The Hidden

“I wouldn’t want to get on a bull, but I’m okay on horseback,” Diego told him.

Angus nodded, as if that was important. “Can’t trust a man who won’t ride a horse,” he said. “Can’t always trust the ones who do, but definitely can’t trust the ones who won’t.”

“Good logic,” Diego said with a smile. “We’ll see you later, and somewhere along the line, I’d love to go riding.”

“Good man—we’ll do it.” Angus said. “And I’ll do the guiding. Ben’s a great guy, but he doesn’t know the trails like I do. Born and raised in these parts. I can show you what needs to be seen.”

Diego thanked him, Scarlet waved, and they headed for the main house.

“What are those two buildings over there?” Diego asked as they walked, pointing.

“That’s the smokehouse,” she said. “It was left as is, but you could still smoke something there if you wanted to. The bunkhouse is set up so they can handle more guests than the main house can hold.”

“Was it occupied last night?”

“I don’t think so. You’d have to ask Ben or Trisha.”

“I’ll do that,” he told her. “So, let’s go meet the housekeeper and the remaining guests.”

“Linda’s probably around, but the guests may or may not be there,” Scarlet said. “They could have gone hiking or into town or something.”

As it turned out, everyone was at the house. They were all in the huge dining room that stretched the length of the left side of the house back to the kitchen, with a nice counter pass-through for whoever was cooking each morning—usually Trisha.

The giant moose head hung between the pass-through and the door to the kitchen. It was about eight feet up and seemed to rule over the room.

There was one long table, and breakfast was served family style, with big plates of fluffy eggs, bacon and sausage, and Danishes, bagels and breads of all kinds.

The weekends were a bit different, with made-to-order omelets on Saturdays, and pancakes or waffles on Sundays.

When they entered, everyone except Linda, who was probably working, was clustered at one end of the table. A large coffee urn sat nearby, along with cream, sugar and a plate of cookies.

Everyone was in jeans, except for Gigi and Clark, who wore sweat suits, but judging by the lack of actual sweat, Scarlet suspected they had intended to take their morning constitutional but hadn’t made it.

Like everyone else at the table, they looked tired and worried.

“Hello, there,” Ben greeted Diego and Scarlet as they came in. “Join us—we’re busy thinking about all the things we don’t want to do because we’re depressed.”

“It’s strange,” Gigi said. “I mean, we didn’t know the couple who were killed. We never even saw them, but...”

“But it feels personal, because it happened right here on the ranch,” Gwen said.

“And we didn’t even know,” Ben said.

“We didn’t hear a thing,” Trisha agreed.

“What were they doing up here?” Clark mused.

“How did they get up here?” Terry asked. “The police didn’t find a car.”

“There are hiking trails all through the woods,” Ben said.

Clark stood suddenly. “I’m sorry,” he said to Diego, offering him a hand. “We haven’t met. I’m Clark Levin, and this is my wife, Gigi.”

The others stood, too, and introductions were made all round.

“Pull up a chair—be depressed with us,” Trisha said.

“Thanks,” Diego said, pulling out a chair for Scarlet before sitting down himself.

Always courteous, she thought. But then, she knew Julia Lopez McCullough, Diego’s mother. And while she was the sweetest woman in the world, she had been an old-fashioned parent and had taught her son manners.

“Coffee?” Ben suggested.

“Sure, thanks,” Diego said, filling cups for himself and Scarlet.

“So you’re a G-man,” Clark said to Diego.

“A what?” Gwen asked.

“Government man,” Clark explained, grimacing. “I guess it’s not an expression anyone uses much these days.”

“What kind of a government man?” Charles asked.