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Johnson nodded.
“And the door was unlocked when you arrived?”
“The back door, to the carport, yeah.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Spitzer yelled from the hall as footsteps echoed on the stone floors. Alvarez and Grayson looked over as Nate Santana boldly entered the room.
“When Long was around he never locked his doors,” he said, obviously overhearing part of the 190
Lisa Jackson
conversation. He stopped just inside the double doors, and Spitzer appeared behind him, eyes blazing. Alvarez held up a hand to stop the confrontation. “You wanted to add something?”
“I’d like to know what the chances are that a thief shows up just after Brady lands his chopper around back? Even I didn’t know he was going to be here, and I’m his damned foreman.”
“You think someone was lying in wait?” Alvarez
asked.
“Must’ve been, or else the killer’s pretty damned lucky. That is, if you believe in coincidence.”
“Unlikely,” the sheriff said, scowling. Spitzer, standing a pace behind Santana, was fit to be tied. Her face was flushed, her lips knifeblade thin in anger. “I’m sorry, Sheriff.” She looked anything but apologetic. To Santana she added, “Let’s go. Back to the living room.”
“Wait.” Alvarez wanted to hear what Santana had to say. “You think this was planned? Premeditated?”
“Looks that way to me. I think someone wanted Long dead and they made it happen. I think whoever did it knew he would be alone.”
“How?”
“Beats me.” Santana lifted a shoulder, stared at the dead man, then glanced away. “There’s usually someone on the ranch, someone who could see or hear something.”
“The housekeeper,” Grayson said.
Santana nodded. “If she goes out, it’s in the morning and not always.”
Alvarez was taking mental notes. “And her son?”
“He’s nineteen. Comes and goes. Works here
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with me. Lives upstairs in one of the wings with his mother, Clementine, but goes to community college and hangs out with his friends, so he’s not here all the time.”
“School’s out for the holidays,” Alvarez pointed out.
Santana shrugged. “His car is parked near the garage, so he’s either with his mom, or someone came and picked him up.”
“The 4Runner,” the sheriff guessed.
Santana grunted a “yeah” and Alvarez said, “We’ll need to talk to both Clementine and the boy.”
Santana said, “His name is Ross.”
Grayson asked, “No dad in the picture?”
“Never seen or heard about him.” Again Santana lifted one shoulder.
