by Sheryl Lynn
Irritated, Elaine cleared her throat. “Am I illegally parked, Uncle King?”
He chuckled. “I was just seeing what you’re up to, honey. Seems to me you’re keeping strange company. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you in this place. Especially not on a Sunday.”
King knew they were talking about Bobby’s death. Elaine felt it vibrating in her bones. That he was acting so belligerent said he was afraid. She glanced at Tate. He looked a tad fearful himself. King could suspend Tate, or fire him. He could do worse, too, by harassing him about the bar, or even coming up with some pretense to shut it down.
“I’m visiting, talking with friends.” She plucked a French fry from the basket. “Having lunch.”
King wasn’t paying attention to her. His flinty eyes bored into Ric. “Blood will tell. I can always find you in a bar.”
Ric’s neck and shoulders seemed to swell. Hot spots flared on his cheekbones.
Elaine straightened on the chair and tugged at her skirt. King had a special dislike for rowdy young men. He enjoyed nothing better than breaking up parties, pulling over souped-up cars and strutting through the video arcade insearch of underage drinkers and smokers. His theory was, “Keep an eagle eye on the young, and by the time they can vote, they’re good citizens.” He took full credit for the valley’s low crime rate.
Trouble was, he didn’t know when to quit.
Tate handed King a cup of coffee. “Do you need me, sir?”
“Just satisfying some curiosity. What you got in that cup, Ric? Getting snockered on the Sabbath is bad form.”
“Coffee,” Ric replied. His voice was calm, but his eyes were stormy. He looked as if tossing the coffee at the sheriff were a distinct possibility.
Elaine seethed with embarrassment. Of all people, King had no call to be casting stones about drinking. He liked to pretend that no one knew his alcoholism had destroyed his marriage and lost him custody of his three children, or that he regularly attended AA meetings.
King had always hated Ric. It was unfair. Ric couldn’t help what his mother had been. Perhaps he’d worn his hair a bit too long when he was a teenager. Perhaps he’d had an attitude. But what teenage boy didn’t? Ric had never been a criminal. And look at the wonderful things he’d done with his life. A decorated soldier who’d served honorably and been wounded in the line of duty. He was gaining a reputation as a fine carpenter, and a hard worker who charged fair prices.
She stood. In high heels, she was almost King’s height. “Is there something specific you want?”
He dropped his foot to the floor. His eyes widened. “I—I was just checking to see you’re okay.”
“I don’t need you checking to see if I’m okay.” She dropped a hand on Ric’s shoulder. “I certainly don’t need you insulting my friends.”
His mouth opened and closed. Heady power coursed through her, putting steel in her spine.
“May I speak to you outside?” Without awaiting his answer, she stalked away, her heels cracking against the linoleum. She pushed through the door. The wind had increased, exhilarating her, fueling her indignation. She stomped her feet and slapped her upper arms.
Finally, King joined her on the sidewalk.
“You are embarrassing me!”
Wind, or perhaps discomfort, reddened his cheeks. His big mustache twitched. “I know what’s going on, young lady. I don’t like it.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“You and your mama both are going plum out of your minds. Bad enough Walt Buchanan’s sniffing around Lillian like some love-sick calf, but here you are mooning over that trashy boy.”
“Ric is not a boy. He isn’t trash either.”
“Ain’t never been married, living out in the boonies like some survivalist nut. Every time I turn around, there he is with Jodi. Ain’t there any sense in your head? Don’t you know nothing about grown men with a taste for little girls? Hear about it all the time. Predators pick up lonely women just so’s they can get at the kids.”
She was horrified he’d even think such a thing.
“That boy hauled trouble like a tail when he was young. Leopards don’t change spots, you know.”
It struck her what his real problem was. He hadn’t thought Ric Buchanan good enough for the high and mighty McClintock family when Elaine was eighteen. He didn’t think Ric was good enough now. He sounded just like her father.
