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“Frustrated. She’s been trying to reach the attorney that took over for Barb’s. Evidently, he’s been out of the office for several days.”
“That reminds me of a couple of things. First, NYPD has ruled Owen’s death a random act of violence. Wrong place, wrong time kind of thing.”
“Do you think that’s the case?”
“Not for a fucking minute. The other thing is, there’s a holdup of some kind with the death certificate. I’ve asked my guy here in Hays County to reach out to the DC medical examiner to see if he can find out why.”
“Barb has been dead close to a month. Even with a murder investigation, the death certificate is typically released without the official cause of death.”
“Not in the District of Columbia. However, if this drags on another week, I’ll engage Hammer.”
“Copy that. Thanks, Deck.”
I watched as Decker looked at something on his phone. “What’s up?”
“I just got a text from Casper. Something’s gone down.” The screen went dark.
Within a few minutes, Deck called back. “I don’t have all the details, but it’s bad, Buck. I’m leaving for Ireland now. I’ll be back in touch after I’ve assessed the situation.”
“Do you need backup?”
“I’ll engage Rile and see who we’ve got over there.”
It had been two days, and there was no word coming out of Ireland or anywhere else.
While the information Burns had shared about Kerr and Argead provided background information, everyone believed that our only chance at tying Kerr to Barb’s murder, and perhaps even proving what Stella’s aunt set out to expose over a decade ago, was finding the evidence she’d told Stella was in the safe-deposit box.
Two things prevented us from doing so. First, the death certificate hadn’t yet been released, and second, the lack of response from the lawyer now responsible for Barb’s estate.
I’d hoped to get Stella off the ranch today, if for nothing else other than a change of scenery, but the weather didn’t cooperate.
A storm hit the region the night before, bringing with it several inches of rain and causing flooding throughout the East River Valley. Fortunately, Rip and his crew had finished the roof work on the newly renovated cabins, so they, along with the rest of the structures on the Roaring Fork, hadn’t sustained any damage. At least as of yet. The last weather report I pulled up on my phone said the front was slow-moving, so flood warnings would remain in effect throughout the day and maybe into the night.
“Hey, Flynn,” I said when my sister answered my call.
“What can I do for you, Buck?”
I told her my plan to take Stella fishing in Altamont had been thwarted and that I wanted her help in coming up with something else to get our minds off this investigation for at least a little while.
“Why doesn’t everyone come to the dining hall for dinner? I’ll see if Holt will play a short set afterwards.”
“That sounds really nice, Flynn. Tell me what I can do to help.”
“As luck would have it, Cord put a half dozen briskets in the smoker yesterday, and I made a few quarts of ranch beans, potato salad, and coleslaw. I also have several berry pies that just need to be baked.”
“Is there an army on its way here that I haven’t heard about?”
“It’s what we always do for the Fourth of July, Buck. You couldn’t have possibly forgotten that?”
“Right. I just didn’t know you and Cord kept the tradition going.” The truth was, I hadn’t even realized today was the holiday.
“Sounds like you’re set with food. Anything else I can do?”
“Just make sure Irish comes along.”
“Flynn, about Irish…”
“Whatever you’re about to say, Buck, I don’t want to hear.”
