Chapter Three

It was quite late by the time Bo and Joe got back from Strawberry Reservoir. Bo had to be at the Carbon County Sheriff’s Department for work the next morning at six a.m., now only a few hours away.

Joe, on the other hand, was only working about thirty-two hours a week this time of the year for Ron Brady, whose farm was several miles southeast of Price. Joe’s hours were somewhat flexible, and it didn’t take him long to drive to the farm from his little house near Wellington. So he planned to be at the farm by ten a.m. His employer was fine with that since Joe could work as late as he needed to finish the day’s work. Mostly, he filled water troughs and made sure none of them were frozen, fed animals, cleaned stalls in a large horse barn, and performed other mundane farming tasks. He even did some maintenance on the farm equipment during these winter months.

Ron had raised cattle for years as well as registered quarter horses. He kept some of the horses in the barn and some in pens outside. He also boarded horses for a number of other people who had no place to keep their own. So all told, Joe had around thirty horses to care for. The cattle were in a large corral beyond the barn this time of year. They had sheds and enough room to get around in them, even though there were around fifty head.

The cattle only needed feeding and their water troughs maintained. In two or three weeks, they would start calving, and then Joe’s and Melia’s work would increase substantially. There would also be colts coming along around the first of April.

There was a lot to do, especially inside the barn, where stalls had to be cleaned regularly and the water tended to and the horses fed. As for feed, Ron’s fields produced all he needed to keep the animals fed. The hay was kept dry in a hay barn and had to be retrieved daily and distributed to the animals. Oats and barley that Ron harvested in the fall were kept in a separate granary near the barn.

The past few weeks, Joe had been showing Melia what to do when he wasn’t there so that Ron Brady wouldn’t have to do it. Melia was sweet, pretty, and fun to work with. And even though she was small, she was strong and willing. He looked forward to working with her when summer came and he would be there for well over forty hours a week. Joe and Ron got along great. And he really did enjoy having Melia there now.

At his cheaply rented house, a rundown two-bedroom affair far from any neighbors, there was a backyard of sorts. He’d been able to patch the fence in the back well enough to keep his dog in. He was a pretty yellow-and-white collie called Herc. He always took Herc to work with him to run with his boss’s dog—a Border collie-blue heeler mix that went by the name Ace.

Joe had set days to work during the winter months, and his boss used to do the chores on Joe’s days off, but that had changed now. Ron was a widower, and between grieving for his dead wife and nursing his health, he could not even come close to keeping the farm up by himself.

What had changed was, of course, Melia, his granddaughter. For this past winter, Ron had asked Joe to come to the farm on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. The past two summers, Joe had worked much longer hours almost every day and was promised the same for the next summer. The next day was Thursday, so Joe planned to put in a good day, work late, and be there for dinner. Melia had insisted Joe eat with them just a few days after she had moved in, and since Ron didn’t object, Joe did that as often as he could. In the morning, he’d take Melia the fish he’d caught that day out at Strawberry Reservoir. He had a feeling she’d be excited about that.

Joe lived quite cheaply, and if it weren’t for his use of marijuana, he’d easily have enough money to cover all his bills, such as rent, utilities, gas for the truck, food for him and his dog, and so on. As it was, he owed Emil, his supplier, around five hundred dollars, which he simply didn’t have right now but was determined to save so he could pay him off soon. Joe felt like he could kick the marijuana habit if Emil didn’t keep coming around after money. Whenever he did, Emil always managed to sell Joe a little more pot, on credit of course, as that kept Joe hooked. He disliked Emil a great deal but couldn’t seem to get him out of his life. He’d thought about reporting him to Bo, but if he did that, he could be arrested himself for possession of the stuff. Bo never asked him about the pot, and yet Bo had to know he used it. He was one of the reasons Joe wanted to quit. He knew it put Bo in a bad spot, him being a cop and all.

That night, Joe entered his house after Bo drove off. Something felt off to him when he got inside. After a moment, he figured it out—it was too cold in there. The house was heated with a propane furnace, and he knew he’d left the thermostat on high enough that it shouldn’t feel this cold. He checked it, and it was set at 65, where he kept it most of the time.

