St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

come-to-Jesus talk with the sheriff, he agreed to stay out of our way.”
    “You sure of this?” Zach asked.
    “No.”
    “Hold.” He turned to the pilot. “Is there a Beaver Tail Ranch close by?”
    The pilot looked at the land and pointed into the distance. “Up ahead where the dead trees are.”
    Zach went back to the phone. “I trust somebody at St. Kilda took apart the state of Nevada to see where Crawford put the fix in?”
    “The governor owes Crawford,” Faroe said. “So does a state senator and a few odd congressmen. So does the sheriff.”
    “Since when are corrupt politicians odd?” Zach asked.
    “The sheriff thought he was doing a favor for a wealthy man who supports the local law. Nothing unusual about that, in Nevada or anywhere else.”
    Zach swept the ground with the binoculars. The shabby ranch surrounded by dead or dying trees came into focus at extreme distance. “Have you heard anything about Garland Frost?”
    “He’s improving much faster than they thought he would,” Faroe said. “He’s even trying to give orders.”
    Zach smiled. “Good for him. He can be a real son of a bitch, but he didn’t deserve what happened.”
    “Child,” Faroe said, “since when has ‘deserving’ entered into life’s equation?”
    “Since—hold it.” Zach saw the light bar on the patrol car flash to life. “Cop car just lit up. It’s going down at the Beaver Tail.”
    “Keep her alive.”
    Easier said than done.

80
    NEVADA
SEPTEMBER 17
6:24 P.M.
    H i, Mary,” Jill said into her sat phone. “I wanted to make sure you were still awake.”
    “Working on it. How’s it on your end?”
    “Just got a wake-up call from the cop behind me. I’m slowing down and pulling over. I’ll leave the connection open.”
    “Watch yourself,” Mary said. “Friends are hard to find.”
    “Same goes.”
    Jill laid the phone aside. Now that it was happening, she wished she had more time. Something had been bugging her since the service station at Indian Springs, but she couldn’t pin it down.
    Later, she promised herself.
    The wheel bucked in her hands when the two tires on the right side of the Escalade hit rough gravel at the edge of the pavement.
    The cop pulled even, matched speeds, and used the loudspeaker in the car’s grill. “Follow me!”
    The voice sounded like Halloween in hell, but she signaled agreement and eased back onto the highway.
    “Okay, I’m not pulling over,” Jill said into the sat phone. “I’m back on the highway. He wants me to play Follow the Leader.”
    “Keep me in the loop,” Mary said.
    “Don’t worry. I’m feeling real talkative right now.”
    Jill picked up her speed again to match the officer’s. Two miles later, his brake lights flashed once in warning. She slowed as he did.
    The cop’s left turn signal came on.
    “We’re turning left,” Jill said. “Old gravel road, mostly dirt and weeds now. Buildings about a half mile away. Dead trees around. Could have been a ranch once. Or a resort. Or—”
    Her voice died as she focused on a battered, sun-faded sign next to the dirt road.
    “Okay, this is weird,” Jill said into the sat phone. “It’s a cathouse. Or was. The sign reads ‘Beaver Tail Ranch, Lots of Both Right Here. Y’all Come.’ The place looks like it’s been a long time between lube jobs.”
    Mary choked off laughter. “Anybody there?”
    “So far, all I see is me and the cop. Why don’t I feel good about that?”
    “Because you’re smart.”
    “Yeah?” Jill asked. “Then why am I here?”
    Mary didn’t answer.
    Jill didn’t expect her to.

81
    BEAVER TAIL RANCH
SEPTEMBER 17
6:25 P.M.
    S core watched the deputy park at the end of a row of rickety cottages whose doors opened onto the dried, rocky area surrounding an equally dry swimming pool. The pale, curving body of the pool was pocked by dark holes where tiles had fallen out. The dying light gave the cement a creamy glow.
    “Alert the ops in the barn,” Score called over his shoulder.
    A voice from another room called, “Yo.”
    Score watched the deputy go to the Escalade and circle his finger, silently telling the Breck woman to lower her window. Her words carried clearly from the bug to the headset he wore.
    “I don’t like this, Mary,” Jill said. “It looks deserted. And the deputy wants me to roll down the window.”
    “Your call.”
    “I wish.”
    Score grinned. He knew it was his call all the way.
    The deputy was a middle-aged man with buzz-cut hair