Cold Case at Cobra Creek. Rita Herron

Ashlynn said. “But it’s also possible that he didn’t.”

      Sage’s stomach revolted. “You mean that he got rid of Benji.”

      “I’m sorry,” Ashlynn said. “I don’t want to believe that, but if he murdered Lewis, he might not have wanted any witnesses left behind.”

      Sage desperately clung to hope that Ron’s killer hadn’t been that inhumane. Killing a grown man for revenge, if that was the case, was a far cry from killing an innocent child.

      Ashlynn traced a finger along the rim of her coffee cup. “I hate to suggest this, but did the police search the area for a grave, in case the killer buried your son?”

      Sage’s throat closed. She clutched her purse, ready to leave. “I didn’t call you so you’d convince me that Benji is dead. I hoped you’d run another story, this time focus on the fact that Lewis’s body was found but that Benji might still be out there.”

      She pulled a picture of her son from her shoulder bag. “Please print his picture and remind people that he’s still missing. That I’m still looking for him.” Desperation tinged her voice. “Maybe someone’s seen him and will call in.”

      Ashlynn reached over and squeezed her hand. “Of course I can do that, Sage. I’ll do whatever I can to help you get closure.”

      Sage heard the doubt in the reporter’s voice. She didn’t think Benji would be found.

      But Sage didn’t care what she thought. “I know you have your doubts about him being alive, but I’m his mother.” Sage stroked the locket where it lay against her heart. “I can’t give up until I know for sure.”

      Ashlynn nodded and took the picture. “Did Benji have any defining characteristics? A birthmark, scar or mole? Anything that might stand out?”

      “As a matter of fact, he does,” Sage said. “He was born with an extra piece of cartilage in his right ear. It’s not very noticeable, but if you look closely, it almost looks like he has two eardrums.”

      “Do you have a photo where it’s visible?”

      Sage had actually avoided photographing it. But it was obvious in his first baby picture. She removed it from her wallet and showed it to Ashlynn.

      “This might help,” the reporter told her. “I’ll enhance it for the news story. And I’ll run the story today.” Ashlynn finished her coffee. “As a matter of fact, I have a friend who works for the local TV station. I’ll give her a heads-up and have her add it to their broadcast. The more people looking for Benji, the better.”

      Sage thanked her, although Ashlynn’s comment about searching for a grave troubled her.

      As much as she didn’t want to face that possibility, she’d have to ask Dugan about it.

      * * *

      DUGAN ENTERED THE ADDRESS for Maude Handleman into the note section on his phone, then drove toward Lloyd Riley’s farm, a few miles outside town.

      He’d heard about the tough times some of the landowners had fallen upon in the past few years. Weather affected farming and crops, the organic craze had caused some to rethink their methods and make costly changes, and the beef industry had suffered.

      Farmers and ranchers had to be progressive and competitive. He noted the broken fencing along Riley’s property, the parched pastures and the lack of crops in the fields.

      He drove down the mile drive to the farmhouse, which was run-down, the porch rotting, the paint peeling. A tractor was abandoned in the field, the stables were empty and a battered black pickup truck was parked sideways by the house.

      It certainly appeared as if Riley might have been in trouble.

      Dugan parked and walked up the porch steps, then knocked. He waited a few minutes, then knocked again, and the sound of man’s voice boomed, “Coming!”

      Footsteps shuffled, then the door opened and a tall, rangy cowboy pushed the screen door open.

      “Lloyd Riley?”

      The man tipped his hat back on his head. “You’re that Indian who found the hikers?”

      “I was looking for them, but another rescue worker actually found them,” Dugan said. He offered his hand and Riley shook it.

      “Name’s Dugan Graystone.”

      “What are you doing out here?” Riley asked.

      Dugan chose his words carefully. Tough cowboys were wary of admitting they had money problems. “I spoke with George Bates at the bank about that development Ron Lewis had planned around Cobra Creek.”

      Riley stiffened. “What about it?”

      “Bates said he asked him to invest before he died. He also mentioned that he talked to some of the locals about investing, as well.”

      “So?” Riley folded his arms. “He held meetings with the town council and talked to most everyone in town about it. Didn’t he approach you?”

      Dugan shook his head. “No, he probably meant to, but he didn’t get around to me before he died.”

      Riley pulled at his chin. “Yeah, too bad about that.”

      The man sounded less than sincere. And Bates had said that he thought Riley made a deal with Lewis. “I heard Lewis offered to buy up some of the property in the area and made offers to landowners. Did he want to buy your farm?”

      Riley’s eyes flickered with anger. “He offered, but I told him no. This land belonged to my daddy and his daddy. I’ll be damned if I was going to let him turn it into some kind of shopping mall or dude ranch.”

      “So you refused his offer?”

      “Yeah. Damn glad I did. Heard he cheated a couple of the old-timers.”

      “How so?”

      “Offered them a loan to get them out of trouble, supposedly through the backer of this rich development. But fine print told a different story.”

      “What was in the fine print?”

      “I don’t know the details, but when it came time to pay up and the guys couldn’t make the payments, he foreclosed and stole the property right out from under them.”

      Riley reached for the door, as if he realized he’d said too much. “Why’d you say you wanted to know about all this?”