“I’m law enforcement. We have three homicides and an attempted homicide, plus missing individuals.” Bram stood. “I’m taking over.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t know this ranch. I should be in charge.”

“Wyatt, you’re nothing but a broken-down cowboy.”

“And you’re nothing but a Barney Fife wannabe!”

Darby stood, moved to the door, and opened it. Her face flamed red.

Bram ran after her and caught her arm. “Where are you going?”

“To find the missing people. You two can stay here and decide who gets to be the boss, but someone’s got to take action.”

“Come back inside.” Bram could feel his own face getting warm as he gently pulled her away from the door and closed it. He looked at Wyatt. “You’re right. You know the ranch. But before we leave here, let’s make sure the lodge has been searched. Darby and I were in the dining room and kitchen, so those rooms are cleared.”

“Roy’s quarters are upstairs,” Wyatt said, “and there’s the art room and gift shop.” He strolled toward the hall leading to the art room. Bram followed.

Once there, it took only a moment to see the room was empty. Without a word, Wyatt left, opening a door halfway down the hall. A narrow set of dark and dusty stairs led upward.

Bram patted the door opposite. “What’s in here?”

Wyatt opened it to a storage area, clearly void of human occupants.

Bram pulled out a small flashlight. Wyatt stepped away and let Bram lead. At the top of the stairwell, a simple bathroom was on the left. He played his light over the area on his right. A wood-burning stove sat in the corner with a threadbare wingback chair facing it. A single bed with a quilted bedspread and a small bureau bracketed the fireplace. The closet door stood open.

“Seen enough?” Wyatt pivoted and clumped down the stairs.

Bram flashed his light around the room one more time, his flashlight lingering on a pair of worn slippers next to the chair.

“Wyatt.” Bram caught up to the other man at the bottom of the stairs. “How much do you know about what’s going on at Mule Shoe?”

“You mean like the murders?”

Bram turned off his flashlight. “You know what I mean.”

“He’s my boss. It’s none of my business.”

“It is now. Roy told me he sold Mule Shoe.”

Wyatt smoothed his mustache. “Yeah. He told me today. Did he tell you who bought it? And what they’re going to do with it?”

“He didn’t know.” Bram looked toward the lobby. “Maybe someone wasn’t happy with the sale. Guess one way to cool any interest is to turn this place into a death camp.”

“Who? And why?”

“Don’t know. Just saying.” He turned and ambled toward the lobby.