The man exiting the patrol vehicle didn't meet Heather's expectations of a sheriff named Stoney Blake. She’d pictured the sheriff as a sixty-something year old, leather-faced part-time rancher with a tin of snuff in his back pocket. A simple explanation became apparent as she read the name tag of the man in his thirties wearing a khaki shirt. GOODNIGHT. From the top down the deputy wore a straw cowboy hat whose brim looked a half-size too big, wrap-around sunglasses, a uniform shirt with a sheriff's department patch on one sleeve and an American flag on the other. A brown hand-tooled belt held two speed loading cylinders of extra shells. A Colt Python .357 magnum rested in a brown holster on his hip. Blue jeans and scuffed square-toed cowboy boots completed the ensemble.
Heather's first assessment of Deputy Goodnight was that, despite his relatively young age, he'd gone back in time forty years. The six-shot double-action pistol, a much-loved standard of Texas lawmen in bygone days, made way for the fourteen-plus shot 9mm and .40 caliber semi-automatics that officers carry today. She had to admit, the retro-look fit the rugged terrain. The only thing missing was a horse.
The deputy nodded a greeting to Heather and looked at Steve. "Are you Mr. Smiley?"
"Sheriff Blake couldn't make it?"
The man hooked his thumbs in the gun belt. "I'm Chief Deputy Marvin Goodnight. I'm in charge of the Voss murder investigation."
Was it the emphasis on "I'm" that rubbed Heather the wrong way? Perhaps it was the lack of sleep that caused her first impression to be a bad one. Whatever it was, she dismissed it and took a step toward the deputy with her right hand extended. "Heather McBlythe. I'm Mr. Smiley's partner."
He shook her hand. “Ma’am. Sheriff Blake asked that I get a copy of the will.”
“Uh… it will be here this afternoon or I could have someone fax you a copy.”
Steve interrupted. "Follow us to the hotel. I scanned it to my computer. We can get a copy made in the business center.”
Heather grimaced. Steve hadn’t trusted her to come prepared, so he made sure he was. It was time to get her mind on the case enough to do a good job. She also needed to tell the pilots not to worry about returning with the will.
“Goodnight?” asked Steve. “Are you a descendant of Charles Goodnight?"
The man raised his chin and straightened his posture. "That's right. I see you know Texas history."
"Some, but not as much as I'd like to. Tell me about your great-grandpa."
“You’re close. My great-great-grandpa.”
Steve had primed the pump. Deputy Goodnight’s chest swelled. "The Goodnight-Loving cattle drives gathered longhorns from all over south Texas." He waved an extended hand to the east, south and west. “My great-great-grandpa and Mr. Loving took two-thousand head of free-range longhorns to Fort Sumner, New Mexico in 1866. They traveled west until they hit the Pecos River and then followed it north by west."
The lesson continued as Heather looked on. Steve encouraged him by asking questions and speaking in a Texas drawl thick as mud. Was Steve protecting her from additional embarassment, or was this his way of getting back at her for not focusing when they had a murder to investigate? It could have something to do with a pink shirt.
The pilot motioned for Heather to join him. They met at a point beyond Steve's hearing.
"Everything you brought is in ground transportation." He looked at his watch. "You better call your office and have someone meet us at the airport. Cruising at four-hundred and sixty miles an hour means we might be there before they can fight their way through traffic."
"No need. Steve brought what we need, but keep your phone on all the same."
"We're paid to fly whenever you need us." He gave her a slack salute and boarded the stairs, followed by Tim, who nodded. She wondered how many girlfriends Tim had around the country.
She took Steve’s hand and placed it on her shoulder. With as much western twang as she could place over her Boston accent, she said, "We'd best mosey down the trail. That fancy plane needs to head east." Her attempt at humor fell flat.
"Follow us to the hotel," said Steve to Deputy Goodnight. "We'll get a cup of coffee and you can tell me about the cattle drive to Denver."
Heather placed Steve in the front seat so he could chat with the driver. They exited the airport property and descended a steep hill past homes and clusters of condos with swimming pools and professional landscaping. She noted how spread apart they were, with natural flora and fauna looking for a chance to retake smaller verdant lawns. The contrast between the areas graced with abundant water and care, and that of the dull, dangerous, natural landscape of varieties of cacti brought to mind one of her trips to Africa. What a difference water made.
