by B. J Daniels
Ford wasn’t getting involved with Rachel. But he didn’t want to argue the point, so he texted back, saying he was fine and would be away for a few days. Not to worry. Then he went looking for a place to stay.
* * *
HITCH WAS JUST finishing up the autopsy when the sheriff stuck his head in the door.
“About done?” he asked, sounding impatient and out of sorts.
She looked at the clock on the wall in surprise. She hadn’t realized how late it was. Behind the sheriff, she could see through a far window that it was dark outside. She’d lost track of time—as she often did. But she had needed to get on this one right away.
“I should have the report to you by tomorrow afternoon,” she said. “Do you have a minute?”
He had started to leave. She could tell he wanted nothing to do with the autopsy room. After shrugging out of her garb, she washed her hands and stepped out into the hallway with him.
“Tell me it’s a slam dunk,” he said. “Gunshot to the face, I don’t really need to ask the cause of death.”
“I was wondering about the woman’s injuries. You were the first one on the scene, right?”
“Like I told you, I found her in the kitchen, sitting on the floor, leaning against a cabinet, looking terrified. She was still holding the gun in one hand and the phone in the other. She dropped both when she saw me and tried to get to her feet. The floor was slick with her blood and his. I had to help her up.” He grimaced as if recalling the scene. “I could see that she was in bad shape and that he was dead. I could see what happened. What more is there to say?”
“There is no doubt that she fired the fatal kill shot,” Hitch said as she pulled out her phone to consult the report DCI had sent her. “The techs found gunpowder residue on her hands and wrists along with the clothing she was wearing at the time.” Slacks, blouse, heels. Dressed like a woman spending the day on the ranch? Or one who’d been to town?
“That seems pretty obvious since there was just the two of them in the house,” the sheriff said sarcastically. “She fired the gun and killed him. It wasn’t like he shot himself in the face.”
“Did she say anything to you about what had happened?”
“Like confess? She was hysterical, in pain, bleeding. I handed her my handkerchief.”
“The lab will want that if you still have it,” she said, making him roll his eyes.
“You’re just going to beat this one like a dead horse, aren’t you?” He shook his head. “Let the state get involved and they’ll blow this up for no good reason... Fine.” He pulled out the soiled handkerchief from his pocket. She could see only a few spots of blood and something dark. Gunpowder residue? As he tried to hand it to her, she made him wait until she grabbed an evidence bag, getting her another eye roll.
“So she didn’t say anything about shooting her husband?” Hitch asked again as she sealed the bag.
“No. She just cried. Clearly, she was in a lot of pain.” His jaw muscles clenched and unclenched. “I interviewed her at the hospital. Before you ask, I videotaped her statement.”
“Thank you, Sheriff. Oh,” she said as she started to turn away and pretended to change her mind. “I’ll need to see any statements you’ve taken, including the ones from Ford Cardwell and Rachel Collinwood.”
“I’ll call my office and tell them to send you both video interviews.” He didn’t move for a moment and she could tell he was chewing on something. “I’m damned good at my job, I’ll have you know. It’s why I’ve been in this office as long as I have.” With that, he turned and left.
She felt the weight of the day. Often she worked late rather than eat alone at some restaurant before going back to an empty motel room. If she didn’t love her work so much...
Turning out the light, she started to leave when she looked out to see a pickup parked outside. The lights were on and the engine was running, but she couldn’t make out who was behind the wheel.
As if the driver had seen her staring out the window, he sped off. Was it a male driver? She’d just assumed so. She watched until the taillights disappeared around a corner, surprised by the anxious feeling she’d gotten. The driver had just been sitting out there as if watching her. She didn’t spook easily, but being alone this late here at the morgue and seeing the driver of the pickup just sitting there...
She shook it off, telling herself it had been nothing. Just a long day and the violent case she’d found herself embroiled in. Tomorrow she would be getting a call from the governor wanting answers. She hoped she had some by then.
Chapter Seven
After a rough night filled with nightmares, Ford showered and drove down to the Corner Café Shyla had mentioned for breakfast. He was curious about the kind of woman his old friend would jeopardize his marriage over. If true. His head ached from the images that had played in his mind and kept him from sleep.
He kept seeing Rachel’s bruised and battered face. But it was Humphrey, once his best friend, who haunted his nightmares the worst. In them, the man had been pleading with Ford to forgive him, as if it had been Ford who’d pulled the trigger on that gun.
He took a seat in an empty booth and waited. The café was busy. He saw there were several waitresses scurrying around. One had short dark hair. The other, long blond hair tied back. Humphrey had always preferred blondes. He figured this one had to be Emily Sutton. When the woman came to his table with a menu tucked under her arm, a glass of water and pot of coffee, he got his first good look at her and felt a start.
