Call stepped away and picked up his socks and boots. He found a natural seat among the rocks to sit down and put them on. “What do you suggest we do with the body?Laurel says it’ll be morning before the doc arrives. We can’t leave it here or scavengers will get it.”
Rooster joined Call on the perch. “I already waved away a few buzzards. Won’t be but a few hours before they’re circling.”
Carter scratched behind his neck. “Could move him to the undertaker, I suppose. Theo Beckley’s gonna want to know who’s paying for care and preparation.”
Laurel started to say that she would, but Call interrupted her. “You tell him I’ll pay, but that’s on the condition that he doesn’t do a damn thing to the body until the doc gets here.”
“I guess he can do that.”
“He should keep it cool,” said Laurel. “I know he’s packed ice around bodies before.”
“I’ll tell him,” Carter said. He pointed to Call, who was now leaning back comfortably on his elbows. “You. Help me get Pye on the back of my horse and then you can follow me to Beckley’s and tell him about the payment yourself. Knowing Theo, he’s probably got something for you to sign.”
Call pushed himself upright. Instead of walking over to Carter and the body, he went to the edge of the pool, where Dillon was still treading water, and held out a hand. “C’mon up. You’ve done your part.”
Dillon pushed his toes in a foothold and grasped Call’s hand. He practically flew out of the water. Laughing, he shook himself like a puppy, spraying water in every direction. He ducked his head when the sheriff gave him a sour look. The gesture wasn’t an apology. He did it to hide his grin.
Call left Dillon’s side and joined Carter. “Feet or shoulders?” he asked.
“Feet.”
Nodding, Call got behind Pye’s head and slid his arms under the dead man’s shoulders. He and the sheriff lifted together while Laurel held Carter’s animal steady as they put Pye over the saddle. Carter strapped the body down.Call expected Carter to lead his horse but instead he told Rooster he was taking his mount. There was no opportunity to object.
Thinking of the rheumatism that plagued Rooster’s hip, Laurel offered him her horse and said she’d be happy to walk back to the station with Dillon. Rooster hesitated before he accepted. His eyes bore holes through the sheriff’s head as the man rode away.
“Just like that,” muttered Rooster. “Just like he don’t know thatIknow he was trussed about as neatly as a Christmas goose in Miss Mariam’s room not above an hour ago.”
Laurel and Dillon stared at Rooster. It didn’t matter that the sheriff and Call were probably not yet out of earshot. They burst out laughing in spite of it.
21
Laurel made room for Call on the porch swing when he came around the corner of the house and hopped up the steps. Rooster had turned in not long after the sun went down and the brothers were sitting on stools outside the barn taking turns playing their fiddle.
“They’re not bad,” said Call, sitting beside Laurel as one of the boys struck a tune. He would have taken one of the rockers if her invitation had not been so clear. “This is the first I’ve heard them play.”
“The fiddle belongs to their pa and he doesn’t part with it easily. I’m not sure why he allowed them to bring it here this evening. Maybe he thought they needed a distraction from the goings-on today.”
“Hank was never at the pool this afternoon. He didn’t see the body.”
“Doesn’t matter. After Dillon finished telling him about it—every gruesome detail—Hank will be seeing it long after his brother’s forgotten.”
“Dillon has a flair for relating the macabre.”
“I blame Edgar Allan Poe.”
Call chuckled. There was a pause in the music as the fiddle changed hands and one brother picked up the Stephen Foster tune “Gentle Annie” precisely where the other had left off. “I like this one.”
They listened in silence until the last bars were playedand then exchanged grins as the brothers began bickering over what they would play next.
Laurel said, “I swear, if I hadn’t hired them when I did, their mother would have paid me to take them off her hands. She couldn’t love them any more than she does, but she tells me she wants to knock their heads together within ten minutes of them sitting down to eat.”
“They’re good boys.”
“No doubt.” Just then the brothers settled on “Beautiful Dreamer” and the lilting notes drifted toward the porch. “No doubt at all,” she said softly.
Call began to gently push the swing. “We haven’t talked about what happened this afternoon.”
Laurel turned to look at him, a tiny crease between her eyebrows. “It doesn’t seem as if we’ve talked about anything else.”
