Wyatt and his best friend, Old Coot Sheriff Hunter Valero, had hiked a half-mile circle around where Jake had been found in the road. And found absolutely nothing. Not even a patch of flattened grass where a struggle might have taken place. Not a single tree with any scars of recent battle. Nothing.
The phone on his desk let out a strident ring, keeping Wyatt’s feet planted firmly on the floor and his nap a distant dream.
He picked up the handset before it could ring a second time. “Skeeter Bite Sheriff’s Office. This is Wyatt speaking. How can I help you?”
“Hey, Wyatt.”Speak of the devil.It was his best friend, Hunter. “I found out who owns the property for that address where your two banditos were going to deposit their prey. It’s owned by a local family, but I don’t think they had anything to do with a kidnapping attempt. Or if they did, it would really surprise me.”
“Oh, yeah?” Wyatt said. “Which family?”
“It’s the Graves family. The father owns several properties across the tri-city area in a family trust sort of arrangement. I think when he moved to town five years ago or so, he fancied himself some sort of real estate mogul. I don’t know how that’s worked out for him since he’s been here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if he’s earning money from managing real estate that he bought locally, he must have a second job that pays a lot more somewhere else. As near as I can tell, he bought a bunch of properties and did nothing with them.”
“Is that right?” Wyatt was surprised. It seemed his house never stopped needing upkeep of some sort or another every single month.
“Yeah. He hasn’t sold anything, rented anything, fixed anything up or torn anything down to develop the land. It’s like he wants to maintain vast holdings of vacant, haunted properties in Arkansas. Whatever.”
“Haunted? Really, Hunter?”
“Well, you know how folks talk about some places. A lie is already waiting on the other side of town before the truth has time to put his pants on.”
“That does seem to be the way things are,” Wyatt agreed. “So how long has Mr. Graves owned the property where the banditos said they were told to deliver Jake?”
Wyatt heard the sound of ruffling papers before Hunter said, “Almost five years. It was one of the first purchases hemade. And as far as I know, it’s in the exact same shape it was the day he bought it. No renting it out. No putting it up for sale. No improvements. No garage sales. No nothing. The Avon lady didn’t even call there.”
Wyatt grinned. “Interesting. Pretty bad if the Avon lady wouldn’t attempt a sale. Well, thanks for the information, Hunter. I owe you one.”
“Nah, we’re square. How are the wife and kids?”
“We’re all good. How are you doing? Your mom set you up on any more blind dates lately?”
“Funny. No, she has not. I had to put my foot down. I told her I could find my own wife.”
“Good for you. Any prospects?”
“No comment.”
“Wantmeto find you a blind date?” Wyatt was only kidding; he enjoyed winding Hunter up.
“Sure,” his friend drawled. “Who do you have in mind?”
“Calling my bluff, I see.”
“Yep. So do you or don’t you have any blind date prospects for me? I’m holding my breath.”
“Don’t do that. Breathe, for pity’s sake. And If I can’t harass my best friend, who can I harass?”
“Aw. I feel so special.”
Wyatt laughed. “Okay, bachelor man. Have a good one.”
“I will. You have a good one, too, family man.”
Chapter Seventeen
Beryl walked into Jake’s house for their dinner date with her eyes wide open to get a comprehensive first impression of his home. The word that came to mind was a surprising one. Lonely. His home looked lonely. Solitary. An older home, it was clean and neat and it smelled nice inside. Definitely not like a raunchy bachelor pad reeking of stale beer and toilet bowl, with leftover food containers and pizza boxes scattered about like it was the maid’s year off.
