Free Dear Crossing by Marjorie Doering Page A

know of around here who drives a silver Lexus.”
    Neil piped up. “You’re sure the biker arrived in Davis’s car?”
    “Yeah. Why? What’s the big deal?”
    “Don’t you get it?” Greg Speltz sniped. “They think your biker might be connected to what happened to Davis’s wife.”
    His father’s jaw dropped. “You serious?” He spat on the oil-stained floor and turned back to Ray. “Imagine that…Paul Davis bringing his wife’s killer into town. You suppose they were in it together?”
    “We don’t know who this biker is let alone what he was doing here. He could have nothing to do with it at all. Right now, this is nothing more than a routine inquiry.”
    “Gotcha,” Burt said in a ‘wink wink’ tone of voice. “I’ll keep it under wraps.”
    “We’d appreciate that.” Warranted or not, Ray knew Burt Speltz had already convicted Paul Davis in the time it took to pop a hood, and nothing he could say would change that.
    “Did they seem to know each other?” Neil asked.
    “Couldn’t say. It was just a quick drop-off. No wonder, huh? I don’t imagine Davis wanted to be seen with the guy.”
    “We’re not accusing anyone of anything at this point,” Neil reminded him.
    “Keep this to yourself for now,” Ray reminded him.
    “Said I would, didn’t I?”
    Yeah, right.
    “Hey,” Burt said, “check with Harry Schuster. After the kid helped me load his bike on my wrecker, he had me drop him off on the road in front of the motel. Could be he stayed there.”
    “Thanks,” Neil said. “We’ve done that.”
    Ray headed outside. “Neil, let’s go.”
    Neil hung back, checking out the Honda’s sound system. “Alpine?” he asked Greg Speltz. “Bose?”
    “JL,” Greg said.
    “JL. Great system. Sounds awesome. Hey, Greg, next time you hear from Keith, tell him I said ‘hi,’ would you?”
    Ray’s voice carried into the bay from outside. “Neil, get a move on. We just got a call.”
    Neil broke into a long-legged lope and slipped into the car. “What’s going on?”
    “I’m not sure.” Ray floored the accelerator, speeding out of the lot. “All Irene could tell me was that we’re needed at Hank Kramer’s place ASAP.”

12
    Turning into the farm’s driveway, Ray and Neil saw Dr. Lewis, one of two local veterinarians, pacing beside Hank Kramer’s empty pickup. The man was clearly frantic. The squad car skidded to a stop, barely avoiding him as he raced toward them.
    The vet poked his flushed face through the open passenger window. “Thank God. I thought you’d never get here.”
    Ray stepped out, speaking to the man over the roof of the car. “What’s going on?”
    Failing to get the vet’s attention, Neil gave his door a gentle push into the man’s legs. “Excuse me, Doc. Would you move aside so I can get out?”
    Startled, Dr. Lewis lurched backward. “What? Oh. Sorry.”
    Ray asked again, “What’s the problem?”
    From the direction of the barn, a bellow ripped through the pungent farm air.
    “That.” Dr. Lewis pointed toward the weather-beaten barn. “Hank’s bull is in there.”
    “You’re talking to a city boy,” Ray said. “Isn’t that where it’s supposed to be?”
    “Normally it would be in the pasture, but I was coming to do an exam, Hank said he’d pen it up in the barn for me.”
    “And the problem is…?”
    “It’s loose, and I think Hank’s inside.”
    “You think or you’re sure? Maybe he’s out in the pasture or in one of the outbuildings.”
    “When I opened the barn door to look for him, the bull charged me. I only had a second, but I got a glimpse of something on the floor.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I think it was Hank. You’ll see something’s wrong if you check in his truck.”
    The black pickup sat parked several yards away, fresh logos adorning both doors. “Kramer’s Dairy” was painted in neat lettering on either side above a picture of a Holstein cow. Ray rushed to the vehicle. The grocery bag’s meager