Abilene nodded. She’d bring Mercy down in the car seat and pray the baby kept on napping as long as possible. It was going to be a long day, and she had a terrible feeling that the answers they were all waiting on weren’t going to be good.

Chapter 25

Casey went downstairs with Abilene and the baby, the three of them joining the periphery of the scene in the kitchen. Vince, Miah, and Christine were seated at one end of the long table, talking quietly. Christine’s expression was calm, but her eyes were red and her hands shaky. Miah had a hand on her back, circling slowly, thoughtlessly, as the three traded empty consolations and theories about how Don could be anyplace—way out at the other end of the range, maybe, or who knew where. But Casey had seen the man’s truck in the front lot, as had they all, he bet. These weren’t words of comfort, merely words that gave the Churches permission to live in denial a little longer.

Casey kept quiet, standing by with his arms crossed, and Abilene set the baby in her rocker while she went to load dishes in the washer, her motions careful and quiet, respectful. Fragile.

Casey felt much the same. Felt too many things, and none of them good. Yesterday he’d felt remorse about his old life, because it had cost him what he’d found with Abilene. Less than a day later those sour feelings had turned downright poisonous. He felt as though he were standing on the other side of his own selfish choices. Standing in the kitchen that might’ve belonged to the family of some firefighter, maybe, had one of his arson jobs ever gone tragically wrong. The thought alone had his throat raw and his eyes hurting. He swallowed the feelings down. They had no place beside Miah and Christine’s grief.

The phone had barely quit ringing since Casey had arrived, and when it trilled yet again, Christine stood with a weary sigh. “I can’t ignore it forever, I suppose.”

Miah got to his feet. “Let me.”

She waved him away. “No, I could use something to do. I’ll be in the office, if any of the Sheriff’s Department folks want me. Or if your father turns up,” she added, then hit the phone’s TALK button. “Hello? Marian, hi. Hang on one second.” She offered the room a distracted, lame smile, then disappeared into the hall.

Casey eyed Miah. He was usually the picture of casual confidence, but he was hunched in his seat, fingers drumming his opposite elbows, feet fidgeting beneath the bench. Casey couldn’t think of a single decent thing to say, aside from, “Anybody need a drink?”

Vince shook his head, and Abilene didn’t even turn from her task. Miah announced, “I’d better go and check on the animals. I’ve got my phone if anybody needs me.”

Casey and Vince nodded and let him go. Abilene turned once he’d left the room, locking her watery, worried eyes on Casey’s.

“Come outside a minute,” Vince said to him, getting to his feet.

Casey followed his brother out the front door and down the steps. Vince paused when they neared a pair of stressed-looking ranch hands who were smoking at the edge of the parking lot.

“I’ll give you a buck for two of those,” Vince said to one of them, pointing at their smokes.

“It’s nothing.” The kid handed Vince the pack he’d had in his shirt pocket. Vince accepted it with a nod and led Casey away, to the quiet far corner of the lot, where he knocked a cigarette from the pack and slipped it between his lips. “Gimme your lighter.”

Casey hesitated, wondering if his brother would recognize the thing. “You’ve been free of those things for almost a year. You sure?”

“It’s a fucking exceptional day,” he said, cigarette jumping at the edge of his lips. “Now, gimme a goddamn light.”

Casey pulled the Zippo out, flicked it open, and lit it, letting his fingers hide the insignia. No point triggering memories of their father, not when Miah’s was so conspicuously absent. Vince sucked the cigarette halfway to the filter inside a minute, looking like a man who’d just surfaced from a long dive and tasted fresh air.

“Fuck me, I missed that.”

“I won’t tell Nita.”

“Or Kim,” Vince added, and slowed down some. “This is only a one-off.” He glanced inside the pack. “A three-off,” he corrected, and knocked out the other two smokes, tucking one behind each ear.

“Miah said something to me,” Vince said, ashing to the side.

“Oh?”

“That tractor Don was fucking around with this morning—Miah had put the ad out himself, a few weeks ago, looking to sell it.”

“Okay.”

“So some guy calls late last night, wanting to see it this afternoon. Short notice, and maybe they knew it was old and in rough shape and would need some looking over, first. Maybe the guy even knew it was in the barn.”

Casey nodded, catching on. “Because he’d snooped around in there himself already.”

“It’s possible. Maybe he even fucked with it, to be sure Don would have a hell of a time getting it running. Maybe he never even set foot in there today, if he was smart enough to rig it to catch fire, somehow.”

“Maybe.” Though Casey knew for a fact that that was some hairy, precision shit right there. And it didn’t explain why Don hadn’t been able to escape once the fire had caught.

“You say all this to Miah?”

“You crazy? His fucking father’s probably dead. Last thing he needs is conspiracy theories before the body’s even found.”

“True.” But he was with Vince, brain skipping ahead past the ugly truth yet to come, chasing answers.

“What else is on your mind?”

“It’s even possible this cocksucker picked today on purpose,” Vince said, “figuring most of the workers would be away from the bunks and the stables, watching the eclipse.”

Casey nodded, not liking how premeditated this was now feeling. And not liking at all how uncomfortably it echoed his own recent past. His so-called career. That regret that Abilene had wished he’d felt . . . Well, it was creeping in now, too real for his comfort, nagging and pawing at him with ragged, catching nails.

“You think somebody wanted Don dead?” Casey asked his brother.

“Do you?”

“I can’t think why. He had industry rivals, no doubt, but who the fuck would want to kill him?”

“Maybe they wanted something else,” Vince said. “Wanted to corner him, demand something, and maybe he couldn’t deliver it? I dunno. Though I do know Miah’s been bitching about how cutthroat some of the property scouts have gotten lately.” He finished the first cigarette, lit the next off the butt before crushing it beneath his boot.

“This is so fucking messed up,” Casey muttered, feeling frustrated and hot.

“We need to get you in there,” Vince said. “How soon can that happen?”

“Depends. They’ll be digging through it all soon enough. If they find . . .” He trailed off. He’d nearly said “a body,” but it felt far too cold. “If they find him,” he said carefully, “everything will grind to a halt for a few hours. They’ll investigate before they move the body,” he said, flinching inside, “but then they’ll take it away to be autopsied. They’ll mill around documenting everything for a long time, but eventually they’ll clear out.”

“Will anybody be left to guard the scene?”

Casey shook his head. “Unlikely. They’ll probably just put up tape, once the forensic people have made their sweep.”

“Then you go in.”

“Sure.”

“But don’t be a dumb-ass about it,” Vince warned through a cloud of Camel. “Don’t go leaving your shoe prints or a load of red hairs all over the place.”

“You say that like this hasn’t been my job for three years.”

Vince nodded, gaze on the horizon.

“I got no clue what I’ll find,” Casey said. “This guy could be a pro or a total hack. But I’ll do my best.” He didn’t hold out much hope, however. Fires spoke volumes about the way they started but didn’t tell you jack about who struck the match. Not unless the person in question happened to drop a business card on their way out. “I can tell you if it was started on purpose, but if anybody stands a chance at saying who by, it’s Miah.”