Dang Near Dead (An Aggie Mundeen Mystery Book 2) by Nancy G. West Page B

need.
    “George thinks it’s stupid to see grown women panting over a bunch of tight-butt, small-brained cowboys,” Sam added.
    Meredith grinned at me. There are some things only women appreciate.
    “George also despises the indignity of having to heave himself onto a horse,” Sam said.
    “Did Selma say that’s another reason he should exercise?” I asked.
    “Right. He also hates stripping to a swimsuit to dunk himself in a river. Selma reminded him he used to say he loved the Texas Hill Country. She grew euphoric talking about its natural beauty. When she started pontificating about conservation, I had to get out of there.”
    Sam wore a long-tailed shirt hanging out over his jeans. He must be hiding the Glock.
    We strolled toward the main lodge, listening to blessed silence. I saw two small buildings secluded in the brush off to our left. From having studied the ranch map, I thought the first cabin, closest to ours, must be Vicki’s. Through the window, I saw a blouse draped on a chair.
    Farther down the road, I concluded the building closest to the lodge must be Sunny Barlow’s cabin; it had the initials “S. B.” on the door.
    As dusk crept around us, the cicadas tuned up. “What are those? Locusts?” Sam said.
    “Texans call them cicadas,” Meredith said. “They invade in June and stay all summer. Males make those sounds by vibrating the membranes on their abdomens.”
    “Maybe George Tensel will take that up instead of snoring. He snores so loud, he rattles pipes in the bathroom.”
    Cicadas surrounded us from trees everywhere, chirping a rhythmical strain as if they were celebrating the day and preparing the countryside for nightfall.
    “Do cicadas have any natural enemies?” he asked Meredith.
    “They lay hundreds of eggs in scratched-out areas of tree bark. When their offspring, called nymphs, fall to the ground, they frequently land near cicada-killer wasps.”
    We seemed to have landed in the middle of vast acreage that concealed mysterious deaths, conflicts between people, siblings with issues, a man hiding behind a happy face, a veteran who probably suffered from PTSD, and snakes.
    Yet the sky shone with more blue, pink, and orange streaks than I’d seen in any other sky. The air smelled purer than I’d imagined air could smell. The tone of humming cicadas enveloped us in a blanket of sound lulling us into security. How could anything go seriously wrong in such a place?

Nine

      
    To the right of the lodge, a large concrete patio was set back alongside the building. A breeze rustled red and white checkered tablecloths covering cypress picnic tables spaced across the concrete floor. Cicadas sang hymns to the streaked sky. I inhaled the fresh air.
    Sunny stood on the patio beside the outdoor fireplace, stirring coals. “Come on in. While we wait for the coals to heat up, I’ll sing.” He sauntered to the nearest table, heaved a foot on the bench seat, laid the guitar across his thigh and began to croon “Country Roads.” Even the cicadas grew quiet. Sunny smiled at our suitemates when they walked in, and they rushed to the table nearest him.
    Sam had captured the table to Sunny’s right and spread himself out on the bench seat so only Meredith and I could sit opposite him. Since the ranch wasn’t full, there were tables left over. Sunny wore subdued clown makeup and no hat. We had a good profile view of his strong, regular features. Why would he want to hide them?
    Bertha came out of the lodge carrying a tray of steaks. Vicki followed, struggling with a platter of baked potatoes and a mammoth salad bowl. About that time, Ranger Travis swaggered in wearing chaps, as if he’d spent the day riding a cutting horse through the brush.
    Sunny grinned and broke into “Momma, Don’t let your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys.”
    “You got that right,” Bertha said, winking at Ranger.
    Ranger tipped his hat to each woman. We all checked him out as he strolled around and spoke to everybody.