The digital display on the treadmill read eleven laps. One more and she'd finish her three-mile run. Heather panted as sweat dripped from her nose. The past week had been full of trials, but last night's phone call with Jack turned her emotional ship around. She made a flurry of commitments to changes. No more seventy and eighty-hour weeks to impress her father. Corporate profits would take a back seat to time spent with Jack. Taking up golf had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, but it would be a good start for the new Heather. Besides, what better place to learn to play than at this resort? He could help her pick out the right clubs and she'd need shoes and clothes. Her mind raced with mental snapshots. Looking down, she realized she'd passed the three-mile mark.
She left the hotel's gym after picking up another brochure for the spa on her way out. Back at the hotel, the Starbucks near the front desk drew her in with the smell of freshly ground beans and the sputter of frothy milk. A tall coffee and a copy of the Wall Street Journal was how she loved to start her day. She'd go out on her room's small patio, sip her coffee, and allow the sun to rise enough so she could scan the headlines. The only thing that could make the morning better would be if Jack was with her.
First light had already made its debut when she reached the patio. She sipped her way through half of the dark stimulant and reached for the paper. The headline was a repeat of yet another dire warning about rising interest rates. She flipped the paper over and scanned the articles. Her heart skipped a beat. Below the fold, on the right side, near the bottom, a tag line read: McBlythe Falls For Fool's Gold
What followed was an uncomplimentary account of her father's purchase of the gold mine in Montana. She wondered how the reporter had gleaned so much information so fast. The more she read, the more she realized someone with firsthand knowledge must have fed the reporter details that only a few within McBlythe Enterprises would know. Her anger rose with every detail until the article ended with the obligatory statement that although the reporter reached out to Allister McBlythe, neither he nor a company spokesperson had returned their call.
Heather paced her room, fury growing with every step. She hated the reporter, hated the company that sold the mine, and, most of all, hated herself for not doing more to protect her father. She considered calling him, but what would she say? He wasn't a man to receive pity. She practiced a few lines, but they came out sounding either trite or accusatory. Perhaps Steve would have a suggestion.
A shower and clean clothes helped to dull the sting of the newspaper report, but not much. She looked in the closet and found nothing suitable for attending a funeral that afternoon. The hotel gift shop might have a dress that didn't splash with color. If not, she'd have to make do with slacks and a blazer.
She expected to find Steve alone in the restaurant. Instead, he sat with Marvin. The chief deputy took notes as Steve spoke. The only sentence she caught as she approached was Steve saying, "That should keep you busy this morning."
Marvin closed a notepad and shoved it in the right pocket of his shirt. "The sheriff wants me to be at the funeral by one o'clock."
"We'll see you there," said Steve.
"What was that about?" asked Heather after Marvin left the room.
"Change of plans. Marvin's going to do our leg work today. We need to go to Llano this morning and get Rance out of jail."
Heather plopped on an empty chair. "What did he do?"
"An anonymous call came to the sheriff's office. They told the dispatcher that Rance killed Hector and the rifle he used was behind the seat of Rance's pickup. Sheriff Blake woke Marvin before dawn. He rousted Rance out of bed and Rance gave permission to search. Sure enough, the rifle was there."
Heather shook her head. "That's too easy."
"Of course it is. But the sheriff has to go through all the formalities. He'll dust the rifle for fingerprints and there won't be any. Rance will say he has no idea how it got there and he's sure it wasn't there the last time he checked behind the seat."
Steve took another sip of coffee. "This is a positive development. Someone's scared and they're not too smart."
When Steve didn't make a move to stand, Heather asked, "Don't we need to go?"
He waved a dismissive hand. "Plenty of time. Marvin and another deputy are checking out the boat storage places for us. It will look better for him if he finds Grant's boat."
Heather picked up the menu. "Do I have time to eat and stop in the gift shop and look for a dress?"
"Rance isn't going anywhere except to Hector's funeral, and that isn't until this afternoon."
The server appeared to take her order. She chose yogurt, fresh fruit, and a slice of whole wheat toast.
As soon as the server tucked her order book in the pocket of her apron, Steve asked, "How's Jack?"
Heather tried not to sound like a giddy schoolgirl. "He's wonderful and he'll be here Sunday night. I told him he deserved a face-to-face apology, so I'm flying him in with the pilot and co-pilot and the pilot's wife. They deserve a mini-vacation, too."
Steve leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. "The only paying customer we have is Angelina Perez, and she's still paying off student loans."
"You worry about solving a murder, I'll worry about paying for it. Besides, you told me I needed to do something besides work. I'm taking up golf, and Jack's going to teach me." The very thought of it caused her lips to part in a smile.
"Good for you. I'll show you the ropes on the resort's rich man's putt putt course. It will be an even match if we can talk them into turning off the lights."
Their laughter gave way to silence. She sensed Steve was several steps ahead of her on the investigation into Hector's death, so she brought up something he didn't know, the newspaper article she'd read. "I want you to listen to something that came out today."
Her emotions flared as she read the article. She folded the paper and looked at Steve. He'd interlaced his fingers and dipped his head. His silence became uncomfortable until he said, "What made your father think this was a worthwhile investment to begin with?"
"Samples from drill holes. They showed solid veins of high-quality ore."
"Do you think they were fake?"
"Not at first, but it made little sense that the mine was slowing production if they knew there was more gold. I wanted Father to slow down."
Steve took in a deep breath and let it out. "The details in the newspaper article bother me. Let me think on this. In the meantime, we have a client that expects results in solving the murder of her grandfather, and there's the little chore of making sure we faithfully observe Charley’s wishes."
