Page 17 of Killer on the Homestead
She snorted, shook her head. “I’m worried aboutmurder, Ace.”
He blew out a breath. He was still trying to live in denial aboutthat. “Yeah.”
Once they got to the bunkhouse, Rosalie waited for him to knock. The door opened, and an older ranch hand stood in the opening, crossing his arms over his chest. Blocking the entrance.
Terry Boothe had been on the ranch since Duncan had been a kid, and Duncan was pretty sure he remembered Dad saying Terry was foreman now.
“Duncan,” Terry greeted. He looked at Rosalie with suspicion and didnotgreet her.
“We just want to talk to Owen,” Duncan said, hoping to offset some of the suspicion and distrust Terry was aiming Rosalie’s way.
“Didn’t he already—”
“I know he answered the detective’s questions,” Rosalie said, in a clear, polite tone that Duncan was sure he hadn’t heard from her before. “And I’m sure he’s broken up about this, but I have some questions that might help us figure this out that the cops aren’t going to ask.”
Terry’s suspicion didn’t lift. “What makes you better than the cops?”
“Not better. Different,” Rosalie said, in that same even tone. “I’m a private investigator. Licensed, mind you. I’ve got rules and laws to follow, but I don’t have a whole county with its bureaucracy breathing down my neck. The sooner we get to the bottom of this, the safer we all are. And Owen will be able to grieve fully.”
Terry moved his hard gaze from Rosalie to Duncan. “Your parents okay with this?”
“Yeah,” Duncan lied. He hadn’t run it by them, but he couldn’t imagine them having a problem with Rosalie helping. “Rosalie’s a friend of the family. She just wants to help.”
Terry grunted but he led them inside. The first room was the kitchen and dining area, open and wide, with a few tables. No one was in there right now, but Terry gestured them to a table. “I’ll get him. You wait here.”
They did just that, but Duncan noted that Rosalie was looking around the room like she was filing every detail away, like every dirty plate or can of soda was something that might answer a very simple question.
Who killed Hunter Villanova?
When Owen shuffled in, the poor guy was red-eyed and clearly overwrought. But he still walked over. Rosalie pushed a chair out for him, and he slumped into it.
Rosalie smiled at him, her look soft and reassuring. “Hi, Owen. My name’s Rosalie Young. I live on the ranch just across the way. You probably know my sister, Audra, if you do anything with the agricultural society.”
Owen seemed to struggle to take that all in, but eventually he nodded. “I know Audra.”
“I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I just want to ask some questions about what happened today.”
Owen looked down at the table and nodded.
“I know some of what the detective already asked you, and I know it’s frustrating to tell different people the same thing, so if you don’t want to answer, you just go on and tell me that. No harm, no foul.”
Owen blinked, looked up at her. Something like hope and trust flickered over his face. “Yeah, okay,” he said, almost eagerly.
“Hunter and you came here from Bismarck?”
“Close enough. My mom and Mr. Kirk are related somehow. Mom said I had two choices. Get out of her house and make my own way or come on down here and work. I was getting in some trouble, and she was tired of it. Hunter…” He sucked in a breath, and it hitched. “I just don’t understand what happened.” He looked up at Rosalie, like maybe she could explain it to him.
“Can you tell me some things about him?” Rosalie asked gently. “Whatever you think might be important.”
Duncan watched in fascination as Rosalie was…really, really sweet with Owen. She let him babble, and carefully would bring him back around to the main point—which seemed to be who would want to hurt Hunter, and what kind of people he was mixed up with. She didn’t write anything down, like the detective had, but somehow Duncan knew she was filing every last point away.
Like the fact that Hunter had brothers who sold drugs. Whichseemedlike petty criminal nonsense, but he supposed with murder in the mix, you never knew.
When Owen started to get emotional again, big fat tears sliding down his cheeks, Rosalie rubbed her hand up and down the kid’s back and offered to call his mom once she was done asking questions.
“Nah, Aunt Nat was going to do it for me.” Owen looked up at Duncan. “I know he was trouble, but he really did want to get out of it. It was his idea to come with me. He wanted to get away from it.”
Duncan nodded, wanting to reassure this guy he didn’t even really know in some way. Just like Rosalie was doing. “I’m sure he did.” He wasn’t sure at all, but it seemed the right thing to say to this devastation.
