Death Rides Again (A Jocelyn Shore Mystery) Read online

  “You don’t like the heat or the cold, the bugs or the animals.”

  “Well, who does?”

  “You don’t like riding, hiking, hunting, fishing, camping, or picnicking.”

  “Again … who does? Besides, I like picnicking okay.”

  “Except for the heat, the cold, the bugs, and the animals.”

  “Yeah, except for them. But so what? I’m here, right?”

  I grinned at her. “You’re here.”

  And right now, “here” was the town of Sand Creek. The single-lane highway widened into two lanes, and I slowed the truck to the posted speed limit of fifty, then forty-five, and finally thirty-five. Along the shoulders, small houses mostly painted white gave way to shops, restaurants, and gas stations in no particular order, followed again by a sprinkling of larger, older houses, some with mansard roofs and gingerbread trim and all surrounded by massive oak and pecan trees, limbs adorned by gray clumps of ball moss. We bumped across an abandoned train track and passed by the old train station, currently being restored to its former glory by an active, if underfunded, historical preservation society. Thanksgiving might be tomorrow, but that retail holy of holies, Christmas, was only a month away, and the storefronts lining the square were having an identity crisis. In one display, pilgrims nestled under boughs of holly, in another Frosty the Snowman towered over a faded turkey that looked as though it had just molted and wasn’t feeling well. In the center of the square, the courthouse, a massive buff-colored sandstone building complete with rounded turrets and a red roof topped by a clock tower, presided over the town as it had done for the last hundred and twenty years. The old hanging tree, famous as the site of countless legitimate hangings as well as a few lynchings, was located conveniently on the grounds. Workmen swarmed the area armed with staple guns and ornaments.

  I sighed happily. “Nothing says Christmas like twinkle lights in a hanging tree.”

  I maneuvered the truck around the square, pausing twice to wait for pedestrians to amble across the street, and then we were free and clear and picking up speed on the other side of town. On the western outskirts, we passed a funeral home with a marquee out front with the catchy slogan, “Drive Safe—We Can Wait.”

  Kyla, who’d been unusually quiet, spoke at last. “So are you ever going to tell me what’s up with You-Know-Who?”

  “Lord Voldemort?” I asked, knowing full well whom she meant.

  The breadth and depth of her profanity was truly impressive and had, if anything, improved since our trip to Egypt. I waited until my ears stopped ringing and vision returned, then said, “If you mean Colin, then yes, thanks to you, he’s going to join us later.”

  She sniffed. “Well, someone had to invite him. The boy was going to spend Thanksgiving alone.”

  “You don’t know that. He could have gone to see his family, and I’m sure he had invitations from friends as well.”

  Kyla half turned in her seat to stare at me.

  “What is going on with you? You’re dating him, right?”

  “We’ve been out a few times,” I admitted.

  “And?”

  “And nothing. We’re dating. But it’s only been a few weeks. Too soon to expose him to the Shores, that’s for sure.”

  “He didn’t seem to think so. He accepted pretty promptly as I recall.”

  I thought about that awkward little scene. We’d gone on a double date with Kyla and her current boyfriend, and the dinner conversation had turned to the upcoming holidays. Upon learning that Colin had not yet made plans for Thanksgiving, Kyla had issued an overexuberant invitation to the ranch, complete with gushing descriptions of the first-class quail and deer hunting, the party atmosphere, and the joy of family. Considering that she loathed every single thing she’d described and usually had to be dragged kicking and screaming the entire way, she’d done a good job of making it sound fun. It had been the look in Colin’s eyes, the half-wary, half-hopeful expression that had forced me to smile and second her invitation. Even then, I hadn’t actually expected him to accept, but he’d done so with pleasure. Too much pleasure. I had my doubts whether he understood the concept of taking things slowly, which was my condition for dating at all. And I was positive that Kyla did not.

  She now proved it by saying, “I don’t get it. You’re not really still considering that idiot Alan, are you?”

