Page 3 of Killer on the Homestead
Duncan grunted.
“I did have one idea, but he’d be so angry with me if I butted my nose in even more than I already have.”
“I’ve never known you to care about getting Dad’s temper up,” Duncan said. He meant it as a joke, but Mom didn’t smile, laugh, or have any of her usual responses.
He suddenlyfeltthe years he’d been away. And the fact that no matter that he’d always come home for holidays, or flown his parents out for a visit and a game, it was a lot different than living under the same roof. Or even in the same state.
Mom looked down at her hand. Her left hand, where the simple wedding band she’d worn for almost forty years had always been. “It’s weighing on him, and it’s weighing on us,” she said very quietly.
Quiet enough that Duncan’s whole stomach knotted and knotted hard. The idea that his parents might have marriage problems was just…
God-awful.
She inhaled deeply, then looked up at him with her usual smile. Though he thought he saw a shininess in her dark eyes, which made the knot of dread in his gut tighten. His mother didn’tcry. At least not in front of people.
“But you know, his only child, freshly moved home. Well…he might not be so angry at him.”
Duncan blinked. He didn’t particularly like the idea of crossing his father either. “You want me to…do what exactly?”
“Talk to Rosalie.”
He wrinkled his nose. “The neighbor girl?”
“She’s not agirlany longer. She’s a private investigator with a company in Wilde, like I just told you. Maybe she could look into this without Dad knowing. Sheriff Hudson said there hadn’t been any other missing cattle in the area, but maybe Rosalie could just…look into it.Ican’t ask her to do it—it would get back to Dad—butyoucould.”
Normally he’d balk at the idea of getting involved. Usually, he’d talk to his dad himself. But everything about thisconversation had him unsettled and he just wanted to make everything easy and right.
“Sure, Mom. I will. Don’t even worry about it. I’ll handle everything.”
He didn’t have baseball anymore, so maybe this was his new thing to focus on.
Duncan woke up late, the sunlight streaming in through his window. No doubt Dad would have a few comments aboutthat, but he’d probably spent more of last night awake and in pain than sleeping.
Duncan pushed himself up in bed and cursed the dull ache in his shoulder. Cursed a lot of things on his way to the tiny kitchen of the cabin—his newhome. He had the presence of mind to set up the coffeepot last night, so all he had to do this morning was press a button and wait for it to brew. Mom had stocked the pantry and fridge, including some breakfast sandwiches he only needed to pop in the microwave.
Bacon, egg, and cheese with a homemade biscuit. Not exactly the kind of food that he usually allowed himself. He’d always been so determined to stay in the best physical shape he could—exercise, diet, limited alcohol.
Fat lot of good that had done, he thought grumpily.
But once he’d eaten, sucked down two mugs of coffee and taken his pain pill, he felt better and more like taking on the day. He could unpack, but that sounded horrible. He doubted he’d be much help around the ranch with his shoulder in a sling. The thought of riding a horse like this had him wincing.
So he figured the best option for his day was to drive out to Wilde and see about Rosalie Young and private investigators.
He texted his mother that he was taking her car—she’d given him an extra set of keys. Maybe he’d take a detour to Fairmontand see if the car dealer there had anything that’d work for him long-term. None of the cars he’d kept in LA would survive ranch life, so he’d sold them off.
He drove off the ranch. It was a cloudy spring day, and rain started to spit from the sky about halfway to Wilde. He preferred that to sunny blue skies, which reminded him of summers at the ballpark.
Wilde was still little more than a postage stamp of a town. Duncan didn’t know how they managed to have an actual private investigator’s business here. He supposed the historical tours that started here and wound around Bent County might help with that, but it wasn’t like they had much else to offer.
He pulled into a parking spot along the street. The office was in some kind of historical building, and had no doubt been something else in the past. Maybe a bank? He jogged inside to avoid as much of the rain as possible.
Inside, it smelled like fresh paint, and there were a lot of pretty feminine touches. There was a woman behind the big counter, but he wouldn’t sayfeminineas a descriptor quite fit her.
She looked…tough. Wild. Pretty, no doubt, but not like she’d been the woman to arrange the flowers on the counter or put potpourri out on tables. Then again, looks could be deceiving.
The woman glanced up from whatever she was typing into her computer, but her gaze was distracted. “Be with you in a second.” She immediately looked back down, then stilled, sneaking a glance at him. He watched as the recognition crossed her face. Then, with some amusement, watched as she decided how to handle it.
He was used to it, to an extent. He didn’t like the new layer ofembarrassmentthat went with people recognizing him, but still. He’d been a young phenom with plenty of attention, then ayoung man with a record-breaking contract, and he’d lived the high life in LA when he’d wanted to. So he got noticed.
