They would not let June go to the SUV.
She argued anyway.
Investigator Reid said the vehicle was now part of an active scene. Deputy Mason said patrol officers were preserving it until technicians arrived. Mr. Vernon said nothing, but the look on his face suggested Grandpa’s estate had crossed into territory even he had not anticipated.
June stood beside the bank conference table gripping the back of her chair.
“Whose blood?”
“We don’t know yet,” Mason said.
“How much?”
“Enough to investigate.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one I can give you.”
“Was someone hurt badly?”
“We don’t know.”
“Was there a weapon?”
Mason glanced at Reid.
June caught it.
“What?”
“Nothing confirmed.”
“What did they find?”
“June,” Mark said softly.
She turned on him.
“Don’t.”
He lifted both hands.
“I’m trying to help.”
“I don’t need calming down. I need people to answer questions.”
Reid nodded toward Mason.
“Tell her what we know.”
The deputy opened a small notebook.
Robert’s SUV had been found pulled partly into a drainage access road approximately eighteen miles west of Salina.
The driver’s door was unlocked.
The keys were gone.
Robert’s wallet remained in the center console.
Raymond’s blood type was unknown.
Robert’s blood type was unknown.
No body had been found.
A dark red smear marked the passenger seat and inside of the passenger door.
There was also blood on a broken wooden cane lying on the rear floorboard.
Carol made a small sound.
“What?” June asked.
She stared at the table.
“Raymond used a cane.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw him once.”
The room changed.
June stepped closer.
“You said you hadn’t seen him since 1979.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You said he left.”
“I said he left Kansas.”
“When did you see him?”
Carol pressed her palms together.
“Six years ago.”
Mark turned toward his mother.
“Mom.”
“It was one time.”
“Where?”
“Wichita.”
“What were you doing with him?”
“Nothing.”
June gave her a look.
Carol shut her eyes.
“I met him for lunch.”
June waited.
Carol’s resistance collapsed by degrees.
Raymond had found her through an old friend.
He called.
She hung up.
He called again.
Eventually curiosity overcame anger.
“He wanted to talk about Dad.”
“Money?” June asked.
“Mostly.”
“Of course.”
“He said he didn’t want anything.”
June raised one eyebrow.
Carol sighed.
“He said he wanted closure.”
“What did he actually want?”
“To know what the farm was worth.”
Mark laughed bitterly.
Carol looked at him.
“I didn’t tell him.”
“Did you tell Grandpa?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I knew what he’d say.”
June shook her head.
“So everyone protected Grandpa by hiding things from him.”
Carol winced.
“Don’t.”
“It’s true.”
“No, June.”
“You hid Raymond. Dad hid his financial problems. Dale hid contact with Raymond. Grandpa hid the trust. Apparently the only family tradition stronger than fighting about money is refusing to tell anyone anything.”
No one disagreed.
Deputy Mason’s radio sounded again.
He listened.
Then looked at Reid.
“They found additional items.”
June stepped forward.
“What?”
“A motel key card.”
“From where?”
“Sunrise Motor Lodge in Lindsborg.”
June frowned.
“That’s south.”
“Yes.”
Robert’s SUV was west of Salina.
The motel was nearly forty miles in another direction.
Mason continued.
“They also found an envelope.”
June’s face changed.
“What kind?”
“Cream-colored.”
Mr. Vernon looked up.
“Marked?”
“Yes.”
Mason checked his notes.
“Harold Parker.”
June’s skin prickled visibly.
“Grandpa’s handwriting?”
“Unknown.”
“What was inside?”
“Nothing.”
An empty envelope.
That should have meant little.
Instead, June sat.
“Grandpa used those envelopes.”
Mark frowned. “What?”
“The ones at the law office. The gate. The box.”
She looked at me.
“Same color?”
“I think so.”
Mr. Vernon nodded.
“Harold purchased a large box of those years ago. He used them for personal correspondence.”
June looked at Mason.
“Where was it?”
“Under the passenger seat.”
“Can I see a photo?”
“No.”
She pressed her lips together.
Mason softened.
“When it’s appropriate, we’ll show you.”
June stared at him for a second.
Then said, “The cane.”
“What about it?”
“Was it plain wood?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ask.”
Mason frowned.
“Why?”
“Ask.”
He radioed the scene.
We waited.
Dale stood apart from everyone, arms folded tightly. He had not spoken since requesting a lawyer.
Carol sat motionless.
Mark paced.
Less than a minute later, Mason received an answer.
“Dark hickory,” he said. “Silver-colored collar beneath the handle.”
Carol nodded.
“That’s Raymond’s.”
June was still thinking.
“What kind of handle?”
Mason radioed again.
The answer came back.
“A duck head.”
June looked at Carol.
“Raymond’s?”
Carol shook her head.
“No.”
“What?”
“His cane had a curved handle. Plain.”
June stood.
