by B. J Daniels
Hitch shook her head. “You’d love a bullet hole in the skull, wouldn’t you? Even better, an old pistol that had been tossed into the well after him?”
Waco admitted that he would. “So what are you telling me? This guy just stumbled into the well, died, and that was that?” he asked, wondering why she’d said there was something interesting. More to the point, why he’d been so sure it had been a homicide.
“It could have been an accident,” Hitch said. “Just not in this case. If you look at the lower cranium—”
“Remember, speak English.”
She smiled. “What I’m saying is that someone bashed him in the back of the head.” She picked up the skull again and turned it under the overhead lamplight. “See these tiny fractures?”
Waco nodded. “Couldn’t those have been caused by the fall into the well?”
Hitch was shaking her head. “If it had been any other part of the skull, maybe. But not this low, just above the spine. This man was hit with something that made a distinct pattern in the fracture.”
“Something like what? A chunk of wood?”
“Something more narrow. More like a tire iron.”
“Was it enough to kill him?”
Hitch gave him an impatient look.
“Wait—are you saying he didn’t die right away?”
“If the blow didn’t kill him eventually, then the fall into the well and being trapped down there certainly would have,” she said. “But he was alive for a period of time before he succumbed to his injuries.”
Waco rubbed his neck, the prickles stretching across his shoulders and down his arms. “So someone hit him with an object like a tire iron in the low part of the back of his skull, then knocked him into the well.”
“It’s one theory.”
“Well, we know that they didn’t go for help.” He thought again of the Cardwell Ranch case. “Any idea how long he’s been in the well?”
“I’d say just over thirty years.”
“You can call it that close?” Hitch only smiled at him. “Any way to get DNA to identify the remains?” he asked.
“With bones that old, probably not. But, fortunately, we don’t have to.” Hitch reached into a plastic bag and pulled out something brown, dried and shriveled. For a moment, Waco thought it was a dead animal. “He had this leather wallet on him when he went into the well.” The ME grinned. “Inside, I found his Montana state-issued driver’s license tucked in a plastic sleeve. Luckily the well was dry. Even the money in his wallet is intact.”
“You’re enjoying dragging this out, aren’t you,” he said, understanding how Hitch had been so certain about his age and weight and the rest.
“His name is Marvin Hanover, and if the wedding ring found at the site is any indication, he was married.” Hitch produced another plastic bag. “The ring’s engraved. ‘With all my love, Stacy.’”
“Stacy?”
Hitch gave him a look he’d come to know well. “Stacy is also the name Marvin carved into a sandstone rock at the bottom of the well before he died.”
Waco was about to let out an expletive before he caught himself. “He named his killer?”
“Or he planned to leave her a message and didn’t live long enough to write it.” She handed him a photo taken at the bottom of the well by a crime-scene tech. It showed the crudely carved Stacy followed by smaller letters that hadn’t been dug as deep in the stone.
Waco stared at the photo. “It looks like Stacy don’t... But ‘Stacy don’t’ what?”
“‘Don’t forget me’?” Hitch suggested.
“Or how about ‘don’t leave me here’?” Waco said.
“What makes this case interesting, and also a problem as far as my being involved, is that Stacy Cardwell Hanover was still married to him when Marvin disappeared and—I suspect—went into the well. Coincidentally, as you know, I’m about to marry into the Cardwell family.”
Waco stared at her, goose bumps rippling over his skin. “Stacy...” He could hardly speak. “So there is a connection.”
“I already checked. She wasn’t living on the ranch at the time her husband disappeared,” Hitch said. “I looked up the date of their marriage.”
“So did I,” he said. “The marriage took place before the body was found in the well at Cardwell Ranch. So she would have known about that case. Three months later, Stacy reported her husband missing. She and her brothers were in a legal battle over the Cardwell Ranch at the time.”
Hitch nodded. “So she would have known about the body in the well on the old Cardwell homestead.” The remains of a young woman had been found at the bottom of the well. She’d been shot in the head, but apparently only wounded. She’d tried to scratch her way out after being left there to die.
Waco swore under his breath. No wonder the case had stuck in his mind after his grandfather had told him about it.
“Don’t tell him those stories,” his mother had chastised her father at the time. “You’ll give him nightmares—or, worse, he’ll grow up and want to be like you.”
He hadn’t gotten nightmares, but he had grown up to become a lawman. It was his grandfather’s stories that he hadn’t been able to forget. Waco’s love of history had proved to be effective at solving cold cases. He partly put it down to his good memory skills when it came to crimes. That and his inability to give up on something once he felt that prickling on the back of his neck.
He still couldn’t believe it. The cases had felt similar, but damn if there wasn’t a connection between them—just not the one he’d expected. “I’m sorry for bringing you in on this case,” he said to Hitch. “I figured it might be a copycat ‘body dump in an old well’ kind of case. I had no idea it might involve someone from your future family.”
“Stacy is my fiancé’s father’s cousin. I’ve barely met her, so I’m not worried. I can notify the family for you or do anything else you need done. If it gets too close to home, I’ll bow out.”
