Sense of Evil - Kay Hooper [83]
“Well, I wouldn't call it abnormal. The cows will be out in the pastures, so the barns would be quiet. Helton runs this place on his own except for the crew that comes to pick up the milk, and part-time afternoon help, so he has plenty to do around here most of the day. Have you tried yelling for him?”
Without a blink, Isabel said, “We thought your bellow would carry farther.”
Rafe eyed her for a moment, then cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled out Helton's name.
Silence greeted the summons.
“Okay,” Rafe said, “let's start looking around, before it gets even hotter out here.”
“Private property, even if it is a business,” Isabel reminded him.
“Yeah, but we've got cause with the wife missing and Helton out of touch. Judge'll back me up on that.” He led the way, opening the gate at the end of the drive and allowing it to swing back as they passed through and headed for the cluster of barns and other buildings just a few yards away.
A slight breeze disturbed the heavy closeness of the humid air, giving them all a sense of relief from the heat—and offering a rather ripe olfactory experience.
“I love the smell of manure in the morning,” Isabel said. “Smells like . . . shit.”
Rafe had to laugh, but said, “Looks like he stopped in the middle of unloading a hay shipment.” There was a half-ton truck parked alongside the largest, closed barn and facing in the opposite direction, with its tailgate down and a great deal of loose hay piled all around it. A number of bales of hay remained stacked in the bed of the truck.
“I'll check out the cab,” Isabel said, and crunched her way through the hay toward the front of the truck.
Hollis was about to say she'd head in the opposite direction and see if the other side of the barn was open, but something about the way Rafe was looking after Isabel made her pause. Just for something to say, she asked, “Why would he have stopped in the middle of unloading?”
“Maybe that's when he realized his wife was missing. He might have been too distracted since then to worry about unloading hay.” Rafe frowned as he looked at her, and lowered his voice when he added, “What's wrong with Isabel?”
“What makes you think something's wrong?” Hollis countered, stalling.
Rafe's frown deepened. “I don't know, just something . . . off. What is it?”
Something off. Something turned off. Did you do it?
But she didn't say any of that, of course. Already regretting that she had allowed this, Hollis said as casually as possible, “You'll have to ask her. I should check out the other side of the barn, I guess, and see if there's a door open.”
After a moment, Rafe said, “Okay, fine.”
Hollis took a step away, then turned back with a genuine question. “Is it just me, or is there a weird smell around this building? Doesn't smell like manure now that the breeze has shifted. Sort of a sweet-and-sour odor.”
Rafe sniffed the air, and his rugged face instantly changed. “Oh, no,” he said.
“What?”
Before either of them could move, the barn doors burst outward, and a thin, dark man in his thirties stood there between them, one shaking hand pointing a big automatic squarely at Rafe.
“Goddamn you, Sullivan! Bringing feds out here!”
13
ALYSSA TAYLOR KNEW damned well there was no good reason for her to hang around near the police station on a Sunday morning. No casual or innocent reason, that is. She couldn't even pretend to sit nonchalantly in the coffee shop near the station, since it wouldn't open until church let out.
She had toyed with the idea of going to church, but Ally found she couldn't be quite that hypocritical.
She also half-seriously feared being struck by lightning if she crossed the threshold.
“You're lurking, too, huh?” Paige Gilbert, who Ally knew was a local reporter for the town's most popular radio station, leaned against the other side of the old-fashioned, wrought-iron light post, as seemingly casual as Ally.
“I bet we look like a couple of hookers,” Ally said.
Paige eyed Ally's very short skirt and filmy top, then glanced down at her own jeans and T-shirt,