Ten-Gallon Tensions in Texas: A Kate on Vacation Mystery (The Kate on Vacation Mysteries Book 3) (4 page)

“Hey, José,” Skip said as he nudged Joellen toward the crowd.

José’s arm shot out to block her way. “Nobody leaves just yet.”

“Oh, she wasn’t here when the crime was discovered,” Skip said. “She got past me when I was tryin’ to keep the crowd back.”

Joellen was now patting the tears off her cheeks with her fingertips. “I’m sorry, Skip. I shouldn’t a done that. Don’t know what got into me.”

“Where’s the body?”

“Over there, José.” Skip pointed toward the booths at the far end of the room.

“It’s Sheriff Gutierrez now.”

“Oh, sorry,” Skip said. “Hey, that’s great. How long have you been sheriff?”

The sheriff took off his Stetson with one hand and ran the other through his straight black hair, then resettled the hat on his head. He’d always been a short, stubby guy but Skip noted the ripple of muscles in the tanned arms extending from his short-sleeved, uniform shirt. Looked like his old buddy had been working out.

“Look, we’ll catch up later, okay?” José said in a low voice. “I got a little thing called a murder to investigate here.”

“Sorry again.” Skip lowered his own voice. “Guess I’m a little rattled.”

And a little drunk.

“Understandable,” José said. “Did you find the body?”

“Yes, sir.”

José’s lips quirked up on the end. “Ya gonna salute me next?” he whispered.

Skip turned his back to the crowd and flashed a quick grin. “I was a Maryland State trooper for eleven years. Force of habit to ‘sir’ my su-per-iors.” He drew out the last word.

José started to roll his eyes, then caught himself. He let out a low groan instead and turned toward the door. “Okay, everybody out. You too Joellen but don’t leave yet.” He raised his voice. “Nobody leaves until one of the deputies has interviewed you, ya hear?”

Murmurs from the crowd as they begrudgingly dispersed.

“You got enough deputies to keep them all contained?” Skip asked.

“Yeah, one on each door. Uh, you need to go too, ma’am.”

“Oh sorry,” Skip said. “This is my wife. Kate, meet one of my buddies from high school, José Gutierrez.”

José tilted his head in a small nod. “Ma’am.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Kate said. “Just wish it were under different circumstances.”

“Amen to that. Ms. Canfield, would you mind standin’ outside the men’s room door and makin’ sure nobody comes in except my people?”

“No problem, as long as you call me Kate.”

“No problem, Kate.” A flash of white teeth against tan skin, then the sheriff’s expression sobered. “You touch anything?” he asked Skip as Kate went out the door.

Skip nodded. “Stuck my head under the door of the booth, to see if the guy was still alive. Had to hang onto the bottom of the door to keep from touchin’ the floor.”

“Let’s hope you didn’t smear any of the killer’s prints.”

“I doubt it. There’s blood all over his right shoulder and he’s slumped over to his left. Bet the killer stood on the toilet next booth over and shot him from above.”

“And you’re sure it’s Sam Beauford, and that he’s dead?” the sheriff asked.

“Oh yeah, on both counts.” He blinked, trying to rid his mind of the image of Sam’s knobby knees sticking up from the jeans puddled around his feet. He’d had to force himself to reach in and check for a pulse behind those knees. The man’s skin had already been clammy, the cooling of the body accelerated by the aggressive air conditioning in the building. Skip suppressed a shudder.

“Hey, turn around,” José said.

Confused, he complied.

“You got blood in your hair.”

Skip reflexively reached for the back of his head. José knocked his hand aside.

“We’re gonna have to cut that section out and analyze the blood.”

Skip’s heart rate kicked up a notch. “I’m not a suspect, am I?”

José gave him a hard look. “Everybody here is a suspect at this point.”

