The Bones of Paradise by Jonis Agee Page B

he’d have been careful not to roll or kneel in those.
    Graver’s fingers felt the gears, the drive shaft of the windmill, dry as a bone. He didn’t remember that noise, but it must’ve been there. He peered closely at the housing for the drive shaft and saw that a stray shot had pierced the metal, allowing the grease to clog and dry. He stuck his finger in the hole and felt the bullet. Have to come back and dig it out, see which gun it came from. Had they saved the bullets from J.B.’s shoulder or checked his guns to see if he’d fired back? He quickly glanced over his shoulder. Higgs was focused on Larabee. Graver circled the windmill struts one more time, examining the murder site from every angle. The puzzle wasn’t only J.B.’s shooting, it was the Indian girl’s death as well. Why was she there? Where was her body now? And why had the shooter left him alive? For days, he was haunted, thought the killer might change his mind and come back for him. Another reason to figure this out, to be ready when the shooter realized his mistake. Then Graver had another thought—what if he tried to draw the killer toward him instead? First rule he’d learned in his past life: trust no one. Second rule: have a fast horse nearby. Always. He glanced at the chestnut gelding as it restively stamped and tossed its head against the no-see-ums chewing bloody clots in its ears. Third rule: stay out of family problems. Well, he’d blown that one to hell, hadn’t he.
    He tested the blades and was rewarded with a nearly noiselessspin. He threw the grease tin to the ground and began his one-armed descent, pausing halfway to rest. His shoulder throbbed wildly. Dizziness came through his head in a wave and ate up the day around him. He closed his eyes and leaned his cheek against one of the main wooden supports. Be lucky not to end up with a face full of splinters like his hand. He should have asked for gloves, but he was so used to doing without that the thought hadn’t occurred to him. He wished to hell he were someplace else. Wished he’d kept going that morning, hadn’t been drawn into another man’s fight. But now it was his fight, and no matter how he felt about the Bennetts, he had to help set things right. A vivid image of his wife and children suddenly swept over him, and he closed his eyes against the sudden moisture. When he reopened them a cloud of dust was rising to the top of the hill. He quickly jumped down and ran to his horse.
    â€œDamn those boys!” Higgs stood in the stirrups. Graver sent his horse up the small rise behind him to see more clearly as cows and calves spilled down the hill and crowded the water tank.
    Higgs removed his hat, bounced it against his thigh to clear the dust from the brim, put it back on, and gave the front a final tug to guarantee it was tight. “Nothing to see here now those cattle come through. Let’s get back.”
    â€œI need a job,” Graver said.
    Higgs squinted at him and gave a short nod. “’Less you got a better offer, you can bunk here. Thirty a month and found to start.”
    Graver glanced at Larabee’s patched saddle and bridle, and the worn pants and shirt he wore. “I’m grateful for the offer, but . . .”
    â€œJust stay until we get this killing sorted out, then.”
    Graver nodded. He stared at the place he’d found the girl and the man that morning.
    Larabee spoke up, “Wonder what J.B. was doing up here with that girl.” He glanced at Graver.
    â€œProbably saw something, same as me.” Graver returned the look. “Where’s the girl buried now?”
    Larabee ducked his head and glanced at Higgs.
    â€œWe don’t rightly know. Came back to get her and she was gone.” Higgs lifted his hat. “Can’t put the rain back.”
    Graver surveyed the little meadow one more time and wondered how it was the girl was gone. Did animals