THIRTY-ONE

Mike Martin wiped his brow and pushed his cowboy hat back onto his head. “Summer in Texas. Gotta love it.”

A joint-effort of both the Grayson and Alamoville police combed the bushes along the riverbank in search of a weapon.

Amos Branson chuckled. “Yeah, that river looks mighty inviting.”

“Yep. It does. If we don’t find anything in the next few hours, I’m heading in there.”

Bill Butterfield of the Grayson force joined them. “Hey, with that bushy hair, you’d better hope no one mistakes you for a nutria.” He stretched his arm to imitate a shotgun.

Branson laughed. “So, we understand you have a phantom on your force.”

Butterfield cocked his police-issued, baseball-styled cap back further on his head. “Weird, right? No one can figure out who those two were. Sorta matched Mason’s and Andy’s descriptions. Yet they were tracking the perimeters of the golf course with me near the highway.”

Mike shrugged. “In these parts, being tall with sandy hair or shorter with a paunch and dark hair would describe half the men in any beer joint.”

Butterfield nodded. “Probably two ranchers wanting to get in on the action. I don’t know about y’all, but sometimes they can be a chicken bone in our gullet. Just because they pay a majority of the taxes, often eat BBQ with the mayor, and are deputized, they think they can play policemen anytime they want.”

They all shared a laugh and went back to their search. Branson bent toward Mike. “Still gives me the jitters that he identified himself as a Grayson cop and even flashed me a badge. Talked like one, too. Knew protocol.”

“Yeah. But listen. We breed some hard-headed, macho-types around here. Think they’re royalty because they own a few thousand acres. Not your fault, kid.”

He heaved a sigh. “Thanks. Exactly what the chief told me.”

Two hours later, both forces got the orders to stop. Branson scoffed under his breath. “About time. I’ve memorized these blades of grass by now.”

Mike slapped him on the back. “Thoroughness, my friend. Hate to see some kid out here on a camping trip pick up the discarded pistol and play with it.”

“True. Let’s hit the water, yeah?”

Before Branson could peel off his shirt, Martin’s cannonball splashed. Whistles and claps from the other cops followed.

~*~

Betsy Ann wiped a dab of syrup off George’s tie as the elevator descended to the archive section of the Austin downtown library. “There. Much better.”

His cheeks became rosy. “I knew I shouldn’t have indulged, but the blueberry flavored one called my name.”

“Sorry it was brunch and not breakfast. I forgot about my hair appointment, and to reschedule would have been a nightmare. She books five weeks in advance.”

“Well, she did a marvelous job. Not that your hair doesn’t always look smashing.”

She gave him a quick lip-smack as the lift halted at their destination.

“Well, let’s hope this time it’s less adventurous than when we investigated the baby and kidney snatchers.”

She sighed deeply. “I always feel safe with you, dear.”

He held open the automatic door and motioned for her to step out first. They went to the information desk and registered to use the machines. Since they wished to search recent records, they were directed to the computers. The library assistant peered at them with a sugary smile. “All the newspapers have online editions now. Do you need me to show you how to use the search engines to narrow your hunt?”

George parroted back her facial gesture. “No need. We’ll muddle through.”

Her smile faded. “Very well. I’m happy to help if you need me. Computer number six is available. Sign here.” She swiveled the clipboard to face them and handed George a ballpoint pen.

After an hour and a half, the couple still hadn’t discovered any robberies that fit the pattern nor any suspects that matched the descriptions of any of the three men—Les Holden, Jacob Wellington, or the mystery man who had dashed by them. They’d added his features to the list just in case it panned out he wasn’t a cop. Betsy Ann stretched her arms behind her. “I don’t think this is getting us anywhere.”

“I agree, my dear. Perhaps these scoundrels hit smaller towns. Mildred and Babs may yet have luck.”

She rested her chin in her hand. “Or hitting up defenseless elderly people sounded like an easy gig, so they switched their M.O.” She emphasized the police lingo with her chin raised.

George grinned. “Perhaps. It still doesn’t make sense why the one man would hang himself. But these are desperate times.”

She lowered her gaze. “Yes. I’ve prayed for his soul and his family. Those poor parents.”

George caressed her other hand. “Shall we try going back a few more months before we give up?”

She let out a soft sigh and dug inside her purse. “Yes. May as well. It’s only five fifteen. The library doesn’t close until seven. First, let me text Babs to see if they’re having any better luck.”

At the sound of the ditty, meaning a text hit her in-box, Betsy Ann clicked the app open. Her eyes scanned the screen to read the response. She looked at George and shook her head.