“I find it gross and disgusting that you’d even think such a thing, Uncle King. Ric likes Jodi.”
“I bet he does.”
She caught the undercurrent of fear in his words. A fear he was trying to cover with sarcasm and bluster. She guessed he knew about Tom’s private eye. She bet he knew a whole lot of other things, too, such as what old secrets might be revealed if the full truth were known about the shooting. King either knew Ric was Jodi’s father, or had a darned good suspicion. And it would just kill him if it became common knowledge.
“Ric and Walt are my friends. I will not tolerate your insults.”
He shook a thick finger at her. “Don’t be pulling that queen of the world act. You ain’t your mama.”
She lifted her chin.
“That boy’s a troublemaker. I catch him even spitting on the sidewalk and I’ll toss his can in jail.”
She kept quiet. A car slowed in passing. King shot the driver a hard look. The car speeded up.
“You lie down with dogs, you end up with fleas, Elaine.”
Thanks for the cliché of the day. “Will you be having supper with me and Mama at the ranch this evening? Perhaps we can have a family discussion.”
He scowled and harrumphed. She’d called his bluff. Were he truly serious about suspecting Ric of pedophilia, he’d welcome the chance to voice his concerns to Lillian.
“See you later,” she said and went back inside. Her muscles tensed. She half expected him to follow and drag her out of the bar. When he didn’t, she let out a relieved sigh.
She met Ric’s eyes. He was angry, and she didn’t blame him. Her uncle had never treated him fairly. Nor had her father.
Her father…Daddy had never questioned Jodi’s paternity. He’d never made a single comment about the hasty marriage. That he might have known was something she’d never allowed herself to think about.
She couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been. Del Crowder hadn’t written that desperate note to Bobby. He’d have cut out his tongue before handing Ric Buchanan an invitation to join the family.
“Laney?” Ric asked.
Daddy didn’t write it! she almost cried out. She curled her lips between her teeth.
If her father hadn’t written it, then someone else had. Someone with a motive for murder.
“I apologize for Uncle King,” she said. “I’m really embarrassed.” She slid an apologetic look at Tate. She suspected the deputy would be pulling onerous duty until King vented his vindictiveness. “Tate, is it too late to properly investigate the shooting?”
“There’s no statute of limitations on murder.”
“What do you need to do? What haven’t you done already?”
He looked as eager as a cutting horse facing a steer. “I’d really like to get inside the lodge.”
If her mother ever found out what she was up to, Elaine was dead meat. “You’ve got it.”
Tate’s eyebrows reached for the sky. His mouth curved in a surprised smile. “How much has the lodge been used in the past eighteen months?”
She shook her head. “Mama locked it up and chained the road. No one has been there since Bobby and Daddy passed away. I’ll let you inside and you can take pictures or fingerprints or whatever else you want to do. But on one condition.”
Ric folded his arms over his chest and cocked his head. He seemed skeptical. Renewed anger at her uncle flared in her breast. She decided she was going to talk to Mama anyway about King’s rude behavior toward the Buchanans.
Tate looked ready to agree to anything. “What do you want?”
“That you fin
d a way to make Tom Greene back off. His health isn’t good and Gwen is worried about him. Not to mention the harm he can do to Axton Cross. Rumors have a way of turning into runaway trains around this valley. All that insurance stuff is very suspicious, but if Axton is innocent, gossip will ruin him. Tom won’t listen to me, or to Gwen. He’ll listen to you, though.”
“That’s debatable,” Tate said. “But I’ll give it my best shot.”
She sneaked a peek at her purse and suffered a pang of guilt. The note was evidence. If Tate didn’t find anything at the lodge, then she’d show it to him. She’d have no choice.
“Let me know when a good time for you is. It’ll be easier for me if it’s during school hours. That way I don’t have to worry about Jodi.” She checked her watch. “I need to run. Alice is holding lunch for me.”
