Summer Breeze (5 page)

Joseph puffed until his Crosscut caught and then waved out the Lucifer. "Start with all the rumors and cast a wide net. A lot of folks hereabouts think that Miss Rachel's great-aunt Amanda Hollister might have killed the family. There was real bad blood between her and her nephew, Rachel's father, Henry. Near as I recall, it had to do with his inheriting the ranch and Amanda getting cut out of the will without a dime. "

"That's the story I heard, too, " David agreed.

"If Rachel had died with everyone else in her family that day, who stood to gain?" Joseph asked.

David squinted against an updraft of cigarette smoke. "Amanda Hollister. As the only surviving relative, she would have gotten this ranch lock, stock, and barrel and all Henry's money, to boot. "

"So there you go, a prime suspect. " Joseph spat out a piece of loose tobacco. "She definitely had motive. Maybe she's been keeping her head down the last five years because all the evidence pointed so strongly at her. "

David thought about it for a long moment. Then he said, "Too obvious. In the short time I've been marshal, I've learned that the obvious answer is seldom the right one. "

"I hear you. The woman would have had to be crazy to think she could get away with it. But maybe crazi-ness runs in the family. " Joseph hooked a thumb toward the house. "Folks blame Rachel's strangeness on her getting shot in the head, but maybe she was a little off-plum before it happened. "

"Maybe. " David exhaled smoke and flicked away ash. "Sort of like red hair running strong in the O'Shannessy family?"

"Yep. Only with the Hollisters, it could be lunacy. " Joseph studied the glowing tip of his cigarette. "There again, we could be sniffing up the wrong tree. It's no secret hereabouts that Jebediah Pritchard hated Henry Hollister. "

"Jeb's spread is just north of here, isn't it?"

Joseph nodded. "And rumor has it that his tail has been tied in a knot for going on ten years.

Something about the flood back in seventy-nine altering the course of Wolverine Creek, leaving him high and dry without running water. "

"I remember that, now. The original boundary description between the Bar H and his ranch included the creek and some rock formations. During the flood, the stream moved but the rocks didn't. Jeb wanted Henry Hollister to do a boundary line adjustment to follow the creek, and Henry refused because he would have been forfeiting several acres of prime grazing land. "

Joseph pursed his lips. "If I recollect the stories right, Pritchard dynamited the creek a few months later, trying to redirect its course back onto his property. Evidently he didn't know what he was doing and only created a wide spot in the stream. "

"Beiler never proved it was Pritchard, " David observed.

"Who else had reason to care where that section of the creek flowed? It was Jeb. I'd bet money on it. "

Jebediah Pritchard was a mean-natured, hostile man with an irrational streak rivaled only by his cowardice and body stench. His three grown sons, Hayden, Cyrus, and Alan, were apples that hadn't fallen far from the tree. When Joseph encountered a Pritchard in town, he stayed upwind and watched his back.

"I thought Henry Hollister channeled water from the creek into a big pond on Pritchard's property, " David said. "That strikes me as being a fair compromise on Henry's part. "

"More than fair. But what if Hollister had up and died, and his heir wasn't as generous? Pritchard would have been left with only a well to water his stock and crops. Maybe he decided to get rid of the whole Hollister family with the hope that he could convince Henry's aunt to sell. She'd already purchased a smaller spread on the other side of town, and she was getting up in years. She might have been glad to take

the money and have the responsibility of this ranch off her hands. "

Warming to the possibilities, David inserted, "Only the bullet glanced off Rachel Hollister's skull, and she didn't die like he'd hoped. "

"Exactly. And even worse, she woke from the coma crazier than a loco horse, and never stepped foot outside from then on. Pritchard could never get another shot at her. I've heard tell that he's tried to buy this place several times since the massacre, but Darby's always refused out of hand, knowing Miss Rachel wouldn't agree. That being the case, what's Pritchard to do? He's back to where he started, needing to get shut of Rachel. Only he can't get at her without getting rid of Darby first. "

David flashed a grin. "You ever contemplate becoming a lawman? You think like a criminal. "

"No, thanks. " Joseph chuckled and bent his head to grind out his cigarette under his heel. "I like ranching just fine. "

"Any other suspects you can pluck out of your hat?"

