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Laredo nodded his thanks for the information and filed it away, not sure what it meant, if anything.
Tired of the crush of people and convinced there would be little to gain by hanging around longer, Laredo slowly made his way to a rear exit.
Emerging from the barn, he automatically glanced in the direction of the cemetery. Something white moved among the headstones not far from the blue canopy. He focused on the small dark-haired boy dressed in a white shirt and black dress pants, and recognized him at once as Chase’s grandson.
A scan of the area revealed no adult in the vicinity. Unsure if the boy’s ultimate destination was the cemetery or the river just beyond it, Laredo hesitated only a split second before striking out for the cemetery. As he approached the grave site, he slowed his pace to a leisurely stroll.
The boy stood beside the granite stone that marked the adjoining grave, the one inscribed MAGGIE—BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER. Below that her full name was listed: MARY FRANCES ELIZABETH O’ROURKE CALDER followed by the dates of her birth and death.
“Hello there.” Laredo pretended to just notice the boy. “I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”
The boy looked at him with suspicion. “Who are you?”
He was a gangling kid, a little tall for his age. Despite the babyish softness of his face, he had the beginnings of Chase’s hard, square jaw and the snapping darkness of his eyes.
“My friends call me Laredo.” He pushed his hat to the back of his head and crouched down to the boy’s level.
“ ’Redo is a funny name.”
“I suppose it is,” he conceded. “What’s your name?”
“Trey.”
“Pleased to meet you, Trey.” Laredo reached out to shake hands with him, adult to adult. The boy accepted the gesture with suitable gravity. “Trey is a good name.”
“My grampa gave it to me.”
Laredo slid a glance at the gleaming coffin. “I imagine you miss him a lot.”
Anger flared in his eyes. “My grampa’s not dead. He’s in Texas.”
“How do you know that?” Laredo asked, curious as to the source of this knowledge.
“I just know.” It was an emphatic statement, but one made without any clear basis in fact.
“I see.” Laredo nodded, careful not to inadvertently start an argument.
Satisfied that his statement wasn’t being challenged, Trey pointed to the casket. “Quint says they’re gonna put that in the hole and cover it with dirt.”
“Yes, but not for a while yet. Who’s Quint?” Laredo wondered idly.
Trey frowned over the question. “He’s Quint.” Which clearly settled the matter in his mind.
Dipping his head, Laredo hid a smile and nodded again. “Of course he is.”
“When my birthday comes, I’m gonna get a horse of my own just like Quint.”
“Quint has a horse, does he?”
Trey bobbed his head in affirmation. “Her name’s Molly. Quint lets me ride her sometimes. She’s kinda slow though.”
“What color is Molly?”
“Brown,” he replied then cocked his head to the side. “Are brown horses always slow?”
“Not always. What color horse do you want?”
Trey lifted his shoulders high to his neck in an uncaring shrug. “Red—or maybe yellow like Dandy. My grampa said he’d find me a good one.”