“Then that isn’t Raymond’s.”
Mason watched her.
“You know someone with a duck-head cane?”
She did not answer immediately.
Instead she seemed to travel backward through memory.
Grandpa’s farmhouse.
His study.
The porch.
Then she looked at me.
“Do you remember the umbrella stand by the back door?”
I did.
Old canes, umbrellas, a walking stick made from cedar, and Grandpa’s useless collection of things he refused to throw away.
June faced Mason.
“Grandpa owned that cane.”
The deputy lowered his notebook.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“He didn’t use a cane regularly,” Mark said.
“No,” June answered. “He bought it at an estate auction. He called it ridiculous.”
I remembered the thing.
A carved duck head with tiny glass eyes.
Grandpa once claimed it was too fancy for walking and too ugly for decoration.
“How did Robert get it?” June asked.
Nobody knew.
Mr. Vernon said, “If Harold kept it at the farmhouse, then whoever removed it was inside the house.”
June looked at Dale.
He said nothing.
Reid’s phone rang.
He stepped into the hallway.
The room fell silent.
Carol stared at the surveillance photos.
June stared at Grandpa’s video paused on the tablet.
Mark stared at Dale.
Finally he said, “What else haven’t you told us?”
Dale did not answer.
Mark stepped closer.
“I’m talking to you.”
“I said I want a lawyer.”
“You’re my cousin.”
“That doesn’t matter right now.”
“You made me follow June across a pasture because you were worried she got more than us.”
Dale glared.
“You followed because you wanted to know too.”
Mark stopped.
That was true.
June looked away.
Mark’s voice dropped.
“I wanted to know. I didn’t help strangers forge Grandpa’s signature.”
“I didn’t forge it.”
“You helped build the company.”
“I didn’t know they would use it like that.”
“Who is they?”
Dale’s eyes flicked toward him.
Mark saw it.
“Robert and Raymond?”
No answer.
“Who else?”
Dale shook his head.
“There isn’t anyone else.”
“You just said they.”
“Figure of speech.”
June spoke from across the room.
“No.”
Dale faced her.
“What?”
“You know someone else.”
“Stop.”
“You’ve known more at every stage.”
“I’m not talking to you.”
June moved closer.
“When the will was read, you weren’t shocked by the farm being missing. You wanted to know how much it sold for.”
“I was curious.”
“When we found the bank card, you asked about the account.”
“So?”
“When Prairie Heritage Holdings was mentioned, you froze.”
“Because it’s my company.”
“When Robert’s photo came out, you knew he’d been there.”
“I did not.”
“When Raymond appeared, you weren’t shocked he was alive.”
Dale’s expression tightened.
June took another step.
“And now there’s blood in Robert’s SUV and Grandpa’s cane inside.”
Dale looked toward Deputy Mason.
June’s voice lowered.
“What happened after Robert found the trust documents?”
Dale swallowed.
No answer.
“What was the plan?”
Silence.
“How were you supposed to get the money?”
Dale’s face finally cracked.
“We weren’t supposed to hurt anyone.”
Carol stood.
“What?”
Dale shut his eyes.
Mark whispered, “Jesus Christ.”
June remained perfectly still.
“What do you mean?”
Dale looked at Reid’s empty chair.
Then at Deputy Mason.
His lawyer had not arrived.
The moment stretched.
Finally he said, “Raymond said there was another way.”
“Another way to what?”
“Challenge the trust.”
Mr. Vernon frowned.
“On what grounds?”
“Ownership.”
The banker’s expression sharpened.
Dale continued.
Raymond claimed some of Harold’s later wealth derived from acreage and investments originally purchased with jointly owned assets.
If true, Raymond might have had a claim.
Not to all of it.
Enough to create litigation.
Enough to freeze distributions.
Enough to pressure a settlement.
“But Grandpa sold the farm,” June said.
“Yes.”
“And the money went into the trust.”
“Yes.”
“So Raymond wanted part of the trust.”
“He said part of it was always his.”
“What did Dad want?”
Dale looked away.
“His debts paid.”
June’s face went blank.
“My father planned to help Raymond sue Grandpa?”
“He said if Raymond got control of anything, he’d help Robert.”
“So Dad traded Grandpa’s papers for a bailout.”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I don’t!”
Dale shouted it.
Deputy Mason moved closer.
Dale lowered his voice.
“I wasn’t in every meeting.”
“How many meetings were there?”
“Four that I knew about.”
“With Dad?”
“Two.”
“With Raymond?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone else?”
Dale hesitated.
June saw.
“Who?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“Who?”
“I shouldn’t have started talking.”
“Too late.”
The conference-room door opened.
Reid returned.
His expression told us something had changed.
“We have video from the gas station.”
June forgot Dale.
“What does it show?”
“Robert and Raymond arriving together.”
“Were they fighting?”
“No.”
“Was Raymond hurt?”
“Not visibly.”
