Return to Oak Valley (27 page)

It was almost six in the evening when Acey and Maria arrived back at the house. Shelly was in the kitchen finishing up a tuna sandwich and a glass of milk when they walked in.

Acey frowned. “Didn't think I'd see you back here until after the dance tonight. Where's Sloan?”

Shelly shrugged. “I have no idea. He brought me home after the parade and left.” And that, she thought to herself, was an understatement if she'd ever heard one.

“He didn't take you to the rodeo?” Maria asked. At the negative shake of Shelly's head, she murmured. “What a shame. You missed a really great time. The kids are so much fun to watch. They are all so serious about competing and such good little riders and ropers.” She chuckled. “Today's sheep ride was one of the funniest things I've seen in a long time. The sheep were really bucking, and those little kids were hanging on for dear life.” She patted Shelly's hand. “Don't you worry—we'll go tomorrow again—you can come watch with Acey and me. You'll enjoy it. Especially at the end, when they turn the youngsters loose with an arena full of baby pigs, goats, chickens, ducks, you name it. The kids can keep whichever critter they can catch with their bare hands. It's a hoot—the best part of the rodeo as far as I am concerned.”

Acey was still staring at Shelly, the frown firmly in place. To distract him, she said, “By the way, when Sloan and I came home, Milo Scott was here looking for you.”

Acey's frown got blacker. “Scott, huh? Wonder what that dizzy bastard wanted—not anything good, that's one thing you can be sure of.” Acey pulled on one side of his luxurious mustaches. “Don't like the fellow, never have, never will. I sure as hell don't like the idea of him nosing around here—especially when no one was home.” He shot her a sharp look. “Did you check the place out? See if everything was OK?”

“Sloan did that before he left. What is it with you guys and Milo Scott?”

“He is a bad man,” Maria chimed in. “I know that Señor Josh was friends with him, but he is bad news.”

“Who's bad news?” demanded Nick, strolling into the kitchen from the mudroom. “Certainly not me.”

“That's debatable,” Shelly said with a laugh. “Were you at the rodeo all day?”

He nodded and, tossing his hat onto the coatrack near the back door, said, “I worked the chutes all the day—hot, dusty work, even if it's only sheep and calves and not bulls and broncos. I'm dying of thirst. Is there any beer in that refrigerator?”

“Of course. Help yourself.”

“I intend to,” he said, grinning, and proceeded to do just that. A moment later, slumped bonelessly in a kitchen chair with a tall cold bottle of Carta Blanca in front of him, he sighed blissfully. “Now this,” he said as he took a long swallow, “makes it all worthwhile.”

“When Shelly came back from the parade Milo Scott was here,” Acey said as he seated himself across the table from Nick. Maria placed a bottle of beer in his hands and, snagging one for herself, joined the others at the oak table.

Nick jerked up as if jabbed with a cattle prod. “What did he want?” he demanded grimly.

“He said,” Shelly repeated patiently, “that he wanted to talk to Acey. He also mentioned that he and Josh were good friends and that they often did business together—
mostly
based on nothing more than a handshake.”

Acey snorted. “That fellow can't say more than a dozen words without there being at least three lies in them. Why the hell Josh thought so highly of him still escapes me.” Shaking a finger at Shelly, he said, “You don't have no truck with him. He's a liar, a thief, and ten miles of ugly road. Yo u ever find him on the place again, you get a gun and throw him off. Don't listen to a word he says—it'll all be lies or half-truths.”

“You check the place out after he was gone?” Nick asked.

“Yes. Sloan did that.” Her gaze moved from Nick's face to Acey's. Frustration in her voice, she demanded, “Is someone going to tell me what's going on? What is it about this guy that sets you all off? I mean aside from the fact that he's a known drug dealer? Sloan acted like the Gestapo and insisted upon checking the whole place out.”

“Sloan was here?” Nick asked, curiosity gleaming in his green eyes. “Sloan, as in Sloan Ballinger? Hated enemy of the Grangers?”

“Yes. Sloan was here. He escorted me home from the parade.” She shot Acey a dark look. “Acey set it up, and I didn't have much choice in the matter.”

Nick whistled and glanced around the room. “Well, the place is still standing.” He grinned at Shelly. “I thought for sure that we'd all hear the crack of doom and the world would end if a Ballinger ever stepped foot in this place.”

“Tell me about Milo Scott,” Shelly said, not about to be diverted.

