Free Something More by Janet Dailey

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    â€œShe’s here,” he repeated in surprise. “Why?”
    â€œShe came to claim the body, of course,” Ima Jane replied, mildly exasperated that he hadn’t figured the reason out for himself.
    â€œBut that’s my point,” Griff argued. “Why would she come to Glory when the body’s not here?”
    Ima Jane shrugged off the question as unimportant. The woman was here; that was what mattered. “She said something to Luke McCallister about wanting to see where the body was found. Don’t forget to watch the bar for me.” Turning the knob, Ima Jane gave the storeroom door an inward push. “I’ve got to find those old newspaper accounts of the robbery that we used to have hanging out front. You don’t happen to remember where I put them?”
    â€œThird shelf, back by the napkin boxes.” The old adage “A place for everything and everything in its place,” Griff regarded as a law. The kitchen and storeroom were his bailiwick, and woe to the person who didn’t put something in its designated place.
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    â€œWhat about you, miss?” Joe Gibbs addressed the question to Angie. “Were you ever told how much was stolen?”
    â€œNo.” Unable to eat another bite of the now tasteless food, Angie laid her fork down and reached for her coffee, needing to keep her hands occupied with something. “I do know the amount varied with each newspaper. But I have no idea which one was accurate.” She tried again to be the one doing the questioning and glean more information without being obtrusive about it. “You mentioned something about a shoot-out?”
    â€œYeah. That happened when the posse caught up with them,” Joe Gibbs explained. “The robbers started shooting as soon as they saw them. When the gun battle was finally over, two of the gang were shot up pretty bad. Both of ’em ended up dying from their wounds. Ike Wilson—your ancestor—was the only one of the bunch to survive and stand trial. And they hung him.”
    â€œDoes anybody know where this shoot-out supposedly took place? You said something about it being south of Glory.” Angie lifted her coffee cup with studied casualness.
    â€œIt was on Ten Bar land.” On that, the rancher was definite. Then he tilted his head to one side, frowning in uncertainty. “I always had the impression it took place only a few miles from the ranch house. Have I got that right, Luke?”
    â€œThat’s the way I always heard it.” Idly swirling the few cubes in his drink glass, Luke sat all lazy and loose in his chair, most of his weight tilted against a wooden armrest. His glance strayed briefly to the rancher when he answered, then came back to Angie, vaguely watchful and amused. “The story goes that, supposedly, old King McCallister—the founder of the Ten Bar—heard the shooting, got some of his boys, and rode out to join the fray.”
    â€œAccording to my dad,” Marge spoke up, “when King McCallister and his riders arrived on the scene, the tide of the battle turned in favor of the posse. But the railroad detective heading up the posse never gave him or his men any credit for it. He didn’t even mention King by name in any of his reports. Some of the folks around here were pretty upset about it, but King just shrugged it off.”
    At least now, Angie understood why she couldn’t recall the name McCallister being mentioned in any of the various accounts she’d read. “You didn’t tell me that any of your family was involved in the capture of the outlaws,” she said to Luke, her smile gently chiding.
    â€œThe fight was pretty well over when they got there.”
    Angie came back to her original question, still unanswered.
    â€œWhere did the shoot-out take place? I don’t think you ever said whether you knew its location or not.”
    â€œI guess I didn’t, did