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Sabrina arrived right at six, and Cecily waved her petite blond friend inside. “Red or white?” she asked.
“With lasagna? Red.” Sabrina hoisted a narrow brown paper bag. “Since you’re providing dinner, I thought it only fair to bring the wine.”
Cecily accepted the bag and pulled out the bottle. Seeing the label, she grinned. “One of my favorite Cabs. Thanks. I’ll open it so it can breathe. Make yourself comfortable.”
With a quizzical glance, Sabrina wandered to the couch. “You don’t need to play fancy hostess, Cecily. I’m so glad your program is officially underway, but I can tell there’s more. Why am I really here?”
Cecily popped the cork and went to the fridge for the hors d’oeuvres she’d picked up at the store. Hors d’oeuvres? Who was she kidding? It was a plastic tray of cut up veggies and some ranch dressing. No, not hors d’oeuvres. What had Sabrina called them? Crudités. A fancy name for veggies and dip. After setting out plates and napkins, she plunged ahead. “It’s Derek. I need your help.”
Sabrina frowned as she took the tray from Cecily and set it on the coffee table. “I’m not sure it’s right for me to intervene. Just because Derek and I are seeing each other—”
“That’s not what I meant, and I’d never take advantage of your relationship.” Cecily dunked a carrot in the dip and crunched.
“Quit stalling. What did you mean?”
Cecily swallowed her carrot and wiped her mouth on a cocktail napkin. “Derek’s not enthusiastic about my program.” Sabrina’s expression said this was nothing new to her, so Cecily went on. “Grady Fenton—he’s the first subject—is living in the guest house. Since the evening meal and an early breakfast aren’t part of the ranch’s routine, I thought if we could bring Derek some prepared freezer food, he’d have one less thing to deal with. The guest house has a mini fridge and a microwave, so if Grady didn’t have to come to the house for every single meal, Derek might be happier. If the meals were heat and eat, that would be even better.”
Sabrina went to the counter where Cecily had left the wine. She poured two glasses. “I take it you’re not planning to show up at the ranch with six week’s worth of deli lasagna.”
Cecily dunked a piece of celery. “True. I was going for the homemade angle.”
“By homemade, you mean made in your home, but by me.” Sabrina took a sip of her wine and brought the second glass to Cecily.
Cecily gave her a sheepish grin. “I’ll help. I’ll owe you. Big time.”
Sabrina sighed, but her smile said she was okay with it. “Can we eat first?”
After they’d eaten, Cecily showed Sabrina the list of dishes she’d shopped for. “They’ll have leftovers from Tanya’s lunches for some nights, and depending on when they ate or how hungry they are, I know sandwiches will work for others. So, it’s not like we’re going to cook suppers for six weeks.”
“Considering there’s no way we could do that in one evening, you’re right.”
While they cooked, Cecily tiptoed around another question she had for Sabrina. “You and Derek didn’t see eye to eye at the beginning, did you?”
Sabrina stopped chopping the onion she was working on. “Definitely not. To be honest, we still don’t see eye to eye on everything. Nobody does.”
“So, how did you get through it? What made you decide it was worth the trouble?”
Sabrina worked her lower lip with her teeth. “I guess you figure living with the flaws, or the differences, or whatever those sticky points happen to be, is better than a life without the person.” She went back to her onion. “We’re not talking about me and Derek, are we?”
Cecily reached for her wine glass. “That obvious, huh?”
Sabrina laughed. “Well, not quite as obvious as a neon sign.”
Cecily finished what was left in her glass and stirred the Sloppy Joe mixture bubbling on the back burner. “I’ve dated other guys, but there seems to be this Bryce meter I hold them up against and they don’t cut it. On the surface, they seem to be guys I should like. They’re good-looking, have decent jobs. Outgoing, good in social situations, make an effort to have a good time. A couple have even been the chocolate and flowers type, but there’s no zing.”
Sabrina tipped the chopped onions into a sauté pan and shoved a bowl of mushrooms in Cecily’s direction. “Slice.”
“Yes, ma’am.” As she worked, Cecily continued.