Names of streets caught her eye as the roads wound downward. Signs reading High Stirrup, Bull Whip, Out Yonder and Branding Iron passed by her window. A steep drop gave way to undulating land and a dramatic entrance announcing Horseshoe Bay Resort. The closer to Lake LBJ the road took them, the more impressive the real estate became. A resort hotel rose above hundreds of swanky condos, duplexes, and single-family homes. Scrub land inhabited by wild cattle making their way to drink from the Colorado River, had been transformed into a playground for wealthy visitors, all within driving distance of Austin, the state capital.
Hotel bell hops sprang into action as soon as the limo came to rest under the hotel's awning. Heather took care of checking in and getting a copy of the will from Steve’s computer while Deputy Goodnight continued to bend Steve’s ears. After handing Steve a key to his room, she announced, "I'll take care of putting Steve's things away and make some phone calls."
Steve nodded. "Marvin and I will grab lunch at one the restaurants. It's not every day I get to learn the history of a real Texas legend."
"I've plenty to keep me busy, so I'll call for room service." Heather's words may have been those of agreement, but her thoughts traveled in a different direction. What was Steve after? Unless she missed her guess, he'd pump every drop of information about suspects out of Deputy Goodnight.
Her thoughts shifted to the reading of the will. Just as fast, they drifted to the acquisition of a gold mine. A lot of work remained to bring in the deal.
Heather rose to answer the knock on her door with her phone pressed against an ear. After putting an attorney from her office on hold, she threw open the door and looked at Steve. "You're early."
"I'm on time and we need to talk."
Heather led him to a chair and moved a small mountain of files by placing them on the uncovered portion of her king-size bed. She answered a final question and ended the conversation by stating she wasn't taking calls for the next two hours.
Heather laid her phone down and looked at Steve. He hadn’t contacted her all day. When he didn't like something, his first reaction was to keep quiet. She ran her fingers through her hair and cleared off the second chair that sat at an angle to his and opened with, "I know, I'm working too hard and I need to get up to speed on this case. What did you get from Deputy Goodbye?"
"It's Goodnight. Marvin Goodnight."
She wanted to slap her forehead again, but covered up her mistake with a white lie. "Don't be so snippy. I was testing to see if you still had a sense of humor."
"Ah."
That meant she didn't fool him for a minute. Time to raise her voice and sound cheerful. "Did you discover any juicy family secrets? What are you expecting? Are any of Charley's four children a suspect?"
She noticed Steve's chest expand and then slowly return to normal. "Marvin and I talked about cattle drives most of the time."
Heather tilted her head. "What about Charley's murder? I thought that's why we’re here."
Steve shook his head. "I came here to read a will and coach four mourning children through a difficult week of deciding how to divide an estate of nine thousand acres, cattle, and substantial life insurance settlements."
"What about the murder case?"
"We're not invited."
Heather stared at the man she thought she knew so well. He had a way of surprising her.
"It's not wise for us to get involved. At least not yet. I offered our help, but Marvin made it clear he doesn’t want or need it." He allowed the words to sink in. "One more thing. No one has hired us to investigate the crime."
Heather stood. "So that's it? You're just going to walk away?" She began to pace. "Then why am I here?"
"Because I asked you to come and you need a break."
The words came like a punch in the gut. He followed them with, "It's a little plan I cooked up to save you from yourself. You can work here on your merger and enjoy the amenities of the resort. There's a first-class fitness center, yoga, swimming, tennis courts and plenty of places to walk. You can even rent a boat at the marina. Maggie talked about the spa for the rest of her life, so I’m sure it will meet your expectations. Of course, you're more than welcome to sit in on the sessions I'll conduct with the heirs if you want to."
He walked toward the door with his cane leading the way. "Grab the will. If you're coming with me, we need to get going. If not, give it to me and I'll handle the meeting."
"Just a minute," said Heather with a lump in her throat. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but this merger means so much to me."
"Why?"
"Huh?"
"Why does this merger mean so much to you?"
"Well... it just does. Father handed it off to me before Christmas and I promised I wouldn't let him down."
"Ah."
Heather sensed her Irish blood begin to warm. "What's that 'Ah' supposed to mean?"
Steve stopped and turned around. "It means you've changed since Christmas, and not for the better.” He took a step toward her. "By the way, did you call Jack and let him know you were leaving town for a week?"
She groaned.
"Don't worry. I told him last night."
She jerked her briefcase from the bed, sending stacks of papers cascading to the floor. "Let's go."