Texas True (11 page)

“I beg your pardon!” The reporter's eyebrows shot up. Her eyes were the brilliant artificial blue of colored contact lenses. “This is a free country, and we have every right to—”

“I have every right to sue you for harassing my employee in my place of business. Lute, get back to work. You don't have to talk to these human scavengers.”

As Lute scurried off, Beau was dimly aware that the cameraman had moved and was filming him from the side. He'd probably end up on the evening news, but right now he was too mad to care. As for his legal threat, he had no idea whether it had any teeth, but for now, at least, it seemed to have worked. The cameraman had gathered up his gear and was headed for the van. The reporter followed, mincing down the steps in her high-heeled sandals and tight yellow skirt. But the most satisfying sight was the rear of the van vanishing down the long graveled drive.

They'd be back, and more like them, Beau reminded himself. He was going to have his hands full. But for now he wanted to visit the bog, just in case the local law enforcement team had missed something.

Saddling a horse and strapping on a pistol, he set out cross-country for the bog. Taking the pickup would've been faster, but in a moving vehicle it would be too easy to miss things like tracks or bottle caps or cigarette butts. And the day was warm and sunny, perfect for riding. Quail scurried out of his way, calling from the underbrush. The light breeze carried the aromas of sage and cedar and the earthy smell of cattle.

A good half mile before he reached the bog, he could smell it. The girl's body was gone, of course, but the seeping earth and rotting plant matter carried a fetid odor that lingered like a miasma. As he scanned the ground, he wondered why he even bothered to look. The rusty earth was crisscrossed with tire tracks from news crews, law enforcement vehicles, and curious spectators. And before the body had been found, there'd been cattle and horses all over the countryside.

Today the place was eerily quiet, the only signs of life a pair of red-winged blackbirds flashing among the cattails and the ever-present gnats forming a cloud over the water. Beau tethered his horse and walked toward the edge of the bog. The damp ground was trampled with boot prints. There was no way to tell if any of them had belonged to the killer. Aside from the pleasant ride, this adventure had likely been a waste of time.

The tracks were thickest at the spot where the body had lain. Beau stared into the hollow where the winter reeds remained bent and flattened. He hadn't known Jessica Warner, but he sensed a hard life that, given the chance, might have been turned into something decent. Her killer had robbed her of that chance, stealing not only her life but also her future.

Dropping to a crouch, he used a stick to probe the soggy reeds. No sign of blood. The girl had almost certainly been dumped here. But why? If she'd been killed in Blanco, there were plenty of closer places to leave a body. Had the killer wanted her to be discovered on the ranch?

“Find anything, Beau?” The deep voice was friendly in tone, but it startled Beau enough to make him turn and grab for his pistol. His nerves unclenched as he recognized Hoyt Axelrod.

“My deputies have been over this place with a fine-tooth comb. But if fresh eyes can find something, I'd say knock yourself out.” Axelrod nodded. “How's your brother doing after that snakebite?”

“Will's mending, thanks. But I've got my hands full, trying to run things without him. Especially now.”

Axelrod scowled down at the crushed reeds. “Damned shame. She was a sweet little thing, even if she was a whore. This is just between us, but she had a packet of cocaine on her, tucked in her bra, when they brought her in. You're with the DEA, aren't you?”

He nodded. “So you're thinking this thing could be drug-related ?”

“Makes as much sense as anything else. We dusted the packet, but it was clean. Didn't even have the girl's prints on it. And if she'd had recent sex, consensual or otherwise, there wasn't enough DNA for a decent sample. If you're nosing around on your own, I hope you'll let us know what you find. She was somebody's lost daughter, and she deserves justice.”

“I agree. And the fact that she was dumped on Rimrock land makes this personal. I'll keep you posted if you'll do the same for me.”

“Consider it done. And give my best to your brother.” With a departing handshake, the sheriff wandered back to where he'd parked his tan Jeep Cherokee in the cedars. Minutes later, Beau heard the growl of the engine and the crunch of underbrush as he drove away. Had Axelrod been waiting for the killer to return to the scene of the crime? Had someone watching the ranch radioed him that a rider was getting close? Was
he
under suspicion now?

