Page 22 of Operation Wolf: Hunter
“So,” I said when my plate and mug were both empty, “tell me about what went on with Daniel these last couple of years.”
Mrs. Jones glanced toward the window, and I raised an eyebrow. There was no way anyone was out there, eavesdropping in this downpour.
“What is it that you’re so afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” Mrs. Jones said defensively. “There’s nothing to beafraid of. Mr. Nash was just getting senile in his old age. He was probably on some kind of medication that caused his paranoia, and that was why he fired so many of us. I don’t know what else there is to say about it.”
“I’m sorry, but I just can’t believe that,” I said gently but firmly. “The Daniel I knew never would have let the ranch go to hell. It was his pride and joy. And I know he wouldn’t have willingly put so many people out of work. There has to be some kind of reason beyond that.”
The former housekeeper sighed. “Well, I did notice that Mr. Nash got awfully tightfisted,” she told me. “He started getting on my case about buying less food or cheaper cuts of meat when I went to town, and I noticed he would wait until the last possible moment on a lot of fencing repairs. Johnny Heller, the only ranch hand he kept on, begged him to increase his hours, so he could do more work on the ranch, but Mr. Nash wouldn’t hear of it. He worked his fingers to the bone, trying to make up for the loss of three hands, but he couldn’t keep up, and things started going downhill real fast.”
“So, he was having money problems,” I mused. I chewed on this piece of information for a few moments. “Do you have any idea why? Was there anything that happened before he started firing his workers?”
Mrs. Jones glanced to the window again before answering, “I really can’t say that there was—or at least, not right around the time he started getting so tightfisted,” she said, her voice dropping down to barely above a whisper.
I frowned. Who the hell does she think is listening?
“But about a year before it happened, a man came to the ranch, trying to get Mr. Nash to sell.”
“Sell? You mean, the ranch?” My jaw dropped. “Old Daniel never would have done something like that.”
Mrs. Jones pressed her lips together. “You’d be right about that,” she said tightly. “He refused to sell. Took up his shotgun and damn near chased the man off his property when he wouldn’t let up. Served him right too. It’s not polite to badger a man so.” Her face fell a little. “But sometimes, I wish he’d just given in.”
“Why?” My eyes narrowed. “You think this man had something to do with why Daniel was having money issues?”
“I can’t say for sure,” Mrs. Jones said. “But before Daniel started letting go of his workers, he spent an awful lot of time poring over his books. He’d spend half the night up in his study, raking over the numbers, and he never would tell me what was going on.” She wrung her hands. “I just can’t help but think that man had something to do with it.”
I frowned. It was a long shot, I had to admit, but it was the best lead I had so far. “Do you remember anything about the man? His name, what he looked like, where he was from?”
Mrs. Jones bit her lip. “I’m not right sure. I think his name was Branson or Branford or something like that. He was tall with dark hair and dressed in a nice suit. Had a Texas accent, but it was a watered-down version, as if he’d been living up north for too long.” She wrinkled her nose. “Certainly didn’t have much of any of our manners.”
I bit back a smile. Mrs. Jones was a Texan woman through and through. “Well, that’s certainly a start,” I said. “Mrs. Jones, can I ask you something?”
“Yes?”
“Why do you keep looking at the window? Do you see or hear something out there that I’m missing?”
“Well, no . . . not exactly.” But Mrs. Jones started wringing her hands again. “It’s just that I can’t help but think Mr. Nash’s death wasn’t an accident.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, they say he fell down the stairs when he died, but I can’t imagine how that happened. Mr. Nash might have been getting old, and certainly, he was working himself hard, but he was still strong and mostly healthy. It just doesn’t seem like him to take a tumble down the stairs.” She glanced out the window again.
“I see.” I wasn’t quite so sure that she was being silly. “So, you’re thinking that someone might have murdered Daniel and that they could come after you next?”
Mrs. Jones let out a nervous laugh, waving me off as though I were being ridiculous. “I’m probably just being silly,” she said. “There’s been no proof of foul play, and I didn’t see anyone at the ranch that night.”
“But, nevertheless, you’re afraid.” I leaned forward and looked the old woman in the eye. “Look, Mrs. Jones, I’d like you to come back to work at Bridle Hill.”
Mrs. Jones blinked. “You want to hire me back on as the housekeeper?” she said, her eyes wide. “You didn’t tell me you’d bought the ranch.”
“I didn’t,” I said. “But I am helping the new owner get it back into shape.”
“New owner?” Mrs. Jones wrinkled her nose. “Did some outsider buy the place or something? I hope it wasn’t that man,” she said with a shudder. “I’d hate for him to have finally gotten what he wanted this way.”
“No,” I said with a slight smile, “Daniel left the ranch to his next of kin, who happens to be a young woman from New York.”
“A New Yorker?” Mrs. Jones laughed. “And she wants to keep the ranch?”
