The Rotten Rancher (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 16) by Butterfield Frank W

Author:Butterfield, Frank W. [Butterfield, Frank W.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2017-10-29T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

The Condor's Nest

Monterey County, Cal.

Monday, November 14, 1955

Half past 8 in the morning

Another fog bank was lurking off the coast. It was about a mile out and looked the same as the one on Friday had looked. It was a big wall of fog that was illuminated by the morning sun.

We were both standing on the cliff in front of the house, looking out at the ocean below and buttoned up against the wind. Carter had his hand on the back of my neck and I was enjoying the warmth of it.

After grabbing a quick breakfast, we'd headed down the coast to have another look at the house. I wanted to go over the place and see if there was anything that stood out. Carter had correctly pointed out that it was still a crime scene. I'd just nodded and said, "Yes, it is."

I walked over to the side of the house and found the box Forrester had mentioned the day before. On the right side of the gray box was a simple red switch, just like he'd said. The box was installed in the center of the exterior wall. A wire led from the box to the electric pole about twenty feet south of the house.

I looked down at the ground. It was hard-pack dirt with bits of grass here and there. There was no way that shoe prints would have made an impression on the ground.

"Why didn't we hear anyone creeping around on Friday night?" asked Carter.

I shrugged. "The house seems to be pretty well insulated. I never noticed much external sound at all, from what I remember."

Carter nodded. "Me, neither."

I looked around. "OK. So, I dragged us down here. Now what?"

Carter grinned down at me. "Let's see if we can trace Carl's steps."

That made me think of something. "Good idea." I thought for a moment, not moving. "Did you see his body?"

Carter shook his head. "No."

"I just remembered there wasn't any flour on his boots. And there were boot prints in the flour in the kitchen and then a trail that led through the storeroom to the back door."

"Maybe the wind scoured the flour off of them."

I nodded. "I bet that's it." Right then, I could see a Monterey County sheriff's car coming down the drive. "Here comes trouble. And it's probably hungover."

Carter turned and looked. I didn't like the expression on his face so I said, "Be easy on him. The poor guy probably won't remember a thing."

Carter nodded but didn't say anything. I led the way as we headed around towards the front of the house.

Forrester, looking a little green, gingerly stepped out of the car and put on his hat.

I grinned at him. "How're you doing?"

He shook his head and looked contrite as hell. "I don't know what got into me." Looking up at Carter, he said, "I don't know what to say to either of you. Tequila's never hit me that hard, before."

"Had you been drinking before you got to the restaurant?" I asked.

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