Cold Wind - C. J. Box [119]
The back door was locked, but it gave slightly when Nate leaned his shoulder against it. He opened his knife and slid it down through the crack between the door and frame. No bolt. Which meant it was locked at the knob set. He pushed the knife farther in, slid it down until the blade rested against the pawl, and chopped back.
He was in.
With his shotgun out in front of him, Joe entered the living room. More clutter. A table lamp was on with a lampshade that had been knocked cockeyed, the orb of light throwing out a yellow pool on the carpeting like a side glance.
A high-backed lounge chair blocked his view of the side of the couch so he moved to his right, weapon ready. Joe girded himself to see a dead body.
It was a single boot lying on its side with no Bud attached.
Joe sighed, and yelled, “Bud!”
“Joe?”
Although Joe recognized the voice instantly, he still racked the pump and wheeled and raised the stock up to his cheek. The voice came from a darkened mudroom at the back of the house. “Nate? What the hell?”
He heard Nate chuckle drily at the use of the curse.
“I’ve got the same question for you,” Nate said, emerging from the mudroom into the light, rotating the cylinder on his big revolver until he could rest the hammer back on the empty chamber, holstering the weapon beneath his arm. Nate had cut and darkened his hair and he looked serious and severe. He asked, “What are you doing here?”
“Trying to find Bud Longbrake,” Joe said, lowering the barrel of his gun.
“Me, too,” Nate said. “I’m here to kill the son-of-a-bitch.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Joe saw the black braid attached to the barrel of Nate’s handgun and he recognized its color.
“Oh, no,” Joe said. “You think Bud was responsible?”
Nate said, “He set me up.”
Joe was puzzled. “Why would he do that?”
“Why did he do anything the last couple of years?” Nate said. “I don’t know whether it was the alcohol, or his paranoia about me coming after him, or what happened to him when he lost the ranch, or whatever. But something made him go crazy. And Alisha died because of it.”
Joe said, “You’ve got me on that one. I was just thinking how he’d become a different person than the one I used to work for. Like his personality changed.”
“It doesn’t matter what caused it,” Nate said. “He still has to answer for his big mouth.”
Joe said, “I wanted to talk with him because he claims he has the goods on Missy murdering her husband. That’s why I’m here. I’ve been trying to find him because the trial starts on Monday.”
“You could have shot me,” Nate said, looking at Joe’s Remington Wingmaster.
“Yup,” Joe said. “Sorry about that. You scared me.”
“So where’s Bud?”
“He’s not here, but he hasn’t been gone long. His truck is in the garage, so either he caught a ride or someone got here just ahead of us and took him.”
“Too bad,” Nate said. “Who could have taken him?”
Joe said, “I’ve got so many suspects in this case, my mind is boggled. I’ll fill you in if you want to hear it all. How long have you been here?”
“Two minutes,” Nate said. “I just came in the back door and heard your voice. A minute before, I nearly shot you in the head.”
He said it in such a matter-of-fact way that it took Joe a second or two to grasp the import. “You nearly shot me in the head . . .” Joe repeated, trailing off.
Nate shrugged. “Wouldn’t it have been something if we’d drawn down on each other by mistake? That would be a hell of a thing.”
Joe stifled a smile. It wasn’t funny what they’d almost done to each other, but the way Nate said it was.
Joe said, “It’s good to see you, Nate.”
“Likewise.”
“I’m sorry about what happened in the canyon. I found the scaffold.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“Marybeth and Alice Thunder. Both have kept it to themselves.”
Nate nodded, grateful. He said, “I found the guys who did it, and the woman who put them up to it. I put the guys down, but I let the woman off . . .”
“No details,” Joe said, putting his hand up to stop Nate from saying more.
Silence hung in the air.
Joe said, “Nate, can we get past what happened last year?”
Nate nodded. He said,