by Forsaken
Finished what? she asked herself. They’d lost most of their daylight because of the clouds, and she could feel the temperature dropping. Jamison was right. Branch had ridden out this way. She couldn’t argue it any longer. He wouldn’t have ventured this far from sheep camp unless—
Her gaze lit on what appeared to be an incomplete cairn on a rise below them. It was as if Branch had started it but quit for some reason. She rode down off the ridge even though it was very steep. When she reached the rise, she dismounted and walked to the scattered stack of rocks.
On closer inspection, it looked as if someone had knocked the cairn over rather than Branch just having quit building it. She glanced around then down.
A gasp escaped her lips as she looked down the steep rocky slope from the demolished stone Johnny. “There!” she cried, pointing to the spot as Jamison joined her.
“Stay here,” he ordered as he dismounted and started down the steep slope. The rocks were loose shale that gave way under his weight. He began to slide, the top layer of rocks sliding with him.
Maddie watched, heart in her throat. She couldn’t see more than a boot sticking out of the brush and rocks below her on the mountain. She already knew in her heart, and yet she watched Jamison’s face for confirmation as he reached what she knew was a body. Branch Murdock’s.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
NETTIE HADN’T BEEN able to get the bloody bandages out of her mind all morning. She knew the bandages couldn’t have been from any injury J.D. might have incurred. She thought about last night in his arms on the dance floor and later in her bed. He’d been fine.
Anyway, the pile of what she’d thought was dirty rags had been on the passenger side of his truck. She remembered the way he had wiped down that side of his pickup after he’d disposed of the bandages. Who or whatever had been hurt and riding on the passenger side of J.D.’s pickup?
Her heart began to pound as she busied herself restacking canned goods on the shelves in the store.
What was J.D. involved in?
Then she chastised herself. She was letting Frank Curry poison her mind against the man.
“Hey, beautiful.” She jumped at the sound of J.D.’s voice directly behind her. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” He grinned. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you all right?”
She stared into his handsome face. He looked so young, so concerned, she couldn’t help but weaken. This was J.D. She knew him. What did she think he’d done? Killed someone?
That was crazy. He certainly would have gotten rid of the evidence if he’d had anything to hide.
But he did try to hide the bandages in the Dumpster, she reminded herself.
“What are you doing back?” she asked too sharply.
He frowned. “I thought we could go across the street for lunch. What’s wrong?”
“Sorry, it’s just...” He’d come back to take her to lunch. That was so sweet and thoughtful after last night... Did she really want to get into this now? Would there be a better time? Anyway, she needed to put her mind to rest.
“J.D., I found something in the trash....”
He frowned. “Yes?”
“The trash out by the side of the store.”
“What was it?” he asked. He looked so innocent, so trusting. He was going to make her ask.
She told herself she was going to look like a fool. Worse, he would realize she didn’t trust him. She swallowed. “I found some bloody bandages. I was afraid someone had gotten hurt.”
“Bloody bandages? Nettie, I put those in there.”
She felt an instant relief. He hadn’t lied. This was good, right? “Did you hurt yourself?”
“Naw. Oh, hell, I didn’t want you to see those.” He looked away and she held her breath, now afraid of what he was going to tell her. Or if maybe he was trying to come up with a lie.
“You don’t have to—”
“I hit a dog.” He met her gaze again. His eyes filled with pain. “I had a first-aid kit in the truck. I wrapped the poor thing up and got him to the vet.”
A lump had formed in her throat. “Did the dog make it?”
He looked away again. “I haven’t called to find out,” he said with a sigh. “You must think I am such a coward, but I feel guilty enough without finding out that the dog died.” He looked at her and there were tears in his eyes.
Nettie moved to him quickly and put her arms around him. “I’m so sorry I asked.”
“It’s okay,” he said, hugging her back. “I didn’t want you to see the bandages. I felt so bad about the dog. I tried to push them down in the trash....”
“I wouldn’t have seen them, but I dropped something and was moving the garbage around...” The lie caught in her throat.
“Did you find it?” He’d gone stiff in her arms.
“What?”
“What you lost. Did you find it?”
“It was just a pen I hadn’t meant to throw away,” she said, letting go of him. “I forgot all about it when I found the bandages.”
He released her and stepped back to smile down at her, but his smile never reached his eyes. “I’m sorry I caused you concern. I could go look for your pen.”
She shook her head, relieved that what she was about to say was actually the truth. “The garbage was picked up this afternoon.”
He nodded and she feared he didn’t believe her—just as she hadn’t him. “I guess it’s all good, then. So, are you still up for lunch?”
* * *
JAMISON SLID DOWN to where the body had landed. One look at the man crumpled in the boulders partway down the ravine and Jamison knew he was looking at Branch Murdock.
The elderly man had been dead for several days. Some critters had gotten to him, but they’d been small, so not much damage had been done. The body was partially covered with rocks as if someone had purposely tried to hide it.
