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“You know,” Culley pronounced. “And I know, too. I saw ya pokin’ around her desk that day.”
“I was merely admiring it,” Monte chided lightly. “It’s a fine example of workmanship, and I have always had an appreciation of old things. I suspect it comes with being British.”
Culley hadn’t expected the man to fess up. At the same time it galled him that Markham would think he was gullible enough to believe such malarkey. It pushed Culley to take a step beyond the truth.
“Was it the desk you were admirin’ or that paper you slipped in your pocket? I may be old, but my eyes are as sharp as they ever was.”
Markham forced out a brief laugh. “My good man, I have no idea what you think you saw, but I took nothing from that desk.”
Culley ignored the denial. “I’m curious—did ya give the paper to Jessy or that Laredo fella?”
“Are you referring to Laredo Smith?” Monte frowned in surprise. “The cowboy Jessy hired to work at the feedlot?”
“Yeah. He’s your partner, ain’t he?”
“Wherever did you get that idea? You have the most extraordinary imagination, Mr. O’Rourke,” Markham declared with amusement.
“It jus’ makes sense,” Culley replied, undeterred. “He shows up outa the blue. Jessy hides him away up in that old abandoned line shack in the foothills, then keeps slippin’ off to see him. Then, boom, after years of never allowin’ a cow on the place that don’t wear a Calder brand, you’re fillin’ the feedlot with your cattle. I figger you an’ that Laredo guy got somethin’ on Jessy.”
“Obviously I cannot speak for Mr. Smith, but you are wrong about my involvement. It was a straightforward business arrangement I made with Jessy concerning the feedlot. There was absolutely no one else involved in it.”
“So you say.” Culley retained his skepticism. “You make all the deals ya want, but you keep Cat outa it. You mess with her an’ you’ll mess with me.”
“I have no desire to mess with either of you, as you put it,” Markham assured him, then cocked his head at a curious angle. “But what was that you said earlier about a—what did you call it?—a line shack? I am not familiar with that term. Is it a building?”
“It’s a cabin they built in the old days, on the outskirts of the ranch so’s a cowboy wouldn’t have so far t’ride at day’s end.” The sudden shift to answering questions instead of asking them made Culley uncomfortable. He edged closer to his truck.
“And this one is located in the foothills, you say. Sounds like an ideal location for a hunting lodge. Where is it, exactly?” Immediately Monte smiled and held up a detaining hand. “It would be pointless to tell me. The sort of directions people give here, I have found impossible to follow. Perhaps you could show me where it is. Not today, though. I have several appointments. Perhaps tomorrow morning we could meet. Say, around nine o’clock?”
“Have Jessy take ya.” Culley turned toward his pickup.
“I would much rather that you took me. I can make it worth your while.”
Culley hesitated. But curiosity got the better of him and he turned back to listen.
Chapter Sixteen
Astiff breeze swirled around the Boar’s Nest, searching for an opening. A raised window provided an entrance, and it swept in, riffling through the notepad on the table in front of Chase. Hattie sat opposite him, holding two playing cards in her hand. Positioned between them was a cribbage board.
Chase removed a ten of hearts from his playing hand and placed it on the table. “Ten.”
Hattie laid down an eight of clubs. “Eighteen.”
“Nine for twenty-seven,” Chase said as he put a nine of hearts on his stack.
A trifle smugly, Hattie played her last card, a four of diamonds. “And four for thirty-one, and two,” she said, moving her white peg two positions on the board.
“You are on a hot streak this morning,” Chase accused in mild complaint and began counting up the score in his hand. “Fifteen two, fifteen four, fifteen six . . .” He paused, tuning in to the distant sound of a vehicle. “Somebody’s on the road,” he remarked idly.
Hattie paused to listen. “Sounds like it stopped. Should I go look?”
Chase shook his head. “There’s no need. It isn’t that close to us.” He moved his peg the necessary number of holes. “What do you have in your crib?”
“Enough to beat you again,” she declared, eyes sparkling when she showed him the cards. “Do you want to try for three out of five?”
“With your luck at cards, I’ll pass, thank you.” He gathered up the playing cards and returned them to the packet while Hattie put away the cribbage board.
“Want some coffee?”