Joseph considered the question. "All the neighboring property owners, I reckon. Couldn't hurt to question a few of their hired hands as well. This is prime ranchland. With Darby out of the picture, Miss Rachel would go broke in no time and be forced to sell, leaving someone to pick up this place for a little bit of nothing. "

"You've just pointed a finger at yourself, big brother. "

Joseph laughed again. "I reckon I did, at that. That's the trouble with casting a wide net. A lot of people fall

under suspicion. Take Garrett Buckmaster, for instance. Even though his land is across the road and a little to the north, I believe he's made a couple of offers to buy this place over the last year.

He strikes me as being a decent man, but he has no running water at his place, either. Stands to reason you should look at him real close. "

David pinched the fire off his cigarette and tucked the butt into his pocket. "I guess I'll-be a mite busy tomorrow. "

"You mind having some company? I'd like to go along when you question everyone. "

"Who'll look after Miss Rachel?"

"You can ask Ace to come over and spell me for a while. "

David lifted a shoulder. "I'm not chomping at the bit to face Jeb and his boys alone. They're a shifty lot. "

"That settles it, then. I'll ride along with you. "

David tugged his hat low over his eyes. With a nudge of his heels, he set his horse to moving.

"Tomorrow, then, " he called over his shoulder.

Joseph watched his brother ride off. Then, whistling under his breath, he headed for the bunkhouse, where he hoped to find a lantern. He needed to put up his horse for the night and do Darby's chores, the first on the list milking those cows that were bawling so persistently. Making his way through an unfamiliar barn and barnyard would be easier with light to see by.

Joseph had just ripped away the outside boards from what he guessed to be a bedroom window at the front of the Hollister house when he felt something

nudge his leg. He glanced down to see his dog standing there.

"What in Sam hill are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay home. "

Buddy gave an all-over wag to convey his pleasure at being with his master again. It was difficult for Joseph to scold when he felt equally glad of the company. "All right, " he said gruffly. "I'll let it go this time. But after this, when I tell you to stay put, I expect you to stay put. "

Buddy worked his jaws and made the growling sound.

"Don't give me any sass, " Joseph replied. "Who's the boss of this operation anyhow, you or me?"

Shit.
The window was latched closed from the inside. Joseph pushed on the lower sash with all his might, but nothing happened. Resting an arm on the exterior sill, which was rough with peeling paint, he considered his options. To get inside, he would have to break the glass. Given the fact that it was colder than a witch's tit outside, he decided that it would be worth the expense.

When Darby was back on his feet, Joseph would replace the pane, no harm done.

Decision made, he drew back his elbow and struck the glass. The thick leather of his jacket sleeve protected him from the shards. A few more elbow jabs finished the job.

"Back, " he ordered his dog. When Buddy had retreated to a safe distance, Joseph brushed the fragments from the outside ledge, then swept the ground with the edge of his boot, piling the glass off to one

side of the window. "I don't want you getting your paws cut. "

The window had been boarded up on the inside as well, Joseph realized as he groped the opening.

Madness.
One layer of wood over the windows wasn't enough to satisfy the woman? Standing at ground level, Joseph couldn't butt the planks with his shoulder to break them loose. Fortunately, he always carried a few tools in his saddlebags.

Within moments, Joseph had set to work with a crowbar to loosen the one-by-fours from the inside casing so he could knock them free. He winced at the racket each time a board fell into the room, but there was no way to do this quietly. He had forewarned Rachel Hollister of his intention to enter her house, so hopefully she wouldn't be too alarmed by the noise.

When the window opening had been divested of barriers, Joseph fetched the lantern, his bedroll, and his saddlebags from where he'd placed them on the ground. After thrusting all his gear through the window, he turned for his dog.

"Come here, you willful mutt. Let's get in out of this dad-blamed wind. "

Buddy made the growling sound that Joseph found so endearing. He gathered the silly canine into his arms and gave him a toss through the window. Agile and sure-footed, Buddy was soon bouncing around inside the room, his nails clacking on the floor. Bracing a hand on the sill, Joseph swung up, hooked a knee over the ledge, and eased himself through the opening. A musty, closed-up staleness greeted his nostrils.

