Cowboy Conspiracy

Which meant that the good sheriff would know exactly who Wyatt was the second he gave his name. Then, in all probability, the entire Ledger clan would likely get word Wyatt was in town before morning.

“I really need to get my car back as soon as possible,” Kelly said.

McGuire ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Yes, ma’am. That’s what we’re here for. I’ll need you to answer a few questions to get us started. It won’t take long. If you live around here, you might want to go ahead and call your husband to come pick you up.”

“I’m a widow, and I don’t have any friends in the area that I can call. I’m in the process of moving to Mustang Run from another part of the country. The moving van is delivering my furniture in the morning.”

“Mustang Run. Good place to live,” the sheriff said. “Live there myself and have for most of my life. Believe me, you’ll have plenty of friends soon. It’s that kind of town.” He nodded toward Wyatt. “So I take it you two aren’t together.”

“No,” Wyatt said. “I was the only other customer when the car was stolen and I just stayed around to offer a little moral support. I can clear out now if I’m not needed.” Before he ran smack into the legend of Troy Ledger. He’d as soon not face that tonight.

“How about hanging around a few more minutes?” the sheriff said. “Brent and I will want to ask you a few questions, as well.”

That eliminated the easy escape. But on one level, he was relieved. He was curious about Kelly Burger. And a bit concerned that the thug who had looked at her like he was the wolf and she was the lamb now knew where she lived and had likely overheard Jaci’s comment about her father being dead. He might figure she and Jaci would be alone tonight.

The bell over the door tinkled again and this time a burly guy accompanied by a petite blonde walked in. Edie greeted them by name. Judging from the comments, they were a truck-driving team who stopped by often. Edie scurried off to take care of them.

“Is that your Corvette out there?” the sheriff asked Wyatt.

“No. I’m driving the black pickup truck. I figure the guy who stole Ms. Burger’s Honda drove up in that. It was the only car parked out front when I came in and he was the only customer.”

“A Honda for a Corvette. Interesting trade. Brent, run the plates on the Corvette. My guess is it’s hot.”

Good assumption. Wyatt sipped his coffee while the sheriff gathered the basic information from Kelly. His interest piqued when they got to the address where Kelly would be living.

“That’s the old Callister place, isn’t it?” McGuire asked. “Yellow cottage-style house, down from the old Baptist church.”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“My daughter Collette rented the place for a while back when she was single. I was glad to see her move out.”

“Why?” Kelly asked.

“I probably shouldn’t even mention this,” McGuire said, “but I’m sure you’ll hear from someone else if not from me. My daughter’s friend was brutally attacked in that house. She’s fine now, but it was touch-and-go for a while. Turned out the guy was actually after my daughter. But don’t worry. He’s behind bars now.”

“I hope your daughter is okay,” Kelly said.

“She’s fine now. Married and with a bun in the oven.”

Wyatt was familiar with that part of the story. The sheriff’s daughter was married to Wyatt’s brother Dylan. This was becoming all too familial. All they needed was some fried chicken and banana pudding and it would be a family reunion.

How did people ever have any privacy in a town like Mustang Run?

“That house has been empty for over a year,” McGuire continued. “Place needs a paint job and lots of work. Last time I drove by to check things out, I noticed an oak tree in front that needs to be cut down.”

“I loved that tree. I remember climbing it when I was about Jaci’s age and having tea parties with Grams under those huge spreading branches.”

“Well, it’s dead now. Lightning bolt last spring nailed it and it looks like the first good wind will lay it on the roof.”

“I wasn’t made aware of any of that.”

“House was in perfect shape when Cordelia Callister was living. She’d probably roll over in her grave if she knew it was in such a state of disrepair.”

“Surely it isn’t that bad.”

“It’s bad enough that whoever rented it to you should have explained how much work it needs before they took your money. If you need help breaking the lease, call Judge Betty Smith. Number’s in the book. She’ll tell you what to do.”

“Actually, I own that house,” Kelly admitted. “I had no idea it was neglected. For years, I’ve been paying a man named Arnold Jenkins to manage the property.”

McGuire rubbed his whiskered jaw. “So you own the old Callister home place? Did you buy it sight unseen?”

“I didn’t buy it. I inherited it. Cordelia was my grandmother.”

“Well, hell’s bells. Then you must be Linda Ann’s daughter. Why didn’t you say so?”

“I didn’t expect anyone around here to remember my mother.”

“All the old-timers around here remember her. She grew up in Mustang Run and that was back when everybody knew everybody.”

It appeared they still did.

McGuire hooked his thumbs in his belt loop and hitched up his pants. “Don’t that beat all, you showing up back here after all these years? Linda Ann left Mustang Run right after she graduated from UT and that’s pretty much the last we’ve seen of her. How’s she doing?”

“Mother’s doing well.”

“I remember Cordelia talking about Linda Ann being a single mother after your father was killed. Car crash, wasn’t it?”

Kelly nodded. “He died before I was born.”

McGuire rubbed his jaw. “Did Linda Ann ever marry again?”

“Yes, six years ago. She married a physics professor that she worked with in Boston. He retired last year and surprisingly, they moved to Plano, Texas.”

“Guess your grandmother figured Linda Ann wasn’t ever going to move back to Mustang Run so she just left her property to you.”

“Exactly. But apparently I should have checked on it personally before now. In my defense, I’ve been occupied with other matters and I trusted that Mr. Jenkins was taking care of repairs.”

“I’m afraid Arnold’s been snookering you for over a year. He’s got the rheumatism so bad now he had to give up his membership in the local spit-and-whittle society. He’s been at his son’s house in California since before Thanksgiving.”

“Spit and whittle?” Kelly questioned, confusion written on her face.

“The unofficial society for retired men,” Wyatt explained. And now that he’d interrupted the dialogue, he might as well come clean and jump into the old-home-week party.

Wyatt stuck out a hand toward the sheriff. “I should introduce myself. I’m Wyatt Ledger.”

The sheriff’s eyebrows rose. He leaned back on his heels, studying Wyatt. “Yep, I see the family resemblance now. Dylan talks about you all the time, but he didn’t say a word about his infamous Atlanta detective brother coming for a visit.”

“No one in the family knows I’m here,” Wyatt admitted.