Death on Heels (31 page)

Homer stood and put his large hand out. Lacey took it and squeezed a little, but he didn’t react. She said hello. He didn’t meet her eyes.

As if reading her thoughts, Homer stared down at Lacey’s feet. “Those are real nice boots. You. You got there. I like that stitching. Intricate. My boots are plain, but good boots. Darn good boots. Steel shanks. They’ll last a good. Long time. But yours are real pretty. Beautiful. Aren’t they, Virgil? Like a work of. Of art.”

“They sure are, Homer,” Virgil agreed. He squinted at her boots and smiled. “Mighty fine boots.”

“They’re years old,” Lacey said.

“I like them. They’re nice. You don’t wear them. Much?” Homer said.

“No, I don’t.”
I may never wear them again
. “But that’s not what I came to talk about. Virgil, I heard you’ve been trying to buy the Tuckered Out Ranch.”

“You must’ve heard that straight from the horse’s mouth.” Virgil didn’t seem surprised. “Tucker tell you that when you two were—on the run?”

“Lacey was not on the run. She was a hostage,” Vic said.

“Poor choice of words. I apologize. It’s no secret I’ve had some interest in that ranch. Me and many others. It’s a fine piece of property. Good bottomland along the Yampa, lots of grazing land, been a profitable ranch for more than a century.”

“But you don’t want to ranch that land, do you?”

He grinned, but didn’t look amused. “It’s not a crime to speculate in all the economic possibilities this God-given landscape affords us.”

“It’s a prime. Piece of property,” Homer said, still not making eye contact. He seemed to be looking either to the right or the left of Lacey’s head, but never at her. His gaze kept returning to her boots. Or maybe just the floor.

“That’s enough, Homer,” Virgil cautioned his brother.

“It’s all about the mineral leases, isn’t it?” Lacey asked.

“I’d love to chat about what Cole Tucker told you about our offer, but now is not the time. We’re about to close up shop here. You see him again, maybe you can talk him into selling. He won’t be doing much ranching when he’s in prison.”

“Not much ranching. In prison,” Homer repeated.

“Homer?” Virgil said warningly. “I do apologize, but we have to draw this conversation to a close, Vic, Miss Smithsonian. We have a prior commitment.”

“That means we have. A meeting,” Homer said, trying to be perfectly clear.

Lacey stalled.
Let’s see how much of a hurry they’re really in.
“I see. I’m just writing an article and I, um, thought I’d include something about the posse. Maybe you could tell me—”

“That’s mighty nice of you,” Virgil said. “Maybe tomorrow we could—”

A door opened and Mitchell Stanford emerged from the inner office. “Come on, Virg. It won’t hurt to answer a few questions. We can give ’em a few minutes.” Stanford carried a big fat cigar in his pudgy turquoise-ringed fingers and lit it, creating a cloud of noxious smoke. “Hi, guys. We met yesterday, Lacey. And I remember you, Chief Donovan. Call me Mitch, everyone does.”

The foul smoke gave Lacey an instant headache. Wherever Mitchell Stanford was from, he’d gone thoroughly native. His jeans were cinched under his ample belly with a tooled leather belt, its silver belt buckle inlaid with turquoise. A matching silver and turquoise watchband covered his wrist. Nothing, however, could erase the strains of New York in his accent.

“We’ll leave you to your meeting,” Vic said, taking Lacey’s arm. She delicately disengaged and pulled out her notebook.

“Mitchell Stanford? Spelled like the university?”

“Cute. Sure. You must have been scared to death, out there with that serial killer,” Stanford said. “I can’t imagine why he didn’t hurt you, or worse. It’s a miracle you’re
still alive. And what’s all this about finding a little silver bootheel in that cabin?”

“You must have seen my story,” Lacey said. “The Web edition.”

“That right?” Virgil seemed a little more interested. “You found a heel? So what?”

“They say it belongs to that dead girl. The first one,” Stanford told him.

“Someone must have. Lost the heel,” Homer said. “The silver heel. You said it was the silver heel.”

“That’s right, Homer.”

“Rae Fowler’s parents identified it,” Vic said. “It’s with the CBI crime lab.”

“I heard the CBI was going to tear that cabin apart today,” Virgil said. “If Firestone takes command of things, T-Rex and the local boys won’t like that.”

“CBI has the expertise to process a location like that,” Vic said. “No one else up here does. The sheriff and the posse sure as hell don’t.”

