Indigo Lake

“Right.”

“Good. The county doesn’t have any money to pay you, anyway.”

They drove a few miles before the sheriff asked, “You sleep last night in that old house on your land?”

“Nope.” Blade smiled, thinking of adding that he’d slept with Dakota, but in a small town, that might not go over well. “I slept in the Davis barn. They loaned me their pickup so I could get my bike out of the mud. After I take a look at the burn site, I thought I’d ask you for a favor. You know where I can rent a truck? If you’d give me a ride there, I’d have wheels again.”

“You’re staying around?” The sheriff sounded surprised.

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “For a few weeks, anyway.”

“I would have guessed you’d be out of here as fast as possible. The only way you’ll make money on that haunted house is to charge for tours on Halloween.”

Blade didn’t argue. “If I run now, the locals will think I’m afraid of an old curse on that land.”

“Some folks think ghosts haunt your land. You might want to keep an eye out. A few people around here think the accident that caused Maria’s blindness and killed her mother was linked to the curse. It happened where cars turn off the highway toward your place. Her car rolled to within a few feet of where your land starts. Indigo Lake holds the bones of many a story.” The sheriff pulled up to the first barn and the conversation turned to fire.

Blade was surprised how informed the sheriff was about burn sites, and within a few minutes they were agreeing on possibilities as they approached the first barn. The frame was still standing against the cloudy sky like a smoldering border around a disaster.

“We’re lucky both barns that burned were hay barns. The other ones on the property have expensive equipment in them.”

After they’d circled several times, Blade said, “If I was guessing, I’d say, from the burn patterns, that the fire started in the dead center of the barn and spread out.”

Brigman didn’t argue. He simply nodded.

Finding the cause would be a process of elimination like any crime scene. They’d rule out one reason after another for the burn until only one scenario made sense. Lightning might be a possibility, but lightning hitting two barns on a ranch that hadn’t had a lightning strike do damage in ten years was not likely.

Blade walked the perimeter of both barns, reading the story of how the fire happened. He talked with the tired firemen standing guard. What did they see? Any people around when they arrived? Any cars or trucks leaving the place that might have passed them when they were heading to the fire? What did the fire look like, smell like? What color was the smoke? How did the blaze react to water?

He asked the same questions of each man at the scene while he took pictures of tire tracks in the mud. There were too many footprints to tell which had come first. Plus whoever set the fires probably did so before the heavy rain started. Their tracks would have been washed away.

Over and over the cowboys mentioned that he should talk to Lucas Reyes. The owner and the ranch foreman might not have been at the fire, but Lucas was there. He’d be able to answer more questions.

The few hands from the ranch spoke of Lucas more with respect than accusation.

Blade moved to the edge of each burn, taking pictures, making educated guesses.

The sheriff left the second site to go get the owner. The guy claimed to be too drunk to remember hearing anything last night and, according to one of the firemen, Reid Collins hadn’t even been out at the sites this morning.

What kind of rancher doesn’t check his own ranch? Blade wondered as he continued his investigation alone. Looking for something different. Something new. Something that didn’t belong. Law enforcement often says that the average person committing a crime makes a dozen mistakes in a matter of seconds. Blade only had to find one.

At the back of the second burn site, he stopped to pull off his sweater and noticed a lone man on horseback, watching him from about thirty yards away. He was on open land and making no effort to hide.

Blade lowered his sunglasses and walked directly toward the rider. If the man had something to hide, he’d ride away, and Blade wanted to collect every detail to report. He snapped a few shots as he moved.

The stranger was tall, lean, and so thin his shirt flapped in the wind like a sail. He wore a tan shirt and trousers that were tucked into muddy boots. Conchos ran a dark line down the outside of his pants and a few others were shining off his saddle. His wide hat was worn low so that his entire face was shaded.

“Morning,” Blade said in greeting.

“Afternoon, kid,” the old man said. “You missed lunch an hour ago so it ain’t morning.”

Blade never remembered being called kid, even when he was one. He’d reached six feet in the sixth grade. He was close enough to the stranger to see a smile behind a tobacco-stained, gray mustache. “I ate a big breakfast at the Davis place. That Maria is a great cook. I may not be hungry till tomorrow.”

