Texas Gothic - By Rosemary Clement-Moore Page 0,27

at the river like it personally offended him. “And God knows we’ll never get anyone to work late after last night. Hang that Goodnight woman and her stories. Making life difficult even while she’s on the other side of the planet.”

Two things I noted, standing there being ignored: Ben McCulloch seemed to be in charge, at least nominally, despite the difference in their ages. And I liked Truck Guy even less than I liked Ben McCulloch, who at least had the grace or good sense to look mighty chagrined right then.

Ben cleared his throat. Truck Guy’s gaze flicked my way, and I realized he’d either just seen me, or dismissed me as one of the dig crew. I knew when he became aware of his mistake—boy, there must have been some kind of loot-in-mouth disease in the water—because he pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on, hiding his expression.

Ben seemed to weigh his options, then realized he only had one. “Steve,” he said without inflection, “this is Amy Goodnight. She and her sister are staying at the farm while Ms. Goodnight is away. Amy, Steve Sparks is our ranch manager.”

Mr. Sparks weighed his options and settled on a nod, one hat tip short of a movie western gesture, and a formal “Miss Goodnight.”

I responded in kind, with a chilly “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sparks.”

“You girls doing okay there at the farm?” The question surprised me until he added, lengthening his drawl with a measure of sarcasm, “Not having any trouble with ghosts, I hope.”

“Just the usual amount of trouble,” I answered, adding an overly sweet, screw-you sort of smile. I was only obliged to be polite to my elders to a point.

With less awkwardness than you’d have thought, Ben shot me a look, then hurried his manager on his way. “Thanks, Steve. Get the fence done today, and hopefully we’ll be able to go back to work here tomorrow. I’ll call you after the university folks clear out.”

“Sure thing.” Sparks gave a tight nod to Ben, then to me, before heading toward the trucks. He didn’t seem too happy with the dismissal, but I couldn’t tell if it was because it came from someone so much younger than him, or because he’d been caught out looking like a jerk. I suspected it was the first thing. And that I might have been unfair in thinking Ben was the only one likely to tell Deputy Kelly he should pay Phin and me a call.

In any case, Sparks gave a sharp whistle and a circular, round-’em-up wave of his hand, and the loitering men pushed off their perches to join him.

I turned to Ben. “My. What a charming lot y’all are over here.”

“Don’t start, Amaryllis.”

He crammed a lot of editorial about my family into my dreadful name, and I decided to give him the point. Pots, kettles, etc. Except that my family was charming. Literally, in some cases.

Besides, I had more important questions. The Texas Monthly article had said this place was big. But I hadn’t considered the practical reality of that until Ben’s comment about travel time. “It’ll take an hour to get to the fence in the north quarter?”

He pulled his Stetson down a bit, hiding his expression, his bland tone an accusation. “It does when you have to go way out of your way to get across the river.”

In other words, another old problem he was laying at Aunt Hyacinth’s door. “It seems to me that you’ve needed a bridge for a while,” I said, “and it’s just bad luck you decided to build one on top of some poor soul’s unmarked grave.”

My own words gave me a moment’s chill, but Ben didn’t notice. “We offered to build a bridge at the Goodnight bend,” he said, not chilly at all. Just the opposite. “Construction would have been much easier there. We would have paid the entire cost in exchange for access. But your aunt refused.”

I didn’t point out that if she didn’t need a bridge, the offer wasn’t as generous as all that. On the other hand, it did seem odd of Aunt Hyacinth to be so unneighborly. “I’m sure she had her reasons.”

His biting glance let me know what he thought of those. “So this was already taking longer than it could have,” he continued, “and that was before it turned into an episode of Bone Detectives.”

“Gosh,” I said, “it’s really disobliging of someone to be dead right where you want