across his head. “Rankins called me, said Graystone was out there bothering him. That guy starts trying to pin Lewis’s murder on one of us, we gotta teach him a lesson.”
Dugan rolled his hands into fists to control his temper. The jerk was just venting. God knows, he’d heard worse.
Still, the names and prejudice stung.
The one woman he’d been involved with years ago had received the brunt of more than one attack on him by idiots and their prejudice. She’d broken it off, saying he wasn’t worth it.
His daddy had obviously felt the same way.
He’d decided that day that his land and work were all that mattered.
A cell phone rang from the back. Then the sheriff jumped up from his booth and lumbered toward the door. “I’ll be right there.”
Anger flared on Gandt’s face as he spotted Dugan. “What the hell were you doing out at the Rankins ranch?”
Dugan squared his shoulders. “I just asked him some questions.”
“That’s my job.” Sheriff Gandt poked Dugan in the belly. “Because of you nosing around, Wilbur Rankins just killed himself.”
“What?”
“He shot himself, you bastard.”
Dugan’s mind raced. “Wilbur Rankins was dying of cancer. Why would he kill himself?” To end his pain?
“His son said he was upset about that news broadcast about Ron Lewis swindling folks in Cobra Creek. Said his daddy was too humiliated to live with people knowing he’d been foolish enough to lose his land.”
Dugan silently cursed. The story hadn’t revealed any names, though. “You going out there now?”
“Yeah, I’m meeting the M.E.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Hell, no,” Gandt said. “You’ve done enough damage. You’re the last person Junior Rankins wants to see.”
Dugan held his tongue. But as Gandt strode from the diner, doubts set in. Had Rankins really killed himself?
Or had someone murdered him because he’d talked to Dugan? Because they thought Rankins knew more about Lewis’s death than he’d told them?
* * *
S AGE CLEANED THE ROOM the couple had stayed in, needing to expend some energy before she tried to sleep.
That bloody whistle kept taunting her.
She stripped the bed, dusted the furniture and scrubbed the bathroom, then put fresh linens on the bed and carried the dirty sheets downstairs to the laundry room. Benji’s room with the jungle theme and his stuffed animals and trains beckoned her. After she started the wash, she went back to his room and traced her finger lovingly over his bedding and the blanket he’d been so attached to.
She lay back on the bed and hugged it to her, then studied the ceiling where she’d glued stars that lit up in the dark. Benji had been fascinated with the night sky. She could still hear him singing, Twinkle, twinkle, little star, as he watched them glittering on his ceiling.
Did he dream about her, or did he have nightmares of that car crash? Had he felt safe with Ron or frightened?
A sob tore from her throat. Where was he, dammit?
She gave in to the tears for a few minutes, then cut herself off as she’d done the past two years.
She could not give up hope.
Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she tucked the bear beneath Benji’s blanket, then whispered good-night. One day she would bring Benji back here and he’d know that she’d never forgotten him. That not a day had gone by that she hadn’t thought of him, wanted to see him, loved him.
She turned off the light and closed the door, then walked to her room and slipped on her pajamas, latching on to the hope that the news report would trigger someone’s memory, or a stranger would see Benji in a crowd or at school and call in.
Exhausted, she crawled into bed and turned off the lights. Dugan’s face flashed behind her eyes, the memory of his comforting voice soothing. Dugan was working the case.
If anyone could find her son, he could.
Outside, the wind rattled the windowpanes, jarring her just as she was about to fall asleep. A noise sounded in the hall.
Dugan rolled his hands into fists to control his temper. The jerk was just venting. God knows, he’d heard worse.
Still, the names and prejudice stung.
The one woman he’d been involved with years ago had received the brunt of more than one attack on him by idiots and their prejudice. She’d broken it off, saying he wasn’t worth it.
His daddy had obviously felt the same way.
He’d decided that day that his land and work were all that mattered.
A cell phone rang from the back. Then the sheriff jumped up from his booth and lumbered toward the door. “I’ll be right there.”
Anger flared on Gandt’s face as he spotted Dugan. “What the hell were you doing out at the Rankins ranch?”
Dugan squared his shoulders. “I just asked him some questions.”
“That’s my job.” Sheriff Gandt poked Dugan in the belly. “Because of you nosing around, Wilbur Rankins just killed himself.”
“What?”
“He shot himself, you bastard.”
Dugan’s mind raced. “Wilbur Rankins was dying of cancer. Why would he kill himself?” To end his pain?
“His son said he was upset about that news broadcast about Ron Lewis swindling folks in Cobra Creek. Said his daddy was too humiliated to live with people knowing he’d been foolish enough to lose his land.”
Dugan silently cursed. The story hadn’t revealed any names, though. “You going out there now?”
“Yeah, I’m meeting the M.E.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Hell, no,” Gandt said. “You’ve done enough damage. You’re the last person Junior Rankins wants to see.”
Dugan held his tongue. But as Gandt strode from the diner, doubts set in. Had Rankins really killed himself?
Or had someone murdered him because he’d talked to Dugan? Because they thought Rankins knew more about Lewis’s death than he’d told them?
* * *
S AGE CLEANED THE ROOM the couple had stayed in, needing to expend some energy before she tried to sleep.
That bloody whistle kept taunting her.
She stripped the bed, dusted the furniture and scrubbed the bathroom, then put fresh linens on the bed and carried the dirty sheets downstairs to the laundry room. Benji’s room with the jungle theme and his stuffed animals and trains beckoned her. After she started the wash, she went back to his room and traced her finger lovingly over his bedding and the blanket he’d been so attached to.
She lay back on the bed and hugged it to her, then studied the ceiling where she’d glued stars that lit up in the dark. Benji had been fascinated with the night sky. She could still hear him singing, Twinkle, twinkle, little star, as he watched them glittering on his ceiling.
Did he dream about her, or did he have nightmares of that car crash? Had he felt safe with Ron or frightened?
A sob tore from her throat. Where was he, dammit?
She gave in to the tears for a few minutes, then cut herself off as she’d done the past two years.
She could not give up hope.
Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she tucked the bear beneath Benji’s blanket, then whispered good-night. One day she would bring Benji back here and he’d know that she’d never forgotten him. That not a day had gone by that she hadn’t thought of him, wanted to see him, loved him.
She turned off the light and closed the door, then walked to her room and slipped on her pajamas, latching on to the hope that the news report would trigger someone’s memory, or a stranger would see Benji in a crowd or at school and call in.
Exhausted, she crawled into bed and turned off the lights. Dugan’s face flashed behind her eyes, the memory of his comforting voice soothing. Dugan was working the case.
If anyone could find her son, he could.
Outside, the wind rattled the windowpanes, jarring her just as she was about to fall asleep. A noise sounded in the hall.
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