If it hadn’t been for the unfinished cairn, they would have never found Branch’s remains, Jamison realized. This was far enough from camp and not near any hiking trails, and this was big country. Few people would ever see it. That was one reason a lot of residents argued against wilderness areas that made it illegal to access it by anything but foot or horse. They wanted four-wheeler access for those unable to walk or ride a horse.
Jamison crouched near the body to inspect it closer. The side of the old man’s head had been bashed in with a rock. As a detective in New York, he’d seen his share of gunshot wounds, so he knew what he was looking at. The sheepherder had been shot twice. The first shot had merely grazed his skull. The second had caught him in the chest.
Apparently neither wound had killed him, though. The murderer had been forced to climb down here and use a rock to finish the job. It had been an ugly ending.
Above him on the rocky slope came the sound of the loose rocks moving. It made a tinkling sound like bells. He waved Maddie back, turning to block her view of the body, but that didn’t stop her. She slid down the slope, stopping just a few feet from him.
“It’s Branch, isn’t it?” she asked but didn’t come any closer. “Did he fall?”
Jamison heard the hope in her voice and wished he could tell her it had been an accident. But the murder weapon—the bloody rock with strands of the man’s hair on it—was lying next to his body.
He wanted to spare Maddie the gory details, but he knew better than to lie to her. There was no keeping this from her.
“Branch didn’t fall,” he said. “He was shot twice, but that wasn’t what killed him. Someone took a rock to his head then tried to cover up the body with stones.”
She let out a whimper and then her eyes flared with anger. “Dewey didn’t do this. He wouldn’t.” Her voice broke. “He couldn’t. He’s just a boy.”
Jamison said nothing. He’d learned a long time ago that anyone could kill under the right circumstances. Or was it the wrong ones? He’d arrested little old ladies; nice, apparently respectable men; and young boys who’d never even kissed a girl
or had their first beer.
Maddie stood hugging herself, her face a mask of pain.
He watched her struggling not to cry for a moment then stepped to her and put his arms around her. She tried to push him away, saying, “I’m not going to cry. I never cry,” before she burst into tears. After a moment, her body became less rigid, and she leaned into him.
The wind blew around them in an insistent wail as the temperature dropped so rapidly he knew she’d been right about a storm coming in. He held her like that until she choked out a couple more sobs and pulled free to wipe her eyes. He could tell she was angry with herself for showing weakness. Doing it in front of him made it all the worse for her, he knew.
He’d wanted to tell her that she’d been tough for long enough, but he knew where that would get him with her. Instead, he stepped back and looked toward the dark clouds on the horizon. The storm was close. Ice crystals glittered in the air around them. Any moment it was going to start snowing.
He pulled out his phone but saw that not only did he not have service, his battery was also running low. “I need to climb up on the ridge and see if I can reach the sheriff’s office.”
“Go. I have to stay here for a moment.”
Jamison didn’t like leaving her, but he had little choice. That stubborn, determined look was in her blue eyes again, and he didn’t have time to argue, not with the storm almost upon them.
On the ridge, he got the sheriff’s-department number to go through, but he had a hard time hearing. The wind had picked up, blowing up dirt that whirled around him like a dervish. He gave his name and asked for the undersheriff the moment the dispatcher answered.
“Dillon, it’s Deputy Jamison,” he said when the undersheriff came on the line. “I found Branch Murdock. He’s been murdered. We’re going to need... Dillon?” Nothing but static. He tried the number again, but this time he got a message on his phone telling him his call hadn’t gone through.
How much had Dillon heard? He had no way of knowing. All he could hope was that the undersheriff had heard enough and would be sending a chopper.
* * *
MADDIE STOOD OVER Branch’s body. She couldn’t bear to think of him dying alone in this ravine. She was determined to say a few words over him. But as she stood there, she knew there was nothing she could do or say. No prayer came to her lips. He was gone. No matter what she believed about a life after death, Branch Murdock was gone.
Still, it didn’t feel right leaving him here, but she could feel the storm building around them. There had been a hint of snow in the air that she’d awakened with this morning. She knew the smell even when the sun was shining and there wasn’t a cloud on the horizon. Snow at this altitude and in early June could make it difficult for them to return to camp—let alone get Branch’s body out of the mountains for days.
The thought broke her heart. “I’m sorry, Branch,” she said and fought the tears that threatened to overwhelm her again. She’d failed him. Whatever had happened up here, it was her fault. Hadn’t she had a feeling that sending Dewey was a bad idea? “I’m so sorry.”
Jamison called to her from up on the ridge. As she made her way back up to him, snowflakes began to whirl around her.
“Did you reach the sheriff’s office?” she asked, feeling the cold biting at her cheeks. She pulled her slicker from behind her saddle and put it on as she waited for Jamison to answer. She could tell the news wasn’t good just by looking at him.
“We were cut off. I’m hoping the undersheriff got at least some of it.”
She shivered, already chilled as more snowflakes fell. Visibility was already getting bad. They needed to get back to camp or they could get turned around in the storm and be trapped out here.
But she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Branch down there in the rocks. “We can’t just leave him,” she said, motioning to his body.
