smiled. “I’d get to feed the camels.”
“Alone?” Abby asked, her voice rising.
“No, Carl would always stay with me, watching, but I’d be the one who did it,” he said, a touch of pride in his voice.
“Sounds like the camels are your favorites,” Preston said.
“Yeah, Hank and Eli are cool. They remember stuff. There’s one guy who swatted Eli just to get him out of the way once, and Eli never forgot. After that, he’d set the guy up by acting real calm, then biting at him the second he got close.”
“Are you talking about Joe Brown?” Abby asked.
Bobby nodded.
“I caught him manhandling one of the horses and fired him on the spot,” she told Preston.
“I’m going to need to interview everyone who might have had some grievance against the victim or the ranch. Can you get me a list of all current and past employees, say, going back six months?” Preston said.
“No problem,” Abby said.
As they headed toward the bunkhouse, Bobby slipped in smoothly between Preston and Abby. Preston noted it silently, wondering if the boy had a crush on Abby. Or maybe there was more at play. Considering Bobby’s past, it was possible the kid didn’t trust cops.
“So Carl had the use of the bunkhouse rent free?” Preston verified as they neared the small building about the size of a one-car garage or a startup home on the Rez.
“It was part of the package since I couldn’t pay him what he was worth. Carl agreed to fix up the interior for me, too, as long as I purchased the supplies,” she said. “When I first bought Sitting Tall Ranch, the property had been unoccupied for years. Everything had been neglected and most of the buildings were practically unlivable.”
He looked around. The barn and storage sheds had fresh coats of paint, the corrals had up-to-date welded pipe fencing and the areas were well maintained. There wasn’t a weed in sight.
“You’ve done a good job. The place shows the care you give it.”
“That’s what you do with a dream,” she said softly, then unlocked the bunkhouse door.
Chapter Five
Preston put on a fresh pair of gloves as he stepped inside. “Come in with me, but don’t touch anything,” he told them. “And be careful where you step. If there’s something on the floor, leave it there.”
Preston remained in the doorway a few seconds longer and just looked around. He’d expected a utilitarian place designed to fit the needs of its one resident, and he’d been right on target. The interior held the stamp of the working man who’d lived here.
An easy chair made of blue vinyl and patched with duct tape in several places was backed against one wall. A small table a few feet in front of it held an old TV with rabbit ears and the digital converter box needed to translate the signal.
There were pencil and black ink sketches on the wall and the supplies needed for more—stiff white paper, charcoal sticks, markers and pencils—on the shelf of a nearby empty bookcase.
“He loved to draw,” Bobby said, standing at the doorway with Preston, “but he threw out most of his stuff. If he wasn’t happy with the way it came out, it went straight into the trash.”
Abby nodded. “I tried to salvage a charcoal sketch he’d thrown out once, but he wouldn’t let me keep it. When I gave it back to him, he just tore it up. He made me another one, though, and I hung it in the main house, my home.”
Preston led the way into the room, then saw Bobby staring at the bookshelf. “Something missing?” he asked the boy.
“Yeah, his coffee can is gone,” Bobby said.
“He kept coffee on the bookshelf?” Preston looked around for a coffeemaker but didn’t see one.
“He drank coffee like crazy, but it was all instant,” Bobby said. “The coffee can was his bank—that’s what he called it. It was old, like from twenty years ago, and all dented. He said that he used to buy that brand when he was a lot younger and having it around brought back good memories.” Bobby paused, swallowed hard, then in a heavy voice added, “He told me about it being his bank because we were friends and he trusted me.”
Abby stepped closer to Bobby and said, “How about we wait outside for you, Detective?”
Bobby shook his head. “No, I’m okay. I just miss him, that’s all. Let me stay and help.”
Preston heard Abby sigh and saw her nod.
“Anything else that looks out of place, Bobby? Walk around and take a good look, but remember, don’t touch anything,” Preston said.
Abby stayed right beside Bobby as they took the lead. Preston followed, his gaze on Abby. She was leggy and had a great figure, but what appealed to him most had little to do with her looks.
She was obviously a woman whose feelings ran deep. She cared a lot for Bobby and the rest of the kids who came to the ranch. He made a mental note to find out more about her, and not just because she was part of the case he was working.
They passed through a narrow hall and an open door and entered Carl’s bedroom. Inside they found an unmade bed, one wooden chair, an old oak desk and a small three-drawer chest. On top of the desk were several lottery tickets, two scratchers, tickets from a slot machine and a couple of chips from the casino.
“You sure he didn’t gamble?” Preston asked Bobby.
“I never saw stuff like that here before. There’s no way those were his. He thought gambling was stupid. Someone must have put them there,” Bobby said. Then he pointed to the coffee can on top of the chest of drawers. “He didn’t keep the can there either. It was always out front, on that shelf.”
Preston lifted the lid, but there was no cash inside, only two more lottery tickets.
“Think hard, Bobby. Did you ever see the cash that was supposedly inside the can?”
“I never looked inside it—that would have been rude. But he wouldn’t have lied to me,” Bobby said.
Abby smiled at Bobby, then looked at Preston. “I can tell you this much—Carl was always careful with his money. He had to be. He never wasted a dollar.”
“Yeah, Detective Bowman,” Bobby said. “I’m just a kid, but I know serious gamblers. That’s all they talk about—winning, betting, the odds.”
“Did you learn that from your parents?” Preston asked.
“No, no way. My mom died when I was three or four, and my dad, well, he gave me up ’cause he’s a spy and can’t afford to have a kid hanging around. He travels all over the world,” Bobby said proudly. “I know about gamblers because my last foster dad had the habit. All those guys ever talk about is hitting the big time.”
“Carl wouldn’t