She could have been a young Rachel with her big blue eyes and bee-stung mouth. “Coffee?” she asked, smiling. He could only nod, still taken aback. She righted the cup in the saucer that was already on the table and poured, commenting on the beautiful summer day outside, then said, “I’m Emily. I’ll give you a minute to look over the menu. But don’t worry—I’ll be back.” Her smile was devastating in its beauty and innocence—just as Rachel’s had been all those years ago.
Humphrey would have seen the similarities between the waitress and his wife. Would it have been like falling for Rachel all over again?
Ford opened his menu, surprised at the impact the realization had made on him. What had happened between Rachel and Humphrey? Had he just been looking for a newer model? How deep had the rift between them gotten that it had led to such a catastrophic ending?
He tried to concentrate on his menu. He hadn’t been hungry for a very long time. Loss of appetite was only one symptom, he’d been told. As if he didn’t know the rest of them. He was apparently the poster boy for post-traumatic stress disorder. He had it all, from the flashbacks, memory loss and nightmares, to the severe anxiety, the emotional numbness and feelings of hopelessness—right down to the despondent suicidal thoughts.
He started to close the menu, thinking he should go back to Big Sky. Rachel didn’t need him. Anyway, there was nothing he could do to help her. Other than what he’d already done. His cell phone rang. He saw that it was from the hospital and quickly picked up. His heart rate did a little bump as he heard Rachel’s voice on the other end of the line.
“Are you all right?” he asked as he hurried to take the call outside.
“I’m much better, thank you. I was hoping you were still around.”
“I am.”
“I’m so glad to hear that. I need to see you.” The café door opened as several people exited. The clatter of dishes and laughter followed them out, along with the smell of bacon. “You’re having breakfast. Please, finish eating. They’re taking me down to X-ray again, but then I should be back in my room in the next hour. Come see me?”
“I will.” To his surprise, when he disconnected he felt like going back inside the café. The smell of food that had nauseated him earlier now made his stomach rumble. He sat down and the waitress hurried right over.
“Have you decided?” Emily asked. On closer inspection,
she wasn’t as pretty as Rachel.
He nodded and ordered the special, flapjacks and bacon.
“Good choice,” she said and hurried off.
Ford picked up his coffee cup and took a sip. Rachel wanted to see him. What was it he’d heard in her voice? Fear and something else, something he remembered from a very long time ago. He heard her words from fifteen years ago at the wedding. “It should have been you, Ford.” And then her mouth and hands were on him and he was kissing her—the woman who’d just married his best friend.
That memory had always come with guilt like a weight around his neck. This morning it didn’t feel so heavy. Maybe even just hours after the wedding, Rachel had realized the mistake she’d made.
He felt lighter. He’d been wrong. Rachel did need him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed her right now, he thought. She’d saved his life on the mountain. Not that he would know if he would have gone through with it. But he felt as if she had literally pulled him back from the brink. Maybe he could do the same for her. At least for the moment it would give his life meaning.
* * *
BACK FROM X-RAY, Rachel itched to get her bandages off, head home and soak in a hot bathtub. She had a slight concussion. Her ribs were cracked, not broken. Same with her cheekbone. She felt dirty, grimacing when she saw the dried blood still under her fingernails. Emotions, hot and fierce, bubbled to the surface. Was it her blood? Or was it Humphrey’s? The thought of his blood made her wince.
She closed her eyes, wishing for sleep. Last night she’d lain awake, haunted by the memory of her husband’s face—and what she’d seen in those blue eyes—that instant before she’d pulled the trigger. Where once there had been such love, such admiration, such gratitude, she’d seen—She couldn’t bear to think about it or what their lives had come to.
At college, Humphrey had been the shy, wealthy young man who studied hard, partied little and dated even less. She’d expected him to be cocky the first time she met him after finding out who he was. Instead, he’d been sweet. It didn’t surprise her that Humphrey and Ford were good friends. They’d been a lot alike. Ford hadn’t even seemed to notice how wealthy his friend’s family was. But that was Ford. Money had never mattered to him.
Ford. Of course, he’d been there when she’d needed him. If only she had married him, she thought, then remembered what he’d said when she’d asked him what he planned to do after graduation.
“Maybe work in the barbecue business with the family. Although I think I’d like to work on Cardwell Ranch with my dad’s cousin Dana first. I’ve spent a lot of time there growing up over the years. It holds special memories for me.”
Rachel had been shocked at how little he’d wanted. “You must have another dream. Aren’t you majoring in engineering?”
He’d actually laughed and said he didn’t need to set the world on fire. He just wanted to have a simple life and give his kids what he’d gotten growing up, an appreciation for Montana living and family. “What I’ve learned would come in handy on the ranch.”
“But didn’t I hear Humphrey say that he could get you a job with his dad?” she’d said.
Ford had looked shocked. “That was nice of him, but that’s not the life I want.”
Was that when she’d been glad that she hadn’t set her sights so low? Ford was nice, but she needed more. She needed his roommate because she’d dreamed of the nicer things in life.
