Cold Wind - C. J. Box [52]
“I’m wondering about my ex-father-in-law, Bud Longbrake,” Joe said. “Has he been in recently?”
Timberman gestured toward an empty stool two spaces away from Joe.
Joe waited for more, but Bud went back to his figures. That was it.
“Buck?”
“That’s his stool,” Timberman said, indicating a space next to Keith Bailey. “He enjoys his bourbon.”
Joe nodded. “I was wondering if he’d been in lately.”
Timberman shrugged, as if he wasn’t sure. Then said, “Most days.”
“Was he here yesterday?”
Timberman placed the tip of his finger on a scrawl so he wouldn’t lose his place, and looked up. “Don’t think so. Day before, maybe.”
“When does he come in? I mean, what time of day?”
Timberman’s face told Joe nothing beyond what he said, which was, “He’s usually here by now.”
“So you haven’t seen him this morning?”
Timberman shook his head. He nodded toward Bailey, who shrugged as well.
“That’s unusual, isn’t it?”
“Could be.”
Joe sighed and smiled. This is why everyone trusted Buck Timberman.
Joe leaned in toward the barman, speaking very low. “Did Bud talk a lot about his ex-wife Missy?”
Timberman looked away, but nodded almost imperceptibly. He didn’t want the cowboys at the end of the bar to see him answering the game warden’s questions. Now Joe understood.
“You heard what happened, right?”
Another nod.
“Do you think Bud hated her so much he’d try to pin something on her?”
Timberman shrugged noncommittally.
Joe said, “I’m not asking you to tell me something I’d ask you to repeat in court. I’m just trying to sort things out for myself. I know Bud to be a kind man, but pretty mule-headed at times. He’d focus on things until they got done. I remember when I worked for him, he’d bring up the same section of loose fence at breakfast every day to his ranch hands until I’d go out and fix it myself just to shut him up. I’m wondering if he was focused on getting back at Missy.”
“He did have some choice things to say about her from time to time,” Timberman conceded.
“Me, too,” Joe said.
Timberman reacted to that with a slight smile—no more than a twin tug up on the corners of his mouth.
“Word is,” Joe said, “Bud’s the star witness for the prosecution.”
Timberman said, “Hmmmm.” Then: “Maybe I ought to cut down on my Jim Beam order. I might not be pouring as much in the next few weeks.”
Joe finished his coffee. “Did Bud ever talk about wind turbines?”
Timberman looked up, puzzled. “Everybody does these days.”
Joe sighed. This was hard work getting anything out of Buck Timberman. “Did he seem to have any opinion of them either way?”
“Not that I can recall. More?” Timberman asked, chinning over his shoulder toward the pot.
“You’ve got more?” Joe said, not meaning coffee.
“Not really.”
“Then I’m fine.”
Joe slid off the stool and put a five on the bar.
“Don’t worry about it,” Timberman said, waving at the bill as if trying to get it out of his sight.
Joe left it, and said, “If you see him, give me a call, will you? My wife is pretty concerned about what’s going on.”
The slight nod. Then, “He lives upstairs. I’ve rented the rooms to him for a while. He pays in cash and on time, and there haven’t been any complaints.”
“Does he entertain guests?” Joe asked.
“Not that I’ve ever noticed.”
“No one recently, then?”
“No, sir.”
“Thanks for the coffee, Buck.”
“Anytime, Joe.”
Joe hesitated before opening the door to go outside. He glanced up the street, to see Deputy Sollis striding back angrily from Sandvick’s Taxidermy, barking on his radio.
“One thing,” Buck Timberman said softly, and Joe realized he was talking to him.
Joe turned and raised his eyebrows in surprise. Timberman had left his order on the counter and stood in the crook of the bar close to Joe and as far away from the four cowboys as possible.
“Nice-looking lady in here a week ago. She and Bud seemed to get on pretty well. She said her name was