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Horse equipment maybe. Some of that stuff is expensive. Or maybe it was teenagers looking for drugs. Whoever it was, the police will catch them soon. Don’t worry about me.”
    His voice softened. “Worrying about you and my rascally grandsons is what I do best. I still wish you’d move out here so I could give you a hand with them.”
    Becky sipped her tea before answering. The thought of living near Daddy was attractive. But the cost of living was so high out in California there was no way she could find a job that paid well enough to support her and the boys. And she refused to move in with her father. No, she was better off staying here where at least she could be somewhat self-sufficient.
    “It would be wonderful to see you more often,” she admitted, as she always did, “but I’m not moving to California.”
    “Well, then.” His voice trailed off. The faint sound of a keyboard tapping interrupted the silence. As usual, he was working on something as they talked. “Do you need any money?”
    She smiled. “No, Daddy. But thanks for asking.”
    “You get any more checks?”
    “I got one last week, in fact.”
    After their divorce, Christopher paid a total of three child support payments before disappearing. But four months ago, out of the blue, she started getting checks from the division of child support. When she called, all she could find out was that he’d taken a new job and his employer filed his social security number with something called the national new hire reporting database. They’d begun garnisheeing his wages. Becky didn’t expect it to last, but it had been a huge relief to have extra money to put toward some of her frighteningly large credit card balances.
    “If you need money, you’ll let me know, right?”
    How lucky she was to have such a supportive father. Even though he was on the other side of the country, she knew her boys would never go without the basic needs. She could count on him. And she’d never abuse the privilege. “I love you, Daddy.”
    “I love you, too, sweetheart. Don’t forget to say your prayers.”

SIX
    S cott snapped the lid back on the feed bin, straightened and listened to the sound of rain pelting the barn’s roof. He breathed a deep breath of damp morning air. Both the front and rear doors stood open in an effort to clear out the lingering odor of death that was probably only his imagination.
    He’d swept up the loose dirt beneath the place where Haldeman had lain and covered it with straw. But Sam kept leaving the rug that served as his daytime bed to circle the area, nose to the ground.
    A car pulled into the driveway. Becky’s Chevy. His watch showed a few minutes before eight o’clock. The engine cut off, the driver’s door opened a crack and a blue umbrella popped open above the roof. Becky emerged, the slick canopy only partially shielding her from the driving rain as she made a dash toward the barn. When she stepped beneath the shelter, Sam leaped off his rug and ran to greet her.
    She stopped just inside and bent down to rub the dog’s head. “Hello, Sam.” Her gaze went to the place where Haldeman’s body had lain until the coroner took it to the morgue yesterday afternoon. She looked up at Scott. “I see the police are gone. I hoped they would be.”
    Scott nodded. “They finished up sometime after midnight. They’re coming back this afternoon, though. They want to get your fingerprints.”
    Eyes wide, her hand flew to her chest. “Mine? Why?”
    “It’s nothing to worry about,” he assured her. “They found a bunch of prints in the office and out here. They just need to be able to eliminate yours.”
    A vertical crease appeared between her eyebrows. “What if I don’t want them to have my fingerprints?”
    Actually, Scott asked that same question when they came for his. Until yesterday he hadn’t been at the Pasture in months, and he didn’t see the need. But Foster said since he was present at the scene of a crime when law