A Basket of Trouble (31 page)

derer, Charley. Be careful.”

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Charley shot her a startled look. Then he studied the older man

striding toward them. “He doesn’t seem to be carrying a weapon,

as far as I can tell, and I can take him in a fight, if it comes to that.”

“Still, keep an eye on him.” Claire turned to Jessica. “I bet De-

tective Wilson is looking for Tom Lindall right now. Maybe you

should call him and tell him the man’s here. We might need rein-

forcements, too.”

“For one sixty-some year old man?” Charley’s look was incred-

ulous.

“For one possible killer,” Claire answered. She nodded at Jes-

sica, who bit her lip and went inside to make the call.

By then, Tom had reached the porch and stomped up the steps.

“I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” He stabbed a finger in Charley’s chest.

Charley stepped back. “What’s the problem, Tom?”

“You made me cancel a whole day’s worth of trail rides and

waste my staff ’s time cleaning my stable top to bottom.”

“And how did I make you do that?”

“By spreading the rumor that Parks and Rec. thought one of

your horses caught strangles from one of mine. Then I find out

today that your horse isn’t even sick.”

“We brought Outlaw back to the stable this morning,” Charley

said to Claire. He put his hands on his hips and stared at Lindall.

“And where did these rumors come from, Tom?”

Red-faced, Tom waved his hands. “People talk.”

“No, you planted a spy here.” Charley poked a finger in Tom’s

chest this time. “Hank Isley has been feeding you information

about my operation the whole time he’s been working here, and it

finally backfired on you.”

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Tom stiffened, his hands clenched at his side. “You’ve got no

proof of that!”

“Oh, yes I do. He’s the only one I told that story to, and yes, I did it deliberately to prove once and for all that he’s your spy. And here you come striding in this morning and confirm it.”

“I don’t even know the man!”

“Bullshit. I know Hank used to work for you. And Claire here

saw you talking to him at Jessica’s fundraiser event.” He pointed toward the corral. “In fact, it’s about time I confront the spy himself about this. You can come along or not—your choice. Since

no trail ride went out this morning, Hank’s over there replacing a couple of broken boards.”

Charley pushed past Tom, clattered down the steps and strode

toward the corral without bothering to check if anyone was fol-

lowing. Tom stood scowling for a moment, then took off, his

shorter legs pumping hard as he tried to catch up with Charley.

Claire followed Tom, a shiver crawling up her spine. Had Char-

ley just turned his back on a killer?

When the three of them reached the far side of the corral where

Hank was hammering in a fresh board, he stopped and glanced at

each of them in surprise.

Claire stepped back to where she could keep an eye on Tom

and stay out of his reach in case she needed to run for help.

“What’s up, boss?” Hank said to Charley, though his gaze slid

to Tom and back.

Charley snorted. “That’s a laugh, Hank. We all know who your

real boss is. Tom here has been paying you to spy on me, and I just caught you red-handed at it.”

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Hank’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking

about.”

Tom exhaled and put his hands on his hips. “Might as well give

it up, Hank. Charley here’s sussed us out. You’re the only one he talked to about that case of strangles, and I just blew up at him about it.”

Hank hefted the hammer and glowered at Tom. “Thanks a

whole hell of a lot for blowing my cover. You promised you’d keep whatever I information I gave you to yourself.”

“That was before Charley pulled that dirty trick on me. Cost

me a bundle.”

Charley grinned. “C’mon, Tom, you lost only one day’s worth

of rides, and I bet you’ve already rescheduled most of them. And

you’ve got a shiny clean stable to boot.”

“Fuck off,” Tom and Hank said to him in unison.

“And you’re fired,” Tom said to Hank. “You should’ve checked

the facts before telling me anything.”

Hank stepped menacingly toward Tom. “You bastard! How

the hell was I supposed to check on it when the horse wasn’t even here? This is all your fault for coming over here. If you hadn’t, my cover wouldn’t have been blown.”

“No matter whose fault it is, you’re no good to me anymore.”

Hank aimed a wad of spit at Tom’s boots. “Good riddance.

Charley’s a better boss anyway.”

