Death Rides Again (A Jocelyn Shore Mystery) (33 page)

“Did T.J. know?”

“Oh, yeah. Carl came to him with his offer for the land. The shit hit the fan at that point. T.J. didn’t have any money for the land or for anything else. So he had to tell Carl about the Zetas. Up to that point, old Carl thought T.J. had some fancy investors in his pocket, but he had no idea who they were. T.J. was very good at keeping his various dealings in separate silos.”

“Oh,” I said slowly. “So when Carl found out he hadn’t just double-crossed T.J., but a drug cartel…”

“Exactly. He panicked. He absolutely had to ensure that Double Trouble won that race, and he had to get Big Bender back before the Zetas learned what had happened.”

“And how was he going to do that?”

“T.J. would have been willing to trade the land and more back to your uncle Herman to get the horse. And you saw what Carl decided to do about the race.”

I shook my head. “And so he decides to shoot Big Bender’s jockey, but misses and hits Travis instead.”

“That about sums it up. T.J. stepped in to do as much damage control as he could, trying to implicate your uncle Kel and protesting the race results. But Carl had really messed up this time. There was no way to keep it from the drug cartel, especially with Carl’s own ranch hand Manuel also working for the Zetas.”

“So who killed Carl?”

“T.J. didn’t know who pulled the trigger, but it was certainly ordered by the gang. Manuel is the most likely suspect. For one thing, he would have been able to get your uncle’s gun without too much difficulty.”

“And today? Were they planning to kill T.J., too? Or did they really just want to talk with him?”

“There’s no way to know.” He shrugged, then squeezed my hand. “They didn’t plan on you being there, that’s for sure.”

“Or the lion,” I reminded him.

“Or the lion,” he agreed. “By the way, the sheriff called the folks who have the exotic ranch over at Llano, and they’re out hunting the lion with tranq guns now. With any luck, they’ll be able to capture him alive and find a real rescue zoo for him.”

I shifted on the seat again, starting to feel cold. “And did you ever find out who attacked you? Was it Carl?”

“It was T.J. I recognized him in the hospital today, although I don’t think he recognized me. I guess pretending his car was broken down was a pattern with him.”

“But his truck is black,” I protested. “You said the guy who attacked you was driving a white truck.”

“I’m pretty sure he has half a dozen trucks on that place of his, or he could have borrowed Carl’s truck for that matter.”

I frowned. “I was so sure it was Carl. Anyway, why would T.J. have wanted to hit you?”

“I never got around to asking.” He looked thoughtful. “I wonder if Ruby June wasn’t involved in all this a little more than we originally thought.”

“I think she was, but what does that have to do with it?”

He shrugged. “He was hiding her on his place for a reason. I was asking awkward questions and getting close. You do the math.”

“I’m really sorry. It’s my fault you were out there in the first place instead of somewhere warm and safe.” That little pill Ruby June. I was almost sorry I’d promised not to turn her in.

“No, not your fault. Maybe my own, for being so careless. But it was T.J. who had the tire iron.”

I held his hand, but then another thought occurred to me. “And what about those papers? I didn’t have time to look at the contracts and deeds, but Sheriff Bob’s name was on them. In fact, I really thought Bob was the one behind everything for a while. What was all that about?”

He just shook his head. “Bob was involved in some land deals with T.J., and somehow Carl found out. He probably took the paperwork as insurance, thinking he could hold it over either or both of them if he needed to. T.J. might have thought there were advantages to having a sheriff as a partner, but he was too smart to draw Bob into any of his shadier activities. It won’t look all that good for Bob if it gets out, but there was nothing illegal about it.”

“And Bob telling Elaine you’d gone to Austin?”

He grinned at that. “That was dumb, but he just didn’t want Elaine telling Kel what I was doing. He figured that Kel would want to go along and might be able to pressure me by using his relationship with you as leverage. It wouldn’t have worked,” he added.

