The Secret Sister

by Elizabeth Lowell

Using a stick, she quickly traced a floor plan in the dirt. “This is the deck,” she said, pointing with the stick. “This is how you get to the grand gallery with the display cases.”

  He nodded.

  “I don’t know how much good those pots will do us,” she said. “They were scrubbed and polished when I saw them.”

  “If the cases are empty or the pots look too clean, where’s the room Johnny was trying to break into?”

  She drew quickly, adding to the rough diagram. “Here. The skeleton of the other sister is probably there too.”

  “All right. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

  He gave her a hard kiss before he walked to the edge of the cedars, looked around, and then sprinted across the open lawn to the house. Once there, he plastered himself against the back wall next to a window in Jo’s bedroom and listened. Nothing was making noise inside the house. He tried the window.

  Locked.

  Calmly he picked up a rock the size of his fist. He rapped firmly on the glass. It broke with a brittle, musical sound. He fished a few long splinters out of the window frame, reached carefully through the hole, and opened the lock.

  The window slid back easily.

  Pulling the curtain aside, he looked in and listened. Nothing came but the sound of his own breathing. He eased out a breath, held it, listened. Nothing. He reached up, caught the sill, and began to vault over it into the room.

  “Gotcha, you son of a bitch.”

  The sheriff’s face was triumphant. The mouth of his shiny chrome steel pistol was pointed right at Cain’s head.

  Chapter 53

  Cain didn’t try to talk his way out. He simply let his forward momentum send him into the sheriff in a kind of flying tackle. As the two of them fell back into the room, Cain’s hand chopped at the sheriff’s wrist. The semiautomatic pistol fired twice, wildly, and hit the floor.

  Christy was running before the echoes of the shots faded.

  And she was running toward the house, not away from it. The fear that Cain might be wounded or even dead wiped every other thought from her mind. She had just enough sense left not to burst through the window herself. Instead, she did what he’d done. She flattened out against the house and listened.

  “You son of a bitch,” Danner said in a strained voice. “I’ll get you if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “You’ll sure complicate my life,” Cain muttered. “Where’s Hutton?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “And here I thought you liked little girls.”

  There was a grunt followed by a thump and more grunts.

  Christy risked a quick look through the window.

  Sheriff Danner was flat on his stomach. Cain was sitting on top of him. One of his hands was buried in Danner’s hair, pulling the sheriff’s head back at a sharp angle. Cain’s other hand was wrapped around Danner’s right wrist, dragging it sharply up between his shoulder blades. Just beyond Danner’s right shoulder lay the pistol.

  Stalemate.

  Neither man could reach the pistol. But that could change at any instant. Danner had forty pounds on Cain, and only a few of it was fat.

  “Cain?” she called softly. “I’m coming in.”

  “Red, you don’t take orders worth a damn.”

  “I thought you’d never notice.”

  She scrambled in over the window ledge, grabbed the pistol, checked it with a few quick motions, and put the safety on.

  Cain raised his black eyebrows. “Not your first pistol, huh?”

  “I live alone in Manhattan. I can put ten rounds in the black at thirty feet.”

  “How are you on live targets?”

  “With luck, I’ll never know.”

  “So Hutton was right,” Danner said angrily. “She’s in this with that sister of hers.”

  “This?” Cain said sardonically. “Which ‘this’ are you talking about?”

  “Theft, you son of a bitch. Your stock in trade.”

  “I’m a reporter, not a Moki poacher,” Christy said.

  “I’m talking breaking and entering, not pothunting,” Danner said.

  “Where?” Cain demanded. “When? What was taken?”

  “As if you don’t know, you—” Abruptly Danner began to make sounds like a man having trouble breathing.

  “You can talk nice or you can choke,” Cain said through his teeth. “Take your pick.”

  “Two nights ago somebody hit Hutton’s house and cleaned him out,” Danner said in a strained voice. “Not a damn thing left.”

  Cain and Christy looked at each other in dismay.

  “Is that why you’re here?” Cain asked after a moment. “Looking for evidence?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Find any?”