As Hank slapped the hammer head against his other palm,

Claire flashed back on the fact that Gil had hit Kyle in the head with one. She peered at Hank, whose pretty-boy face was now

twisted in rage. Could he be driven to use the lethal tool in anger, too?

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“I’m firing you, too, Hank,” Charley said.

Hank reeled to glare at him. “Fuck why? I’ve been working my

tail off for you!”

“Because I can’t trust you. You’ve already lied to me, shown

me that I can’t rely on your loyalty.” Charley shook his head. “No, you screwed yourself, Hank, by dipping your hand into two tills at once.”

Hank swung his hammer against the board he had just nailed

in, cracking it. His expression got even darker and meaner, and

Claire could swear steam was blowing out of his ears.

Then something clicked in her brain. Since Hank used to work

openly for Tom, he probably owned one of those yellow and red

checked shirts. And Kyle Mendoza’s death helped him in two ways.

First, by moving Hank into the lead guide spot, where he made

more money in tips. And second, by ingratiating him with Tom

Lindall, by discrediting Charley’s stable. That is, if Tom had asked him to do it, or if he told Tom about it later. The question was, how involved was Tom?

Yes, all of the signs pointed to Hank, who looked ready to kill

someone now. Claire had to warn her brother. “Charley?”

“Not now, Claire.” Charley glowered at Hank and waved a

hand toward the stable. “Get your things and report to me at the

trailer. I’ll get your back pay ready.”

He turned and walked toward the trailer.

Hank’s face turned absolutely livid, and a low-throated growl

rose in his throat.

Eyes wide, Tom stepped back.

“Charley, watch out!” Claire screamed, just as Hank threw the

hammer.

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Turning at her scream, Charley ducked. The hammer missed

his head and hit his shoulder. He spun, roared with pain and

grabbed his shoulder.

Before he could recover, Hank leapt on him, throwing him to

the ground. He pummeled Charley with his fists.

Tom ran over and grabbed one of Hank’s arms, spinning him

around. “Stop that!”

Hank swung at Tom, connecting with his jaw and sending him

reeling. He turned back to Charley.

But Charley had used the diversion to scramble to his feet,

wincing as he put pressure on his sore shoulder. He was ready for Hank and threw a punch into his gut.

Letting out an “oof,” Hank doubled over.

Charley swept a boot against the back of Hank’s legs, crum-

pling them so he slammed down onto his knees. Then he and Tom

worked in tandem to pin Hank’s arms behind him.

Hank struggled and cursed, but hobbled and on his knees, he

couldn’t escape.

Tom kicked him in the rear. “That’s for sucker-punching me!”

“I’ll get some rope,” Claire yelled and ran for the barn.

“I don’t think we’ll need it,” Charley said. “We’ll just hold him, maybe get a few licks in, ‘til he cools down.”

Oh yes, they’ll need it,
Claire thought as she chugged for the barn. Charley didn’t realize he and Tom were holding onto a

killer. She yelled over her shoulder, “Don’t let go of him, no matter what!”

Then she had another gut-sinking thought. If Hank did the

killing at Tom’s behest, would Tom turn on Charley, too? But why

would Tom have grabbed Hank in the first place, if Hank had

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killed for him? She needed to tell Charley he couldn’t trust either of them. But she didn’t have time to explain it yet. And why weren’t the cops here yet? Jessica was supposed to have called them.

Claire ran into the barn, where Brittany stood in the alley be-

tween the stalls with Gunpowder. She was tightening the girth on

Gunpowder’s saddle.

“I need rope,” Claire said between huffs.

“In the tack room,” Brittany replied. “What’s going on? I heard

yelling outside.” She swung onto Gunpowder’s back and took the

reins.

Claire ran to the tack room, grabbed a lariat, and ran out. “Fol-

low me,” she said. “We may need your help.”

She ran out of the barn. Brittany kicked Gunpowder into a trot

to follow her.

When Claire arrived back at the corral, Charley and Tom were

holding Hank down on the ground, face down with his arms still

pinned behind his back. Charley glanced at her. “I told you we

didn’t need that.”