“Bryce and I can sit and watch a movie or a football game, and not say anything. With him, there’s no compunction to fill the silences. When we talk, it’s almost like shorthand. But lately, when I try to discuss Helping Through Horses, he shuts me out. He was never vocal with his objections—not like someone else I could mention—but it’s like there’s this curtain of cold air blowing between us. With Grady under his supervision, it’s worse.”
“Are you asking whether you should stay with a guy who isn’t willing to share your dreams, or if you should try to make him share them? Or would you give them up to be with him? Because if you’re going to fight to make a relationship work, you have to know where you both stand.”
Cecily’s heart did a nosedive. She leaned against the counter, thoughts awhirl. Sabrina’s words pounded in her brain, twisting and turning like Ginger had when they’d competed in barrel races. “I’m not sure. You don’t make things easy. It’s as if you’re describing a battlefield.”
“You expected me to come over for a girls’ cooking session, have some wine, and solve your problems?” Sabrina snorted. “Sorry, but it doesn’t work that way. I wouldn’t call building a relationship a battlefield, but life is full of tough choices and there are no simple answers.”
Cecily wandered to the almost-empty wine bottle. By the time she and Sabrina—okay, mainly Sabrina—finished cooking the food, let it cool, and packed it up, it would be too late to deliver it. “You want more wine?” she asked Sabrina. “I can open another bottle.”
“No, thanks. I’m driving.”
Cecily dumped the rest of the wine into her glass. She raised it in Sabrina’s direction. “Then here’s to my night of serious soul searching.”
And maybe developing a battle plan.
Cecily’s Dispatch shift started at six, so she’d have to put off calling Heather. Nobody appreciated getting calls at five in the morning. While she brushed her teeth, she wondered what new information about Grady the social worker had uncovered. Her curiosity continued to dance around her brain as she worked, but she kept counteracting the whirling thoughts by telling herself if it was important, Heather would have checked in again.
At nine, Cecily asked her partner to cover her for a few minutes. She grabbed her cell phone and went to the break area. Pacing, she found Heather’s number and made the call, relieved the woman answered and she wouldn’t have to deal with the voicemail runaround. “It’s Cecily Cooper, returning your call. What’s up with Grady?”
“Grady?”
“Grady Fenton. The kid in my Helping Through Horses program. You called. Said you had news?”
“Fenton. Right. Sorry. I’ve been putting out fires. Almost literally. Placing kids who lost their parents in an apartment fire yesterday. And a teacher reporting signs of abuse in a kindergartener. Let me get my notes.” Papers rustled, keys clattered. Heather spoke under her breath. “Fenton. Fenton. Fenton.”
Of course, Grady was one of Heather’s easy cases. She’d probably relegated him to the farthest recesses of her mind once they’d placed him at the Triple-D.
“Here it is. Grady Fenton. Decent kid. Ah. The cops who picked him up neglected to turn over some of his personal property. Lost in the shuffle. Happens too often, especially when they’re picking up more than one kid.”
“What kind of property?” Cecily asked. If it was something Grady held dear, he might be happy to get it back. Maybe some of his grumbling attitude was because he thought it was lost.
“It’s all packaged up,” Heather said. “Not a lot. An oversize manila envelope is what I’m showing. There should be an inventory sheet. It’s at a police substation in the Springs.”
“Which one?”
“Falcon. Across from the mall, if you want to meet up one day next week.”
“I don’t have time until Wednesday,” Cecily said. “Would you mind calling the station and asking someone to send you a copy of the inventory sheet? I don’t want to mention it to Grady until I know what we have.”
Heather sighed. “I can put it on my list, but it could be days before it’s all resolved. I don’t have any reason to be at that substation—at least not yet.”
“Would they release the information to one of the deputies up here?” Cecily asked. “I’m a mere civilian Dispatcher, but I work with cops who might be able to get it done.”
“Worth a try,” Heather said. “I’m already late. Gotta run. Keep me posted.”
Cecily disconnected, hit the ladies room, and went to her station. A whole lot of speculation and worry for what might amount to a few teenage treasures. Or a change of clothes.