  “No,” Danner said grudgingly.

  “What was taken?” Christy asked.

  “You know better than I do, you little—”

  Danner’s words ended in a grunt as Cain yanked the sheriff’s wrist up to the back of his head.

  “Her name is Ms. McKenna,” Cain said. “Now answer her.”

  “Pots,” Danner said in a strained voice. “Beads. All that damn Moki stuff Hutton was so proud of.”

  “There’s nothing left here?” she asked.

  “You should know,” Danner retorted. “You cleaned it out down to the dust in the glass cases.”

  “Shit,” Cain said, furious. “He’s going to get away with it!”

  “What are you talking about?” Danner demanded.

  “Murder.”

  The sheriff made a rough sound.

  “My sister and her lover,” Christy said.

  “Jo?” Danner asked. “Hutton’s fancy piece of ass? She’s your sister?”

  “Yeah,” Cain said. “Jo-Jo and Hutton’s jet jockey died when their plane exploded on takeoff down in Santa Fe.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Jesus, Danner,” Cain said in disgust. “Why would I lie about that?”

  “Hutton said Jo, Jay, and the two of you were in on it. That you cleaned him out, Jay transported it, and—”

  “Jay couldn’t have transported a fly,” Cain said brutally. “He was spread all over three acres of runway.”

  Christy drew a sharp breath.

  “Besides, if we’ve already cleaned Hutton out, what are we doing breaking into a empty house?” Cain asked.

  Danner said nothing.

  “Well?” Cain demanded.

  “I don’t know.”

  “That’s right, Sheriff. You don’t know enough to pour piss out of a boot.”

  “I know I saw you trespassing on Hutton’s property. I know I saw you murder Johnny Ten Hats. I know you’re a Moki-poaching son of—”

  “—a bitch,” Cain interrupted sarcastically. “Well, one out of four ain’t bad, I guess.”

  “None out of four.” Christy’s voice was as flat and hard as Cain’s. “Self-defense isn’t murder.”

  “What happened?” the sheriff asked. “Did Johnny jump you when he got tired of getting fleeced by the four of you?”

  “Sheriff Danner,” she said, “shut up and listen.”

  The sheriff would have objected, but he couldn’t. Cain’s grip was too tight.

  “One,” she said distinctly. “Until last week, I hadn’t communicated with my sister for twelve years. Two. The alcove where Peter Hutton’s ‘Moki stuff’ came from is on public land.”

  Beneath Cain’s hands, the sheriff went very still.

  “Three,” she continued. “Jo-Jo, Jay, and Johnny Ten Hats were stealing from the alcove, from Hutton, and from each other.”

  Slowly the tension began to drain from Sheriff Danner’s big body.

  “Four,” she said relentlessly, “Cain had nothing to do with any of it. Five. Jay shot Cain this spring. And no,” she added sardonically, “it wasn’t a hunting accident. Six. Cain is not a murderer.”

  As the fight left Danner, Cain slowly eased his grip. He didn’t let go entirely, because he didn’t tr
ust the sheriff not to make a lunge for Christy and the pistol.

  “Seven,” she said coldly. “Can you prove that you aren’t an accessory to robbery, blackmail, and murder?”

  “What?” Danner asked, shocked. “Lady, I’m the sheriff of Remington County!”

  The outrage in Danner’s face was so clear that she laughed and laughed and laughed.

  And laughed.

  “Easy, honey,” Cain said, watching her closely. “It’s almost over. Even a skull as thick as Danner’s gets the point eventually.”

  She took a few deep, ragged breaths. “I’m okay. It’s just that—you should have seen—his face—” She struggled not to laugh.

  “Yeah,” Cain said, smiling slightly. “I can imagine. You ready to negotiate yet, Sheriff?”

  “You ready to surrender?” Danner retorted.

  It took Cain a moment to realize that the sheriff was serious.

  “Hell,” Cain said. “Okay, but there’s a condition.”

  “What?”

  “Hutton’s ass,” Cain said. “Where is he?”

