Must Love Cowboys (25 page)

I gazed up at him with frank admiration. “Damn, you're good.”

His cheeky grin came dangerously close to starting an entirely different kind of fire. “I know.”

After all that excitement, dinner seemed sort of anticlimactic. Being slightly caramelized, the sweet potatoes were quite tasty and so was the salad. However, I was a little disappointed with the pork chops. Although remarkably tender, they seemed a bit heavy with all the breading and the mushroom sauce—not that anyone else complained. Ophelia obviously considered them to be quite scrumptious, and no one had anything left on their plate except for the bones.

We were passing around the pies when Calvin spoke up. “So, what's this I hear about another fence being cut?”

After Wyatt and Joe gave their version of the latest act of vandalism, Calvin shook his head in mystification. “Still can't figure out why anyone would do that. It doesn't make any sense at all.”

Angela and I exchanged a speaking glance. “There are a few other things we need to talk about,” she began. “I want to make sure everyone knows the full story about what's been happening around here.”

Bull let out a whoop. “Goddammit, I was right, wasn't I?”

Calvin stared at him, shaking his head in patent bewilderment. “About what?”

“About someone trying to kill you,” Bull replied.

Given Bull's usual tactless manner, Calvin's frown was understandably skeptical. However, instead of asking Bull to explain, he shifted his gaze toward Wyatt. “What's your take on this business?”

If anyone thought it strange that he would direct his question at Wyatt, they didn't mention it. I, for one, wasn't a bit surprised. Wyatt had a persona that tended to put him in charge whether he was the owner of the ranch or one of the hired hands.

Wyatt's reply was direct and to the point. “We think the fences are being cut to keep us out of the way while someone searches the bunkhouse.”

“What on earth for?”

“That's what I'm not sure about, although I'm guessing they were trying to find a way to make your death appear to be from natural causes. The first attempt having failed, our perpetrator seems to be looking to have another go.”

If Calvin was ever going to suffer another heart attack, now was the time. Although from where I was sitting, I couldn't see that he so much as batted an eyelash. “So, someone is trying to do me in, huh? Seems pretty determined.” He leaned back in his chair and waved a hand. “Go on.”

Given his cavalier response, I couldn't decide whether Calvin believed any of it.

Wyatt, on the other hand, seemed willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Anyone watching the bunkhouse would know you usually come back to start on dinner at four, but the rest of us wouldn't be back until five thirty or six. Fences were being cut, keeping us out chasing strays with not much chance that any of us would come back during the day.

“Then Tina showed up, and you all know what happened that night. Now, under ordinary circumstances”—he cast an apologetic glance in Calvin's direction—“you would've died. But you didn't. Because of Tina, you survived and were taken to the hospital. Bull and I followed the ambulance to Rock Springs, and then went on to Salt Lake City after they told us they were flying you there for surgery. We hung around until you were out of danger and then we came on home.”

“I left for Salt Lake the next day,” Angela added. “But I wasn't comfortable making decisions for you, so I asked Tina to try to locate your next of kin.”

She glanced at me, which I interpreted as the signal for me to chime in with my part of the saga. “I went online and did some digging but came up with nothing. Then I got the idea to read your letters, thinking you might've mentioned the names of some of your relatives. Through those letters, we discovered that your wife and children had died in a car accident along with Jeannine's daughter, Carla, whose illegitimate child survived the crash.”

Calvin nodded. “That would be Tom Anderson—at least, that's what his name was before his father got custody of him. I wouldn't put it past him to change the boy's name to his own surname—although for the life of me, I can't remember what it was. As far as I know, Tom and his father pretty much dropped out of sight. The boy would be in his late twenties now. Jeannine and her husband split up after that.”

I was surprised that the mention of his family's tragic past didn't draw more of a reaction from him. I waited a moment, then continued, “We kept reading the letters and found that Jeannine married Franklin Caruthers a few years later. An online search revealed that both Jeannine and Franklin had died. Since we'd eliminated any next of kin who wasn't on the Caruthers side of the family, we pretty much stopped looking.”

