Page 67 of The Killing Plains

“That’s why Dad dragged his feet. Lowell’s just like him. He fought Momma like blazes about it, but she insisted.”

“What did you think?”

“I stay neutral. There’s enough cooks in that kitchen.”

Some things never change, Colly thought as they walked towards the worksite. It hadn’t been easy for the brothers, growing up in the shadow of a man like Bryant Newland. Each had coped in his own fashion. Russ was the peacemaker.

They stopped a few dozen yards from the flatbed. Lowell was pacing beside it, shouting orders as a half-dozen men attached harnesses to the cradles holding each end of the blade, while others maneuvered two cranes into position nearby. When he saw Colly and Russ, Lowell nodded at them but kept working.

Colly started forward, but Russ stopped her. “Once the blade’s down, he’ll be less distracted.”

Lowell didn’t seem particularly surprised to see them there, Colly thought. “You didn’t give him a heads-up, did you?” she asked.

“Don’t be silly.”

For twenty minutes, they watched as the cranes slowly lifted the turbine blade from the truck and lowered it onto the packed earth. Lowell walked its length, running his hand over it and occasionallystopping to peer closely at something. Apparently satisfied, he nodded to the workmen, who began unhooking the cradle straps.

Lowell strode towards Colly and Russ. He was sweating and exuded a faint odor of Scotch.

“Glad that’s over. Easy to ding the fiberglass getting it off the truck.” He took off his hard hat to mop the back of his neck with a red bandana, and for the first time appeared to notice Colly’s bruised face. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Bumped my head. No biggie,” she said. “The blades are fiberglass? I thought they were metal.”

Lowell stared suspiciously at her eye. “Fiberglass is stronger, more flexible. No welds or rivets to worry about.”

“If they’re so strong, why’d a bird strike break one apart?”

Lowell muttered something inaudible and spat in the dirt.

“Don’t be an ass, Lowell.” Russ turned to Colly. “We had an especially harsh winter that year—the PUC thought the heavy ice buildup weakened the epoxy, somehow. We considered suing the supplier, but that would’ve kept the story in the news. We needed it to die.”

“Epoxy? The blades are glued together?”

“If you want a turbine-construction tutorial, go watch a damn YouTube video,” Lowell snapped. “Y’all got any important business?”

Colly’s head was throbbing like an engine. “We do, as a matter of fact. Where were you the afternoon Denny was killed?”

Lowell flushed a deep, mottled red. He turned to Russ. “What the hell?”

“It’s routine, Lowell. She’s questioning everyone.”

“Probably why someone popped her in the eye. You let her interrupt an installation to hear the same shit I told the Rangers six months ago? She can read, can’t she?”

“You sure you gave the Rangers everything?” Colly asked. “I hear you know more about Denny’s murder than you reported.”

“Hearwhere?” Lowell demanded, still addressing his brother. “Who the hell’s saying that?”

Colly moved closer and caught a whiff of sour sweat. “Just answer the question.”

“You can’t listen to Jace Hoyer, if that’s who it was—he’s pissed because I fired him.”

“It wasn’t Jace.”

“Who, then? His pill-popping wife?”

“Where were you?”

Lowell threw up his hands. “It was my weekend for the kids. I picked them up from school and took them to the movies in Big Spring. We had pizza after that, and then we went back to the ranch—like I told the Rangers.”

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