  “Are Jo and that pilot really dead?” Danner asked.

  “You don’t believe me, call Santa Fe. They must have identified the scraps by now.”

  Christy winced.

  “Let me up,” Danner said.

  Cain looked at her. She backed up until she and the pistol were well beyond Danner’s reach. Cain let go of the sheriff and stood, watching him carefully.

  “Damn,” Danner groaned, rolling over and working his right arm. “No wonder Johnny was the one that took a header over the cliff. You’re a lot stronger than you look.” Slowly the sheriff got to his feet.

  Christy backed up some more. She’d forgotten just how big Danner was.

  The sheriff picked up his hat, reshaped it, and put it on. Then he looked at Cain for a long time.

  “You really figure Hutton killed his model?” Danner asked.

  “Or had Autry do it,” Cain said. “He had the training.”

  “Why kill them?”

  “Blackmail, likely.”

  “All because of a few ugly Moki pots?” Danner asked. “That’s crazy.”

  “Hutton couldn’t afford a scandal,” Christy said.

  Danner turned toward her.

  “It’s one thing to be inspired by ancient Anasazi designs found on your own land by experienced archaeologists,” she said. “It’s quite another to rape a unique, important archaeological site on public land just for some more fodder for the rag trade.”

  Danner shook his head slowly, but he wasn’t disagreeing with her. He simply didn’t understand. “Public land. Be damned.”

  “Jo-Jo and Jay knew Hutton had been digging on public land,” Cain said. “At a guess, I’d say they were blackmailing him as well as skimming from the dig. Or else Hutton feared blackmail in the future.”

  “Well, you could be right,” Danner said, “for all the good it will do you.”

  “What are you talking about?” she demanded. “Cain is innocent!”

  “Sure,” Danner said, shrugging. “I’ll be glad to put it out on the wire. But as for the rest…”

  She waited.

  “Even if I believed you,” the sheriff said, “and I’m not sure I do, Hutton has the money and Autry has the brains not to leave any evidence lying around.”

  “They left a whole alcove,” Cain said. “I’ll get the evidence I need.”

  “I don’t think so. Hutton and Autry went upcountry about an hour ago. They took a couple of cases of dynamite with them.”

  Cain began swearing viciously.

  With a resigned gesture, Danner tugged his hat into place. “Win some, lose some, some never had a chance. I don’t like it, but there’s sweet fuck all to do about it.”

  “I’m not going to lose this one,” Cain said in a harsh voice.

  “Sure you are,” the sheriff said wearily. “Hutton and his like don’t ever pay the piper. They just get in their fancy jets and fly off back to New York or Los Angeles. And we’re the little people, the ones they fly over on the way.”

  A feral smile spread across Cain’s face. “But they aren’t aboard that private plane yet. They’re still down here in the cedar and sandstone. And that’s my country.”

  He turned and went out the same way he’d come in, through the window. As soon as his feet hit the lawn, he was running.

  Christy went out the window after him, sheriff’s gun still in her hand.

  Chapter 54

  By the time Cain parked Moore’s truck within fifty yards of the Sisters, the rim of the mesa was already in deep shadow. Cautiously he went to the edge and looked over.

  There must have been an easier trail to the ruins from the valley below. A Xanadu ranch truck was parked at the base of the rim far below, but no one was in sight.

  He lifted his hand, signaling Christy to come closer. The sound of her approaching footsteps was almost lost in the long sigh of the wind through the cedars.

  “They’re still inside,” he said quietly.

  She let out a long breath. “All right.”

  “I still think I should take the pistol.”

  “When was the last time you shot a gun?” she asked.

  “When was the last time you killed a man?”

  “With a handgun at this range, killing won’t be a problem. I’ll be lucky to hit the alcove.”

  His smile flashed against his beard.

  “But that stretch of open rock is dangerous,” she said. “If someone is shooting at you, I can at least shoot back.”

  She was right and Cain knew it. He just didn’t like it.

  “You can come as far as the rock pile below the alcove. No farther, Red. I mean it.”

