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“I figured Slade would get the trucking business in the divorce, so it’s no loss. What bothers me more is that he kept it a secret, even from me. Why?” Natalie sighed and shrugged. “I don’t suppose I’ll ever know, will I?”
Tori studied her friend. Natalie was taking healthy bites of pizza, as if her appetite had returned along with her spunk. For now, it appeared she was going to be all right. But if Beau was convicted of murder, the blow would be a hard one, especially if what Tori had heard from a contact in the district attorney’s office was true.
The prosecution wasn’t just seeking a conviction for Slade’s murder. They were also gathering evidence in the slaying of Jess Warner. If they could pin both crimes on Beau, he would almost certainly be facing the death penalty.
Natalie peered through the closed drapes, watching Tori’s station wagon back out of the driveway. She had always assumed she knew everything about her husband. But according to Tori, Slade had built a whole separate life apart from her and their home. The trips to Mexico, the money, the infidelities . . . was there more to this?
Had she been married to a criminal?
Could his secret life have led to his murder?
Yellow crime scene tape fluttered from the stakes that marked the spot where Slade Haskell had died. The deputies who’d picked over the ground like so many scavengers had long ago taken their gear and left. The body was gone and so was Slade’s flatbed truck. There was no one here to stop Beau and Will from crossing the lines to see if anything had been overlooked.
They’d ridden their horses to the bog and left them tethered in the brush. Now, starting at the outer edge of the staked area, they walked the perimeter and slowly worked their way inward, toward the place where Slade’s body had fallen.
The ground was a maze of tire tracks and boot prints, obliterating anything useful. But they had to search. Finding some vital bit of evidence was their only hope.
“Poor Jasper’s pretty bummed about that rifle,” Will said. “He blames himself for leaving it strapped under the seat. Anybody could have broken into the shed and stolen it.”
“Anybody who knew exactly where to look, like Lute, maybe,” Beau said. “I certainly wouldn’t have put it past him. But I can’t see Lute actually using it to kill Slade. It takes guts to face a man—and I don’t think Lute has them.”
In the absence of chalk, the position of the body had been outlined with string. The red earth was still bloodstained and indented where one bullet had blown through Slade’s head. The ground had been probed with tongs where the deputies had recovered the bullet, along with the others that had passed through his body. Will frowned as he studied the spot. “Notice anything funny about this?” he muttered.
Beau bent forward, peering over his shoulder. “I’ll be damned. If Slade had been standing when he was shot, the bullet would have landed somewhere behind him, maybe even in the truck. But from the look of the ground, it went straight down, like he was flat on his back.”
Whipping out his cell phone, he snapped two photos to record the evidence.
“Could’ve happened that way,” Will mused. “Say the first shots dropped him and then the killer went in close to finish him off.”
“No, look.” Beau pointed to the other holes where the bullets had been removed—all of them directly under the body. In his line of work, he’d seen plenty of shootings, but this one didn’t look typical. For one thing, the close-range body shots had gone all the way through, but there was surprisingly little blood in the soil beneath. And there was something else. Beau bent closer.
“These shots were all fired from above. Either the killer forced Slade to lie down before he was shot, or—”
Will’s cool blue eyes met Beau’s as he finished the sentence. “Or Slade was already dead.”
Natalie walked into the Blue Coyote and sat down in an empty booth. It
was midafternoon. The place was open, but not yet busy. Two old men sat at the bar nursing their beers. A middle-aged couple at one of the tables appeared to be arguing. A muscular man with black tattoos on his shaved head was polishing glassware behind the bar.
When the waitress, young and jaded, her jeans straining over her plump hips, wandered over, Natalie ordered a Bud Light in a glass and waited. The speakers mounted against the ceiling were blaring Tammy Wynette’s “Stand by Your Man.” Ironic under the circumstances, Natalie mused as the waitress returned with her beer.
Her eyes were drawn to the bartender. He looked out of place in this small Texas town, and she couldn’t help wondering what had brought him here. He had a hard look about him, like a man who’d spent time behind bars—a man who was no stranger to violence. His eyes were like a raven’s, dark, sharp, and emotionless. The hair prickled on the back of her neck. Was she looking at Slade’s killer?
The thought fled her mind as Stella emerged from the back hallway. In a tight black denim skirt, black cowgirl boots, and a green silk blouse embroidered with horseshoes, she was striking in an overblown way. Her manner exuded confidence as she spotted Natalie and strode straight toward the booth where she sat.
“My condolences, Mrs. Haskell.” Up close, Stella showed her age beneath her too-heavy makeup. Even so, she was a handsome woman.
“Please, call me Natalie.” A show of graciousness never hurt. “Do you have a moment to talk?”
“Until things get busy.” Stella slid into the opposite side of the booth, her expression guarded. “What can I do for you, Natalie?”
“Not much, really. I’m just hoping you can give me some closure. Until my lawyer mentioned it, I didn’t know you’d bought Slade’s trucking business.”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“Slade kept a lot of things from me. I’m just discovering some of them now that he’s gone.”
Stella shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. His business was struggling a couple of years ago—the economy, mostly, along with the drought and some bad debts. I offered to help him out if he put his company up as collateral. When he couldn’t pay me back, we came to an arrangement. He’d go on running the business and we’d split the profits. It worked out well for both of us.” She leaned forward, her ample breasts resting on the edge of the table. “I liked your husband, Natalie. I’m going to miss him. He’ll be a hard man to replace.” Her eyes narrowed. “Of course, since you were divorcing him, that’s no longer your concern, is it?”
