Page 23 of The Killing Plains

“What road?”

“Just a couple ruts in the grass, really. Out past that fireworks stand. Farmers use it to cut across the fields to Salton Road, yonder.” He pointed east.

“Why’d you think a car might’ve picked him up? Did one go by?” Avery demanded.

Gunnell shrugged. “Coulda. Lotta folks use this road. You get so you don’t notice.”

Colly and Avery exchanged glances. Colly said, “You never mentioned this to the Rangers.”

“Reckon it slipped my mind. I got a lot goin’ on—gettin’ married next month.”

Back in the squad car, Avery exhaled sharply. “Damn.”

“How well do you know him?”

“I’ve seen him around with Jimmy Meggs—the skinny cop at the stock pond. They’re cousins.”

“What’s his rep?”

“Tom? Not too bright. Likes to hunt. Never been in any trouble that I know of.” She paused. “What are you thinking?”

That, without cameras to back up Gunnell’s account, there’s no solid evidence Denny made it past this point alive. “His memory’s suspiciously selective.”

“What now?”

“I want to check out that dirt road he mentioned.”

A few yards north of the fireworks stand, Avery braked beside a shimmering expanse of winter wheat bisected by two parallel tracks running perpendicular to the road.

“It really is just ruts in a field,” Colly said. “Let’s see where it goes.”

“Nothing over there but a few family farms. I’m not sure the shocks can handle it.”

“Let’s find out. If it damages the car, I’ll tell Russ you tried to stop me.”

Avery nodded and eased the car off the blacktop.

They lurched slowly along the pitted track, the grass between the ruts hissing beneath the car’s chassis. Colly’s teeth chattered with the vibrations, and she braced herself against the dashboard. Eventually, they emerged onto a strip of cracked gray asphalt.

“Salton Road,” Avery said.

“Where does it go?”

“Dead-ends into another field that way.” Avery pointed north. “South, it loops past some farms and eventually back to town.”

“After what Tom said, we’ll need to canvass the farmers.”

“The Rangers did. Nobody saw anything.”

“We’ll do it again.” Colly glanced at the dashboard clock. “Later, though. Let’s check the fireworks stand.”

The stand was little more than a plywood shack, its once-bright yellow paint faded and peeling, the words “Freddy’s Fireworks” barely visible on its sides. Back on the Old Ranch Way, they climbed out of the car and Colly shaded her eyes to examine the structure.

“Doesn’t look like much. No security cameras.” She turned to Avery. “Who’s Freddy?”

“There’s not one. The Sandleford brothers run it—Sam and Alan. They must’ve thought the name sounded good.”

“Were they interviewed? Maybe whoever was working that day saw something.”

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