Page 7

In the chaotic aftermath of the Civil War, the town of Crescent Bluff had begun as a minor trading post on a western tributary of the Chisholm Trail, a place for cowboys, driving their vast herds northwards through Texas and the Indian Territories, to stop for supplies and refreshment. A century and a half later, the great cattle drives were gone, and the Chisholm Trail had long ago faded into the grass. But Crescent Bluff remained, and so did the feeder route, though it had dwindled to little more than a farm-to-market road that locals called the Old Ranch Way.

Driving north along it for the second time that day, Colly gazed absently out at the blur of dollar stores, gas stations, and grubby strip malls, and wondered what it would have been like to witness the jostling sea of hide and horn, dust billowing in its wake, as cowhands, heels down in their stirrups, whooped and whistled along the margins of the herd. A romantic image, she mused, but a waste of time to ponder. Life had surely been as brutal and ugly then as now.

She turned away from the window. “Well? Are you going to tell me, or make me guess?”

Startled, Avery jerked the wheel, nearly sideswiping a mailbox. “Tell you what?”

“Your problem with Niall Shaw.”

“What makes you think I have a problem?”

“The look you gave him would’ve curdled milk. Is it about your brother? He mentioned they were friends.”

“Shaw doesn’t have friends. Just admirers.”

Colly waited for more, but Avery was clearly through with the conversation. If you think this passive-aggressive adolescent crap will fly in a big-city department, you’re in for a rude surprise , Colly thought. But she decided not to press the issue, for now.

On the north edge of town, where seedy businesses thinned into open country, they passed a cluttered salvage yard and pulled into a parking lot beneath a sign for “Digby’s Automotive.” The shop was the last building for miles, a squat structure with faded blue awnings and two open repair bays. A volley of ferocious barking broke out at the salvage yard next door as Colly and Avery climbed out of the car. They pushed through the door into a disorderly front office, where a young woman was painting her nails and watching a home-remodeling show on a television mounted to the wall.

“We’re looking for Tom Gunnell,” Colly said.

The woman stared at them without curiosity for a moment, then indicated a side door. “Bay two.”

The garage smelled of motor oil and exhaust—vaguely nostalgic to Colly, who had fond childhood memories of playing with cousins in her uncle’s repair shop.

“Anybody here?” she called.

An oil-streaked face appeared in the pit beneath a pickup truck.

“Hey, Tom,” Avery said.

The man’s eyes narrowed. He climbed out of the pit. “Hey, Avery. What’s this about?”

Colly sized him up. He was twenty-something, stringy and hollow-chested, with a mop of unkempt ginger hair and a long, hooked nose.

Colly nodded to Avery, who introduced her and explained the reason for their visit.

Gunnell pulled a grimy rag from the pocket of his coveralls and began to wipe his fingers one by one. “I don’t know nothin’ more than what I told the Rangers.”

“Let’s hear it again,” Colly said. “You saw Denny ride by that day on his bike?”

The man hesitated, then shrugged. “He passed here just after lunch. About one-fifteen, one-twenty.”

“Show us.”

Gunnell stuffed the rag back into his pocket. “Show you what?”

“Humor me.” Colly turned and walked through the open bay door towards the road. The others followed. “You were standing where?”

Gunnell glanced around, then down at his feet. “Around here, I guess. I was fixin’ to pull this little Honda into the garage when I saw Denny comin’ up the Ranch Way. He was still a good ways off.”

“Then how’d you know it was him?” Avery asked.

“Recognized the bike.” Gunnell pulled a tin of chewing tobacco from his hip pocket. “He used to ride it to Little League practice.”

“Notice anything unusual?”

The mechanic tucked a wad of tobacco under his lip. “He was ridin’ fast. But I didn’t think nothin’ of it.”

“He didn’t wave or stop to say hello?” Colly asked.

“I hollered, but he kept his head down and sped by.”

“That didn’t seem strange? You were friends, right? His mom says he’d stay with you when things got bad at home.”

