Read Murder at the Powderhorn Ranch for Free Online Page B

“‘Morning,” she said.
    “Bonnie, something terrible has happened,” I said. “We found Mr. Molloy’s body on our way back from the ride.”
    Jim came through the door from the house as I broke the news. “Molloy? Found his body? What happened?”
    “I don’t know,” I said, “but you’d better call the local police.”
    “Where is he?” Bonnie asked.
    Seth gave a rough description of where we’d discovered him.
    “Let’s go,” Jim said. “Call the sheriff, Bonnie. I’ll get a couple of wranglers to stand watch until he arrives.”
    We followed Jim out of the office and up the road to where Crystal continued her lonely sentry duty. We stood with her as Jim parted the bushes and took a close look at Molloy. I came to his side. Molloy was on his back. From what I could see, he’d been stabbed or shot in the chest. A dark, crusty ring of blood dominated the center of the yellow shirt he wore. If he had been stabbed, the assailant had removed the instrument of death.
    “The blood has crusted,” I said. “It didn’t just happen.”
    “Last night?” Jim asked.
    I shrugged. “Hard to say. A medical examiner will make that determination.”
    Jim said to Crystal, “Go get a couple of other wranglers. I want to make sure nobody disturbs the scene. Am I right, Jess?”
    “Oh, yes. That’s important. You haven’t touched anything, have you, Crystal?”
    “No. I never got any closer than this.”
    “Good.”
    Crystal took off at a trot toward the stables.
    “Is there a police force in Powderhorn?” Seth asked.
    “No,” Jim said. “The Gunnison County sheriff’s office covers Powderhorn. It’s a good force. Right up to date on all the new techniques and procedures.”
    “That’s good to hear,” I said.
    While we waited, the Morrison family, led by Andy Wilson, came down the road.
    “Howdy,” Andy said.
    “Hello, Andy,” Jim said. He went to the road, motioned for Andy to join him away from the others, and whispered in the young wrangler’s ear. You didn’t have to hear Jim’s words to know what he’d said. Andy’s expression said it all. Obviously, Jim had instructed him to get the Morrisons away from the scene, and to not tell them what had happened.
    “Let’s move on,” Andy said.
    Two other wranglers, Jon Adler and Toby Winters, joined us.
    “You two stay here,” Jim said after filling them in on why they were there. “Keep your distance. If anybody comes by, pretend you’re picking berries or something. Don’t let anybody near the body.” We started back to the house when Jim stopped in the road, crouched, and examined a set of fresh tire marks in the wet dirt.
    “Recent,” I said.
    “Yes.”
    “Did you see or hear a car or truck come by last night?” I asked.
    “No. We don’t get much traffic here. Days can go by without a car coming by. It’s a car tire.”
    We went to the house, where Bonnie waited in front, anxiety written all over her pretty face. “The sheriff’s out investigating a crime,” she said, “but they’re sending some of his deputies.”
    “Good. They say how long it would be?”
    “As fast as it takes to drive from Gunnison.”
    “I can’t believe this,” Jim said, more to himself than to us. “In the fifteen years we’ve had the Powderhorn, we’ve never had anything serious happen before.” He turned to Bonnie. “What, that broken leg ten years ago? Some scrapes and bruises? One heart attack, and that guest survived, did just fine. He came back the next year. We hear from him all the time.”
    “It has nothing to do with you and the ranch,” I said.
    “But it happened here,” Jim said.
    “It had to be somebody passing through,” Bonnie said, “a stranger, some itinerant drifter.”
    “Where’s Mrs. Molloy?” I asked.
    We looked at each other. Geraldine Molloy had been forgotten in all that had transpired.
    “Must be in her cabin,” Bonnie said. “I’ll go see.”
    “Would you like me to go?” I asked.
    “I don’t