I thought about that. Beau and Lucas’s friends and family had been trickling into town over the past week, staying at the ranch since the hotel in town was shut down. Most of them were city folks who probably wouldn’t know what to do with an old pocket watch or a rodeo buckle, but that didn’t mean one of them wasn’t desperate enough to steal.
“Alright, I’ll head out there now,” I said, already standing and reaching for my hat. “Don’t touch anything in the areas where the items were taken. And Beau? Lock your doors. All of them.”
“That’s a weird thing to do in Sagebrush, but I will. Thanks, Marcus.”
I hung up and grabbed my keys, stopping by Mrs. Baxter’s desk on my way out. “I’m heading out to the Turner Ranch. Beau’s reporting some thefts.”
She looked up from her computer, concern creasing her features. “More thefts? First the Baker Ranch, now this?”
“Looks that way.” I settled my hat on my head. “I’ll keep you posted.” I headed for the door, then stopped. “Maybe it’s best you post a bulletin online in the community groups. Don’t panic anyone, but let them know they should be locking their doors and windows for the time bein’.”
Mrs. Baxter just shook her head as she turned to her computer. “What’s this world coming to?”
I nodded. She was right. Sagebrush was the kind of friendly place where locks were just for decoration. But now… well, things were different. “Don’t worry. We’ll catch whoever’s doin’ this. Things’ll be back to normal in no time.”
The drive out to the Turner Ranch felt longer than usual, my mind working through the possibilities. Two ranches hit in less than a week, both with items that were valuable but not the kind of thing your average burglar would go for. A pocket watch, a belt buckle, Logan’s wristwatch, Dakota’s beaded necklace, Caroline’s purse—they were personal items, things with sentimental value as much as monetary value. I made it a point to call up all the closest pawn shops and give them a list of what to be on the lookout for. With any luck, the thief would try to sell them off quickly and get caught on a security camera or something.
When I pulled up to the Turner Ranch, Beau was already waiting on the porch, his arms crossed and his jaw tight. Next to him stood Jack, his father, looking equally concerned. I grabbed my notebook and camera from the passenger seat and headed up to meet them.
“Thanks for coming so quick,” Beau said, shaking my hand. His grip was firm but I could feel the tension in it.
“Of course.” I nodded to Jack. “Mr. Turner.”
“Sheriff,” Jack replied, his weathered face creased with worry. “Hell of a thing, someone stealing from us in our own home.”
“Let’s take a look at where the items were taken from,” I said, following Beau into the house.
The Turner Ranch house was one of the oldest in Sagebrush, built by Beau’s great-great-grandfather back in the late eighteen hundreds. It had been renovated and updated over the years, but it still maintained that historic charm with its hardwood floors and original crown molding. Family photos lined the walls,generations of Turners staring down at us as we walked through the hallway.
Beau led me to what looked like a home office, a small room off the main living area. There was a large oak desk, some filing cabinets, and against one wall, a display case that had been built into the shelving. The case was open, its glass door hanging slightly ajar.
“That’s where the pocket watch was,” Beau said, pointing to an empty velvet cushion inside the case. “I always keep it locked, but this morning it was open and the watch was gone.”
I pulled out my phone and started taking pictures, documenting everything. “When’s the last time you saw it?”
“Two days ago. I showed it to my Aunt Corinne when she arrived. She said she wanted to see it again.” Beau ran a hand through his blonde hair, clearly frustrated. “I put it back in the case after, I’m sure of it. I even thought I locked it.”
“And the key?”
“In my desk drawer. Top right.” He walked over and pulled it open, rummaging through some papers before holding up a small brass key. “Still here.”
That was interesting. Either someone had picked the lock, or they knew the key was in the drawer. “Anyone else know where the key was?”
“My daddy does,” Beau said, glancing back toward the door where Jack had been standing. “Mable, Frank, and Lucas do too.”
I made a note of that, though I couldn’t imagine either Jack or anyone in the house stealing from the family they lived with. What reason would they have “Show me where the belt buckle was.”
We headed upstairs to Beau’s bedroom, a spacious room with a king-sized bed and rustic furniture that matched the rest of the house. One wall had built-in shelving displaying varioustrophies, ribbons, and memorabilia from Beau’s barbecue competition days. There was an empty spot on one of the middle shelves, smaller than the others, where the buckle had obviously been displayed.
“Right there,” Beau said, pointing to the gap. “I noticed it this morning when I was getting dressed.”
I took more pictures, examining the shelf and the surrounding area. No signs of forced entry through the window, no disturbed dust patterns that might indicate someone had climbed up. Whoever had taken it had walked right in through the front door, bold as brass.
“The bedroom door was closed last night?” I asked.
“Yeah, always is.” Beau leaned against the doorframe, his frustration evident. “Lucas and I went to bed around ten. Everything was fine then.”
I walked over to the window, checking the lock. Secure. No scratches or marks that would indicate tampering. “And you didn’t hear anything during the night? No unusual sounds?”
