Woman in Shadow

by Carrie Stuart Parks

  After the last of the horses we needed were in, he dumped the oats outside and shut the door. We quickly had the horses in the correct headgear. The saddles were all similar, well worn but in good condition, and all had breast collars and flank cinches with hobble straps. The horses were swiftly saddled. Wyatt added a scabbard to the buckskin’s saddle to hold his rifle.

  “Bram, you take the dun. Liam, the sorrel. They’re both about the same speed so you’ll stay together. You two.” He pointed at Stacy and Peter. “How well can you ride?”

  “We’ve been taking dressage lessons for years,” Peter said.

  “Okay, there isn’t time to show you the difference.” Wyatt handed Peter the reins of the two bays. “These two aren’t as picky about their riders.”

  He handed me the Appaloosa’s reins, then led the buckskin to the door and opened it. “Darby, the Appy is my toughest horse. He’s stubborn but fast—”

  Gunshots rang out, coming from near the lodge.

  “Let’s go!” Bram yelled.

  Without waiting for more instructions, I grabbed the saddle horn and swung into the saddle, ducked through the door, and kicked the horse into a gallop. As more shots rang out, I bent low and prayed a bullet wouldn’t find me.

  Wyatt was right. The big gelding was fast. He flattened his ears and charged up the hill as if it were flat ground. We didn’t slow down until we reached the top of the ridge. I pulled him up. He wasn’t even breathing hard. I, on the other hand, was gasping for breath.

  Behind me came the thunder of the other horses. I didn’t wait for them to catch up but continued off the marked trails while I checked the GPS. I adjusted my direction slightly right. I needed to head southeast for a few more miles before turning south.

  Holly and Maverick seemed overjoyed at this galloping romp in the woods.

  I urged the Appy to a trot and instantly regretted the tooth-rattling gait. Another nudge with my legs pushed him into a distance-eating lope.

  The sky lightened, but a heavy overcast hid the sun. The ground grew rough and rocky, so I slowed to a walk and let the horse pick out his path. After what I figured was another mile, I pulled out the GPS and checked, then turned south.

  The mountain grew steep, though the Appaloosa still navigated with ease.

  A soft rumble like a heavily traveled highway grew louder as we continued. The sound resolved into a sheer cliff dropping to a boulder-filled stream far below.

  We stopped. The dogs sniffed the air, then the ground. I took out the GPS to look for an alternate route.

  The screen was black. Pushing the On button, I waited. A depleted battery symbol flashed on, then off.

  Turning the GPS over, I opened the battery compartment and rotated the batteries. Please work, just for a moment.

  The screen remained black.

  Chapter 21

  Bram handed the rifle to Wyatt and scrambled onto his horse as soon as the shooting started. Darby, nearest the door, had already taken off at a gallop. The rest of the riders followed. The horses stayed pretty much together as they raced up the hill.

  They pulled up their horses at the top of the ridge. Everyone was silent. “I don’t suppose you checked to see if any of the horses or mules were missing?” Bram finally asked Wyatt.

  Wyatt shook his head. “Just the few from when they broke out earlier. I should have thought of it.”

  “I didn’t think of it either.” Bram frowned. “So we don’t know if the killer will be stalking any of us or will stay at Mule Shoe. I guess I don’t have to tell you all to be careful and ride fast.” He jerked his head at Liam and turned his horse east, pressing the dun into a trot.

  The trail angled downward, then flattened before starting to climb. The path was clearly marked and in excellent condition, and they made good time. Bram checked his GPS often, watching for the point when they’d have to set off cross-country. Finally the trail angled north. “Liam, we need to continue straight.”

  The young man didn’t answer, just turned his mount off the road and down the slope. At the bottom, the trees thinned. A brook with sulfur-laden steam rising from its surface—evidence of the geothermal activity—meandered through the small gulch.

  “Liam, we need to bear more to the right—”

  “You know, Bram, I’m perfectly capable of reading a GPS. I’m tired of you bossing me like I’m an idiot. Not anymore. No way.” Liam kicked his horse hard, sending the little mare into a gallop.