Tate gave her a funny look. He couldn’t possibly be miffed at her mentioning Alice. Tate and Alice had dated for a short while, but she’d quickly tired of being squeezed into his busy schedule. Between the bar and the sheriff’s department, he worked eighteen-hour days.
Ric stood and touched the small of his back with a hand. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
He opened the door for her. She leaned her head out to look up and down the street.
“Looking for someone?” Ric asked with a grin.
“King has it out for you. Better watch your step.”
“He always has it out for me.” As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he slipped an arm around her shoulders, shielding her from the wind.
It felt natural, and right. He walked her to the Jeep and opened the door for her.
“I really do apologize for King. I don’t know why he acts so obnoxious. Usually he’s a nice guy. Are you still mad?”
“Nah. I am worried about Tate though. He could lose his job.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “He barely breaks even with the Shack. He needs the income.”
“Worse comes to worst, I’ll put in a word with Mama. She doesn’t like it when King throws his weight around.”
He rested an arm on the top of the door. Wind ruffled his hair. Sunshine sparked gold against the thick strands. The olive sweater deepened the blue of his eyes. Romantic notions tugged at her and she longed for simpler days.
“Uhm…?” He scuffed his boot against the asphalt. “I was wondering…?”
“Yes?”
“There’s a restaurant in Durango. They bring in some pretty good bands on Saturday nights. The food isn’t bad either.”
“Are you asking for a date?”
His boot scuffed again. He tapped his fingers on the Jeep door. Finally, he lifted his head. “Sounds like we’re kids again. Yeah, a date.”
His bashfulness touched her and made her feel a little giddy, too. “I’d like that.”
He seemed surprised, then his radiant smile took her breath away. “Next Saturday then.” He stepped back and used both hands to shut the door. He gave her a little wave then crossed the street, his step jaunty.
A date with Ric Buchanan. She patted her breast, pleased he’d asked, and rather astonished she’d accepted. She watched him enter the Track Shack. It struck her: she liked him. Way back when, she’d fancied herself madly in love, and certainly she’d been madly in lust. He’d been her dream-lover, filtered through the stars in her eyes. She hadn’t truly known him. Over the past eighteen months she’d come to know him as he actually was. She liked very much what she saw.
She fumbled in her purse for her keys. The envelope containing the threatening note transfixed her and good feelings fled. She peeked at the Track Shack, then fumbled the note out of the envelope.
Maybe some folks ought to mind their own business! Especially folks in glass houses! Ric Buchanan is back in town. How would he like knowing what you really did to him? You don’t know what you think you know, so you better just keep your big mouth shut! You go blabbing and I’ll do some blabbing myself!
Gooseflesh prickled her arms. What a horrendous idiot she’d been to even consider her father had written this. Common sense said to give the note to Tate, let him find the typewriter on which it was written.
Then she’d have to explain to Ric what she and Bobby had done to him.
She looked up and down Main Street. On this quiet Sunday afternoon, everything was closed except the gas station. The town looked sweet and old-fashioned with its hodgepodge of building styles and covered sidewalks. The feed store had wooden hitching posts out front. During the summer, it wasn’t unusual to see horses tethered there. She’d lived here all her life and never felt the slightest urge to move anywhere else. If she were struck blind, she could navigate by familiar sounds and smells. She knew everyone in the valley, if not by name, then by sight. Friends, relatives, neighbors, all of them generous folks willing to lend a helping hand. People she went to church with; people she sat on committees with for the Parent Teacher Organization and community events.
One of them might be a murderer.
Shivering, she locked the doors.
Chapter Six
Ric hadn’t been to the lodge hidden up at the northernmost edge of McClintock Ranch in a long time. He drove nearly half a mile past the turn-off on a bumpy dirt road before realizing his mistake. He had to drive a ways before the road widened enough for him to turn around. All the while he watched out for ranch hands who might report his presence to Lillian, or to King.
