Free Cry Me a River by Nancy Holder Page A

sell the farm, she’d have to find a place for HC. Grace couldn’t keep him in her suburban neighborhood.
    “I’m so sorry,” she said to the cow as tears welled. Then she heard the soft lowing of their new calf. Mama and baby had been separated to reduce the possibility of infection, but they were next door to each other in two pens near the back of the barn. Rhetta drank down her wine as she lifted the latch and went inside. Speckles had finished her most recent feeding of colostrum and was resting.
    “Poor little thing, poor thing,” Rhetta said as the little calf gazed up at her with sleepy, limpid brown eyes. Mae had named it Speckles. Speckles’s mama was Buttercup.
    The calf blatted, sounding almost like a sheep, and Rhetta began to cry. She laid her head against Speckles’sneck as the tears flowed freely and sorrow poured out of her. How could they leave here, ever? How could they?
    She cried for a long time, half expecting Ronnie to come in to check on her. She was glad he didn’t, but also disappointed. A chasm was building between them and she was too angry and sad to do anything about it except retreat a little farther every day, so that she wouldn’t fall in.
    Speckles nudged her tentatively, lowing, and she wiped her eyes and gave the animal a gentle pat.
    “We have to have faith,” Rhetta told them.
    Right you are
, Earl thought as he watched from the barn door. Holy Cow gazed at him; Earl winked in return. He’d be sad if they lost the farm, too. Not up to him what happened, but he liked to think he had his wings around this family. The Rodriguezes were part of Grace’s family, through love if not blood.
    He kept vigil until Rhetta fell asleep. Then he pulled a saddle blanket from the tack shed and draped it over her, cautioning Mama Buttercup to hold her peace. In her sleep, Rhetta smiled faintly, and Earl knew she was having a little conversation with her Father.
    Who was Earl’s Father, too.
        Saturday was supposed to be her day off, but after Doug picked up Clay, Grace drove over to the OK All Day minimart and walked up and down the street. Forensics was all done; the yellow police caution tape and the little evidence flags were gone. Based on the tape, Ham had tried to get a warrant to inspect the Sons of Oklahoma compound for a white truck at the same time that Grace and Clay had fallen asleep watching
Astronaut Farmer
.
    Ham called Grace in the morning to vent: The judge had turned down Ham’s request. Grace was indignant,and Captain Perry agreed that they should have gotten the warrant. But a cop was a cop and a judge was a judge, and for now they had to wait it out.
    Grace was not okay with that. She didn’t want to end the weekend empty-handed. All those forensics shows on TV might get things wrong now and then, but they were right about one thing—the first twenty-four hours of a case were the most crucial. You had a much better chance of closing it if you found something to go on in that critical day.
    So she was out fishing. She had her fingers crossed for good, solid leads that took her straight to Malcolm’s killer, although she’d settle for more evidence that would snag them a warrant. Grace had a mental list of what they had so far: Rhetta had taken those sweet tire track impressions, but she hadn’t picked up any on the actual street Malcolm had died on. That didn’t mean there weren’t any, just that she hadn’t lifted them. Rhetta also hadn’t weighed in yet on the rooftop situation.
    As far as the department knew, they had obtained all the pertinent surveillance tapes from the minimart cameras; and while they proved that the white truck was in the vicinity, they didn’t prove that it had actually run Malcolm over. That was the judge’s rationalization for turning them down. Grace thought that was bullshit; she’d gotten warrants on less than that.
    They could have had two vehicles out here
, she thought.
One to run him over, one to watch
. Maybe Sons had