Skip knew that made sense but he’d been hoping for a little more reassurance than that from his old buddy.

~~~~~~~~

At one in the morning, Skip was sitting in the only interview room at the county sheriff’s office.  José had let Kate go home, but he’d been cooling his heels for the last hour out in the waiting area while others were being interviewed.

He’d already given José a run-down of the evening from his perspective, so he was wondering why the sheriff still wanted him here.

Maybe his old buddy wanted to use him as a sounding board. He knew the players but was enough of an outsider to see things more objectively. And he had law enforcement experience.

He hoped there wasn’t another reason, that he was a serious suspect. Yes, he’d had a run-in with Beauford at the party, but he was sure the man had worse enemies than him.

Unfortunately one of those enemies was his sister’s husband.

The door shoved open and José backed into the small room, carrying two steaming mugs. He turned and handed one of them to Skip. “Coffee ain’t half bad. My receptionist made it.”

“She’s here at this hour?”

José settled into the chair on the other side of the table. “She volunteered,” he said cryptically, then blew on his coffee and took a sip. “Hey, sorry about the bad haircut.”

Skip ran his hand over the back of his head. “It was getting too long anyway.” He was just as glad to have the hair gone. It was creeping him out that he’d dipped his head into the blood while trying to determine if Beauford was alive.

José took another sip of coffee, then let out a tired sigh. “You were right. Bullet went in the top of the right shoulder. No exit wound so it’s in the body somewhere, hopefully in good enough shape that ballistics can do something with it.”

José shook his head. His hair flopped down on his forehead. He skimmed it back. “Been sheriff for three years now, and I’ve never had a murder that wasn’t obvious who done it right off. Now I’m up for re-election and our most prominent citizen has to go and get himself killed.”

“How’d you get elected in the first place?” Skip blurted out, then thought better of it, hoping he hadn’t offended.

José grinned at him. “Old Sheriff Banks retired. My opposition was Willy Carlton.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, that was pretty much everybody’s reaction. I think the only people who voted for him were Sam and his cronies. He would’ve loved havin’ his own little puppet in the sheriff’s office.”

“And so Beauford, Texas got its first Hispanic sheriff.”

José flashed a grin. “
Sí, mi amigo
.”

“Any fingerprints on the partitions between the stalls?”

“Nothin’ but smears, but we did get a partial sneaker print off the toilet seat of the booth next door. If it’s the killer’s, which is likely, he stepped in some dirty water shortly before climbing up there.”

Something nagged at the back of Skip’s brain, but he was too tired to lasso it and drag it up front. He yawned. “Sorry. It’s not the company.”

“Keep that about the footprint under your hat for now.”

Skip nodded. “Of course. You need anything else from me tonight?”

“Yeah. Can you look over this list of who all was there? See if anybody’s missin’ that you know of. Janet should have your statement typed soon, from my notes. Check it over real good before you sign it. She does the best she can but my handwritin’ sucks.”

Skip recalled why his friend’s handwriting was awful. His elderly third-grade teacher hadn’t liked Mexican-Americans, and she believed that being left-handed was a sign of the devil. José had been forced to write with his right hand. The result was that by high school, he could write with either hand, in an equally indecipherable scrawl.

Skip was amazed the guy had made it to high school with any self-esteem at all. But they’d found each other, the two outcasts, and then Skip had shot up to six-five and was able to back the bullies off. He wondered now how José had fared once he’d left for college in the East. Neither was much for writing letters, and e-mail and cell phones were newfangled concepts at that time. They’d lost touch fairly quickly.

José pushed himself to a stand and extended his hand. “Maybe we can get together for a beer at some point and have a catch-up session.”

Skip stood and shook the proffered hand. “That’d be great. Let me know if I can help with the case. I’m a private investigator back in Maryland.” It was unlikely that José would utilize civilian help, but he figured he could offer.

The sheriff nodded and left the room.

Skip sat back down to examine the list of names. They didn’t seem to be in any particular order. He recognized about two thirds of them. The rest might be spouses, or people he hadn’t known all that well in school and had since forgotten their names.

When he got to Joellen Bradley toward the bottom, he paused, then skimmed back over the list. Nope, no Bobby Joe.

Out at the front desk, the receptionist was typing away.

Skip cleared his throat. She looked up and gave him a tired smile.

