Chapter Seventeen #3
Brandy raised her hand to her chin, obviously showing that she was thinking. “A few weeks ago,” she said. “I was working out on the third level and I saw him drive up. He was talking with Clay, and then my husband took him on a tour of the ranch.”
“Do you know why?”
“You know Michael. He likes to show the place off.”
—
“So, are you two getting acquainted?” asked a male voice from behind Lucy.
She spun around to see Michael Thompson emerging from what looked like an office or a study.
He wore faded jeans, a pressed white dress shirt, and slippers.
Lucy thought his face looked haggard compared to the photos she’d seen, and his eyes had dark circles around them. He looked like a man under stress.
“This is Lucy Pickett,” Brandy said to him. “She’s asking if we know anything about what happened to her dad.”
Michael paused and shook his head sadly. “It’s a terrible tragedy what happened. May he rest in peace.”
“He’s not dead,” Lucy said sharply.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Thompson said. “I’d heard differently.”
“He’s fighting for his life,” Lucy added.
Brandy then punched the air with her tiny fists in a rhythmic way, and said, “Fight-fight-fight,” as if she were cheering on the South Carolina Gamecocks from the sidelines.
Lucy ignored her. So did Michael Thompson, although his lips pursed in annoyance at the display.
“I know I only have a few minutes,” Lucy said. “So I’ll get right down to it. Was my dad coming out here to see you the other day?”
“No,” Thompson said quickly. Then he paused and said, “I don’t think so. Maybe he was. I gave him permission to trespass on my ranch anytime. In fact, I encouraged it.”
“Really?” Lucy asked. “What does that mean?”
Thompson waved away the implication. “He needed to sign off on a little project I was working on. I wanted to make sure he was comfortable doing so and I welcomed him to visit whenever he could spare the time.”
“Did you call him and ask him to come out here two days ago?” Lucy asked. “Did Mr. Hutmacher?”
Thompson went still and he glared at Lucy. The man could be intimidating. She felt a chill race down her spine.
“Why are you asking me these questions?”
“We’re trying to determine his movements that day,” Lucy said. “That’s all.”
“I’ve already explained this to the local sheriff’s office,” Thompson said with impatience. “I don’t want to keep repeating myself.”
“If you don’t mind, what did you tell them?”
“I told them I’m a very, very busy man right now.
I’m in the middle of some very large transactions, and I really can’t waste my time going back and forth with local Keystone Kops.
The fact is I didn’t call your dad and ask him to come out here at any specific time.
Like I said, I’d already granted him carte blanche to enter my property There was no need to offer him a special invitation. ”
“What about Mr. Hutmacher?”
“You’ll have to ask him, but I doubt it,” Thompson said. “I don’t speak for my ranch foreman.”
“I will, thanks.”
Lucy pressed on. “Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt my dad? Anyone at all?”
Thompson glanced at his wristwatch and looked up. Without saying it, he indicated that the five minutes were just about up. His wife got the message. Lucy turned to see her retreating down the hallway, the fabric of her Brndy yoga pants swishing like a willow branch whipping through the air.
“Look, Lucy Pickett,” Thompson said. “You’re very cute and sweet, but we’re out of time and I think you’re more than a little out of your league here.
Your dad was…” Then he corrected himself and said, “Is a nice guy and all. He’s very humble and down-to-earth, and he’s developed quite the reputation among the locals.
I’m sure some of that was earned. But he was…
” Again he corrected himself, “Is basically a state bureaucrat with outsized powers.
“I don’t want to bad-mouth him in front of his own daughter,” Thompson continued, “but he, like you, was out of his league when it comes to matters of great importance. And frankly, he could be a pain in the ass. I’m sure I’m not the only rancher or the only person in this county to say that.
The state needs to work with landowners and major donors to the governor’s campaign—not against them. ”
“You’re speaking of him in the past tense again,” Lucy said in a whisper.
“Sorry,” Thompson said, “I must be distracted. And I’m late for a conference call as it is.” Then he barked, “Clay!”
Hutmacher dutifully appeared from the hallway, where he’d earlier vanished.
“Can you show Miss Lucy Pickett out?” Thompson asked.
“Yes, sir,” Hutmacher said.
Before joining him, Lucy looked hard at Michael Thompson. He looked back in a defiant way, she thought.
“My sisters always say I can read people pretty well,” Lucy said.
“And what can you read about me?” Thompson asked.
She thought, That you’re scrambling to stay out of prison at the moment. It might be federal prison, or it might be our jail in town or the Wyoming State Penitentiary in Rawlins. But I have no doubt you’ll end up in one of them. I can feel it.
But instead she said, “I haven’t come to any conclusions yet, but I think you may be more impressed with yourself than I am.”
Thompson flushed. “Clay, get her the hell out of here.”
Lucy felt the grip on her arm. She didn’t resist.
—
On the way out of the house, Clay Hutmacher leaned in close to Lucy and said, “You shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have pissed him off like that.”
“What’s he going to do?” Lucy asked. “Get a couple of guys to ambush me as well?”
“I’m sure he had nothing to do with that,” Hutmacher said as he opened the SUV’s door for her and guided her inside.
“Are you sure?” Lucy asked him.
“I told your dad not to cross him,” Hutmacher said, almost apologetically. “And I’m telling you that now.”
“Mr. Hutmacher, did you call my dad to come out here the other day? The day he got shot?”
At that, Clay slammed the door shut.
—
As Lucy drove away from the Thompson home, she glanced in her rearview mirror. Clay was still in the driveway, his body language showing that he was in turmoil. His hands were on his hips and his head was down, and he was frantically walking in a circle.
Directly above him, at a second-story window, Brandy watched her go as well. She had her hands on her hips, too, and her head was tilted to the side. Lucy knew she was too far away to conclude what Brandy’s facial expression was at the moment.
But Lucy imagined she was smirking.
—
Two miles away from the Thompson home, but still on the Double D, Lucy pulled over on the side of the road.
She was seething from how Michael and Brandy Thompson had spoken to her, and she had nothing but disappointment and contempt for Clay Hutmacher, whom she’d previously thought was her dad’s friend.
She pulled out her iPhone from her coat pocket and stopped the recording. It went on for eight and a half minutes—three and a half minutes longer than she’d been allotted. Lucy looked forward to listening to it again and sharing it with her sisters.
She thought:
What was Brandy’s involvement, if any at all?
What did Clay Hutmacher know that he wouldn’t tell her?
How desperate was Michael Thompson to get his “little project” approved before his wealth dried up or he was indicted? Desperate enough to order an ambush?
That’s when she saw movement in her rearview mirror. Clay Hutmacher’s gray pickup was following her, no doubt making sure she left the ranch as ordered.
She quickly added to the sisters’ group text.
Heading home. There’s a LOT to talk about.
Then she engaged the transmission and pulled out onto the road toward Antler Creek Junction.