“I suppose you’re right. Did you know the place, Lacey?” Virgil asked.

“Not the street address,” Lacey said.
I’m supposed to ask the questions
.

“What did it look like? Was it a house, barn, cabin?” Virgil pressed.

“It was dark.” She smiled, hoping to look guileless.

“Chalk it up to the idle curiosity of a real estate man. A thing like that could affect property values. No worries, Lacey. It’ll all come out eventually. Small town like Sagebrush, impossible to keep a secret.”

Here’s hoping,
she thought. “Why did you join the posse to search for Cole Tucker?”

“Well, it was my duty, wasn’t it? We all have a duty to do what we can to bring some justice to those girls. And bring the killer back for punishment.”

“Who knows?” Stanford gestured with his fat cigar. “Might be even more unfortunate women out there that he killed.”

“Do you know something about that?” Vic stepped into his face. “Are there more women missing?”

Stanford shrugged and waved the cigar. “You’d have to ask the sheriff. Sagebrush is a transient kind of place. I’m just saying.”

“I can’t imagine why Cole would take you there,” Virgil said, “to the same place he killed another girl.”

“Cole Tucker didn’t kill anybody,” Lacey said. “Did you know the victims?”

Virgil stood. “Homer, will you put that file on my desk, and make sure everything is shipshape before we lock up?”

“Okay. Shipshape.” Homer lurched to his feet and picked up the file. Still not quite meeting anyone’s eyes, he walked stiffly into the inner office.

“I don’t like to upset him,” Virgil said. “Homer’s a bit different from the rest of us. He’s real sensitive.”

If that’s what you call it.
“About the women who died?”

“Can’t say I did know them,” Virgil said. “This town is not as small as you might think.”

“What about Ally Newport?” Stanford prodded. “She was that real cute bartender. You remember, Virgil, the one with the big smile.”

Virgil nodded slowly. “Oh, sure. Ally used to work at the Red Rose. She probably made me a drink or two over the years.” He dismissed the thought with a flick of the wrist.

“And you, Stanford?” Lacey lifted her pen.

“Sure. I knew Ally Newport to say hello,” he replied. “The others? Don’t know whether I’d have had the chance to meet an underage runaway.”

“Her name was Rae Fowler. And Corazon Reyes?”

Stanford made a show of searching his memory. “Corazon. She was the real pretty one, wasn’t she? Saw her picture in the paper. I might have seen her around. But you know, I can’t be sure.”

“You’re also a member of the posse?”

“Sure am,” Stanford said. “So tell me, can we expect to see more of your Cole Tucker stories, Lacey? Don’t know how you could write so much. I’d think you must be worn out after spending the night with a killer.”

Lacey ignored him. “And you, Virgil, did you know Corazon Reyes?”

“Like Mitch said, I might have seen her around.”

Virgil was taking direction from Stanford. And he’d sent his brother out of the room when she started asking about the women.
Why?

Vic stepped casually between Lacey and the men. “It’s time for us to let you get to that meeting.” His hand was back on Lacey’s shoulder. “Sorry to bother you.”

“No bother at all,” Virgil said. “Always a pleasure, Chief.”

Lacey put away her notebook and smiled as graciously as she could through Stanford’s cloud of cigar smoke.
Hey, isn’t it illegal to smoke in the workplace?
“I’d be happy to discuss the posse tomorrow.”

Vic half turned at the door. “I suppose you’ll make an offer for Tucker’s land and mineral rights again, now that he’s going to be needing a defense fund.”

Lacey thought she saw the barest flicker of surprise on Mitch Stanford’s face.

“Heck, it’s no secret we’re buying land and leases. Energy is what moves this country. My companies are spending millions searching for new reserves. Believe me, we’re going to be heroes when this is all over. Cowboys like the Tuckers can say no all they want, but they can’t stand in the way of progress forever, all high-and-mighty on horseback.”

“That will be something to see,” she said.
Whew, we finally got these guys riled up.

“Let me tell you something, Lacey Smithsonian,” Stanford said. “And you can tell this to your buddy Cole Tucker. We’re going to get those leases on the Tuckered Out Ranch. There’s a little thing in the state constitution, it’s a little bit like eminent domain, where we can force something called ‘pooling’ on the Tuckers and include their land in our drilling plan. By state order.” He took a breath. “We tried to play nice with those cowpokes, but that time is coming to an end. And there is nothing they can do about it.”