Walking with his eyes on the ground, he made a slow circle around the bog. In his work as a DEA agent, Beau had learned not to make assumptions. At this point in the investigation, everyone was a suspect and nothing could be ruled out.

Beau didn't expect to find much here. The ground was trampled all the way around the bog, all visible evidence collected. But the walk did give him a chance to think.

The little packet of cocaine on the girl had to be a plant. She wouldn't have put it in her bra without leaving prints on it. But was it a distraction? A frame-up of some kind? A warning?

And the motive? Had the girl known too many secrets? Had she blackmailed some client with too much to lose? Had jealousy driven someone to kill her?

The answers weren't here, on this malodorous patch of ground. He needed to check out the place where she'd worked and the people who'd known her. That would mean paying a visit to the Blue Coyote. But that could wait till evening. For now, he would ride up the canyon to the pasture where Sky and the men were rounding up cattle. They could use another hand, and he could use some good, hard physical work.

 

Tori filled two tall glasses with iced tea, carried them to the kitchen table, and sat down across from her friend. She'd known for years that Natalie's marriage was unhappy, but she'd never seen her so agitated.

“What do you want to do about Slade?” she asked gently. “Divorce him?”

Natalie's face was ashen, but her eyes were tearless. “You know I've never believed in divorce. But I never expected anything like this to happen. I want to do the right thing, Tori, but I don't know what that is anymore. That's why I'm here. You're not just my best friend. You're also my lawyer.”

“You're sure he's been cheating on you?”

“He didn't deny it. And he went crazy when I accused him. If that woman hadn't walked in when she did, I don't know what he'd have done to me.” She took a sip of the tea, struggling to keep her composure. “It all makes sense—the late nights, the way he smelled when he came in, things that I was too deep in denial to notice. Are you suggesting I need evidence?”

“If you go through with the divorce, it might help. You and Slade built your house and the clinic together. I'm guessing his name's on everything you own.”

Natalie wilted, her shoulders sagging. “I hadn't thought of that. Slade inherited his trucking business before we were married. That's his. But the house is in both our names, and my clinic's attached. He could force me to sell it out of sheer spite and take half the money.”

Setting the glass on the table, she shook her head in quiet despair. “I can't believe I'm even talking about this, Tori. You went through a divorce. And with a child. How on earth did you manage?”

The memory flickered in Tori's mind. She blocked it. Will's settlement had been more than fair, but still, the breakup of their marriage had been the most heart-wrenching experience of her life.

“Every divorce is different,” Tori said. “But no divorce is easy. I'll help you any way I can, but before you go ahead with this, you need to look at what you're facing and be sure it's what you want.”

Natalie stared down at the dissolving ice cubes in her tea. “You're right. I do need to be sure. Today I'm still in shock. A decision like this one needs to be made with a cool head.”

Tori nodded. “Talk to me before you do anything rash. And don't push any boundaries with Slade while you're alone with him. I know he's got a temper.”

“I'll be all right. Slade can get pretty loud when he's mad, but he always cools down, and he's never hit me.”

“You said he came close.”

“Don't worry, I know Slade. I can handle him.”

“What about Beau?”

Natalie's head came up. Color flamed in her pale cheeks. “Beau has nothing to do with this.”

“Evidently that's not what Slade thinks. Be careful, Natalie. Don't give Slade any reason to think there's something going on between you two.”

“You think I don't know that?” Natalie shook her head vehemently. “Beau can't be a part of this. Not even if Slade and I separate. Slade threatened to kill him if he comes near me. Not that he would, but I can't take that chance. I don't want Beau hurt.”

“Do you still love Beau, Natalie?”

She stiffened in her chair, her chin squared. “When Beau joined the army, he asked me to wait for him. Like a fool, I did. I waited years, but he never came back. Never called. Never wrote.”

Natalie's voice broke on the last few words. Looking flustered, she glanced at her watch and pushed away from the table. “I have a man bringing in a mare with hoof thrush at three. I've got to go.”

Tori rose with her, giving her friend a quick hug. “Be careful. If you feel threatened in any way, leave the house and call me. Or just come to my house. Day or night.”

Tori stood at the window and watched her friend drive away. Love was a bitch, she thought. Once you gave your heart, you never quite got it all the way back. She'd seen the tears in Natalie's eyes as she walked down the church aisle to marry Slade. And she knew who'd put them there.