  My boyfriend Alan Stratton—the man I’d thought I might love. I’d met him while taking a tour of Egypt about six months earlier, which despite being interrupted by two murders, one robbery, and the machinations of a ruthless smuggling ring had turned out to be one of the best vacations of my life. Although I’d suspected Alan of being a criminal for a while and of being interested in Kyla for even longer, eventually he convinced me that I was wrong on both counts. We’d been dating since we returned, but things had not been going smoothly recently. And then, of course, I’d met Colin.

  “Alan is not an idiot,” I said automatically. “He’s a good guy. I know it’s hard for you to believe, but I actually care about him. A lot. But that’s not the point here.”

  “There’s a point?”

  “Yes! The point is that Colin and I have only been dating—in a very casual way, I might add—for a few weeks. Sort of quick to take him home for Thanksgiving, don’t you think?”

  “No, I don’t. I invited Sherman, but he already had plane tickets to go see his folks. Anyway, what’s the big deal? Seems like it would be nice for the two of you to have some extra time together.”

  “Maybe,” I said, “but it gives the wrong impression.”

  Her blue eyes widened in mock horror. “Oh, no! Not the wrong impression. The family honor will be compromised. Whatever shall we do?”

  I gritted my teeth and fleetingly wished that the truck had a passenger eject button.

  “Anyway,” I said coldly, “Colin’s going to join us late this afternoon or early this evening. He had a few things to wrap up.”

  “What kind of things? What could possibly be more important than the Shore family reunion?”

  I hesitated, then finally decided on the truth. “He’s applying to the Texas Rangers. He’s taking some kind of test today.”

  Kyla blinked. “You’re kidding. That’s kind of cool—Texas Ranger. I assume you mean the cop kind and not the baseball kind.”

  “Yes, the cop kind,” I said. “When have you seen Colin playing baseball?”

  She shrugged. “How would I know what he does in his spare time? He’d look good in those tight pants, though.”

  That was true, but I was not going to give her the satisfaction of agreeing. “Anyway,” I said pointedly, trying to steer the conversation away from Colin’s pants, “he’ll be here as soon as he’s done.”

  I could feel her beady eyes boring into my skull and kept my own virtuously on the road.

  “You don’t sound pleased. About the test, I mean.”

  I shrugged, unable to deny it. “Being a Texas Ranger isn’t a job, it’s a life. No fooling, those guys are on call every day, all day, always. Plus, being new, chances are he’ll be assigned to some region out in the boonies.”

  “The boonies, huh? Is that anywhere near Bumfuck?”

  “If only. People in the boonies dream of one day getting to go to Bumfuck.”

  Kyla met this with a sympathetic click of the tongue. “That sucks. Why’s he trying to get into the Rangers anyway?”

  I sighed. “It’s his childhood dream. You know, the goal of his life. Other kids wanted to be firemen or astronauts. He wanted to be a Texas Ranger.”

  “Yeah, but he’s a big boy now. Doesn’t he have other better goals at this point?”

  “No,” I answered shortly.

  I could feel her looking at me again, but I didn’t say anything more. I didn’t quite know how to say that although Colin himself felt that a career change and move would not interfere with a potential relationship, I was not so sanguine. That even though I couldn’t bring myself to discourage his career
aspirations to his face, secretly I was hoping he would fail his tests so spectacularly that future applicants would be warned against “pulling a Colin.” And that even as I hoped for it, I knew that he wouldn’t. There were few people as competent. Now I found myself in the completely unbelievable position of having two fairly spectacular men interested in me, and the worst part of it was that I had no idea what I wanted to do about it.

  Fortunately, we arrived at our destination before Kyla could probe any further. I pulled into the parking lot of the Sand Creek Feed and Supply, a long, low building with a tin roof and two doors, one an open double-wide set of sliding doors that you could literally drive a truck through, and the other a more traditional size. No one was visible on the feed side, so I led the way through the smaller door.

  This half of the Feed and Supply was a tack store that looked as though a small and surprisingly clean rodeo had set up inside and then exploded. Half a dozen saddles topped an assortment of sawhorses, which were jammed between racks of jeans, jackets, and work gloves. Bridles, bits, ropes, and other gear hung in random order from hooks on rough-hewn wood paneling. One corner was devoted to a diverse selection of cowboy boots, including an incredibly ornate pair in ostrich leather with a distinctive pattern of bumps and an equally distinctive price tag. I breathed in the clean smell of new leather and denim with pleasure.

