by Gwen Moffat
‘It gives us something to do while you’re gone. And Lord knows, this track’s easy enough to follow.’
‘What about Clyde?’ He had moved away to sit on a rock and stare at the lake.
‘I’ll look after him. You two get off now and fetch those blankets.’
Miss Pink walked, leading Jake. Val followed, keeping an eye on the ungainly load, so there was no opportunity to talk until they reached the cabin. When they arrived Val retrieved a key from a crack in the logs and unlocked the door. ‘So he had locked up,’ Miss Pink observed, stepping over the sill. There was no response from Val who had gone back to Jake for the saddle.
It was a one-room cabin with four windows, all shuttered. Either Charlie had put the shutters up as he was about to leave or he’d never taken them down. The light admitted by the open door showed a stove, bunk beds, a solid table and a number of folding chairs stacked against one wall. There was an armchair with its stuffing protruding, shelves with cans of food, saucepans, crockery and a large blue enamel coffee pot.
Val came in, dropped the saddle on the floor and picked up several neatly folded blankets. ‘Do you need more?’ Miss Pink asked.
‘No, this is enough. Lock up, will you?’
She took one last look round. The term ‘spick and span’ came to mind and she wondered why. Such an old-fashioned phrase, almost archaic, inappropriate. But was it? It meant tidy, clean or cleaned up, and that was what this cabin was.
‘Are you coming?’ The tone was harsh. The woman was still in shock, of course; after all, she was Charlie’s daughter.
‘Was your father a domesticated man?’ she asked as she untied Jake’s halter. As if she’d not witnessed the man’s behaviour at home, had heard no gossip from Sophie.
‘God, no! Why?’ It was barked out.
‘Because he left the place like — well, like a woman would.’
Val snorted angrily. ‘Wilderness manners; you have to leave a cabin clean for the next person to use it. You should know that, for heaven’s sakes; you’re a mountaineer.’
She was rigid with hostility, as if she’d reached the next stage of shock: determined to whitewash the image of Charlie, the ogre of Glenaffric. Odd, then, that she should seize on such a trivial feature, maintaining the old autocrat was house-trained. Such an obvious lie.
6
In the middle of the afternoon, the hottest part of the day, the cortège started back to Benefit. Miss Pink was still on foot, having ridiculed the suggestion that she might find the walk tiring. Jake plodded behind her, not bothered about his load once it was on his back. They’d tied a bandanna over his eyes as the blanketed form was heaved across the saddle, and boxed him in to prevent his moving. But Jake was no kicker; he’d had deer carcasses on his back, a corpse didn’t make all that much difference. In addition he carried the remnants that had been found along the stallion’s back-trail: a shirt that was no more than a bloody rag, a stained bandanna, Charlie’s wallet: open but with credit cards in place, and some dollar bills. These, and the boot, had been crammed into a plastic bag from Safeway’s supermarket, adding a bizarre trim to the gelding’s load. The rifle had not been found, nor the other boot.
Val led the stallion, bringing up the rear with Clyde. Sophie was with Miss Pink. The rest rode ahead in a bunch, giving an impression of distancing themselves from the women and their burden. Close to Benefit Ryan broke away and cantered ahead. Watching him go, Miss Pink said, ‘There was a rider on a pale horse, a buckskin probably, on the rim above the lake. D’you think that was Jen?’
‘I guess.’ Sophie sounded tired. ‘Could be her on one of Bret’s horses. Did you mention it to Val?’
‘No, because I thought it could well be Jen, and we don’t need any more complications today.’
‘Thoughtful of you. Jen has to be with Bret. She’d have wanted to help search for her grand-daddy but she’d be bothered about meeting her mother at this time, not to speak of all the rest of us. I wonder if this’ — she glanced at Jake’s load — ‘if it’ll affect her… I mean, her relationship with her mother. Will it heal the breach?’
‘It could depend on why she went in the first place —’
‘But we know that. She went because —’
‘— and what was said when they met.’
‘When — they — met?’
‘Jen and her grandfather. At the cabin two days ago.’
Sophie’s horse stumbled and she pulled him up so jerkily that he jumped in surprise. Miss Pink waited for him to settle, aware that the stumble could have been the result of a sudden tightening of the rider’s muscles.
