Chapter 11
Darkness had fully fallen by the time Colly and Russ exited the cabin. Descending the steps, Colly looked up and was astonished, as she always was when visiting the ranch, by the stars. In Houston, only the brightest were visible, but here they were so thick that they seemed almost oppressive.
“Sorry to cut you off,” she said. “Best not to discuss the case around anyone. Even Felix.”
“You’re right. He’s such a fixture here that I didn’t think.” Russ offered his arm. “The grass is damp. I should’ve brought a flashlight.”
Still fighting a headache, Colly allowed him to lead her across the lawn. “So you think someone besides Willis planted those masks.”
Russ sighed. “The Rangers figured he just wasn’t smart enough to hide things well, but Willis could be secretive when he wanted to. Dad once found a dirty magazine hidden inside his closet wall when we were kids. He’d made himself a hidey-hole with tools from Felix’s shop.”
“Where’d he get the magazine?” Colly asked, momentarily diverted.
“Said he found it by the highway. But that raises a good point—where would Willis get those masks? He didn’t drive, he didn’t have friends. And he damn sure wouldn’t know how to tan a rabbit hide.”
“He could’ve googled it.”
“He didn’t have computer or internet access—that was one condition of his release.”
At the flagstone path, Colly released Russ’s arm. “If someone planted those masks, you realize what that means?”
“They had access to the ranch.”
“Who besides the family has access?”
As they started up the hill, Colly heard Russ snort in the darkness. “Half the town.”
“Be serious.”
“Okay, I’m exaggerating, but not much. Felix, and his nephew Pete, and Nadine the housekeeper, and a half-dozen ranch hands live on the property year-round. They’ve all got friends who visit now and then. Not to mention the tradesmen and delivery people in and out all day. Plus Talford, and Momma’s bridge-club ladies. And now that Lowell’s living in the guesthouse, there’s his poker buddies, and sometimes employees from the turbine plant. We had the company picnic here last summer. If it’s not literally half the town, it’s a fair percentage.”
“Great.” Colly massaged her temple, where the earlier sharp pain had resolved into a dull throb. “Those masks couldn’t have been in the nightstand long, or Willis would’ve found them himself.” She thought for a moment. “Did anything unusual happen at Iris’s party?”
She sensed Russ looking at her. “Lowell had one beer too many and got mouthy about politics, like always. But basically, it was a pleasant evening. Dinner, presents, cake. Alice headed out early for a babysitting gig. Brenda took Logan and Minnie home around nine-thirty, as I recall. Talford left around ten. Momma went to bed a little after that, and Lowell and me sat by the pool a few more minutes, finishing our beers. That’s when Felix came running up, saying Willis was hurt.”
“Hurt? He said that?”
Russ paused. “I think so.”
“Tonight, he said he knew right away that Willis was dead.”
“Maybe I’m misremembering . ”
“He’s found more than his share of dead bodies recently—first Denny, then Willis.” Colly thought of the gray rabbit, of Felix dropping it through the herpetarium hatch as casually as if he were posting a letter. He would certainly know how to catch and skin a wild hare.
They had crested the hill and were passing the tennis courts. The murmur of voices came drifting on the night air from the patio behind the house, along with the shrill laughter of children splashing in the pool.
Russ turned towards Colly, the frown lines on his face accentuated in the dim glow of the distant house lights. “Felix didn’t kill Willis—he was his protector. He loved Willis.”
“People kill loved ones all the time, Russ.”
“Not Felix. Trust me.”
And that’s the problem with investigating friends and family , Colly thought. Neither of us should be on this case, but I’m more objective than Russ. She wondered what he would do if she started poking around in directions he didn’t like. It was a subject that needed to be addressed, but not tonight.
From the direction of the house came an especially loud shriek and splash, followed by Iris’s sharp voice, carried on the still night air. “That’s enough, kids. Come dry off.” Then, more querulously: “What’s keeping them, Lowell? Run down to the cabin and tell Russ dinner’s ready. If Nadine’s roast beef dries out, she’ll pout for a week.”
“That’s our cue.” Russ offered Colly his arm. “Ready for battle stations?”
Colly sighed and looked up. The Big Dipper hung high above them to the north, tipped as if about to spill the contents of its vast cup onto the roof of the house— a cup of spiced and foaming wine, full of wrath . The poetic phrase came, unbidden, to her mind. Was it from the Bible? She hadn’t been to church since burying her husband and daughter, yet the verse sounded right. The grapes of wrath .
Battle stations, indeed.
She shook off the thought and tucked an escaping strand of hair firmly behind her ear. “Ready.”
Ignoring Russ’s arm, she walked quickly towards the house.
Entering the gloom of the crape myrtle thicket, Colly was startled to encounter a shadowy figure coming from the direction of the house. To avoid a collision on the narrow path, she stopped abruptly, and Russ crashed into her from behind, knocking her sideways.
In the darkness, the shape in front of her expelled an annoyed grunt, and Colly caught a whiff of alcohol. The figure turned without apology and retreated the way it had come.
“Here they are, Momma—praise the Lord and hallelujah, the roast beef’s saved.”
“Dammit, Lowell,” Colly heard Russ mutter. “You okay, Col?”
“I’m fine.” Colly smoothed her dress. “What’s Lowell’s problem? He’s worse than usual.”
“I told you, it’s nothing. Ignore him.” Russ started to move away, but Colly grabbed his sleeve.
“I need full transparency, or I’m going back to Houston. I mean it.”
He sighed. “Lowell didn’t want me bringing you in on this Denny Knox thing. We had a little dustup over it last week.”
