Warrior Son. Rita Herron
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a man the sheriff suspects is working with Boyle Gates.”
There was the name Bennett again. “Has Burns’s wife been notified of his death?” Megan asked.
“Not yet,” the deputy said. “I phoned and there was no answer at her place. She lives near Pistol Whip, not Laredo.”
Megan drummed her fingers on the desk. “I can go out and talk to her.”
“We really should have an officer present. This is a murder investigation now.”
“All right, I’ll get Deputy Whitefeather to accompany me.”
“Good. Sheriff McCullen thinks Burns’s murder may be related to the trouble at his ranch. That he might have been paid to set the ranch fires and that he might have been killed to cover up what he did.” He paused. “Anyway, I was hoping you’d found some DNA to tie his death to Gates or Bennett.”
“I’m sorry, I wish I could tell you more.”
He thanked her and hung up, and Megan stewed over the information.
It hadn’t occurred to her that a murder victim who’d been on her table might be connected to the McCullens.
She texted Roan to relay the deputy’s statement and explained that she’d meet him at the woman’s home to make the death notification—and question the woman in case she knew who’d taken her husband’s life. There was always the possibility that this murder was not related to the McCullens, that it was a domestic dispute gone bad or that Burns had gotten himself in some kind of trouble. Maybe he owed someone money...
Her phone beeped indicating a response to her text, and she read Roan’s message. At Horseshoe Creek now. Will meet you at the Burns farm. Wait for me.
She texted back OK, then grabbed her purse and rushed down the hallway.
Outside, the sun was setting, storm clouds rolling in, the wind picking up. The parking lot at the hospital was still full, though; the afternoon-evening shift hadn’t arrived, and an ambulance was rolling up.
She hit the key fob to unlock her car, jumped in and headed toward the address for the Burnses’ farm.
Traffic was thin as she drove through town, the diner starting to fill up with the early supper crowd. She made the turn to the highway leading out of Pistol Whip, and ten minutes later found the farm, a run-down-looking piece of property that had seen better days.
Overgrown weeds choked what had once been a big garden area, the fences were broken and rotting and the house needed paint badly. Her car rumbled over the ruts in the dirt drive, dust spewing in a smoky cloud behind her.
She scanned the property for life, for workers, but saw no one. Just a deserted tractor and pickup truck in front of the weathered house. She parked and glanced around, suddenly nervous.
She didn’t know anything about this woman, except that her husband had been murdered.
Suddenly the door on the side inched open and a cat darted out. Megan’s stomach knotted when she noticed blood on the cat’s fur and paws.
Fear momentarily immobilized her, but her instinct as a doctor kicked in, and she threw the door open and climbed from her car. She scanned the area for someone suspicious but saw no one. The cat ran into the barn behind the house.
She eased to the porch, one hand on the mace in her purse, her phone at her fingertips in case she needed to call for help. Wind beat at the house, banging a shutter that had come loose against the weathered wood.
She crept up the rickety steps, the squeaking sound of rotting boards adding to her frayed nerves. By the time she reached the front door, perspiration trickled down the back of her neck. Senses honed, she paused to listen for sounds inside.
The wind whistled through the eaves. Water dripped from a faucet or tub somewhere in the house.
The smell of something acrid swirled in the air as she poked her head inside. The living room with its faded and tattered furniture was empty. She took a deep breath and inched inside the door.
A sick feeling swept over her when she spotted the woman lying in the doorway from the kitchen to the den.
She lay in a pool of blood, one arm outstretched as if she was reaching for help, her eyes wide-open and filled with the shock of death.
Roan polished off the cinnamon roll and thanked Mama Mary. It was the best thing he’d ever tasted. “Mama Mary,” Roan said. “Do you know a man named Morty Burns?”
“Can’t say as I do,” she said with a puzzled look. “Should I?”
Roan shrugged. “How about a woman named Edith Bennett? She was married to Burns.”
Mama Mary frowned. “Bennett? Why, yes, Edith used to be good friends with Grace. Although her brother is Arlis Bennett? And she did used to visit Joe from time to time. Why?”
“That text was the ME’s office. Edith’s husband was found shot to death. I wondered if he worked for Bennett.”
She fluttered a pudgy hand to her cheek. “Well...I don’t know. I can’t imagine Edith and her husband doing something illegal. You think someone killed him because he was sabotaging Horseshoe Creek?”
“At this point, I’m considering all angles.” He folded his hands. “Who else visited Joe?”
Mama Mary wiped her hands on her apron again. “Hmm, well there was another rancher named Elmore Clark. He owed Joe ’cause he got in trouble with his mortgage and Joe bought some of his land to help him out.”
“So he had no reason to hurt Joe?”
Mama Mary shook her head no. “Not that I’m aware of.”
Roan would check out the man. Maybe he hadn’t liked the terms of the sale?
“Did Joe tell you how he’d structured things in his will?”
Mama Mary brushed at the specks of flour on her apron. “Not the specifics. He just said everyone in the family would be taken care of.” She made a low sound in her throat. “I urged him to talk to the boys about Barbara and Bobby, but he had so much guilt over the affair he’d had. And frankly I think he was too weak to face the hurt he’d see on their faces.”
“So you knew about Barbara when he had the affair?”
She blinked and looked away. “I’m not going to gossip about this family. Joe made mistakes, but he was a good man.”
“I’m not judging him,” Roan said, tempted to confide in her that the man had been murdered. She obviously loved Joe and would want the truth.
Although she was protective of the family and probably wouldn’t welcome him into it any more than Maddox or Brett or Ray. “Neither am I, Mama Mary. I’m simply trying to understand the situation so we can catch whoever is sabotaging Horseshoe Creek.”
She relaxed a little. “Barbara and Bobby and Boyle Gates are the only three I can think of.”
Maybe he should have a chat with Boyle Gates. His phone buzzed and he checked the number. Megan.
“Thanks, Mama Mary. If you think of anyone else who visited or anything else that can help, call me.”
She pushed her bulk to her feet with a heaving sound, then caught his arm as he started to stand. “Deputy Whitefeather, is there something you’re not telling me?”
Roan met her gaze. Again he was tempted to confide the truth about the patriarch of the family’s death. But Maddox and Brett and Ray deserved to know first. So he shook his head, punched Connect on the phone and headed out the kitchen door.
“Deputy Whitefeather.”
“Roan,