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ears. Since you came home a few weeks ago, we’ve had two, both of them connected to your ranch. In my line of work, I’ve learned not to believe in coincidences.”
In the tense silence, the droning fly sounded as loud as the engine of a helicopter. Beau rose slowly to his feet. He could feel a vein throbbing in his temple, but he kept his voice level. “You’ve known me most of my life, Sheriff. You’ve known my family and you know our values. So far, you’ve given me nothing but conjecture. Unless you can offer solid proof—”
The door opened partway to admit the deputy. “Excuse me, Sheriff, but there’s something out here you gotta see.”
Axelrod stood, shooting Beau a glare. “Sit down and stay put,” he ordered.
Given no choice, Beau sat and waited. This was a nightmare. He’d had nothing to do with Slade’s death. But he’d had motive, means, opportunity, and no solid alibi. Anyone in the sheriff’s place would’ve brought him in. Hellfire, he would have done it himself.
The sheriff was back, trailed this time by his deputy. “A road worker brought in a rifle, a thirty-thirty he found lying next to the highway. No prints, and we’ll need to wait for the ballistics report, but the caliber matches the casings from the crime scene, as well as the bullets the medical examiner took out of Slade Haskell’s body.
“A thirty-thirty?” Beau shook his head. “Anybody who hunts has a gun like that. There must be thousands of them in the county.”
“But not many with a serial number registered to Bull Tyler,” the sheriff said. “And none that would have Jasper Platt’s name engraved on the stock. That rifle came from your ranch.”
Beau remembered the theft of Jasper’s gun—a gift from Bull. But before he could explain, the door burst open and a tall, blond whirlwind of a woman swept in. “This stops right now!” Tori commanded. “Sheriff, I’m here to represent my client. You’re not to question him unless I’m present.”
Axelrod rocked back on his heels, looking smug. “Tori, I’d say your timing’s about right. Beau, here, is going to need you.” He unhooked the handcuffs from his belt. “Beau Tyler, I’m arresting you for the murder of Slade Haskell. You have the right to remain silent . . .”
Three nights later, Tori picked up a pineapple ham pizza and a couple of Diet Cokes from Burger Shack and drove to Natalie’s house. It wasn’t much of a meal, but she’d been too busy to cook, and she needed to see that her friend ate something. With Slade’s body still in the county morgue and Beau charged with his murder, Natalie was barely holding herself together.
Natalie met her at the door dressed in jeans and a light blue T-shirt. Her hair was combed, her face freshly scrubbed, but her haunted eyes had purple-tinged shadows. Tori guessed she had slept little since the news broke.
“How’s Beau?” Natalie asked, holding the door open so Tori could carry the pizza into the living room.
“He’s been charged and had his bail hearing. Now he’s out and looking for ways to prove he was framed. He asks about you. Every time I talk to him, the first thing out of his mouth is ‘How’s Natalie?’ ”
“I need to see him.” She closed the door and locked it.
“You mustn’t. Beau’s right about that. If this goes to trial, you could be called as a witness for the prosecution.”
Natalie slumped onto the sofa. “They’ll twist my words to make Beau look guilty. The worst of it is, there’s nothing I can say to help him. I was tending a sick mare the night Slade died. And if I have to tell the truth about our relationship, it’ll only make things worse.” She shuddered.
“None of this is your fault,” Tori said. “And it’s not like you to waste time beating yourself up. Do you have any idea who might have killed Slade? Could one of his employees have held a grudge against him?”
“I wouldn’t know if they did. Slade never discussed his business with me—or his finances.” She pushed her thick hair back from her face. “I suppose that mess has fallen in my lap, too, and heaven knows when I’ll have time to deal with it.”
Tori weighed the news she’d come to deliver and decided it could wait. “Did Slade have any family left?”
“Not living. His older brother died in a motorcycle wreck before we were married. And his parents have been gone for years. That’s how Slade came to have the trucking business. It was his father’s—but you’d remember that, growing up.”
Tori opened the pizza box and popped the tabs on the chilled soda cans. Lifting a pizza slice, she shoved it toward her friend. “Eat. You’re running on empty and you’re going to need your strength.”
She watched as Natalie nibbled at the melted cheese. Natalie was tougher than she looked, but even Tori didn’t know how her friend would take the news she’d been holding back until now. Taking a deep breath, she plunged ahead.
“I spent some time researching in the county recorder’s office today. Brace yourself for some disturbing news.” She paused to give Natalie a moment, but Natalie surprised her.
“For heaven’s sake, Tori, my husband’s just been murdered and Beau is under arrest. Whatever you’re about to tell me, it can’t be any worse than that.”
“All right. Here it is. Slade didn’t own the trucking business. The property, along with the trucks and equipment, was taken over last year by Stella Rawlins.”
Natalie froze. A blob of cheese slid off the pizza and fell unheeded onto her jeans. “Stella Rawlins. That’s the woman who owns the Blue Coyote.”
“As nearly as I can figure out, she loaned him money on the company, and when he couldn’t pay her back, she took it over. But she kept him there to run the business.”
“And he never said a word to me.” A spark of the old fire flickered in Natalie’s dark eyes. “Not about the loan, not about losing the business . . . nothing. I know we were having money troubles for a while, but Slade said everything would be all right, and it was. After that he always seemed to have money for things he wanted, like his new pickup.”
“I’m surprised you’re not more upset about this,” Tori said.