Joe walked into his kitchen and to the back door. To his surprise, a rectangle of glass was broken, which accounted for the cold. He could hear Herc whining on the porch. He went to unlock the door, only to discover it was already unlocked. He stood back and studied the door. The break in the glass was large enough for someone to reach a hand in and turn the latch on the lock. He’d been burglarized! A shiver of fear raised goosebumps on his arms. He put his fish in the refrigerator and then quickly checked his house. But he didn’t see that anything was missing. He was puzzled. Why did someone break in but not steal anything? Maybe he’d mention this to Bo tomorrow.

He walked out back to spend a few minutes with Herc. “If you weren’t so nice, maybe you would have bitten whoever broke in here.”

Herc wagged his tail, but he didn’t seem quite right.

Joe knelt down and put an arm around him. “Are you not feeling well?” he asked. Herc looked up at him in the illumination of the porch light. Something was wrong with his eyes. Joe felt around them gingerly with his fingers, and when he did, Herc whined.

There was dampness around his eyes, and Herc kept shaking his head like something was wrong. He kept blinking rapidly, and a couple of times, he tried to rub his eyes with one back leg. It suddenly dawned on Joe that something must have been sprayed in his eyes. That worried him, and again he felt a wave of fear. What if Herc went blind? That would be horrible. And what if whoever did this was close by?

Herc growled, not loudly but still in a worrisome way. “Did someone hurt you?” he asked, wishing the collie could tell him exactly what had happened. “I think I’d better get up early enough to take you to the vet in the morning before I go to work.” He couldn’t afford the extra expense, but Herc was his best friend. He’d find a way to pay the vet bill and still pay Emil off.

Then he had an idea. He hardly ever used his shotgun. If he needed a gun to shoot varmints for Ron, he always used Ron’s guns. Joe’s guns stayed in his house. He could give that shotgun to Emil, and that should take care of his bill with him. It was a nice gun and hardly used. He’d paid over six hundred dollars for it.

Joe sat and stroked Herc for several minutes while constantly listening for any sounds that might indicate the burglar was still in the area. “I’ll get you some dog food and check your water.” Joe had a heated water pan on the porch that kept Herc with water all the time, even in freezing weather.

Herc growled again as Joe stepped inside his house, leaving him behind. Something bothered the dog. Joe assumed it was the fact that someone had broken in earlier. It was then that he noticed there was blood on the door handle and some on the floor. He looked closer at the floor as he once again checked through the house and discovered more blood. That really concerned him. He told himself that the blood was from a cut the intruder had gotten when he broke the glass in the door. He tried to dismiss the matter, but he couldn’t entirely get rid of the uneasy feeling he had. His mind went to his shotgun again. He decided to load it and keep it by his bed that night in case the intruder came back.

Lucas Soto, dressed in black, watched from a short distance beyond Joe’s fence, curious as to what had happened in that house earlier, thinking about the blood he’d seen and the shot he thought he’d heard. The blood made him think someone had been shot, and if so, it had to have been Emil. The other man didn’t seem to have been hurt when he’d hurried away. Lucas assumed Joe would figure out that someone had been in his house while he was gone. Lucas continued to watch as lights came on in various rooms in the house, rooms that Lucas was now familiar with, having inspected them just minutes ago.

He watched as Joe came outside. The big collie dog came to him, and Joe knelt beside it for a moment. Lucas shivered slightly and stamped his feet to warm them up. It was quite cold, but he didn’t let it bother him. He continued to watch Joe’s house, mostly curious to see what Joe would do. He hated the guy because of an altercation they’d had one day in a grocery store where Joe had embarrassed him in front of Nattie. It had been quite an ugly scene.

After reentering his house, Joe began to look around once more when he couldn’t rid himself of his uneasy feeling. As before, he still couldn’t see anything out of place. And yet for some reason he couldn’t explain, the hair stood up on the back of his neck, and a shiver of apprehension raised goosebumps on his arms. It was then that he noticed a kitchen chair was tipped over, and the others seemed to have been moved around. The neat little pile of mail he’d left on the table had been scattered as if someone had looked through it. All of that had to have been done by the burglar. Could that someone still be here? Worry niggled at his brain, and shivers of fear ran up his spine.

