Jack glanced to his left. When he saw Carlos, hurling visual daggers, he quickly looked away.
“Now, many of you have said you want to finish. And this is the sheriff’s decision to make.’’ Jack paused for effect. “He says we can go ahead, so, that’s what we’re gonna do. In the meantime, I know him and his deputies will appreciate any information about the shooting. Anybody who plans on leaving the ride early . . .’’
Jack gazed out at the crowd. A mom with two young kids nodded forcefully while a girly looking guy tugged at his hat and stared at his boots.
“That’s fine. You’ll just have to check in with the sheriff before you go. They’ll be doing interviews all night long in my trailer. I’ll apologize in advance for any of you who might lose some sleep tonight. But these questions are important to help find out who shot Doc.’’
Sheriff Roberts gave Jack a curt nod.
“Okay, then. Johnny will have dinner ready in an hour or so. And . . .’’ Jack’s voice petered out. He rubbed his chin, like he was thinking of what to say next.
“How about a prayer for Doc?’’ someone yelled.
“Good idea,’’ Jack said. “Let’s all bow our heads and ask the good Lord to guide those doctors and nurses in doing what’s best for Doc.’’
As we lowered our heads and closed our eyes, I wondered how many others would add my own silent plea: Let us make it safely to the end of the trail in Fort Pierce.
After Jack finished and climbed off the truck, I caught up with Carlos. A bad mood had settled on him like a fog.
“You don’t look happy,’’ I said.
“That Dundee County idiot is compromising his own investigation,’’ he hissed.
“Why don’t you say it a little louder?’’ I said. “I don’t think you’ve managed to piss off all of local law enforcement.’’
“Have you seen the crime scene, Mace? They didn’t even have the tape up until a half-hour ago.’’
I thought about the note, telling me I was on the right track. I didn’t suppose this was the time to remind Carlos that if anyone had listened to me about Lawton Bramble’s death being suspicious, that maybe we wouldn’t have a second crime scene.
“Well, they’re doing interviews. That’s a good sign, right?’’ I asked.
“Yeah, right,’’ he smirked. “I’m sure those bumbling Barney Fifes are crack interrogators.’’
Now I was starting to get irritated. I rose to the defense of my country cousins.
“You know, Mr. Miami Big Shot, just because they’re in a rural area doesn’t mean they’re idiots. I’m sure the Dundee County sheriff’s office solves plenty of crimes.’’
“Hah!’’ he said. “Cattle rustling? Or maybe crop stealing? We handled more serious crime in Miami before lunch than they do all year.’’
“I’m rolling my eyes, in case you want to know,’’ I said. “A high crime rate in your community is hardly something to brag about, Carlos. And I’d think you would know that better than anyone.’’
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wished I could take them back. He looked like I’d slapped him.
“I can’t believe you’d bring that up, Mace.’’ Pain laced his voice. “I told you in confidence about what happened to my wife.’’
“I’m so sorry, Carlos.’’ I put a hand on his arm; he shook it off. “I didn’t even know what I was saying. You made me mad by implying that all of us north of Lake Okeechobee are dumb rednecks.’’
“Well, if the shit-kicker’s boot fits—’’
I bit back an insulting retort. No sense in making things worse. I’d already taken our tiff as low as I could by bringing up the tragedy that had sent Carlos packing for Himmarshee in the first place.
“Listen, I don’t want to fight with you,’’ I said.
He looked at me, his eyes full of hurt and anger.
“Yet that’s all we seem to do whenever we see each other.’’ He took a deep breath. “So, what that says to me is maybe we shouldn’t see each other anymore.’’
I felt like he’d punched me. Tears gathered behind my eyes. I blinked and swallowed and willed them not to fall.
“Fine,’’ I finally said, grateful when my voice didn’t crack. “If that’s what you want.’’
“I think it is.’’
Carlos reached over and gently brushed a bit of hair from my eyes. I could see him all too clearly as he turned and walked away.
My heart was in my stomach, and my stomach was in my throat. I felt like I’d come down with the flu, and then got hit by a train. I’d thought I was over Carlos before he showed up on the Cracker Trail; but it turned out he could still put a lot of hurtin’ on me.
I wandered over to the bright lights of the dinner site, thinking maybe there would be a soda or some hot tea to help settle my stomach. The first person I saw there was Trey. He’d stuck a nearly empty beer bottle in the back pocket of his jeans. Now, he was helping himself to the coffee Johnny had put out before dinner.
Watching him, I felt a blush creeping up my face. I wished I hadn’t seen what I saw between him and Wynonna at the RV. But as long as I had, I wanted to know: What the heck was up with that?
Trey swayed a little as he reached for the sugar. I could smell the booze on him. Drowning his guilt, no doubt.
“Hey, Trey.’’ I came up next to him. “How you doin’?’’
His eyes were bloodshot. His clothes were rumpled. He needed a shave. Trey looked like thirty miles of bad road.
“Mace,’’ he said, barely moving his lips.
“Looks like you can use that coffee.’’
He nodded, and winced from the motion.
“I’m sorry to see you drinking again.’’
“Me, too.’’
“You want to have a seat and talk about it?’’
“Not really.’’
“Well, I do. And this isn’t the kind of conversation you’re going to want overheard.’’
I led him to an out-of-the-way, dimly lit spot. He carefully placed his coffee cup on the grass. Reaching around, he extracted the beer bottle from his back pocket and dropped it on the ground. We sat, propping our backs against a big rock.
When we were settled, I said, “Austin and I happened to be on our way a little earlier tonight to see Wynonna. We saw her, Trey. With you.’’
I had to admire his control. Even half-drunk, his only reaction was a twitch in his jaw.
“So? We’re burying Daddy next week. Wynonna and I have a lot of details to discuss.’’
“You weren’t discussing much. You were on the steps to the RV, and you had your hands all over each other. Then she tugged you inside by your belt and shut the door. Was that when y’all started talking about your daddy’s funeral?’’
He flinched.
“I gotta say, it doesn’t look good, Trey. I have to tell the sheriff what I saw.’’
His mouth got hard. “What business is it of his? Or of yours? My troubles with Wynonna don’t have nuthin’ to do with Doc getting shot.’’
“That could be true. But the two of you carrying on could have an awful lot to do with Lawton’s death. And if it turns out your daddy was murdered, and Doc was shot because he knew it, then that is very much the sheriff’s business.’’
Trey looked at me blearily. “Didn’t your detective friend find out there was nothing in that chili cup that could have killed Daddy?’’