  Kyla, to my surprise, looked completely disgusted. Following her gaze, I saw the reason. Near the cash register, Carl Cress lounged against the counter and next to him stood Eddy Cranny. Eddy saw us enter and now stood as stiff as an ROTC cadet getting dressed down by a general. Carl hadn’t noticed. He was leaning on one elbow chatting up the cashier, a middle-aged woman wearing too much eye shadow who was twirling a strand of dyed auburn hair and giggling. Kyla moved forward, a barracuda gliding toward her prey, and I followed, reluctant to participate in a confrontation in a feed store but also unwilling to abandon my cousin. Or, more accurately, unwilling to let Kyla loose on Eddy unsupervised.

  “Aren’t you bad, Carl?” the cashier said in a breathy, teasing voice. “You didn’t really.”

  “I surely did. Had my Mexicans take ’er apart and load the pieces on my flatbed. Told the buyer it was seasoned lumber. That warn’t no lie, neither. Not my fault the fool never thought to take a look to see just how seasoned it was.”

  Carl threw back his head and laughed, a big genuine laugh, the kind that made other people laugh with him even if they hadn’t heard the joke, or as in this case, only if they hadn’t heard the joke. He had, however, inadvertently managed to divert Kyla from Eddy. She swerved and stopped right behind Carl’s left shoulder.

  “What fool are we talking about, Carl?” she asked loudly. “Not my uncle Kel, right?”

  He jumped and turned, swallowing his laughter with a gulp. “Why, girls. Nice to see you. Everyone over at your place recovered from this morning?”

  “More or less,” I answered, trying to nip that particular topic in the bud. I didn’t want Ruby June’s private business spilled all over the feed store like a torn sack of grain.

  Kyla wasn’t going to allow herself to be distracted. “Who’d you sell old lumber to, Carl?” she asked again.

  Carl’s eyes darted back and forth in shifty little twitches.

  Kyla slammed her fist down onto the counter, making us all jump.

  The cashier gave another giggle, this one considerably higher than her previous offerings, and said, “Carl’s been contracting out at the racecourse. They’re putting up new stands. Nothin’ to do with Kel Shore, right Carl?”

  Kyla’s smile was icy. “Oh, I see. So you’re selling inferior materials to a public venue where people’s lives will depend on the soundness of the construction? Is that it?”

  “Whoa, whoa. You got entirely the wrong idea,” Carl protested, holding up his hands. His eyes had finally settled, and I knew the lie would be a good one. “One of my friends is puttin’ up a hot dog stand out there is all. That lumber is plenty good enough for that, and anyways I’m just repaying him for some shifty dealing he did with me a while back. It’s just good fun between the two of us. Nothin’ at all for you pretty ladies to worry about, and I surely wouldn’t do nothing illegal. Y’all know me.” He grinned at us and winked.

  Kyla made a sound like the one used by the monster in all the best horror movies just before it attacked and ate one of the minor characters. My attention, however, was still on the cashier, who looked confused and worried, which made me suspect the hot dog stand had not figured into the original story. Carl was already edging away.

  “Well, if you ladies will excuse us, me and Eddy will just be getting on with our business,” he said.

  Kyla remained motionless as Carl passed, his cowboy boots loud on the plywood floor, but when Eddy attempted to follow, she stepped into his path, blocking his way.

  Keeping her voice low, she said, “I heard about what you did to Ruby June this morning, you ugly little piece of shit. I suggest you go home, pack your things, and clear out of this town permanently.”

  Eddy’s eyes flickered away nervously. “But I didn’t mean…”

  Kyla cut him off. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what kind of excuses you’ve got. But you better believe that if I ever hear you hit Ruby June again, I will personally hunt you down and put a bullet in your head.” She emphasized her point by poking him hard in the chest as she said each of the last three words.

  Eddy reeled back a couple of paces, then scuttled sideways between a rack of jeans and a saddle display and followed Carl out the door with a single frightened backward glance.