He kept three guns in his bedroom: a hunting rifle, a .22 caliber pistol, and the sixteen-gauge shotgun he’d been thinking about giving to Emil to square his debt, the one he now planned to keep loaded that night and near his bed. Why all three guns were still there was a mystery to him. It seemed to him like they were what the burglar would have been most likely to take.

He grabbed the shotgun, loaded it, and then looked around the house for a third time, carrying the gun with him in the crook of his arm. He still didn’t see anyone hiding anywhere, but again, it didn’t seem like anything had been taken, and he was finally totally convinced no one was hiding anywhere. Whoever had been inside his house must have only stayed for a short while. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would break in here. He didn’t have much worth stealing. His TV was worth a little, and his guns were worth a fair amount, but that was about it, and all those items were still here. He also didn’t have a computer, and his cell phone had been with him.

He wondered briefly if someone had been looking for marijuana or some other kind of drug, but he was out except for a couple of joints of pot in the dresser in his bedroom. He’d looked—they were still there. The presence of blood bothered him, but he decided the burglar had cut himself badly when he broke in and tried not to think too much about the blood.

He finally decided he’d better get to bed. He checked on Herc once more; the dog whined and again rubbed at his eyes with a back foot. Joe stepped back inside, locking the door behind him. He took a few minutes to tape a piece of cardboard over the broken window to keep the cold out.

He was angry but unsure what to do. Finally, he decided to call Bo now instead of waiting until morning. He explained what had happened, and Bo said, “I don’t like this, Joe. Should I come out or send a deputy who’s on duty?”

They discussed the options for a minute, but Joe really didn’t think this was urgent. After all, nothing had actually been stolen, and he had his shotgun loaded and ready if anyone came in again. He mentioned the blood but told his theory concerning it to Bo. “I know you gotta work in the morning,” he said. “Why don’t you come then if you can? Everything seems to be all right now. I’ll be okay.”

“All right, I’ll do that if you’re sure,” Bo agreed.

Joe thought about the two joints in his bedroom. He didn’t want them here when Bo came in the morning. He lit one and took one puff on it but then put it out. On an impulse, he took both joints outside, climbed over his back fence, and carried them a hundred feet or more beyond it. Then he tossed them. It was time to quit using the stuff. He couldn’t help but wonder if tonight’s trouble was because of that bad habit.

Herc had followed him as far as the fence, still acting strange and growling. Joe met him there when he came back. Normally, Herc would have been jumping around and demanding Joe’s attention. He usually gave him plenty of attention, but this time, he just patted his head and went back inside, already questioning his decision to throw the joints out in the old grass and short brush where he may not be able to find them again if he wanted to. And yet he knew it was the right decision.

Joe thought about the pretty granddaughter of Ron Brady’s as he often did lately. He had come to like her a lot. She was fun to be around and treated him better than girls used to treat him when he was in high school. She would frown on his use of marijuana. That mattered to him. That solidified his determination that the next time Emil came around, he would give him the shotgun and not accept so much as another joint of marijuana. He was through with the stuff.

Earlier, Lucas had left his tree and approached Joe’s back fence to get a better view. But he silently moved farther away when Joe approached the fence. He couldn’t imagine what Joe was doing. Lucas crouched low and watched as Joe first climbed the fence and then passed within fifty feet or so of Lucas’s hiding place in the darkness. Joe went a little farther, threw something, then returned, once more passing close to Lucas but not once glancing in his direction. Lucas was pretty sure he wouldn’t have seen him even if he had looked his way since Lucas was wearing black clothes in the middle of the night. He figured he’d just appear like another of the dark patches where the snow was mostly melted.

Curious about what Joe had tossed, Lucas waited until Joe was back in his house, and then using his small flashlight, he walked back to where Joe had been. He looked around and then smiled when he saw a joint on top of some snow on the ground. He picked it up with his gloved hands. When he searched farther, he found a second one. He picked it up too but could not find any more despite looking for several minutes. Finally he returned to his position near the back fence and watched. The dog continued to growl, but he kept his distance, so Lucas ignored him.

Lucas decided that another surprise for Joe would be a fun twist to his evening. In fact, it would be a bit comical since he was quite certain Joe’s throwing away of the joints was an indication that he was going to quit smoking the stuff. He waited for an hour after the lights had all gone out, figuring Joe would be asleep by then.

