James felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut by a bronc. But he’d come this far. He couldn’t stop now. He had to finish his father’s case. That meant finding Billy Sherman’s killer—no matter where the path led him.
When his phone rang, he hoped it would be Lorelei. If not her, then her stepmother. But it was Lyle Harris.
“I’ve been thinking. I want to talk,” Lyle said. “Can you come here?”
“I’m on my way.” He turned and went back the way he’d come, turning and going east on a dirt road until he came to the small homemade sign that marked the way into Harris’s place hidden in the pines.
James tried not to be anxious, but he’d known that there was more to Lyle’s story. He’d just never thought he was going to hear it. Because Lyle was afraid of the person who’d hired him to cover up the body? Or out of loyalty to that person? Either way, James thought, he needed a break in this case. And this just might be it.
He parked, got out and checked the garage shop first before going up to the side door of the house. At his knock, Lyle called, “Come in.”
Shoving open the door, he stepped first into a mud room, then a hallway with a lot of doors. “Lyle?” No answer. He felt his skin prickle as he realized belatedly that he might be walking into a trap. The garage had been large, easy to see if someone had been hiding to jump him.
You’re getting awfully paranoid.
“In the kitchen,” came Lyle’s voice.
He headed slowly down the hall, pushing aside half-open doors on his way. True to his word, Lyle was in the kitchen, which had been remodeled to accommodate a man in a wheelchair.
“I was just making chili,” Lyle said, his back to him. “My stepmother said no one eats chili in the summer.” He turned then to look at James. “I do.” Wheeling back to the pot on the stove, he stirred, turned down the heat, and putting down the spoon spun around. He looked nervous, which made James nervous too. “I called you at a weak moment. I’d just talked to my mom on the phone.”
“Does that mean that you’ve changed your mind about telling me the truth?” James said, hoping that’s all there was to this.
“Look, I know you’re going to keep digging. I’ve heard around town. A lot of people are getting upset.”
“They shouldn’t be unless they have something to hide.”
Lyle laughed. “Hey, in case you haven’t noticed, Lonesome is a small town. It’s tight, man. I don’t think you realize the position you’re in. This is dangerous because you’ve stirred things up after nine long years when everyone thought it was over.”
“Why would they think that? Billy Sherman’s killer was never found. Why would people not want the boy’s killer to be found?”
“I’m going to level with you,” Lyle said. “I think you’re an okay dude. Well-meaning enough but treading where you shouldn’t be treading unless you have a death wish. So, you’re right. I was told to cover up the body in the ditch before anyone saw it—especially the neighbors’ kids. But I was told it was a coyote.”
“A coyote?”
“I saw the blood on the road where it had been hit that morning when I came to work. I had no reason to think otherwise. It was god-awful early in the morning. I was half asleep, half loaded too. I climbed up on my front loader—”
“You didn’t go look at the coyote?”
“Why would I? I just loaded up the bucket and was about to dump it when that woman came out and started screaming. That’s the truth.”
James realized that he believed him. “There’s just one thing you left out. Who told you it was a coyote?”
Lyle looked down at his feet for a long moment. “You see all these ramps out here? You see this kitchen? You think the state picked up the bill?” He shook his head. “My friends and the people I worked with did all this.”
James felt an icy chill begin to work its way up his spine. “You ever think that the person who told you to bury the...coyote...was lying to you?”
Lyle met his gaze with an angry one. “No, I did not. Because I admire the hell out of the man who told me to do it. It’s the kind of thing he would think to do if he saw a dead coyote in the road in a nice neighborhood where he thought it might upset the kids. You think he would have done that if it had been a little boy lying in that road?”
“I don’t know. I guess it depends on who we’re talking about.” He watched Lyle’s temper rise and fall before the man turned back to his chili. James thought he knew where this was headed. He didn’t want it to be the man and his wife that he’d had dinner with a few nights ago. He didn’t want to believe it and yet he knew that Lyle couldn’t be talking about anyone else.
“Edgar told you about the coyote, didn’t he? He’s the one who told you to come in early and cover it up. You didn’t question it because you’d been coming in late and he’d been threatening to fire you. And like you said, you would do anything he asked you—even before your accident.”
“It was a coyote,” Lyle said as if trying to convince himself. “You say otherwise and you’re going to destroy a good man. You don’t want to do that in this town unless you’re planning to leave and never come back. It might already be too late anyway.”
James left the man to his chili, hearing the warning, knowing well enough how small towns worked. He suspected his father had made an enemy while working the case and it had gotten him killed.
He felt sick at the thought of Edgar Appleton being involved. He was thinking of the dinner that night, the love he saw between husband and wife, as he climbed into his pickup and started the engine. He didn’t want to believe it. Worse, he didn’t want to confront the man. Edgar and Irene were good people. But his father always said that even good people made bad decisions and ended up doing bad things sometimes.
Still... He’d turned around and driven through the dense pines toward the main road when he heard it. A rustling sound followed by the distinct rattle. His blood froze as his gaze shot to the passenger side floorboards of his pickup.
He hadn’t noticed the paper sack when he’d gotten in. His mind had been on what Lyle had told him. Now though, it drew his attention like a laser as the head of the rattlesnake slithered out, its body coiling, the head rising as the rattles reached a deafening sound.
James slammed on the brakes, throwing the pickup into Park as he flung open the door and bailed out. Even as he did he felt the snake strike his lower calf, sinking its fangs into the top of his cowboy boot.