If he had any chance of getting this old guy to talk, Blade at least had to sound like a local. As a stranger, he doubted he’d have a chance, but as a friend of one of the farm families, he might learn something.

The old guy leaned on his saddle horn and looked down at Blade. “You sweet on one of them girls?”

This had nothing to do with the fire, but Blade played along. “I’m crazy about them both.”

The stranger laughed. “You sound like your daddy. He never could turn down a pretty girl. I cowboyed with your grandpa, boy, and he said your dad had a steady girlfriend from the first grade on.”

Blade forced himself not to react. “How could you know who I am or who my father was?”

“You look just like him, boy.”

“I’m not a boy or a kid.”

The cowboy spit a line of tobacco off to his left. “That you ain’t, but I am long past old and into being ancient. Name’s Fuller. Dice Fuller. Don’t mean no harm, Hamilton. Anyone under sixty is young to me. I may be thin, but like a tree, cut me open and you’ll find more than seventy rings.”

“None taken, old man, and the name’s Blade. I’m here investigating the burn site.”

“I think I could have figured that out.” He leaned down and lowered his voice. “I’ve been watching you. You’re here with the sheriff so I’m guessing you’re not just a sightseer.”

“Right. I’ve got a badge that says special agent for the ATF, but I’m here unofficially. Just trying to help out.” Blade moved closer. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about the fires, would you?”

His answer came too slow to be true. “I’m just looking for my friend. He’s in trouble, I reckon. We was both rounding up the last of the cattle yesterday and got separated. I stayed around the bunkhouse until long after dark talking to the cook while she packed up. LeRoy never came in. His pickup and trailer are still parked at headquarters so I’m thinking he got thrown in the dark. There’s canyons around here a man could tumble into and not even the coyotes would find him.”

“Maybe he worked all night, or left with a friend.”

“He’s been known to drink all night, but if LeRoy worked he would have come in by dark and switched mounts. We’re used to pushing ourselves, but he wouldn’t push a horse. Something’s wrong. I can feel it in the wind. Might have nothing to do with the fires. Or maybe it does.”

Blade knew Fuller had to be the first cowboy he questioned when they got down to paperwork. If anybody saw anything, it would be this old guy. Only, Blade knew Fuller’s type. He wouldn’t be in any hurry to give up more than the facts.

“I’m walking around looking for what happened here. You wouldn’t want to walk with me?” Blade began developing that rapport he’d need. “If you’ve worked this spread, Mr. Fuller, you’ll spot something wrong or out of place before I do.”

The stranger thought about it a minute, then slowly climbed down from his horse. “I’m happy to talk to you about the ranch, Hamilton. I don’t know what happened here, but we all know there’s trouble on this spread. Something is going on. How’s a cattle ranch going to run without cattle? And—” he lowered his voice “—how do two barns half a mile apart catch fire within minutes of each other?”

Blade nodded. “You said ‘we’? Who else?”

“The cowhands. Those of us left, anyway. All the single hands headed up north last night. They heard an outfit near Denver is hiring. Those married will try to hold out until spring. Then they’ll hire on as day workers till they find another steady job.”

“You know who might have had a reason to set these barns on fire?” Blade asked, before the old guy told him everyone’s work history. “Because we both know it wasn’t an accident.”

“I know it weren’t no accident, Agent Hamilton.” Fuller smiled as he addressed Blade with respect. “But what I don’t know is if it was a crime.” The cowboy pulled off his hat and scratched his head. “If it was breaking the law, I’ve got a duty to report it. If it’s not, it ain’t none of my business. One thing you learn working big spreads. There’s some things you see and some things you forget to see.”

Blade knew he’d be wasting his time pushing. He offered his hand. “I’m glad to meet you, Dice Fuller. Hoping we have some time while I’m here to talk about my grandfather. I’d love to learn what he and my dad were like. Until last week I didn’t know much more than my father’s name.” He paused, then added, “But first, we’ve got a fire to figure out.”

Dice’s grip was strong. “You can count on me, son. I’ll help if I can.”