The road to the lodge had nearly disappeared under weeds and encroaching scrub oaks. Branches slapped the truck sides. Pine cones crunched beneath the wheels. He inched over potholes and washouts. He reached a stout chain stretched across the road. He left the truck idling and examined the chain. It was rusty, but solid and locked. He settled in to wait.
It was quiet in this patch of forest, with trees so thick they blocked views of nearby mountains. Crows squabbled in the distance.
A chill rippled down his spine. People disappeared all the time in the Rockies. Planes went down and were never recovered. Hunters wandered away, never to be seen again. Bobby’s murderer had killed once to cover his crimes; no telling what he’d do if he suspected Ric, Tom and Tate—and Elaine—were on his trail.
The sound of an approaching engine both relieved Ric and made him wary. He felt around in the jumble of tools on the passenger side floor and came up with a pry bar. He laid it on the seat beside him.
Elaine parked her Jeep behind the truck and hopped out. She waggled a set of keys at him. “I’d hoped to be early to open the place.”
He drank in the sight of her while she worked a key into the rusty lock. In snug jeans and a chambray shirt, topped by a flannel-lined denim jacket, she appeared young and carefree. A pair of glitter-shot barrettes held hair off her face. Thoughts of murder faded, replaced by a memory of the time he and she had sneaked up to the lodge. It was the only time they’d spent an entire night together. She’d fallen asleep in his arms, and he’d awakened to the sight of her curled beside him. He’d loved her body, the alluring noises she made and the intoxicating scent of her silky skin. He’d loved the way she would prop herself on his chest and demand he reveal every thought going through his mind.
A few years ago he’d read an article that claimed married men made more money and lived longer than single men. He’d laughed when he read it. It didn’t seem ridiculous now. With Elaine, any and everything seemed possible. Without her he was just marking time.
The lock opened with a rusty squeal. She hauled the chain off the road. When she turned around, the illusion of carefree girlishness shattered. Her face was so pale her freckles looked like ink spots. Circles beneath her eyes gave her a haunted expression. She waved for him to go ahead.
He drove up the rough road and around a bend.
Calling this place a lodge had been another of Del Crowder’s affectations. It was a squat, rustic log cabin with a wide porch that was almost bigger than the interior. Ponderosa pines blocked the sun. Snow covered the roof despite temperatures in the forties.
“No need to subject yourself—”
“I have to.” She dragged the toe of her boot through the dried weeds. Thin blades of delicate green grass pushed through the thin soil. Her chin trembled as if she were fighting tears. “I keep having this recurrent dream where I see Bobby. He has his back to me and I call him. I know he hears me, but he walks away. He won’t even look at me.”
“He loved you, Laney.”
“I know,” she said with a sigh. “But this is all my fault. I could have pushed Uncle King. When I heard his ruling, I got so sick I couldn’t even get out of bed for two days. I knew it was a lie. I can’t even look Tom Greene in the face. At the same time, the idea of everybody knowing Daddy is a murderer makes me want to die.” She swiped at her nose and sniffed.
“Marlee is graduating from veterinary school this year. She’ll be working for Doc Colton. She’s so excited, she calls me two or three times a week. ‘I wish Daddy could see me graduate,’ she says. ‘Wouldn’t Daddy be proud?”’ Eyes closed, she shook her head. “My tongue is sore from biting it. To keep from yelling that he shot my husband and who cares if he’s proud or not.”
He slid an arm around her shoulders. “Ah, Laney.”
“If I tell, I hurt people. If I don’t tell, I hurt people. Sometimes I just want to run away and never look back.”
“Does Lillian have any idea what you’re going through?”
She lifted her face. “Sometimes I think she suspects. Once, she asked me straight out if I forgave Daddy for shooting Bobby. I chickened out and changed the subject. Then last Christmas my brother was talking about what to do with Daddy’s gun collection. Mama got real angry. Totally out of the blue she pitched a royal fit. I was shocked. Afterward, when I thought about it, it seemed like she was terrified.”
“She could have the same suspicions you do,” he offered. “It might do you both good to talk about it.”