“You must be Janet,” he said.

“And you must be Skip.” She rose and held out her hand. “It’s great to finally meet you.”

Confused, Skip tilted his head as he shook her hand.

“I’m José’s wife.”

“Oh, yeah? Lucky guy.”

We really need that catch-up session.

Janet was pretty in a girl-next-door way. Light brown hair was skimmed back in a ponytail from cheeks made pale by fatigue. Dark lashes framed pale blue eyes.

“I don’t remember you from school,” Skip said.

“José and I met in college, at Austin. He talks about you a lot. You were like a big brother to him.”

Skip wasn’t sure what to say to that. Guilt gnawed at his gut. He’d been back to town several times to visit his family, but he’d always stuck close to home. He’d had no desire to run into Beauford and his crew. It had never occurred to him to look up José Gutierrez.

Finally he said, “We were pretty tight in high school.”

“How long will you be in town?” she asked.

“Through next weekend.”

“Good. We’re gonna have you over for dinner one night.”

Skip grinned at her. “That’d be great. Can I bring my wife?”

She smiled back. “Of course.” She picked up some papers on the desk and handed them to him. “Here’s your statement. Check it over and then sign on the last page.”

“Oh, we need to add something.”

He told her about seeing Bobby Joe Bradley in the men’s room earlier in the evening.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Good morning,” Kate said when Skip stumbled into the kitchen at nine-fifteen. She was glad she’d been able to slip out of bed earlier without waking him. It had been almost two by the time he’d come in.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled as he made a beeline for the coffee maker on the counter. He poured a cup and took a hefty swig. He brought his mug over and sat down at the table across from her. “Where is everybody?”

“Your mom took the kids for a walk. Do you know who the sheriff suspects?”

“No, who?” He gave her an innocent grin.

“Very funny. Your sister came over first thing this morning. She and your mom are worried sick that the sheriff is going to think Jimmy did it.”

“I got the impression that José’s keeping an open mind until he has all the evidence processed. Heck, he even implied that I’m a possible suspect.”

Kate’s throat tightened. “That’s not reassuring.”

Skip patted her hand. “I don’t think we need to worry about me, but Jimmy could end up in the sheriff’s cross hairs.”

A sharp rap on the back door. Skip rose and crossed the kitchen. Peering out through the sheer curtains, he said, “Speak of the devil.” He opened the door.

José Gutierrez stepped into the house. He pulled off his Stetson and nodded at Kate. “Mornin’, ma’am.”

Before she could answer, he said to Skip, “You got any idea where your brother-in-law is?”

Dread tightened Kate’s chest. She fidgeted with her spoon.

Skip gestured toward the table, then went to the coffee maker. “He’s not at the car lot?”

“Nope.” The sheriff pulled out a chair, turned it around and straddled it backward. “And nobody’s home at his house.” Skip handed him a steaming mug. “Thanks.”

“Suzanne was by here earlier,” Kate said. “She and the kids were headed over to the park to help set up for the picnic.”

José nodded and took a sip of coffee. “Does your mom still have your father’s .38?” he asked Skip.

“You’ve got a good memory. It was my grandfather’s initially. Daddy gave it to me years ago.”

“I’m assuming you didn’t bring it with you?”

“No. It went over a cliff a couple years back,” Skip said.

José’s eyebrows shot up. “Over a cliff?”

“Long story,” Kate said. “He was clinging to the side of said cliff after a killer ran us off the road.” She suppressed a shudder at the memory.

“I’d like to hear
that
story some time,” José said. “So you didn’t bring a gun with you?”

Skip shook his head.

“Your mom doesn’t have any pistols in the house?”

“No,” Skip said. “Was the bullet a .38?”

José looked glum. “Yeah. Only the most common pistol in Texas. I gotta track down all the ones in town and try to convince their owners to let me test them voluntarily.”

Skip snorted. “That’s a tall order. Want some help?”

“Too dangerous. No self-respectin’ Texan’s gonna turn over their gun to a civilian. Hell, most of ’em are gonna resist givin’ them to me, even temporarily.”

Skip shook his head. “And you’ll play hell getting a court order unless you’ve got pretty strong reasons to suspect somebody.”

Like Jimmy
, Kate thought, recalling the gun he’d put in his pocket before leaving the car dealership yesterday.

 “I could go along as your backup,” Skip said.

Kate studied her husband’s face.
Why is he so bent on getting involved?

“Tell you what,” José said. “You can check with Bobby Joe Bradley for me. His daddy used to have a .38 he kept under the counter at the restaurant. I stopped by there first thing. Joellen wasn’t there and the waitresses didn’t know what had happened to it.” He stood up. “And see if you can track down your brother-in-law.”