freckles dotting her pretty face.
“Do you enjoy coming to the Powderhorn?” I asked, wanting to break the awkward lull.
“No.”
“Don’t enjoy riding?”
“Sometimes.”
“How many years have your mom and dad been bringing you?”
“A couple.” She suddenly stood, turned her back on me, wrapped her arms about herself, and started to sob softly. I couldn’t hear her, but could see the movement in her body. I came up behind and placed my hands on her shoulders.
“Just leave me alone,” she said.
I removed my hands, saying, “I thought you wanted to be with me, Pauline. I thought that was why you followed me on the road.”
She fought to control herself, slowly turned, and said, “I did. I mean, I wanted to talk to somebody. But I’m afraid.”
“Of what. Of whom?”
“Of—” She burst into tears and stumbled away, her feet sloshing through the water at the lake’s perimeter.
I shouted, “Pauline, I think—”
She pushed through a clump of bushes and disappeared down the narrow road.
The abrupt end to our conversation was unsettling, and I drew a couple of deep breaths before slowly walking back to the ranch, where Jim Cook stood at the entrance with homicide investigator Bob Pitura.
“Were you with Ms. Morrison?” Pitura asked me.
“Yes. She showed me Hidden Lake.”
“She just came running past us,” Jim said, “crying her eyes out. What happened?”
“Nothing. We were talking. Then she started to cry and took off.”
Pitura looked at me with a questioning expression. I knew what he was asking: Had Pauline told me anything in which he might be interested? I tried to return a nonverbal answer with my eyes.
“Bob told me about your finding the rasp, Jess,” Jim said. “Looks like it came from the stable.”
“You know that so soon?”
“I went there and checked on the tools. We keep a pretty good inventory.”
“So Joe Walker said.”
“We had three of those rasps. They’re special, about the thinnest ones you can buy. One’s missing.”
“I’m waiting to hear from the ME once he gets a chance to examine it,” Pitura said. “In the meantime—”
He was interrupted by Evelyn and Robert Morrison, who approached, stem expressions on their faces.
“Hello there,” Jim said. “I see some of your family took advantage of the free fishing lesson.”
“I don’t wish to talk about fishing,” Evelyn said. “I understand you’ve found the murder weapon.”
We looked at each other.
“Who told you that?” Pitura asked.
“It doesn’t matter who told us,” Robert Morrison said. “As we understand it, it was a tool from the stables.”
“It’s a little premature to speculate on whether it’s the weapon, Mrs. Morrison,” Pitura said. “Might just be a tool one of the wranglers dropped.”
“Exactly,” Evelyn said, “dropped by a wrangler who is also a murderer.”
“Now hold on a second,” Jim said. “Nobody knows whether it is the weapon used to kill Mr. Molloy. And even if it turns out to be, that doesn’t justify pointing a finger at one of my staff.”
Evelyn’s nostrils flared, and her eyes blazed. “You have the responsibility for the safety of my family, Mr. Cook. A man has been killed in cold blood, and that murderer is still among us.” She said to Pitura, “I insist that you stop this ridiculous questioning of my family and focus your attention where it belongs, on the wranglers.”
“We’re questioning each of them, too, Mrs. Morrison. No one has been ruled in or out.”
Robert Morrison said, “As an attorney for Morrison Enterprises, sir, I will hold you and your department personally and legally responsible for any harm that may befall this family.”
“I’ll make a note of that,” Pitura said.
“I really would like to know how you found out about the rasp.” As I said it, head wrangler Joe Walker came from the main lodge.
“Joe,” Jim yelled. “Got a minute?”
Walker came to us and tapped an index finger
“Do you enjoy coming to the Powderhorn?” I asked, wanting to break the awkward lull.
“No.”
“Don’t enjoy riding?”
“Sometimes.”
“How many years have your mom and dad been bringing you?”
“A couple.” She suddenly stood, turned her back on me, wrapped her arms about herself, and started to sob softly. I couldn’t hear her, but could see the movement in her body. I came up behind and placed my hands on her shoulders.
“Just leave me alone,” she said.
I removed my hands, saying, “I thought you wanted to be with me, Pauline. I thought that was why you followed me on the road.”
She fought to control herself, slowly turned, and said, “I did. I mean, I wanted to talk to somebody. But I’m afraid.”
“Of what. Of whom?”
“Of—” She burst into tears and stumbled away, her feet sloshing through the water at the lake’s perimeter.
I shouted, “Pauline, I think—”
She pushed through a clump of bushes and disappeared down the narrow road.
The abrupt end to our conversation was unsettling, and I drew a couple of deep breaths before slowly walking back to the ranch, where Jim Cook stood at the entrance with homicide investigator Bob Pitura.
“Were you with Ms. Morrison?” Pitura asked me.
“Yes. She showed me Hidden Lake.”
“She just came running past us,” Jim said, “crying her eyes out. What happened?”
“Nothing. We were talking. Then she started to cry and took off.”
Pitura looked at me with a questioning expression. I knew what he was asking: Had Pauline told me anything in which he might be interested? I tried to return a nonverbal answer with my eyes.
“Bob told me about your finding the rasp, Jess,” Jim said. “Looks like it came from the stable.”
“You know that so soon?”
“I went there and checked on the tools. We keep a pretty good inventory.”
“So Joe Walker said.”
“We had three of those rasps. They’re special, about the thinnest ones you can buy. One’s missing.”
“I’m waiting to hear from the ME once he gets a chance to examine it,” Pitura said. “In the meantime—”
He was interrupted by Evelyn and Robert Morrison, who approached, stem expressions on their faces.
“Hello there,” Jim said. “I see some of your family took advantage of the free fishing lesson.”
“I don’t wish to talk about fishing,” Evelyn said. “I understand you’ve found the murder weapon.”
We looked at each other.
“Who told you that?” Pitura asked.
“It doesn’t matter who told us,” Robert Morrison said. “As we understand it, it was a tool from the stables.”
“It’s a little premature to speculate on whether it’s the weapon, Mrs. Morrison,” Pitura said. “Might just be a tool one of the wranglers dropped.”
“Exactly,” Evelyn said, “dropped by a wrangler who is also a murderer.”
“Now hold on a second,” Jim said. “Nobody knows whether it is the weapon used to kill Mr. Molloy. And even if it turns out to be, that doesn’t justify pointing a finger at one of my staff.”
Evelyn’s nostrils flared, and her eyes blazed. “You have the responsibility for the safety of my family, Mr. Cook. A man has been killed in cold blood, and that murderer is still among us.” She said to Pitura, “I insist that you stop this ridiculous questioning of my family and focus your attention where it belongs, on the wranglers.”
“We’re questioning each of them, too, Mrs. Morrison. No one has been ruled in or out.”
Robert Morrison said, “As an attorney for Morrison Enterprises, sir, I will hold you and your department personally and legally responsible for any harm that may befall this family.”
“I’ll make a note of that,” Pitura said.
“I really would like to know how you found out about the rasp.” As I said it, head wrangler Joe Walker came from the main lodge.
“Joe,” Jim yelled. “Got a minute?”
Walker came to us and tapped an index finger
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