He nodded. “Sorry.” He could tell she’d hate to have to walk away from this one.
“It sounds like it could turn into a really interesting case.”
“What can you tell me about Stacy?”
She shrugged. “She’s been living on the ranch since her daughter, Ella, was born—almost twenty-seven years now,” Hitch said. “She doesn’t have a record, and from what I know, she babysat all the Cardwell-Savage kids. She now helps with the cooking, canning and gardening. Not really murderer material.”
“You know that’s not an indication,” he said.
“I know, but just because there was a similar case on the family ranch doesn’t mean she did this. That old case got a lot of media attention. It could have given anyone the idea.”
Hitch was clutching at straws and they both knew it as he pulled out his phone and called the ranch. He couldn’t wait to talk to Stacy Cardwell, the former Mrs. Marvin Hanover.
* * *
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, Ella buttoned her jean jacket as she left her cabin on the mountainside overlooking the main ranch house. She stopped on her large porch overlooking the ranch. She and Angus had gotten back late from picking up the new bull. All the lights had been out, including her mother’s, so while she hadn’t been tired, she’d gone up to her cabin alone and read late into the night.
This morning she’d awakened to sunshine and the scent of pine coming in her open window. The early Montana summer day still had a bite to it this deep in the Gallatin Canyon, though, not that she noticed. She’d awakened to birds singing—but also a bad feeling that she’d had since yesterday.
She needed to check on the new foal before heading to the main house for breakfast with Aunt Dana and her mother. The two should be busy at work canning by now. Yet she’d stopped on the porch to look out across the valley, trying to shake the anxious feeling that her mother hadn’t shown up to can thi
s morning.
As she headed for her mother’s cabin through the shimmering pines, Ella caught glimpses of Big Sky in the distance. The resort town would soon be busting at the seams with tourists for the summer season. She’d noticed that traffic along Highway 191 had already picked up. Locals joked that the area had only two seasons: summer tourists and winter tourists. The only break was a few weeks in the fall before it snowed and in early spring when the snow melted and the skiing was no longer any good.
Here on Cardwell Ranch, though, only a slight hum of traffic could occasionally be heard through the trees. This morning she could hear the murmur of the river below her, the sigh of the pine boughs in the breeze and an occasional meadowlark’s song. The state bird sounded quite cheerful. Normally that would have put a smile on her face.
She loved living on the ranch, working with the rest of the family. While her mother had always liked cooking in the kitchen with her sister or helping out in the garden or with the kids, from a young age, Ella had taken care of the horses and helped round up the cattle. She’d made a good living as a wrangler, traveling all over the state and beyond with her Savage cousins Angus and Brick.
But now Angus and his wife, Jinx, lived on the ranch. Brick and his fiancée, Mo, would be building a place on the spread, both of them in law enforcement rather than ranching. It had surprised Ella when her cousins had settled down so quickly. She knew it was because both had finally met women who were their equals. Love had struck them hard and fast.
She’d never had that kind of luck when it came to men and love. Not that she had been looking. With branding over, the family would soon be rounding up the cows and calves and herding them to the land high in the mountains for the summer. It was one of her favorite times of the year, now that the snow had melted enough in the peaks to let them access the grazing lands.
Ella was content here, so it was no wonder she didn’t care that she hadn’t met anyone who made her heart pound. But her mother had never been settled here, she thought, realizing why she’d hesitated on her porch this morning. She’d tried her mother’s cell first thing this morning, but it had gone straight to voice mail. If her mother was in the kitchen busy canning with Aunt Dana, she had probably turned off her phone.
Still, Ella couldn’t shake the feeling that her mother wasn’t there...
Aunt Dana answered on the third ring. Ella could almost feel the warmth of the kitchen in her aunt’s voice. By now, there would be canning pots boiling on the stove, as well as a cake or cookies baking in the oven. She could practically breathe in the scents.
“Is Mom there?” Ella asked, already knowing the answer deep in her chest where worry made her ache.
“No. I was going to call, but I decided to let her sleep. She’s been running tired lately. Are you headed down? I’ve got corn cakes and bacon for you.”
“In a minute.” Ella disconnected as she continued across the mountain. Hers and her mother’s cabins were two of a half dozen perched above the ranch.
As she neared her mother’s place, she tried to understand why she’d been so worried about her mom lately. Since Ella had come back to the ranch after a wrangling job in Wyoming, her mother had been distant. Stacy swore she was fine, but Ella didn’t believe it. She sensed it was something much deeper and darker. And that was what worried her. She knew her mother’s mood swings better than anyone. Not that she could say she knew her mother any more than she knew the woman’s well-guarded secret past.
Reaching her mother’s cabin, she climbed the steps to the porch and stopped to listen. Maybe Stacy really had slept in this morning. From here, Ella could catch glimpses of the Gallatin River, the water a clear pale green rushing over granite boulders as it cut through the narrow canyon. Pines soared toward the massive blue sky overhead, broken only by granite cliffs that glistened gold in the sunlight. The smell of pine and the river wafted through the crisp, clean air.
Ella heard no movement from within the cabin. She tapped at the door. When she got no answer, she knocked harder. Still no answer.
