Lana cleared the far end of the kitchen table and sat down with her legal pad to make a list. Who was connected to both Ricardo Cruz and Hal Rhoads? Victor Morales, of course. He’d worked with both Ricardo and Hal, one as an employee, the other as a donor. He seemed intent on turning the ranch into a conservation showpiece, a golden feather in his cap. She put Victor’s name in big block letters at the top of a page.
Next on her list were Hal Rhoads’s family. Diana Whitacre. Her husband, Frank. The son, Martin Rhoads. The cousin from Houston, Caleb something? And the hippie niece from Jackson Hole.
Lana looked at the list. It felt too short. Was there anyone else who knew both Hal Rhoads and Ricardo Cruz?
“Jack?” Lana called over to the couch. “Do you think it’s possible your boss, Paul, knew Mr. Rhoads or Ricardo Cruz?”
Jack looked up from her homework in confusion.
“I’m making a list of everyone who knew both the men who died,” Lana said.
Jack walked over to the table to look. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I mean, Scotty talked at the funeral, and he and Paul are tight, so maybe Paul knew Mr. Rhoads? And there was that kayak hanging there . . .”
It was good enough to put him on the list. There were already plenty of suspicious connections between Paul and Ricardo Cruz. Paul had taken the tour booking. Ricardo was found wearing one of Paul’s life jackets. And then there was the missing Maglite.
“Are you going to tell the cops about this, Prima? I mean, they might not even know about Mr. Rhoads’s death.”
More likely they wouldn’t care. “They won’t listen to me. I need to find evidence that links the two deaths, something real, to get them to pay attention.”
“Can I help?” Jack asked. “I mean, I already met the detectives. And now that I’m not a suspect . . .”
Jack seemed eager, her pupils dilated with excitement. But then Lana looked past Jack, to Beth, who was aggressively snipping leaves off a tiger-tooth aloe plant with a pair of shears.
“You’ve already done a lot, Jack,” Lana said. “We don’t want to draw attention. You can help me stay organized here.”
Jack’s eyes lost a bit of their sparkle. But she quickly recovered. “What are you going to do next?”
“I’m visiting Victor Morales at the land trust on Wednesday. And Lady Di, at her stables. You can tell me if you hear anything from Paul or anyone at the Shack about what the detectives are asking.”
There was another suspect on Lana’s list who wasn’t spoken for. Lana looked up at Beth.
“Is your date with Martin Rhoads happening?”
Beth decapitated another succulent. “It’s not a date.”
“Why not?”
Jack coughed. “Mom only goes out with lumberjacks.”
“Jack! What are you talking about?” Beth’s tone was annoyed, but she was smiling.
“There was that park ranger who only wore flannel. The paramedic with the beard. And that musician who—”
“I date laid-back, capable men . . .”
“Who all happen to look like lumberjacks.”
It was one of those moments that would have been sweet if Lana didn’t feel so left out. She told herself she didn’t want what Beth and Jack had: the casual banter, kitchen-table craft projects, or questionable standards for male company. But she wanted them to see her. To listen to her.
“I’m not asking you to date Martin,” Lana said. “But can you spend some time with him?”
Beth’s smile faded. She looked down at the garden shears in her hand.
“This is important, Beth. You can ask if he knows anything about the murder.”
“If it’s so important, maybe you should get a beer with him.”
Lana took a step back. She needed this. “Beth. Please.”
Lana and Jack both looked at Beth. Her face was a mottled mess of irritation at the request and pleasure at their interest. Lana knew if she’d asked Beth when they were alone, Beth would have stormed out or snapped back at her. But Jack had softened her up. Jack was Lana’s trump card.
Beth put down the clippers. “I can’t make any promises.”
“But maybe you’ll try?” Jack said.
Beth gave a curt nod and picked up the freshly planted teapot. A ribbon of moss dangled from her sleeve, following her out the front door.
*
By the time Beth had all her cuttings potted, Jack and Lana were on the couch, a giant bowl of popcorn nestled between them.