Firebreak (Josie Gray Mysteries #4)(22)
“Not really,” he said slowly. “I’m not the expert, but I don’t really get why the house is so burnt up. Don’t make much sense.”
“Could the fire have crossed here at around seven forty-five yesterday instead of nine thirty?”
He squinted his eyes like he just couldn’t make the figures work. “There’s just no way. Prentice Canyon runs north-south. So if the fire crossed that road at nine ten and then traveled south, there’s no way this place could have burned at seven forty-five. The fire wasn’t near this far south yet.”
“Maybe your spotter gave you the wrong time. Or you logged it incorrectly in the book.”
Derek narrowed his eyes and turned the corner of his mouth up in an irritated smile, obviously offended at Otto’s comment.
“I’m just thinking that it’s dark out. It’s crazy and stressful,” Otto said. “I’m sure mistakes happen.”
Derek scanned down the page again and finally looked up, smiling as if he’d just been vindicated. He tapped his forefinger on the clipboard hard. “Right here. Skip Altman called from the Morris ranch and said they had the fire under control using their spray rig and stock pond. That place is just south of here. His call was at nine forty. No way it would take an hour to get from the Nixes’ house to the Morrises’ ranch.”
“Okay.” Otto nodded, pleased with the information. “I’ll need to take your records and submit them as evidence.”
Derek took a step back as if ready to protect his information. “Doug never said nothing about any of that.”
“Why don’t you give him a call? He can confirm we need the records.”
Derek called Doug. After a quick conversation, Derek hung up and reluctantly relinquished his logbook to Otto. Derek took one more long look at the house and finally got into his truck and drove away.
Otto went back into the house and discussed the time frame with Cowan.
“I’m ready to release the scene to you,” Cowan said. “I’ll rule this a homicide with a preliminary time of death of seven thirty-eight p.m. I’ll get back and start on the autopsy.”
*
The recital ended, and after a miserable two hours of sitting in a hardback chair listening to four people screech away at violins and cellos and who knew what else, Dell could finally get up to stretch his knees and back. He stood in the back of the room as Mary Lou hugged and kissed each of the musicians, gushing over their brilliant performance. Dell was thinking about needing a new water source for his cows when she finally made her way back to him.
She patted his arm and he noticed the smile lines around her eyes. He wasn’t sure how to handle a perpetually happy person. It didn’t feel natural to walk around smiling all the time, but he felt compelled to at least try since she seemed so inclined.
“I have a surprise for you,” she said, smiling. She gestured toward the door and they walked outside into the late-afternoon heat. “I know this wasn’t your idea of a fun afternoon, so I’m going to make it up to you.”
He opened the truck’s passenger door for her and she slid across the seat, toward the middle. He walked around to the driver’s side, not entirely sure he wanted her to make anything up to him at this point in the day. He felt guilty, but he had chores to do.
“I have chicken salad already prepared in the refrigerator, as well as fruit salad and chocolate cake made from scratch. I thought we’d have a nice light lunch since it’s so hot out.”
“That sounds nice.” He started the truck. It had always been Dell’s position that meat and salad did not go together in the same dish. He rarely ate bread with his meat, preferring to allow the taste of the meat to dominate. The idea of mixing chicken into a salad did not appeal to him in the least.
“I thought we’d stop by my house and pick it up, then take it out to your place. Maybe you could show me around the ranch after lunch.”
He nodded, and looked over at the smiling woman sitting next to him. She was beautiful and kind, and for some odd reason she wanted to spend time with him. But he was rapidly losing control of his life.
“You know, it would be nice to invite Father Paul out to have lunch with us. He’s young and new to town. He doesn’t get out much.”
He gripped the steering wheel tighter.
“We’ll have him out to dinner another night,” she said. “Let’s just enjoy the day at your ranch together.”
EIGHT
Angela Stamos had been bartending at the Hell-Bent for as long as Josie could remember. Her heavy-lidded eyes and permanent smirk said she’d seen it all. Angela was in her early fifties, with auburn hair cut in a stylish pixie that framed her round face. She wore round wire-rim glasses with purple-shaded lenses. Angela was a striking woman with a reputation that kept the men at bay. For the most part, they treated her with a degree of respect that some of the other, younger women at the Hell-Bent didn’t get. Josie wondered if bartending for so many years had tarnished her opinion of men.
Last Josie had heard, Angela was single, but when Josie parked her car in front of the bartender’s home she saw a man standing on the side deck flipping hamburgers on a small charcoal grill. He turned slightly and waved, giving Josie a long stare, but he stayed where he was.
The house was a small brown adobe with deep-set window wells and a front porch over which the roof extended by eight feet along the front of the house. Two wooden rocking chairs sat on the front porch with a small table in between them. The table held an ashtray filled with cigarettes and two empty martini glasses. A small yard was landscaped with native plants like prickly pear, agave, and yucca. It was a comfortable, attractive home and it fit Josie’s image of Angela.