I plucked the file from the cabinet, settled into the luxurious comfort of the red leather sofa.
My eyes widened as I read the neat printing on the outside of an envelope appended to some kind of legal document: Enclosed within is Walter Carey’s admission of guilt in obtaining Georgia Hamilton’s signature to the sale of mineral rights to the Hamilton ranch with the intention of skimming a portion of income.
The simple sentence was followed by a legal description of the property. I opened the envelope, slipped out a piece of white stationery. This, too, was handwritten.
On April 16, 2005, knowing that Daryl Murdoch was out of town, I took a mineral deed to Georgia Hamilton and told her I was there on Daryl’s behalf. I told her the mineral deed was an oil-and-gas lease covering the mineral rights to Hamilton ranch for a one-eighth royalty. Actually, it was a deed by which she sold all of the mineral rights to Horizon Development Corporation.
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I knew she was unable to read the contract because of macular degeneration. As the agent for Horizon Development, I leased the rights to Monarch Drilling for a three-sixteenths royalty. I kept half the bonus money that Monarch paid up front for the lease, and sent half to Mrs. Hamilton. When royalty income came in, I sent her a portion. I created fake royalty reports which I mailed to Mrs. Hamilton in an envelope with the letterhead of Murdoch and Carey.
Walter Carey
A second sheet contained the brusque notation: All mineral rights held by Horizon Development to the Hamilton Ranch reverted to Georgia Hamilton on October 18, 2007.
Walter Carey
Authorized Agent Horizon Development My eyebrows rose. Not at the confession. I knew there had been chicanery and any Oklahoman knows that mineral rights can spell big money if the land overlies an oil-and-gas deposit.
The dates shocked me.
I was on the earth in the twenty-first century, quite a long time after Bobby Mac and I started out on our last big fishing trip. My, how time had flown, but of course there is no time in Heaven. In the everlasting communion of all souls and all saints, I enjoyed the presence of souls from all ages without the limitations of the temporal world. Still, the twenty-first century . . .
No wonder so many inventions were unfamiliar.
I wondered how Daryl had discovered his partner’s double-dealing.
Perhaps Mrs. Hamilton spoke to him of the oil-and-gas lease she thought she’d signed. Daryl knew he hadn’t arranged for either the 153
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lease or sale of the mineral rights. It probably didn’t take him long to discover the truth about Horizon Development, resulting in a confrontation with Walter and that cell-phone photo of a man in despair.
I returned the confession and the rights reversion to the envelope, but I didn’t clip it to the document. I closed the folder, placed it in the g–i drawer. I still held the envelope.
A check of the windows revealed that they were solidly implanted within their frames. I couldn’t raise a window, loosen a screen, and tuck the envelope there for later retrieval. The windows, walls, and door afforded no difficulty for my passage, but the envelope simply couldn’t—
Patricia’s brisk voice caught me by surprise.
I looked toward the door. It was opening. “. . . no one’s been here, Chief Cobb, but I’m happy to show you.” The envelope dangled in the air. I dropped to the floor, the envelope darting down. I slid the envelope beneath the edge of an Oriental rug atop the red carpet.
“. . . told Mrs. Murdoch I would check the office to make sure everything was all right.”
Patricia Haskins drew herself up. “Is there any reason why the office should not be in good order?”
Chief Cobb was quick to reassure her. “Mrs. Murdoch said you would have everything well in hand, but there was an unauthorized entry at the home this morning and I wanted to be certain nothing had been disturbed here.” He scanned the office. His face gave no hint of his attitude toward the bordello-red room.
“Oh.” The secretary drew in a quick breath. “My goodness, that’s shocking. No, everything’s as it should be.” She looked about the room with pride.
Chief Cobb walked around the desk, looked down at the folders.
He gestured toward them. “Is there any particular reason why these two folders are out?”
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“He was scheduled to meet with these clients today.” She opened the first folder. “Mr. Murdoch had drawn up a list of underperform-ing stocks with a recommendation to sell in order to offset capital-gains taxes.” She flipped open the second. “Mrs. Flint was a new client. Here’s the financial plan he’d worked out.” She sighed. “I suppose I might as well put them up.”
I stared at Chief Cobb’s right foot. The tip of his black shoe was perhaps an inch from the edge of the rug.
If I eased out one end of the envelope, then tapped on his shoe, he would look down, see the end of the envelope protruding. The chief would pick it up and Walter Carey would be exposed as a crook.
I touched the fringe on the rug.
“. . . any change in his demeanor in recent days, Mrs. Haskins? I know you are very perceptive and possibly you can help us more than anyone else to determine Mr. Murdoch’s state of mind.” The chief’s tone was warm and admiring. Obviously, he wasn’t above using flat-tery to encourage confidences.
Mrs. Haskins preened. “Well, when you put it like that. But”—
she looked disappointed—“I’m afraid Mr. Murdoch was just as he always was. In fact, he’d seemed in a very good humor recently.” That didn’t raise my general opinion of Daryl, considering his activities.
Mrs. Haskins brightened. “The only thing—” I scooted my fingers beneath the rug.
“—a little out of the ordinary was last night. Right after work.
Oh.” She clapped a hand to her lips, but her eyes were excited. “I suppose he died not long after he left here. Do you suppose . . . I hope not . . . but I saw his son.” Her lips pursed in disapproval. “Kirby’s been a real trial to Mr. Murdoch, taking up with a girl the family didn’t care for. I was getting into my car when Kirby drove into the parking lot, his tires screeching. Mr. Murdoch was turning left into the street. That lady policewoman stopped him. Left turns are 155
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prohibited there. It’s the middle of the block, you see, and they’ve had so many accidents there.”
Chief Cobb looked impatient. “Mr. Murdoch started to turn left?”
“He pulled out and the police car came up behind him. The officer got out and talked to him for a minute, then she went off. I suppose she warned him. Anyway, he turned right. Now that I think of it, his son’s car came out and turned right, too.” Her eyes were huge.
“Do you suppose . . .”
Chief Cobb was bland. “That may turn out to be helpful. Perhaps his son can give us some idea of the direction his father took. Did you know where Mr. Murdoch was going?”
”Why, yes.” She was the all-knowing, competent secretary. “He had a meeting set up at St. Mildred’s.” She frowned. “He was found in the church by the cemetery, wasn’t he? I wonder why he went there?”
“We don’t know that he did.” The chief’s tone was judicious.