Cowboy PI by Jean Barrett Read Free Book Online Page B

another agenda? Could one of this pleasant company be dangerous?
     
    A FTER MAKING SURE that Samantha had safely locked herself in the bedroom that had been assigned to her for the night, Roark went back to his own room next door.

    The old ranch house had no electricity. Hard to believe in this day and age, but its last owner, a contemporary of Joe Walker’s, had preferred it this way. Roark had to use a flashlight to find his way across the room to the oil lamp that had been provided for him on his bedside table.
    There were matches beside the lamp. He struck one of them and lit the lamp. Its soft, flickering glow permitted him to perform one last, essential task before he turned in for the night. Reaching for his cell phone, he perched on the edge of the bed and punched in the digits for the number he wanted at a condo back in San Antonio.
    As instructed, Wendell was waiting for his call. The young trainee answered on the first ring. “How’s it going?” he asked after Roark identified himself.
    He knew Wendell was hoping to hear about some exciting development. Too bad he had to disappoint him. “Fine. We’re all one big, happy family here.” So far, Roark thought. “How about your end? Did you get out to the Walking W?”
    “Visited that gulch just like you wanted,” Wendell reported, referring to the deep ravine where Joe Walker had been thrown from his horse. “I was careful not to be seen. Not much chance I would be. It’s in the middle of nowhere. Heck of a long hike out there.”
    “Find anything?”
    “I think maybe I did. There was a lot of wall to cover down in there, some of it pretty high. But I found this spot where the rocks looked like they’d been freshly chipped off by bullets. And if they were, that means the old man’s horse was spooked by gunfire and someone could have been shooting at him.”
    Wendell was so enthusiastic about his discovery Roark hadn’t the heart to tell him that chipped rocks weren’t necessarily evidence of gunfire. “Could you tell whether the rock was scored? You know, as if bullets had left channels in it?”
    “The marks weren’t clear. Maybe you’ll be able to tellsomething. I took a bunch of photographs. As soon as they’re developed, I’ll e-mail them for you to study. They should be waiting for you at your first stop.”
    “That’s fine.” Roark would examine those photographs, but he doubted they would give him anything useful. But Wendell, being Wendell, was so eager to succeed that, again, Roark didn’t want to discourage the overly zealous trainee.
    “Tomorrow I’ll tackle the monastery and the Western Museum,” Wendell continued, referring to the institutions that would receive Joe Walker’s estate if Samantha failed to meet the terms of her grandfather’s will. “I’ll let you know what I learn.”
    Cautioning him to be careful about how he handled those interviews, Roark promised to keep in touch and ended the call. He hoped he would be able to maintain regular contact with Wendell. He’d had no problem tonight, but a cell phone might not be dependable in a remote mountain area like this. There was also the matter of power, though Ramona Chacon had told him he could keep the instrument recharged using the lighter in her truck.
    Roark went on sitting there for a moment on the edge of the bed, listening. Although it wasn’t all that late, a silence had settled over the house. The members of the outfit, knowing that the drive would be underway at first light, had retired early. Which, Roark told himself, was what he needed to do.
    Shedding his clothes, he blew out the lamp and crawled under the covers. His phone call to Wendell hadn’t produced anything worthwhile. Not that he had expected it to, but a PI overlooked nothing. It was a beginning, and on the drive he would seize every opportunity to advance his investigation.
    His last thoughts before he drifted off were for Samantha next door. He hoped she was sleeping peacefully, not