Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 74005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
I should go see him. And I will. But first… I need to figure out what’s going on at that fucking barn.
I need to figure out why my father killed Ted Tucker and buried him somewhere near that place.
Ted.
What does he have to do with all of this?
Sadness pings through me every time I think about Ted and his demise. How I tried to save him and ended up taking a bullet from my father’s gun.
Ted…
He once mentioned that he was a middle child like I was. He also had two brothers. What were their names?
Hank and George. That’s right.
I pull out my phone.
I’ll probably be digging through a haystack looking for a needle. Tucker is a common name.
I look through obituaries, find a few that can’t possibly be them.
Next I try the social media apps.
Nope, nope, nope…
Until—
“Yes!” I yell out loud.
George Tucker runs a drywall business in an Austin suburb, and his personal cell number is on the website. So is his photo. He has gray hair, but the resemblance is unmistakable. He looks a lot like Ted.
I call the number.
“Yeah, George here,” he says.
“Hi, my name is…Frank Dirkwood, and I’m looking for George Tucker.”
“That would be me.”
“I was wondering,” I say, “did you have another brother who died a few years ago?”
“If you call fifteen years a few,” he says. “Sorry, sir, but are you interested in some drywall?”
“Yeah, I can always use some good drywall,” I say. “I’m happy to give you any job here on my ranch.”
“A ranch? Great. Which one?”
I clear my throat. “Bellamy Ranch. I’m a foreman there.”
“Bellamy Ranch,” he says. “I’ll be damned.”
“Yeah, I promise you that you’ll have more work that you can ever get done, but I need something from you in return.”
“All I can give you in return is the best damned drywall service you’ve ever had.”
“I’m sure you can give me that, but what I also need is to learn about your middle brother.”
I’m not sure what I should say. There is no statute of limitations on murder, and if I tell George that Ted died by my father’s hand in his office, I’ll be throwing him under the bus. My father, who can barely string two words together in his own defense.
“What do you need to know? It was a long time ago.”
“I’m trying to figure out a little more about his death.”
“Why? He was shot in a barroom brawl,” George says.
So that’s the story my father concocted. Can’t say it’s very original. I clear my throat. “Yes, I know.”
“Which was really bizarre,” George says.
“Yes,” I say hesitantly, “it was.”
“Because normally Ted never went near bars. He didn’t like alcohol.”
“And that’s why I’m looking into this,” I say. “I knew him a while ago, and I’ve been…” I clear my throat again, thinking. “Looking into some true crime stuff lately. You know, a hobby. Ranch work gets pretty tedious sometimes.”
He chuckles. “So does drywall. I get it.”
“Right, and I got to thinking about Ted. About how he up and disappeared one day.”
“Uh…how exactly did you know Ted?”
“We were friends,” is all I can think to say.
A pause. “Were you?”
“Yeah. We…uh…we met at the gathering of a mutual friend once and shared a game of Monopoly. Turns out we both had a love for the game and we played regularly for a while.”
“Damn,” George says. “He did love that game. We used to play as kids.”
“So anyway, I would love to meet with you. Your brother too, if possible.”
“Hank? Yeah, he lives a couple blocks away from me. I suppose we can meet with you, if there’s some business in it.”
“I promise you all my drywall business. I’m serious. And do you want to know how many buildings we have?”
“If you work for the Bellamys, I can imagine it’s quite a few. I appreciate the business, and I promise you’ll be satisfied with my work, or you don’t have to pay.”
Damn. He could do the shoddiest work in the world, and I wouldn’t care. I’ll pay whatever he wants.
“Can we meet, then? As soon as possible?”
“Sure. How about for breakfast tomorrow?”
“Great, my treat.”
“You know Francesca’s Diner off I-35?”
“I do. I’ll be there. Let’s say eight thirty a.m.?”
“Hank and I will be there. See you tomorrow.”
After visiting Eagle—still unresponsive—at the hospital early and talking to his doctor on rounds, I head to the diner.
George and Hank are already there. I recognize George from his photo. Damn, he does look a lot like Ted probably would’ve looked by now.
I walk toward him, dressed in jeans, cowboy boots, and a western shirt. I need to look like a ranch foreman.
I kind of look like a ranch foreman anyway.
I head straight to their table. “George?”
He and Hank both rise.
I hold out my hand. “Frank Dirkwood. Good to make your acquaintance.”
“You too, Frank.” George gives me a hearty handshake. “This is my brother Hank.”