Death Rides Again (A Jocelyn Shore Mystery) (25 page)

“That’s why I gave you the electronic rain gauge.”

He made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded like a cat about to cough up a hairball. I wasn’t sure whether it was meant to indicate his opinion of my gift or his annoyance at being corrected.

“Well I’m ready for bed. What do you want?”

“I want to know how you got that racehorse.”

The smug, secretive look that crossed his face reminded me so much of Kyla that I almost laughed. It also made me all the more determined to find out.

“That’s between me and Mr. Cress,” he answered.

“Mr. Cress is dead,” I reminded him.

“Then he won’t be talking, will he?”

“A man is murdered, and that’s all you have to say?”

He blinked, then shrugged. “That was strange all right. Knowing Carl, I mean. He was more like to kill someone else.”

“What do you mean?”

“He killed a man when he was young. An illegal found his way up to Carl’s place one summer when Carl was still just a teenager and came begging at the door. Carl’s story was that the man tried to force his way inside when he realized Carl was home alone. Carl shot him. I always thought that was fishy especially since he was shot in the back. But there’s no doubt he was in the house, and a man’s got a right to defend his home. There was an investigation, but Carl’s old man got him a lawyer.”

He sniffed with disapproval, but whether about the killing or about retaining a lawyer I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to be distracted.

“Well, fine. Carl was a weasel at best, but as far as recent history goes, the only two inexplicable things he did was sell you that horse and get himself killed. I think they’re related. I don’t care what you promised to keep quiet about, he’s dead now, and I need to know.”

“What do you mean what I promised to keep quiet about?” Uncle Herman looked equal parts amused and outraged. “You think I was blackmailing him?”

“Certainly I do. You don’t have the money for a horse like that. How else would you get him?”

Uncle Herman started laughing, a wheezing cackle that ended in a coughing fit. “Fetch me a glass of water, missy,” he ordered between hacks.

I did as I was bid, returning with a large glass of ice water and a nearly empty package of Oreos.

He drank a few sips and took a cookie. “All this damn junk food,” he complained, pulling apart the wafers. “I remember when we had nothing but homemade.”

“Well, you know where the oven is,” I pointed out. “I’m sure you’d find an appreciative audience.”

“So now I’m a cook, too? Blackmailer and baker. Anything else? Maybe I ride around the ranch at night on a broomstick.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you. Now are you going to tell me or not?”

He was silent for a long moment. Then he scraped the filling off the cookie with his teeth and followed it with the wafers. He finally said, “As pleased as I am that you think so highly of me, I did not have any what you might call ‘dirt’ on Carl Cress.”

“Then what?”

“Land.”

“What land?”

“That strip that T. J. Knoller is claiming as his. I traded it to Carl for the horse.”

“How could you do that when the ownership is being contested? And you never sell land,” I added. Even though my visits to the ranch had been intermittent, this was the one inviolable rule that was passed down. In good times and bad, the Shores clung to their land like burrs. In fact, Uncle Herman’s motto was “I only want my land, and any land that touches my land.”

He cocked a bright eye at me. “That’s not exactly true. I’ve never sold an acre off this place. In fact, I’ve almost doubled its size by buying out my neighbors, but I’ve bought and sold property in other counties for years. But there’s no doubt that we’re land rich and cash poor at the moment, and that lawsuit was going to be a problem. The horse trade was Carl’s idea. He said he had proof enough that the land was mine to sell and was willing to accept my handshake until we could make it legal.”

“He had proof? Why didn’t he just give that to you?”

“Carl Cress never does … or should I say never did … anything for anybody else on this earth that didn’t benefit himself in some way. He would’ve sat on his haunches and watched us go up in flames if he couldn’t figure out a way to turn a profit out of it.”

Herman sounded philosophical about it, but I had to bite back a few choice words about Carl Cress. He was making it very difficult to feel sorry that he was dead.

“So Big Bender’s not actually yours now that Carl’s dead. You won’t be able to finalize the agreement.”