Sophie took her time, walking carefully round a sprawl of sage, coming back, looking ahead. ‘Bret’s away to telephone the chopper people,’ she said. ‘You can’t take the body into town on the back of a pick-up.’
Miss Pink reflected that it was more likely Ryan had gone ahead to warn Jen of the approach of her mother. As if telepathic, Sophie said with sudden vehemence, ‘It could be a total stranger you saw on the rim. Jen doesn’t have to be in the area at all, she could be miles away. We know she called Charlie but she could have changed her mind about meeting him. You didn’t find anything to show she’d been in the cabin, did you?’
‘No. Have you asked Sam about her? Surely the first person she’d contact on her return would be her father, given that she hasn’t been in touch with Val?’
‘Well’ — Sophie avoided Miss Pink’s eye — ‘I’m just the great-aunt, you know? And neither Sam nor Bret had anything to say about Jen when Val spoke to them last evening, only that she was around. We’ve been more concerned with Charlie, haven’t we? Like now’ — she glanced over her shoulder — ‘I wouldn’t have expected Clyde to take it so to heart, but he always was highly strung, even as a kid.’
Actually, Clyde was in better shape now, taking the stallion’s rope from Val who trotted past the women to overtake Jardine and Byer. She didn’t stop there but drew ahead with Jardine, leaving Byer on his own.
‘Private business,’ Sophie observed, and then, ‘We have to think about Edna.’
‘She has her family for support.’ With the exception of her granddaughter. How soon would Jen appear? It was unlikely that the girl would be waiting at Benefit, at least to be visibly present. Having to face family and friends after ten years’ absence would be bad enough; in the circumstances, escorting the body of her grandfather, the situation could be unbearable for her. ‘Some good could come of it,’ Miss Pink murmured, to be taken up by Sophie immediately.
‘For whom?’
‘Everyone. Jen will surely come to the funeral. Families draw together after a death and Charlie was the head of the family. I suppose it’s possible’ — Miss Pink seemed to be talking to herself — ‘that he left his granddaughter well provided for.’
‘Probably, I would think.’
‘You mean you — that is, Edna — doesn’t know?’
‘Yes, I do know.’ Subterfuge was difficult with Miss Pink, especially when one was tired. ‘It’s not a surprising will, if you know the background. The bulk of his fortune’s left between members of the family, although most unfairly in my opinion. Jen gets the lion’s share; she’s going to be very rich indeed and she gets the horses — most of ‘em. Edna is to live at Glenaffric for her lifetime, although the ranch is willed to Jen.’
‘And Clyde and Val?’
‘About half a million each, I believe. Enough so’s folk won’t talk but not much considering Charlie’s — was — a multimillionaire. There are bequests to institutions and charities, the usual kind of thing. Like I said, it’s not surprising, except in degree. It’s hard on Edna but she gets to keep her home and presumably Jen will provide the upkeep since the house will belong to her.’
‘Do the beneficiaries know the provisions?’
‘How formal you are, Melinda. Yes, they know. Not from Charlie directly but by way of Edna. Jen won’t know unless Charlie told her. I get five of Ali’s colts, incidentally
, and that’s a sick joke. Charlie knew I didn’t like Ali. However, the colts will fetch a tidy sum in a sale; no way am I going to ride any of ‘em, let alone put anyone else up on ‘em.’
‘So Jen has to appear in order to claim her inheritance,’ Miss Pink said absently and then, quickly, ‘I’m sorry, that was in bad taste.’
‘Not at all.’ Sophie was unperturbed. ‘I don’t give a damn what brings her back as long as she comes back. Val’s suffered too much over this business. I’m willing to bet that at this moment she’s far more concerned about Jen than about the load old Jake’s carrying.’
Miss Pink looked to make sure the load wasn’t slipping. ‘Does she know that Jen was pregnant when she left?’
‘Edna’s told her but it didn’t come as a surprise. Val and I had held so many post-mortems over the years that we’d considered it ourselves: that she could have left to have a baby.’ And now they knew that the girl had rejected her mother and gone to her grandfather for help. But they had only Charlie’s word for it that she’d been pregnant; if he was lying about that he was a monster. Charlie Gunn had a lot to answer for. Miss Pink smiled grimly. And, in a way, he’d answered for it.
