The Archer [Book 13 of the Hawkman Series] by Betty Sullivan La Pierre

hunt with, because they think he's too reckless."
    Higgins looked at the ceiling, thinking. “Right off the top of my head I can't think of anyone. I'll have to ask my kids."
    Pulling out his business cards, Hawkman handed him one. “If you come up with a name, would you give me a call?"
    "Sure will."
    "Thank you for talking with me, Mr. Higgins. I can smell a delicious aroma coming from your kitchen. I'll get out of here so you can have a peaceful meal."
    Higgins chuckled. “My wife does lay a mean table."
    Hawkman left and as he drove down the driveway, he spotted a couple of young men coming in from the field on horses. It appeared Higgins had a houseful of males. He decided not to stop at the Riley's place tonight as these ranchers liked to come in from a hard day's work, have their dinners, relax, then hit the sack before getting up at sun rise. They didn't need a nosey private investigator showing up to interrupt their evening.
    Home sounded good to him, too, so he headed for the freeway. No need to stop by the office, as he had the arrow and briefcase with him. If he planned on getting this case solved in a week, he needed to form a plan on how to continue.
    Driving over the Klamath River, he could see the lights beaming from the windows of the house. He hoped everything was okay, as Jennifer had told him she had an appointment tonight. When he walked in the door, she glanced up from her computer.
    "Hi, Hon."
    "Thought you had a meeting."
    "Cancelled. A couple of the important members came down with the flu, so we decided to meet in a couple of weeks."
    "Guess this is the season. Sure hope neither of us comes down with it."
    "Where's Miss Marple?"
    Jennifer pointed toward the corner. “She really likes that throw."
    Hawkman frowned. “Is she losing her hearing? Usually when I come in, she's wrapping around my legs. She hasn't even looked in my direction."
    "I don't think so; she's just getting older and is more mellow."
    "Sure hope she doesn't forget all her youthful antics. I enjoyed her attention."
    "Remember, it's cold outside and I imagine the floor is drafty. She likes to hunker down on that blanket and it keeps her warm."
    He plunked the briefcase and arrow on the counter, hung his hat in the Hawkman corner, then pulled a beer from the refrigerator. “It's been another fruitless day."
    Jennifer put her computer to sleep, and joined him at the kitchen bar. “Tell me what happened."
    He told her about Olly giving him a week to find the harasser, or he was sending Laura out of state to his brother. Laura didn't want to miss school, and had a fit, but she didn't change her dad's mind. He then told her about stopping at the Higgins’ ranch.
    "Maybe Mr. Higgins will give you a boy's name in the next day or two. You also might find something on Laura's phone report."
    "I'm hoping. Otherwise, I'm going back to Roy Summers, the bow master, and talk to him about these private classes he didn't mention."
    "He probably thought you were just interested in the sports shop's clients."
    Hawkman shrugged. “You'd have thought he'd have mentioned the others."
    "Why?"
    He eyed his wife. “I don't know. Out of principle."
    "Why?"
    Cocking his head, he looked at her. “Don't you think it would have been the normal line of conversation."
    "Not if you were in the shop which hires him. I'd think he'd want to give them as much of the business as possible, since they do pay him."
    "I see your point. I think."
    She smiled. “Regardless, it doesn't appear you have much time to bring this case to a head. What are you going to do?"
    He confided the plan he'd set up with Laura. “If I could get the license plate of his vehicle, his name, even a good look at the guy, it would at least give me a starting point. Right now, I'm dangling with nothing.” At that moment, the phone rang. He reached across the counter and picked up the receiver. “Tom Casey here."
    He quickly grabbed a pen out of the holder, and scribbled on a paper pad.