Nick looked at Acey and shrugged his shoulders. “Not much to tell,” he said slowly. “He's connected to the marijuana trade in the area—some say he's also a source of crack in the valley, and rumor also ties him to hard drugs in other parts of the county, maybe statewide. He pretty much keeps to himself and other like-minded people.” Nick grimaced. “Even here we have an element we could do without, and I'm not talking about your backyard grower. Lots of people grow marijuana in this area, but it's mostly for private use—a few people probably grow enough to pay their property taxes or put some extra groceries on the table, but nothing big-time. Scott is changing that, and, worse, he's got a nasty streak. If things don't go his way, accidents and bad things seem to happen to anyone who crosses him.” Briefly he related the loss of his bull, Sloan's colt, and the trashing of Cleo's place, as well as a few other incidents. “Of course, you can't prove anything, and that suits Scott just fine. I don't like him, I don't trust him, and he's probably more dangerous than anyone realizes.”

“Jeb already told me some of that, about the drug connection, not about the vandalizing or the loss of animals,” Shelly admitted, “but he told me enough to make me understand that Milo Scott wasn't the sort of man Josh would normally have had as a friend.”

“I figure,” Acey said, “that Scott paid off some, if not all, of Josh's gambling debts in return for that supposed friendship of theirs.”

“Why would he do that?” Nick asked, frowning. He made a face. “Never mind. I got it. The land. All those remote parcels of Granger land just perfect for growing lots and lots of little patches of marijuana.” He smacked his forehead. “Jesus! I should have put it together and tumbled to it sooner. When you put Josh's friendship with him in that context, it all makes sense.”

Shelly's gaze moved around the kitchen table, studying the intent faces. These people were her family. Oh, perhaps not by blood, except for Nick, but they were her family nonetheless. They had blindly thrown in their lot with her, and they deserved honesty from her and needed to know just how deep a hole Josh had dug for himself. Taking a calming breath, she plunged right in, telling them everything—the huge deposits, the sad state of the Granger finances, and the suspicion, slight though it was, that Scott might have had something to do with Josh's death…that it
might
not have been a suicide.

There was heavy silence when she finished speaking. Nick stared at his beer bottle; Maria studied the flat top of the table, and Acey looked off into space, pulling absently on his left mustache.

Acey started nodding a moment later. “Yep. That explains a lot. I knew things were bad, but not that bad. You don't worry none about paying me a salary—I got enough laid by to take care of my needs.” He glanced at her from under beetling brows. “And don't argue with me.”

“Listen, I don't have a lot of cash available—I've put most of it into my herd and equipment, but if you need it,” Nick said, looking at Shelly, “it's yours.” He smiled bitterly. “Looks like Josh will get his money back in the end.”

“I, too, have a little put aside,” Maria said quietly, reaching out a comforting hand to Shelly. “It is yours.”

Tears clogged her throat and burned her eyes, but she was smiling, albeit shakily, as she looked around the table. Her fingers tightened in Maria's warm hand. “Thank you,” she managed, “you don't know how much your offers mean to me, but our situation is not quite that grave. I'm not broke—yet. First of all, the land is owned outright, and for that I'll be eternally grateful to Josh, that he didn't mortgage it to Milo. The money, however, is pretty much gone, but there is still enough, I hope, for us to get Granger Cattle Company up and running—provided we don't run amuck and buy Cadillac pickups!”

“And here I had my heart set on just that very thing,” Nick teased. “A bright red one, with white leather interior. Yeah, the cows would have liked that.”

Acey snorted, but laughter gleamed in his eyes.

Maria looked reprovingly at her son. “Always you joke and laugh,” she said.

“Better than crying,” Nick said, and took a swallow of his beer.

“Nick's right,” Shelly chimed in. “We should be laughing. The land is debt-free, and after the cost of the Texas cattle is deducted, there's enough money to keep it running”—she made a face—“for a while without resorting to taking out loans from a bank.” She grinned at them. “And don't forget that I am, I'll have you know, an artist—people actually pay me money for my paintings.”

“What? Ten bucks a pop?” Acey growled, not being much for the arts.

“Hmm. Yes, that's about right,” Shelly admitted, her eyes dancing.

“Well, that sure as hell ain't going to add much to the coffers,” he muttered.

“Ten, Acey,” she murmured, “as in thousand…ten thousand.”

It took him a second to work it out. “Are you serious?” he finally managed, his expression thunderstruck.