‘Joke?’ Sophie asked.
‘He was a nasty piece of work, your brother-in-law.’
‘Now he’s gone I’d prefer to forget that we were related, even by marriage.’
The helicopter was at Benefit. It had landed on what would have been the main street when the mines were in production. Now it was no more than a stretch of dust bordered by the few houses left standing. Most structures had collapsed, probably under the weight of winter snows.
Miss Pink relinquished her horse and its burden to the men and moved back. Ostensibly she was keeping out of their way but in reality she was on the alert for a pale horse. She didn’t expect to see its rider.
Bret Ryan’s cabin was obvious: the only one with glass in its windows and a screen door. It stood a few yards back from the street, shaded by cottonwoods. The roof was shingled, the chimney stack built of bricks. A serviceable pick-up stood at the gate of a garden full of marigolds. There were corrals at the back, a barn, sheds and the usual collection of rusting trucks. The horses in a corral were dark; Miss Pink moved to see into the others when — ‘You riding with me, ma’am?’ Sam Jardine called, trudging through the dust to a pick-up and trailer. She started to say no, she’d go home on her horse and then she remembered that this was Jen’s father. She beamed.
‘That would save me five miles,’ she admitted, ‘and I’m saddle-sore. But isn’t it out of your way?’ He lived down the valley, towards Irving.
‘I’m taking the stud to Val’s place. Saves him the walk too. Val’s gonna look after him. Can’t expect Edna to be in a fit state to doctor him, ‘specially when he starts to recover. He’ll soon be hisself again, there’s no bones broke.’
They loaded the horses in the trailer. The others rode away towards the swing bridge and, once all the animals were clear, the helicopter took off. There was no hurry, no urgency.
In the cab of Sam’s pick-up Miss Pink stretched her legs and sighed deeply. He glanced at her, concerned. ‘Nasty thing for you to see, ma’am.’
‘Oh, that. I’m used to it, Mr Jardine. I’m just relieved to be sitting on a seat that doesn’t move.’
‘You’re used to bodies? How’s that?’
‘I was in Search and Rescue.’ The lie came easily. ‘Falls down mountains can produce the most bizarre injuries, although I’ve never seen anything like this. How could it have happened?’
‘Why, he were drug. You saw the ground: rocks and stuff; clothes would be scraped off of him first, then the skin.’
‘I meant how could this happen to an expert rider? First he was thrown, then his boot was caught in the stirrup. Two coincidences: isn’t that unlikely?’
‘It happens.’ But he was thinking. ‘Third coincidence,’ he said. ‘Bear stands up from behind a rock: a she-bear with cubs. Up goes the stud, maybe falls over backwards, and Charlie’s not ready for it — you see? He could have hit his head as he fell and was knocked unconscious. The weight of the body’d twist that stirrup and his foot would be locked in there. Then his horse bolts.’
She said nothing. The evening sun came streaming to light the ridges and deepen the shadows in the canyons. Timber was a folded green pelt, crags were rosy, water was silk set in emeraids. She saw none of it, she was seeing a body suspended, hurtling and bouncing over rocks.
‘Does Jen ride a buckskin?’ she asked at length.
‘Jen — my girl? A buckskin? I wouldn’t know.’ He paused. ‘Was there a buckskin at Benefit?’
‘There was a rider on one above the lake, on the canyon rim.’
‘And you thought it could be Jen.’ He showed no surprise nor resentment that she should be privy to this family secret.
‘I hoped it was her.’
He nodded. ‘I were wondering if she was holed up with Bret Ryan. She’ll be in touch shortly. Can’t do nothing else now she’s come this far. She’ll be missing her mom. Bret will work on her, convince her she has to do the right thing. She’s a good kid at heart. He’ll make her see sense.’
She didn’t pursue the subject; she was relieved to find him a sensible man and well-disposed towards his former wife.
They unloaded the horses at Val’s ranch and he drove away, Miss Pink insisting that she could cope with the animals, it would be something to do while she waited for the riders. In fact, she’d scarcely finished brushing Jake when Sophie arrived. She had left Val and Clyde at the swing bridge and they’d gone straight to Glenaffric. ‘They’ll stay with Edna,’ she said, ‘so we’ll tend to this animal’ — eyeing Ali grimly — ‘put some stuff on those cuts and then we’ll head for home. What did Sam have to say? Any news of Jen?’
