happened a long time ago. I kept quiet about it. I should have told Susan and Tom, but I promised Mitch I wouldn’t.” She pressed knuckles against her cheek. “I shouldn’t have made that promise. Mitch could have been killed so easily. I still can’t think why he wasn’t crushed, the gun going off and Black Abbott rearing up above Mitch, eight hundred pounds of horse. Somehow Mitch flung himself backward and rolled away. I was up in the sycamore at the house. I could see the pasture and Mitch with his horse. Everyone knew Black Abbott could be spooked by a rabbit and the gunshot was close, so close, and Black Abbott went up—”
“We were all pretty good at climbing trees.” The lazy drawl came from behind Leon. Tucker Satterlee stood just below the landing on the stairs to the second floor. He was lean and muscular and tense in a black sweater and Levi’s and running shoes. He held a twenty-two pistol, aimed directly at Peg. He glanced briefly toward Leon. “That’s a nice big oak tree on the west side of the house, Leon. When I saw Peg’s car outside, I climbed up and pushed up a window and landed in your study. And here you are with pretty little Peggy, who’s hoping you can help get me hanged.” Tucker spoke without expression, his eyes empty. “Or do they punch you with a bunch of drugs these days? I don’t know. That’s not what I needed to know to run the ranch.” His face twisted in despair. “That’s all I ever wanted. I’ve done a good job. Everything’s up to date. The herd’s healthier than it’s ever been. I’ve made Burnt Creek better and better.”
Peg clutched at her throat. She was suddenly ashen. “Tucker, how you could hurt Susan? How could you?”
I hovered near the banister. If he lifted the gun suddenly, I had to move at exactly the right moment. Should I shove his hand toward the wall? From his vantage point on the stairs, Tucker looked down on Leon and Peg. Was Hal Price getting ready to make a move? For now, the police likely were waiting to see what Tucker might do, whether he would come down the stairs, be easier to reach.
Tucker hunched his shoulders. “Susan was dying. What difference did a few days or weeks make? If she’d lived another day, she was going to give the ranch to Mitch’s kid. When Mitch ran away, I was the one who worked the ranch, kept everything going. Then he was killed in Iraq and I was sure Burnt Creek would be mine. Who would have thought he had a kid and the kid would come here.” His eyes ached with pain. “Susan drank her cocoa and she didn’t hurt anymore. And the kid didn’t care. What was Burnt Creek to him? You would have taken good care of him.” His face twisted in despair. “You shouldn’t have brought Keith with you tonight, Peg. You really shouldn’t. He’s a nice little guy. He reminds me of Ellen. Not Mitch, but Ellen. Mitch killed Ellen.”
“You went after Kim to make Mitch mad.” Peg’s voice shook. “That’s why Ellen died. Because of you.”
“Ellen died because of Mitch’s temper.” Tucker’s reply was hot and angry. “I just wanted to gig him a little with Kim. How could I know he’d storm out of the party and drive like a fool? If he’d had any sense, he wouldn’t have gone so fast. Ellen died because of him. Not me. I never would have done anything to hurt Ellen.” Sorrow weighted his words.
“But Ellen died. And Susan. And Kim. You shot out Kim’s tire.” Peg’s voice quivered. “Tucker, you made love to Kim.”
Tucker’s eyes glittered with anger. “Kim said she’d give me the new will if I’d marry her. She wanted me and Burnt Creek and money to go to France and the Riviera. She’d already started planning a wedding trip. She deserved what she got.” His face was ugly with hatred. “She didn’t tell me there was a witness to the new will.”
Tucker turned the gun toward Leon. “That turns out to be your bad luck, Leon. I’ve gone through too much to lose everything now.” His gaze flicked toward Peg. “I wish you hadn’t come tonight. But”—and his voice was that of a man persuading himself—“you came here to try to get me in trouble. I wish you hadn’t brought the kid.”
Peg lifted her hands. “Please, Tucker. He’s only a little boy. Don’t hurt him.”
Tucker’s shoulders hunched. “I can’t turn back now. It’s your fault.” His voice was accusatory. “You brought him here.”
Leon’s powerful hands rested on the chair arms. With patience and care, he edged forward in his chair.
The barrel of the gun lifted. “Don’t move again, Leon. I can shoot fast. Remember? I can shoot you and Peg in an instant.”
Leon turned his work-worn hands over, as if in acceptance. “Tucker, you need to put that gun down. The house is surrounded by police. They’ll hear shots. They’ll protect Keith. You may kill me and Peg, but you won’t get away tonight. You’re all finished.” Leon dropped his hands. His left hand was about three inches from the magazine draped over his gun.
Tucker started down the stairs, his steps heavy.
I sensed Leon’s intention when his eyes flickered toward the magazine. Any instant now, he would move, grab his gun. I’d persuaded Leon to put his life on the line. It was up to me to make sure he didn’t lose it.
I launched myself, grabbing Tucker’s right arm and pushing the gun toward the wall. I screamed, “Help, help…”
The bedroom door slammed open. Detective Sergeant Price, gun level, plunged across the floor, shouting, “Police. Hands up. Drop your weapon. Police!”
I held on with all my strength, but Tucker twisted, jerked free.
I felt myself falling away. I managed a flip that would have been a ten in any diving competition and kicked his arm as he swung the gun forward. A shot rang out, thudding into the wall, splintering the plaster.
Johnny Cain, like a running back swerving around a tackle, thudded past Price. Johnny’s face was convulsed with fury. He ran with his hands out, feet pounding as he hurtled up the steps. Before Tucker could aim again, Johnny slammed him down onto the treads, one hand gripping Tucker’s right wrist, the other tight on Tucker’s throat.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I had one more task to accomplish if I could.
I’d last seen Susan’s will on Monday night in Kim’s purse, shortly before I went to the police station. When I returned to her apartment, she was leaving for the abandoned brick plant. I’d assumed the will was still in her purse. In the car the distinctive square envelope had not been in Kim’s lap or loose on the front seat. But the police didn’t find the will in the zipped purse retrieved from the submerged car.
Nothing in Kim’s demeanor when I returned to her apartment Monday night suggested that she had—in the very short amount of time I’d been absent—taken the will and left it somewhere outside of her apartment.