“Denny could be moody, especially after him and Jace got into it.”

“Jace Hoyer’s Denny’s stepfather,” Avery explained.

Gunnell spat a stream of brown juice onto the dirt. “Some father figure.”

“You had the impression Denny was upset?” Colly asked.

“Not so much at the time. But after I heard what happened, I did wonder.”

Colly gazed up the road. It stretched out, long and straight, to the horizon, distorted and undulating in the heat waves rising off the blacktop. Anything on it would be visible for quite a distance on a clear day. “How long did you stand here watching him?”

“I didn’t. Why would I? After he passed, I pulled the Honda inside—owner’d hit a deer, banged up the radiator pretty good.” Gunnell paused, and his expression changed. “Come to think of it, I did look for him again.”

“When?”

“After I got the car in, I noticed I dropped my rag, so I stepped out to get it. I glanced up the road, but Denny was already out of sight.”

Colly frowned. Other than a few scraggly mesquite trees and a fireworks stand a quarter-mile off, there was nothing to block the view. “Did it seem like he’d had enough time to ride that far?”

Gunnell scratched his jaw. “I did wonder if a car picked him up, or if he turned down the dirt road.”

“What road?”

“Just a couple ruts in the grass, really. Out past that fireworks stand. Farmers use it to cut across the fields to Salton Road, yonder.” He pointed east.

“Why’d you think a car might’ve picked him up? Did one go by?” Avery demanded.

Gunnell shrugged. “Coulda. Lotta folks use this road. You get so you don’t notice.”

Colly and Avery exchanged glances. Colly said, “You never mentioned this to the Rangers.”

“Reckon it slipped my mind. I got a lot goin’ on—gettin’ married next month.”

Back in the squad car, Avery exhaled sharply. “Damn.”

“How well do you know him?”

“I’ve seen him around with Jimmy Meggs—the skinny cop at the stock pond. They’re cousins.”

“What’s his rep?”

“Tom? Not too bright. Likes to hunt. Never been in any trouble that I know of.” She paused. “What are you thinking?”

That, without cameras to back up Gunnell’s account, there’s no solid evidence Denny made it past this point alive . “His memory’s suspiciously selective.”

“What now?”

“I want to check out that dirt road he mentioned.”

A few yards north of the fireworks stand, Avery braked beside a shimmering expanse of winter wheat bisected by two parallel tracks running perpendicular to the road.

“It really is just ruts in a field,” Colly said. “Let’s see where it goes.”

“Nothing over there but a few family farms. I’m not sure the shocks can handle it.”

“Let’s find out. If it damages the car, I’ll tell Russ you tried to stop me.”

Avery nodded and eased the car off the blacktop.

They lurched slowly along the pitted track, the grass between the ruts hissing beneath the car’s chassis. Colly’s teeth chattered with the vibrations, and she braced herself against the dashboard. Eventually, they emerged onto a strip of cracked gray asphalt.

“Salton Road,” Avery said.

“Where does it go?”

“Dead-ends into another field that way.” Avery pointed north. “South, it loops past some farms and eventually back to town.”

“After what Tom said, we’ll need to canvass the farmers.”

“The Rangers did. Nobody saw anything.”

“We’ll do it again.” Colly glanced at the dashboard clock. “Later, though. Let’s check the fireworks stand.”

The stand was little more than a plywood shack, its once-bright yellow paint faded and peeling, the words “Freddy’s Fireworks” barely visible on its sides. Back on the Old Ranch Way, they climbed out of the car and Colly shaded her eyes to examine the structure.

“Doesn’t look like much. No security cameras.” She turned to Avery. “Who’s Freddy?”

“There’s not one. The Sandleford brothers run it—Sam and Alan. They must’ve thought the name sounded good.”

“Were they interviewed? Maybe whoever was working that day saw something.”

Avery shook her head. “It’s closed except around Fourth of July.”

