“The Angus stud bull was valued at five thousand. Scroggins got a hundred-dollar stud fee per cow, plus room and board for forty-five days. He had a waiting list, people lined up, wanting their cows covered by that particular bull.”
I grinned. “Covered meaning getting it on?”
“You’re having too much fun with this, Chief.”
“Impossible not to.” A missing prize bull beat a murder cold case any day. “Any suspects?”
“Scroggins accused his neighbor, Roland Hancock, of stealing Beauregard and eating him.”
I tried to keep a straight face. I really did.
“Thought that would tickle you,” Gene said when I laughed.
“Sorry, this is too good. I assume Hancock’s place was searched?” I paused before adding, “Of course, if he ate the evidence, I guess there was no proof?” Gene sat back in his chair, and I could tell he was trying hard not to laugh. I couldn’t resist throwing out the line from an old commercial. “So, where’s the beef?”
That finally did it. He slapped his palm on his leg as he burst into laughter. “Stop it, Chief,” he gasped.
I shrugged. “I’ll try. If the bull’s been missing for six years, do you really think you’ll find it now?”
“That’s not the problem as much as there’s been an ongoing Hatfield and McCoy situation between the two families ever since. Patrol’s out there two or three times a month because one of them’s taken a potshot at the other, or some such nonsense. The day’s going to come when one of them gets hurt if we don’t put a stop to it. Roland didn’t steal that bull, much less eat it, but Old Man Scroggins can’t seem to get that through his hard head.”
“And you know that how?”
“I grew up with Roland. We played ball together. He was the pitcher. I was his catcher. He won us the state championship our senior year. I know him. He didn’t do it, Chief, but he’s getting real tired of the old man messing with him, so I told him I’d look into it.”
I took the file from Gene. “Whose case was it?”
“Captain Moody’s. He was the detective back then.”
“Of course he was.” Opening the folder, I flipped through the meager report. “Not much here, but I’ll go through it with a fresh pair of eyes. Not sure we’ll get anywhere, but who knows, right?”
Gene stood. “Thanks, Chief.”
“No, thank you. Seriously. I never thought I’d be investigating a kidnapped bull case.” Damn, I loved this town. “Now go home to your wife and kids, Gene.” By the hint of a smile, I knew he’d figured out when and why I used one of my officer’s first names.
After he left, I put my feet on my desk, leaning back in my leather chair. After reading the report twice, I recalled something I’d seen in another of Moody’s old notes on another case. After double-checking that I’d remembered right, I closed both folders, locking them in my desk. Beauregard hadn’t been turned into hamburger patties, and I knew who had him. Damn Moody and his incompetence.
25
~ Jenny ~
“You so did not!”
I shot Autumn a wide grin. “Did too.”
She reached across the table, poking me in the arm with a finger. “You actually spent the entire weekend with our new police chief?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh my God. He’s so hot. Is he really that hot? I mean in bed? He’s definitely hot to look at. Are you going to see him again? What did—”
“Autumn, shut up.” I had to laugh. Her eyes were about to bug out. “Yeah, he’s that hot. In bed and out.”
It was Tuesday, my day off, and we’d gone to Asheville to do a little shopping in Biltmore Village and have lunch. She was collecting more items for her trousseau—I didn’t even know brides did that anymore—and as long as we were spending her money, I was good.
I took a bite of the fried green tomatoes and moaned. “So freaking good.” We were at the Red Stag Grill in the Village. One thing I loved about eating with Autumn was that we always shared our food. Today we were splitting the fried green tomatoes and a bohemian hunter’s platter.
“Back to your police chief.” Autumn forked the last olive on the hunter’s platter.
