Her eyes narrowed at the cruel analogy. “No.”
Swirling the amber liquor in his glass, he stared at her. “Don’t you think it’s odd?”
“Of course.”
Trask shook his head. “More than that, Tory. Not just odd. What I meant is that it seems like more than a coincidence. First this letter—” he pointed to the anonymous note still lying face up crumpled on a small table “—and now the calf.”
Tory felt the prickling sensation of dread climb up her spine. “What are you getting at?”
“I think the dead calf is a warning, Tory.”
“What!”
“Someone knows I’m here looking for the person that was unconvicted in the original trial for Jason’s murder. I’ve made no bones about the fact that I intended to visit you. The calf was a message to stay away from me.”
Tory laughed nervously. “You’re not serious….”
“Dead serious.”
Tory felt the first stirrings of fear. “I think you’ve been in Washington too long, senator,” she replied. “Too many subcommittees on underworld crime have got you jumping at shadows. This is Sinclair, Oregon, not New York City.”
“I’m not kidding, Tory.” His eyes glittered dangerously and he finished his drink with a scowl. “Someone’s trying to scare you off.”
“It was probably just a prank, like Rex said.”
“Rex didn’t believe that and neither do you.”
“You know how kids are: they get an idea in their heads and just for kicks—”
“They slaughter a calf?” he finished ungraciously. Anger flashed in his eyes and was evident in the set of his shoulders. “Real funny: a heifer with three gunshot wounds. Some sense of humor.”
“I didn’t say it was meant to be funny.”
His fist crashed violently into the windowsill. “Damn it, Tory, haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said? It’s obvious to me that someone is trying to scare you off!”
“Then why not send me a letter…or phone me? Why something as obscure as a dead calf? If you ask me, you’re grasping at straws, trying to tie one event to the other just so that I’ll help you in this…this wild-goose chase!” Realizing that he only intended to continue the argument, she reached for the phone on the corner of the desk.
Trask’s eyes were blazing and the cords in his neck protruded. He was about to say something more, but Tory shook her head, motioning for him to be silent as she dialed the sheriff’s office and cradled the receiver between her shoulder and her ear. “No, Trask, what you’re suggesting doesn’t make any sense. None whatsoever.”
“Like hell! If you weren’t so damned stubborn—”
“Deputy Smith?” Tory said aloud as a curt voice answered the phone. “This is Tory Wilson at the Lazy W.” Tory held up her hand to silence the protests forming on Trask’s tongue. As quickly as possible, she explained everything that had occurred from the time that Len Ross’s hands had noticed the dead animal.
“We’ll have someone out in the morning,” the deputy promised after telling her that no other rancher had reported any disturbances in the past few weeks. Tory replaced the phone with shaking hands. Her brows drew together thoughtfully.
“You’re beginning to believe me,” Trask deduced. He was still angry, but his rage was once again controlled.
“No—”
“You’d better think about it. Has anything else unusual happened around here?”
“No…wait a minute. There was the combine that broke down unexpectedly and I do have a stallion with laminitis, but they couldn’t be connected…never mind.” What was she thinking about? Governor’s condition and the broken machinery were all explainable problems of running the Lazy W. The malicious incident involving the calf—that was something else again. She forced a fragile smile. “Look, Trask, I think you’d better leave.”
“What about the letter?” he demanded, picking up the small piece of paper and waving it in her face. “Are you going to ignore it, too?”
“I wouldn’t take it too seriously,” she allowed, lifting her shoulders.
“No?”