Lucas walked all the way around Joe’s yard, the dog growling the whole time but keeping its distance. Joe’s truck was parked in a short driveway beside his house but on the opposite side of his bedroom. Lucas approached it slowly, making sure no lights came on in the house. He noticed the passenger side window was not rolled all the way up. That was perfect. He flipped both joints through the small opening. They landed on the seat. He smiled to himself and left. Joe just thought he’d gotten rid of the joints.

Snow started falling shortly after Lucas left to return home, and it snowed very lightly off and on during the night.

Joe did not sleep in the next morning. He awoke early to a clear, cold day with a light smattering of new snow on the ground. He worried about his collie, so still in his night clothes, he went outside and checked on him. Herc was acting a lot better, but on close examination of his eyes, Joe could see the edges were red. He determined to take him to the vet after Bo came and before Joe went to the farm to work. It would make him late, but he would work hard to make up for it. He had no desire to cheat Ron or to make him unhappy with him. The last thing he needed was to lose such a great job.

Lucas had left his house earlier. Nattie had been asleep when he’d come in, and she was asleep when he left. He often admitted to himself that she was too good for him. She refused to participate in his bad habits and took his frequent forays away from the house in stride, seldom asking where he was going. If she weren’t pregnant, he often wondered if she might leave him.

He shoved thoughts of Nattie from his mind and considered what he was doing. He didn’t dare get as close to Joe’s house this morning as he had during the night, but since he had nothing else to do, he wanted to watch what happened at Joe’s house this morning, if anything. He didn’t want to leave fresh tracks in the light covering of fresh snow, nor did he want to be seen, so he stayed back far enough that he was quite sure no one would notice him but where he could see both the front door and the rear one. He watched through a pair of strong binoculars this time. A sheriff’s vehicle pulled in and parked behind Joe’s truck. The deputy walked past the passenger door and glanced in, did a double take, and looked closer. Lucas knew exactly what he’d just seen. It made him chuckle softly to himself. The joints in his truck were payback for the embarrassment Joe had caused him in front of Nattie.

Bo showed up around seven thirty, just as Joe finished a breakfast of cold cereal and toast. Joe opened the door to his cousin’s knock and, after Bo stomped the snow from his feet, said, “This is crazy, Bo. The only things I can tell happened are my mail was messed with, a chair was knocked over and others moved in the kitchen, and the glass was knocked out of one of the panes in my back door. And there’s some blood around from where he must have cut himself breaking the glass. I’m also pretty sure something was sprayed in Herc’s eyes.”

Bo was very fond of dogs. “Let’s have a look at Herc first, shall we? Then, if you don’t mind, maybe Two Face could go play with him while we look things over inside. They can run around in the snow, even though there’s not much, and have a good time.”

They walked through the house to the back door, but Bo stopped there. “You taped a piece of cardboard here, but I can see the blood you mentioned on the doorknob, and I can see it on the floor. You were right. He got cut.”

“I only taped the cardboard there to stop the cold from coming in,” Joe said as Bo continued to look closely at the blood.

“I guess you’ve touched the doorknob,” Bo said, glancing at him.

“Yeah, I didn’t think about fingerprints,” Joe said sheepishly.

“We’ll dust it anyway, that and the chairs in the kitchen, even the mail. Who knows—we might find something helpful,” Bo said. “But let me open the door now. I’ll wear latex gloves.” He put a pair on.

“We’ll check the front door too, even though you and I have both touched it, just in case your burglar tried that door first.” Bo opened the back door, and they stepped outside onto the porch, where they were greeted by Herc. He’d been some distance from the house, running about in the light, new snow. He seemed to be in a good mood this morning and feeling quite frisky, back to his old self.

Bo examined his eyes and agreed with Joe that something had been sprayed in his face. “I’d have a vet check him just as a precaution,” he said. “Although I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.”

“I was going to do that,” Joe said.

“Good. Let’s go bring Two Face back here and let these two have some fun while we work inside.”

They walked past Joe’s truck, and Joe noticed Bo glance inside. He did the same and almost fainted. Two joints were sitting right on his front passenger seat. He had no idea how they had gotten there since he never took his marijuana in the truck with him. He was certain Bo had seen them. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

Bo didn’t say a word about the joints, and as they passed by the truck again with Two Face running ahead of them, Bo did not glance inside the truck. Joe did, and the joints were still there. They were not an illusion, and he was sure they were the ones he’d thrown away; one of them had been lit and then pinched out, just like he’d done to one before deciding to throw them away. He was sunk.

