Sinister

by Nancy Bush

  “Will do,” Bud said, his breath steaming the cold air.

  By the time he rolled into the lot back at the precinct, the muscles in the back of Sam’s neck sang with tension. He cut the engine to his county-issued Jeep and rotated his neck far enough to hear his vertebrae crack. The neck ache was chronic. Like the Jeep, it came with the job. Lately, the department was on overload. They were down two deputies, one from retirement, the other a pregnancy, and he was having some difficulty getting anyone qualified to take the jobs.

  The holiday season was always stressful and seemed to bring out the worst in some people. Domestic violence reports were on the rise, along with the usual traffic accidents, power outages, drunk drivers, poachers and fights. But he had a niggling fear about the abandoned vehicle. He sincerely hoped Amber Barstow was all right.

  Locking the Jeep remotely, he walked through the back entrance of the low-slung cinder block building housing the sheriff’s department. The smell of floor wax and burnt coffee greeted him, and he hadn’t stepped five feet into the common lunch area when Naomi Simmons, a secretary for the department, chased him down.

  “The furnace is on the fritz again,” she said, perpetual scowl in place. “All the front offices are freezing.” She was bundled in her down jacket and scarf and dabbed at her red nose with her tissue.

  “Call maintenance and—”

  “I did. You know what Mel told me? ‘I’ll get to it.’ You know what that means. When will he get to it? That’s what I’d like to know. Hopefully sometime before the New Year!” She was really getting worked up now, and Sam figured the influx of adrenaline might be just what she needed to get her blood flowing again.

  Gary Rodriguez, one of the deputies, was seated at a round table, immersed in the newspaper, but he looked up at Naomi, then looked down again quickly, as if he wanted to make sure he stayed out of the line of fire.

  “You want me to talk to Mel?” Sam asked.

  “Like that’ll do any good, but yes.”

  “Get him, or someone from maintenance, on the line for me,” he agreed. The last thing he needed was to handle this detail himself, but he couldn’t have the staff freezing, either. He needed a little patience here, a trait the Shoshone were known for, though Sam often felt he’d been shortchanged in that department.

  Naomi stormed to the coffee counter, tried to fill a cup from the carafe marked HOT WATER and found it empty. “Fan. Tas. Tic.” Jaw set, she filled her cup at the sink and slid it into the microwave. As her mug twirled to the right temperature, she scoured the basket of tea bags and grumbled about there not being any peppermint.

  Sam grabbed a cup of black coffee and wound his way through the rabbit warren of hallways to his office, the largest in the building, but by no means plush.

  He’d barely sat down when his phone rang and Naomi connected him to the lackluster Mel Gervais who promised to “get right on it.”

  “Sheriff?” he heard as he was hanging up.

  He glanced up.

  Katrina Starr, Prairie Creek’s youngest detective, stood in the doorway to his office. Petite, barely five-foot-three, she was an intense woman, who was far too serious for her twenty-eight years. “That detective from Sacramento called back while you were gone.”

  “Any word on Amber Barstow?”

  “He got a call from her parents this morning, and they filed a missing person’s report.” Katrina frowned. “Amber Barstow is officially missing.”

  Colton zipped his duffel bag closed and told himself he was making a big mistake. Despite all his vows to the contrary, he’d decided to return to Wyoming, not for the wedding, but to try and connect with the son he’d never officially met. He couldn’t imagine how Rourke would respond to a face-to-face with the absentee father who’d sired him. Probably not well. In fact, if Colton had been told that he wasn’t Ira’s son, but the progeny of a love ’em and leave ’em cowboy, he probably would have spit on the pretender.

  The old man had taken off yesterday on the private plane he’d hired, but Colton had decided against flying with him. The quarters would be too damned tight, and he’d needed to square things up before he headed south. He left Jenkins in charge of the stock and there were plenty of ranch hands available to help out. Jenkins had also agreed to put out food and water for Montana, who now followed his every step. That dog did not like the sight of a duffel bag.

