Susan carried the last of the salad plates to the kitchen as the doorbell rang. She wondered if it were Byron Walker, as he’d yet to show for dinner, but no one seemed to mind.
With the main course plated she carried three of the plates out to the dining room. Tyson must have gone to open the door, because his seat was vacant.
Susan set the first plate in front of Lydia—ladies first. Then she served Dwight Peterson. He was a distinguished looking gentleman, whom she assumed might be nearing sixty. He had a mind for business by the way he spoke of his. As she set down his plate, he thanked her with a generous smile.
Shooter Magee, on the other hand, was nothing like his grandfather. Susan would have assumed Dwight Peterson picked Shooter up from a bar and brought him to dinner. He reeked of alcohol. Wearing a pair of dark jeans and a leather jacket, he certainly didn’t fit in.
It was obvious he hadn’t shaved in at least a week and it had probably been a year or more since he’d had a haircut. The man gave her the creeps. If they found out he’d been the one to steal her car, she was going to sell it. Just the thought of him being in it gave her chills.
As she turned to set Shooter’s plate down, he patted her butt causing her to reel back, nearly spilling his plate in his lap.
Just as she took a breath to let the S.O.B. have it, Tyson stepped through the door with Smyth in tow.
“I suggest you never touch her again,” Smyth said in a low growl.
Susan stepped back from the table and found that Lydia too had risen to move.
Shooter leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Nice to see you, Officer Smyth. Didn’t know you were coming to dinner.”
Smyth walked into the room fully. “I’m guessing you know exactly why I’m here.”
Dwight Peterson squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What have you done now?” he asked.
Shooter merely grinned at Smyth.
“I’ll tell you what he did. He approached an under-aged woman to solicit sex while in our fine city. That’s after he parked in a fire lane and exited his car with an open container.”
Dwight looked up. “Why didn’t you arrest him then?”
“He was under suspicion of another charge, we just needed him to lead us right to that.”
Shooter scratched the scruff of a beard that traveled down his neck. “I didn’t realize you were such a detective.”
“It seems Shooter was the man who set up the card game in which Byron Walker lost.”
Elias cleared his throat and held up his hands. “I paid his gambling debt. Mr. Walker owes no one.”
“Didn’t say he did,” Smyth said. “Illegal gambling operation set up by Mr. Magee. That’s one offense. The other is the game was rigged. Mr. Walker shouldn’t have lost.”
Shooter snorted a laugh. “You can’t prove that.”
“You should be careful what you say to a wired under- aged woman when you’re soliciting her. Sometimes the sting hurts,” Smyth said as he moved in and yanked Shooter to his feet.
Shooter grunted as Smyth slapped handcuffs on him and another officer walked through the front door.
Tyson moved toward them. “What about our properties? The poisoned animals? The slashed tires? The stolen cars? The lurking about, setting off the alarms?”
Shooter shook his head. “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about. I really don’t even give a crap who you are, let alone what you have. The old man drug me along, trying to change my image,” he said as Smyth began to lead him from the room.
Tyson stopped Smyth from leading him out of the dining room. “Wait. You had nothing to do with all of that? But the oil rights? The land merger?”
Dwight Peterson rose. “I never told him about any of that. I didn’t trust him with the information.”
Everett Walker stood from his seat and walked toward Susan and Lydia. “I think it’s about time for us to leave,” he whispered. “Call Eric and tell him you’ll be heading home.”
Susan nodded then she and Lydia retreated to the kitchen.