Once Two Face and Herc had gone to play in the backyard, Joe and Bo reentered the house.

“You follow me while I look around, if you don’t mind,” Bo said with still no word about the marijuana joints in the truck.

“You’re the cop,” Joe said, trying to keep his voice light.

Bo searched very carefully. Joe would have been glad he’d thrown the joints away so Bo wouldn’t have seen them. But his actions last night hardly mattered now because someone had put the joints in his truck and Bo had seen them anyway. He waited for the hammer to fall, for he was sure Bo would mention what he’d seen at some point and then probably have to arrest him.

The last room they checked was the spare bedroom. After looking beneath the old twin bed and in the closet, Bo said, “What’s in this old trunk here?” He had stepped over to a very large, rustic trunk that rested against the wall beneath the bedroom window.

“It’s empty,” Joe said. “I’ve only opened it once, and that was when I first moved here.”

Bo looked closely at it. “You don’t dust much, do you, Joe?” he asked with a grin.

“No, do you?” Joe asked, grinning back at his cousin despite the strain he was under.

“Not much, but the reason I mentioned it is that the dust here by the latch and on the front of the trunk has been disturbed. Let’s look in it just because I think your burglar did.” He glanced around and then added with a frown on his face, “There’s blood on the linoleum and on the front of this trunk. See this dark stain right here and right there? I’m sure that’s blood.”

“Maybe the guy’s hand was still bleeding from getting cut on the glass in the window of the door,” Joe suggested reasonably. “He must have looked in the trunk for something to steal.” Bo made no comment, but his face was grim, and Joe felt a knot forming in his now very queasy stomach. There was really quite a lot of blood, if it was blood, and he was sure Bo knew what he was talking about.

Joe watched as Bo opened the lid, and Joe gasped. A man’s body lay in the trunk, curled tightly into fetal position, his face twisted until it was facing up, a neat little hole right in the center of his forehead.

“This is not good,” Bo said after both men stared at it for a minute. Without touching the body, Bo leaned down and looked closely. “He’s been shot.” Bo straightened up and looked at Joe in a way that he’d never looked at him before, his face a mixture of surprise and suspicion. “Joe, have you ever seen this guy before?”

Joe didn’t want to answer. He wanted to run, hide, and disappear. How did he tell his police officer cousin that he’d been buying marijuana from the dead man who was crammed in his trunk? How could he tell him that he owed the guy five hundred dollars?

“No,” he lied. “I’ve never seen him before.”

“Well, whoever he is, he hasn’t been here very long. I mean, he’s stiff now, but he can’t have been here for more than a few hours in my opinion.”

“He must’ve been killed while we were fishing yesterday,” Joe suggested, having a hard time talking. He was shocked beyond anything he had ever experienced. How could Emil Eifler, a man he despised, but nowhere near the point of wanting him killed, have ended up dead in a trunk in his own house? It was beyond baffling.

“Okay, let’s go back in your living room. I’ll need to have some other officers come since your house is now a murder scene,” Bo said. Moments later, he made the call, which was short and to the point. “While we’re waiting, you and I need to talk, Joe. First, why don’t you tell me about the marijuana joints in your truck?”

“Bo, I promise I didn’t put them there. I don’t know how they got there. Someone must have slipped them in through the window. I didn’t have it rolled up all the way. I do that a lot when I have Herc in the truck, even in cold weather like this. And I must have forgotten to roll it back up.”

“Yeah, I noticed that. I suppose that’s possible,” Bo said. Then he studied Joe’s face for a moment, making him squirm. “Joe, this is just between me and you. If you will be honest with me, I won’t repeat what you say to anyone.”

“About what?” Joe asked, feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

“About smoking pot.” Joe started to say something, but Bo held up his hand, stopping him. “I’m not an idiot, Joe. So don’t treat me like I am. I’ve smelled pot in your house before and even on your clothes. So again, be honest with me. How long have you been using it?”

The hammer had fallen. Joe took a deep breath, fought back the urge to cry, and said, “About a year. But I don’t use much. And I’ve quit now.”