  “You’ll be okay,” he said, kneeling down to scratch the shepherd behind his ears. “I won’t be gone long.” Montana whined and looked up at him with accusations in his dark eyes. The dog knew Colton was lying. Whining, wagging his tail, he begged to be let in on the adventure.

  “Now don’t look so pathetic,” Colton said, then caved. “Okay, you’re right. This might take a while.”

  Sensing that his mission was accomplished, the dog took off, claws clicking frantically as he raced to the front door.

  Colton shouldered his bag and followed after the excited mutt. “Yeah, I know,” he said as he reached for his jacket. “I’m a sap.”

  Montana barked expectantly as Colton shrugged into his coat, reminded himself to call Cub to let him know that Montana was taking the trip with him, slapped off the lights and walked outside into a rush of bone-chilling cold.

  He had a long drive ahead of him, but the distance wasn’t the difficult part. Nope. Even with the weather he could probably make it in a little over eight hours. It was what was on the other end that was the problem.

  When he’d fled to Montana, he’d been escaping all the pain and blame and family bullshit of Prairie Creek. That place had closed around him like a noose, choking the living breath out of him.

  And now? With Margo and Darcy gone, he could see that his time in Montana was coming to an end, too. He had to get out of Margo’s kitchen. He’d given up trying to sleep in the bed they’d shared. And Darcy’s room? Although Ricki had packed a lot of stuff up for him when she’d visited the previous spring, he’d stayed away from the bedrooms at the back of the house. He was on his way out, that was a given, and had been ever since he’d lost them.

  His next move? That was still up in the air.

  He was damn sure it wasn’t Prairie Creek.

  Whistling to the dog, he opened the driver’s-side door of his Explorer. Montana leapt inside and took his spot on the passenger seat as Colton stowed his bag in the back.

  Half a minute later, he was behind the wheel and heading back to the place he’d sworn he’d left forever.

  Chapter Seven

  It was after two, and with the lunch rush over, Sabrina hoped to grab a quick burger and a quiet ten minutes to herself in a booth at Molly’s.

  As she sat down, Cordelia, one of Molly’s waitresses, asked, “Do you want fries with your burger?”

  “No fries. Salad or fruit, if you can do it.”

  “Milk shake?”

  “Just black coffee.”

  “Trying to cut down on the carbs?” Cordelia motioned to the patrons behind her. “That’s all I been hearing for the past two weeks. Folks are trying to trim down to squeeze into the formal wear in their closets. Seems like most of the town has been invited to the big wedding.”

  “Really.” Sabrina hadn’t even thought about what to wear yet. She had bigger issues and forced the question that had been preying on her ever since she’d concluded she’d have to attend. “Have you heard about whether Colt Dillinger is coming for it?” Cordelia was always a good source of information.

  “Jury’s still out, and I call it a fifty-fifty chance. I think Ira’s up in Montana now, trying to rope him into it. But the big surprise was when those invitations went out to all the Kincaids. Pete Murray said he thought his eyes had gone buggy when he was sorting the mail down at the post office. He almost called Pilar to make sure it wasn’t a mistake, but figured he’d mind his own business.”

  “I bet that was a shocker,” Sabrina agreed. Pete was a reliable postman, but nosy as the day was long.

  Cordelia hitched a thumb to t
he rear of the restaurant where Georgina Kincaid and her husband, the Major, sat finishing their lunch. “I know they’re going. Hunter and Emma, too. Of course, Emma’s not surprised, considering she’s making Pilar’s gown. Or should I say gowns in the plural. Did you hear that Pilar has her working on three?”

  “That’s the buzz.” Sabrina put the cloth napkin on her lap and glanced at her empty coffee cup.

  Cordelia said, “Lemme bring that to ya.”

  As she disappeared into the kitchen, Georgina and the Major rose from their table. The Major, once a big bear of a man, now moved slowly, stooped over and stepping carefully as if he were walking down the galley of a rocking ship. Georgina went to the register to pay the bill, but the Major kept motoring toward the door, slow and steady.

  Sabrina was sorry to see him failing. The Major had always been kind to her. His daughter Mariah—now there was the polar opposite of her daddy. That girl could have been the prototype for one of the characters in Mean Girls when she was younger, and she hadn’t improved much with age.

