Chapter 5 #2
He struggled to follow the gist of Owen's question, focusing on the concern in the older man's face. "I was just telling Amos that it's reasonable to think that there's some sort of connection between Michael's disappearance and my father's death."
"Amen to that." Pete ambled into the office, perching himself on the windowsill, his shrewd glance sizing up the others in the room.
Owen looked over at Amos, who was seated again, concentrating on lighting a cigarillo. "Amos, what do you think?" He pulled up a second chair and sat, facing the desk.
The sheriff looked up, the thin cigar, dangling from the corner of his mouth, a thin wisp of bluish smoke curling toward the ceiling. Patrick couldn't help but think how discordant the picture was, an angel indulging in a devilish habit.
Amos blew a ring of smoke. "I'm guessing that Duncan's death was part of a highway robbery, nothing more."
Owen frowned and looked at Patrick. "But you have more questions?"
"Damn right I do. I have a little trouble accepting the fact that my father was murdered on the very same night my brother up and disappears."
Amos narrowed his gaze. "Now there's a thought. Michael getting along with Duncan all right these days?"
Pete let out a string of expletives that would curl the toes of a three penny whore.
Patrick felt his hackles rise. He opened his mouth to respond, but Owen beat him to the punch.
"Now, Amos, if you think about it, you'll realize there's no way Michael could have killed Duncan.
" Everyone turned to look at Owen. He smiled reassuringly at Patrick and then leaned back in his chair.
"What time was it when you found Roscoe? "
"I don't know exactly, a couple hours before sun-up." Patrick glanced over at Pete, who nodded in confirmation.
"Right, so that would indicate that Michael was injured well before dawn."
"You're just speculating that he was hurt. Maybe the blood on the saddle was Duncan's, not Michael's." Amos paused dramatically.
For a moment Patrick felt sick at his stomach. Then almost as quickly the feeling was gone. Michael would never kill his father. Never. He looked over at Pete. The old hand was staring intently at Owen, waiting for his reaction.
Owen scratched the side of his jaw absently. "Well, I suppose your theory is possible, but hardly likely. Besides, how would you explain the fact that Duncan's body appeared by the road after Pete and Patrick left to try and find Michael?"
"It was barely daylight when they left. They could've easily missed the body."
"Now, look here," Patrick felt his voice rising, "my brother isn't a killer. He isn't. Besides, there's still the horses. Even if what you're saying is true, and I don't believe it, you can hardly expect Michael to make a getaway on Jack." He glanced frantically over at Pete.
The old man spit out the open window, his grizzled old face shuttered. Whatever he was thinking, he wasn't going to share it now.
Amos, stubbed out the cigarillo. "Maybe he dumped Roscoe for a horse nobody would recognize. You boys check your other stock?"
Patrick couldn't believe the turn of the conversation. "No. It never occurred to me to check."
"Well, what do you want to bet you find another horse is missing? I'll bet Michael switched Roscoe for another one. Makes a helluva lot more sense than that animal finding its way home through the dark mountains."
Patrick bit back a profane retort. "If you're so sure Michael is a murderer, maybe you could give me a reason why?" He glared at the sheriff, his anger threatening to overcome him.
"Sit down, Patrick," Owen said. "There's no harm in listening to what the man has to say."
"Why?" Patrick swung around to glare at Owen.
"Because even in the wildest conjecture there is often an element of truth."
Patrick sat down, his mind spinning. "There isn't any truth to Striker's conjectures. They're lies. Lies ."
"Patrick." There was a note of steel in Owen's voice, and Patrick swallowed back further retort. He respected Owen—loved him even. In a lot of ways, he been more of a father than Duncan had ever been.
They waited while Amos lit another cheroot, a wisp of smoke making his face momentarily hazy. Amos tilted back his chair, resting it against the wall, booted feet propped up on the desk. "Word around town is that you all are having money problems."
Patrick shrugged. "We get by."
"Yeah, well, according to Bergstrom over at the bank, you're getting by on very little. And there is the matter of some outstanding loans." Amos smiled, a tight lipped version that hinted of malice.
Patrick tried to hold onto reason, things were rapidly spiraling out of control. "What the hell does our financial business have to do with Michael's disappearance?" He refused to give voice to Amos' accusation.
"Maybe Michael was tired of living hand to mouth. Maybe he saw an easy way out."
"By murdering my father?" Patrick stood up, leaning over the desk, anger consuming him. "That doesn't make sense, Striker."
