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“You still haven’t said where you were last night.”
“Sally closes up at midnight. Me and Rollie left a little before that. So I’d say we were either on our way home or else in bed.” His expression never changed. “Anything else you’d like to ask?”
“Not right now.”
“If you think of anything, you know where to find me,” he said with a wink, then walked off.
Watching him head into the store, Emmett grumbled, “I still think he’s the one who started it.”
“You could be right,” Logan agreed. “But suspicions are no good without proof.”
“And you can bet money Lath knows that, too.”
Across the way, Chase Calder said something to Cat. She nodded and turned, touching the shoulder of the young boy beside her. He caught hold of her hand, then reached out to take the outstretched hand of Jessy Calder. Logan watched as the two women lifted the boy off the ground and swung him between them. His giggle of delight drifted across the intervening space.
“I’m kinda surprised to see Calder in town when the Triple C is in the middle of roundup,” Emmett remarked. “Course, I don’t imagine Chase takes an active role in it anymore. Ty sees to it now, I guess.”
“I got that impression.” Logan nodded absently, his glance tracking Cat all the way to the restaurant entrance.
“That’s right. You were out there yesterday, weren’t you?” Emmett recalled. “Trouble comes in bunches, they say. My place gets set on fire and Calder gets his cattle killed. I guess you haven’t had much time to investigate that.”
“Not much.” The comment prompted a question he had planned to ask. “Do you know anybody around here that has a truck with a winch mounted in it?”
“Well, there’s the one I got, parked around back. We hardly use it anymore since we got the tow truck. And Jim Bradley over at the Lone Tree Ranch has one. Old Gaylord Archibald used to have one, but I think I heard he’d sold it to somebody over at Wolf Point. Farleys had one, but they blew the motor in it. The cost of fixing it was more than the whole thing was worth. I’m pretty sure they ended up junking it.” He paused, then shook his head. “I can’t think of anybody else. Why’d you want to know?”
“Just curious. Do you mind if I go take a look at yours?”
“Course not. Like I said, it’s parked around back in that old shed behind the store.”
“Where are the keys?”
Emmett cast a furtive look around them, then lowered his voice. “You don’t need one. That padlock on the shed door has been broke for years.”
Logan shot him a look, a sudden hunch forming. “And the keys to the truck?”
He blinked once, twic
e, then ducked his head and mumbled a little sheepishly, “On a hook inside the door.”
“I think you’d better come with me.”
“Why?” A note of anxiety crept into Emmett’s voice. “You don’t think somebody stole my truck, do you?”
Logan ignored the question and called to the fire marshal, “Frank, we’re going around back for a few minutes.” The man waved an acknowledgment, and Logan started toward the corner of the building. “When’s the last time you were in the shed, Emmett?”
“Probably a week.” Emmett hobbled after him, puffing a little at the swift pace he set. “It’s mostly for storage.”
The shed sat off by itself, about twenty yards from the store. Built of wood, its white painted boards chipped and coated with prairie dust, it had the look of an old two-car garage. Rusted wheel rims and old tires were piled along one side of it, half-hidden by the tall weeds and wild grasses that grew around the shed.
Following a narrow path through the weeds, Emmett went around to a side door that appeared to be secured by a large steel padlock. He gave it a downward yank, and it sprang apart. Unhooking it, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, flipping on a wall switch. Three bare light bulbs flashed on, illuminating dusty stacks of boxes, spare engine parts, an assortment of hubcaps, and the truck in question.
A weighty sigh of relief spilled from Emmett. “There it is. You had me thinking it wouldn’t be.”
“See if the keys are still hanging up.” Logan surveyed the windowless interior. Heat hung heavy in the airless shed, musty with the smell of dust and mildew.
Turning, Emmett took two shuffling steps to the right and ran his hand along a stud, then looked down, checking the concrete floor at his feet. “They’re gone,” he said in a dumbfounded voice. “That don’t make any sense. The truck’s still here.”
Still playing his hunch, Logan walked over to the truck and glanced through the passenger window. A set of keys dangled from the windshield wiper lever, the silver shine of them somehow taunting.
