Jane stood on the porch with Sloan as he rang the bell. He was glad she’d come along with him. He’d always hated having to tell someone that a loved one was dead—but he hated the idea that they’d hear it on the news or through another source even more.
She touched his hand. “It’s been hours since you found his body. Do you think they know already?”
“Liam Newsome came by to speak with the family,” Sloan said. “As much as you seem to think I don’t play well with others, I keep him up on what I’ve discovered—and he’s a detective. I haven’t even actually seen Liam yet. Johnny Bearclaw and I were waiting for him to arrive with someone from the medical examiner’s office when I called, but then you went missing. Johnny waited at the scene, while I drove to town. Newsome came out here right after.”
“Then why are we here now?”
“Liam couldn’t get an answer. They’ve called a couple of times. Apparently, Caleb took Jimmy’s cell and Zoe, Caleb’s wife, is notorious for never knowing where hers is. So, Newsome had an officer come out, but he still didn’t find anyone home.”
“It doesn’t seem that we’re finding anyone at home, either,” Jane said. “Maybe they’re out of town. Jimmy was in trouble, wasn’t he?”
Sloan frowned. “Sometimes Jimmy works for the stables.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Heidi answered breathlessly.
“Lily Stables.”
“Heidi, it’s Sloan—”
“Oh, yeah, your name’s on caller ID. What’s up?”
“Did Jimmy come into work today?”
“No, the little dweeb was a no-show, and he didn’t answer his phone all day, either. That’s why I can hardly breathe. I’m hauling hay all by myself for the hayride. Is something wrong—something else? Wow. I went by on my third trail ride today, and an area near the old mine shaft was cordoned off. A guy in a county uniform told me just to take the trail group on by. What else has happened? Oh, God!”
Heidi was going to get hysterical and he couldn’t afford to listen right then. “Thanks, Heidi,” he said, and hung up.
Watching him, Jane stepped gingerly into the garden to look inside the house. She pressed her nose to the picture window.
“Sloan,” she said.
“What?” he asked, joining her.
“I see a handbag and a shawl on the little table in the foyer. There are keys lying next to it.”
Sloan figured someone had to be out by the stables and barns. It was a massive ranch. But the house was also set apart from the work buildings.
He tried the front door; it was locked. It was a solid wood door—slamming his shoulder against it for the next ten years probably wouldn’t break it in. He hesitated a bare half second, then drew his gun and shot the lock. If Jane was surprised, she didn’t say so. They entered the house.
“I’ll take the upstairs,” she said.
Sloan walked through the dining room, the kitchen, Caleb Hough’s office and cigar room, the pantry. Nothing seemed to be out of order. Maybe his instincts had been wrong. Explaining why he’d shot through a lock to get onto private property—when he’d gone there to tell a woman that her husband had been murdered—wasn’t going to be easy.
“Hey, Sloan!” Jane called. “Up here.”
He ran up the stairs. She was in Jimmy Hough’s bedroom. It looked as if there’d been a scuffle. Pillows were on the ground and the sheets were halfway ripped off the bed.
“But where is Jimmy now?” Sloan asked rhetorically. He felt ill; Caleb Hough had been a blowhard, but no one deserved to die the way he had. Jimmy was a good kid with the potential of becoming a fine man.
Jane set an arm on his shoulder. “This doesn’t mean he’s lying dead somewhere. Maybe he’s been kidnapped.”
“But the father is dead, so why would someone hold Jimmy?” Sloan asked. He turned on his heel.
“Where now?” Jane asked.
“The garage.”
He ran down the stairs and back to the kitchen. A door opened out to the garage. It was locked, but it was a thin wooden door and, that one, he did slam his shoulder against. The door gave.
“Carbon monoxide,” Jane said.
He swore. There were three cars in the garage. While he could smell the gas, it had faded, and he couldn’t see anyone. He strode quickly to the Mercedes Benz at the far end of the garage while Jane started with the Acura SUV closest to the house. They reached the ’57 Chevy in the center together. He yanked open the passenger side while Jane opened the driver’s door.
There they were, Jimmy and his mother—both looking as if they were dead. Covered in sheets like children playing at being ghosts.
They ripped the sheets off the pair.
Zoe Hough was in the driver’s seat and her son was in the passenger seat.
Sloan felt for Jimmy’s pulse. He found a flicker of life in the vein at the boy’s neck. Glancing at Jane, he was relieved when she nodded.
“Weak—but she has a pulse.”
Sloan pulled out his phone and called in an emergency.
“I’ll open the doors, get air,” Jane said. She rushed to the garage doors and, even as they slid up, Sloan saw cop cars coming down the drive. One was from his office and two were from county.