  The Major paused at Sabrina’s booth and lifted a hand toward the windows overlooking Main Street. “How’s that for snow?” he said.

  “Quite a bit,” she agreed.

  “Should go tobogganing,” he observed.

  “I’m hoping to do some snowshoeing this weekend if we don’t get dumped on again.”

  He nodded. “Good.”

  Word had it that the Major was suffering from some form of cancer and that he was dying by inches. Sabrina couldn’t be sure if he really knew who she was, but really, did it matter?

  By contrast, his wife passed by with a scowl and a prim nod. That was Georgina’s best greeting since Sabrina had helped her ranch hands vaccinate scores of lambs the previous spring. Georgina Kincaid was quite a piece of work, but in her face you could still see some of the acclaimed beauty from her youth.

  She was able to stave off the chill of Georgina’s stare when Cordelia brought her a cup of piping hot coffee. Checking her cell, she saw an afternoon and evening loaded with appointments, including a visit to the Dillinger ranch to check on the stock. And Sally still hadn’t returned her call about Buster. Another busy day, but TGIF. At least, she only had a half day of work tomorrow and Sunday … maybe she really would get out the snowshoes and take a walk in the snow. This time of year, she was stuck in the clinic for far too many hours.

  The diner was emptying out, giving her the quiet she craved. Doc Farley, who rarely worked on Fridays, waved as he left with his wife, Nora. Two men took their coats and cowboy hats from hooks by the door. Sabrina didn’t recognize them, but one nodded a greeting and the other touched the brim of his hat. That’s how folks were around here, friendly, making a point to say hello. It was one of the aspects of small-town life that had kept her here in Prairie Creek when her mom had fled to a larger city.

  She was cradling the hot mug when the door jangled and in bustled Sally Jamison. She waited on the slate landing, scanning the restaurant with her hands on her hips.

  “Sally?” Sabrina called, lifting a hand. She really didn’t want the queen of gab to join her, but they did have business to transact.

  Sally bustled over. “I’m not ignoring your call, I’ve just got so many plates in the air, and if Pilar doesn’t make a decision on her flowers soon, they’re all going to come crashing down.”

  “No worries. Do you want to join me?”

  “No can do,” Sally declined, but she slid onto the banquette opposite Sabrina anyway. “I’m meeting Pilar here to get the house measurements and go over some final choices. Final being the operative word.”

  “I was calling about Buster. You got my message that he has a urinary tract infection? You’ll need to continue his medication. You can pick him up when you have a free minute, any time before six.”

  “You must think I’m a terrible mommy, not getting back to you sooner.”

  “I know you’re busy.”

  “Crazy is more like it. I just got an order for twenty more wreaths for the Boy Scouts. Twenty! Mia and I are going to be up all night bending wires.” She looked up at the wall clock. “I’ll head over to pick Buster up, just as soon as I finish here with Pilar.”

  “Renee has your instructions and paperwork all ready for you.”

  “Thank you for taking such good care of my baby.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  Sabrina expected Sally to get up and find Pilar, but she settled in and hunkered closer. “So”—she folded her hands on the table—“did you hear that the cops found an abandoned car out at Big Bart’s, some little Honda, I think, and the car’s owner, a young woman, has been missing since the Saturday after Thanksgiving.”

  “Uh-oh.” Sabrina sipped her coffee, thinking that it was a long time to be missing, especially in this weather. “Have they released any details?”

  “Only that she lives in California.”

  “I wonder what she was doing out this way.”

  Sally shrugged.

  Sabrina hoped that the florist was exaggerating the details of the young woman’s disappearance. “I’m going to start locking my doors.” The front door opened. Sabrina caught a glimpse of Pilar stomping snow off her boots and her heart sank.

  Sally lifted her head, spied Pilar just as the door shut. “Pilar?” she called, waving. “Over here!”

  No, not over here, Sabrina wanted to say. The place was dead and there were plenty of other tables. But all at once Cordelia appeared with her burger, and Pilar was right beside her with a big hello and a little wiggle of the hand, telling Sabrina to scoot over.

