They sit in a booth seat in one corner.Mycorner. Dammit.
Black glasses are poised on the table between them as I step up. The same men from yesterday. Impeccable suits. Intimidating silence.
“Agent Clooney, Murphy, nice to see you again. Coffee?”
They nod in unison.
Steam rises from their mugs as their eyes narrow in my direction. “Anymore trouble at the ranch?”
I shake my head slowly. “No more pranks. Not yet, anyway.” I lick my lips, eyeing each man in turn. “Any leads on who might have done it?”
The corners of Clooney’s mouth tease upward. Patronizing. “Some local yokel, I imagine.”
“Of course,” I say too fast, setting the coffeepot down and grabbing the little notepad and pencil I keep stashed in my apron. His eyes dart to my shaking hands. “Are you ready to order?” I ask too softly.
“Need more time with the menu,” Murphy, the quiet one, grunts, not making eye contact.
Agent Clooney raises his eyebrow, face impassive. “Do you have any idea who orwhatmight’ve done this?”
Frank’s words shuttle through my head. I shrug, trying to play it cool, though my cheeks heat. “Could be anything,” I echo from yesterday. “Fighting bulls. Wolves. Only an autopsy would say for sure.”
They don’t blink. Don’t soften their expressions with so much as a nod.
“An autopsy? Ever done one on a similar find?” Clooney’s eyes bore into me. So do Murphy’s.
“Never found anything like that in my life.” I swallow too loudly. Guilt tugs at me. I know the local stories too well.
“Wouldn’t work anyway,” Clooney says, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because after a day or two, when we find most of these…” he pauses, exchanging a glance with his partner. “Ifwe find more like your bull, it’s already too late.”
Murphy nods. “Dust has moved in. Not much left.”
“Scavengers, too,” I agree, throat working harder than it should because I’m too close to the inexplicable. “Buzzards, coyotes, ravens, bugsshouldbe a problem.”
“Should,” Clooney repeats. “You’d be surprised. When we find cases like these…ifwe find cases like these, it’s the eeriest thing. Shiny coats, pristine… untouched by predators and scavengers. Like they’ve been brushed clean for the county fair.”
“Like my bull,” I croak, face falling despite myself.
“Bingo. Sure there isn’t more you want to tell us?”
The field and the symbol flash through my mind. No, I can’t get more eyes on my land. Or more government interest.
Not after the government seizure of items from the museum and the Reyes Ranch. Some folks in town are still whispering about whether their petroglyphs will be taken along with acres of valuable land.
“Rest assured, we’ll find your man, Ms. Wakefield.”
“So, you’ve never seen anything like this before?” Murphy prods, shifting in the booth and making the leather squeak.
“Cattle deaths? I’ve seen enough of them.” My voice trembles despite me. “Nothing to write home about…usually.” The last word escapes my lips. I freeze. Regret hits fast.
“Usually. Tell us about unusually, then.”
I take a deep breath. “High school pranksters. Or maybe older. Who knows?”
“Could be devil worshippers,” the quiet one mutters. “Occult activity.”
