Texas True (18 page)

Tori studied her friend. Natalie was taking healthy bites of pizza, as if her appetite had returned along with her spunk. For now, it appeared she was going to be all right. But if Beau was convicted of murder, the blow would be a hard one, especially if what Tori had heard from a contact in the district attorney's office was true.

The prosecution wasn't just seeking a conviction for Slade's murder. They were also gathering evidence in the slaying of Jess Warner. If they could pin both crimes on Beau, he would almost certainly be facing the death penalty.

 

Natalie peered through the closed drapes, watching Tori's station wagon back out of the driveway. She had always assumed she knew everything about her husband. But according to Tori, Slade had built a whole separate life apart from her and their home. The trips to Mexico, the money, the infidelities . . . was there more to this?

Had she been married to a criminal?

Could his secret life have led to his murder?

Yellow crime scene tape fluttered from the stakes that marked the spot where Slade Haskell had died. The deputies who'd picked over the ground like so many scavengers had long ago taken their gear and left. The body was gone and so was Slade's flatbed truck. There was no one here to stop Beau and Will from crossing the lines to see if anything had been overlooked.

They'd ridden their horses to the bog and left them tethered in the brush. Now, starting at the outer edge of the staked area, they walked the perimeter and slowly worked their way inward, toward the place where Slade's body had fallen.

The ground was a maze of tire tracks and boot prints, obliterating anything useful. But they had to search. Finding some vital bit of evidence was their only hope.

“Poor Jasper's pretty bummed about that rifle,” Will said. “He blames himself for leaving it strapped under the seat. Anybody could have broken into the shed and stolen it.”

“Anybody who knew exactly where to look, like Lute, maybe,” Beau said. “I certainly wouldn't have put it past him. But I can't see Lute actually using it to kill Slade. It takes guts to face a man—and I don't think Lute has them.”

In the absence of chalk, the position of the body had been outlined with string. The red earth was still bloodstained and indented where one bullet had blown through Slade's head. The ground had been probed with tongs where the deputies had recovered the bullet, along with the others that had passed through his body. Will frowned as he studied the spot. “Notice anything funny about this?” he muttered.

Beau bent forward, peering over his shoulder. “I'll be damned. If Slade had been standing when he was shot, the bullet would have landed somewhere behind him, maybe even in the truck. But from the look of the ground, it went straight down, like he was flat on his back.”

Whipping out his cell phone, he snapped two photos to record the evidence.

“Could've happened that way,” Will mused. “Say the first shots dropped him and then the killer went in close to finish him off.”

“No, look.” Beau pointed to the other holes where the bullets had been removed—all of them directly under the body. In his line of work, he'd seen plenty of shootings, but this one didn't look typical. For one thing, the close-range body shots had gone all the way through, but there was surprisingly little blood in the soil beneath. And there was something else. Beau bent closer.

“These shots were all fired from above. Either the killer forced Slade to lie down before he was shot, or—”

Will's cool blue eyes met Beau's as he finished the sentence. “Or Slade was already dead.”

 

Natalie walked into the Blue Coyote and sat down in an empty booth. It was midafternoon. The place was open, but not yet busy. Two old men sat at the bar nursing their beers. A middle-aged couple at one of the tables appeared to be arguing. A muscular man with black tattoos on his shaved head was polishing glassware behind the bar.

When the waitress, young and jaded, her jeans straining over her plump hips, wandered over, Natalie ordered a Bud Light in a glass and waited. The speakers mounted against the ceiling were blaring Tammy Wynette's “Stand by Your Man.” Ironic under the circumstances, Natalie mused as the waitress returned with her beer.

Her eyes were drawn to the bartender. He looked out of place in this small Texas town, and she couldn't help wondering what had brought him here. He had a hard look about him, like a man who'd spent time behind bars—a man who was no stranger to violence. His eyes were like a raven's, dark, sharp, and emotionless. The hair prickled on the back of her neck. Was she looking at Slade's killer?

The thought fled her mind as Stella emerged from the back hallway. In a tight black denim skirt, black cowgirl boots, and a green silk blouse embroidered with horseshoes, she was striking in an overblown way. Her manner exuded confidence as she spotted Natalie and strode straight toward the booth where she sat.

“My condolences, Mrs. Haskell.” Up close, Stella showed her age beneath her too-heavy makeup. Even so, she was a handsome woman.

“Please, call me Natalie.” A show of graciousness never hurt. “Do you have a moment to talk?”

“Until things get busy.” Stella slid into the opposite side of the booth, her expression guarded. “What can I do for you, Natalie?”

“Not much, really. I'm just hoping you can give me some closure. Until my lawyer mentioned it, I didn't know you'd bought Slade's trucking business.”

“He didn't tell you?”

“Slade kept a lot of things from me. I'm just discovering some of them now that he's gone.”

Stella shrugged. “There's not much to tell. His business was struggling a couple of years ago—the economy, mostly, along with the drought and some bad debts. I offered to help him out if he put his company up as collateral. When he couldn't pay me back, we came to an arrangement. He'd go on running the business and we'd split the profits. It worked out well for both of us.” She leaned forward, her ample breasts resting on the edge of the table. “I liked your husband, Natalie. I'm going to miss him. He'll be a hard man to replace.” Her eyes narrowed. “Of course, since you were divorcing him, that's no longer your concern, is it?”

Natalie felt the chill. “Since the divorce wasn't final, it's fallen to me to settle his affairs. I just wanted to make sure there were no loose ends to tie up.”