Opening the door, she called, “Mom?”
The cabin had a hollow feel.
She stepped deeper inside, a chill moving through her. The place felt empty. She went toward her mother’s bedroom. The door was ajar. “Mom?” Pushing it open, she saw that the bed had been made.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the open closet doors and the empty hangers. Her stomach dropped. Even before she checked, she knew her mother’s suitcases wouldn’t be there. Stacy was gone.
Chapter Three
Dana Cardwell Savage had known something was wrong even before her niece walked into the kitchen. First, Stacy not showing up to help can. Then the phone call from Ella inquiring about her mother. One look at the young woman and she knew it was bad.
Ella was a lot like her mother in that she kept things to herself, minding her own counsel. Even as a young girl, Ella, with her beautiful green eyes like the river and her long blond hair like summer wheat, had always been the quiet, pensive one. Calm waters ran deep.
But it was more than that. Ella saw and felt things that others missed. Because of that, her niece had always worried about her mother—even when it appeared that Stacy had changed.
“I’m sure there is no reason for concern,” Dana said, knowing she was trying to convince herself as much as Ella. “You know your mother.”
When Dana had gotten up this morning, she’d noticed that one of the ranch pickups was gone. She hadn’t thought much about it since anyone on the ranch could have taken it. Ella had also apparently noticed. “Stacy’s probably just taking a break like she usually does.”
“Haven’t you ever wondered where she goes on these so-called breaks?” Ella asked with a sigh.
“Of course. I would ask all those years ago after she came back to the ranch with you, but you know Stacy... I had hoped by now...” Dana shook her head. She’d never understood her sister from the time they were little. They were so different. Stacy had always hated the ranch and couldn’t wait to leave it, marrying when she was very young, divorcing, marrying again...
But when she’d come home with baby Ella and settled in, she’d seemed to be happy for a while. Dana had thought her sister had gotten all that wildness out of her system after Ella’s birth. Unfortunately, now, even at the age of sixty-four, Stacy still took off without notice, returning days later and refusing to talk about it.
Dana continued slicing the early-season strawberries for jam. She’d gotten up before daylight to get the job started. Her sister had promised to help, so she’d been surprised when she hadn’t shown up. Stacy was usually up before anyone.
“It’s different this time,” Ella said. “She took all her clothes. I don’t think she’s coming back.”
Dana set down the knife. “That can’t be true. She always comes back,” she said, hoping it was true for Ella’s sake. Learning that her sister had packed up everything and simply left came as a shock. But hadn’t she often worried that Stacy might do something like that? Just out of the blue. Like this time. Should they be worried?
“She didn’t say or do anything yesterday that seemed odd at the time?” Ella asked.
Dana frowned. “Stacy did get a phone call late in the afternoon. Not on her cell but on the ranch landline. I answered it. The man asked for Stacy Cardwell. I asked who was calling, thinking it was probably an annoying sales call.” She hesitated. “He introduced himself as cold-case homicide detective Waco Johnson. I thought he was probably calling for a donation. He asked if Stacy was available and I handed over the phone.”
“A cold-case homicide detective wanted to talk to her?” Ella asked, disbelieving that Dana hadn’t thought that might be important.
“I honestly thought it was about the law-enforcement yearly fundraiser,” Dana said in her defense. But now she wondered why she hadn’t thought more of it. “I had a batc
h of cookies going in the oven and the timer went off, so I left your mother and returned to the kitchen.”
“Did you see her after that?”
Dana shook her head. “I looked into the living room after I set the cookies to cooling and she was gone.”
“So you have no idea what the detective wanted with her.”
“No. But like I said—”
“What was the detective’s name again?”
Dana repeated it, feeling stricken. She was surprised she even remembered his name, the way her memory had been going lately. Most calls from law enforcement were for her husband, Hud, the marshal. They were either work-related or inquiries about how he was doing after his heart attack and whether he’d retired yet.
She wanted to argue that a homicide detective wouldn’t have any reason to call Stacy, let alone make her go on the run. But even as she thought it, Dana felt her heart drop. Stacy had run, taking everything but her daughter with her.
Ella had her cell phone out. “You don’t remember where the detective said he was calling from, do you?”
Dana looked out the window for a moment, seeing past the pines to Lone Peak Mountain. She’d believed the call wasn’t about anything important. She hadn’t even mentioned it to Hud. Because while he said he was fine and had returned to being marshal part-time until his retirement date, which he kept moving farther out, she hadn’t wanted to bother him.
Had Stacy been surprised? Scared? Had she reacted at all? Dana couldn’t recall even a change in her sister’s expression as she’d taken the phone. Dana had been busy, as usual. She hadn’t thought any more about it—until now.
Strawberry juice ran down her arm. She wiped it away with a paper towel and picked up her knife to continue cutting the sweet ripe fruit. This jam needed to be canned, and right now she was thankful for the task. Not that it would keep her mind off Stacy. What was a cold-case homicide detective doing calling her sister?
Dana mentally kicked herself for not paying more attention. She should have been there when Stacy had hung up to ask what was going on.
