Preston didn’t comment, still unconvinced.
“Jack Yarrow, his foster parent, prefers dropping him off here first thing in the morning because Bobby makes his wife nervous. He can read her like a book and tells her what she’s about to do next, which creeps her out big-time.”
“He’s incredibly observant,” he said with a smile.
“It’s all part of a game he plays. Bobby can’t let go of the hope that he and his biological father will be together again someday. After his dad gave him up, Bobby made up the story that his dad’s in the CIA and had to leave to protect him. He told it so many times, he actually began to believe it. He reads everything he can about spy craft and pretends he’s training so he can join his dad someday.”
“He’s protecting himself from a truth that hurts too much to accept,” Preston said, remembering his days in foster care.
“The problem is that this game he plays often gets him into trouble. When he’s told not to do something, he pretends he’s a spy on a secret mission and finds a way to do it anyway,” she said. “I’m willing to bet that most of the time he doesn’t get caught.”
“He may be a handful, but he’s got a lot going for him,” Preston said, chuckling. “Kids who’ve been bounced around often need something or someone to believe in. Bobby had a hard time finding that, so he created it. In my mind that deserves a high five.”
Just then Bobby came up. “When will you be checking out Carl’s office?”
“I’m going over to the bunkhouse now,” Preston said. “I’ll check the office after that.”
“Great. I can help you at both places. I’ve been at the bunkhouse lots of times too,” he said.
Abby gave him a surprised look. “You have?”
“Sure, after Carl finished his chores, he and I would play games. We both loved anagrams and riddles, and sometimes we’d make up our own codes and send each other secret messages.”
“On a computer?” Preston asked.
“No,” Bobby said. “Just on paper. He was good, too. We’d try to make the codes impossible to break, like real spies would, but he’d win most of the time.”
“What happened when you won?” Preston asked, following his gut.
Bobby smiled. “I’d get to feed the camels.”
“Alone?” Abby asked, her voice rising.
“No, Carl would always stay with me, watching, but I’d be the one who did it,” he said, a touch of pride in his voice.
“Sounds like the camels are your favorites,” Preston said.
“Yeah, Hank and Eli are cool. They remember stuff. There’s one guy who swatted Eli just to get him out of the way once, and Eli never forgot. After that, he’d set the guy up by acting real calm, then biting at him the second he got close.”
“Are you talking about Joe Brown?” Abby asked.
Bobby nodded.
“I caught him manhandling one of the horses and fired him on the spot,” she told Preston.
“I’m going to need to interview everyone who might have had some grievance against the victim or the ranch. Can you get me a list of all current and past employees, say, going back six months?” Preston said.
“No problem,” Abby said.
As they headed toward the bunkhouse, Bobby slipped in smoothly between Preston and Abby. Preston noted it silently, wondering if the boy had a crush on Abby. Or maybe there was more at play. Considering Bobby’s past, it was possible the kid didn’t trust cops.
“So Carl had the use of the bunkhouse rent free?” Preston verified as they neared the small building about the size of a one-car garage or a startup home on the Rez.
“It was part of the package since I couldn’t pay him what he was worth. Carl agreed to fix up the interior for me, too, as long as I purchased the supplies,” she said. “When I first bought Sitting Tall Ranch, the property had been unoccupied for years. Everything had been neglected and most of the buildings were practically unlivable.”
He looked around. The barn and storage sheds had fresh coats of paint, the corrals had up-to-date welded pipe fencing and the areas were well maintained. There wasn’t a weed in sight.
“You’ve done a good job. The place shows the care you give it.”
“That’s what you do with a dream,” she said softly, then unlocked the bunkhouse door.
Chapter Five
Preston put on a fresh pair of gloves as he stepped inside. “Come in with me, but don’t touch anything,” he told them. “And be careful where you step. If there’s something on the floor, leave it there.”
Preston remained in the doorway a few seconds longer and just looked around. He’d expected a utilitarian place designed to fit the needs of its one resident, and he’d been right on target. The interior held the stamp of the working man who’d lived here.
An easy chair made of blue vinyl and patched with duct tape in several places was backed against one wall. A small table a few feet in front of it held an old TV with rabbit ears and the digital converter box needed to translate the signal.
There were pencil and black ink sketches on the wall and the supplies needed for more—stiff white paper, charcoal sticks, markers and pencils—on the shelf of a nearby empty bookcase.
“He loved to draw,” Bobby said, standing at the doorway with Preston, “but he threw out most of his stuff. If he wasn’t happy with the way it came out, it went straight into the trash.”
Abby nodded. “I tried to salvage a charcoal sketch he’d thrown out once, but he wouldn’t let me keep it. When I gave it back to him, he just tore it up. He made me another one, though, and I hung it in the main house, my home.”
Preston led the way into the room, then saw Bobby staring at the bookshelf. “Something missing?” he asked the boy.
“Yeah, his coffee can is gone,” Bobby said.
“He kept coffee on the bookshelf?” Preston looked around for a coffeemaker but didn’t see one.
“He drank coffee like crazy, but it was all instant,” Bobby said. “The coffee can was his bank—that’s what he called it. It was old, like from twenty years ago, and all dented. He said that he used to buy that brand when he was a lot younger and having it around brought back good memories.” Bobby paused, swallowed hard, then in a heavy voice added, “He told me about it being his bank because we were friends and he trusted me.”
Abby stepped closer to Bobby and said, “How about we wait outside for you, Detective?”
Bobby shook his head. “No, I’m okay. I just miss him, that’s all. Let me stay and help.”
Preston heard Abby sigh and saw her nod.
“Anything else that looks out of place, Bobby? Walk around and take a good look, but remember, don’t touch anything,” Preston said.
Abby stayed right beside Bobby as they took the lead. Preston followed, his gaze on Abby. She was leggy and had a great figure, but what appealed to him most had little to do with her looks.
She was obviously a woman whose feelings ran deep. She cared a lot for Bobby and the rest of the kids who came to the ranch. He made a mental note to find out more about her, and not just because she was part of the case he was working.
They passed through a narrow hall and an open door and entered Carl’s bedroom. Inside they found an unmade bed, one wooden chair,