What did you hear, exactly?
I heard Hilda barking, and then I heard Lady-the cougar-scream. And thats when I ran. Her voice had begun to shake. She fought to control it while the deputy waited patiently, staring down at the notes hed made.
She wished she could get up and get a glass of water. She wished she could run to her bedroom and crawl under the covers and pull a pillow over her head.
After a moment, she drew a quivering breath and went on. She described everything that had happened, and when she was finished, she was surprised to discover shed been crying. For some reason, that embarrassed her, and she tried to wipe the tears away surreptitiously while Al was still looking down, writing in his notebook. She waited for him to ask more questions, and when he didnt, she cleared her throat again and said, Al, can I ask you something?
He glanced up, frowning.
What did he-I mean, how did he look? You know, were the wounds She touched her lips with her fingertips, and more tears rolled down her cheeks. This time she didnt try to wipe them away. I just really need to know. Did Lady kill him?
Maam, I cant make that kind of judgment. Thats up to the ME. He paused, then seemed to relent. I will tell you theres some blood on Dunks clothes, and some-not a lot-on the ground. Well just have to wait for the autopsy to determine how he died. Now, if you dont mind, I have just a few more questions
He asked her about the compound, the gate, how it was locked up and who had a key. He asked her how she thought Duncan might have gotten into the pen with the cougar, and why.
Thats what I cant imagine, Brooke said in a whisper. Duncan was deathly afraid of that cat, although hed never have admitted it. He always wanted to get rid of it. When I told him I wanted to start a refuge for big cats-you know, like, animals people take as pets, then cant take care of when they get big and dangerous-he thought I was nuts. He even insisted on buying a tranquilizer gun, just in case, because he said he knew Id never be able to shoot her, if it came to that. Her voice broke, and as she paused to control it, a thought occurred to her. I wonder why he didnt-Duncan, I mean. Didnt he have his gun?
Al gave her an unreadable look. It wasnt on him, no, maam. We found it in his vehicle.
He tucked his notebook and pencil back in his pocket and rose. I guess thats all-for now. Well be in touch once the medical examiners done. He thanked her, nodded a farewell and left the way hed come, through the back door.
Brooke sat where hed left her, with one hand covering her mouth and her eyes closed, listening to the sounds of vehicles coming and going outside in the yard, and the distant mutter of mens voices. She didnt want to listen to the voices rumbling around inside her own head, but they kept intruding, anyway.
Something isnt right about this. I can feel it. Somethings not right. It doesnt make sense.
Either Daniel wasnt telling her the whole story, oror what? She didnt know. Only that something was wrong.
After a while-she didnt know how long-she realized the noises outside had stopped. That all the official vehicles had gone. Finally. The sun had gone down. It was past time to feed the animals. Only her ingrained sense of responsibility made her get up and go outside and throw some hay to the two horses, six goats and two alpacas, and close and bar the chicken-house door. She didnt go down to the far end of the corrals, where Ladys compound was. The cougar was in her holding cage and would be all right where she was until tomorrow.
Back in the house, she went to check on Daniel and Hilda and found both in Daniels bed, sound asleep on top of the covers. Daniel had one arm thrown across the dogs body, and Hilda had her muzzle resting on the boys chest. She went to her own room and got a comforter and spread it over the softly snoring pair. Then, after a moment, she lifted the edge of the comforter and lay down, stretching herself out beside her son. With her arm across his body and her face nestled in his damp hair, breathing the salty, small-boy smell of him, she fell asleep.
In the morning, she was in the kitchen, making blueberry pancakes-Daniels favorite breakfast-when the knock came. Not on the kitchen door, the one everyone always used, but on the front door. Her hands shook slightly as she wiped them on a dish towel and went down the hall and through the living room to answer it.
Sheriff Clayton Carter stood on her front porch. He was wearing his brown Stetson, and his arms were folded across the front of his unbuttoned Western-style jacket. He didnt smile or remove his hat when Brooke opened the door, and she didnt smile and say that it was a nice surprise to see him and ask if he would care to come in for coffee.
Maam, would you step out here please? the sheriff said.
Moving as if in a dream, Brooke did, and two uniformed deputies she didnt know came up the steps behind the sheriff, and one of them took her arm and turned her around.