As for herself, she'd had plenty of men to choose from since her divorce from Will, including Congressman Garn Prescott. But Will was the father of her child, and somehow he towered above them all.

At least she had Erin, Tori reminded herself. Her daughter had been worth the pain a hundred times over. But Natalie had no children. She was miserable with Slade, and now, suddenly Beau had shown up again. As she turned away from the window, a dark premonition crept over her. Something bad was going to happen. And she couldn't make that feeling go away.

I
t was 8:35 p.m. when Beau ambled into the Blue Coyote and slid into an empty booth. Not wanting to stand out, he hadn't taken the time to clean up after the roundup. His boots were scuffed, his jaw stubbled, his clothes caked with sweat and dust. He looked like any one of the two dozen or so cowboys who'd wandered in for a cold beer after a long day's work. But he wasn't fooling himself. Anybody who'd spent much time in the county would know the Tylers. And despite the layer of grit, they'd be aware of who he was.

The bar had been here for as long as Beau could remember. But the new owner had spruced it up some. Call it a woman's touch. The autographed photos and retro country music memorabilia on the walls lent atmosphere, if not class. And for a weeknight, business looked pretty good. The bar stools were all occupied and the
clickety-clack
of pool balls blended with the blaring country music.

Jasper had filled Beau in on the woman who'd paid cash for the place two years ago. So Beau was prepared when she sauntered up to his table.

“I like getting to know my customers, cowboy.” She looked to be in her early forties, her voluptuous body stuffed into a denim blouse trimmed with rhinestones and a skirt short enough to show off shapely legs clad in red cowgirl boots. Her wavy auburn hair was too bright to be natural, her makeup laid on with a too-heavy hand. Still, she wasn't a bad-looking woman. The most attractive thing about her was her voice, husky-rich like a New Orleans blues singer's.

“Beau Tyler.” Beau gave her a gentlemanly nod. “And I take it you're Stella.”

“That's right. And I knew who you were as soon as you walked in.” She flashed him an overtly sexy grin. Was it an invitation or just practicing good business? “I'd sit down and join you, but I'm doing double duty as hostess and waitress tonight. You know about poor little Jess, of course.”

“Heard anything new about the case?”

“No more than you. But I hope they catch the bastard who did it. I'd like to take a few whacks at him myself. She was a sweet kid.” Her green eyes narrowed. “I heard tell you're DEA?”

“I'm on a leave of absence.”

“So you're not here chasing drug dealers?” Her tone was playful, but Beau sensed something behind the questions. He remembered what the sheriff had told him about the cocaine.

“My brother's in the hospital, so I'm playing rancher in his absence, chasing cows instead of drugs. Today I've worked up a powerful thirst. What've you got that's wet and cold?”

“I can bring you a Corona. Free to first-time customers, especially handsome ones—that is, if you promise to come back.”

“You've got my promise.” Beau gave her a wink, taking in the sway of her full rump as she moved off.

Pretending to study the photos on the wall, he watched her sashay around the bar and whisper something to the bartender. The man glanced toward him, frowning. Now there was another type. Tattooed arms, shaved head. Nigel, somebody had called him. Despite the name, he looked more Eastern European than British. Not that Beau believed for a minute the name was real. If he could sneak a photo with his cell phone, he could ask a friend at the DEA to run a background check. But something told him the man wouldn't just stand still and pose. Getting a picture would take some careful moves.

Stella came back with the cold beer. Beau was just beginning to turn on the charm when the door burst open and flew back against the inside wall with a bang. Striding across the threshold with poison in his eye was Slade Haskell.

He headed straight for Beau's table. “I thought that was your truck I saw outside, Tyler!” he growled. “What do you think you're doing in here?”

Beau took a moment to size him up. Natalie's husband was dressed in his work clothes. He smelled of alcohol, as if he'd had a few drinks wherever he'd come from.

“Hello, Slade,” Beau said with studied cordiality. “I was just having a cold one after a long, hard day. Care to sit down and join me?”

“I'd drink with the devil before I'd drink with you.”

“Suit yourself.” With a shrug, Beau popped the cap on his Corona and, ignoring the mug Stella had left on the table, took a swig from the bottle. Stella stood to one side, taking in the drama like a cat watching a pair of roosters.

