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“Lute’s probably headed for Mexico,” Sky said as the two men strode toward the front hall. “I’m guessing he found a buyer for the horses there. We’d better call the highway patrol and have them keep a lookout for him.”
“Good idea, but I have a better one.” Beau motioned Sky into the ranch office. “While you were away buying horses, I put tracking devices on our vehicles, including the trailers. The computer should be able to tell us where he is.”
“Pull it up,” Sky said. “While you’re doing that, I’ll bring a truck around front with some feed and water. Knowing Lute, those horses won’t have much, if any.”
“Grab a couple of loaded guns, too. You know where we keep them.” Beau turned on the computer and opened the tracking application he’d installed weeks ago. By the time Sky returned with a .38 Smith & Wesson revolver and a 30-06 Winchester hunting rifle, the program had located the stolen trailer.
“Lute took the wagon road.” Beau pointed to the map on the screen. “See, he’s headed for the old Winslow farm.”
Sky nodded. “I’ve been out that way. The place has been deserted for as long as I can remember.”
“The family left years ago after their house burned,” Beau said. “Nobody’s lived there since. But look, the trailer doesn’t appear to be moving past it. Lute must have stopped.”
“My goodness, so that’s how it works!” Bernice peered over Beau’s shoulder. “I can see right where he is!”
“I’ll leave this app running for Will and Jasper,” Beau said. “Let’s go. The trailer will slow Lute down. With luck we can catch him before he gets to the highway.”
Bernice followed the two men out onto the porch and watched them climb into the pickup. “I’ll phone the sheriff!” she called as they sped away.
Natalie drove along the quiet Sunday morning streets of Blanco Springs. A block away was the sheriff ’s brick bungalow, where he’d lived his bachelor’s existence since his wife had passed away six years ago. Nearing it, Natalie slowed the Land Cruiser and stopped close to the curb of the vacant lot next to the sheriff ’s house.
His personal Jeep, minus any official insignia, sat in the carport. She scanned the house for some sign of life, but the shades were down. Natalie hesitated, debating whether to wait until she saw some stir of activity inside, but she didn’t have the patience for it.
She glanced at the shotgun Beau had insisted she keep with her at all times. She climbed out of the vehicle, leaving the shotgun where it lay on the floorboard of the passenger seat, and automatically locked the doors behind her.
As she approached the house, Natalie listened for the sound of a television or radio, anything that might indicate the sheriff was up and about, but all she could hear was the squabbling of magpies in a blue spruce near the carport.
The side door opening to the carport was closer than the front door, and Natalie instinctively chose the shortest route. The sudden jangle of a telephone came from somewhere close by. She paused, trying to discern whether it came from within the house or someplace else.
When it rang a second time, Natalie felt sure it came from inside. She followed the sound to the back corner of the house. The same moment that she spotted an open window, someone picked up the phone, cutting the sound off in mid-ring.
“Hello?” The sheriff ’s voice was gruff, as if he’d just been awakened. “Yes, Bernice, what is it?”
Natalie froze. She knew of only one Bernice. She inched around the corner.
There was a moment of silence as Axelrod listened to the voice on the phone. “I hear you,” he said. “Thanks for letting me know, Bernice. I’ll get right out there.” The bedsprings creaked as he swung his ample weight to the floor.
“Who was that, sugar?” The rich, husky female voice was unmistakable. Natalie swallowed a gasp. Stella! Stella in bed with the sheriff!
“Tyler’s cook,” the sheriff replied. “Seems Lute’s turned up. He stole a trailer and a couple of horses from the Tylers, and they’ve followed a tracking signal to the old Winslow place. I have to get out there before they get their hands on him.”
“You know what you have to do.” Stella’s voice had taken on a cold edge.
“Yes, I know. Whatever I have to. Hand me my belt.” There were sounds of dressing, a toilet flushing. Natalie hid behind some bushes, knowing she had to get out of there but unsure of when or which way to go. She was shifting to relieve the strain on her cramped legs when she heard the door to the carport opening. Holding her breath, she moved far enough for a glimpse around the corner of the house.
Axelrod had stepped into the carport and was unlocking the Jeep. He was dressed in a camouflage shirt and wearing his pistol belt. In one hand he carried a military assault rifle.
Natalie’s heart dropped. It was a Barrett .50 BM, like the one Slade had owned.
The Jeep pulled out of the driveway and headed up the street. Praying Stella wouldn’t see her, Natalie bellied her way around the back of the house and exited on the far side. Ducking around a hedge, she raced back to the white Toyota parked next door. Her purse, with her phone in it, was tucked under the front seat. She needed to call Beau, to warn him that Axelrod was carrying a sniper rifle and likely bent on murder.
But whose murder? The answer came on the heels of the question. Killing Beau wouldn’t be in the sheriff ’s best interest. He was counting on Beau’s conviction to win him a congressional seat. But killing Lute would silence the one person who could shed light on Slade’s murder and more . . . possibly much more.
Axelrod was going to kill Lute—as he’d likely killed Slade, perhaps as he’d even killed Jess Warner. And if there was a way to blame Lute’s murder on Beau as well, he would find it.
Snatching up her purse, she found her cell phone and tried to dial Beau’s number. But the phone was dead in her hand. In her excitement at finding the deposit receipt last night, she’d forgotten to recharge the battery.
By the back roads, the old Winslow place was a little less distance from town than from the ranch. But Lute was already there and the Tylers—whoever that included—had a head start. There was no telling who would get there first.