“Then where did the blood come from?”
Reid paused.
“Seven minutes after they arrived, a third vehicle pulled in.”
Dale looked toward the floor.
June noticed.
“What vehicle?”
“A white Ford F-150.”
She looked at Dale.
His truck was blue.
Mark’s was silver.
Carol drove a Buick.
“Who was driving?”
“We’re working on identification.”
“Did someone get out?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Reid pulled out his phone and brought up a still image.
He placed it on the table.
The picture was blurry.
A man stood near the gas-station entrance.
Baseball cap.
Work jacket.
Heavy build.
June leaned closer.
“I don’t know him.”
Carol shook her head.
Neither did Mark.
I looked at Dale.
He had gone pale.
June followed my gaze.
“You do.”
“No.”
“Dale.”
“I said no.”
Reid faced him.
“His name is Thomas Keene.”
Dale’s eyes shut.
There it was.
“Who is he?” June asked.
Reid answered.
“A private document examiner.”
Mr. Vernon frowned.
“For handwriting?”
“Yes.”
June looked at Grandpa’s forged signature.
“Why would they meet a handwriting expert?”
Nobody answered.
Then Mr. Vernon understood.
“To make the forgery better.”
Reid nodded.
Dale backed away from the table.
June stared at him.
“You hired him.”
“No.”
“Prairie Heritage paid him?”
Dale said nothing.
Reid opened his file.
“Prairie Heritage Holdings transferred Thomas Keene six thousand dollars eleven days ago.”
Mark looked sick.
Dale rubbed both hands over his face.
“I didn’t know what it was for.”
June laughed softly.
“How many things did you pay for without asking?”
“Raymond told me it was consulting.”
“It was consulting.”
She pointed to Grandpa’s signature.
“On stealing from him.”
Dale slumped into a chair.
Deputy Mason’s radio crackled again.
He listened longer this time.
June watched his face.
“What?”
The deputy looked at Reid.
“Scene tech found something in the cargo area.”
“What?” Reid asked.
“A second phone.”
June stepped closer.
“Robert’s?”
“Unknown.”
“Can they turn it on?”
“Battery’s dead.”
Mason listened again.
Then frowned.
“Hold on.”
Everyone waited.
He spoke into the radio.
“What kind?”
Another pause.
His eyes moved to June.
“It has a label on the case.”
“What label?”
Mason swallowed.
“Wednesday.”
June’s face changed completely.
I knew the phone.
She did too.
Grandpa kept an old prepaid mobile in his kitchen drawer.
He hated smartphones and never trusted emergency call buttons. June had bought the cheap phone for him the previous year and taped a piece of masking tape to its back.
In her handwriting, she had written one word so he would remember what day she checked its minutes and battery.
WEDNESDAY.
“That was Grandpa’s phone,” June whispered.
Reid straightened.
“You’re certain?”
“I bought it.”
“Why would Robert have it?”
June shook her head.
Then something else occurred to her.
Her eyes widened.
“Because Grandpa didn’t die with it.”
Everyone went still.
“What do you mean?” Mark asked.
June looked at Mr. Vernon.
“When Grandpa died, I asked where the emergency phone was. Nobody could find it.”
Her voice was barely steady.
“I thought he’d lost it.”
Reid’s attention sharpened.
“When was Harold’s body found?”
“Thursday morning.”
“Who found him?”
June looked toward Carol.
Carol shook her head.
“Not me.”
Mark answered quietly.
“Robert did.”
June turned.
Her father, who everyone believed had been in Colorado, had somehow been the first family member inside Grandpa’s farmhouse after his death.
That fact had never sounded strange because Robert told them he had driven overnight when Harold stopped answering calls.
Now every piece of it sounded wrong.
Reid said, “June, did the phone record calls?”
“Yes.”
“Voicemail?”
“Yes.”
“Could Harold operate it?”
“Barely.”
She almost smiled.
“He hated the thing.”
“Did he ever use audio recording?”
“No.”
Then she paused.
“Wait.”
I knew what she remembered before she said it.
Three months earlier, June had shown Grandpa how to use the voice recorder because he wanted to record the sound his tractor engine was making.
He had accidentally recorded six minutes of himself complaining.
June’s face drained.
“If Grandpa knew someone was coming into the house…”
Reid nodded.
“He may have used it.”
The conference room seemed to contract.
Somewhere eighteen miles away, technicians were holding a cheap phone Grandpa had kept in his kitchen.
A phone that had disappeared the morning he died.
A phone found inside Robert’s abandoned SUV.
Deputy Mason received another message.
He looked at his screen.
Then at June.
“They got enough charge into the phone to turn it on.”
Nobody breathed.
“Is there anything on it?” she asked.
Mason’s face became grim.
“One audio file.”
June gripped the table.
“When?”
The deputy read the timestamp.
“Wednesday night.”
The last night of Grandpa Harold Parker’s life.