Herman chuckled. “Darlin’, I’m not fool enough to have accepted Carl Cress’s handshake on anything more valuable than a wooden nickel, and he wasn’t fool enough to expect it. He had those papers drawn up nice and legal before he ever approached me. The horse is mine, all right. The tricky part will be dealing with his heirs. I don’t know if Carl told anyone else how to dispute Knoller’s claim.”

“The horse trade was Carl’s idea?” I asked.

Herman nodded.

“Why would he do that right before the race? A valuable horse with an excellent shot at winning?”

“I asked myself that,” he admitted. “My thinking is that he either wasn’t feeling too good about Big Bender’s chances or Knoller was putting pressure on him to throw the race. I suspect a large percentage of his income originates from the Bar Double K. And maybe I’m doing Knoller an injustice. Carl might just have thought beating his best client’s horse would be injudicious. He knew I wouldn’t feel the same.”

“Still, even beyond the prize, the horse is really valuable.”

“That’s the thing about racehorses. If he wins, he’s really valuable. If he loses, his value goes down. Maintaining a racehorse is an expensive proposition. If you’re in it for love, that’s one thing. But if you’re in it for the money, you need to be a breeder selling the foals of winners. That’s where you’ll see your profit if you’re ever going to have any. No, a single racehorse isn’t a moneymaker by any stretch of the imagination.”

“But you have one now,” I pointed out.

“Yes, and I’ve already got him up for sale. If I can just get that damn racing commission to acknowledge him as the winner, I’ll have the two-hundred-thousand-dollar prize and a much more valuable animal to put on the auction block. But I wouldn’t have traded good acreage for a winged Pegasus, much less a racehorse, if that acreage wasn’t looking to cost the family cash money. Even if Big Bender lost, his sales price combined with the money we’d save not going to court over the land made it a good deal. The fact that he had a chance to beat Knoller’s nag was just gravy. It was a damn shame about that jockey.”

I wasn’t sure whether he meant that last statement as sympathy for Travis Arledge or chagrin that the race results were being contested. I decided not to ask. Another thought occurred to me.

“What do you know about Sheriff Bob?” I asked.

“I’m tired, missy. How many questions you got?”

“For tonight, just this last one. I think Sheriff Bob’s been acting strangely. For one thing, I don’t think he’s been investigating Eddy’s murder the way he should be, and he wasn’t very concerned about Ruby June. And now he can’t seem to decide whether Carl Cress committed suicide or was killed by Uncle Kel.”

Uncle Herman chuckled. “That’s what a man does when he’s in over his head. And no, not because he’s involved himself. Bob is an outstanding member of the community. He’s involved in every community fund-raiser, he works his tail off for the Rotary Club, he’s good at organizing old ladies, and at keeping the peace. You get a couple of ranch hands fighting in R.T.’s bar on a Saturday night, and Bob’s your man. Murder, though—no, that’s not his for-tay. This county hasn’t had a real murder in decades. ’Bout ten years ago, one o’ them Cranny boys killed his wife in a drunken rage, but there was never any doubt who did it. No, poor old Bob don’t know which way to turn next. I told him he oughta call the Texas Rangers to help out.”

“Bet that made him happy.”

“It did not.” He grinned. “It’s still true, though. I figured having your young man provide some assistance would be a good thing, but that didn’t work out too well for either of them.”

“No, it didn’t.” I agreed. “It worries me that Kel is the one who’s going to pay for Bob’s lack of experience. They won’t be able to convict him because he didn’t do it, but it will ruin his reputation if the real killer isn’t found. People will always believe he might have done it.”

“Shores don’t care about gossip,” said Herman, rising to his feet. “And you should keep your nose out of business that doesn’t concern you or any of the rest of us. This, too, shall pass, and things will settle back down.”

I rose, too. “Much as I hate to contradict my elders and betters, I can’t do that. A lawsuit over two hundred acres will seem like chicken feed compared to being a defendant in a murder trial. You might want to think about that and help me figure out what is really going on around here.”

*   *   *

I was tired, but still too wound up to sleep. I wondered if Colin might be awake in his hospital room, and I thought back to the time he had spent most of a night in my hospital room waiting to speak with me. I missed him, I realized with some surprise, and I found myself wishing I could talk things over with him. He had a gift for putting things in perspective, for being able to find angles I wouldn’t think of on my own. Besides, he could always make me laugh, and I could definitely use a laugh. But he was almost certainly asleep by now, and making the long drive into town would be of no help to either of us.

