Page 34 of Killer on the Homestead
The next morning, Duncan blearily drank his coffee while looking over everything Mom had given him. A map of the property with the cow losses marked. Her copied recollections about what had happened each day.
He couldn’t say he’d slept well. He was churned up about too many things. Murder and that kiss…kisseswith Rosalie. Which he’d much rather concern himself with, but he couldn’t deny the murder was more pressing.
He sighed.
Last night, he’d considered staying up at the cabin with his parents, but figured the separation was good for all of them. Pretend things were normal, even when they weren’t.
He had moments of worry but he couldn’t think of a single reason his parents would be targets. Even if the murderer ended up being one of the ranch hands, Dad had been nothing but kind and giving. Mom too, even with her reservations about some of them.
Besides, he’d hired a security business in Bent to come out and install a security system today. He knew it didn’t solveeverythreat, but it would ease his mind considerably at night. He’d set the alarm himself every night if he had to.
He ate some breakfast, then headed up to the main house and met the installers. Mom would be volunteering at the Sunrise library until dinnertime. Dad would be out working until aboutthen too. So Duncan had a few hours to get into town and deal with Rosalie and the case before he had to be back to explain the new system to them. And figure out whatever tricks in the book he had to pull out to make sure they used it. Mostly guilt.
With that sorted, he packed up what Mom had given him about the missing cattle and drove out to Wilde to hand the information over to Rosalie.
She’d tell him he didn’t need to bring it up to her. She’d be frustrated with him in her office space.
Which made it all the more enticing. It was good to move. Good to do. Good to think about something that felt like life instead of death. Just like Mom had said.
Duncan parked in front of the old building. Since it was during office hours, this time the front door was unlocked. He pulled it open and step into the cozy lobby.
A young girl, middle or high school—he wasn’t good with ages—jumped to her feet from a chair. He noted there was a softball glove clutched in her hands and eager excitement in her eyes. “Hi,” she greeted exuberantly.
The woman who’d been here the first day he’d come in strode out from back in the office somewhere and rolled her eyes. “Down girl,” she muttered at the teen. “Sorry about her. My niece. Once she heard you’d been in the office, she wouldn’t stop hounding me. I told her she could pick one day to come in, and if you happened to show up, she could pester you.” The woman looked dolefully at the teen, then back at Duncan. “You picked the wrong day.”
“I’m Sarabeth,” the girl interjected.
“Hi, Sarabeth. I’m Duncan.”
“I know. Duncan Kirk. I know all your stats. Want me to recite them?”
“Uh, no. I’m…good.” Back in LA, he’d been used to this kind of thing. Had dealing with fans, especially eager kids, downto a science. But something about being home, about the way Rosalie’s boss was studying him, made his usual ease with excited kids less thaneasy.
“You, uh, play softball?” he asked, gesturing at the glove she was clutching.
Her face fell a little at that. “I play softballandbaseball,” she said, notquitewith a sneer, but close. Eagerness seemed to take over any affront though. “Fall’s for softball. Baseball is in the spring—I’m the first and only girl on the Bent County High School baseball team. I pitched a shutout last week. Struck out eight.” Her grin was one of easy teenage pride—he recognized it, felt some echo of himself in it. “All boys,” she said smugly.
“How’d they take that?”
She grinned at him, hazel eyes alight with mischief. “Like babies.” She practically bounced on her heels. “We’re going to our conference playoffs this week. I’m starting again. Will you sign my glove for good luck?” She held it out to him.
He took it. It was almost like rote muscle memory. Take the glove. Sign the glove. Smile and compliment.
But his shoulder was in its sling, and it twinged in pain as he tried to hold the weight of the glove in it. He couldn’t do the usual, because… “You did see my arm explode on national television, right?”
“Sure. But I’m not old yet. I figure it’ll be lucky ’til I am.”
He laughed in spite of himself, met Quinn’s amused gaze as she tried to hide her own laugh. Quinn handed him a marker.
He balanced the glove as best he could with his good arm, fought back a wince as he signed the heel of her glove and handed it back to her. “Mow ’em down, kid.”
“I will. Thanks. Thanks a lot! It’s tomorrow night at Bent County High School at seven o’clock if you want to come.”
“Hell, Sarabeth. I’m taking you home, you menace. Rosalie!” she called out. “Going on my lunch. I’ll be back.”
Rosalie appeared in her office doorway. He watched as her quick gaze took in Sarabeth, the glove, him. “Sure, Quinn. I’ll hold down the fort.” She nodded at him. “Duncan.”
She looked wary, so he grinned at her.
