“And then to find out we were so deeply in debt…” She shook her head. “He couldn’t bear to tell me, I guess. Didn’t want me to worry.”

“It must’ve come as a blow.” Bishop noticed some blood on the ground—probably from when he was wheeling Emmett’s body around back—which was wet, thanks to the light rain they’d had this morning.

He made sure he retained eye contact with his landlady so that she wouldn’t notice it. He’d thought he’d done a better job of cleaning up than he had, but he’d been so tired and hadn’t had a chance to come out and check his work. He’d been too eager to go buy what he needed to camouflage the stolen van—which he hoped she hadn’t seen parked under the tangled vines shrouding the carport.

“It did. I inherited this ranch from my father. I should’ve stayed involved on the management end. But times were different back then. I was expected to stay at home and raise our kids, and that’s what I did. I don’t regret my choice. I love my four children.”

“That’s nice.” Bishop made an attempt to sound sincere, but he wasn’t sure if he was being successful.

“It’s just that being thrust back into the business world after such a long break … I feel like a fish out of water,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh.

She was obviously still mourning the death of her husband and their business. As a matter of fact, she was so caught up in her own personal anguish she hadn’t been paying as much attention to the ranch as he imagined she would otherwise—lucky for him.

“I doubt you could’ve done anything to save it,” he said flatly.

When her head jerked up, he knew his comment had sounded too harsh, too careless.

“Not to be insensitive,” he added. “It’s just … why beat yourself up for something you couldn’t help? That’s all. If your husband managed this place your entire married life, he must’ve done a decent job.”

“Oh, I’m not saying he didn’t!” she said. “He did all he could, of course. Small farms and ranches can’t compete with the big boys anymore. That’s all. I’m not blaming him. Just wishing I’d been more prepared for living without him.”

“What about your children?” He conjured an interested expression. He wanted to keep her talking, keep her distracted. There could be something he’d missed, like the blood he’d noticed himself, that would make her take a second look. “They were never interested in getting involved in the family business?”

“No. Maybe if we’d had a boy it’d be a different story. But the girls all went to college in the Lower Forty-eight and only one came back. She’s now married and works for a veterinarian.”

The sky was darkening, promising more rain. Bishop hoped that would motivate Mrs. Southwick to leave sooner than she might’ve done otherwise. “Some of the others could still return.”

“I doubt they will. It’s too hard to make a living here, unless you’re a pilot, a roughneck in the oil fields or a hunting guide. About the only thing left is the tourism industry, and they’d tired of that by the time they got out of high school.”