Page 11 of A Mile of Ocean (Pelican Pointe #19)

T he Community Church on Main Street had undergone an upgrade in recent months. With a flurry of bake sales and countless fundraising events, Seth and Ophelia raised enough money to have the pews refurbished, add a choir box, and repair the cracks in the stained-glass windows after six decades of earthquakes. The outside had received two new coats of eggshell white paint, making it sparkle in the sunshine. The decrepit organ had been replaced with a vintage Acrosonic spinet piano in shiny satiny mahogany made by Baldwin in 1954 and donated by Reverend Whitcomb’s estate, the church’s former pastor. It sat on a raised platform next to the choir box like a stunning mid-century work of art, showing off its majestic grandeur.

Kinsey Wyatt, dressed in a black crepe dress, sat at the upright piano, strumming the keys to Hallelujah while the auditorium filled with townsfolk paying tribute to one of their own.

Trent was one of the last to arrive before the doors closed. Dressed in his Sunday best suit, he spotted Savannah sitting in the back row with her students. Instinctively moved by the gesture, he whispered in her ear. “Why don’t you move the kids up closer? I promise we won’t bite.”

Using her schoolteacher persona, she sent him her best smile and said, “We’re fine right here.” But she saw the exhaustion in his face and eyes. “You look positively wiped out. These night shifts are taking a toll.”

“It isn’t just me. They’re taking a toll on every man out there. I’m as worried as I’ve ever been. We discovered the man has been hiding on the ranch.”

Savannah’s eyes widened. “That means something bad could happen while you’re here.”

“Yeah. Look, Seth’s about to start. I need to get down front.”

“Go. We’ll talk later.”

He hurried down the aisle to join Tate, Dolly, and his grandmother on the first-row bench.

“It doesn’t feel right leaving the ranch,” Tate murmured. “Maybe we should have postponed the funeral until we catch this bastard.”

“Good luck with talking Duchess into that.”

Trent heard only half of what Seth had to say before it was time to deliver the eulogy Duchess had promised everyone.

He stood behind the podium and looked out at the crowd and into the faces of friends and neighbors. “As most of you know, Barrett Callum picked Pelican Pointe to settle here after serving in the military. He was a man dedicated to his family and community who happened to love working with and breeding Quarter Horses. He bought a hundred acres up on the hillside in 1971 at the age of thirty-three. He just kept adding a hundred more acres here and there until his dream of owning a working ranch became a reality. Rio Verde means river green for those who have never thought about it. And it was always a joke between my grandparents that if the river ever turned green, we’d be in trouble since algae is green and not good for horses or cattle to drink. The name came from his time spent in Green River, Wyoming, where he found his love for horses and the woman he married. My grandfather started small. He didn’t even add cattle until two years later when he could expand the ranch enough that they had room to graze. His love for this town and its people was evident in his actions. His generous donations to renovate the old elementary school and Bradford House so that our kids wouldn’t have to ride the bus to San Sebastian speak volumes about how he wanted to help. Due to his tireless work opening a local library and hiring a local librarian, he believed in Pelican Pointe because the town had been good to him. He believed in its strength and ability to give people second chances, sometimes a third chance, if necessary. Barrett Callum was an unusual man who disliked talking about himself. If you ever cornered him at the drugstore, hardware store, or the market, he’d likely be extolling the virtues of a horse or a cow or maybe talking about a baseball game, just not himself. We honor that man today who spent almost six decades here for most of his eighty-seven years. Saying goodbye to a loved one is a stark reminder that life is fragile and so are the bonds that tie this community together. Barrett Callum was a husband, a father, and a grandfather. He was a friend, a good man to work for, an employer who always expected you to do your best and rewarded you when you did. I could bore you with two dozen more stories about him, but then we’d be here another hour in this hot, stuffy church. So, I’ll end this here by promising you one thing: Tate and I will always honor Barrett Callum’s legacy the way he did by giving back to the town that meant so much to him.”

Trent stepped down from the podium to applause, his heart heavy yet uplifted. As he returned to the pew, he was surprised when Duchess reached out, her hand trembling to grab his, a silent support that spoke volumes.