Angela glanced around the table, speaking to the group as a whole. “This afternoon, I told Calvin that a young man who claimed to be a friend of the family had tried to visit him while he was in the hospital. Visiting hours were over, so he wasn't allowed into the unit. The nurse said his name was Duane something—she didn't catch his last name.

“Now, the hospital staff won't give out information over the phone to just anyone. But they don't interrogate visitors or check their identification. If Duane had shown up during regular visiting hours, they would've let him in. The fact that he never came back again makes me wonder if all he wanted to know was whether Calvin was actually a patient there.”

With a nod toward Calvin, Wyatt picked up the narrative. “We couldn't figure out how he could've known which state you were in, let alone which hospital. That's when Bull first put forth his attempted murder theory, saying the only person aside from us who could've known you were in that hospital was the one who put you there, meaning the person who tried to kill you.”

Bull puffed out his chest, seeming rather pleased with himself.

Wyatt acknowledged him with a grimace. “At the time, the idea seemed pretty far-fetched. After all, it wasn't as if someone had taken a shot at you, and as far as we knew, no one had a motive for murder. I'll admit, I blew it off.

“Then Tina thought she saw something moving up on the eastern ridge Saturday morning. Later that night, she spotted a light in roughly the same place. When Nick and I went out to check, we didn't find anything, but as I said at the time, that's a great spot for someone to spy on us, aside from being the most direct route to the main road on foot.”

I spoke up. “From that, I got the idea that someone might be watching the bunkhouse, trying to catch it when it was empty—or when everyone was asleep—so they could sneak in, either to search the place or steal something.”

“Any idea what?” Dean asked.

A quick look around revealed nothing but blank faces. “No clue.”

Wyatt cleared his throat and directed his gaze back toward Calvin. “Then you came home, and Tina showed you Jeannine's obituary. Tina clicked on the link to the online guestbook and found a message asking you to contact Jeannine's lawyers. We still have no idea what was in her will, but if you were in line to inherit a fortune, that might give someone a motive for murder.”

“So has anyone called about the will?” Nick asked.

I raised a hand. “I sent an email to Jeannine's lawyers right before dinner. As late as it was, they might not see it until tomorrow. I'll check again here in a little bit to see if they've sent a reply.”

“So that's it? We just sit and wait to hear back from them?” As usual, Nick was itching for a share of the excitement—to the point that he hadn't even touched his pie.

“A lot depends on what they have to say,” Wyatt said. “But in the meantime, we can go over the details. Maybe something will turn up.”

“Let me get this straight,” Calvin said. “You think someone is trying to kill me so they can inherit my sister's money?”

Wyatt shrugged. “Depending on how Jeannine's will is worded, it's possible. There could be a secondary beneficiary.”

“And I suppose you think this Duane character is really my great-nephew, Tom?”

“Possibly,” Wyatt replied. “Even if Tom wasn't named as a beneficiary, if he could prove he was your sister's grandson, he could contest the will. But only if you couldn't be found or were already dead.”

“That gives us a motive for murder,” Dusty said. “But it doesn't explain how it was done.”

“No, it doesn't,” Wyatt agreed. “Which brings us to the next evening when Tina found an empty nitro bottle on the floor in Calvin's room.” He glanced at Calvin. “Any idea how it got there or why it was empty?”

“Not really,” Calvin replied. “There were plenty of pills in it earlier that day. I know because I took one while I was making the chili.” He hesitated. “I wasn't feeling too good—hadn't felt good for a couple of weeks.”

That certainly jibed with the way he'd looked when he stopped by my room to say good night.

“What about later on that night?” Wyatt prompted. “Could you have taken all of them?”

Calvin shook his head slowly. “I can't remember taking any more at all. In fact, I don't actually recall going to bed.”

I thought that sounded strange, but I also had an idea that nearly dying might wreak havoc with a person's memory. “Did you keep the bottle in your pocket or in your medicine cabinet?”

“Usually in my pocket,” he replied. “But at night I set it on the table by my bed.”