“Nothing exciting going on,” her partner said. “Sandefur’s on a traffic stop on 67, and Youngblood’s serving paper in Rainbow Valley.”
“Got it.” Cecily put on her headset and checked Sandefur’s traffic stop. Routine. No wants, no warrants, vehicle registration and insurance up to date. Rural Colorado at its best.
A while later, when Andy Markham, one of the detectives, popped in, Cecily asked if he’d check with Falcon Station. “All I want is a copy of the inventory sheet,” she said.
“Yeah, I can ask. Want to meet for lunch?”
Was he attaching strings to making a phone call? Andy was nice enough. Always friendly. But she’d been so preoccupied with Grady, she hadn’t noticed if his friendliness might be because he was seeking more than a normal working relationship. She paused and gave him a closer look. Sandy brown hair, worn short but not the high and tight so many of the cops sported. An easy smile. Late thirties. Decent build, but the beginnings of a paunch. Desk belly, she called it. Laugh lines around his eyes, which were waiting expectantly.
What the hell. “Sure. I get a lunch break at eleven. Meet you somewhere?”
Make it clear this was lunch, not a lunch date.
She vowed she wasn’t going to hold Andy up to her Bryce meter.
Cecily arrived at the sandwich shop across the highway from the station and spotted Andy sitting at a table where he had a view of the door. He smiled and stood, waiting until she’d taken her seat before sitting down. The server appeared almost immediately, grinned at Andy and refilled his coffee mug. She greeted Cecily and recited the specials. After taking their orders, Andy spoke. “I checked with Falcon, and they’re going to try to hunt up the sheet and email me a copy. I’ll let you know when it arrives, but he said it would take a day. Typical backlogs and priorities.”
As she’d expected. “I understand. Thanks.”
As they chatted over sandwiches, Andy seemed genuinely interested in—and supportive of—Helping Through Horses. “Run across too many borderline cases,” he said. “Get them out of that environment for a while, give them something legal to fill their days. Sounds like you’re on the right track.”
“I hope so. My test case’s attitude is more whatever than gung ho, but I’m hoping he’s the first of many. Matter of fact, I’m going out there after work today. With food.”
Andy laughed. “Teenage boys and food. Winning combo right there.”
She checked the time. “Sorry. I have to be back. Unlike you detectives, I have a clock running my schedule.” She grabbed the check, figured out her share, and left the money on the table. Lunch. Not a lunch date. “Nice chatting with you.”
It wasn’t a lie. Not at all. He hadn’t made any advances. He’d kept things as casual as she had.
And it’s bugging you.
Not even a hint of a come on? A girl likes to feel appreciated.
Aside from redirecting calls for people who didn’t know the right agency to contact with their problems and some complaints about erratic drivers, the most interesting call was about a couple of stray cows in someone’s flowerbed. Why had that come in on the 911 line? Never mind. People couldn’t be bothered looking up the non-emergency numbers.
“What color are the ear tags?” Cecily asked. “That way, I can call the appropriate rancher.”
“You don’t come pick them up?” the caller—sounded like a nice, little old lady—said.
“No, Colorado’s an open range state. But the ranchers don’t like losing livestock, so I’m sure someone will be by to round them up soon.”
“What am I supposed to do about my roses?” the woman whined.
“Ma’am, the only way to legally keep cattle out is for you to fence your flowerbeds. The legal requirement is four rows of barbed wire.”
The woman huffed. “Well, I’m certainly not going to do that. Let me go see what color the tags are.”
Even though the woman was too far away from the Triple-D for them to be Derek’s cows, Cecily still had a moment of relief when the woman reported the tag color. Definitely not Triple-D animals. She ran her finger down the list of numbers and called the rancher in question, who promised to send someone out after his missing cattle.
Such was the exciting life of a small town dispatcher. Would she want to move to a high-profile station? One in Colorado Springs? No. As well as some ugly gang action involving rapes and robberies, the Springs had sixteen murders already this year, three in the last three weeks. There hadn’t been a single one in her county since she’d started working for the Sheriff’s Department six years ago. Most of the deaths up here were suicides—something about people wanting to come to the mountains to die. Not much gang activity, not a lot of drugs.
