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“Not much there,” Mike said.
“Yet,” Diana tagged on.
I agreed with both of them. “At the same time, if Keefe wasn’t killed for what he did — including seeing, hearing — it seems the alternative is he was killed for who he was. But that seems far-fetched, too.”
“Maybe even more far-fetched than Mike’s scenario,” Diana said. “Mild-mannered. No conflict with anyone. Heck, didn’t mix with that many people except the guests during the season, which ended six months ago.”
“Something personal,” Jennifer proposed. “Like you were talking about — Brenda, maybe from unrequited love.”
“But why now and not any time in what sounds to be like the past three decades?”
“Three,” I repeated musingly. “He was shot three times. That was interesting. Why three times?”
“They wanted to be sure they sent him to a better place?” Diana said with a glint of mischief.
“Oh, like Brenda said,” Jennifer said.
I growled.
I might have been around Shelton too much.
“You should have seen Elizabeth’s face when Brenda said that,” Diana told the other two. “Mount Vesuvius... except it didn’t blow. Must give her credit for that.”
With great dignity I said, “Getting back to his being shot three times, I was thinking that pointed toward a small caliber gun.”
“Yup. A big caliber gun and there wouldn’t be much left after three shots.” Mike folded a pizza slice and consumed a good third of it in one bite.
“Uh-huh. Thanks for pointing that out,” Diana said.
“There might be another aspect to the three shots and wanting to make sure he was dead — an element of not wanting him to suffer.” I paused, then added dryly, “Other than killing him, of course. But I mean those small caliber shots can rattle around in the brain and cause a lot of damage that might eventually kill somebody, but they can also hang on a long time, first. Keefe left shot on his living room floor to take who knows how long to die? That could make the shooter add extra shots to end it quickly, as well as definitively.”
“Which points to someone he knew,” Diana said.
“Unless it was a compassionate hired killer,” Mike said.
Jennifer scoffed. “A group known for their compassion.”
“Making sure he was dead would also be self-preservation. If he were shot once, then found before he died he might have said who shot him. Killer didn’t want to leave a witness,” Diana said.
I stuck with the broader question. “Do you see someone hiring a killer to come into Cottonwood County to do away with Keefe?”
“Not all hired killers are the high-priced slick type from movies or even the historical figures like Tom Horn.”
Led by Mike, the others turned to me.
“Yes, I’ve heard of Tom Horn.” My indignation was meant to hide that while I had heard the name, I tended to confuse it with Roy Bean. Or was it Roy Horn and Tom Bean?
My answer didn’t stop Mike from explaining.
“He was officially a range detective, but it’s pretty much agreed he was hired by cattle barons to kill rustlers.” He knew as much Wyoming history as Mrs. P — as long it was about bad guys and wild stories.
“I know, I know. As bad as Judge Roy Bean. Hard to tell which side of the law they were on, right? But a hired killer—”
Mike was not to be dragged away from his topic. “Horn bragged about killing men, then he was caught and hanged for the killing of a boy, though a lot of people think he didn’t do that one.”
“That’s fascinating, but—”
“Horn was played by Steve McQueen,” Diana said. “Paul Newman played Roy Bean.”
