Blood Land by R. S. Guthrie

in the world most like him.
    The idea came to Pruett when Ty said something about blood being more important than money.
    Why would Ty’s grandfather, Willy McIntyre, take any chances with the inheritance?
    Normally, not a big stretch. But Pruett happened to know the deceased McIntyre employed a damn fine lawyer; he knew it because Willy used her several times in land disputes with the county.
    It occurred to Pruett there was little chance that Beulah Jorgensen—who in addition to being Town Attorney did plenty of private work on the side—ignored the significance of surface versus mineral rights.
    This meant that either Willy or Rory McIntyre intentionally cheated Ty out of his birthright. Pruett knew two things for certain:
    Willy McIntyre loved Ty fiercely.
    And Beulah Jorgensen, cantankerous as she was, would not be party to something so deliberately heinous.
    That left Rory.
    Rory and Ty never saw eye-to-eye. Ty was too strong-willed, too much like his old man. They’d fought openly. Physically. It just never occurred to Pruett that the old man would take it that far. And if Ty had found out…
     

    Pruett brought a pair of old-fashioned donuts and a steaming coffee from the local bakery to Gert Lundergaard, County Clerk. He didn’t need bribery to get anything from Gert, he simply knew what she loved, and he liked to indulge her. Gert had been there for him during the long haul months after Bethy’s death, the one person in town with whom he could share the terrible fear he felt climbing into an empty bed each night. Gert lost her husband of fifty-two years the winter before, to cancer.
    “Morning, sweetie,” Pruett said, handing the bounty to Gert.
    “You are a fine man, Sheriff James,” Gert said. “You know my sweet spot.”
    “I need a favor,” Pruett said.
    “No need to say so,” Gert said, pulling out a fresh donut. “Just tell me.”
    “Need all the land records and the will from the McIntyre estate.”
    “Popular files,” Gert said.
    “How so?”
    “Beulah Jorgensen. She was in here last week, reviewing the same. This have to do with the trial?”
    “Maybe,” Pruett said.
    “Give me a few minutes,” Gert said, and disappeared into the file room behind her station.
     

    Funny thing about dishonest people , Pruett thought as he read through the official documents—one being the Last Will and Testament of William Joshua McIntyre: Very few are as swift as you see ‘em in the movies .
    But there was no horseplay Pruett could see in the original disposition of the estate. It was clear how the property was to be divided and nothing was said about mineral rights separately.
    The document also named Rory the executor of the estate. As such, all future proceeds would funnel through the father and down to the grandsons. It was unlikely Ty even attended the reading of the will, much less would have understood any of the legalese. Rory would easily have been able to satisfy Ty with a chunk of property, divided just as the will demanded.
    The mineral rights issue was happening all over the state; perhaps rather than malfeasance the McIntyres really had been caught in the unintended inequity all over the state of Wyoming in the gas boom.
    Pruett frowned. Something was wrong. Beulah would have known about the mineral rights—she was too bright to miss something like that—and Will McIntyre would never have settled for his favorite grandson being left empty handed.
    The land dispute of the McIntyre’s was gossip around town, but Beulah Jorgensen would have had to know that the gossip was more or less true. She would have known that Ty’s own ignorance was being used against him. Or something worse…
    The sheriff’s next stop was to the Town Attorney’s office. Beulah was in, preparing for opening arguments. Pruett sat down hard in the chair facing her across the lacquered desk.
    “Help you, Sheriff?” Jorgensen said without looking up.
    “Sure can. You can tell me how it is that the City