“I don’t know. You don’t know my uncle Kel,” I answered with a grin. I thought over what he’d told me and added, “You know, between suspecting Bob and trusting Ruby June, I think I’ve been a gullible idiot,” I said finally.

“Yes, you are,” he said, his voice carefully light. “But not about that. What possessed you to break into Carl’s house? Do you have any idea how dangerous that could have been?”

He was angry and trying to control it. I met his eyes.

We stared at each other for a long moment. I could have become angry in return at his presumption in judging me, but I knew his anger stemmed from real concern. I could have argued or explained or justified. But I didn’t feel like it. Besides, it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway.

Instead, in my best Kyla imitation, I opened my eyes wide, batted my eyelashes, and said, “I solemnly promise never to break into a drug-dealing, jockey-shooting, goat-fucking son of a bitch’s ranch house ever again. Unless of course I need to.”

As though from far away, part of me waited in agonized suspense, instinctively realizing this—this insignificant tiny argument—had suddenly become a pivotal moment in our relationship. If he’d argued or stayed mad or become hurt, it would have been all over. He didn’t. He drew in one startled breath, and then gave a great shout of laughter.

He pulled me back into his arms and began kissing me again, exuberant, joyful kisses on my cheeks, on my forehead, on my neck, and on my nose. He followed them with passionate kisses on the lips, which I returned with breathless happiness.

When I could finally speak again, I pushed away from him and leaned forward to open the door of the Jeep. Darkness was almost upon us and a single glittering star shone through a rift in the heavy clouds. Drawing in a great breath of clean cold air, I realized that I was stiff, chilled, and happier than I had ever been.

“Where to?” he asked, looking without enthusiasm in the direction we’d come.

I reflected that Kyla was perfectly capable of packing my bag and driving my car, and it was less than three hours to Austin, where I had a warm house, a new bed with fresh sheets, and a fat poodle who would still be at the neighbor’s for another whole night. In other words, all the privacy we could want.

“Take me home,” I said.

Also by Janice Hamrick

Death Makes the Cut

Death on Tour

Acknowledgments

No novel is written in a vacuum (it would be far too noisy and the cat hair would stick to the keyboard). With all sincerity, though, I am deeply grateful to the many people who made this book possible.

My heartfelt thanks go to my editor, Matt Martz, for his sound judgment, impeccable instincts, and mad editing skills. I’m grateful to all the amazing people at St. Martin’s Press, including Justine Gardner, who copyedits with the eyes of an eagle, and Sarah Melnyk and Cassandra Galante, who have done so much to promote my work.

I’d also like to thank my amazing agent, David Hale Smith of InkWell Management, for his ongoing support and enthusiasm, and Kristan Palmer, who keeps us both on track.

Scott Montgomery, who is the best moderator ever, has my gratitude for making my book launch a roaring success, for throwing me softballs on panels, and for introducing me to so many marvelous books and writers. I’m also deeply grateful to John Kwiatkowski, Hopeton Hay, Douglas Corleone, Norb Vonnegut, and Martin Porter, who have been beyond generous with their time, support, and advice.

And finally, my thanks go to Cindy Marszal for reading those imperfect first drafts and talking things through with tiny hands.

About the Author

Janice Hamrick is the author of two previous titles in her award-winning Jocelyn Shore mystery series, most recently
Death Makes the Cut
. Her awards and nominations include a Minotaur Books/Mystery Writers of America First Crime Novel Prize, a nomination to be a Mary Higgins Clark Award finalist, and a nomination for the
RT Reviews
Reviewers’ Choice Award. She lives in Austin, Texas.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

DEATH RIDES AGAIN.
Copyright © 2013 by Janice Hamrick. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.minotaurbooks.com

Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein

Cover illustration by Ben Perini

ISBN 978-1-250-00555-7 (hardcover)

ISBN 9781250031570 (e-book)

First Edition: June 2013