Chapter 49
FORTY-NINE
Blackwood Cattle
Red Stephens
Burke eased his truck across the narrow two-lane road that separated Blackwood Winery from Blackwood Cattle.
The vineyards gave way to fenced pasture, weathered barns, and rolling green fields where black Angus grazed beneath scattered oaks.
The two businesses shared a name.
They couldn't have felt more different.
Red Stephens was leaning against the corral fence, one boot hooked over the bottom rail, watching a ranch hand work a small group of heifers through the chute.
Burke rested his forearms on the top rail of the fence.
"So tell me about Harold."
Red smiled.
"That's a whole lot easier conversation than talking about Mabel's murder."
"I figured."
"What do you want to know?"
"Anything."
Red looked across the pasture where a few black Angus grazed beneath an old white oak.
"Best man I ever knew."
Burke nodded.
"How'd he die?"
"Heart attack."
"Out here?"
"Yep."
"Checking fence after one of those summer storms."
A faint smile crossed Red's weathered face.
"He always said if the Good Lord was taking him, He'd find him outside."
"I guess He did."
"Who found him?"
"Mabel."
Red let out a slow breath.
"She'd been waiting on him for lunch."
"When he didn't come in, she drove the Gator out looking."
Burke followed Red's eyes toward the tree.
"He was laying right over there."
Silence settled between them.
Finally Burke asked, "Did anything change after Harold died?"
Red nodded slowly.
"Everything."
"The winery?"
"The whole place."
Burke waited.
"Mabel kept going because that's what Harold would've wanted."
"And everybody else?"
"We tried."
Red chuckled.
"Didn't always agree on how."
Burke glanced over.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh..."
Red shrugged.
"Harold and Walter were butting heads pretty regular toward the end."
Burke looked at him.
"They did?"
"Nothing ugly."
“Two stubborn men."
"What were they arguing about?"
Red laughed.
"If I knew that, I'd tell you."
"You never asked?"
"'Course I asked."
"What'd Harold say?"
"'Mind your own business, Red.'"
"And Walter?"
Red smiled.
"'Harold's being Harold.'"
"So nobody knew?"
"Nope."
Red looked back toward the pasture.
"Next thing I knew..."
"...Harold was gone."
Burke let that sit.
"Did Walter and Mabel get along?"
"Oh sure."
"They had their moments like anybody else."
"But Walter loved this place."
Red looked squarely at Burke.
"And he loved Harold."
Burke said nothing.
Red studied him for a second.
"Now don't go making more out of that than there was."
"I'm not."
"I know that look."
"What look?"
"The one that says you're lining people up in your head."
Burke smiled faintly.
"Occupational hazard."
Red nodded.
"Well, you can scratch one thing off your list."
"What's that?"
"Walter didn't have a hateful bone in his body toward Harold."
"He respected him too much."
"Then why all the arguments?"
Red shrugged.
"Sometimes the people you love the most are the ones you argue with the hardest."
Burke considered that.
Then he asked,
"Was Harold the kind of man who kept records?"
Red laughed out loud.
"Sheriff..."
"If Harold sneezed, he probably wrote it down somewhere."
"Where would I find all that?"
"In his study."
"If you're trying to understand Harold, Sheriff..."
"You'll learn more from that study than you ever will from me."
"Anybody ever go through it?"
Red's smile faded.
"Mabel couldn't."
"So she closed the door."
Red looked out across the pasture.
"Mabel said she'd know where to find him if she ever needed to talk to him."