She cringed at the memory. Humphrey was dead, while it had been Ford who’d come to her rescue. She had a flash of memory of her lovely kitchen covered in shattered glass and pottery, with Humphrey lying in the middle of it. That vision now served as a nightmare snapshot of her shattered dreams. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to wipe it all away.
At the sound of someone coming into her hospital room, she opened her eyes and braced herself. This waking nightmare wasn’t over any more than the ones that ruined her sleep. In fact, she feared the horror was just beginning.
* * *
FORD HAD STARTED down the hallway toward Rachel’s room when a female voice called after him. Turning, he saw an attractive brunette woman wearing jeans, boots and a Western shirt headed toward him.
“Mr. Cardwell?” she asked when she reached him.
The title felt wrong. “I’m Ford Cardwell.”
She held out her hand. She had pale green eyes under dark lashes. “Henrietta Roberts, state medical examiner. Most people just call me Hitch. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind. The doctor said we could use his office down the hall, if you’ll please follow me.” She didn’t wait for an answer. Everything about her said she had authority, from the steel in her spine, to the tone of her voice and the no-nonsense look in those eyes. He gathered that she was a woman used to giving orders and having them followed.
He hesitated, though, anxious to see Rachel. She should be back from X-ray. She would be waiting for him. “I was just going to see—”
The medical examiner stopped to look back at him, seeming almost amused. “She isn’t going anywhere. I promise you. This way.”
In the doctor’s office, she closed the door behind them and told him to take a seat. To his surprise, she didn’t go behind the desk and take the doctor’s chair. Instead, she pulled up the second one in front of the physician’s desk. Their knees were only a few inches apart.
Taking out her phone and notebook and pen, she said, “I’d like to record this, if it’s all right with you.”
“You do know that I already did this at the sheriff’s office, right?”
“Yes, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to hear it directly from you.” She set up her phone to record on the edge of the desk so it was facing him. “I understand you know those involved. Can you please explain?”
He did, going over his relationships with Humphrey and Rachel and then the phone call and what he’d heard.
“So you never heard the victim say anything.”
“Is that what you’re calling him?” Ford asked. “What does that make Rachel?”
“At this point, they’re both victims. I’m trying to find out what happened so I can sort this out. So voices. You heard...”
“The only person I heard was Rachel. I thought at the time that she was being attacked by an intruder. I could hear glass breaking and her screaming...”
“Humphrey never spoke before she called him by name?”
“No.”
“Did you hear anything else in the background other than breaking glass?”
“Not that I can remember.”
“When you knew Rachel in college, do you know if she owned a gun?”
“No. I mean, no, she didn’t. She hated guns.”
“Did she learn how to shoot one, that you were aware of?”
“I have no idea. I hadn’t seen her for fifteen years until yesterday.” He remembered telling her goodbye the day he’d left. More memories hit him like typhoon winds, making a rushing sound in his ears.
“It’s clear to me that you care a great deal about her.”
Was he that transparent? He started to deny it, but decided to save his breath. “I was half in love with her way back when. I was young. We all were young, that is. But like I said, that was years ago.”
“Humphrey Collinwood was your roommate and your best friend, you said. Did the friendship survive the years?”
He didn’t know how to answer that. He could feel her studying him with those sea green eyes that seemed to notice everything. “We drifted apart.”
She nodded. “You said the last time you saw her was at her wedding to Humphrey?”
He realized he must have told the sheriff that and now she was making too much out of this. He nodded, wishing he’d denied having feelings for Rachel.
“Did Humphrey know how you felt about her?” Those eyes widened. “Did you ever consider getting
back at him?”
The accusation caught him flat-footed. He glanced at her phone. Was it still recording? “What are you suggesting? Yes, I had a crush on Rachel years ago, but I wasn’t...jealous, not like that.”
“I find it interesting that it was your phone number that she called during the altercation with her husband.”
“I explained that—”
“So just a few weeks ago, she contacts you out of the blue on social media. Whose idea was it to exchange phone numbers?”
He shook his head. “I don’t remember.” But when he thought about it, he did. It had been Rachel’s.
“Also, you drove right here, making really good time apparently, after the call.”
“I was worried after what I’d heard. I knew the sheriff would want to talk to me.” He couldn’t believe what she was insinuating. “Wouldn’t you have done the same thing after hearing something like that involving old friends?”
She didn’t answer. “You don’t find it a little odd she just happened to call you?”
“I explained that. It must have been—”
“A pocket dial, right. Making you a defense witness. Was Rachel surprised when you showed up here?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “I didn’t think so. She knew you would come to her rescue after the call since you were old friends. She had to have known how you felt about her. Even though you’d lost touch for fifteen years, she’d known you’d come when called.”
Ford didn’t like where this was going. “You’d have to ask her. Look, if we’re about finished here...” He stood.
The medical examiner turned off the video on her phone. “I’m assuming you’re planning to stay around for a while?” She again didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Good. But I can always find you back in Big Sky. If I need to.”