Colly tested the hatch. Locked. “Do they keep inventory in here year-round?”

“I doubt it. Why?”

“Denny had a record for theft. He might’ve left the road to try and break in.” Colly walked along the front of the stand, examining it. “A little termite damage. No pry marks.”

“Maybe we should do a walk-around.” Avery picked up a long stick from the grass. “I’ll go first. Rattlers get active this time of year.”

A cold weight settled in Colly’s stomach. Snakes. Hell.

Pushing through shoulder-high curtains of dry Johnson grass, the women made their way around the stand. Disturbed from beneath the eaves, a few early wasps hummed around their heads, more curious than angry.

On the shack’s rear wall, Colly spotted a faint black streak. “What’s this?”

Avery, several feet ahead, turned and came back. “Scuff mark.”

“From something rubber?” Colly ran her thumb over the streak.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Colly stooped to look more closely. “What kind of bike was Denny’s?”

“Old, beat-up BMX. Why?”

“Is it at the station?”

“Rangers still have it. But I took pictures.” Avery regarded her curiously. “What are you thinking?”

“A BMX doesn’t have a kickstand, right?”

Avery shook her head. “You thinking the handlebar grips?”

“If someone leaned a bike here, and it slid down the wall ... ” Colly mimed the action with her hands.

“I can check the photos for damage to the grips.”

“Good, good,” Colly murmured absently, staring at the ground.

“See something?”

“If Denny parked here, there might be other evidence.” Colly knelt and combed through the dense grass, thoughts of snakes forgotten. Avery dropped down beside her, and they searched for several minutes.

Colly sat back on her heels. “It was a long shot.” She checked her watch. Already on the verge of being late. She couldn’t leave Satchel standing at the curb, waiting and worrying, on his first day. “I need to head back.”

They made their way along the rear of the stand, Avery in the lead. After a few steps, she stopped so suddenly that Colly nearly ran into her. Avery pointed to something dull and red in the grass.

“Don’t touch. Let me look.” Colly stooped and parted the vegetation carefully. A bit of scarlet cloth, sun-faded and rotting, lay half-buried in the dirt.

“Get the camera,” she said. “And call Russ. We’ll need an evidence team.”

“What is it?”

“A baseball cap.”

As Avery rushed back to the cruiser, Colly stood and checked her watch again, then pulled out her phone.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” she whispered as it rang. Finally, to her relief, a familiar voice said, “Colly? Everything okay?”

“Hi, Brenda, I’m running late. When you pick up Logan and Minnie, can you get Satchel, too?”

“I got hung up, myself. A neighbor’s picking up my kids. She’d be happy to give Satchel a ride, if she’s got room. Want me to ask?”

Colly hesitated. Satchel was such a nervous child. Having a stranger pick him up on his first day would scare him. Besides, she’d promised to be there.

She sighed. “No, I’ll figure out something.”

By the time the call ended, Avery had returned and was circling the baseball cap, snapping pictures. “Russ says to wait. He’ll be here in thirty.”

Colly ran her fingers through her hair and tried to think. The panicky feeling was familiar. The men on the force had criticized her, calling her unreliable when Victoria was little and there’d been childcare emergencies— Mrs. Newland, your daughter’s running a fever. You need to come get her . Always something with kids. It was easier for men. She’d overhear them on the phone with their wives— Sorry, honey, I can’t help. I’m on a case . Randy had been a good father and reasonably evolved regarding gender roles, by Texas standards. But even he had viewed their daughter’s care as primarily Colly’s responsibility. Like her male colleagues, he’d “help out” when he could. But if he couldn’t, it had been up to Colly to find a way.

She checked her watch again and turned to Avery. “Look, I’ve got to pick up my grandson. Let me borrow the car. You wait for Russ.”

“That’s against regulations.”

“Fine, you’ll have to drive me. We’ll be back by the time Russ gets here, if we hurry.”

“He said—”

“That hat looks like it’s been here for months—it’ll be okay for half an hour more.”