem on the cattle, but he felt the less he said now, the better. So they drove toward town in stony silence. Jack guessed he should be glad Delray wasn't talking. As long as Delray wasn't talking, he wasn't being dismissed.
The hell of it was, he didn't want to leave.
It was his rule never to form an attachment that he couldn't walk away from at a moment's notice. He hadn't wanted to live like that. That kind of solitary life had chosen him, not the other way around. But he was used to it by now. He went into every situation knowing that it was temporary. He had developed a knack for knowing when the time was right to say good-bye and move on. Ordinarily he did so without a backward glance and let his nose lead him to his next destination.
But this was no ordinary situation. He hadn't picked the Corbett Cattle Ranch at random. Nor had he selected the timing of his arrival. That had been determined when Carl Herbold escaped from prison.
He'd broken his pattern. His standard operating procedure didn't apply. He couldn't just drive away when he felt it was advisable. If he was basing his decisions on what was advisable, he wouldn't have come here to start with. But he was here. And until Carl Herbold was recaptured, he wanted to stay.
Of course if Delray told him to clear out, there wouldn't be much he could do about it except pack up and go.
At the feed store, Delray placed his order with the cashier. His economy of words bordered on rudeness. It was Jack who thanked the man when he handed Delray his receipt. The vendor didn't offer to help them load the heavy sacks of grain into the pickup and, because of Delray's brusqueness, Jack couldn't say he blamed him.
But Jack couldn't help but notice how hard Delray was exerting himself. "This heat is a bitch. Start the motor and turn on the air. I'll finish up."
"Don't you think I can handle a man's job?"
Soundly rebuked, Jack let the matter drop. Delray was pissed, and it wasn't because Jack had offered to do the heavy work for him. It wasn't entirely because of the dead cows, either. Jack's money was on Anna and the beer in the barn.
Delray secured the tailgate and they got back into the truck. His face was red and congested. "I could stand something to drink."
Jack was surprised that the older man owned up to a weakness of any kind, but he said, "Sounds good."
Delray drove to the Dairy Queen. They went inside to enjoy the air-conditioning, placed their order with the adolescent girl tending the counter, then chose a booth and sat down across from each other. Glancing over his shoulder, Delray frowned disdainfully at the girl. Every feature of her face had been pierced with a hoop or a stud. Even her tongue had been harpooned, and on it sat a black pearl.
"Why'd she do that to herself?"
"Probably to rile old farts like us."
Delray looked at Jack, then came as close to laughing as he ever had. "You're probably right." For the next few minutes they enjoyed their slushy frozen lemonades. Delray finished his drink first and pushed aside his cup. Staring out the window at a bed of dusty sunflowers, he made no attempt at conversation. Jack wondered if he was choosing the words he was going to use to fire him. Rather than sweat it out, he decided to seize the bull by the horns. "So what did he say?" Delray didn't even pretend to misunderstand. His gaze switched from the sunflowers to Jack.
"Poison."
Jack's heart sank. He had hoped that the cows died from some rare bovine virus, or by some other means that in no way implicated him. This was as bad as it could get, "What does this mean for the rest of the herd?"
"I found two more dead this morning. The poison was on the salt lick. Of course it might be days before we know how many more got to it before it was removed." He snorted with contempt.
"Wasn't a very smart son of a bitch. He could've hurt me a lot worse if he'd dumped poison in the pond."
"Maybe it was a warning shot."
"Maybe."
"I didn't do it."
"I didn't say you did."
"But that's what you think."
Delray's face turned redder, and Jack thought the man should be commended for holding his temper so well, especially if he believed Jack had tried to ruin his livelihood. Leaning across the table, Jack asked, "Why would I do it?"
"Why would you drop out of the blue and ask for a job?"
"I needed the work."
"Bullshit. I called that last guy you worked for. In Corpus. He gave you a glowing reference. Hated to lose you, he said. Wished he had a hundred like you. You had a good job but you walked off to come to work for me for half the money." Shaking his head, he scoffed. "Doesn't make sense. Never has."
"It makes sense to me. I wanted a change."
"A change." Delray simmered for a moment, then pointed his blunt index finger at Jack. "I don't trust you."
"Then why did you hire me?"
"So I could keep an eye on you till I figured out your angle."
"Have you?"
"I think so."
Jack spread his hands wide, inviting Delray to share his conclusions.
