Trouble in Big Timber

by B. J Daniels

  “I’m glad you have me all figured out,” he said.

  She could tell that he was having trouble getting his mind around all this because he didn’t think like a criminal. In her job, she’d learned to do just that.

  “You still believe she would do this knowing she might go to prison for years?” he said, sounding even more incredulous because he couldn’t imagine doing anything like it.

  “I’m still on the fence. But it isn’t up to me to decide. Once I finish my investigation and provide what evidence I’ve found to the prosecutor, then it will be up to a jury to make the final decision.” She didn’t tell him that she’d talked the governor into letting her tap Rachel’s phone now that she would be getting out on bail. Hitch couldn’t wait to see whom the woman called over the next few days.

  “Admit it—you want her to be guilty,” Ford said.

  “The way you want her to be innocent? No. I just want the truth.”

  “What makes you think I don’t?”

  She smiled. “You don’t want to believe that she’s capable of cold-blooded murder because even if you aren’t still in love with her, Humphrey was once your best friend.” Hitch started to step away. “Maybe sometime you’ll tell me what happened at the wedding. In the meantime, be careful. We have your testimony about the phone call. Your job is done until the trial. Rachel won’t be needing you anymore. I don’t think you want to stay beyond your welcome or you’re going to make her regret calling you.”

  He shook his head. “You think she used me.” Hitch said nothing. “I’m not as blind when it comes to her as you think.”

  “I hope for your sake that’s true, Ford. By the way, someone slid a note under my hotel room door this morning right before I left to come here. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  * * *

  BACK IN HER ROOM, Hitch considered the note she’d found and bagged as evidence. It was short and to the point: You need to leave town while you still can. It had been typewritten, probably on a computer, on plain white paper. She would have it checked for prints, but she wasn’t hopeful.

  She had ruffled someone’s feathers—nothing new there. She didn’t think the note was from Rachel, but from someone close to her. Now, who would that be? Not Ford. She’d seen his surprise when she’d asked him about the note.

  Spreading out all the evidence she’d collected on her bed back in her hotel room, she went through it again. She was missing something. She could feel it. But she had someone worried. That gave her hope that she was getting close.

  Picking up the photos of Rachel Collinwood’s injuries that DCI had sent her, she studied them, wondering what it was that was bothering her besides Ford Cardwell.

  He was a principled man who believed in right and wrong. Yet he still had feelings for Rachel Collinwood, no matter what he said. Hitch liked him, which made this case even harder. She hated that he was involved and might get in even deeper before it was over. Would he help Rachel cover up her crime, if she asked? Rachel wouldn’t ask unless she was desperate, and that was what worried Hitch maybe the most. What would Rachel do if Ford turned her down?

  Hitch tried to concentrate on the cuts, bruises and abrasions on Rachel Collinwood’s face in the photos. Frowning, she noticed a distinct mark on the young woman’s cheek that she hadn’t before. Pulling out her magnifying glass, she took a closer look. It appeared to be an odd-shaped bruise, the kind an unusual ring might make. It definitely wasn’t Rachel’s husband’s ring with the traces of her blood and skin on it.

  Pulling out the photos she’d taken during the autopsy, she studied Humphrey Collinwood’s ring again. Nothing about it would have made that distinctive bruise. Was there anything in the kitchen that could have made that kind of mark? She studied the photos of the items lying on the kitchen floor and counter. She was becoming more convinced by the moment that the bruise had been made by a ring—just not one worn by the woman’s husband.

  All along, she’d known that if the murder scene had been staged, Rachel Collinwood hadn’t acted alone. The evidence seemed to be piling up. That was what she loved about criminals. They usually made at least one mistake—often more—even with the best-laid plans. If Hitch could find the person who had been wearing this unusual ring...

  Her cell phone rang and she saw that it was the lab on the toxicology samples taken from Humphrey Collinwood. “Tell me you found a drug in his system that would have made him immobile,” she said into the phone, knowing it would be the last piece she needed to prove her suspicions were true.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ford wasn’t sure that Rachel would want to see him. When he’d heard she’d made bail and had been released to return home, he’d called her.

  “Ford, I thought you’d gone back to Big Sky,” she said, sounding surprised he was still in town and annoyingly reminding him of what Hitch had said. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but there really isn’t anything anyone can do now until the trial. Not that you have to come back for that. I wouldn’t want to put you through all of this again. It’s bad enough I’m going to have to go through it.”

  She was dismissing him. Both the sheriff and the medical examiner had his statement. It was all Rachel had needed from him, just as Hitch had said.

  “What will you do now?” he asked, hating these gnawing doubts that were haunting him. He knew he’d been listening to Hitch and had bought into her suspicions that he’d been a pawn in Rachel’s plan to kill her husband. It wasn’t a comfortable place for him—questioning whether the woman he’d once loved hadn’t just used him, but instead had set him up so she could get away with the killing of his once best friend.

  “There is nothing I can do but hope that all charges will be dropped and that it won’t even go to a trial,” Rachel was saying. “The sheriff seems to think I might have a chance of avoiding any more pain.” The sheriff might feel that way. But not Hitch. She would keep digging. “Thanks for calling, though,” she said, clearly trying to get off the line.

