Chapter Thirty-six

Hunter was reaching for me the next morning then looking over my shoulder at the bedside clock. He let me go and gave a “Whoop.”

“Ten thirty!” he yelled and almost bounced me off the bed. “Can’t be. No way!”

He ran to the chair where he’d laid his pants, fumbled around in the pocket, and called Sheriff Homer.

“Been checking things out,” he sputtered. “Be right out there. Oh. Good. Give me an hour.”

I was headed for the shower. I’d spotted nice little bottles of shampoo and conditioner, a nice body lotion. This was going to be a great shower. Then maybe breakfast in the dining room. I was thinking a kolache—if they had them. Apple or cheese. And a big pot of tea . . .

Hunter read my mind. “No time, Lindy. Sorry. Got to get back to Ralston. The sheriff’s calling for the results now. Promised we’d be right out.”

Of course. What was I thinking? Sometimes, I swear, I get off track and just want nice times to keep going.

We were back to Ralston in forty minutes flat. When we walked in, it was like we were already old timers in town. The deputy behind a desk up front smiled wide and bade us “Mornin’.”

“Sheriff said to tell you to go on in. He’s out getting some kolache and coffee. Be right back.”

So I had half my breakfast wish though by now I was back on track and just wanted to hear what the forensics people found.

“Got news.” The sheriff bustled into his office and set rolls and coffee in front of both me and Hunter.

Hunter ignored everything else. “What’d he come up with?”

“A match. You got your gun that killed Sally Wheatley. No doubt about it. That cartridge that killed your Wade guy—no match. Different gun. Either you got a man with a lot of guns or you’ve got two killers.”

Hunter leaned forward and whistled. “That’s something. Thanks, Sheriff.”

“Welcome,” the big man said. “What more can I help you with?”

He made a motion with his hand as if pushing the coffee and kolaches at us. I was ready to celebrate and found an apple roll in the bag.

Hunter was thinking. I knew that meant trouble ahead. Maybe a trip to Dallas to find those guests on the Wheatley hunt or something else he’d come up with. What I wanted to do most was call Meemaw, tell her what we’d found, and see what she had to say.

“All I need now is a motive for killing both Wheatleys,” Hunter said.

“From your killer’s shot, he was a good marksman. Had to come from up on one of the hills, behind a boulder, I’d say.”

“A Marine,” Hunter told him. “Sharpshooter.”

“And the shot that took out your Marine?”

“Straight through the heart. Looks like it could’ve been a hundred yards or more. No powder burns. Kill shot.”

“Whew. And here I thought Riverville, Texas, was a quiet little town.”

“Was, until we got these two.”

“From the looks of things,” the sheriff said, “you’d better find that other killer pretty fast. Sounds like a professional hit to me. Not something you want in Riverville or anyplace else. Still, you don’t want him gettin’ away.”

The sheriff sipped at his hot coffee and set it down to take a big bite of his sweet roll. “To tell you the truth, I’m just as glad to hear the guy who murdered that Wheatley woman is dead. I can close the books on that one now. Don’t like loose ends hanging around to devil me for years. Not like we get much in the way of killings here in Ralston. Once in a while. Mostly a husband. Sometimes a wife. But no hired killers.”

Hunter turned to me. “Let’s get back out to that game ranch. Ask Earl about that woman—see if he recognizes the description the waitress gave us.”

I nodded. That was agreed on.

“Then maybe I’ll have to go into Dallas. Talk to people at Eugene’s office. Could be this is all connected to his oil business.”

The sheriff nodded. I mumbled something. I wasn’t going to Dallas or anywhere else after we got out of here. I had to get home to my own work.

We thanked the sheriff for his hospitality and help and left, though I did take one more roll—in case I didn’t get to eat again that day.