“It’s now a murder investigation, and there’s nothing we can do for him. Isn’t it possible Dewey made the stone Johnnies, as you call them, to lead us to Branch’s body?” Jamison asked as he drew on his own slicker for the ride back to camp.
“Branch made them. You found one of his cigarettes and his boot prints.”
“But it makes no sense. If he was leaving, why leave a trail of rocks?” Jamison asked as he climbed into the saddle.
She’d been asking herself the same thing. The country ahead was much like what they’d been traveling through. Rocky ridges, granite cliffs and green meadows filled with grass and early wildflowers.
“Maybe he was sagebrushed,” she said, trying to remember if she’d missed something in Branch’s behavior before he’d left the ranch for the high country. She couldn’t remember anything out of the ordinary, but she’d been distracted, worrying more about Dewey than Branch.
Why hadn’t she listened to her intuition? Because she’d needed her sheep grazed up in the high country. Even then, she’d known they wouldn’t be able to do this much longer. Without the grazing rights, she would have to provide feed. Stretched to the max already, she’d known it would break the ranch. She would lose the place. After all the years of fighting to survive, she would have lost the last thing she had left.
As she mounted her horse, she glanced down again at Branch’s body lying in the rocks. It was over. How could she ever have the strength to keep the ranch going after this?
“Someone followed him out here and killed him,” the deputy said.
“Not Dewey.” She desperately needed Jamison to agree. But he didn’t know Dewey and she did. Dewey was young, yes. But he could never bash a man’s skull in to finish him off. Even the thought was repugnant.
“Dewey isn’t capable of such a thing,” she said adamantly when in truth, she needed to hear the words, needed to believe them in her heart. Because if Dewey had killed Branch, then she had destroyed both men’s lives.
“He said Branch was mean when he drank.” Jamison sounded distracted. What was he looking at?
It was bad enough that Branch was dead. But if Dewey was involved... “We need to get back to camp,” she said, realizing the deputy was still looking toward the south and the way to Gardiner. He was still convinced Branch had been leaving when he was killed.
What would Dewey have done if Branch had been acting crazy and then had left him alone up here with two thousand head of sheep? Would Dewey have gone after him, as Jamison seemed to think, and tried to stop him?
Jamison was still looking across the ravine.
“So you think Branch made these stone Johnnies when he was drunk?” she demanded, realizing that could have been the case. What did she really know about sheep camp? Or even how Branch Murdock was once he got up here in all this isolation? She knew he desperately missed his wife even after all these years. How could she know what demons haunted him?
“I don’t know if he was drunk,” the deputy said. “I don’t know what to make of the crying sound Dewey said they heard, either.”
She didn’t hold much store by Dewey’s claim. When she looked over at Jamison again, he was still squinting toward the dark clouds to the west. But she realized it wasn’t the storm that had his attention. “What is it?”
“I’m not sure.” He pulled up the binoculars. “Did Branch have a pistol?”
“And a rifle.” She started. “I just assumed that he would have both with him. But if they aren’t here... Dewey didn’t have either of them.”
“No,” Jamison said. “But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have used either of them, then dumped them before he rode out of here.”
She thought of the boy they’d found in hiding in her barn stall. He’d been in a panic. Terrified.
Her heart began to pound as she realized something she’d been fighting hard not to admit.
Dewey had known Branch was dead! Had he followed the tracks just as she and Jamison had done? Had he found the body and seen that the sheepherder had been shot and then panicked?
Or was there an altercation? A fight, as Jamison
suspected, and somehow Dewey had gotten Branch’s gun and killed him? Even if that was the case, what had the two of them been doing back in here? She reminded herself that Branch had been building rock monuments for only God knew what reason.
Her sorrow over Branch’s death and possibly Dewey’s part in it made her feel thickheaded. None of this made any sense. But then, this kind of tragedy was often senseless.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “How did Branch’s horse get to Gardiner?”
Jamison didn’t seem to hear her. “There’s something over there.” He was still staring through the binoculars at something across the ravine.
All she could make out through the whirling snow was a stand of dense pine beneath a rock-cliff wall on the opposite mountain.
“I’ve been asking myself the same thing about Branch’s horse.” Jamison put away the binoculars. “I’m going to ride over and see what that is in the trees. I think there’s a reason Branch left these stone monuments for us. I want to check out what’s over there.”
“Then we better hurry.” If there was something on the opposite hillside that the old sheepherder was determined they see, she intended to be there when Jamison found it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
NETTIE’S GOOD MOOD had disintegrated from this morning. It had all begun with the sheriff’s odd visit. He’d said he was sorry for what he’d said. But what was that about him saying he shouldn’t be here at the store?
She would never understand him, she thought. Whatever the purpose of Frank’s visit, he’d left her feeling off balance. Before that, she’d been feeling good about herself, more confident, although she hated the reason. It was hard to admit that it had taken a man to make her feel better about her life. But that was what J.D. had done.
Until she’d found the bloody bandages. She wished she hadn’t confronted J.D. about them. Their lunch had been awkward. J.D. seemed glad when it was over and he could leave again.
