Page 62 of Killer on the Homestead
It didn’t make sense.
But nothing else did either. Until Dad came back with a list. Duncan looked at the clock on the oven. It was taking too long. And since Rosalie hadn’t called Duncan back, he was going stir-crazy. There had to be something he coulddo.
He’d just walk out to the bunkhouse or stables or wherever Dad was. He’d just walk around until he foundsomeoneto give himsomethingto do.
But when Duncan stepped out of his cabin, he saw Dad walking across the yard. He looked…gray. Not the exhausted pale he’d been dealing with for the past few days, but a kind of wounded gray. Like he was bleeding out from the inside.
“Dad…” Duncan met him at the bottom of the steps, then took him by the arm and led him inside. He pushed him onto the couch, a strange terror jittering through him. Because Dad wasfine, so it shouldn’t bescary,but Duncan had never seen his father look quite so weak and old, and it upended the way everything was supposed to be.
“Everyone was accounted for,” Dad said, staring at his hands. “Granted, someone could be lying, but Dunc…” He lifted hisgaze. Heartbreak in the dark brown eyes. “No one’s seen Terry this morning. He was gone before sunup, before we got the call about Owen. Jeff stepped in and handled assignments this morning. Didn’t tell me because he didn’t want to worry me.”
Something cold and foreboding settled in Duncan’s gut.
“It can’t be Terry, Duncan.” Dad’s head fell into his hands. “It has to be a mistake.”
But Duncan knew Dad didn’t actually believe that any more than Duncan himself did. “We’ll figure it out,” he muttered to his dad. He pulled out his phone and dialed Rosalie.
She didn’t answer. If she was talking to the detectives, she might ignore the phone. So he didn’t let himself worry. He just texted her.Call me. Emergency.
The text went unread.
She was just ignoring him. He wanted to believe that. Had to hold on to that possibility. It was the only thing that made sense. He knew that.
But he also had to act.
“I’m going to call the detective and give him this information,” Duncan told his father. “And you’re going to stay right here and rest for a minute, okay?”
Dad nodded without arguing, another terrifying turn of events. Duncan strode out onto his porch, not wanting him to hear this.
Heartbeat slamming into overdrive, he called the Bent County Sheriff’s Department and jammed in the number for Detective Beckett’s extension.
“Beckett,” the man answered.
“Detective, it’s Duncan Kirk.”
“Great,” he muttered. “What do you want?”
“Is Rosalie there?”
“I’m not an answering service, Kirk. You want to talk to your girlfriend, call her.”
“She’s not answering. And last I heard she was on her way to talk to you—”
“Me?” There was a slight hesitation. “You sure about that? Because I haven’t seen or heard from Rosalie today.”
That cold ball of ice in Duncan’s gut turned into a full-on glacier. “What?”
“Do I need to repeat myself? Look, I’m busy, I—”
“I talked to her thirty minutes ago. She was leaving the hospital, and she was heading over to the sheriff’s department to talk to you.”
“Maybe she got sidetracked. Maybe she lied. Listen—”
“No, I need you to listen.” Duncan took time for one careful breath, then laid everything out. Terry having the window of time to place that map. Terry not being on the ranch today. Everything pointing to Terry, Terry, Terry.
When he was done, the detective was silent so long Duncan was worried he’d lost the connection.
“Were you or your father aware that Mr. Boothe has been quietly buying up small sections of land in Idaho under an LLC?” Detective Beckett asked in that cop voice devoid of any emotion, even his usual irritation.