  “I haven’t seen you out at the ranch in a while,” she told Sabrina as she sat down beside her.

  “I guess you just miss me. I’m there at least once a week. Out in the barn. Sometimes the stables.”

  “That explains it. This time of year, I don’t go out there much.” The smile on her lips fell away as Pilar turned to Sally. “I got your message and my heart is broken. Tell me you’ve found some birds of paradise?”

  “I have, but it’s not that simple.” Sally looked up as Cordelia approached the table again. “I’ll have a tuna salad on toast, please.”

  Pilar ordered a fruit salad and a lemon water. “I’m just back from Denver, so I’m having a little culture shock again. Everything here is … different.”

  Some of us like Prairie Creek just fine, Sabrina thought. She bit into her burger and kept her thoughts to herself, not that she had a chance to get a word in with Sally and Pilar who had started blathering over flower and measurement crises.

  “What do you mean?” Sally said to Pilar. “I thought you were bringing me the measurements today. We can’t start the garland without them.”

  “No. You said you were coming out to the place while I was in Denver, to get them yourself,” Pilar insisted. “I’m sure I told you that I don’t even know what to measure and, really, I don’t have the time for this.”

  “And I said I was too busy. I offered to send Mia, but you said Ira didn’t want her poking around the house.”

  Pilar rolled her eyes and sighed. “How am I supposed to manage all this on my own? I should never have let Ira talk me out of hiring a wedding planner.”

  “Maybe you should talk to Ricki,” Sally suggested. “She’s been a big-city girl for a while and she’s there at the ranch. She could have some great ideas and—”

  “Oh, Ricki,” Pilar said in disgust. “She’s too busy helping her father run the ranch. Besides, she was a cop. Not exactly a high-fashion profession. I swear, there’s going to be a wedding catastrophe if I don’t get someone to help me pull this thing together.”

  Sabrina kept her gaze on her salad, just in case Pilar got any ideas about hooking her in. But apparently playing doctor to the livestock also failed to rate high enough to deal with wedding decisions, in Pilar’s mind.

  “I’m sure one of Ira’s other daughters will give you a hand once they get here,” Sally said. “In the meantime
, I need to get going on the garland for your house … the church, too.”

  Pilar squeezed her eyes shut for a second, then, when she opened them, seemed to be in control again. “Fine. Just send Mia over. Tell her to come tomorrow afternoon. I’ll deal with Ira. We’re doing a dress rehearsal in the church at four. She can come to the house and measure there first, then I’ll make sure she gets into the Pioneer Church while we’re there. Reverend Landon is a little sensitive about people breezing in and out of his church while a service is going on.”

  “Tomorrow afternoon then.” Sally tried to pour oil on troubled waters and forced a smile as she smoothed her napkin on her lap. Fortunately, at that moment Cordelia arrived with their food. “Trust me, Mia will take care of everything.”

  “Right.” Unimpressed, Pilar examined a cube of pineapple on the tines of her fork, then popped it in her mouth.

  “Any chance she’ll run into Colton while she’s out at the ranch?” Sally asked. Sabrina tried not to react as Sally went on. “You know how she is about the Dillingers.”

  “Oh, yes,” Pilar said tightly. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  Sally nodded. “You know, Mia never lets any of us forget that it was Colton who saved her from the fire.”

  “She’s got to be ten years older than he is,” Pilar pointed out as she raised an eyebrow.

  Sabrina thought, Careful, Pilar. Do you know what people in town are saying about you?

  Sally pursed her lips in a mixture of sympathy and bewilderment. “It’s just that he’s all she’s been talking about lately.”

  Pilar shook her head. “I don’t think Colt’s coming. Ira flew up to Montana to try and persuade him, but Colt won’t budge. Poor Ira. His son is breaking his heart, but then that’s nothing new for Colton Dillinger, is it?”

  Sabrina dropped a crust from the bun onto her plate as the conversation finally moved on. For once, Pilar Larson had spoken the truth, and it killed her to no end that she still had feelings for Colt.