Free Cold Case at Cobra Creek by Rita Herron Page B

that.”
    A cutting look deepened the sheriff’s eyes. “Of course. I am the sheriff.”
    “Right. Have you made any progress on solving his murder?”
    “I’m working on it,” Sheriff Gandt said, “which means you need to stay out of my investigation.”
    Sage spoke up. “We’re just trying to find my son.”
    “Right.” This time Sheriff Gandt’s tone was sarcastic.
    A crime van rolled up, interrupting them, and Gandt’s mouth twitched with irritation.
    “You called them?”
    Dugan nodded. “I figured I’d save you the time.”
    The van parked, and two CSIs exited the vehicle and approached them.
    Gandt crossed his beefy arms. “If you know something, spit it out, Dugan. Because if I find out you’re holding back, I’ll haul your butt in for interfering with a homicide investigation.”
    Dugan gritted his teeth. The hell he would. “I’ve told you all I know.” He gestured toward the charred remains of the sedan. “Tell me when you identify the driver. I’d like to know who tried to kill me.”
    Gandt’s steely gaze met Dugan’s, a challenge in his expression. “Sure thing. After all, I was elected to serve and protect.”
    Dugan bit back a surly remark, took Sage’s arm and they walked back to his SUV. He had a feeling Gandt would have handed the shooter a gun if it meant getting Dugan out of his hair.
    But he’d survived a rough childhood, taunts about being a half-breed, other taunts about being a bastard kid. And then the fights as a teenager, when he’d defended himself.
    Gandt couldn’t intimidate him into doing anything. In fact, his obstinacy only fueled Dugan’s drive to get to the bottom of Ron Lewis’s murder.
    His phone buzzed, and he checked the number. George Bates at the bank.
    Sage slipped into the passenger seat, her expression troubled as she watched the firefighters finishing up.
    He took the call. “Dugan Graystone.”
    “Listen, Mr. Graystone, after you left the other day, I got to thinking about Lewis and that development and looked back into some foreclosures. Worst part of my job, but sometimes I don’t have a choice.”
    “Go on.”
    “There were two that troubled me. Two ranchers I threatened foreclosure on, but they paid me off at the last minute. When I asked how they came up with the money, neither one wanted to tell me. They just said they’d had a streak of luck.”
    “How so?”
    “In both cases, the ranchers were in bad trouble financially. I think they worked out some kind of deal with Lewis, that he offered to pay off their debt by loaning them money from his own company.”
    Money that he might have earned through another scam.
    “What happened?”
    “One of the men came to me complaining that when he got behind on the payments, Lewis took over his property. Said something about he hadn’t read the fine print.”
    Dammit. That fit with what Lloyd Riley had told him. If Lewis had a large party interested in paying big bucks for the property once he took control of it, Lewis could have turned a big profit by picking it up at foreclosure prices and then reselling.
    And Lewis would have given the men he’d conned motive for wanting him dead.
    “When Lewis disappeared, the ranchers asked me to keep it quiet that they’d been cheated.”
    A strong motive to convince Bates not to go public, to void the deal. Although technically, they would have had to go through legal channels, fill out paperwork, and look at Lewis’s will, if he had one.
    “Which ranchers wanted the deal covered up?”
    “I don’t want my name mentioned,” Bates said. “Bank transactions are supposed to be confidential. If folks think I talk about their private business, they’ll quit coming to me.”
    “I understand. Just give me the names.”
    “Donnell Earnest,” Bates said. “And the other man was Wilbur Rankins.”
    “Where are they now?”
    “Both are still here. When Lewis died, they refused to move, said they had reason to believe the deals weren’t legal.