“How long ago did you quit, and don’t lie to me.”

“Since last night,” Joe said with his head down. “I had two joints left, and I threw them out back.”

“In your yard?”

“No, I climbed the fence and threw them back there a ways.” He pointed to the south.

“It’s going to take a little while for other officers to get here, so let’s look now.”

“Okay, I think I can remember about where I threw them,” Joe said.

“Let me take the lead, Joe. This snow, though it’s just a small layer, will have covered your tracks a little, but I think I still may be able to see impressions in the old snow or where the ground was bare. Tell me if you think I’m going the wrong way at any point.”

They moved slowly, Bo with his head bent, looking closely at the snowy ground beneath them. He was pretty good and didn’t once ask Joe when to stop, but he said, “Your tracks end right here. But wait, there are more tracks, some from before this light snow. Someone has tromped all over here.”

Joe looked at where Bo was pointing. He could barely make them out, but they were there, just like Bo had said. “Those aren’t mine.”

“I know that. Joe, someone must have been watching you last night. And it couldn’t have been the guy in the trunk.” Bo took some pictures of the tracks with his cell phone even though they were faint, and then he said, “You stay right here and let me take a closer look.”

Joe watched, sick to his stomach with worry as Bo followed the tracks. He searched the area thoroughly. Finally he walked back to Joe. “Okay, whoever this was must have found your joints. I’m guessing they’re the ones in your truck now. Joe, someone doesn’t like you. Let’s go back.”

“Are you going to arrest me?” Joe asked.

“I’m going to collect those joints from your truck, but since I haven’t actually caught you with them on you, then no, I won’t arrest you. They will be our little secret on two conditions.”

With a voice that was not working very well, Joe asked, “What are the conditions?”

“First, that you tell me who the man in the trunk is, and second, that you prove to me that there is no pot in your house—and I promise you that we’ll look very thoroughly.”

“There’s none in there. Nor is there any in my truck but those two joints, and there’s none in any of my clothes,” Joe said.

“Fine. I hope you’re telling me the truth.”

“I am, Bo. I won’t lie to you anymore.”

“Meaning that you do know who’s in the trunk,” Bo said. It was not a question but a statement of fact.

“I do,” Joe admitted with his head hung. “His name is Emil Eifler, and he’s the one who I’ve been buying weed from, and I owe him some money. He’s been pushing me to pay him. I planned to give him my shotgun for payment and then not let him give me any more weed.”

“I see. One more question, Joe. Was he alive and did you catch him in your house when you got home last night?”

“No! Bo, I would never do something like that,” Joe said, alarmed that Bo would even ask such a thing. “I didn’t see anyone in here. I had no idea he was in that trunk.”

“Okay, so let’s go get those joints from the truck now. And you must be prepared to answer whatever questions you’re asked by the detective when he and the other officers get here. You will have to tell them that you know the dead man and that you used to buy from him but that you haven’t for a while. They can’t charge you for telling them you used to use it. They could only charge you if they find some.”

Lucas had seen the two men search for the joints behind Joe’s house. He wished he was close enough to hear what was being said. He shivered with concern when the officer took pictures of the ground—of his tracks, he was sure. He watched them as they went to Joe’s truck and opened the door with Joe’s keys. The deputy did something inside the passenger side that Lucas couldn’t see, but when the deputy stood up and stepped back, he was holding a small plastic evidence bag. Lucas was certain it held the two joints, an opinion made more sure by how uncomfortable Joe looked. Lucas laughed to himself. Joe was in trouble now, which Lucas was not troubled by in the least. He didn’t care for Joe. In fact, he despised Joe.

His mind went back to the day he’d met Joe. Several months ago, when he and Nattie had been shopping in a grocery store, Nattie had accidentally knocked over a display. It was almost empty but had still held several cans of beef stew. The cans had fallen, clattering, and rolled up the aisle. Lucas had laughed and told Nattie that she was a klutz and needed to pick up the cans.

She’d told him she was sorry and asked him to help, but he’d told her that it was her job. She’d started to pick up the cans, tears in her eyes, when this guy, who turned out to be Joe Whalen, had started helping her. Lucas had said, “Hey, that’s her job. She’s the one who knocked that thing over. She can clean it up.”

