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After dumping the contents of the dirty-clothes hamper into a basket, she carried the load down to the laundry room at the far end of the hall. As she set the basket on the utility table, her foot stubbed something under the table.
Glancing down, she saw a cardboard box—the box of Slade’s dirty clothes and bedding from Haskell Trucking. Until that moment, she had forgotten about it.
Natalie pulled the box into the open. The sour male odor of his body lingered in the sheets and garments, triggering emotions she never wanted to feel again.
Why had she kept these things? She should have tossed them in a Dumpster on her way home. So why not do that now? Just take the clothes outside and stuff them in the trash for tomorrow’s pickup.
She was headed for the door with the box when a sudden thought struck her. What if she was holding evidence, maybe even a clue to Slade’s murder?
Donning latex gloves to avoid contaminating any potential evidence, she dumped the contents onto the table. First she shook out the sheets and pillowcase—nothing there. The underwear and socks, apart from their smell, held no secrets. But the khaki trousers, jeans, and work shirts had pockets, as did the lightweight baseball jacket.
The shirts and pants yielded six Burger Shack receipts, two candy bar wrappers, $2.74 in loose change, a pen, a movie ticket stub, and a wad of chewing gum. Nothing to make a difference, but finding these small, meaningless items was like opening a grave and letting a flood of memories escape—the good times and bad, the things they’d built together. All gone now.
She picked up the tan fleece-lined canvas jacket with the Haskell Trucking logo on the front. The weather had been warm for weeks, so he wouldn’t have worn it recently, probably not since their separation. She imagined it hanging on a hook in his office, forgotten till the next cold season.
Opening it up, she felt a crackle in the zippered inside pocket. Her exploring fingers found a folded slip of paper. It was a bank deposit receipt.
Puzzled, she studied it. The bank wasn’t the one where she and Slade had their joint personal account, nor was it the one used by Haskell Trucking. But the Lubbock address beneath the header jogged her memory. She’d driven past the bank once, a small branch office, sharing a building with a real estate company, in an out-of-the-way part of town. Had Slade made the deposit for someone else, or was this account one he’d kept secret from her, as he’d kept other aspects of his life?
She was still puzzled when she noticed the computer-printed figures on the receipt. She gasped. The deposit amount shown was $26,550. The balance in the account was given as $821,633.11. Almost
a million dollars.
Natalie’s knees went slack. She leaned against the table for support. That kind of cash had to be connected to something illegal.
Her first impulse was to phone Tori. But it was almost 2:00 in the morning. Tori would be asleep and even if she wasn’t, there’d be nothing she could do at this hour.
If Slade had been involved in something dirty, there was a good chance that this receipt could prove someone other than Beau had killed him and framed Beau for it.
She wanted this nightmare over—for Beau and for herself. The fastest way to end it would be to find the sheriff, show him there had to be other suspects, and insist that he check them out. If he ignored her, she would go to the local TV station, tell them what she knew, and blast his political dreams to kingdom come.
Today was Sunday, the sheriff’s day off. Fortunately she knew where he lived. As soon as the sun rose a respectable distance above the horizon, she vowed to be on his doorstep with a copy of the receipt in hand.
She would make him listen.
CHAPTER 17
An explosive sound yanked Beau out of a deep sleep. His eyes shot open. Through the bedroom window, the sky cast a hellish glow on the walls. The smell of smoke seared his nostrils. Was he back in Iraq or was this one of his nightmares?
Neither, he realized as he shook himself fully awake. This was all too real.
“Fire!” He rolled out of bed and charged down the hallway to Will’s room. “Fire!”
Already awake, Will flung open his door. He was still in his shorts, his hair standing on end, but his manner was calm. “It’s the machine shed,” he said. “I’ve called nine-one-one, but it’ll take the fire department a while to get here. We’ll need everybody to keep the blaze from spreading. Ring the bunkhouse. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
Beau raced back to his room to throw on his clothes. Swearing as he yanked on his boots, he remembered that the machine shed was where spare gas cans were stored. If the flames had gotten to the gasoline, the shed and its contents were already beyond saving.
Fully dressed, he ran down the staircase, where he met Bernice and Erin on the landing. Erin’s eyes were huge with fear.
Beau said, “The fire isn’t near the house. Both of you stay inside and you’ll be fine.”
“But what about Tesoro?” Erin was close to tears. “The mares and foals are in the barn. Will they be all right?”
“The barn’s not in danger.” At least not yet, Beau added silently. “He’ll be fine,” he assured her. “You stay here with Bernice.”
Leaving them, Beau sprinted outside. Smoke raked his nose and throat. He could hear the wild metallic clang of the cook’s triangle ringing the alarm. Cowboys were stumbling out of the bunkhouse, some of them still pulling on their clothes.
The machine shed was a hundred yards north of the house. The stored gasoline had turned the steel-roofed building into a roaring inferno that poured black smoke and shot balls of flame whenever the fire reached new fuel. There was no way to save the structure or the valuable equipment inside. All the men could do was try to keep the blaze contained. Under Will’s supervision, the vehicles were being moved away from the nearby garage, in case it caught fire. The hay shed, too, was within reach of flying sparks.
