The house had recently been remodeled with all new furnishings that Russell suspected had to do more with Midge’s tastes than John’s, including the hand-painted flowery borders in every room.

Russell led him into the large ranch kitchen and offered him a chair at the table. While John filled two mugs with coffee, Russell glanced out the window at the view of the Larb Hills etched against the skyline.

John and Midge still had several ranches to the south, but had moved closer to town in the past couple of years. Unlike other ranchers who turned the place over to their grown sons or daughters and son-in-laws, John and Midge had never had children, so his ranches were leased.

“I heard you called in a rainmaker,” John said, handing Russell one of the mugs filled with coffee before joining him at the table.

“Finnegan Amherst.”

John’s head came up with a jerk. He let out a curse, something unusual for John.

“He’s the same one that was used some twenty years before. He did make rain the last time, didn’t he?”

John waved a hand through the air. “I’m just surprised he’s still alive.”

An odd thing to say, given that the rainmaker was supposedly younger than John himself.

“Was he in ill health?” Russell had to ask when John didn’t say more.

“No, no, I just thought someone would have shot him by now. Or strung him up.”

Russell was confused and said as much.

John took a sip of his coffee as if he’d said too much already. “It’s his way with women, other men’s women.”

“Finnegan is a lady’s man?” Russell said with a laugh, remembering the man’s deep, raspy voice. “I doubt he is anymore. He sounded on the phone as if he was ninety.”

“Really? He’s closer to fifty now, I’d say. Making rain must have aged the man.”

John’s sarcasm and obvious dislike of the rainmaker confused Russell. Was it possible Finnegan Amherst had gone after Midge?

The idea made him scoff. Midge Atkinson wasn’t the type of woman that attracted men. There was something too brittle about her. Ah, hell, the woman was a bitch, plain and simple.

“So when is he coming?” John asked.

“Good question. I’m waiting to hear from him.” Russell glanced at his watch and remembered why he’d stopped by.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the owner of the old Beaumont place is in town. She’s interested in finding out more about the murder.”

All the blood drained from John’s face. His coffee mug clattered to the table, coffee spilling everywhere.

John shoved back his chair and hurried into the kitchen to grab some paper towels.