“When was that?” Savannah asked.
“He had a massive stroke the year before I was born. A day later, he was gone. According to his will, the land was divided between his two daughters. Mom inherited a parcel of good grazing fields that butted up to my dad’s property. Maddie Turner was left with the rest, including the house, barn and all the outbuildings.”
“Is that when the feud between them started?”
“Their relationship was already rough. But it did get worse then. Mom told Corb that Aunt Maddie didn’t let her visit their dad after he had his stroke. Twenty-four hours later he died without her having had a chance to say goodbye.”
“That’s awful.”
“Yeah. If it’s true.” B.J. knew he was supposed to be on his mother’s side, but he couldn’t help feeling skeptical.
“After her father’s death, didn’t Maddie keep raising cattle?”
“She tried. But she soon had to scale down operations. Apparently Maddie doesn’t have my mother’s head for business and she made one bad decision after another. From what I hear, she only has about fifty head now, as well as a few dogs and some chickens.”
“So this barn hasn’t been used in a long time.”
“No.”
Savannah pulled a flashlight out of the breast pocket of her jacket. “Strange she never had it torn down.”
B.J. hung back near the entrance. He’d been wishing he had brought his own flashlight and admired her foresight. She traced the beam along the building’s foundation until she came to a corner where the boards were almost entirely black: the obvious starting point of the fire.
“I guess Maddie’s had bigger problems to worry about than a falling-down barn in the middle of nowhere. But if you hadn’t shown up when you did, I might have rectified her oversight.” He pulled a pack of matches out of his pocket.
Savannah’s light flashed a line across the ground, ending up at his boots, then his face. “No way. You wouldn’t have.”
But he could tell she wasn’t sure. Fact was, neither was he. Burning down this building once and for all would have solved a lot of problems.
And he wasn’t thinking about himself here. Though she would never believe that.
Savannah returned to her investigation, trailing the light over the charred boards that led up from the corner and spread out along both the north and east walls of the barn. A good section of both had been severely burned, though the fire had never reached as high as the loft area above them.
“I wonder if Sheriff Smith had an arson team out here to investigate. There was no mention of it in the file.” She examined the blackened boards more closely. “You’d think lightning would strike at the roofline, but it doesn’t always happen that way.”
“When did you find out a man died here?” Savannah asked him.
“Not until the day after the fire.”
“That’s what Hunter said, too.”
He could see the skepticism in her gaze and he glanced away. He was remembering the morning after the fire, when his father had come into the cattle barn to give him the news about the death.
B.J. had been shocked. And afraid. He’d started to tell his dad the truth then, but Bob Lambert had shaken his head. “Don’t talk, son. I’ve been over this with the sheriff and we’ve agreed there was no way you or Hunter could have realized that guy was in the loft. Unfortunately, that poor vagrant was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Later, the medical examiner had confirmed that death had been caused by smoke inhalation. A crazy-high blood alcohol level explained why the unidentified young man hadn’t woken when the fire started.
Despite the “official story” there had been rumors. Most of them centered around Hunter Moody, who everyone agreed had always been a shady sort—just like his father.
B.J. couldn’t do much about the rumors. But he’d kept his promise to his father and remained mum about that night, never telling anyone that Hunter had been up in the loft and must have seen the vagrant.
He could have put all the blame on Hunter, but he hadn’t. He’d protected the other guy out of a sense of responsibility. He should have figured out Hunter was up to something and stopped him.
He’d kept quiet for Savannah’s sake. She had enough problems with her family. He hadn’t wanted to add another.
“You’re still not going to tell me what happened, are you?”
Mind reader. “Better ask your brother.”
She made a sound of frustration, then gave up on him and resumed her inspection of the barn. “I’d like to get a look at that loft,” she said.
He glanced up. Light was coming through gaps in the wood. “It’s probably not safe.”
“Just a quick once-over.”
“I’ll go.” He leaned some of his weight on the ladder, which was on the opposite side of the barn from where the fire had started. It didn’t feel very solid.
“Let me try it,” Savannah said. “I’m lighter.”
He gave her a “get serious” look, then, despite his better judgment, put a foot on the second rung. Half expecting the lumber to crack apart under his boot, he took another step, and another.
Anxiously Savannah gripped the bottom of the ladder. “Be careful, B.J.”
He grinned. “How many times have I heard you say that?” Glancing down, he thought he could see her smile in return. He was just about at the top now. He reached one hand from the ladder to the floor of the loft, and was about to take the final step up when he heard a loud crack and his left foot fell through rotten wood.
“B.J.!”
He grasped desperately with his free hand, managing to secure a two-hand hold on the loft, while the rest of his body swung free as the ladder disintegrated beneath him.
“Hang on, B.J.!”
“Believe me, I am.” He grunted as he worked at shifting his body weight up to the loft. “You okay down there?” He hoped she hadn’t been struck by any of the falling wood.
“I’m fine. Try swinging your legs. If you get some momentum...”
She’d no sooner said the words than he was putting them into action. And the extra momentum did help. He grunted again, pushed hard and finally was able to drag his body up to the second level.
“Look out. I’m tossing you the flashlight,” she called. He heard a thud a few feet to his right.
“Don’t stand, in case the wood is rotten up there,” Savannah added.
“Roger that.” He crawled toward the torch and, once he had it securely in hand, switched on the light and played it against the far wall. Slowly he surveyed the space, but saw nothing except a few bales of moldering hay and a pile of blankets in the far corner.
“Any signs of fire up there?”
He studied the rafters and roof for several minutes before admitting, “No. I can see where the guy died, though. There’s still a pile of blankets in the corner.”
Savannah hesitated. “I don’t imagine there can be any physical evidence worth salvaging at this point. But want to take a closer look?”
He did and was already crawling toward the corner. When