She nodded. “Yes. I am. Believe it or not, there is a demand for my work. I've made a very nice living selling three or four pictures a year. Not a fortune, but enough.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Well, then,” he said, “if that's true, I don't see why Nick and I both can't have one of them red Cadillac pickups.”

Several hours later, as she was sitting at Josh's desk, she thought of Acey's comment and smiled to herself. She'd love to see the expression on that old devil's face if she were ever able to present him with such a thing as a Cadillac pickup.

Imagining his reaction to such an extravagant gesture, she chuckled and reached for the file she'd left lying on the corner of the desk a few days ago—too lazy to put it in the file cabinet at the time. It was a very thin file, and from what she had seen, had just been a place where Josh had stuffed odds and ends like magazine renewals and memberships in various organizations. As she picked up the file, intending to put it away, a sheet of paper fluttered out, landing on the floor beside her chair. Bending over, she grabbed it, and before shoving it back in the file, glanced at it, her eyes widening as she read the contents.

Well, well
, she thought, as she laid the document down in front of her.
Scott may have claimed that
mostly
he and Josh settled things with a handshake, but this document proves that they also put things in writing.
And it hadn't been there a couple of days ago when she'd first gone through the file—she'd swear on it. Which explained, she decided sourly, Scott's presence at the house today—he'd chosen a time when no one was likely to be around to place the document in a file—or rather place it in the file in such a manner that it would come to her attention.

She scanned the sheet of paper again. It was a copy of a simple lease agreement, stating that for the nominal sum of one thousand dollars, Josh Granger leased to Milo Scott, for ten years, several parcels of land adjoining the Mendocino National Forest. Her gaze dipped to the bottom of the page.
Josh's signature was notarized,
she thought,
but I see nothing on the document that indicates it was recorded in the recorder's office.
She studied Josh's signature and the date. Her heart began to thump. Josh had signed it the day before he committed suicide…

Chapter Thirteen

T
he date Josh signed the lease could just be a coincidence
, Shelly told herself, biting her lower lip. But she didn't believe it. She couldn't at the moment see how the lease alone could have precipitated Josh's suicide, if it had been a suicide, she reminded herself for about the thousandth time. Unless, Josh had somehow reneged at the last moment…

The marijuana industry was huge, and in Mendocino County, it was probably the largest cash producer, earning more, all of it illegal, than timber and cattle combined, the two main legitimate industries. If Scott had been depending upon that land in the lease to plant a crop of pot…and Josh had backed out at the last moment…She swallowed. Thousands of dollars could have been at stake and could have provided a motive for murder. But had it? Maybe everything had just come crashing in on Josh, she thought sadly. Maybe signing the lease with a drug dealer had made Josh realize just how far he had fallen. Maybe the lease had been the final straw and had pushed him over the edge.

The lease in her hand, she stood up and paced around the office. She could speculate endlessly and accomplish nothing. The first thing she needed to know, she decided, was if the lease was legal.
The signature was notarized, so that gave it some legality, but the fact that it had not been recorded…. Maybe that gives me some wiggle room.

She needed to talk to her attorney. Then she needed to let Jeb know what she had found. And dammit! It was nine-thirty on a Saturday night! Fat chance of reaching Mike Sawyer until Monday morning. Jeb would probably be at the dance tonight, but at the thought of searching through the mob at the recreation center trying to find him, she quailed. Sloan might be there, and, coward that she was, she admitted that she wasn't about to run the risk of bumping into him so soon after what had happened between them this afternoon. She sighed. It looked like she'd just have to wait to find out if the lease was significant or shed any light on Josh's death.

Despite all the activities going on in town, for Shelly, Sunday dragged. She smiled and clapped at the rodeo, cheered for the kids, laughed at the clown, and ate barbecued steak with some of Tom Smith's special spicy beans. No Oak Valley affair would have been complete without Tom's beans and Debbie Smith's Jell-O-and-fruit salad that they concocted for every community occasion (Tom was working this day at the rodeo grounds, having relinquished his spot in the kitchen in town). Tom had winked as he had served her a spoonful of the beans, and she had grinned when she spied the two tiny Tootsie Rolls he had slipped onto her plate. He was such an old dear. Having left a message for Jeb on his answering machine that morning, she kept her eye peeled for his big frame all day, but never saw him—or Sloan. For which she was grateful, she reminded herself firmly.