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“You have plenty of time. I . . . ” She paused. “I thought we would have spaghetti, so I haven’t even started supper yet.”
“Sounds good. I called to Culley and told him to join us.” Logan lingered in the kitchen, watching while Cat set the pot of water on the stove and turned on the burner beneath it. “What did Tara want?”
“Nothing really.” She added salt to the water, a distracted frown purling her forehead. “Do you remember that note Jessy gave me? The one where Dad had jotted some things down about the feedlot? I could have sworn I laid it on top of the desk. Now I can’t find it.”
“I remember you showing it to me when we came home after Sally’s funeral. But I don’t recall seeing it since then.” He wandered over to the desk. “Are you sure you didn’t put it in one of the drawers?”
“I’m positive.” Joining him, Cat again began sifting through the papers on the desk. “I was about to go through the wastebasket when you came in, just in case it was accidentally wadded up and thrown away.”
“I haven’t thrown away anything except some junk mail,” Logan replied as Culley slipped into the house through the rear.
He paused, eyeing them curiously. “What’cha huntin’ for?”
“I mislaid a paper, something Dad wrote.” She didn’t look up from her task. “It was here on the desk last week, and now I can’t find it.”
“Important, was it?” Culley guessed.
“Mostly to me.” She shot Logan a dry look. “Right away Tara accused Jessy of taking it.”
“Why am I not surprised at that?” Logan countered with a droll smile.
“It coulda been that English fella,” Culley pointed out. “He was pokin’ around the desk, remember?”
“Monte?” Cat dismissed the notion as preposterous. “He didn’t even know I had it. Besides, it wouldn’t have meant anything to him.”
Offended by her rejection, Culley clammed up. To him it was as obvious as a willow tree in a desert that if Jessy didn’t want suspicion falling on her, she would likely put Markham up to getting it. In Culley’s mind, Jessy, Markham, and Laredo were entwined in some way.
First, that Laredo character showed up at the funeral; then Jessy secreted him up in the foothills. Not long afterward the Englishman has his cattle in the feedlot. Such strange happenings back to back made Culley wonder if Laredo and Markham were in cahoots. And it was for sure Jessy was awful friendly with both of them, which had to mean something.
Culley would have told Cat and Logan all of that if they had bothered to ask what he thought. But they didn’t, and he didn’t volunteer it.
The quiet of midmorning claimed the town of Blue Moon. It was an hour when its streets were empty of traffic. Those with jobs were already at their place of work, and the old-timers were gathered around their customary table at Harry’s, drinking coffee and swapping stories of the past.
Culley was as familiar with the town’s ebb and flow of activity as he was with the big lan
d that surrounded it. He had deliberately picked this hour of the day to make a trip into town, fully aware it was a time when he would encounter few people.
The gas gauge on his old pickup had stopped working years ago, but he knew its tank had to be close to empty. No other vehicles were at the pumps when he pulled off the highway into Fedderson’s combination gas station and grocery store.
Stopping next to the regular pump, he switched off the engine and listened to its dying cough and sputter. As he climbed out of the pickup, he cast a furtive glance around, but saw no one about. He pulled out the wadded-up rag that served as a lid for the gas tank and stuck the nozzle in. He let five dollars’ worth flow into the tank before shutting off the pump.
There were no customers about when he walked into the store. Culley sidled up to the counter and pushed five crumpled one-dollar bills toward the bored-looking woman behind the counter. It used to be that it was always Emmett Fedderson himself who took his money, but Culley rarely saw the owner nowadays.
“Want a receipt?” the woman asked while managing to keep her jaw working, cracking the wad of chewing gum in her mouth.
Culley answered with a shake of his head and turned away, moving quickly to escape the store’s confines. As he stepped into the sun-warmed air, a powerfully built Range Rover drove up to the pump island, stopping on the opposite side from Culley’s rusty pickup. A powdering of dust dulled the vehicle’s sleek sides, evidence of the dirt roads it had recently traveled.
Culley’s black eyes narrowed thoughtfully when the tall, lean Englishman stepped out of the vehicle. The memory of Cat’s fruitless search for the missing paper was still fresh in his mind. And his opinion hadn’t changed that the Englishman had taken it. Those two things worked together in his mind to embolden him.
Instead of hurriedly sliding behind the wheel of his pickup and driving off, Culley dawdled outside it until he managed to catch the Englishman’s eyes.
There was a moment when he thought the haughty foreigner was going to look right through him as if he wasn’t there. Then recognition flickered. Instantly the man’s expression took on a look of hearty welcome.
“Good morning, O’Rourke. I must say I didn’t expect to see you in town,” Markham declared while the pump meter spun, ticking off the gallons his vehicle guzzled.
“Needed gas,” Culley replied in clipped explanation, then added slyly, “Did Jessy put ya up t’ stealin’ that paper from Cat’s desk?”
Openmouthed, Markham stared at him for a split second. “Paper?” he echoed with a great show of blankness. “I don’t believe I know what you are talking about.”