“And I suppose you know something about the evidence
they found on Tucker’s land, the evidence that set him up?” Lacey asked.
You bastard.

“Why, not a thing. Drop by anytime.” Stanford smiled broadly. “It’s been a pleasure.”

Virgil opened the front door for Vic and Lacey, just as Homer returned.

“Everything is shipshape, Virgil,” Homer said. “All shipshape.”

“Now, sweetheart, you’re going to tell me
everything.
Everything you haven’t told me up to now,” Vic said as soon as they were outside. His voice was deceptively calm.

“I don’t even know where to start. Can you believe those bastards? Mitchell Stanford is just going to try to
steal
those mineral leases from Tucker.”

“I’m tired of playing catch-up. I want to hear what Tucker told you. Every last detail. Including any and all crackpot theories of his, and yours, as to who really did the killings. Because I’m thinking that’s why we were in there gasping for breath, chatting up these stinking oily lizards. Or am I wrong?”

Sean Victor Donovan seemed taller when he was irritated. Lacey wouldn’t go as far as saying he was cute when he was mad though. He had his cop face on. But it wasn’t her fault she hadn’t told him
everything
. It had been a busy couple of days.

“Everything, Vic? Everything Tucker said didn’t exactly come up before now. I was exhausted last night and I had to work today. You know. Shopping with my editor.”

“I just hope you’d come to my defense like you’re coming to Tucker’s. And I came to yours.” He sounded grumpy.

“Do you have any doubts?” Lacey said, turning her blue green eyes on him and opening them wide.

He grumbled and tugged on her arm, but she lingered on the sidewalk in front of the Westward Ho real estate
office until Virgil Avery locked the door, lowered the shades, and turned out the lights.

The street was as empty as if they’d actually rolled up the sidewalk at dusk. Whatever was happening in Sagebrush wasn’t happening on Sundance Way. It was in the bars and restaurants, and the new Wal-Mart. And wherever Stanford and the Avery brothers were having their mysterious meeting.

“What’s up, Lacey? Don’t leave me hanging on the ledge like this. Don’t tell me it’s because you are fascinated with posses or mineral leases.”

“But don’t you see, the leases may be why Tucker was framed.”

“
If
he was framed. Big if, darlin’. Why bother, when Stanford thinks he can sweep up the mineral rights with a state order anyway?”

“Hold that thought.” The light was on at
The Sagebrush Daily Press
. Lacey made a spur-of-the-moment decision. “I have to see a man about a horse.”

Vic scowled. “Now what?”

“Muldoon.” She tried the front door. It was locked. She headed down the side of the building to the back door. “I have to see Muldoon.”

The back door was unlocked, as she remembered it always was. She walked in like she owned the place. But she paused a moment to look at the old web press, docked like a proud iron ship in the back bay. The smell of the ink and the sight of the giant rolls of paper called to her.

The
Eye Street Observer
was sent out to the suburbs to be printed in some giant printing plant she’d never even seen. Here she could see the heartbeat of her old newspaper, a sight she once saw every day. It was quiet now, but when it roared and papers rolled off the press, it was magnificent: the pumping, throbbing heart and bloodstream of the news business. She inhaled the scent of metal and paper and ink and took another hit of the heady aroma of a free press. Even if it was just a crazy small-town, no-account press. Run by a maniac.

“You having some kind of special moment with this place?” Vic inquired. “Should I leave you two alone?”

She squeezed his hand. “It’s not the place, it’s the press, the simple mechanics of printing a daily paper.” Lacey kissed his cheek. “Silly, I know, but right now that ink is like a kind of perfume for me. Unfortunately, I also have to deal with the stench of Muldoon’s dirty dealings.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I love you, Vic, but don’t cramp my style here. I will explain everything. I promise.” She inhaled deeply once more before heading up the stairs to the offices. “Please, stay out of sight.”

“I reserve the right to play hero.”

Dodd Muldoon was in his office, which was, if possible, even more crowded with papers and files than Mac Jones’s office back in D.C. He was stacking piles of paper on a dangerous tower of newsprint when he noticed her standing in the doorway.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s come home to
The Daily Press
.” His baggy face lit up like a bleary-eyed sunrise. “You came up with quite a scoop, didn’t you, Scoop, for that East Coast rag of yours. And you didn’t share.” She waited for him to continue. “Lucky I could confirm your story with my own well-informed sources.”