  The cashier gave Kyla an approving if somewhat nervous smile. “Those Crannys have always been a mean bunch, but I’m sorry to hear Eddy’s turning out that way. He never seemed quite like the rest, but I guess snakes don’t breed kittens, do they?” She clicked her tongue, then added, “So, what can I do for y’all today?”

  Ten minutes later, we drove away with thirty sacks of feed cubes in the bed of the pickup and a bad attitude in the cab. I signaled left and turned very slowly at the corner of the town square, conscious that we’d had to leave the tailgate of the pickup open to accommodate the load.

  “I can’t decide which one of them I want to kill most,” Kyla fumed.

  “You gave Eddy a good scare,” I consoled her. “Now it’s up to Ruby June.”

  “I suppose. Do you think she’ll actually kick him out?”

  “I’m not sure she means to.” I thought back to the conversation I’d had with Ruby June, feeling as though I’d missed something important. “It’s weird—she wasn’t nearly mad enough about being hit. She kept making excuses for him.”

  Kyla was silent for a moment, then she said, “Why the hell would she put up with him? It’s not like she’s used to seeing anything like that at home. She ought to know better.”

  “I can’t tell you—I’ve never understood it. It’s sad, but I see it at school more than you’d think. A nice girl taking up with some creepy loser and then taking his jealousy and abuse. Instead of her helping him away from a bad element and onto a better future, he usually drags her down, cuts her off from her friends, and destroys her self-confidence. It’s terrible.”

  Kyla, who was a dedicated backseat driver, took her eyes from the road to stare at me. “You see it? Why don’t you do something about it?”

  I shrugged. It was a teacher’s eternal dilemma. “Do what? Unless I can tell there’s been physical abuse, I have no authority whatsoever. Every year I do my classic ‘come to me if you need help’ spiel and run through how to identify abusive relationships. If the girl is one of my students, I’ll call her aside and talk to her, especially if her grades are slipping.”

  “And? What does she say?”

  I slipped into my breathless high-pitched sixteen-year-old girl voice, “You don’t understand, Ms. Shore. He’s not like that. He’s had it hard. He’s wonderful.”

  Returning to my normal voice, I added, “The only thing th
ey’re right about is that I don’t understand. I guess for some of these girls, having an abusive boyfriend is better than having no boyfriend at all.”

  “But Ruby June? She was always such a happy little kid. She doesn’t need her own pet asshole.”

  “No. But I don’t think there’s much that we can do about it. It’s her life. If we’re lucky, she’ll figure it out before Kel kills Eddy. Anyway, that’s not the biggest problem here right now.”

  “It’s not?”

  I shook my head. “Carl Cress.”

  “What a weasel.”

  “Worse than that. I’m positive he was lying about the hot dog stand. He probably did sell inferior lumber to the racetrack. Plus, did you see his face when you asked him if he was ripping off Kel? He looked like a dog that just got caught drinking out of the toilet bowl.”

  “That’s just his normal expression,” said Kyla automatically. “But you’re probably right. What are we going to do about it?”

  I considered as I made another turn. “You want to go out to the racetrack?”

  * * *

  The narrow road leading to the R. “Blackie” Roberts Memorial Fairgrounds and Racetrack had been freshly paved with glistening black asphalt and the acrid smell permeated the truck. Loose gravel pinged off the undercarriage with a sound like marbles falling on a pie plate. I was glad we were driving the ranch truck, which could only be improved by splashes of hot tar, rather than my little blue Honda. Out here, Thanksgiving had been skipped altogether. Pairs of Christmas wreaths lined the road in preparation for the weekend’s festivities, interspersed with candy canes and wire deer dripping with lights. However, as we drew closer, even Christmas gave way to complete chaos.

  In one corner of the parking lot, a giant yellow bulldozer pushed gravel from a massive pile onto a newly mown field to extend the available parking. White caliche dust billowed around it like smoke and coated everything downwind. Near the rodeo stands, workers were assembling large portable animal pens, while two men herded a dozen protesting goats into one of the new corrals. On the other side of the stands, the white fence surrounding the racetrack gleamed in the sunlight, the rich loam on the newly smoothed oval track looking as soft and deep as a featherbed. All around, the air was filled with shouts in both English and Spanish, punctuated by the frequent staccato bursts of a power hammer.