Page 55 of The Sound of Sleighbells

Digger was gone. Judd had taken time to check the bunkhouse. The pack lay on the unmade bed, with dirty dishes piled in the sink and smelly clothes scattered on the floor. But no Digger. And after the stunt he’d tried to pull last night, Judd knew he wouldn’t be back. Good riddance.

Next week, he would pay one of the hired cowboys to clean up the mess. For now, all he had time for was to lock the door and leave.

Between the familiar boot tracks and the sound of the departing Yamaha, Judd had no doubt that Digger had been his late-night visitor. And the kerosene had made his intent clear. He’d considered calling the sheriff. But that would only take time. For now, he had bagged the soda bottle and cap to save the prints and put them aside.

At least he should call Ruth. If Digger was on the run, she needed to know for her own safety. But it was early yet. He’d give her a little more time to wake up—and give himself more time to anticipate the sound of her voice.

The security system installed on the shop had kept Digger from committing a crime. Judd had told himself to forget the incident and focus on his work. But one question continued to gnaw at him. Why?

After he’d given Digger a place to stay, why would the ungrateful bastard try to burn his workshop and everything in it? What did he have to gain?

Forget it. He shoved the question aside. Maybe he would never know the answer. He could only be grateful that the man he had saved—at the price of his freedom—was gone.

* * *

Digger knew better than to use the pay phone at the convenience store. If Judd had reported him, the law could be watching that place. Instead, he’d ridden his bike to a restaurant, twenty miles north of town, on the road to Cottonwood Springs. The phone there was on the side of the building, out of sight from the road.

Even at this late hour, on a Sunday night, the parking lot was crowded. Digger parked the bike next to a van, fished the quarters out of his pocket, and shut himself inside the phone booth.

Tonight, Ed was waiting for his call. “It’s about time,” he grumbled. “This had better be good news.”

A bead of nervous sweat trickled down Digger’s spine as he cleared his throat. “The news is the best. I finally got Judd Rankin for you. Got him good.”

He paused, licking his dry lips. He could sense Ed’s impatience on the other end of the phone. “So, tell me about it,” Ed demanded. “Don’t make me stand here all night. What did you do?”

“I torched his damned workshop, that’s what I did. Burned it to the ground. Splashed the walls with kerosene and used my lighter to start the blaze. By the time Rankin made it outside, the place was an inferno. Saddles, hides, tools, even that fool harness the kids were working on. Everything’s gone.”

“Fine. What about the house?” Ed asked.

“The firemen showed up in time to save most of it. But Judd Rankin’s business is gone. You should’ve been there to see it, Ed. The flames shootin’ up, and Rankin cursing and crying. It would’ve done you good.”

“And where were you all this time? Seems to me you wouldn’t have stuck around to watch.”

Digger’s heart dropped. Had he given himself away?

He scrambled for a reply. “Oh, I lit out, all right. But I stopped in that field and hid in the ditch long enough to make sure I’d done the job. Then I got on my bike, hit the back roads, and hightailed it to Rowdy’s. Angelo said he’d cover for me if the law showed up. But nobody did.” He took a deep breath. “So how about keeping your promise and telling me where that stash is? I’d say I’ve earned it.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Was Ed going to come up with another demand?

“I can’t keep doing this forever, Ed. Either you play fair with me, or I’m gone.” Digger was bluffing, of course. The truth was, he was desperate. His whole future depended on finding and selling that cocaine.

The silence dragged as Digger shifted uneasily in the booth. Someone was waiting outside for him to finish the call. He turned his back and dropped three more quarters into the phone slot.

“All right, I’ll tell you,” Ed said. “But this is the only stash left. If somebody beats you to it, you’re out of luck.”

Digger held his breath and waited.

“There’s this old man. He used to be my neighbor,” Ed said. “Abner Jenkins—lives in that old farmhouse on the east road.”

“I know the place.”

“He’s got an old barn on the property—doesn’t use it except for storage. There’s some hay bales piled at one end. Probably been there for years. The stash is stuck low, between two bales, almost all the way to the back. Let me know when you’ve found it. Got it?”

“Got it!” Digger’s pulse was bucking like a rodeo bronc. He was about to hang up when Ed spoke again.

“One more thing, Digger. You’d better not be lying to me. If you are, I’ve got connections on the outside. I’ll find a way to make you curse the day you were born.”

The call ended with a click as Ed hung up the phone.

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