Antler Dust (The Allison Coil Mystery Series Book 1) Read Free Page A

dart.
    Grumley watched the animal with professional interest. He owned the hunting guide operation and Rocky knew Grumley saw the elk as only one thing: money in the bank.
    Rocky Carnivitas watched the elk with apprehension, hoping he had done everything correctly. Rocky didn’t like people looking over his shoulder and passing judgment on the quality of his workmanship. But then, who did?
    “How the hell did you sneak up on me?” Rocky said. “I thought you were with your buddies. And, say, did you hear the damn protesters?”
    “I’ve been thinking about your ... whaddya call it?” Grumley’s handmade twirling motions as he tried to find the right word. The gun swayed in his grip.
    “Proposal,” said Rocky.
    “Right.”Rocky felt a rolling earthquake sensation in his gut. How the hell had he missed being followed? And why was his boss here anyway?
    “Let’s review that proposal, shall we?”
    The last time they had talked, Rocky was able to screw up his courage to confront Grumley by knocking back a couple of double Wild Turkeys and then describing his proposal quickly. After Rocky had spelled things out, Grumley looked at him intently, thoughtfully—as if Rocky was simultaneously delivering a well-designed business plan and relieving Grumley of a chronic tension headache. The session had taken place in the barn a week earlier. Since then, Rocky had wondered when and how the subject would come up again. He had hardly suspected it would happen here and now, up in the high country, with a gun right there, flopping about in Grumley’s hand.
    “Okay, you want me to give you twenty grand,” Grumley said, “or some such healthy amount like that. Right?”
    “That’s just a for instance amount,” Rocky said, squatting down next to the elk to check the collar again, acting casual. As if this whole sordid situation was no big deal.
    “What do you mean? You said an amount but you don’t mean it?” said Grumley.
    “The ballpark,” said Rocky. “Not necessarily the final number.”
    “So the amount of money might go up from there?”
    “Or down. Depends on the situation.”
    “Okay, the ballpark,” Grumley said. “The ballpark. And all of it buys me freedom from my wife and buys me solid gold guaranteed one hundred percent protection, because you are going to sit tight and not discuss my business operation with the authorities. Have I got it right? Is that the rough idea?”
    When Rocky had first conceived of the plan it had made sense, the kind of sense incubated in a bottle of Wild Turkey. But now he was not so certain of its wisdom. Rocky stood up. The clouds had thickened in the past few minutes and the air carried a fresh whiff of pine. He ignored the erratic twitching of the elk’s hind legs. It made a scrabbling sound on the rocks.
    “That’s more or less the idea,” Rocky said. “But if you want to talk—”
    “Good. Because I have a question, Rocky. Have you been screwing my wife?”
    Rocky froze. “What the hell do you mean?” he said, worried that the pause had given him away.
    “You little fuck,” growled Grumley. “She ...
    “She what?”
    “She wants—”
    “Oh, so you know what Trudy wants, huh?” Grumley scoffed. “Just beautiful.” He held both arms out as if he could hug the hillside. The rifle dangled loosely in his hand.
    Rocky spoke quickly. “Trudy only wants enough money to make another start.”
    “I can’t believe I’m talking to a guy who’s screwing my wife.” Rocky swallowed hard. He kept an eye on the gun. “It’s seed money to get her going,” he said. “Seed for two fuckin’ birds?”
    “It would only put a dent in your stash,” Rocky said with a note of certainty in his voice.
    “How would you know? Have you been examining my books?” said Grumley.
    “You screw my wife and you mess around with my business too, is that it? Did you hear what I said? My business. Think about it.”
    “It’s just a drop in the—”
    “Says who? Fuck you