Page 40 of Killer on the Homestead
“Makes sense.”
“I guess. But Dad told me when he thought they kind of started to turn things around in the helpful department. And it seems weird as hell to me that their slight changes of heart coincide with the first cow’s death.”
Rosalie turned that over with everything she knew. Did it connect? They had to look into everything, she supposed. She thought about Owen that day when he’d yelled for help. And after, when she’d questioned him. “He was genuinely grieving.” Though that didn’t mean anything, but she wanted to hear how Duncan would argue his theory.
“I think so too. But people can grieve things, even when they have something to do with the end result.”
Wasn’t that the truth? “Did Owen have a way of getting into your parents’ house?”
Duncan’s gaze slid to hers. “I’m not sure, but I’d bet he would. You heard from the cops about those guns?”
She shook her head. “No. Tests will take a few days, I imagine. They probably had to send them away. They’re still working on expanding their crime-scene-investigation unit, so not everything can be done in house, and then you gotta wait.”
“It doesn’t make sense to me that Owen would go through all that trouble, then have us find the body. Seems a stretch. But there’s just something about those two that doesn’t add up.”
Rosalie couldn’t help but agree. She read through Duncan’s sloppy notes again. “We’ll keep digging,” she said, as much to him as herself.
The truck came to a stop and Rosalie looked up. They were in the high-school parking lot.
Duncan shifted the truck into Park, then turned to face her. “All right. No more shop talk. Just baseball and hot dogs, Red.”
It was easy, she told herself. Just two people at a baseball game. So she hopped out of the truck and walked with him toward the field. A decent crowd for a high-school baseballgame. He bought the hot dogs from a bored-looking teen at the concession stand and they walked toward the bleachers to find a seat among the crowd.
“That’s the Sarabeth cheering section,” she said, pointing to about half of the bleachers. She waved at Quinn as she led Duncan forward. “There are six Thompson brothers, and one of them married Sarabeth’s mom. The rest are all married and half of them are procreating. Makes for quite a racket. Hope you’re ready.”
“I played in Dodger Stadium, Rosalie.”
“Such a big shot.” She was going to rib him some more, but she spotted Sarabeth waving wildly. She pointed over to the dugout. “Your biggest fan has spotted you.”
Duncan turned, gave Sarabeth a wave. She beamed at him, clutching her glove to her chest.
“There’s no accounting for taste,” Rosalie muttered, but she was smiling in spite of herself, because… Oh, she was a big, dumb softy.
They found a place in the bleachers, and Duncan maneuvered himself in first. “Here. Sit on my right side.”
“Why?”
“So I can do this.” He casually rested his arm across her shoulders.
She should push it off.
But she didn’t. She settled in and watched Sarabeth pitch while the crowd went wild around them, and Duncan watched with avid interest. So much interest, she found herself watchinghima little too much. The way she could see the wheels in his head turning with every play, the way he got into it, whistling and cheering on Sarabeth just like her family was.
She felt it, deep inside, the slow, horrible unlocking of her heart. She would have tightened it up, added fifty more locks, thrown away every last key, if she thought it’d do any good.
But sitting next to him like this, watching him enjoy himself, it just felt inevitable.
Inevitable doom.
Chapter Twelve
Duncan had forgotten how much he loved baseball. As a spectator. It wasn’t just that he’d been good as a kid—he’d loved the game. The intricacies of it. The teamwork required. That feeling of being in a crowd holding their breath while everyone waited for the next pitch.
It’s a good place to be.His mother’s words kept echoing in his head. Because itwas. Bent County wasn’t perfect. Hell, even the Kirk Ranch wasn’t perfect. But there was a community, a teamwork to it. Just like baseball.
Maybe Owen Green had come from a not-so-nice place. Maybe that explained why his demeanor had changed slowly, as had Hunter’s, over their first months of being here.
He hated that even in the middle of the fun, and a date with Rosalie, his mind kept trailing back to Owen and Hunter. A dead body. A distraught young man.