  Without waiting for her agreement, he lowered himself into the cleft. She shoved the pistol into her waistband and followed. Out of the sunlight, the air went from cool to chill. She gathered her jacket and zipped it up. The pistol felt cold and awkward against her stomach.

  Slowly they made their way down the cleft until they reached the spot where rock steps had been hammered into the sloping front of the mesa. The way across was exposed and dangerous.

  “I’ll go first,” he said softly. “You stay put until I find out what’s going on. When I raise my hand, come in carefully.”

  She didn’t answer.

  He turned, took her chin in his hand, and said, “If someone comes sneaking up behind me, I won’t be asking for ID. I’ll just reach back and send whoever it is headfirst off the mesa. Promise me it won’t be you.”

  The bleak clarity of Cain’s eyes left no doubt that he was serious.

  “I promise,” she whispered.

  He looked at her, saw that she meant it, and nodded.

  “But I don’t like it,” she muttered.

  “That makes two of us.”

  He let go of her chin and turned back toward the alcove. But instead of starting across the rock, he froze.

  Hutton and Autry were framed against the alcove’s dark entry, facing one another. Autry was carrying a knapsack in one hand. Hutton carried nothing. He was standing nonchalantly, his hands shoved deep into the oversized pockets of one of his own designer jackets.

  For a minute longer both men stood atop the rubble pile, talking urgently. Finally Autry reached into the knapsack and jerked out what looked like a two-way radio and began working over it.

  A chill that had nothing to do with the cool air went over Cain as he thought of what Danner had said about dynamite.

  “How good are you with that pistol?” he asked tightly. “Can you pick off Autry?”

  Her eyelids flinched, but she said nothing as she measured the range. “From here?”

  “Yes.”

  “I doubt that I’ll hit him, but I can sure as hell give him a scare.”

  “Do it. Fast.”

  An instant later a shot echoed.

  Autry doubled over and staggered backward.

  Christy froze in the act of pulling t
he pistol free of her waistband. “I didn’t—” she began.

  Another shot cut off her words. The sound of the report was tinny and flat, almost like the crack of a whip. It echoed into the alcove and out the other side.

  Before the sound faded, Autry was on his knees. Peter Hutton stood over him, a gun in his hand.

  While Cain and Christy watched in shocked silence, Hutton put the small pistol against the back of Autry’s head and pulled the trigger a third time. Autry pitched forward and lay facedown on the rubble pile. He didn’t move again.

  Hutton climbed down to where Autry had fallen. Without hesitation, he put the muzzle of the small pistol against Autry and fired until there were no bullets left.

  “Jesus Christ,” Cain said under his breath. “I met some cold folks in prison, but nothing like that.”

  Christy closed her eyes and clenched her teeth against the nausea rising in her throat. “Don’t ever call yourself a murderer again,” she said through her teeth. “Hutton is everything you are not.”

  Hutton looked down at Autry, then shook himself like a man awakening from a dream. He put the pistol back in his pocket, bent down, and grabbed Autry’s feet. Grunting with effort, he began dragging the slack body back to the alcove. When he got to the sill, he wrestled the body into a sitting position and hauled him up onto the rock.

  Then Hutton rubbed his palms on his trousers with a gesture that said he didn’t like getting dirty. He scrambled up onto the sill himself and tried to pitch Autry’s body forward into the alcove.

  It wasn’t easy to do. Hutton pushed, pulled, jerked, kicked, and finally managed to shove the corpse out of sight. He followed it.

  The instant Hutton vanished, Cain straightened up.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “Catch a murderer before he thinks to reload. Like Johnny. It’s always the little things that get you.”

  Cain left the cover of the cleft and started over the sandstone in a controlled rush. Halfway across, he switched leads and swiftly covered the rest of the dangerous open space.

  Christy was right on his heels.

  When she reached the rubble pile, his hand shot out and pulled her down. His other hand went over her mouth, forcing her to be silent and very still.

  Hutton was talking to someone inside the alcove. His breathing was ragged.