Page 20 of Killer on the Homestead
Rosalie’s heart twisted at the genuine concern in his tone and on his face, but the cows…
Missing cows. Another unexplained bit of weirdness going on at the Kirk Ranch. “Could it be connected?” she wondered aloud, trying to work outhow.
Duncan just stared at her for a full minute. “A murder and missing cows?”
“Neither make much sense, so maybe they don’t make sense together. Did your parents or you tell the detective about the missing cows?”
Duncan was quiet a moment, clearly reaching back and remembering. He shook his head. “No, I don’t suppose it occurred to any of us that the murder would have anything to do with something so…mundane.”
“They should tell Detective Beckett. As soon as possible. Someone needs to bring it up. I’ll corroborate you came to me before the murder. It’ll help.”
“Help what?”
“Duncan…” She hesitated, which was rare for her. She believed in being a straight shooter, and she left softening blows to people better suited to it. But the concern he felt for his parents was palpable and she didn’t want to add to it.
It was the right thing to do, though. “If there’s anything it looks like they’re hiding, that’s going to… It’s going to draw attention to them.”
“To… Myparents?” The pure, unadulterated shock on his face made it clear that Duncan Kirk had never known a day of trulyunfairin his life. “You can’t be serious.”
She wanted to resent his naivete, but… Well, Natalie and Norman Kirk were good, honest people. Why shouldn’t he be offended on their behalf? “Duncan, you know your parents. I know your parents. The Bent County Sheriff’s Department? They don’t. At least, the lead detective doesn’t. So he’s going to treat them like facts on paper—and that might grate, but it’s his job to do that. His job is facts.”
Duncan stood up, somewhat abruptly. She thought maybe he was going to leave, but he just stood there, looking thunderous and…
Hot.
So not the time.
“If anyone so much as insinuates that my parents could have possibly had something to do with this murder—”
Rosalie stood, skirted the desk, and against her better judgment, reached out and put a hand on his arm.
He winced a little instead of finishing his sentence, and she realized her grip was on his bad arm.
She pulled her hand back. “Sorry,” she muttered, feeling stupid for too many reasons to count. “Listen. You have to put your personal feelings away, okay? I know that’s asking a lot, but if you get mad, thenyou’rein the line of fire.”
“So what?” he demanded. “I’ll hire a passel of lawyers to drown their asses.”
“Or,” she returned evenly, “you could just tell the truth, Duncan. You could give the detectives everything they need to hopefully find a murderer. Put your pride aside, put your…” She hated to admit that she understood this was more than some rich guy’s pride and pettiness. He wanted to protect his parents.
And that understanding made her softer than it should. “Put aside wanting to protect them. I get it. I really do. I’d protect my sister at any and all costs, but take it from someone who knows their way around a police investigation. If you take it upon yourself to protect—and keep the police at arm’s length—you’re only making everything worse.”
He stood there, breathing a little hard, eyes blazing with a pointless anger she understood too well.
Damn it all to hell, the last thing she needed was tounderstandhim.
“All right. I’ll trust you on this, Rosalie.” His gaze was hard, but she couldn’t quite fight the shudder that jittered through her at the way he said her full name. “But you better be right.”
Chapter Six
Duncan made it through the next few days on little more than caffeine and worry. His arm throbbed, because he never seemed to have anything to eat on hand to take his pain pill with. His head ached, both from too much caffeine and not enough sleep. And the worry that had tied its way around his entire body got tighter every day, not helping any with sleep or the ability to eat.
Mom took too much on her shoulders. Dad seemed like he was somehow disappearing in front of Duncan’s very eyes. It reminded him too much of a time he only barely remembered, because he’d been five or six, when his grandmother had been sick and dying. The stress, worry, and grief had clung to the ranch then. As they did now.
He hated it. He didn’t know what to do about it. Except volunteer for every errand, every ranch chore he could manage one-armed, more or less, and so on and so forth. Trying to take some of that weight away.Anyof the weight.
Three days later, on a pretty afternoon, they held a small graveside funeral in the small cemetery in Sunrise for a young man almost no one had actually known.
The ceremony was small and depressing. Apparently poor Hunter Villanova didn’t have much in the way of family. No one had wanted his remains, so Mom had taken it upon herself to secure him a plot and a stone here in Sunrise.
