Page 59 of One in a Million

Darrin grew pale and turned away. His back heaved as he threw up behind an oleander bush.

Lila waited for him to compose himself. He faced her, still pale, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “So now what, since you seem to have all the answers?” he asked.

“Now it’s time to do your job,” Lila said. “The rest of your cowboys have been out on their horses, guarding the cattle all night. Those boys will be hungry and exhausted—as well as grieving for their friend. They need to come in.”

“So if they come in, who’ll be watching the cattle?”

“That’s your problem, not mine, Darrin. But the most urgent thing is to hunt that beast down before it kills again. Get Charlie to help you—it almost certainly belongs to him.”

“If that creature is Charlie’s, he can be held responsible for damages,” Darrin said.

“The legal question can wait,” Lila said. “That animal just killed a young man. It’s got to be stopped now. You can take the four-wheeler out—we’ll need to move the body to the porch. I can deal with the police when they get here.”

“You’re expecting me to go out after that thingalone?”

“I’ll go with you, Darrin.” Roper stepped forward. “I’ve got a score to settle with that monster.”

“I’ll go with you, too,” Sam said. “But I suggest we forget about Charlie. He’s denied that the beast is his—probably a lie, but he’ll do it again. That aside, going to get him will take time we don’t have. We know where the kills were found. We can take our search from there.”

Lila caught the furtive glance that passed between Sam and Jasmine. Something, she sensed, was going on between the two. But this was no time to worry about it. Of greater concern was the fact that Roper and Darrin loathed each other. She could be grateful, at least, that Sam would be going out in the four-wheeler with them.

Roper and Sam had their own guns. Darrin hadn’t brought one with him. Lila handed him Frank’s Weatherby. “Take this,” she said. “It’s loaded, and I know your father taught you to shoot. Don’t forget to put gas in the tank before you leave.”

Darrin gave her a contemptuous look and walked away. She’d humiliated him before his family and bossed him as if he were a child. He would not soon forget that.

While Darrin emptied the gas can into the four-wheeler’s tank, Sam and Roper lifted the body by the ends of the tarpaulin and laid it carefully on the top step of the porch. Then, with Darrin at the wheel, Sam in the passenger seat, and Roper in the back, the vehicle roared away across the parking lot and onto the trail that led through the pastures.

The three women stood looking after them.

Jasmine sighed. “Men have all the fun.”

“Maybe you should have volunteered to go with them,” her mother said. “As for me, now that the excitement’s over, I’m going back to bed.” In her black silk robe, Madeleine looked like an old-time Hollywood star—maybe Gloria Swanson inSunset Boulevard, Lila thought.

“Should you call Simone and tell her where her husband’s gone?” she asked Madeleine.

Madeleine tightened her sash, cinching in her small waist. “No, let Simone get her beauty sleep. If she wants to know where he is, she can call me. And, by the way, there’s no need to remind me of my motherly duties.”

“So noted,” Lila said. “Enjoy your rest. I’ll be right here waiting up for the police.”

After Madeleine had strode back to her bungalow and Jasmine had disappeared into the house, Lila settled on the steps next to the canvas-wrapped body. Such a gentle young man. It was as if she felt the need to keep him company before his journey to the cold police morgue with its sliding trays, gloved hands, and invading scalpel.I’m sorry,she wanted to say.You deserved a life, Smokey. You deserved love and a family, with a wife and children and grandchildren. You deserved to learn and grow and have adventures. Now . . .

Lila wiped away a tear. Did the boy have parents somewhere, maybe brothers and sisters? She would find out and call them first thing in the morning. She didn’t know whether she believed in heaven. But she hoped that Smokey had, and that he was there.

By now, the sky above the eastern hills had begun to lighten. Earlier, Lila had heard the sounds of the returning cowboys putting away their horses and trooping into the bunkhouse for breakfast. At least she knew they were safe. But from the three men who’d gone off to hunt the monster, she’d heard nothing. And the police were taking their time, too.

Standing, she stretched, yawned, and wandered into the kitchen for more coffee and a slice of cinnamon toast. “Are the boys all right?” she asked Mariah.

“They will be, given time. But they weren’t talking much over breakfast. Awful, losing a friend that way. First Frank, and now that nice young man. They say that deaths happen in threes. It makes you wonder who’ll be next, doesn’t it?”

Lila suppressed a shudder. She’d never believed in that old superstition, but something in the tone of Mariah’s voice made her blood run cold. Anything could happen to anybody, at any time.

It came as a relief to hear a vehicle stopping in front of the house. It was the police van. Lila hurried outside to sign the paperwork and give the officers the needed information. Not that she knew very much about the young man. She watched as Smokey’s wrapped body was eased onto a stretcher and loaded into the back of the van.

The boy deserved better, Lila thought as the vehicle pulled away from the curb and headed down the driveway. She was tired, but with the day already beginning, it didn’t make sense to go to bed. Instead, she would spend some time in the ranch office, going through the files. Smokey must’ve filled out an application when he came to work for Frank—for tax and social security purposes if nothing else. If he had a family somewhere, she would take it upon herself to call them. It would be kinder to get the news from someone who cared than from a gruff police officer doing his job.

It took her about thirty minutes to find the file. The information was scant but it told her what she needed to know. Smokey’s real name was Benjamin Pollard. He had aged out of the foster system at eighteen and had no known relatives. His birthdate and social security number were given, as well as his work history, which had consisted of washing dishes in a restaurant before he came to the ranch. A murky photo, attached to the single page, confirmed his identity. That was all.

Lila called the desk at the police station and passed on the information. “Do you want to claim the body?” the officer asked.