Texas True (The Tylers of Texas 1)
“That’s right. I actually came into town to find him. Since I take it you’re his boss now, can you tell me when he’ll be back?”
Something flickered in her eyes. “Is that really why you’re here? Last time you came in, before you left with that redheaded princess, I saw you taking pictures.”
“You don’t miss a thing, do you?”
Her gaze narrowed. “Mind telling me what you were up to?”
Sometimes, when backed into a corner, the truth was the simplest way out. “I was taking a photo of your bartender. Beau wanted to have the DEA run a facial-recognition scan.”
“And did they learn anything?” One painted eyebrow slithered upward.
“They did. Not that there was much to learn, but we did find out he’s your brother.”
“I’d have told you that if you’d asked me.” Stella’s crimson-nailed finger traced the damp ring the glass had left on the table. “Nicky’s not a bad boy, just a little wild. Since I took him under my wing, he’s straightened out fine. He’ll do whatever I tell him to—but in case you’re wondering, that doesn’t include murder. Not Slade’s and not that poor girl’s. Nicky’s not your killer.”
“Any idea who is?”
“My money’s on Beau Tyler. He had motive, means, and opportunity, all in spades. And if it wasn’t Beau, I’d bet on that stuck-up little widow of Slade’s—Doctor Haskell, as she likes to be called.”
“Natalie?” Sky frowned in surprise. “She was on a call the night Slade died. Besides, she hates guns.”
“She wouldn’t have been working all night. And just because she hates guns, or pretends to, doesn’t mean she couldn’t use one. Think about it. The divorce would’ve taken time, and the property settlement would’ve been a fight all the way. She saw a chance to ditch her husband fast, grab everything he owned, and hook up with the rich rancher she’d never gotten over.”
“And what about the girl?” Sky’s mind refused to process the notion that Natalie could be a murderer.
“Jess?” Stella chuckled. “Oh, that part’s easy enough. Slade was humping that girl every chance he got. Jealousy’s a right powerful motivator. And it could’ve made her mad enough to go after Slade, too. Motive, means, and opportunity. That lady had it all, including a safe full of guns right in her house.”
“What about Lute?” he asked, changing the subject.
Stella tucked a lock of wine-colored hair behind one ear. “No way. The kid was plain moon-eyed over Jess. And Slade was like a big brother to him. Lute worshipped the man. Even if he’d had the stomach for it, he had no reason to kill either of them.”
“Whatever’s going on with Lute, I need to talk to him, and I’m getting worried. What if he’s in some kind of trouble?”
A beat of silence passed before she spoke. “Relax. I was worried about Lute, too, but he’s fine. He called this morning to tell me he’s on his way back. Evidently he had a little too much fun at that ranch. Something about a fiesta and a girl.” Her laugh was brittle, without humor. Sky sensed she was annoyed with Lute’s delay. “I’ll tell him you came by,” she said. “But I can’t promise he’ll call you. I get the impression things aren’t too cozy between you two.”
She glanced around the crowded bar. “Nice talking to you, Blue Eyes, but it’s time I was getting back to my customers. Stick around as long as you like.”
“Wait.” Sky stopped her as she rose and turned to walk away. “The boy is family, and I’m doing my best to deal with him,” he said. “Would you answer one question for me?”
“Depends.” Her expression had turned cau
tious. “You can ask. That doesn’t mean I have to answer.”
“Why Lute? He was a washout at the ranch, so lazy and irresponsible that he got himself fired. Why put a kid with no experience in charge of your trucking business when you’ve got other employees who could do the job better?”
She looked startled for an instant. Then a slow smile spread across her heavily made-up face. “Maybe because he isn’t really the one in charge.”
With that she walked away, her ample rump doing a shimmy beneath her tight denim skirt.
Sky lingered another fifteen minutes for appearance’s sake, sipping his beer and mulling over what Stella had told him—or rather, what she hadn’t told him.
He was on his way to the parking lot when it struck him—the real answer to the question he’d asked her.
Lute hadn’t been hired and promoted because he was competent, or even because Stella liked him. There was only one reason he could have been given Slade’s old job.
He was expendable.
The AC had gone out on the truck. Sweating buckets in the ninety-five-degree heat, Lute had stripped down to his cutoff denim shorts. The road between that nowhere Mexican ranch and the U.S. border had to be the hottest damned stretch on the planet—dry yellow grass, blistering sun, and molten asphalt that stank in the heat.