It wasn’t that they weren’t busy—being a small force meant there weren’t any specialized departments in Dispatch. Everyone did everything. Plus, she knew most of the people around here and enjoyed helping them. Not to mention, the lower stress level gave her time to think about her project. Another way she could help people.
After her shift, Cecily rushed home and packed her SUV with the groceries and food she and Sabrina had prepared last night. All right, so Sabrina did most of the cooking, but Cecily was the champ when it came to packaging and labeling. Instructions included. Cecily had no clue whether Grady could fend for himself in the kitchen, but these were all single serving portions. Freezer to microwave to plate.
She called Derek to alert him she was on her way.
“We’re heading in,” he said. “Can’t talk now.”
The tension in Derek’s voice came through, even in the short exchange. Had something gone wrong? Did it involve Grady? She pressed her boot a little harder against the accelerator.
“Stay right here,” Bryce said to Grady. “Do not get out of the Gator unless one of us tells you to.”
The boy, eyes wide, freckles standing out against his green-tinged skin, nodded.
Bryce reined Shadow around and dug his heels into the mare’s flanks. She took off at a gallop.
Minutes later, he caught up with Frank, who had tied Pumpkin to a clump of juniper. Bryce dismounted as Shadow slid to a halt. He pulled his rifle from its scabbard. “Derek said he and Grady found a dead steer. What do you have, Sherlock?”
In their Army Ranger days, Frank was the expert at tracking, which had earned him the detective’s call sign. Although Bryce hadn’t used it in years, the name slipped out naturally, as though they were back stalking the enemy.
Frank snapped a picture, then slipped his cell phone into his pocket and gestured at the ground. “Someone’s been through here. Recently.”
“Someone? Then not a mountain lion? What about a bear?”
“Not unless mountain lions and bears have started wearing boots. No animal killed that steer. You saw it, right?”
“No, Derek sent me to find you.” Bryce bent, hands on his knees to examine the spot Frank indicated. “This is why you’re Sherlock and I’m not,” he said. “I see some disturbed grass, but a boot print? Why not a cow? They wander through here all the time.”
Frank pointed out toe and heel marks, but Bryce still didn’t see it. Didn’t matter, though, because if Sherlock said it was a boot, it was a boot.
“Not one of us?” Bryce said, although they hadn’t worked this area in four or five days.
“Too fresh,” Frank said. “A day, not more than two, I’d say. Judging from the decomp, flies, and the vultures picking at the carcass, the cow was killed within the last forty-eight hours.”
Bryce straightened. “All right. It’s a fresh boot print. What does it mean?”
“It means someone’s trespassing on Triple-D property and is likely responsible for the dead steer we found earlier.”
“You’re sure of this because...?” Bryce asked. “I’ll buy you can see a boot print, but how do you know it’s whoever killed the cow?”
Frank straightened and rubbed the back of his neck. He gave Bryce a cockeyed grin. “Because I’m Sherlock.”
“So this is where you spout off what kind of a boot it is, where it was bought, who bought it? Or how you know how old and how tall the wearer is? How much he weighs and what he ate for breakfast? Or there’s only one person in all of Colorado who wears this particular boot? When do you say Elementary?”
Frank mimed smoking a pipe. “No, this is where, after impressing you with my uncanny deduction skills, I casually mention I’ve already scoped out the immediate vicinity and found several more prints as well as other disturbed plant life, some of which appear to be stained with blood.”
“You find where he came in, how he left?” Bryce asked.
“Working on that. Looks like an ATV came in from the western edge of the property.”
Bryce ran a mental visual. “So they’d have been using roads for most of it. Can you get decent tracks from packed gravel?”
“Haven’t come across any distinct tire marks yet.”
“Doesn’t make sense someone got lost and happened onto Triple-D land, then found his way through three pastures to kill a steer. Not with all the gates. Doesn’t sit right, someone opening and closing those gates if he was lost. Seems like he’d leave them open to find his way back. Why leave the road to begin with?”
