Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
Blackwood Cattle Operation
Red Stephens
The lower pasture sat nearly three miles from the winery, tucked into a broad valley where the mountains opened into rolling fields of summer grass and black fencing.
Deputy Luke Hale spotted Red Stephens before he reached the gate.
The old cattleman stood on the far side of a split-rail fence, one boot planted on the bottom rail while he worked a pair of fencing pliers through a stretch of barbed wire.
A battered ranch truck sat nearby.
Several black Angus cattle grazed beyond him.
Red never looked up.
Luke parked.
Killed the engine.
Still nothing.
The man either hadn’t heard him or was pretending not to.
Luke suspected the second one.
He climbed out.
“Morning, Red.”
“No, it ain’t.”
Luke smiled.
“Glad to see you’re still pleasant.”
Red tugged another section of wire tight.
“I buried my best friend this week and now I’m answering questions from deputies. How pleasant do you expect me to be?”
Luke walked closer.
“You know why I’m here.”
“Because Burke ran out of people to bother.”
Luke stopped beside the fence.
Red finally met his eyes.
Weathered face. Gray beard. Sun-baked skin.
The old rancher looked exhausted. Angry.
A combination Luke had learned never to underestimate.
“We’re talking to everybody.”
Red snorted.
“Funny.”
“What?”
“Didn’t see this many deputies around when Mabel was alive.”
Luke ignored that.
“Where were you Saturday night?”
The pliers stopped moving.
Red’s expression closed completely.
“Home.”
“Can anybody verify that?”
“Nope.”
Luke wrote that down.
Red noticed.
“Go ahead and scribble it.”
“I’m doing my job.”
“Then do it right.”
Luke let that hang a moment.
Red pointed toward the pasture.
“Storm knocked down two sections of north fence.”
Luke waited.
“I spent half the damn night fixing it.”
“Anybody see you?”
“No.”
Luke wrote again.
No alibi.
Red watched him for several seconds.
Then shook his head.
“Y’all really think I killed her?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
The wind moved through the grass between them.
Luke studied the older man.
“Tell me about Aubrey.”
Red barked out a laugh.
“There it is.”
“There what is?”
“The real question.”
Luke remained silent.
Red tossed the pliers into the bed of the truck.
“So just because she’s Mabel’s niece, she’s gonna run this place?”
Luke said nothing.
Red shook his head.
“That girl doesn’t know the first thing about running a winery... much less a cattle operation.”
“You don’t think she can learn?”
“Maybe.”
Red looked across the pasture.
“But this place isn’t a training ground.”
He pointed toward the rolling fields.
“Mabel spent a lifetime building all this. Every fence. Every pasture. Every vine. Every decision mattered.”
He looked back at Luke.
“I loved Mabel, but I still don’t know what she was thinking.”
“You sound angry.”
“I am.”
“At Aubrey?”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
That surprised Luke.
Red stared across the pasture.
“I’m angry because Mabel’s dead.”
Silence settled between them.
When Red spoke again, his voice was quieter.
“That woman bled for this place.”
Luke didn’t interrupt.
“Worked herself sick.”
“She built something worth leaving behind.”
His eyes hardened.
“And now everybody’s circling it like buzzards.”
That got Luke’s attention.
“Who is everybody?”
Red held his gaze.
For a long second, neither man spoke.
Then Red shrugged.
“Lawyers.”
“Developers.”
“Distributors.”
“People who see acreage and dollar signs.”
Luke made another note.
“Anybody specific?”
Red smiled without humor.
“You’re the detective.”
Luke closed the notebook. Not because he was finished.
Because he’d learned something.
Red wasn't acting like a guilty man.
He was acting like a grieving one.
Luke knew those weren't always the same thing.
As Luke headed back toward his cruiser, something near the porch caught his eye.
A pair of mud-caked work boots sat beside the steps.
He stopped.
Red noticed.
“Something wrong, Deputy?”
Luke glanced down.
The soles were worn nearly smooth.
His mind drifted briefly to the print outside the Victorian's glass.
He said nothing.
The old rancher met his gaze without blinking.
A knot tightened in Luke’s stomach.
Maybe Red Stephens was exactly what he appeared to be.
Or maybe Luke had just spent twenty minutes talking to a man who'd spent thirty years learning exactly what not to say.