“What're you doing back in town?” Slade demanded. “If you've been fooling around with my wife again—”

Beau looked up at him, one hand balancing the beer bottle. “Get this through your thick head, Slade. I'm not fooling around with your wife. The last time I saw Natalie, she was with you. Maybe you ought to go home to her instead of hanging around here.”

If Beau had expected his words to mollify the man, he couldn't have been more mistaken. Slade's florid color deepened. His chest, shoulders, and belly seemed to swell. “You stay away from her, you son of a bitch, hear?” he snapped. “If I find out she's been with you, I'll punch her black and blue, and then I'll come looking for you with a gun!”

Beau had been threatened before, and he could handle it. But Slade's threat to hurt Natalie hit home and hit deep. Everything went hard and cold inside him. Setting his beer on the table, he rose, seized the big man by the front of his shirt, and yanked him so close that their faces were almost touching.

“So help me,” he rasped, “if you lay a finger on that woman, I'll hunt you down and tear you apart with my bare hands!”

For an instant Slade was too startled to respond. But as Beau shoved him away, he regained his bravado. Shoulders hunched, he doubled his fists and danced like a boxer. “Why not now, Tyler? Put your money where your mouth is, you yellow coward. Let's duke it out right here.”

Beau shuddered inwardly, thinking what he could do to Natalie's husband if he let himself go. But self-control was at the core of his training. To misuse the skills he'd been taught in the military would be beyond reckless. It would be criminal.

“Sorry,” he said. “I don't fight drunks.”

The only sound in the bar was the throbbing beat of an old Patsy Cline song. Surrounded by shocked silence, with the music ringing in his ears, Beau turned away and walked out the door. By the time his boots touched the asphalt, he could hear Slade screaming, “Come back, you coward! Come back and fight!”

Ignoring the man, he climbed into his truck, switched on the headlights, and headed for the highway. He'd seen some interesting dynamics tonight. He'd bet money that Stella and her skinhead bartender were up to their armpits in some kind of dirty business. But whether they had any connection to the girl's murder was anybody's guess. He'd missed the chance to sneak a photo of the man, but some of those tattoos, although camouflaged with quality work, had the look of a prison job.

As for Slade, he appeared to be little more than a jealous loudmouth. But the idea that he might hurt Natalie worried Beau. And he couldn't interfere without making matters worse. Maybe he should alert Tori. If he couldn't be there for Natalie, at least someone else should be aware of the danger.

Willing his clenched nerves to relax, Beau switched on the radio and watched the lights of the town fade away in his rearview mirror.

 

After Beau's call, Tori sat at the kitchen table, staring at the phone and thinking. She shared his concern about Natalie, but there hadn't been much she could tell him. Most of what she knew about her friend's marriage was covered by lawyer-client privilege. But maybe that was just as well. Could Beau keep his distance if he knew that Slade had been unfaithful, that he'd come close to hitting his wife, and that Natalie was actually talking divorce?

Her advice to Natalie had been sound. There was no way Beau could be involved.

Rising, she busied herself with loading the dishwasher and wiping off the kitchen counters. From the bathroom she could hear the shower running as Erin got ready for bed. A few minutes later her daughter appeared in the kitchen, fresh and rosy in her pink robe and pajamas.

“Homework's done,” she said. “Is it okay if I watch my TV show?”

“As long as you go straight to bed when it's over. You've got school tomorrow.”

Erin started toward the den, then paused. “Have you heard how Daddy's doing?”

“I just talked with your uncle Beau. Your dad's doing a lot better. He should be home in a couple days. But he'll need to rest for a while.”

“Can I still go to the ranch this weekend? I want to see Tesoro.”

Tori hesitated. Will had said it would be fine for Erin to spend the weekend as usual. But that was before that poor murdered woman had been found in the bog. With the killer still at large, Tori didn't want her daughter out of her sight.

“We'll see,” she said. “Maybe I can get you there long enough to spend a little time with your foal.”

Tori's heart contracted as she watched her child scamper off to watch TV. Erin was on the brink of becoming a lovely young woman. Tori's dreams for her included college, but for now Erin was anchored to the ranch. She had blossomed there, happiest among the cattle and horses. And Will, despite his issues with Tori, was a good father.

A good father.