Heather's meal arrived. She'd hoped for Steve to rattle off a simple solution to how she was to interact with her father. Why didn't he ask more questions? No need to ask. He'd gone once again to that secret place.
Rance sat in Sheriff Blake's office with his right boot resting on his left knee. He looked up at Heather with smiling eyes and nodded a greeting. His hair lay flat against his head, and a tan line creased his forehead where his cowboy hat shielded part of his face from long days in the sun and wind. "Glad to see you. I thought I was going to miss the funeral."
Heather cast a questioning gaze at the sheriff. He answered her unasked questions. "No bail. No paperwork to sign. Rance and I have been talking cattle. I'm keeping the rifle for now, but whoever put it there wiped it clean, too clean. With a truck like Rance drives, it should have at least had dust on it. And speaking of dust, we're not finished dusting his truck for prints. He can pick it up after the funeral."
The sheriff shifted his gaze to Steve. "Thanks for the tip. How did you know they'd try to frame Rance?"
"I had a similar case in Houston. Did Marvin find Grant's boat and a casing?"
"Yep. Right where you said it would be. Brass from a 30-30."
Steve rested his hands on top of his cane. "The markings on the brass will match the rifle, but I don’t believe the casing found in the boat is from the first shot fired. The brass from the first shot at Hector is in the lake."
“Another example of trying too hard to point the finger at Rance.”
Heather realized her mouth hung open. She let Steve and the sheriff talk without interruption. Steve added, "Someone's trying too hard to direct suspicion away from themselves. They overplayed their hand by putting the rifle in Rance's truck and calling in the tip. They should have ditched the rifle in the lake."
Sheriff Blake stood. "Let me know when you find out who it is."
Steve scratched his chin the way he did before he stretched the truth. "My money's on Marvin coming up with the name."
Rance and the sheriff both grinned but said nothing as handshakes and farewells followed.
After trading the claustrophobic jail for bright sunshine, Heather looked at her phone. They were in and out of the county jail in minutes. Even Jack, as good of a defense lawyer as he was, couldn't get a murder suspect out of jail that fast.
Steve interrupted her pleasant thought. "A little air conditioning would be nice. It works best if you start the engine."
She pushed a button, and the car came to life. Looking at the handsome young man in the back seat, she said, "Tell me where to go."
"Back into town. Turn west on 29. It's not far past the city limits sign."
He directed them to a home overlooking the Llano river and explained that the river was still flowing steady, but that would diminish as the summer wore on. They traveled a hundred yards down a gravel road. Rance pointed at a travel trailer parked under a tin shed. "My buddy's letting me live in the trailer. Are you sure you don't mind waiting while I shower?"
"No problem," said Steve. "I'm sorry we didn't get here earlier. I planned on taking you to lunch, but someone had to go shopping."
"My fault," said Heather. "I found a dress with no trouble but started looking at a few other things. Time got away from me."
Rance slid out of the SUV and jogged to the trailer's door before she could add to her apology.
He returned wearing starched jeans, dress boots, a clean white shirt and a straw cowboy hat without the stains from sweat like the one he wore into the trailer.
Once Heather pointed the car toward town, Steve began a conversation with Rance. "Tell me your fondest memory of Hector."
"Heck," said Rance. "Most every memory I have of him is fond. He taught me all I know about being a cowboy." He paused. "More than that, he taught me how to treat people. He said a man needs tough hands and a soft heart."
Heather swallowed a lump.
Like a water valve opened, Rance carried on with a steady flow of words. "I don't know why Mae hated him so much. I asked her once, and she said she had good reason and told me never to ask her again."
"When was that?" asked Steve.
"She was about to graduate high school, so I dropped it. After that, she left."
Steve turned his head so Rance would be sure to hear him. "How close was Hector to Roy and Sue Ann?"
"Roy didn't have any use for the ranch, so he and Hector never found common ground. There wasn't any bad blood between them. In fact, Hector stood up to Dad once when he got too rough with Roy. Dad hit Hector with a hay-maker but Hector just spit out the blood and told him to take another shot if he wanted to but not to hurt Roy or else."
"Or else, what?" asked Heather.
"No idea." Rance paused for a moment. "I always thought Hector knew something about Dad, had something on him. He's the only ranch hand that ever lasted more than a month or two. In a way, they reminded me of brothers."
"And Sue Ann?" asked Steve.
Steve couldn't see it, but Rance smiled. "Sue Ann's smarter than she puts on. Hector and Mom knew it, but Dad never did. Mom encouraged her to stay out of Dad's way, especially when he'd been drinking."
Heather had been quiet long enough. "What did you do when he started drinking and getting mean?"
"I'd walk down to Hector's cabin. Dad never came looking for me or bothered me if I went past the barn. I stayed there many a night."
"Tell me about your mother. I understand her name was Pearl," said Steve. "Nobody's given me a good physical description of her."
"Have they described Mae and Sue Ann to you?"
Steve said that he could picture them both with blondish-brown hair and fair skin, medium build and eyes of a blue tint.
"That's about right," said Rance. "Mae's smaller than Mom was and Sue Ann’s taller."
Steve shifted a little, trying to face more toward the back seat. "Was your mother happy living at the ranch?"
"It's funny you asked. Mae and Roy remember her as being miserable until I came along."
Rance pointed. "Take the next right. The funeral home is down two blocks on your left."
As they pulled into the parking lot, Rance said, "I'll be darned. Mae and that lawyer she's supposed to marry are here."