probably just a prank.”
“The postmark was Sinclair, Oregon. If it’s a prank, Tory, it’s a malicious one. And one of your neighbors is involved.”
Tory read the condemning words again:
One of your brother’s murderers is still free. He was part of the Quarter Horse swindle involving Linn Benton, Calvin Wilson and George Henderson.
“But who would want to dig it all up again?”
Trask shook his head and pushed his fingers through his hair. “Someone with a guilty conscience? Someone who overheard a conversation and finally feels that it’s time to come clean? A nosy journalist interested in a story? I don’t know. But whoever he is, he wants me involved.”
Tory sank into the nearest chair. “And you couldn’t leave it alone.”
“Could you?”
She smiled bitterly and studied the letter in her hand. “I suppose not. Not if there was a chance to prove that my father was innocent.”
“Damn it, Tory!” Trask exclaimed. “Calvin had the opportunity to do that on the witness stand. He chose to hide behind the fifth amendment.”
Tory swallowed as she remembered her father sitting in the crowded courtroom. His thick white hair was neatly in place, his gray eyes stared straight ahead. Each time the district attorney would fire a question at him, Calvin would stoically respond that he refused to answer the question on the basis that it might incriminate him. Calvin’s attorney had been fit to be tied in the stifling courtroom. The other defendants, Linn Benton, a prominent circuit court judge and ringleader of the swindle and George Henderson, a veterinarian and local rancher whose spread bordered the Lazy W to the north, cooperated with the district attorney. They had plea bargained for shorter sentences. But, for reasons he wouldn’t name to his frantic daughter, Calvin Wilson accepted his guilt without a trace of regret.
“Face it, Tory,” Trask was saying. “Your father was involved for all the right reasons. He was dying of cancer, the ranch was in trouble financially, and he wouldn’t be able to take care of either you or your brother. He got involved with the horse swindle for the money...for you. He just didn’t expect that Jason would find out about it and come snooping around.” He walked to the other side of the room and stared out the window at the night. “I never wanted to think that your father was involved in the murder, Tory. I’d like to believe that he had no idea that Jason was onto him and the others. But I was there, I confronted the man and he looked through me as if whatever I said was of no significance.” Trask walked across the room and grabbed Tory’s shoulders. His face was twisted in disbelief. “No significance! My brother’s life, for God’s sake, and Calvin stood there like a goddamn wooden Indian!”
Tory tried to step away. “Not murder, Trask. My father wouldn’t have been involved in Jason’s death. He...” Her voice broke. “...couldn’t.”
“You don’t know how much I want to believe you.”
“But certainly—”
“I don’t think your father instigated it,” he interjected. “As a matter of fact, it’s my guess that Benton planned Jason’s ‘accident’ and had one of his henchmen tamper with the car.”
“And Dad had to pay.”
“Because he wouldn’t defend himself.”
She shook her head. “Against your lies.” His fingers tightened over the soft fabric of her blouse. Tension charged the hot night air and Tory felt droplets of nervous perspiration break out between her shoulders.
“I only said what I thought was the truth.”
The corners of her mouth turned bitterly downward and her eyes grew glacial cold. “The truth that you got from me.”
His shoulders stiffened under his cotton shirt, and his eyes drilled into hers. “I never meant to hurt you, Tory, you know that.”
For a fleeting moment she was tempted to believe him, but all the pain came rushing back to her in a violent storm of emotion. She felt her body shake with restraint. “I trusted you.”
He winced slightly.
“I trusted you and you used me.” The paper crumpled in her hand. “Take this letter and leave before I say things that I’ll regret later.”
“Tory...” He attempted to draw her close, but she pulled back, away from his lying eyes and familiar touch.
“I don’t want to hear it, Trask. And I don’t want to see you again. Now leave me alone—”
A loud knock resounded in the room and the hinges on the front door groaned as Rex Engels let himself into the house.
“Tory?” the foreman called. His steps slowed in the hallway, as if he was hesitant to intrude.
“In here.” Tory was relieved at the intrusion. She stepped away from Trask and walked toward the door. When Rex entered he stopped and stared for a moment at Trask McFadden. His lips thinned as he took off his dusty Stetson and ran his fingers over the silver stubble on his chin. At five foot eight, he was several inches shorter than Trask, but his body was whip-lean from the physical labor he imposed on himself. Rugged and dependable, Rex Engels had been with the Lazy W for as long as Tory could remember.
The foreman was obviously uncomfortable; he shifted from one foot to the other and his eyes darted from Tory to Trask and back again.
“What happened?” Tory asked, knowing immediately that something was wrong and fearing that Keith was in the hospital or worse...
“I got a call from Len Ross about an hour ago,” Rex stated, his mouth hardening into a frown. Tory nodded, encouraging him to continue. Ross was a neighboring rancher. “One of Ross’s boys was mending fence this afternoon and he noticed a dead calf on the Lazy W.”
Tory’s shoulders slumped a little. It was always difficult losing livestock, especially the young ones. But it wasn’t unexpected; it happened more often than she would like to admit and it certainly didn’t warrant Rex driving over to the main house after dark. There had to be something more. Something he didn’t want to discuss in front of Trask. “And?”
Rex rubbed his hand over his neck. He looked meaningfully at Trask. “The calf was shot.”
“What?” Tory stiffened.
“From the looks of it, I’d guess it was done by a twenty-two.”
“Then you saw the calf?” Trask cut in, his entire body tensing as he leaned one shoulder against the arch between den and entryway.
“Yep.”
“And you don’t think it was an accident?” Tory guessed.
“It’s not hunting season,” the foreman pointed out, moving his gaze to Trask in silent accusation. “And there were three bullet holes in the carcass.”
Tory swallowed against the sickening feeling overtaking her. First Trask with his anonymous letter and the threat of dredging up the past again and now evidence that someone was deliberately threatening her livestock.