They talked as they worked: unsaddling Sophie’s horse first, then Miss Pink held Ali while Sophie went over him carefully, cleaning and dressing the cuts. There was some swelling due to bruising; they’d have the veterinarian out tomorrow, give him a thorough check, make sure nothing had been missed. Val would be here in the morning, Sophie said, Clyde would stay at Glenaffric. She shook her head. ‘Edna shouldn’t go on living there, the place is far too big for a widow lady. Maybe I can convince her to come to the Rothbury.’
Miss Pink was scratching the stallion’s skull, mumbling to him, her eyes glazed. Sophie straightened from a hind leg and stared. Slowly Miss Pink focused.
‘You bonded!’ Sophie was incredulous.
‘It could be that his problem wasn’t genetic after all. He had the wrong master. He could have been whipped.’
‘I know he was.’
‘I mean, back there: at hunting camp, when Charlie was thrown.’
They regarded the horse’s dark eyes: clear but sleepy. Sophie said, ‘Charlie was about to leave. He’d packed up, cleared the cabin, loaded the pack-horse.’
‘Ye-es.’ Now what was coming?
‘Then he caught sight of a bear.’
‘It would be hanging around?’
‘Right. Only just in case the sheriff asks questions, I suggest we keep quiet about Jen. Val and Clyde agree. About that phone call, I mean, when Jen called Charlie. Edna needn’t have overheard anything. Clyde will convince her to forget it.’
‘I won’t mention it.’ Miss Pink was a bit stuffy. ‘It’s not my business.’
‘Nor the sheriff’s. There’s no need to complicate matters by mentioning Jen.’
Fine. So the phone call was a coincidence, as was Jen’s return at the same time — about the same time — that her grandfather died. As was the fact that Val and Clyde were only a few miles from hunting camp where he died. Coincidence, coincidence — and there was yet another, or two: Val and Clyde were each in line for half a million dollars and Jen was in for a whole lot more. Miss Pink shook herself mentally. My criminal mind again, she thought. How fortunate it was that Charlie’s death was so obviously the result of an accident.
; *
It was late by the time they reached the Rothbury. When they entered the apartment Sophie dropped her saddlebags on the floor and made for the drinks cabinet. ‘First things first,’ she announced, pouring whisky and bourbon with a generous hand. Miss Pink took only a token sip before excusing herself. On the drive home conversation was a monologue; Sophie, evidently anxious to avoid personalities, had concentrated on the disposal of Charlie’s horses. Miss Pink had had as much of bloodlines as she could stand. She shut herself in her bathroom, turned on the taps and sat on a padded stool, sipping her drink and too exhausted even to undress.
There was a knock at the door but Sophie was only telling her not to dress, just to put on a robe and they’d eat in the apartment, they’d have dinner sent up from the kitchen.
*
It was another balmy evening. They sat at the window eating lobster Newburg, the food furnishing an excuse not to embark on distasteful topics of conversation. Wondering if Sophie would return to family problems with the conclusion of the meal, about to suggest another early night, Miss Pink was startled by the ringing of the doorbell.
They glanced at each other, then down at their robes. Sophie swallowed and stood up. She looked through the peephole, shrugged and opened the door. Russell Kramer stood there, diffident but solid. The time of evening, the absence of advance notice, indicated the diffidence was assumed.
‘Do I apologise and retreat?’ he asked. ‘Or shall I slip into something more comfortable and join you?’
‘Don’t be silly, Russell.’ Sophie drew him inside. ‘You know you’re always welcome. What will you drink?’
‘Talisker?’ He looked coy.
‘I keep it for him,’ Sophie told Miss Pink who was smiling weakly and wishing she’d combed out her hair after her shower.
Russell sat down with an air of purpose and glanced at the view. ‘Isn’t it a beautiful evening? If the Absarokas weren’t in the way you could see the Tetons.’
Miss Pink’s jaw dropped. She said faintly, ‘If it weren’t for the curve of the earth —’
