Warrior Son

Together they walked up the drive to the porch and climbed the steps. “You okay?” Roan asked Megan.

She gave a short nod, then led the way inside. The stench of decay filled the air, the sight of the woman’s body fueling Roan’s anger when he spotted her gray hair and gnarled hand reaching out as if begging for help.

Everyone pulled on latex gloves as they entered, and then they gathered around the victim. One of the crime workers began snapping photographs while the other started searching for forensics.

“It looks like she was cutting vegetables when someone entered from the back of the house,” Megan said. “I think she heard the noise and turned to see who it was, then he shot her in the chest.”

Poor woman was probably in her sixties. Dozens of pictures of her with a slender thirtysomething woman sat on the bookshelves. Then photos of Edith and a dark-haired boy and girl along with a card that read, “Happy Mother’s Day, Grandma.”

Roan’s chest squeezed. She was a grandmother for God’s sake.

She hadn’t deserved to be gunned down in her home.

Roan’s phone buzzed. Darren Bush. He excused himself and stepped on the front porch to take the call.

“Deputy Whitefeather, I got your message.”

“Yes, we’re still investigating the fires at Horseshoe Creek. When did Joe McCullen make his will?”

“Ten years ago, but he reviewed it each year.”

“Did he make any significant changes in the last few months before his death?”

“No. Well, he did purchase a couple more plots of land. He added one of those in the settlement. It went to Bobby Lowman.”

Right. “So he didn’t plan to change his will and cut Barbara or Bobby out?”

“No, God no. He was adamant about taking care of his family.”