Was that why she'd canceled her appointments and rushed off to the hospital the minute she'd heard he was there? Because he was Erin's father?

 

Lute had hitched a ride into town with Ralph. He dreaded walking into the Blue Coyote and not seeing Jess there, but he wanted to pick up the fifty dollars that Slade had promised him. This time he'd earned every penny, calling in about the roundup, Will Tyler's snakebite, and especially the murder investigation. Maybe this time Slade would be pleased enough to give him a bonus.

Slade wasn't in the bar, but Stella gave Lute a wave and a friendly wink, a sure sign that she had the money for him. Playing it cool this time, he sat down at the bar, ordered a beer, and waited for her to come to him. There was a new waitress on duty tonight, prettily plump with lots of makeup and short black hair that looked dyed. He guessed she'd probably moved into Jess's old room, but she wasn't anything like Jess. Looking her over, Lute decided to pass on asking her out.

Stella came by a few minutes later. Instead of slipping him the envelope, she whispered in his ear. “Wander on back to the office, Lute. I'd like a word with you, private like.”

The office was down a back hallway past the restrooms. Following Stella's suggestion to “wander,” Lute took a moment at the urinal, then came out and sauntered the rest of the way down the hall.

There wasn't much to the office except a locked army-surplus desk with an old desktop computer on it, a spindle of receipts, a couple of wooden chairs, and a dozen cardboard cases of beer and liquor stacked against one wall. Lute was standing with his hands in his pockets, wondering if Stella might be coming on to him, when she walked in, closing the door behind her. “Have a seat,” she said in a voice that was all business.

Fishing a key out of her shirt, she opened a locked drawer and handed Lute the envelope he'd been expecting. “Nothing I say leaves this room. If it does, I know how to make you very sorry. Understand?”

Lute nodded, fingering the edges of the three bills inside the envelope. His pulse skittered as he waited for her to speak. Was he in some kind of trouble? Did it have something to do with Jess?

“I know what you do for Slade to earn this,” she said. “How would you like to earn more? Say, an extra hundred?”

“A hundred a week?” He gasped. Combined with fifty from Slade, it sounded like a small fortune. “What would I have to do?”

“Pretty much what you've been doing. Only you'd be doing it for me.” Stella inspected a small chip in her bloodred nail polish. “Slade and I have a few business deals going. I want to make sure he's playing straight. You'd go on working for Slade and collecting your fifty dollars. But everything you report to him, you'd report to me, too, and you'd also keep me up on whatever Slade's doing.”

Lute's hopes sagged. “Fine. Trouble is, I don't see that much of Slade. I only talk to him once in a while on the phone. And except for the trucks, I don't even know what kind of business he's in.”

Stella's laugh sounded flat and metallic in the small space. “I'd say that's about to change. Slade's been telling me what a sharp lad you are. I know he's planning more jobs for you. So if you keep your eyes and ears open, you could find yourself sittin' right pretty.”

Stella rose and held out her hand. “Well, Lute, do we have a deal?”

Still taking it all in, Lute gave her his handshake.

“I'll give you a phone number to call,” she said. “You can use the phone you use for Slade. Just make sure you keep the numbers straight in your head, and don't say anything till you hear my voice. All right?”

Lute nodded. This was the break he'd been waiting for. In no time at all, he'd have money for a decent car, nice clothes, and all the girls he wanted. And all for being a spy—almost like James Bond.

 

Will had been home for ten days, but his swollen leg still pained him. Unable to put weight on it, he clumped around the house on crutches and relied on the Kubota mini tractor to get him around the ranch yard. Bed rest or the use of his father's old wheelchair might have speeded his recovery, but Will would have none of either.

Pain and frustration hadn't helped his disposition. The attendant hired to look after him had thrown up his hands and quit four days ago, with Will insisting he could take care of himself. As Bernice had muttered at the end of one especially trying day, “Glory be, it's like having Bull Tyler back among the living!”

He rode his brother mercilessly about the management of the ranch. Beau tried to bear it with patience, reminding himself that Will had endured years of the same treatment from their father, but there were times when he was tempted to call the DEA in Washington and tell them he no longer required the leave of absence he had requested. It was only the awareness of how much he was needed at the ranch that kept him from turning his back and flying to D.C.