  “Liam, slow down!” Bram urged his mount to go faster. “Slow down! We have a long ride! We don’t need to go that fast!”

  Liam disappeared into the trees ahead.

  “I’m gonna catch that little jerk and pound some sense—”

  His horse pitched forward, sending him flying over her head. He hit the ground hard, knocking the wind out of him and sending shock waves of pain throughout his body. Sucking in tiny gulps of air, he lay still until he could breathe normally.

  Once air was again flowing into his lungs, he took inventory of his injuries. His back hurt, arm throbbed, and shoulder pounded.

  Slowly, carefully, he pushed to a seated position. His horse had already righted herself and was shaking off the dust. She took a few steps and sniffed a thatch of grass, appearing to be unhurt.

  The reason for the fall was quickly evident. Ground squirrel burrows dotted the field. It was a wonder his horse didn’t break her leg. He gingerly tried to push off the ground. What felt like a firebrand slashed through his shoulder. “Aaah!” He dropped back down.

  The mare jerked up her head at his voice, danced sideways, then started trotting back toward Mule Shoe.

  He clamped his jaw against the pain and stood, swaying. “Whoa there, girl. Come here.” He moved after her retreating rear. “Come on. Here you go . . .”

  The trot became a lope, then a full-out gallop. She vanished up the hill, leaving only a slight dust cloud.

  Bram cycled through every cuss word he knew. The GPS was in the saddlebag, along with his water. He had to be five or six miles from Mule Shoe and a whole lot farther from Yellowstone. He could try for Yellowstone, but without the GPS, he could get lost, not to mention the park was full of wild animals that thought cops tasted just like chicken. And his shoulder was probably dislocated.

  He’d have to retrace his ride from Mule Shoe and hope he stayed clear of the killer.

  * * *

  I dismounted and led the horse away from the sheer cliff. The dogs looked at me with heads cocked. “Don’t worry. This isn’t a huge disaster. We’ll head south. The sun is . . .” I glanced up. “Currently in the east. We just have to get around this spot, unless you two have a better idea?”

  Maverick stood and started climbing away from the precipice as if he understood completely. I mounted the horse and fell in behind. We climbed for about half a mile before Maverick took a right. We seemed to be on a game trail. Numerous boulders and rocky outcroppings lined the narrow path.

  Crash, thump! A startled elk with an impressive seven-point antler shot up the hill. The Appy jerked but didn’t bolt.

  I looked around for the dogs, expecting them to pursue the tempting chase.

  The dogs were gone.

  The trees here were ponderosa pines, widely spaced and park-like. I should have seen the dogs easily. “Maverick! Holly!”

  I turned the horse completely around, searching. The two canines had simply vanished. “Holly, Maverick!”

  The only sounds were the wind rustling the pines and the high whistle of a golden eagle. “This doesn’t make sense.” I was hoping my voice would give me encouragement. “They’re not below me, beside me, or above me. So that leaves . . .” Straight ahead was a solid granite cliff. I took another slow look at the surroundings. Trees. More trees. More trees. Dead tree. Rocks—

  My gaze returned to the dead tree. It was partially blocked by several pines. I backed the gelding several steps. The dead tree was a blackened snag, probably hit by lightning a long time ago. I’d seen that sa
me snag before—in two of Shadow Woman’s drawings.

  I dismounted and led the horse forward, staring at the ground. Dog footprints showed where the two had run. I moved forward, step by step, approaching the granite wall. When I reached it, I ran my hand over the warm beige surface. The wall ended. My hand slipped around to a narrow opening behind the large slab. Because of the uniform color, the space was all but invisible. I led the horse through, the stirrups scraping against the stone. We emerged on the other side.

  A low hunter’s shack was tucked into the hillside. Beside the shack was a shed with an overhang to form a covered area for feeding livestock. Currently a very content mule was thinning out the hay supply. A small stream burbled nearby.

  The dogs greeted me with mouths wide open in doggy smiles.

  I had no doubt in my mind. I’d found Shadow Woman’s dwelling.