I began pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. The conversation with Uncle Herman had not turned out as I expected and the more I thought about it, the more puzzling it became. What information could Carl have had that would make him think he could prove the strip of land belonged to Uncle Herman? Land deeds, plats, old contracts, sales records—any of those should have been a matter of public record, and although I hadn’t asked, I assumed that Kel and Elaine had done their research. As far as I knew, Carl himself had never owned any of the land that made up the Smoke Quartz, so there was no reason to think he would have exclusive access to proof. Yet he must have or why else make the trade? And why would he want that land anyway? In this dry part of the country, two hundred acres, although nothing to sneeze at, was not enough land to run a profitable herd of cattle. And a narrow band of land wedged between two working ranches could not be conveniently accessed and could not be easily resold except to one of those two ranches. Had Carl planned to obtain the land from Uncle Herman and then sell it at a profit to the Bar Double K? But if so, wouldn’t that have interfered with his working relationship with T.J.? Or could he possibly have been working at T.J.’s instigation? But again, why trade a valuable horse for something that T.J. felt was his already? No matter how I turned it over in my mind, I could not understand Carl’s motivation in arranging the deal.

Feeling more awake, I glanced out the window and saw a sprinkling of stars hanging over the dim outline of the pecan trees. I’d left my own coat on my bed, so I took Kyla’s from the pegs by the back door then turned the handle as quietly as I could and slipped out into the darkness. The cold air, biting and fragrant with the smell of smoke from the chimney, enveloped me, clearing my head and making me appreciate my own coat. This stylish camel-colored wool was no match for goose down against a bitter north wind. My feet in their socks made no noise on the wooden porch, and I walked to the edge where I could look up into the night sky, unexpectedly clear after a day of grim clouds. The moon was almost full and floated high in the sky, encircled by a small ghostly halo. Away from its brilliance, the stars made hard little pinpricks sprinkled across black velvet. I drew in a deep breath, marveling at the beauty of the sky, so much more intense here in the country than above the glow of the city lights.

A movement to my right made me jump a distance that would have made a kangaroo proud. I found myself on the gravel drive, stones biting into my stockinged feet, staring at a figure rising from one of the iron chairs. The light wasn’t good enough to see who it was, but with a feeling of relief I recognized the small voice.

“Hi Jocelyn,” came the quiet words from my cousin, Ruby June.

I expelled a breath and tried to calm the pounding of my heart. “I didn’t see you there. You scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding particularly regretful.

“What are you doing out here?” I asked, stepping back onto the porch to save my feet.

She didn’t answer, but I heard the rustle of her coat, which probably meant she had shrugged.

I realized I had not spoken to her since her disappearance, so I said, “I’m glad you’re back, Ruby Juby. We were all pretty worried. And I’m really sorry about Eddy.”

She began to cry, not with the silent control of a woman but with the big unrestrained sobs of a kid who has been hurt on a playground. I could almost hear her hot tears splattering on the wood of the porch like raindrops, her sobs amplified by the low roof and wooden floor. Wrapping one arm around her heaving shoulders, I pulled her out into the yard away from the house full of our sleeping relatives, ignoring the rocks and twigs that poked my poor feet. I hoped she had shoes on, but decided that a few sharp rocks would be less painful than having to deal with her mother.

“Poor Eddy. Everyone always hated him. Mom, Daddy, everyone. They never gave him a chance. And now he’s dead. And the last thing I said to him…” She choked on her own tears, unable to continue.

I dug into my pocket—or rather Kyla’s pocket—and found a scarf. I couldn’t see the colors but I thought it was probably the pretty rose, blue, and gold wisp of silk that set off her dark hair so well and brought out the color of her eyes. Telling myself I’d have it cleaned, I handed it to Ruby June and heard her blow her nose with an inner feeling of satisfaction marred only slightly by an easily squashed twinge of guilt.

“Don’t worry about things like that,” I told her. “I’m sure Eddy knew that you loved him.”