Claire started unwinding the lariat while she caught her breath.

“Yes, you do. I think Hank’s the one who killed Kyle.”

“What?” Charley raised a brow at Claire.

“The hell, I did!” Hank yelled.

Tom gaped at her. That look of surprise seemed genuine, but

maybe he was just surprised she had found out.

She opened her mouth to explain what she meant to Charley

and to warn him about Tom, but Brittany had arrived on Gun-

powder. The horse let out a piercing scream. He reared up, his eyes rolling back in his head.

Brittany held on for dear life.

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Charley let go of Hank and ran to Gunpowder’s head. Saying

“Whoa, whoa, boy,” he pulled down on Gunpowder’s harness until

the horse was back on four hoofs.

Brittany slid off Gunpowder’s back and backed away, confu-

sion showing on her face. “Why’d he do that?”

Claire realized Gunpowder was scared of Hank, the man who

had gored him with the hay rake. She yelled, “Get Gunpowder

away from Hank!”

In the meantime, Hank had twisted out of Tom’s grasp and

leapt to his feet. He threw a roundhouse punch that landed in

Tom’s gut and toppled the older man to his knees. Instead of run-

ning away from Gunpowder, though, as Claire expected, Hank ran

for Brittany. He threw an arm around her chest, yanked a buck

knife out of his pocket, and held it to her neck.

Brittany’s eyes went wide, but she didn’t struggle.

Smart girl,
Claire thought.
Don’t make him hurt you.

“What the hell are you doing?” Charley yelled at Hank.

“Get that fucking horse away from me,” Hank yelled back. He

stepped back, yanking Brittany with him. The action caused the

knife to nick her neck, drawing blood.

Claire didn’t think it was possible, but Brittany’s eyes got even wider.

“Careful!” Claire yelled at Hank. She grabbed Gunpowder’s

reins. Between her pulling on the reins and Charley tugging on the harness, they turned the horse so he was facing away from Hank.

They led Gunpowder a few yards away.

Gunpowder snorted and pawed the ground. He kept trying to

turn his head to look at Hank, as if making sure his former tor-

mentor was still far away from him.

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Charley faced Hank again. “What’s going on here?”

Hank ignored him and yelled at Tom, “Get over there with

them.”

Tom pushed himself to his feet while holding onto his stom-

ach. His face was greenish pale, and he was sweating, but his

mouth was set in a determined hard line. He gingerly stepped to-

ward Charley and Claire.

Hank started walking backward toward the parking lot, drag-

ging Brittany with him while the rest of them watched warily.

“Hank’s already killed once,” Claire whispered to Charley, once

Hank was out of earshot. “He could very well kill Brittany.”

“What makes you say that?” Charley’s quiet voice was tinged

with confusion and anger.

“I’ll explain later,” Claire said. “Right now, we’ve got to figure out how to get Brittany away from him.”

Brittany stumbled and almost fell, but Hank yanked her to his

chest. He quickly had the knife back against her throat.

They were far enough away by then that Claire couldn’t see

Brittany’s expression clearly. She wondered if the young woman

had really tripped or was testing Hank.
Careful, girl.

Charley’s brow furrowed. “Jessica must have called the police

by now.”

“How do you know she saw all this?” Tom asked through grit-

ted teeth, his hand still clutching his stomach.

“We don’t.” Claire rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I

thought you were the killer, and I told her to call them when you drove up. Sorry.”

“Hey, I don’t care,” Tom said. “As long as they get here in time

to keep Hank from hurting Brittany.”

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“They won’t. He’s almost to his car,” Charley said. “It’s up to us.

What can we do?”

“Got any weapons?” Tom asked.

Charley shook his head, but then Claire remembered the new

wrangler, Kat, and her concealed carry permit. “Where’s Kat?”

Charley nodded in understanding. He pointed toward the back

pasture. “Out bringing in some mares.”

“Start talking to Hank,” Claire inched around Gunpowder, so

the horse blocked her view of Hank and Brittany out in the park-

ing lot, and theirs of her. “Slow him down, try to convince him to let go of Brittany, and I’ll get Kat.”