  * * *

  Bram started limping toward Mule Shoe. There was always a chance his horse would stop and graze, allowing him to capture her, or Liam would notice he was alone, but he wasn’t counting on either possibility. Hoofprints from their ride out were easy enough to follow.

  Even though he was unarmed, returning to Mule Shoe did give him the element of surprise. He could find a vantage where he could see most of the resort. Whoever was out there would be focused on the lodge . . . unless . . . unless the killer had followed one of the three riders. Or there were two of them. If he could easily see the evidence of his passing on the ground, so could anyone else.

  The thought slowed his pace. How far behind would the killer be? Could he find himself face-to-face with the stranger?

  A branch snapped to his left.

  He froze, then slipped behind a tree and listened. He caught the shuuuuush of wind through the pines. The chatter of a chipmunk. The stench of a wet dog.

  A large black bear sauntered next to a tree, stood on his hind legs and scratched the bark, then dropped to all fours and rubbed his back.

  Bram remained motionless.

  The bear stopped and sniffed the air.

  Bram couldn’t tell which way the breeze was blowing. At least it was a black bear, considerably less dangerous than a grizzly.

  He looked at his watch. By now, anyone following him would have shown up. At least he didn’t have to worry about running into an armed killer.

  As the bear wandered off, Bram continued his trek to the ranch. If nothing else, he could formulate a plan of action.

  * * *

  The ground gently sloped in front of the cabin before dropping away to a narrow gully. The roof sagged and the earth seemed to be slowly swallowing the log walls. Other than the babbling stream and panting dogs, silence. No birds chirped or wind disturbed the trees. A slight vapor rose from the creek. A closer inspection showed it was a hot spring.

  Shadow Woman visited the store once a month. She could have purchased batteries. Opening the back of the GPS, I confirmed I needed double A’s.

  I tied my horse next to the mule and entered the house.

  Inside, the air smelled faintly of smoke and dust. A single built-in bed, covers tossed into a heap, poked from the opposite wall. A small wood-burning stove on my left seemed to serve as both a heat source and cookstove. A sagging chair rested near the stove. To my right was a white-painted table with a mismatched chair. Shelves made up of orange crates were nailed to the wall. I moved to the shelves. On the bottom one was a Bible.

  On impulse, I picked it up and opened it. Inside was written, To Mae, on your graduation from Sunday school, Pocatello Community Church, and the date. The pages were filled with scribbled notes. I looked up the verse Scott Thomas had written. Jeremiah 29:11. “‘For I know the thoughts that I think toward you,’ says the Lord, ‘thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.’” Mae had underlined it and written in the margin, Believe.

  “Right now, Scott, I think the whole ‘strong and courageous’ verse is needed.” My voice sounded loud in the quiet cabin. “And a nudge toward batteries.”

  After returning the Bible, I searched the shelves, then moved around the room. Mae had a whole lot of Old El Paso traditional refried beans and Spam with cheese. No batteries anywhere. I searched again, this time on hands and knees, looking under everything, tossing things to the floor, before standing.

  “Flapp-er-doo-dle! What’s wrong with this lady! Is it too much to ask that she have at least one battery in the house!” I stomped to the door and opened it. I said to the horse, “And while we’re on the subject, what’s wrong with modern conveniences? Huh?” The horse didn’t look up from eating.

  “Aaarrrrgh!” I ran outside and yelled at the sky. “I don’t know where I am, I don’t know where to go, people are dying, and all I ask, God, is for one stupid battery!”

  God didn’t answer.

  Breathing heavily, I waited for my heart rate to climb down out of the stratosphere. Look on the bright side. With Spam and refried beans, I wouldn’t starve. Just die from the lard and sodium phosphates.

  The dogs had watched when I started my rant, their mouths agape. Now they turned back to peering over the gully.

  “Okay, I know that was childish. You don’t need to be dismissive.” I walked over to see what was more interesting than my temper tantrum and apology.

  Ten feet below me, caught in the bushes, was the body of a woman.