"Doesn't it?" Amos leaned forward, steepling his fingers, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair.
Owen placed a soothing hand on Patrick's shoulder.
He shook it off, dropping back into his chair.
Maybe this was a nightmare. Any minute he'd wake up at home, safe in his bed.
Pete still sat in silence, but Patrick could tell by the taut line of his shoulders, that he, too, was incensed at the accusations.
"All right, Amos, if you're so certain Michael did this, you tell me what he had to gain by killing my father. "
Amos waited a beat before answering, obviously enjoying the moment. "Silver."
"What?" Patrick sat forward, his attention focused on the man in front of him.
"I said silver. Your father was in town last night. Drunk, as usual. He was rambling on about finding silver, the mother lode to hear him talk."
"That's ridiculous. Hell, my father was always blethering on about finding silver. Except for the Promise, it never amounted to anything."
"Well maybe this time it was different. Or maybe Michael just believed it was."
Patrick shot a look at Owen, waiting for him to tell the sheriff how crazy this all was. But Owen was silent, a frown creasing his forehead.
"This is insane. Michael was up in the high country all day yesterday."
Amos blew out a smoke ring. "You're certain of that? You actually saw him?"
"Well, no. But he told me he was going up there."
"I see." The sheriff smiled, the look bordering on smug.
"Pete, you know he was up there." Patrick met Pete's gaze, begging him to intervene, to say something.
"You saw him, Pete?" Owen turned to look at the ranch hand, his gaze narrowed.
"No. Cain't say that I did. But young Michael's as honest as they come. If he told Patrick he was going into the mountains, then that's where he was."
Amos shrugged. "All right, even if you allow for time in the mountains, he still could have been in Silverthread by nightfall."
"Someone would have seen him." This from Owen, who at last seemed to be getting with the program. Patrick sucked in a breath of relief.
"Not necessarily, and besides, Duncan could have run into him on the mountain. Maybe Michael already knew. Maybe he was waiting for him to come home."
"Ambushed his own father? Michael would sooner poke out his eye." Patrick stood up, his hands clenched in rage. "This is outrageous. And even if were true. Even if my father had found the mother lode and told Michael about it. Why would Michael kill him?"
"Well now, that's the big question isn't it?" Amos' mouth curved at the corners, the beginning of a grin. The bastard was enjoying this. "Way I heard it, betrayal isn't exactly an unusual occurrence in your family, is it?"
Patrick sprang over the desk in one smooth leap, his hand closing around the sheriff's collar. "You take that back, you son of a bitch." He arched his right arm backwards, tensing, his fist tight for the punch.
"Whoa, there, boy. No need to be smacking the sheriff. Ain't his fault any of this happened." Pete planted a beefy hand around Patrick's neck, the gentle pressure enough to force Patrick to release Amos.
"But he….I mean, he…" Patrick sputtered.
"Easy, Patrick, the sheriff didn't mean any offense. Did you, Striker?" The steel was back in Owen's voice.
"No." Amos rubbed his neck and glared at Patrick, his look belying his words.
"Seems to me, we'd all be better off sticking with the facts and not going off making wild accusations." Pete eyed the sheriff.
"It wasn't an accusation. Everyone knows that Patrick's mother ran off and left them for a pile of silver."
Patrick made another move for Amos. Pete tightened his grip. "Fact is, we don't know for sure what happened to Rose. Guess we never will."
Amos smiled faintly, as if the knowledge amused him.
Owen nodded. "And, Patrick, you've got to admit that we may never know what happened to your brother either."
"Well he didn't kill my father." Patrick's words sounded petulant even to his own ears.
"Look, I think the thing for you to do now is go back to Clune. I'm sure Amos will look into this some more." Owen leveled a look at the sheriff. Amos nodded. "And, Patrick, I'll look into it myself. All right?"
Patrick mumbled his agreement under his breath.
"You just go on home. I'll take care of this." Owen looked over to Pete, who had settled back on the window sill. "You'll stay with him?
"Reckon I will."
"Good. Have you buried Duncan, yet?"
"Up on the ridge, by the river. Did it first thing."
Owen turned back to Patrick. "You go with Pete, and I'll be out to pay my respects in the morning."
Patrick nodded. He trusted Owen, even if he didn't trust the shifty-eyed sheriff as far as he could throw him.
Besides, he had some questions of his own to ask.