“I do think Billy could help us. He’s been Matt’s rudder since childhood.”
Cole looked from one to the other. He nodded. “All right.”
The teacher gave orders. “Call your folks and let them know where you’ll be, Billy. We’ll see you at Matt’s house.”
“Okay, Miss Pruitt.” Billy gave Cole a last resentful glance. “I’ll be there.”
As Billy stalked away, Cole opened the passenger-side door for the teacher. She climbed in and immediately took a cell phone from the bag of school papers and books she had brought along. As he started the car, she began to talk. Even her voice was peppy, as though perpetually on the verge of a laugh.
“Marianne, hey, it’s me! I’m out with Mr. Strong—Matt’s dad.” She paused. “Not out with him. We’re looking for Matt. You know those two recruiters who showed up at your class today to talk to him? Did they take him somewhere?”
She covered the phone and whispered across the front seat. “Marianne says they had gotten a pass at the office, and she assumed they were going to sign him out for an hour or so and take him somewhere to talk.”
As Cole drove back down the bumpy road, he passed a couple of deputies’ vehicles and the county coroner’s car, all heading toward the Banyon place. His fears for Matt were growing by leaps and bounds. Where would the boy go? Matt always came home from school, got to his homework immediately, and then stared at his computer or watched TV. Once in a blue moon, he mowed the grass or took a fishing pole down to the reservoir. Most afternoons, Billy dropped by and ate half the contents of the refrigerator while hanging out with his best friend.
“Okay, call the school secretary, would you?” Miss Pruitt said into the phone. “See if she’ll run over to the admin building and get those names off the log for us. I know it’s a pain, but we’re really concerned.” She paused, then glanced at Cole. “What…? No way. Please, Marianne. Give it a rest. Bye.”
“Give what a rest?” Cole asked.
“She thinks I should date.”
It took a moment for the meaning of her words to penetrate the fog of concern for his son. “Date me? Tell her I’m getting married in November. Which reminds me—can I use your phone? Is it all right if I call Albuquerque? I’ll keep it short.”
“Sure.”
As he drove, he punched out Penny’s number. How odd that he knew his fiancée’s phone number but not his son’s. Disturbed, he listened as it rang.
“Hi, it’s Penny,” she said brightly.
“This is Cole.”
“Cole! Hi, sweetie. I was just thinking about you. What’s going on at the Ponderosa?”
He grimaced at Penny’s name for his ranch. “Listen, this is about Matt. He didn’t come home from school today.”
“You’re kidding! Wow—I never knew he had a social life.” She giggled. “So who’s the lucky girl that snagged him?”
Unnerved at the lightness of her voice, Cole wondered for the thousandth time whether he was doing the right thing in planning a future with Penny. A successful big-city attorney, she nevertheless seemed to enjoy his ranch and the quiet lifestyle there. Cole had long missed the companionship of being married, and there was no question that Penny was pretty and intelligent. But most of all, he had hoped a wife would help bridge the ever-widening gap between himself and his son before he lost touch with the boy completely.
“It’s not a girlfriend,” he told her. “We don’t know where Matt is. See, he was working on a term paper, and he’d gotten friendly with a rancher out here at Hope.”
“Hey, hang on a sec, can you? My microwave just dinged!”
He let out a breath as the phone fell silent.
“She thinks Matt has a girlfriend?” Miss Pruitt asked. “How well does she know him?”
“Pretty well. She’s been down here a few times.” He knew he sounded defensive, but his own doubts were nagging him.
“I’m back! Popcorn,” Penny said. “So what were you saying? Was this one of Matt’s obsessive things? This term paper?”
“I guess you could call it that. Anyway, we went out to the rancher’s house, and the sheriff was there. Looks like he killed himself.”
“Killed himself? Was he a friend of yours? What does this have to do with Matt?”
“We’re not sure. I knew the fellow, but—”
“Who’s we? ”
“His computer teacher is with me…uh, Miss Pruitt.”
“Jill,” she whispered.
“I’m sure Matt’s fine, Cole,” Penny said. “He’s probably at home waiting for you.”
“No, Josefina would have called. We gave her the cell number.”
“Cole, have you called the police? This is what they do. If you haven’t, go home and call them.”
“I’m going home.” He pulled off the main road into the drive that led to his house. “Miss Pruitt is planning to check Matt’s computer. I’ll call you when we find him.”
“Okay. Call tonight, honey. I’m so worried.”
“Penny, there’s one more thing.” He steered the car up to the front of the house and parked. “If we don’t find Matt in a few hours, I’m going looking for him.”
“Looking where?”
“If he’s scared enough, he may try to drive to my mom’s house in Amarillo.”
“Cole, don’t do this! You need to stay put and let the police find him. You need to be at your house when he comes back—not halfway to Texas. Please, listen to me. You have a ranch to run, and Matt is probably fine. I’m sure he’s just off on one of his tangents.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Cole climbed out of the car. “I’ll call you later.”
Josefina was running out of the house and across the front porch. She waved a cell phone in one hand. “Oh, Mr. Strong! Did you find him?” Josefina was crying. “You didn’t call me! Did you find my baby boy? Ai, mi bebe! ”
“We haven’t found him.” Cole took her shoulders. “Have you searched the whole house?”
“Everyplace, Mr. Strong. He’s not here. I think he’s in a wreck. You should have got him new tires, Mr. Strong. I told you that. He’s had a blowout, and he doesn’t even have an air bag!”
“Calm down, Josefina. I want you to stop and think of all the places where Matt might—”
The phone in her hand rang, cutting off his words.
Cole grabbed it and pressed the button. “Cole Strong.”
“Hey, Cole, this is Sheriff Holtmeyer,” the voice said. “Listen, we may have a lead on your boy. My deputy was searching the grounds, and he found a cell phone with Matt’s name engraved on it in a stand of cottonwoods near the house. It looks like there was a struggle in the living room. And the blood spatters on the couch—let’s just say I’m a little concerned about our suicide theory. We’ve got tire marks, and we’ll be dusting the gun for fingerprints. Cole…you need to let me know if Matt turns up at your place. We’d sure like to ask him some questions.”
THREE
V ince Grant swirled the last of his martini and studied the olive that remained in the bottom of his glass. Cheryl had gone to bed hours ago, her Valium performing admirably, as usual.
Vince