Joe had looked up and said, “She’s a lady. If you aren’t gentleman enough to help her, then I will.”

Lucas had seethed with anger. When the display was back in place, Nattie had introduced herself. “I’m Nattie. Thanks for helping me. You’re a nice guy.”

“I’m Joe Whalen,” Joe had said. “You’re welcome.” Then he’d smiled at Nattie and she’d smiled back, a sweet smile, one Lucas thought should only be for him, not for some stranger. The two had looked at each other longer than Lucas liked. It had made him jealous and very angry.

Joe had turned away just then. Lucas had grabbed the back of his shirt and jerked him around. Joe had balled his fists and said, “What do you need?”

“I need for you to get lost. This is my woman,” Lucas had said. “No one talks to her or smiles at her like that. Understand, loser?”

“Leave him alone, Lucas,” Nattie had said hotly. “He was only being a gentleman, unlike you.”

Lucas had let go of Joe’s shirt then, but reluctantly. “Get lost.”

Joe had held both hands up then and stepped back. “Sorry, didn’t mean to offend you.” Then he’d smiled at Nattie again. “It’s nice to meet you, Nattie. Have a good day.”

“You too, Joe,” Nattie had said with a brief smile.

Lucas had wanted to punch him for being defiant like that, but Nattie had grabbed his hand. “Don’t, Lucas.”

Lucas had only seen Joe one time after that. He’d been driving past Emil’s old house when Joe was leaving with a package that likely contained some dope. Joe had waved at him with a grin on his face, sending a flash of anger through Lucas, but then Joe and his old truck had gone on by, and Lucas hadn’t seen him again until last night. He snapped out of his reverie, hoping Joe would get in trouble. He really didn’t like the guy at all.

Joe and the deputy had gone back in the house and were there for several minutes before two more county sheriff vehicles sped up the narrow road and stopped in front of Joe’s house. They went inside, and soon, a hearse pulled up, followed by even more officers. That made Lucas squirm. Surely if there was a body in the house, he would have seen it, but he hadn’t. Then again, he hadn’t looked that closely. But if there was, it had to be the body of Emil Eifler. Lucas didn’t particularly care that he was dead, but he would never have killed him. He just wanted to get his property from Emil and even catch him doing something he could turn him in to the cops for to get even with him. Emil had done something; he’d broken into Joe’s house. But he couldn’t use that information now, nor would he get back any of the things Emil had forced him and Nattie to hand over. It was all so unfair.

Getting Emil arrested for burglary would have made Lucas feel better even though that had not been what he was after. All he’d wanted was to get even with Emil for taking his property and scaring Nattie half out of her mind. She hadn’t deserved that. But Lucas had never thought about murdering Emil—if that’s really what had happened.

He began to tremble. The shot he’d heard had been real, and so had the blood. Whoever the big man was, he must have killed Emil. But Lucas had foolishly gone into the house himself. His fingerprints were in there, and his tracks were outside. He could be accused of murder. But he didn’t do it.

He was worried now like he’d never been worried before. And he hated Emil all the more for it.

Joe endured a lot of questioning, and he could feel the suspicion aimed at him by Detective Will Merianos, the lead officer on the case. Joe insisted he was innocent, but no one seemed to believe him. He wasn’t even entirely sure Bo believed him. He could only hope he did.

He worried about his collie, and he had to get to work. Ron needed him. Melia needed him.

“We found a small can of Mace in the dead guy’s pocket,” Bo told him at one point. “That explains why your dog’s eyes have been bothering him. You won’t need to take him to a vet. Mace has no long-lasting effect. Herc will be fine.”

Joe felt better knowing that, but he really felt sick when Bo told him that the detectives were going to take his revolver. “Why do they need that?” he asked.

“Just to make sure it wasn’t used to kill the victim. It has been fired recently. Have you shot it in the past day or two?” Bo asked.

“No,” Joe responded.

“Then whoever killed Emil probably used your gun. It has an empty shell in one chamber. Also, Joe, we have confirmed that he is who you told me he is. He’s a drug dealer who the detectives have been trying to make a case on for the past few months. He’s had a few run-ins with the law over the years. He’s never been to prison, but he’s spent some time in the county jail. There’s another drug dealer in the area who we’ve been watching who apparently has had some run-ins with Emil. His name is Leonardo Augur.”