“None. The business is mine. Slade and I squared our accounts before he died, so if you're wondering whether I owe you anything—”

“No, of course not.” Natalie was liking the woman less and less, but she wouldn't walk away until she'd learned all she could. “I was wondering if I could get Slade's personal things from his desk at the trucking company. There might be something his friends would like.”

Stella glanced restlessly around the bar, clearly eager to end the conversation. “The desk has been cleared out. But if anybody bothered to box his things, you can pick them up. Just tell the man in the office I said it was all right.”

“Thank you.” Natalie would have risen to go, but just then Sheriff Axelrod walked in the door. Dressed in his uniform, complete with badge and pistol, he strode over to the booth.

“Stella, if you'll excuse us, I'd like a word with this young lady,” he said.

“Fine. I've got things to do.” Stella rose and stepped away. The sheriff slid into her place, his husky body barely fitting against the table.

“I've been looking for you, Natalie,” he said. “Matter of fact, I was on my way to your place when I noticed your vehicle outside. Can't say I figured you for a drinking woman.”

Natalie ignored the comment. “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

“Just wanted to make sure you were all right. You've been through a lot in the past few days, losing your husband and having your boyfriend arrested for his murder.”

“I'm fine. And Beau Tyler is innocent.”

“Is he?” Axelrod leaned a few inches closer. His breath smelled of the Marlboros he smoked. “I pulled a few strings and got a look at his military record. The man did a lot of killing over there in Iraq. I mean, a lot. Something like that could get to be a habit—even an addiction. That's why I need to warn you about him.”

“Warn me? That's ridiculous.” All Natalie wanted was for the man to go away. But she needed to stand up for Beau. “Slade had more than his share of secrets—things I'm just learning about now. Those secrets could have made him some enemies. Have you looked into other suspects, Sheriff? Maybe you should.”

Axelrod shook his head. “I believe this case is what's known as a slam dunk. Did you know Beau was treated for post-traumatic stress disorder? That stuff doesn't just go away. I'd guess he was able to satisfy his killing urge as a DEA agent. But here in this little Texas town, with no Al Qaeda or drug runners to shoot, he's having to look for other victims. I can't prove it yet, but I'm pretty sure he killed that poor girl who was dumped in the bog. Sooner or later, if we don't put him away, he's bound to target somebody else—maybe even you. And that, young lady, would be a dirty shame.”

Natalie slid out of the booth and pushed to her feet. She was trembling, but she willed herself not to show it. “Sheriff, you don't know what you're talking about,” she declared. “Do your job. And that means checking out everything and everyone. Slade always seemed to have money to spend and I don't think it came from the trucking business. It wouldn't surprise me if he was involved in something illegal. That's where you should look for his killer.”

Before he could respond, she turned and strode outside. As she closed the door behind her, she could almost feel Stella's eyes burning into her back.

She made it to her SUV and collapsed, quivering against the wheel. Pulling her emotions together, Natalie backed out of the parking lot and drove across town to the large fenced lot where Haskell Trucking was located. The name on the sign out front hadn't changed. But that was no longer her concern, Natalie reminded herself. She was here to collect Slade's personal belongings and look for anyone, or anything, that might provide a clue to his murder.

She'd been here before over the years, though not often. But she recognized the thin, graying driver in the Haskell uniform who greeted her in the parking lot when she stepped out of her vehicle. He'd started here more than twenty years ago, working for Slade's father.

“Right sorry about your husband, Mrs. Haskell,” he said. “Slade was a good boss. Always paid us fair and on time.”

“Thank you, Ernie,” Natalie said, dismissing the kindly man as unconnected to the murder. “I can see you're still open for business. Who's in charge of the place now? I need to speak to someone about getting Slade's things.”

A shadow of displeasure flickered over the time-creased face. “Young squirt in there.” He jerked his head toward the prefab building that served as the office. “Don't ask me whose ass he had to kiss to get the job, but—” He broke off with an apologetic shake of his head. “Sorry, ma'am, my sainted mother taught me better than to use that kind of language in front of a lady.”

“It's all right, Ernie. Please tell your family hello for me.” Giving his arm a light squeeze, she hurried into the building—and stopped as if she'd run into a wall.

Sitting behind the supervisor's desk was Lute Fletcher.

For an instant he looked as startled as she was. His jaw dropped slightly. Then his mouth stretched into a smirk.

“Well, if isn't Mrs. Haskell. I hope you aren't here to lay claim to this place.”

Irked by his manner, Natalie squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I'm aware that Stella Rawlins owns the business now, if that's what you mean.”

“So what are you doing here?” His insolent grin widened.

“I might ask you the same question. After Beau fired you for almost killing the Tylers' mare, I'm surprised anybody would give you a job.”

“Your late husband appreciated my talents enough to hire me. So did Stella. She promoted me to his spot. So you might say Beau did me a favor.” He flipped a lock of long black hair off his face. “So why
are
you here, Mrs. Haskell? Anything I can do for you?”

Somehow Natalie managed to hold her temper in check. “Stella said I could come by and pick up Slade's things. You can call her if you need to.”

“No need. You can't take anything related to the business. But since he lived here a while, you might as well take his dirty laundry home. I'll get it for you.”

He disappeared into a back room and came out with a cardboard box. It was piled high with dirty clothes and bedding. With a mischievous grin, Lute shoved it across the desk toward her. “Here you go. It's all yours, lady.”

Fighting the urge to fling the laundry in his face, Natalie took the box and walked out to her vehicle. Facing Lute had been a maddening experience, but as she pulled out into the street, she reminded herself that she'd made some important connections. Stella had taken over Slade's business. Slade, who'd hated Beau, had hired Lute, who hated Beau, too.