"You're working for that Houston outfit. That EastPark."
Jack stared at him for several seconds, then laughed out loud. "Me? A corporate saboteur?"
"Okay, you don't look the type. But that makes you the perfect man for the job."
"In another lifetime, maybe," Jack said, still chuckling with incredulity. "I told you my opinion of those greedy bastards."
"Because you knew that's what I wanted to hear. You were blowing smoke." Jack stared at him for several moments, shaking his head. "Okay, say I am connected, how do you explain the job in Corpus?"
"You were doing the same thing there. EastPark is just a slice of a big pie. Those guys are into everything. Oil and gas, real estate, computers. They even have a government contract with NASA. All that's in the propaganda Emory Lomax gave me. That's another thing that should have tipped me off. He started pressuring me just when you showed up. You work the inside track. They send you where they need you, when they need you. And you dress the part," he added, glancing up at Jack's straw cowboy hat.
Sighing, Jack eased away until he was settled against the back of the booth. He raised his shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. "You're wrong, Delray. Dead wrong."
"I don't think so."
"If I'm a corporate whiz kid, don't you think I'd be more subtle than to poison your herd just a few days after I got here? And let me tell you this: If I were out to destroy you in the hope of acquiring your ranch, I wouldn't have fucked around like this bozo did. I would have done it right. I would have poisoned the water supply."
Delray studied him for a long time, taking his measure, weighing his words, searching his eyes for deception. Jack held his stare. That's why neither of them noticed the other man's approach until he spoke.
"Hey, Delray."
Taken unaware, Delray turned his head quickly. "Oh, hey, Sheriff Hardge. Didn't see you come in."
"How are you?"
"Can't complain. You?"
"All right, I guess. Not sheriff anymore, though."
"Right, right," Delray said absently. "How's retirement?"
"Can't get used to having all this free time." He frowned down at the gooey banana split he had ordered. "Keep this up, I'm likely to get fat." He gave Delray a wry smile, then glanced curiously at Jack.
Delray gestured across the table. "I decided to hire on some help. He's my new hand."
"Jack," he said, extending his right hand.
"Ezzy."
"Pleasure."
"Same."
The hand Jack was shaking felt as rough as tree bark. The man was tall and rangy, with wide shoulders that curved inward toward a chest that had once been broad but had gone slightly concave with age. Gray hair curled from beneath a hat similar to his own. Both had seen equal amounts of wear and tear. Hardge's face was as long as that of a basset hound, his expression as bleak.
Courtesies dispensed with, the retired sheriff turned back to Delray. "You heard anything out of Arkansas?"
"Nothing. I don't expect to."
"No, I don't reckon you will. That boy has got more sense than to come this way." Delray clasped his hands on the tabletop. "All that happened a long time ago, Ezzy."
"Way long. Lots of water under the bridge since then." After a short but awkward silence, Hardge changed the subject. "Awful hot weather we're having." Delray unclasped his hands and some of the tension eased from his shoulders. "We could stand some rain, all right."
The tall man looked down into the melting confection in the little plastic boat. "Well, gotta get this thing eaten before it becomes ice cream soup. Y'all take care." With interest Jack watched the old man leave the restaurant and climb into a decade-old Lincoln.
"He looks like a sheriff." Then his eyes moved back to Delray. "You think I poisoned your cows. Why didn't you turn me in?"
"He's not sheriff any longer."
"That's no answer."
Delray scooted to the end of the booth and stood up. "I'm going to take some ice cream home to David and Anna."
He walked over to the counter and placed another order. Jack waited for him at the door. Together they got back into the truck and headed toward the ranch.
Was that it? Jack thought. Did he stand accused but not yet convicted? Or had he argued his case so well that Delray dropped the charge?
Jack glanced at Delray's stern profile. He drove with his hands positioned at ten and two o'clock, eyes straight ahead, keeping well within the speed limit. A man as strictly disciplined as Delray Corbett wouldn't change his mind So easily. Jack figured the jury was still out. For the time being he was still here. He would do well to leave well enough alone. But they needed to clear the air on another matter, too. "I was talking to Anna last night," he remarked casually.
"The two of you made conversation?"
"Of a fashion. Mostly I asked questions and she signed yes or no. She wrote some things down on a notepad."
Delray's fingers flexed once before closing around the steering wheel again. "So what'd you talk about?"
"Her deafness. She told me she'd been deaf since birth."