Babs told her they hadn’t uncovered a thing. The three Bunco friends were in the Sunset Acres community resources center since it had several computers. That way, they could scan the weekly papers together.

“Well, let’s widen our search.”

Thirty minutes later, they stumbled across an article that sent a chill zipping up both of their chests. It detailed the burglary on a small ranch outside of Alamoville. The owners were on a two-week cruise in the Caribbean at the time, so they had let the staff off and none of the ranch hands stayed overnight onsite. The couple was known in the area for their fine art collection, and when the silent alarm tripped, the police responded lickety-split. Gun fire erupted.

George read the report in a whisper as he pointed at the screen. “One officer went down, hit twice. Once in the arm, and once in the chest. He was air-flighted to Brackenridge Hospital in Austin in critical condition. His name is not being released at this time, according to Chief of Police Jonathan Gates, pending notification of the family.”

Betsy Ann grabbed his arm. “Oh, my heavens. That must have been Mitch Hornsby, Blake’s partner.”

George nodded, his eyes wide. “The two suspects fled the scene, but police apprehended one of them a few hours later. However, due to a technicality, that suspect, later identified as Lester Holden, had to be released and was never charged.”

She put her hand to her mouth. “George. Mitch Hornsby is in charge of this case now!”

“So, he is. Must be rough on him. Still I guess there would be some satisfaction knowing the man who almost killed you is now dead.”

“Well, I know it’s his job to remain impartial, but still. No wonder he’s been a bit disgruntled. Poor man.”

George brushed her cheek with his hand. “Come on. Let’s print this out and go. Janie needs to hear about this.”

~*~

Janie answered the phone. “Betsy Ann, you were correct. All three posted on their pages they were not going to be home. And get this. They also listed their phone numbers on their profiles.”

“Pretty dumb, right?”

Janie scoffed. “For sure. Easy for the thieves with some ingenuity to get their addresses. That’s how they chose their homes to rob. Have you found any patterns elsewhere?”

“Well, yes...”

“Did the news list their names? I can look them up to see if they have pages, too.”

“Um, we found one article about a robbery a few months ago. However, it’s not a pattern we’d thought about.”

When Janie heard, she gawked. Her voice blasted through the speaker. “What? That means Jon...er, Chief of Police Gates, knew the man who shot Hornsby had been downed by Phil Edwards. Why wasn’t he forthcoming about that?”

George spoke next. “Nor Hornsby. My guess is he hoped the reporters didn’t connect the dots, or it may look as if the Alamoville police had a vendetta.”

Janie harrumphed. “So, they covered it up. Otherwise, Hornsby couldn’t have taken over, which meant Blake couldn’t go on vacation.”

“Well, he’ll still be on administrative leave when he returns, so Hornsby would have been handed it anyway.”

Janie slumped into her chair. “I feel responsible.” In the background, she could hear the car engine. “George, are you driving and talking?”

“No, we’re still in the parking lot. Just have the air conditioning running.”

“Oh, all right, then.”

“We wanted you to know about it right away.”

Janie’s ears heated and her chest muscles tightened. “What gets me is Blake knew as well, and never told me. Arrgggh.” She stomped her foot, which sent Mrs. Fluffy skittering down the hallway. “I feel as if the wool has been draped over my eyes. I have half a mind to call my dear son-in-law even though he’s on vacation with my grandkids and daughter.”

“Now, calm down, dear lady. He had to remain tight-lipped as long as the internal affairs investigation continued, right? Besides, there are still many unanswered questions.”

She grabbed her keys and her purse. “And I demand answers. Thanks, I’ll call y’all later.”

“Um, Janie? It’s almost six o’clock.”

“So? Gates will probably still be there. He told me he was elbow deep in paperwork, which is why he cancelled our meet-up at five.”

“It’s Thursday. We are due at your place for Bunco in an hour.” Betsy Ann’s voice blasted through the speaker.

“Oh, right. Well, I’ll be back in a bit. No worries. You remember where I hide the key? Just in case.”

“Well...”

Janie hung up before she heard what else Betsy Ann had to say and pocketed her phone. She laid down her keys and handbag on the table and walked to the hall closet to get the folding tables and chairs. If she left them in the living room, everyone else could help set them up.

Halfway down the hall, she halted and slapped her forehead. “Dash it all. I forgot to get the potato bread for the egg salad sandwiches. Almost everyone is off gluten now. I’ll get a loaf at the organic store on the way back.”

Mrs. Fluffy gave her a blank stare. Janie shook her head. She’d resorted to talking to herself again. Widow’s plight. Oh, well. She had a lot on her brain. She snatched her purse again and headed to her car.