  “You’ll let me know what happens?”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ll read about it in the newspapers.”

  And just like that, she disconnected. He knew he couldn’t leave town feeling like this. He didn’t think he could live with these doubts about her. She couldn’t have involved him, setting this all up, knowing how he’d felt about her. He wanted to be wrong in the worst way. He had to see her again.

  As he topped the rise, he spotted the ranch house sprawled below him in the evening light. He passed a side road that went back into a stand of pines. A stray thought hit him. What a perfect observation point. A person could park in those trees and see all the comings and goings at the main house.

  He hated that he’d even thought such a thing as he drove down to the house. Given the way she’d been on the phone, he doubted she’d be happy to see him, but he couldn’t leave until he put his mind to rest. This felt unfinished. Not that he knew what kind of closure he expected to get. Certainly not a confession.

  A shadow passed quickly before a large plate-glass window as he pulled up in the front yard. Getting out, he walked up the steps to the massive deck that spanned across the front and side of the house. The views from here were incredible—all rolling hills and green pines and pasture all the way to the mountains. He hadn’t noticed when he’d come out here with Hitch. He’d been too uncomfortable in her presence knowing that she was watching him every second.

  He paused now, taking it all in, wondering if she appreciated how breathtakingly beautiful it was out here. After ringing the doorbell, he turned again to stare out at the expanse.

  Where he lived in Big Sky was different but equally as beautiful. He just hadn’t noticed it either since he’d gotten back to Montana. He’d been too much in his own head, too consumed with what had happened when the plane he was piloting went down. Coming here had forced him to feel again
, he thought, telling himself he shouldn’t have any regrets no matter how this ended.

  It took Rachel a while to answer the door. He’d had to ring the bell several more times even though he’d seen her shadow pass that window when he’d driven up. He knew she was home. He’d almost think that she didn’t want to see him. Too bad. He wanted to see her.

  “Ford? What are you doing here?” she said when she opened the door only partway.

  “I couldn’t leave without telling you goodbye in person.”

  “Well, isn’t that sweet. But you needn’t have driven all the way out here.” She was standing in the doorway, blocking him as if she didn’t want him inside. It made him sad and all the more determined to see what she was hiding.

  “I wanted to see for myself how you were doing. I don’t like how we left things at the hospital yesterday.” She started to say she was fine when he cut her off. “Why don’t you invite me in? I promise not to take up too much of your time.”

  Rachel flushed as if just realizing how rude she was being since he was her alibi—her defense. A fluke, just as he’d thought? Or all part of a murderous plan?

  “Of course. I’m sorry,” she said, stepping back. “You had sounded on the phone like you were anxious to return home. Come in.” She said it loud enough that he felt she was warning someone that they had company. It made him sick inside.

  “Are you alone?” he asked, wanting to watch her lie to him.

  “Why would you ask that? Of course I am.”

  He met her gaze, his disappointment in her making him feel even more nauseous. It was true. Over the past fifteen years and probably longer, she’d been the perfect woman in his memory. He’d always imagined her in that dress trying to feed that squirrel. The vision used to make him smile. But apparently the squirrel scene had been a well-planned scheme only to meet Humphrey. Rachel, it seemed, had a talent for staged plots.

  “Why don’t you come in here?” She motioned toward the kitchen—the same kitchen where she’d shot her husband. “I’ll get us something to drink and we can take it out on the deck. It’s such a lovely evening.” As he followed her into the very white open room, he felt himself cringe. This was where it had happened. Right here. He found himself staring at the floor, imagining Humphrey lying dead there.

  “You still like a cold beer, don’t you?” she asked, her back to him as she grabbed up some dirty drink glasses and put them in the sink. He’d stopped in the middle of the room and was still staring at the floor, trying not to imagine the gruesome scene.

  When she turned, she must have seen his expression. “Are you all right?”

  He realized she was standing in front of him holding out a bottle of beer.

  “You do still drink beer, don’t you?”

  He nodded and took it from her. “Rachel, isn’t this where—”

  Belatedly, she seemed to realize what was wrong with him. She flushed, cheeks hot with anger. “I can’t think about that anymore. I have to live here. I can’t leave the state. I have to make the best of it,” she said, taking her glass of wine and heading for the glass doors. There were two chairs facing the east and a small table between them on the deck. He watched her pick up an ashtray from the table and empty it over the side of the deck railing.

  “Are you smoking again?” he asked, feeling shaken by how insensitive she was about all of this.

  She shook her head, her back to him. “One of the hired hands stopped by earlier. Nasty habit. Let me get rid of this.” She moved past him to return to the kitchen. When she came back out, she had the wine bottle in her hand—a hand she seemed to be fighting to keep from shaking.

  He sat down in one of the chairs and watched her slide into the one next to him, exposing a lot of thigh. She wore shorts and a sleeveless top, both in a pale yellow that accented her fresh spray-on tan. There were bruises on her arms that looked like dark fingertips pressed into her flesh. Were they from Humphrey?

