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Nora grabbed a full-brimmed felt hat off the peg by the door and walked out to the barn to saddle-up Jasper. "I'll see you at the packing house when I come back," she said.
"That leaves just you and me, old thing," Gramps said, scratching Rex behind the ears. The dog leaned into his knee with a look of contentment on his canine face.
"You fancy a ride to the packing house with me?" he asked Rex.
The dog ran from the old man to the door and then back again, wagging his tail. "An’ they say dogs don't understand English, huh?"
Jasper heard Nora coming, and whinnied a welcome. She unlocked the tack room and grabbed his saddle and bridle. She mentally thanked her parents for having her ride English so many years ago. The saddle was a lot lighter than the traditional Western saddle common on the farms and ranches. Resting the saddle on a rack by the stall, she gave Jasper his breakfast and some clean water. While he ate, she cleaned out his stall, putting the old straw in a wheelbarrow for disposal later. Throwing clean new straw around the floor, she finished the job.
"Okay, Jasper," she said, slipping the bridle over his head. "Let's go for a ride and do some investigating."
Nora walked Jasper out to the mounting block, looking forward to her ride. The Jessups had been neighbors to the Hollisters forever. She felt bad that she hadn't visited more often. She would ride over and check up on Henry Jessup, make sure he was okay, and then see what she could find in the pasture near where she had seen the plane and the headlights.
Jasper was good as gold as she led him to the mounting block, climbed the steps and swung her leg over. Putting gentle pressure on his sides, she urged the horse forward. Soon, she was cantering along the back road that ran alongside both properties. She was surprised to find the gate to the Jessup place wide open. Not a good thing when there are cattle on the property. She got a foreboding feeling as she closed the gate behind her. Goose bumps and a chill made her shudder. Even Jasper was reluctant to move forward. Reaching the front of the farm house, she called out, "Henry, are you home? Henry Jessup. It’s Nora Hollister." No answer.
She dismounted and tied Jasper to a branch of a nearby tree. "Henry, I'm coming in. Are you here?" Still there was no answer. Henry's shotgun lay at the bottom of the porch steps. She checked the chamber—still loaded. She picked up the gun, and pulled open the screen door, its old hinges squeaking.
The front room was dark. Heavy curtains covered the windows. Pulling them open one-by-one, she could see the room looked like a hurricane had been through it. It was then she noticed that Henry's recliner had blood on the arms and headrest. The cold chill came back, and she heard Jasper whinny. He was spooked, too. "Mr. Jessup, I'm here to help. It's Nora Hollister."
There was a trail of blood leading to the back of the house. Against her better judgment, she followed the drops to Henry's bedroom. The door was ajar. She slowly pushed it open, holding the shotgun ready in her hands. Her free hand flew to her mouth, stifling her scream. She almost dropped the gun. She wanted to run, but couldn't make herself move. Henry was on his bed . . . dead. He was on his back, blood obscuring the features of his face. It looked like someone had beaten the shit out of the old man. But why? He was just an old rancher who kept to himself, and never bothered a soul.
Nora backed out of the room and found her way to the phone in the hallway. Dialing 911, she tried to calm down enough to give the operator the details and get the sheriff. She was told not to leave and not to touch anything.
Sitting on the front porch steps with the shotgun across her lap, she put her head in her hands and cried tears of grief for her now-dead neighbor. The sheriff would be a while getting there, and she didn't want to be alone at this moment.
She went back into the house, and used the phone to call the packing house office. When Gramps answered, she told him what she had found.
"Oh my God! I’m sorry it had to be you that found him, Nora. I should have gone with you," Gramps said. "I'll come over straight away."
"Gramps, I think he was beaten to death. Who would do that to an old man?" she asked, wiping a tear from her eye.
"I don't know, Sweetheart, but we'll find out. I'm on my way." Gramps hung up the phone and walked out to Hector on the platform.
"I have to go over to the Jessup place for a bit. Take care of things here for me, will ya?" Gramps asked. Gramps went to his jeep and started the engine. Rex begged for a ride. "Not this time, Rex. I'll be back."
"Anything I can do?" Hector asked. It looked to him like something was wrong.
"Not right now, but thanks." Gramps took off and left—the dog watching him drive away down the road. Reaching the Jessup's back gate, he stopped the jeep and got out to open the gate. As he swung back the gate, his foot hit what he thought was a rock. Looking down, he saw a lock with a heavy chain attached. He picked it up, thinking old Jessup had lost it in the grass. Looking at it, he noticed that the hasp of the lock had been cut, maybe with a bolt cutter. Someone had come prepared and knew they would have to cut this lock off. Tossing the chain and lock in the back of the jeep, he pulled through and closed the gate behind him.
Nora watched as Gramps drove up, wheeled around the side of the house, and parked. She put down the gun and ran to her grandfather.
"Oh Gramps, it's awful," she cried. He gathered her into his arms and hugged her tight. Pushing away, she said, "I had time to think while I was waiting. What if this is connected to the plane and the car lights I saw last night?" She paced as she talked, walked over to Jasper, threw her arms around his neck and rested her forehead on his neck. Turning from her horse, "What if Henry confronted whoever it was? He had his gun out. I found it by the steps."
"That's for the sheriff to find out. Come sit down. They should be here soon."
Nora did as Gramps said. She picked the shotgun back up off the step and sat with it across her lap again. She didn’t think anything was going to happen where she needed a shotgun; it just made her feel better to have it.