If he'd been doing that, he'd obviously been having fairly frequent bouts of chest pain. Without Duane's attempted visit, I'd have said Calvin's collapse and the fence-cutting episodes were completely unrelated.

“What about before that?” Wyatt prompted. “Did you do anything different?”

“Might've taken a couple of aspirins—but that wasn't unusual.”

“What about your other meds?” I asked. “Did you take any of them?”

“Might have,” he replied. “Like I said, I don't remember much about that night.”

I tried a different tack. “Yesterday you told me that my visit had made you decide to start taking better care of yourself. Would that have included taking your meds like you were supposed to?”

“Maybe. You see, John's friendship meant a lot to me. When I stopped hearing from him, I thought, what the hell, if he doesn't care enough to write to me anymore…” The sag of his shoulders made his shrug seem more pronounced, more hopeless. “I dunno. Just seemed sort of pointless to go on living. Finding out he'd been sick for years and had died didn't help my attitude any. The man who'd saved my life was gone…” His eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Then you came and gave me those medals. They reminded me that my best buddy had nearly been killed trying to save me and the others from the VC. I didn't want his sacrifice to have been in vain.”

That part made perfect sense. “Okay then, let's say you did take your meds that night and set your nitro bottle on the table like always. If someone came into your room, would you have heard them?”

“I'm a pretty sound sleeper,” he admitted. “And my hearing isn't what it used to be.”

“So someone could've slipped into your room during the night and emptied out your nitro bottle, thinking you might die without them?”

“Could be,” he said. “I've never locked that outside door. Didn't see the point.”

I wasn't too surprised to hear that. The best I could tell, no one on the ranch ever locked up anything.

“Maybe it's time you did,” Angela said. “Until we figure out what's going on around here, we should all start locking our doors and keep a lookout for anything suspicious. And I do mean
anything
.” She nodded toward her father. “The more we stick together, the better off we'll be. Dad has agreed to stay here in the bunkhouse with Calvin and Tina during the day.”

She made it sound as though her father would be helping to protect Calvin from any further harm. I knew that wasn't the only reason for the plan, but that rationale had to have made convincing him a lot easier.

Mr. Kincaid shifted in his chair, drawing my eye. He seemed tired and distracted, picking at the meringue on his pie with a fork and barely acknowledging what Angela had just said, leaving me to wonder how well he'd followed our convoluted discussion. I also wondered if, having essentially relinquished the running of the ranch to Angela and Dusty, he was beginning to tune out the finer points, either believing his continued input to be unimportant, or putting it on hold until one of his better days rolled around.

Whichever the case, this didn't appear to be one of his good days. I suspected that if Angela had already made up a bed for him in the bunkhouse, he probably would've taken a nap as soon as dinner was over. As it was, he would have to walk back up to the house.

“Mr. Kincaid,” I began, “would you like us to set up a bunk for you in case you ever need to lie down and rest while you're here?”

For a moment, I didn't think my question had even registered. Then he nodded. “That'd be right nice of you.” With a glimmer of a smile, he added, “And I think it's high time you were calling me Jack.”

“I'll do that,” I said, returning his smile with one of my own.

“I think we still have one of the newer mattresses left.” Dean aimed a surreptitious glance at me, making it quite clear where at least one of those mattresses had gone. “We'll get it ready for you this evening.” Then he rounded on Nick. “Right after I pound you into dust for stealing that last piece of pie.”

No wonder it looked as though Nick hadn't dug into the pie yet. What I'd seen on his plate must've been his second helping.

“Hey, if it wasn't for me, we would've had sugar-free Jigglers for dessert,” Nick declared. “I figure I earned it.” Scooping up a hefty portion, he popped it into his mouth with gusto.

Nick's response was a welcome bit of comic relief after the serious turn the conversation had taken, and it had everyone chuckling, including Dean. I sincerely hoped we could solve this mystery without any further drama and get back to normal—whatever that was. I wasn't counting on it, though. Greed could be a pretty powerful motivator.