After the service, the family gathered outside the church, exchanging quiet words and accepting comforting embraces. The atmosphere was thick with grief as each person had a story to share about the man. Savannah approached Trent, her eyes reflecting the same sorrow he felt.

“That was beautiful,” she whispered. “Are you okay?”

“I will be,” Trent replied, squeezing her hand gently. “Thanks for coming. I didn’t expect it.”

“You have a lot to get through, but we’ll do it together. I can help. I can ride the range; just say the word.”

“Maybe after school lets out on Friday, we’ll talk about you joining me on patrol. I would rather we catch this guy before then.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Savannah said as she ushered the kids to form a line. “I need to get them back to school. Will I see you tonight?”

“Probably not. But I’ll see you tomorrow at school, teacher.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Savannah noted. “The ranch could probably use you there twenty-four-seven. I understand if you need to cancel.”

“We’ll talk later,” Trent promised.

As the congregation dispersed, Trent spent the next half hour shaking hands with a line of people offering their condolences.

When the crowd thinned out, he walked to his truck. He was about to take off his suit jacket and crawl behind the wheel when Colt came up. “Those two names you gave us, Jessop and Hays, didn’t have anything to do with Barrett’s death,” Colt outlined. “One works on a ranch in New Mexico. The other guy works at a meat packing plant in Arkansas. They’re not linked by their social media accounts or anything we found online. And so far, their alibis are checking out. Neither man was anywhere near California Friday night.”

“That’s disappointing. I had hoped that the lead might pan out. This morning, Hawk and Drum found tracks in a section where tracks shouldn’t have been. We think the man responsible for all this has been hiding, possibly camping out before Friday.”

“Okay, I’ll send Tricia out there to take photos of the tracks. Listen, do you need more men? Maybe the graveside service is a good place to ask for volunteers.”

“I could do that. But I’d feel responsible if anything happened to anyone. This guy is out to get Callums, not innocent bystanders. Having said that, I know there could be collateral damage. Losing Slade was bad enough; I don’t want to add to that list.”

“Think about it. There’s something else. We’re looking into the accident your parents had. What your grandmother told you is not entirely accurate unless you misunderstood.”

“I didn’t misunderstand. Which part did she get wrong?”

“She said they were returning to the ranch from town when it happened, right?”

“Yeah.”

Colt shook his head. “The accident occurred off that bridge south of town. Unless they were coming from San Sebastian or somewhere south of here, that’s not coming back from town. Your dad was driving north toward the ranch when the tire took a hit, probably from a .30-30 rifle. Linley Callum was driving. She lost control and went over the right side of the bridge. Back then, there was no guardrail, nothing to stop a vehicle from crash-landing below. The pickup landed upside down in the lagoon. The water level was about knee-deep. So what your grandmother told you doesn’t fit.”

“You got those details from the accident report?”

“Yep, word for word. However, Theo is still on it, checking the case file for any other discrepancies.”

“Like what?”

“Like in witness statements. That part of the road is heavily traveled. Several witnesses had to see something, even in the pouring rain. By the way, Brent wants to do a re-enactment of Barrett’s shooting.”

“When?”

“The sooner, the better.”

“What about this afternoon after the service at the cemetery?”

Colt nodded. “I’ll text Brent to set it up. He’s headed to the ranch now. I’ll follow you home.”

For all the worry he’d done that morning, Trent found the men had held down the fort without a major incident. Drum had already led Trish Vosberg to the scene of the tracks, and she’d spent an hour taking photos.

“They look like cowboy boot prints, not work boots but the kind that cost four hundred bucks,” Trish noted. “The kind that men wear out to kick up their heels on a Saturday night to show off their line dancing skills, not boots that get muddy working on a ranch.”

“Someone who wears flashy cowboy boots, not the kind you wear to muck out the horse stalls,” Theo added. “I don’t trust people who wear those. An interesting snapshot of the guy’s mindset—a pretend Saturday night cowboy.”

“So, we check every guy’s boots that comes and goes,” Brent established. “I’ll text Trent. Make sure you guys look around for collateral evidence. Maybe he’s camped out somewhere in the vicinity. If he’s been here since last week, we should be able to find something. If he’s camping out for weeks, he has to buy supplies somewhere.”

“Or live off the land,” Theo stated.

