Buzz jerked back as if she’d taken a swing at him. “How the hell should I know? I would imagine he took it with him when he left town.”
“How is that possible? You arrested him the day before for—” she made a show pulling out her list and checking it again “—poaching an antelope before opening season. If the rifle had been used in the commission of a crime, the weapon would have been considered evidence and confiscated under the law. So you must have taken it, right?”
Buzz looked worried. “No. Maybe Trace hid it. Or maybe I just forgot. I can’t remember. But if I had taken it, the rifle would still be locked up in evidence.”
“I checked. It’s not. Anyway, my mother swears that Trace had the rifle the next morning when he left the house to go hunting. A model 99 Savage rifle with his father’s initials carved in the stock.”
“You’d take the word of your mother?”
She studied him, feeling an icy chill at the malice she saw in his eyes.
Her mother had said Trace might have had something on Buzz he used as leverage to keep his rifle, but why the obvious hated for her mother?
“Was my father blackmailing you?”
Buzz went to slam his mug down on the counter but missed. The mug hit the floor, shattering. Coffee shot out in an arc across the tile, making a dark stain at his feet.
She saw he was shaking all over, even his voice. “Get out of my house. I’m done talking to you without my lawyer.”
McCall closed her notebook, put it and her pen away before she stepped back into the sunlight on the deck. Even the early morning sun felt good after the cold inside.
“One more thing,” she said sticking her head back into the house.
He seemed shocked she was still on his property and had the audacity to ask him another question.
“Did I mention Rocky Harrison found a human grave south of town on a high ridge from a spot where you can see the Winchester Ranch in the distance?”
Buzz didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t even seem to breathe. It wasn’t the reaction she’d hoped for but it was a reaction.
“What the hell does that have to do with me?” he finally demanded.
She shrugged. “When I know that, I’ll be back. Keep your lawyer’s number handy.”
LUKE COULDN’T HELP being distracted as he filed his report on the poaching incidents. Seeing McCall Winchester again had thrown him, especially since her visit to his uncle this morning had looked official and that worried him.
As he was hanging up from making his report, he got a call from a friend in the Helena Fish and Game office.
“Something going on up there with your uncle Buzz?” his friend George asked. “A deputy by the name of McCall Winchester has been looking into some of Buzz’s old cases. You know anything about this?”
Luke swore under his breath. “No, what cases are we talking about?”
“Mostly those involving a Trace Winchester. Any relation to the deputy?”
“Trace Winchester was her father. He disappeared before she was born almost thirty years ago.”
“Probably not strange then that she’s looking into those cases,” George said. “She’s probably just curious. But there were quite a few tickets issued. Her father must have been a real troublemaker.”
Luke wondered about that. He’d heard rumors about Trace Winchester but had figured the man’s exploits had been greatly exaggerated.
“Apparently,” Luke agreed, his worry increasing. He’d thought Buzz was acting strangely this morning because of Eugene’s arrest and the gambling trouble. Now he wasn’t so sure.
“I thought I’d let you know, anyway.”
“I appreciate that.” He hung up, wondering what McCall had wanted with his uncle. Why, after all these years, would she be looking into some old fish and game violations against her father?
More to the point, was she just fishing? Or had she caught something that could mean trouble for Buzz?
MCCALL COULDN’T SHAKE off the feeling as she left that Buzz was lying about something. She’d definitely rattled him.
While she was trying hard not to let her dislike of Buzz Crawford overly influence her one-woman unauthorized investigation, it was odd that he hadn’t confiscated her father’s hunting rifle. Odder still were some of his reactions.
The missing rifle seemed the key, she thought as she saw Red Harper’s pickup parked in front of the Cowboy Bar.
Red Harper, according to what she’d heard, had been her father’s former hunting buddy and best friend.
Red was one of those people born into a family with money and a good name. His father owned several farm implement dealerships across the state and had left Red a large thriving ranch north of town.
As McCall parked, she could see Red having an early lunch at the counter. If anyone would know what had been going on with her father the day he died, it should be his best friend.
The smell of stale beer and floor cleaner hit her as McCall entered the dim bar. It was early enough that only a few of the regulars were occupying the stools along the bar.
“Red,” she said by way of greeting as she neared his stool.
He gave her a nod, already wary. She assumed it was the uniform. According to stories she’d heard, Red had been a lot like her father in his younger days, both from money, both unable to keep trouble from finding them.
The difference was that Red had grown up.
Trace Winchester never got the chance.
“Buy you a beer?” she asked but didn’t give him time to answer as she motioned to the bartender to bring them two of whatever he was having.
“Mind if we move over to a table?” she asked. “I’d like to talk with you.”
He pushed away his plate, his burger finished, and got to his feet, although he didn’t look anxious to talk to her. “What’s this about?”
She took a table away from the regulars at the bar and sat down. Red reluctantly joined her.
“If this is about