After locating his gear, Joseph struck a match and

lighted the lantern. The lamp's golden glow illuminated a bedroom that looked as if its occupants had departed only that morning. A woman's white nightdress had been flung across the foot of the made-up bed, which was covered with a blue chenille spread and ruffled shams that matched the tiny flowers in the wallpaper. The armoire door stood ajar to reveal a man's suit and several white shirts, the remainder of the rod crowded with a woman's garments.

Upon closer inspection, Joseph saw that a thick layer of dust coated everything. He guessed that this must have been Henry and Marie Hollister's bedroom, and he felt like an interloper. A Bible on the night table lay open, a thin red ribbon angled across one page. Recalling the family's tragic end, he could almost picture Mr. and Mrs. Hollister rising to greet the day, never guessing that it would be their last.

"Come on, boy, " he said to Buddy. "I'm getting the fidgets. "

Joseph's fidgets worsened when he stepped out into a long hallway. A small parlor table, standing against the end wall, sported a vase filled with yellowed, disintegrating flower stalks. Judging by what remained of the leaves and the faded blossom pieces that littered the tatted doily, the flowers had once been irises. It gave him chills to think that Marie Hollister had probably cut the flowers and put them in water right before she died.

Holding the lantern high, Joseph continued along the corridor. He considered calling out to identify himself, just in case all the noise of the breaking glass and falling boards had upset Rachel Hollister. But what

more could he possibly say? Before coming inside, he'd rapped on the door three times, once to introduce himself and tell her about Darby's injury, again to inform her that he'd done the chores, filled her wood box, and left two buckets of milk on the porch, and finally to tell her that he was going to enter the house by a front window. Even though she hadn't responded, he'd also explained his reason for being there, namely that Darby had asked him to come over and look after her. If all of that hadn't settled her nerves, nothing would.

He stopped briefly when he came upon what appeared to be a sewing room. The sewing machine was missing, but a half-made dress lay over a table, and an open closet revealed a nude dress form surrounded by lengths of lace and decorative trim looped over wooden pegs.

A little farther up the hall, he found a library. Tall rectangles of lightness in the pine-planked walls told him that several bookcases had been removed. Those that remained were only partially filled with what looked like tomes on animal husbandry and agriculture. Normally Joseph's interest would have been piqued, but tonight he hurried away, still unable to shake the feeling that the essence of the people who had lived here still lingered.

Deep in his heart of hearts, Joseph believed in ghosts. It wasn't something he'd ever talked about with anyone, but the belief was there within him. To his way of thinking, he couldn't very well believe in God and life everlasting without believing in spirits. So far, he'd never come nose to nose with a ghost,

thank God, but there had been times in his life, like right now, when the hair on his arms had stood up.

He hurried to the end of the hall, his nerves leaping when Buddy suddenly growled. He tried to remind himself that Buddy
always
growled, but this was different, not a conversational sound but more a snarl of warning. What looked like a large sitting room opened to his right. Swinging the lamp high, he saw that some of the furniture was missing. It looked as if someone had absconded with the sofa, at least one chair, and a couple tables.

As Joseph moved on, his shoulder brushed against the wall, and a picture tipped sideways. The scraping sound startled him, and his skin felt as if it turned inside out. When he reached to straighten the frame, light washed over the photograph. A beautiful young girl stared back at him.

Covered from chin to toe in dark muslin, her hair a cloud of light-colored ringlets around her thin shoulders, she looked to be about ten years old. She sat primly on a hassock, her folded hands resting on her lap. She had delicate features and large, expressive eyes, which he guessed to be blue given the lightness of her hair. Rachel Hollister, possibly? The younger daughter had never lived to see her sixth birthday.

Lamp still held high, Joseph stepped through an archway to his left and finally found himself in the dining room, which Darby had told him adjoined the kitchen where Rachel Hollister lived. A large window, which once looked out over the side yard, had been boarded up from the inside, the lace curtains over the planks gone dingy with age. A Louis XV sideboard graced one wall, the elaborate grape motifs on the doors reminding Joseph of the furnishings he'd seen as a boy in San Francisco. Surrounded by ten high-backed chairs, a long, marble-topped table, dulled by a layer of grime, sat at the center of the room. The ornate silver candelabra that had served as a centerpiece was draped with cobwebs, the once white tapers leaning this way and that.