“A pretend cowboy who can shoot game?” Brent theorized, shaking his head. “I’m not buying it. Check Ferguson’s Hardware. See if anyone’s bought gear recently.”

Back at his house, Trent got out of his Ford truck and noticed the men had traded their work clothes for their best jackets, shirts, and pants. They wore spit-polished dress shoes, their hair slicked back with fragrant mousse.

“I don’t recognize Blake,” he said to Tate.

“He always did clean up nice. It’s been a while since I’ve seen these guys so spiffy, though,” Tate replied as she carried two dozen lilies she planned to leave at her parents’ graves. “I got a bunch of flowers for you, too.”

“Thanks. I completely forgot to pick up any. I should go there every week like you do. By the way, Brent’s re-enacting the shooting after the service. You and I will play the Duchess and Granddad.”

Tate frowned. “Okay. That’s not at all weird. I saw Savannah at the church with her students. She didn’t have to do that. And yet, she did. I said she was smitten.”

Before Trent could respond to that, Brent’s text popped up. “Get this. The cops think we’re looking for a guy wearing fancy cowboy boots.”

“You mean like John Travolta in Urban Cowboy?”

“Someone who isn’t a ranch hand and doesn’t work for a living.”

“He certainly knows how to shoot and blow things up,” Tate stated. “How weird is it that the Duchess acts as if nothing happened between us? She even smiled at me during the church service.”

“She squeezed my hand after the eulogy,” Trent divulged. “That’s her way of saying she approved. The Duchess Callum was never one for apologies. She’d let you ride an extra hour or stay out later than usual rather than say she was sorry.”

“Isn’t that the truth? She approves of us, but not enough to share what happened to our parents.”

“Oh, Colt read their case file. He told me they didn’t die coming back from town. The accident took place at the bridge south of town. Mom was at the wheel, driving north toward the ranch. The gunman hit the tire and caused her to flip the truck before landing upside down in the lagoon.”

“My God, why is it so hard to get the truth from anyone we trusted?”

“Maybe she was told they were coming back from town. Maybe she doesn’t know.”

“Oh, come on, that’s bull. You don’t believe that, do you?” Tate wondered aloud. “Jeez, here she comes with Dolly. It’s time to escort them down to the cemetery. Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Trent mumbled.

While the two siblings escorted the older women to the gravesite, they each carried a bouquet for their parents. Once they reached the double heart-shaped headstone in red granite, Trent laid his lilies halfway in the middle of the two names, Travis and Linley Callum. Tate followed, repeating the gesture, placing her flowers next to his. The only difference was that she put her fingers to her lips and then used them to plant a kiss on the red stone before moving on.

The final resting place of their patriarch would be at the front and center of the cemetery, where there would be another double headstone with room for the Duchess Callum later. Theirs was in black granite, stood taller by a foot, and already had an inscription with the name Callum spelled out in gray lettering at the top. She had ordered and paid for the massive headstone years earlier. Today, it served as a focal point until the bench she wanted could arrive next week.

Trent stood shoulder-to-shoulder next to Tate as the ranch hands formed a half circle. United in their grief, Seth read the final words as Woody and Cecil lowered the casket into the already dug hole in the ground.

The sound of the casket settling was followed by a profound silence, broken only by the occasional sniffle from the mourners. Each person felt the weight of the moment, the finality of farewell hanging in the air.

After the casket touched the bottom, Woody and Cecil stepped back, giving space to those who wished to pay their last respects. Trent took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill his lungs before he spoke, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “Granddad, you were the rock of this family. We’ll carry your legacy with us always.”

Standing beside him, Tate softly added, “Your love was our guiding light.” She dropped a single lily from her bouquet onto the casket.

As the service ended, her grandmother, her face etched with grief, dropped a single red rose onto the casket as she whispered a prayer, her voice barely audible. Dolly’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she let her hand rest gently on the headstone.

The mourners began to disperse, each lost in their thoughts, but the family lingered a moment longer, drawing strength from one another. Trent and Tate exchanged a glance, a silent promise to uphold their grandfather’s commitment to the ranch and its people.

With heavy hearts but a shared sense of duty, they turned away from the grave, ready to face the challenges ahead, united by the love and memories of their departed grandfather.