Brooke Fallon Grant, the sheriff said, Im placing you under arrest for the murder of Duncan Grant. You have the right to remain silent
Then Brookes head filled with the sound of high winds, and for some time she didnt hear anything else. Not until she was in the sheriffs car and being driven out of the yard, and she looked back and saw Daniel being restrained by one of the uniformed deputies. She heard his shrill and stricken cry.
Mom! Mama
Chapter 2
The last thing Holt Kincaid had expected to encounter when he drove into Colton, Texas, was a traffic jam. According to the information hed gotten off the Internet, the population still hadnt topped seven thousand, probably due to the fact that the town was just outside reasonable commuting distance from both Austin and San Antonio, and its residents hadnt yet figured out how to capitalize on its Hill Country charm and local history to bring in the tourist trade. From what Holt could see, the towns two main industries appeared to be peaches and rocks, and while there was still an apparently endless supply of the latter-in spite of the fact that nearly all the buildings on the main drag were constructed out of them-the season for the former was pretty much over. And it didnt seem likely the excess of vehicular traffic was due to rush hour, either, since it was mid-morning and, anyway, in his experience in towns like this, what passed for rush hour usually coincided with the start and end of the school day.
Also, it didnt seem likely that local traffic, no matter how heavy, could account for the high number of vans and panel trucks he was seeing, with satellite antennas sprouting out of their tops and news-station logos painted on their sides.
During his slow progress through the center of town, Holt was able to discern that the excitement seemed to be centered around the elaborate and somewhat oversized Gothic-style, stone-of course-courthouse, which was located a block off the highway, down the main cross street. A crowd had gathered on the grassy square in front of the courthouse, everyone sort of milling around in the shade of several big oak trees, the way people do when theyre bored to death but expecting something exciting to happen any minute.
The sense of anticipation-almost euphoria-with which hed entered the town, certain he was almost at the end of what had been a long and often frustrating quest, was replaced now by a sense of caution, developed over his long years of experience as a private investigator with a specialty in finding people. While it didnt seem likely this unexpected gathering of news media could have anything to do with his reason for being here in the town of Colton, he figured it wouldnt hurt to know exactly what he was getting into the middle of.
A few blocks past the courthouse, the traffic thinned out considerably, and Holt pulled off onto a side street and found a parking spot across from a diner, the inauspicious kind frequented by locals rather than passing-through motorists looking for a familiar franchise.
On his way into the diner, he dropped a quarter into a box dispensing the local newspaper, which he folded in half and tucked under his arm as he made his way past empty booths to take a seat at the counter-also empty, except for a waitress taking her mid-morning coffee break. Holt had an idea the usual denizens of the place could probably be found among the crowd down at the courthouse.
As he was taking his seat on one of the cracked red vinyl and chrome stools, the waitress wiped her mouth with a paper napkin, slid off her stool and swept, with a flourish, around the end of the counter to present herself behind the section hed just occupied.
Hi, she chirped. My name is Shirley, and Ill be your server today. How may I help you? And then she gave a throaty chortle to show she was just putting him on, and said in what Holt imagined was her natural Texas twang, What can I get for ya, hon?
Shirley was a heavyset woman in her forties, probably, with Day-Glo red curls piled on top of her head and laugh lines radiating from the corners of her vivid blue eyes. She had a nice smile, so Holt smiled back and said, Coffee, for starters. He tilted his head toward the glass case behind the counter. And maybe a piece of that pie there. Is that peach?
Sure is, Shirley said, beaming. Local, too. And the seasons bout over, so you hit it just right. Can I put a scoop of ice cream on that for ya?
No thanks-got to watch my waistline. He patted himself in that general area, and Shirley gave him a severe look and what could only be described as a snort.
Oh, sure, like you need to worry. Mister, you turn sideways, youd just bout disappear. While she was saying this, she was efficiently dishing up a slice of pie and placing it in front of him, with a fork and a spoon beside it.
Holt waited until a mug of steaming coffee had joined the pie, then picked up the fork and said, Where is everybody?
Shirley made that same inelegant noise as she leaned against the stainless-steel counter behind her and folded her arms across her ample bosom. Down at the courthouse, probably. Along with just about everbody else in this town. Its where Id be, too, if I wasnt stuck holdin down the fort here.