  “What happened, Rachel?” She looked startled for a moment before he added, “What happened with you and me?”

  With a relieved look, she leaned back in her chair and took a sip of her wine.

  “Nothing. We’ve always been good friends. It’s my fault I let you walk out of Humphrey’s and my life.”

  “You know I wanted to be more than friends.”

  She smiled over at him. It wasn’t one of her smoldering sunshine smiles.

  It held a note of pity that made his heart ache even more. “It was always Humphrey, wasn’t it,” he said. “From that first day with the squirrel.”

  “He said it was love at first sight.”

  “Was that what it was for you?” he asked, suddenly aware of the sweating beer bottle in his hand. He took a drink. It was cold and bubbled all the way down his throat. It was the first sip of alcohol he’d had in a long time.

  “I suppose it was love at first sight,” she said, not looking at him.

  “When did Humphrey...change?”

  “Change?” She sounded puzzled by the question as she looked at him and frowned.

  Ford met her gaze. “Surely he didn’t hurt you at first.”

  “No, you’re right. It started when he was having trouble with his father, the business, you know. He would come home from New York in a bad mood and any little thing would set him off. He knew I wasn’t happy here and that upset him. Things just kept getting worse.”

  “Why weren’t you happy here?” he had to ask as he looked out at this beautiful country.

  “Are you kidding? After New York City?” She shook her head. “It’s duller than dirt out here. He brought me here to punish me.”

  “For what?”

  She shook her head again and sipped her wine.

  He looked away, trying to imagine this Humphrey Collinwood compared to the one he’d lived with most of their time at university. There had never been an easier-going man. “I thought I knew him, so it is so hard for me to understand how this could have happened.”

  “Why are you questioning me about this? Humphrey had a dark side that he hid from everyone else,” she snapped. “It’s typical of abusers. I suspect his father abused his mother. That’s usually how it works.”

  “You’ve researched the subject, have you?”

  She didn’t answer, but he saw her stiffen in anger. Nor did she look at him. He dragged his gaze away, unable to look at her either.

  After a few moments, he relented. “I guess most people hide their...dark sides,” he said and finally glanced over at her again. “You’re different than I remember.”

  Rachel flipped her hair back, her blue eyes sparking. “You’re angry with me because I had to shoot him.” She bit her lip. Tears welled in her eyes. “I’ll never forgive myself. Is that what you need to hear? I should never have grabbed that gun. I thought that if he saw it, he wouldn’t...” She looked away, wiping at her tears before taking a gulp of her wine.

  At that moment, she made him doubt himself. Maybe Humphrey did have a dark side. Maybe she had been afraid he would kill her. Maybe she was here alone. The house was so huge, it probably did take her a while to get to the front door. And the glasses she’d put in the sink? Hadn’t she said one of the hired hands had stopped by? It would explain the cigarettes in the ashtray on the deck, as well.

  He hated mistrusting her, questioning everything about the young woman she’d been in college, comparing her to the one sitting out here with him right now. The beautiful warm summer Montana evening was like a caress. He realized that, if anything, Rachel had gotten more beautiful. Maybe she was the same young woman he’d known in college. Maybe he was the one who’d changed. Maybe Humphrey had, too. Ford reminded himself that he was a big enough mess without rewriting what had once been the sweetest part of his life, his friendship with Humphrey and Rachel.

  And yet he couldn’t seem to help himself. “You knew I
was half in love with you,” he said and met her gaze.

  Her expression softened. “I know.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I always cared about you, Ford. I wanted the best for you. Humphrey and I never knew why you’d exited our lives like you had right after our wedding. Did you know he tried to reach you numerous times?”

  He knew. “You know why I left like I did.”

  Her light laugh didn’t quite come off the way she must have meant it. “You and I should never drink that much together.” She turned back to him, something almost coquettish in those blue eyes.

  “Neither of us were drunk, Rachel. You dragged me into one of the spare rooms and told me you wanted me to make love to you,” he said.

  Her lips quirked up on one side. “I believe you kissed me back, and as I remember, that was your hand on my—”

  “If someone hadn’t tried the door, would you have actually gone through with it?” Would he have? It was something he’d always wondered about even in his guilt over the incident. The memory of it filled him with shame. He’d kissed his best friend’s girlfriend and he’d wanted to make love with her. If he could have, he would have stolen her away in a heartbeat. Knowing that, he knew he was no longer Humphrey’s best friend and couldn’t stand being around the two of them after that.

  “We’ll never know, will we?” Rachel took a sip of her wine and gazed out at the rolling hills of the ranch.

  He put his nearly full beer bottle down on the small table. A breeze blew her long hair into her eyes, and for a moment, she looked like the girl he’d known. “I should go.” Getting to his feet, he walked toward the end of the deck that led to where he’d left his SUV. He had no desire to go back through that kitchen.

  “Ford!” she called after him.

  He turned to look back at her. For a moment, in that soft pale twilight, she looked just as he’d remembered her.

  “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You were here for me when I needed you most. I’ll never forget that.”