Free The Last Death of Jack Harbin by Terry Shames Page A

way?”
    â€œHe’ll be along.”
    Somewhere along the line, talking to James Harley always makes me feel testy, and I’ve just about reached that point. “Well did you talk to him?”
    â€œI said he’ll be along. And you two need to vacate the premises.” He waves Dottie Gant and me toward the door. “We’ve got a crime scene here.”
    I’m reluctant to leave. I’m pretty sure James Harley hasn’t reached Rodell. Big surprise. And no telling what James Harley will do left to his own devices. Probably lie down on the couch and sleep until the ambulance arrives, and never bother to call the highway patrol.
    â€œListen here.” I step up toe to toe with him to make my point. “Jack Harbin has been murdered. It’s got to be taken seriously. Somebody needs to take pictures and collect evidence.”
    His face is flushed—he’s not happy with my interference. But he goes into the kitchen to contact the Texas Highway Patrol so they can send somebody to help out. When he gets off the phone, things are quiet in the kitchen. Then I hear him dialing the phone again. “This is Deputy James Harley Krueger from the Jarrett Creek Police Department. I just called for an ambulance on a homicide, and, uh, we need to hold off on that. THP will call when they’re ready for you.”

    When I get home, dawn is still a long way off, but the sky is pale gray, light enough to see. I walk down to the pasture and find that the cows are spooked, feeling the change in the weather. There’s one who always gets upset at any little thing. She bucks a couple of times when she sees me, to let me know things aren’t right. I talk quietly while I feed and water them, but it doesn’t help much, with the wind picking up and the scent of rain in the air. It’s going to be a long day.
    The whole while, I’m thinking, who would stand to gain by killing Jack? Was there an old score that needed settling? That tends in Woody’s direction. It’s hard to imagine Jack being a threat to anybody, but threats come in all varieties. And something else is bothering me. Bob was barely cold in his grave before Jack was murdered. Is there some connection between Bob’s and Jack’s deaths? Why did Benadryl show up in Bob’s system? Maybe Jack was right and Bob didn’t knowingly take it. Maybe somebody slipped it to him to knock him out. Who would be served by having them both out of the way? Curtis comes to mind. Marybeth will probably inherit half of Jack’s money, too, but between the two of them, I’d bet on Curtis.
    I take a shower to get rid of the smell of death I imagine clinging to me. When I’m dressed, dawn is just tinting the sky. This morning it’s a purple and pink sunrise, reflecting off the tower of clouds to the west. While I drink my coffee, I stand in front of a painting that I bought a few months ago. The artist is a young man, a boy really, who loves the land as much as I do, and who captures the deceptive softness of a storm approaching over a sparse field. I have come to appreciate it even more than when I first saw it, and it seems to fit with the storm I know is coming.

Worried that James Harley will leave important things undone, I return to Jack’s place to find James Harley out on the sidewalk with a scattering of law enforcement personnel. There’s a highway patrol duo and a tall hulk of a man, dressed in khaki pants and shirt with a wide belt and a cowboy hat, with his back to me.
    They all turn toward at me as I hobble up. The big man steps forward. “Well, I don’t believe my eyes. Samuel Craddock, what the hell are you doing here? I thought you’d retired.”
    â€œI might ask you the same thing, Luke.” I’m happy to shake hands with Luke Schoppe. The “wheel” badge on his shirt tells me he’s still with the Texas Rangers. If he’s been brought in to