“Dustup?”
“He took a swing at me, clocked me pretty good on the jaw. Still a little sore.”
“You’re kidding.”
“It was late, and he’d had a few, of course.”
“Why doesn’t he want me investigating?”
“Afraid it’ll be bad for business. The company’s gone through a rough patch recently.”
“Why?”
She heard him swallow. “Long story. Let’s talk later.”
Colly hesitated. The topic had apparently struck a nerve, which surprised her. Russ, like Randy, had always left business worries to Lowell. But now his anxiety was almost palpable.
“Russ, what’s going on?”
“Not now, Col. Seriously. Let’s go, before Momma sends another search party.” He started towards the house, and after a moment, Colly followed.
They emerged from the thicket onto the well-lit patio in time to see Lowell push past his mother and Talford and disappear into the house.
Iris seemed unfazed by her youngest son’s rudeness. “There you are.” She smiled benignly at Russ and Colly. “Hope you’re hungry. The children have worked up quite an appetite.”
“A little early in the year for swimming, isn’t it?” Colly glanced at the water toys scattered on the flagstones.
“It’s a heated pool. The kids stank of horse, so we let them take a dip. Brenda didn’t think you’d mind. It’s nice for Satchel to have his cousins to play with. I worry about how isolated he is in Houston.”
“He has friends,” Colly said defensively.
Before Iris could respond, Russ edged between them. “Did I hear something about roast beef? I’m starved.”
Arm in arm, Iris and Talford led the way through the French doors into the house. As they entered the living room, Colly was struck by a sense of simultaneous familiarity and strangeness. When Randy had first brought her to meet his family, Colly’s impression of Mollison was one of unpretentious, slightly shabby comfort. Then, it was a working ranch house, with piles of boots by the door and the faint odors of diesel, woodsmoke, and sweat permeating the air. A house that had seen four boys grow to adulthood.
Now, she felt as if she’d entered a movie set—some designer’s idea of what a ranch house should look like. Brass-studded furniture of walnut and dark leather encircled a cowhide rug, and a row of Navajo saddle blankets hung on the wall, their vivid geometric patterns glowing against the honey-oak paneling.
As Colly scrutinized the room, Iris released Talford’s arm and moved closer. “I’ve redone things since you were here last—ditched those antler chandeliers Bryant loved, and that smelly old rug of his grandmother’s. What do you think?”
“Designed it herself,” Talford put in. “A woman of hidden talents.” He winked at Iris.
Colly hesitated. “It looks very . . . ”
“Chic?” Iris prompted.
Proprietary was the word that had come to mind. This place is yours now, and you’re marking your territory.
Though, after all , Colly thought, why not? Bryant Newland had been a domestic tyrant. Iris had a right to a fresh start, and she’d needed a distraction in the wake of so much tragedy. As coping mechanisms went, redecorating the house was harmless.
Colly smiled. “It’s lovely.” Her gaze was drawn to the fieldstone fireplace. “Oh, wow.”
In place of Bryant’s prized trophy—a buffalo-head mount that had brooded above the mantel for decades—an enormous oil painting now hung. It was a portrait of Iris done in a bold, Fauvist style and depicting her standing regally beneath a windswept sky, the dormered silhouette of the Mollison roofline behind her.
Iris followed Colly’s gaze. “Ah, you’ve spotted my treasure. A gift from Talford, for my seventieth.”
Talford beamed. “Commissioned it from a fellow in Santa Fe. Spot-on likeness, isn’t it?”
Colly squinted up at the portrait. Even to her untrained eye, the quality of the work was unmistakable. It vibrated with energy. The artist had seen past the surface of Iris’s placid charm and with a few, swift strokes of the palette knife had captured the fierce hunger behind the eyes, the imperious pride in the cambered smile. It was not a warm portrayal, nor a comforting one. The woman on the canvas was intimidating. Frightening, even. Colly could see why Iris loved it.
“It’s remarkable,” she murmured, taking an unconscious step back.
“I’m so pleased you like it.” Iris seemed about to say more but was interrupted by a commotion in the hallway. A second later, the children burst into the room, with Alice and Brenda following.
“Grandma!” Satchel’s normally pallid face glowed rosy pink. He ran to Colly and began hopping excitedly, reaching up to pat her cheeks with his fingertips, a habit he’d developed as a toddler when he wanted her attention. “We rode horses—mine was a black-and-white one named Maisie. Alice showed me how to hold the reins. She says I’m a really good rider. Then Grandma Iris let us go swimming.”
“I see that.” Colly smiled. “Your shirt’s inside out. And goodness, your hair.” It was still damp and sticking out in all directions. She smoothed it with her fingers.
“Sorry, Aunt Colly,” Alice said. “We tried to comb it, but he was too wiggly.”
“Come on, buddy.” Colly took Satchel’s hand. “Let’s sort you out before dinner.”
Colly led him to the bathroom as he continued to chatter happily. “This is the best place in the whole world. I wish we could stay forever.”
“This morning you couldn’t wait to get back to Houston. Arms up.” Colly pulled off his shirt.
“It’s fun here. Grandma Iris says I can stay the whole summer with her, sometime.”
“She did, huh?” Flushing with annoyance, Colly turned the shirt right side out and popped it back over Satchel’s head, then searched through drawers for a comb.
“Why’re you mad?” he asked.
“I’m not.”
“You’re doing that thing with your teeth.”
“I’m concentrating.” Colly worked to relax her jaw. “Now, will you please hold still for two seconds and let me fix your hair.”