Page 24 of One in a Million
“How about your father? Did he and Charlie get along?”
“You mean could Charlie have killed him? Dad hated Charlie. The whole family hates Charlie. So do most of the neighbors. Charlie probably hates us, too, especially today. But he’s doing too well to risk his evil empire by committing a capital crime. As long as he maintained his fences and kept his animals on his property, Dad left him alone.”
“Have you been to his place?”
“No. But I know people who have. It’s about what you’d expect—ramshackle cages, substandard conditions, sick and aging animals who don’t get treated because they’re just going to be herded out and shot. Charlie’s no vet. He can’t take care of them. I don’t think he even wants to.”
“Aren’t there regulations in place for the keeping of the animals?”
“Maybe.” Jasmine shrugged. “But who’s going to enforce them? What government agency has enough staff to come out here and check on Charlie’s sleazy operation?” She exhaled. “What he’s doing is evil. He needs to be shut down and those animals treated humanely.”
Something in her voice, a deeper note of passion, put Sam on alert. There was more going on here. “You’re not just spouting words, are you, Jasmine?” he asked.
She gave him a narrow-eyed glance. “This has nothing to do with your murder case.”
“Maybe not. But believe it or not, I’m on your side. And I’m concerned.”
She sighed. “All right. If you’ll keep this to yourself.”
“Fine for now.”
“I met these people—young, mostly college students, a few of them older—at the bar in Willow Bend a few weeks ago. We’ve been in touch by text. They’re from an Abilene group called ERFA, Equal Rights for Animals. They’re planning a demonstration against Charlie—a protest to draw attention. I don’t know when, but I said I could help by giving them access to his property.”
Sam’s heart dropped. He’d seen the outcome of similar demonstrations. “Listen to me, Jasmine,” he said. “This isn’t a good idea. People like these have the best intentions. But when they go into action, things tend to get out of hand—property damage, arrests, even deaths. They could get themselves and you in a heap of trouble, especially here, where there are dangerous animals involved. Charlie mentioned big cats. Who knows what else he’s got out there.”
“They’re only going to demonstrate,” Jasmine said. “Light some torches, wave some signs, send some photos and videos to the press—you know, call attention to the mess. The only law they’d break would be trespassing. Once the story gets out, there are plenty of animal lovers who’ll join the crusade to shut Charlie down. Does that sound sensible enough to you?”
“What sounds sensible is finding a legitimate complaint and taking it to court. Walk away from this group, Jasmine. Anything could go wrong.”
“I’m not a child. I’ll make my own decision about that.” They were approaching the house. Sam swung into the employee parking lot. “Pull around in back, please,” she said. “I don’t want to go in the front way looking like this. There, outside the kitchen door. Mariah’s seen everything. She won’t tell on me.” As he stopped, she opened the Jeep door, then turned back to him. “We’ll be planning Dad’s memorial tonight over dinner. I’ll try to get you an invite, but no promises.”
“Thanks, whatever you can do. And thanks for being my guide this morning. You were helpful. I’ll be around the stables in case anybody needs me.”
“Going to hunt down the mysterious Roper McKenna, are you?” She gave him an impish grin. “Good luck with that. He’ll talk to you, but only on his own terms—or on Lila’s.”
Bounding out of the Jeep, she strode toward the house. Sam watched her go, admiring her verve and energy. Jasmine Culhane was far more than a pretty, high-spirited woman. But there were things about her that he needed to file in the back of his mind. One was the way she’d wrenched away his revolver before shooting the gazelle. Was she strong and fast enough to overcome a powerful man like Frank and inject him with the fatal drug? Maybe, if he’d trusted her and lowered his guard, though she didn’t strike him as capable of murder.
The other thing he’d learned about Jasmine needed to be buried even deeper, to the point of forgetting.
It was the way he’d felt holding her in his arms.
CHAPTERSEVEN
Sam had been assigned one of three guest bungalows on the opposite end of the house from the stables. The smallest of the trio, it was well built and furnished with authentic pieces that appeared to be from the early 1900s, evoking a sense of long-gone people who might have stayed here in past years.
When he returned to clean up after letting Jasmine off, he found a Post-it note on the fridge. Inside was a hearty beef sandwich, a covered plate of homemade cookies, and a variety of cold sodas. Somebody was looking after him. He reminded himself to thank the kitchen staff. He would also need to interview them, especially Mariah, the cook. But that could wait. Right now, the name at the top of his list was Roper McKenna’s.
After lunch, resisting the urge to nap, he took the path through the backyard to the arena and stables complex. By now the midday heat was as stifling as a thick, wet woolen blanket. Sam saw no one outside, but there was activity in the shelter of the stable. Most of the grunt workers, boys and girls, shoveling stalls, unloading supplies, and wiping down horses, looked like high school kids, willing to trade a summer of grinding work and low wages for time in the world of their dreams. Their young faces and bodies dripped perspiration in the heat. A college-aged boy appeared to be in charge, but the arena was empty. Sam couldn’t see Roper anywhere.
“Roper’s taking a lunch break,” the older boy told Sam when asked. “He should be in the office, down that hallway and to your right. Good luck. He likes his private time.”
Undaunted, Sam walked down the hall. Private time or not, he’d interviewed mobsters, politicians, and billionaires. He wasn’t about to step back from a surly ranch manager.
The office door was closed. When he knocked, it opened with a whoosh of cool air from the portable AC mounted in the window.
Presenting his credentials, Sam surveyed the man in the doorway. At six-foot-one, his athletic body trained for his job, Sam was a big man. Roper was a good inch taller and twenty or thirty pounds heavier, all muscle.
His darkly handsome face wore a scowl, but as he greeted his visitor, his expression relaxed into what might pass as a neutral smile. This was the man who had worked closely with Frank Culhane. This was the man who, according to Frank’s children, was now paid and owned by Lila, maybe even sleeping with her. This was a man who had his reasons to want Frank dead.