Love on the Range (Brothers in Arms #3)(60)

“The account books are a good idea, Wyatt,” John said. “I’m going down to fetch them.”

Wyatt handed him a strip of paper. “The top number is the combination to the downstairs safe, and there was more in there than just account books.”

“I’ll bring everything. I’ll look through his desk, too.”

Wyatt told John which picture to look behind.

John went downstairs. The rest of them went to the door to the third floor. Molly remembered the sounds she’d heard from up there, the feeling of the house being haunted. Could Hawkins be upstairs? Molly, more curious than honestly believing Hawkins was there, tried the door. It was locked.

After fiddling for a few seconds, Wyatt pulled his gun and shot the lock off. The door opened on a narrow flight of stairs. As her head rose to the level of the next floor, she heard a strange sound coming straight for her and ducked so hard she fell backward. She shrieked, then Wyatt’s strong arms clamped around her, steadying her.

Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “There’s something up there.”

He plunked her on her feet, drew his gun again, stared up into the stairwell for a long moment, and then holstered his gun. “It’s a pigeon.”

Molly was a step above him. They were the only two that had come up this far. “He’s got a pigeon in a house this well built?”

“Maybe there’s a broken window.”

There was no wind, but the small peaked attic was cold. Of course, it was unheated in Wyoming in October.

Wyatt slipped past her and went on upstairs.

John McCall appeared at a run at the base of the closed staircase. “I heard a gunshot, then a scream. Trouble?”

Molly smiled down to see him putting his gun away. “No, the door was locked, and Wyatt shot it open. There’s a pigeon up here. It startled me. I’m sure it’s—”

“A pigeon.” John came up the stairs at a jog. Molly heard the distinctive coo of a pigeon. Wings continued to flutter in the space overhead.

Molly hustled to get to the top of the stairs because John was coming fast. He seemed fascinated.

Molly had no fondness for birds diving at her head.

“One got out of its cage, but there are more.” Wyatt pointed at the window in the east wall.

John strode toward an elaborate wire birdcage with many small coops sized for one bird.

Once Molly looked there, she saw several more pigeons. Then she looked around the attic and saw crates and trunks, stacks of unidentifiable things. What looked like massive shrouded pictures leaned against a wall. Molly wondered if Win knew these things were here.

A light pattering sound drew Molly’s attention from the stacks of things lining the attic to see John throw something. The pigeons got very busy eating.

“He had pet birds.” Molly glared at the poor things. “And he just abandoned them when he ran? That’s awful.”

John tossed what must be feed on the floor, and the flying pigeon went for it fast. As hungry as the others.

“It’s awful for that rattlesnake Hawkins but good for us.” John rubbed his hands together. “We’ll use them to find Hawkins without letting Kingston out of jail. It doesn’t suit me to let a man shoot Rachel in the heart and him not go to jail and stay there.”

“Aw, now, John, don’t be fussing about it,” Wyatt said sarcastically. “She got over that shot to the heart mighty fast.”

“You’re right.” John went to study the coop and the frantically eating birds with a mean smile on his face. “I’m petty and spiteful. One little old bullet to the heart of my coworker, and I’m holding a grudge.”

“I think it’s a little strange that I lived in this house for two weeks and never knew he had pets, was never asked to feed them. He made me do everything and never lifted a finger to help. I wondered why he wasn’t making me dust up here. But I didn’t ask about it. I just thought the house was so large he’d closed part of it off. All I felt was relief.”

She looked again at the stacks of things stuffed in here. Glad she hadn’t been set to the task of dusting all of it. “I realize now he was insistent that I leave the third floor alone. He made it sound like he was easing my work, but I’d say, he didn’t want me to see he had pigeons. I heard rustling up here, too. It was spooky, but I thought maybe the house creaked in the wind or he had rats. Why would he keep these birds a secret? And how in the world can pigeons help us keep Kingston in jail?”

“They can help,” John said with cool satisfaction, “because they’re not regular pigeons, they’re homing pigeons. I’d bet anything if I let one of these birds out of that cage and shooed it out the open window, it’d guide us straight to Hawkins’s hideout.”

“You’re assuming he’s got a hideout and these birds would know to fly there.” Wyatt looked skeptical.

“What I’m assuming”—John crouched by the pigeons, studying them—“is that if three brothers lived within a few miles of each other and no one ever realized they were connected, they had to have a place to meet.”

“Sheriff Gatlin said they were seen together in Casper,” Wyatt reminded him.

“Yes, and the fact that no one mentioned them being brothers when they got together over there is all the more proof that they had some other way to communicate.”