“I agree. Makes sense, if he was coming to mess with the cattle, he’d have left the gates open. Cut fence wires. Maybe even spooked them. If whoever did this has something against Derek, then scattering a herd would do more harm to his outfit than killing a single steer.”
“If Kenny McMillan hadn’t sold out and moved, he’d be top of my list,” Bryce said.
“He has, so we can write him off.”
“What’s next?”
“We phone it in to the cops. Not sure how fast they’re going to get out here for a dead cow, though,” Frank said.
“This is serious ranching territory. Someone’s going around killing cows, the cops should take an interest.”
Frank gave Bryce a crooked grin. “You have a contact at the Sheriff’s Department. Maybe she can pull some strings, light some fires.”
Bryce gave a noncommittal grunt. He wasn’t sure Cecily would do anything special for him given their deteriorating relationship. “Any other ranchers having the same issues?”
“The grapevine’s usually quick. Derek’s going to check when he gets to the house.”
“Anything I can do here?” Bryce asked. “Otherwise, I’ll head back.”
“Go,” Frank said. “I’ll mark the area, then I’ll join you. How’s the kid holding up?”
“Getting better. Can’t say he’s the first to lose his lunch over a mutilated steer. I got the impression he was worried that whoever did it might be coming back. And might switch from cattle to humans.”
“I doubt it,” Frank said.
“Agreed, but if it keeps him anchored to the Gator, where I told him to wait, no need to tell him until later.” Bryce mounted up and took off at a brisk trot. Charlie had sensed the intruder yesterday. At this distance from the house? Bryce thought not. Which meant whoever did this must have been closer at some point.
Bryce mulled through his theories as he returned to the day’s staging area, not caring if they made sense or not. “What do you say, Shadow? Someone who had a grudge against Derek? Or ranchers in general? Some vegan making a statement? Fraternity initiation? Zombies?”
Okay, that last one was a bit over the top. From the way Shadow shook her head, she thought so, too.
As he approached the Gator, Bryce had a quick heart-thumping moment when he couldn’t see Grady in the ATV. When he drew closer, he saw the boy curled up on the seat. He’d worked the kid pretty hard this morning—all physical labor with the underlying hope Grady would want to gravitate to the horses, which entailed less shoveling and lugging. Grady seemed content to spread manure rather than learn how to put a feed bag on a horse, much less ask to ride one.
One thing Bryce would give Grady—the kid was willing to work at anything not involving a horse. However, he’d seemed at ease this morning when Bryce had insisted he spend time with Ginger, so progress was being made on that front.
After lunch, they’d set out to mend a stretch of fence, and Grady had seemed pleased when Derek told him he could come along. And drive the Gator. Bryce wondered if it was a way for Derek to make sure the kid could handle the ATV, because Derek had opted to ride with Grady, while Bryce drove the pickup and the rest of the hands to the staging area.
Or, maybe Derek was having second thoughts about making Bryce responsible for all of Grady’s training. Since Grady could learn how to mend a fence without having to be on horseback, any of the cowboys could teach him. While Bryce and Tim had gone off in one direction, and Frank took another section, Derek had opted to show Grady around the pastures. That’s when they’d found the steer. Based on Frank’s description, it hadn’t been pretty.
Grady jerked with a start when Bryce rode up to the Gator. The boy’s expression morphed from alarm to curious. “You get whoever did it?”
“Not yet. But we will.” Bryce hobbled Shadow so she could graze until the other hands returned and brought the horses back in the trailer. “Let’s get to the ranch.”
Grady claimed the passenger seat, so Bryce started the ATV and drove. The kid was pale, but not green anymore.
“If it means anything,” Bryce said, “we’ve never had anyone come onto the ranch and kill any of our livestock.”
Grady was quiet for a moment. “If they wanted to kill a cow, why not shoot it? Why ... why do it the way they did?”
“Can’t rightly say. A gunshot would make noise. Bullets can be traced. Lots of reasons. My vote goes to the guy being a whack job. The cops’ll deal with it.”
When they pulled up to the ranch house, Cecily’s car was parked in back. Bryce’s stomach did a quick hop, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was happy or dismayed.