  Chapter 22

  My eyes burned and a lump formed in my throat. This had to be Shadow Woman. Mae Haas. I had to know her fate.

  I retrieved the rope on my saddle, tied one end to a nearby pine, then slipped the lariat around my waist. I didn’t want to get stuck down there. Sitting down, I slid carefully forward toward the body. The slope was steeper than it looked.

  The clerk at Sam’s Mercantile said Mae had stopped coming to the store six months earlier. She must have fallen at that time, and the condition of her body testified to that. She’d been essentially mummified by the dry air. No sign that a cougar, wolf, coyote, or bear had found her.

  I looked up at the dogs, both watching me intently. “That’s why it took you two months to make your way to Sam’s store. You were guarding her.” I thought about the healed scars on Maverick. The guarding had been intense.

  Her outward appearance showed no sign of trauma that I could see. Her teeth were in poor shape with a number of them missing. If the brush hadn’t caught her clothing, she probably would have tumbled all the way to the bottom of the gorge.

  What about the note? And check?

  Someone had to know she was dead. Someone who didn’t want anyone to go looking. “So how did anyone know what happened to you? Did they find your body? Or . . .”

  I moved closer, careful not to touch anything. She wore jeans, a red plaid jacket over a stained pink sweatshirt, and thick boots. Six months ago would have been March, when snow would still be present, so her clothing further confirmed the timeline. Her hair had sloughed from her skull and tangled in the branches. Her sightless eye sockets and mouth open in a silent scream made my stomach churn.

  Now that I was closer, I noticed something strange about her skull.

  Leaning forward, I studied her body. The skin had pulled from her cranium on one side and a tiny line on the bone tracked from the back of her head. That could be a radiating fracture.

  I could touch the skull, turn the head, and confirm it.

  An involuntary shiver went through me. I’d be touching the body with bare hands. The forensic in forensic linguist didn’t refer to dead bodies. It meant law enforcement or legal proceedings. Paper, ink, computers. Not blood, bones, or rotting flesh.

  Wait. I did have gloves, albeit wool. I tugged out the gloves Cookie had given me and put them on. Hands shaking, I reached over and rotated her skull.

  Some hair caught on the wool.

  I yanked my hand away, ripped off the gloves, and threw them over the gorge.

  The back of her skull had been smashed inward.

  Looking upward, I searched for a rocky ou
tcropping where she could have hit her head. From here I couldn’t see a likely answer.

  Gingerly I backed away from the body, then hauled myself to the top of the slope. Don’t fall, don’t fall. If I screwed up my prosthesis now, I’d be in a world of hurt. On all levels. Holly gave me a tail-wagging, rear-waving greeting. Maverick slowly walked over, sat, and leaned against my leg.

  “I’m so sorry, big fella.” I stroked his head, then scratched behind his ear. “You’ve shown me your deepest wound. Thank you.”

  The ground above Mae’s body had clumps of dried grasses, a pinecone or two, but no hard surface large enough to have crushed the back of her head.

  I widened my search. Near the house, rocks had been placed to create a planter, now overgrown. Evidence of chives and tarragon was among the weeds. One of the rocks was missing. I found it some distance from the old herb garden—a jagged piece of granite.

  If I picked up this rock and hit Mae on the head . . . Looking around, I found a small stick, which I pushed into the earth next to the rock, marking its location. The rock had a brown stain on one side, but I had no way of telling if the stain was human blood. I carried the possible murder weapon inside the house. At least it would be out of the elements.

  Now what? I could continue riding south, using the sun, to hopefully find civilization, or I could try to retrace my route to Mule Shoe, hoping my horse wanted to go home. Neither sounded like a good plan. I wandered around the room, hoping for an answer, ending up at the Bible. Maybe God could direct me. I opened the book at random. The first verse I saw was Judges 1:7. “And Adoni-Bezek said, ‘Seventy kings with their thumbs and big toes cut off used to gather scraps under my table; as I have done, so God has repaid me.’ Then they brought him to Jerusalem, and there he died.”

  “Not quite as enlightening as I’d hoped, God.”