Joe shuddered. “I know who he is. I remember Emil telling me that if the guy contacted me and tried to sell me drugs that I’d better not buy from him. Anyway, back to Emil. I can’t imagine why he would be in my house.”

Bo cocked an eyebrow. “The detective and the other officers want to search your house very thoroughly. So far, all they’ve done is take photos of the body and the surrounding area.”

“They can search all they want. I’ll even sign something saying that.”

“No, they are going to get a search warrant. It will take a little while.”

“I need to go to work now. And I want to get those fish out to Melia. Is it okay if I’m not here for the search?” he asked.

“Let me check,” Bo said. A moment later, he returned to the kitchen where Joe was waiting. “You can go now.”

“Thanks,” Joe said.

Joe left for Ron Brady’s farm with the fish and his collie, feeling like his world was crashing down on him. He was certain the officers suspected he had killed Emil. He hadn’t, but they didn’t act like they believed him. Admittedly, it did look bad for him. After all, Emil’s body had been found in his house, his own pistol had recently been fired, and he owed Emil some money.

Lucas left his watching spot right after Joe got in his truck. He had half expected Joe to be arrested. Better Joe than him. It would have served him right. They should have arrested Joe and hauled him off to jail so they wouldn’t look for anyone else who had been in the house. Now, of course, Lucas wished he’d never gone in. He’d heard that a deputy by the name of Bo Buckley was Joe’s cousin. Was he the first uniformed deputy who’d shown up? Maybe he had talked the others into letting Joe go. So what would happen now? Would they find Lucas’s fingerprints and come after him? What about his shoes? The deputy had taken pictures of his tracks. He needed to ditch the shoes right away.

Lucas hurried to where he’d hidden his car and drove the direction Joe had driven. It might be stupid, but he wondered where Joe was going. He was becoming obsessed with the guy and wanted him to get in trouble. He drove fast and soon had him in sight. Then he slowed down and followed him into a farming area and stopped when he saw him pull into the large farmyard. That must be where he worked. Lucas decided to find a place to hide where he and his car wouldn’t be noticed.

He was a little farther away than he would have liked, but his binoculars were high quality. He could see well enough through them to have at least some idea of what was happening on the farm. He leaned against a tree and watched. His car was hidden someplace secure, and he was out of sight of the road or any neighboring farms. Watching Joe beat watching soap operas all day at home.

The cops had to arrest Joe so they wouldn’t go looking for anyone else—so they wouldn’t come looking for Lucas. He was frustrated. Surely they’d come after Joe in a little while. If they didn’t arrest him soon, Lucas didn’t know what he’d do. The guy who really needed to be arrested was the guy who had actually murdered Emil, but he had no idea who that was. He simply had to hope that they would arrest Joe.

Another man, the killer, also watched the farm but from a different vantage point. He’d watched Joe’s house earlier. He wanted Joe arrested but not because he had any feelings for the guy one way or another. Joe would be as good a person as any to have arrested, and then no one would come looking for him. Maybe the cops hadn’t figured out yet that Emil had been shot with Joe’s twenty-two pistol. Surely that would clinch it. He’d held Emil at gunpoint with his own gun, and when Emil had tried to get away, he’d knocked him on the head, rendering him unconscious. Then he’d looked around the house, and when he found the pistol in the main bedroom, he’d had an idea, a rather good one, he thought.

Emil was just regaining consciousness when he’d dragged him into the spare bedroom and shot him with Joe’s twenty-two revolver. He’d first planned to just leave him there on the floor, but then he’d seen the big old trunk. When he discovered it was empty, he’d put Emil’s short, skinny body in there. There was a bit of blood around, but the floor was an ancient brown linoleum, and the blood sort of blended in. Not that it mattered. He’d left it at that and gotten out of there. He hadn’t wanted to be there when the occupant of the house got home.

The dog hadn’t given him any trouble, so he’d hurried back to his truck and left.

From where he was watching now, a short ways from the farmyard, he could see that dog yipping at the heels of an attractive young lady who came running out of the house when Joe arrived. Who was she and what kind of relationship did she have with Joe? Not that it mattered. Joe would go to prison. He would make sure of that because there was no way anyone could be allowed to come looking for him. Joe was the perfect scapegoat.