by Sheryl Lynn
Tate bent over the map. He spoke slowly and clearly into a radio mike.
King McClintock seemed to notice Ric for the first time. He scowled beneath his hat.
Just happened to be on patrol, Ric thought. Right.
The sheriff turned his attention to Elaine. “Honey, Gwen told me Tom was visiting folks tonight, but she didn’t know who exactly. Start calling everyone you can think of. Find out who he visited, who he might have talked to and how long he’s been where.”
“How will that help find Jodi?” Ric asked.
“Well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, we got one of two scenarios here. Tom pulls into the turnout, gets out to admire the view or take a leak, and some yahoo driving by decides to just beat the snot out of him. Got no reason but meanness, ’cause it sure ain’t robbery. Didn’t take Tom’s wallet or his truck.”
“How do you know Tom wasn’t run off the road?”
“Because he was parked. Keys in his pocket. No skid marks, no damage to the pickup. So here’s what’s more likely. Tom knew his attacker well enough to pull off the road and get out for a chat. Felt safe, too, ’cause he had Jodi in the truck.”
Elaine turned a frantic circle, looking up and down and all around. “Nobody has calves up here. It’s all national forest.” She shoved Tate out of the way and bent intently over the map.
Search coordinators called the sheriff away.
“No calves up here,” Elaine muttered. “What the hell were you doing, Tom? Damn you.”
“He was investigating the murder,” Ric answered. He felt so cold inside he barely noticed the icy air against his face and hands. He prayed Tom lived, so Ric could get a few shots in. The old man had no right searching for a murderer with Jodi in tow.
King returned with a man. He was skinny and bowlegged, and wearing a huge hat. Ric recognized him, but couldn’t recall the name. Elaine called him Herb.
Herb spat a stream of tobacco juice. “Tom and your girl come by around six o’clock,” he said. “Checked out some weanlings.”
“Did he say where he was going? And why?” the sheriff asked.
“Borrowed my phone,” Herb said. “Weren’t trying to eavesdrop, but couldn’t help hearing some of what he was saying. He was asking, sure you got it? Sure it’s the right one? Things like that. He was all excited. Said the justice train was pulling into the station.” He spat again and glared at the sheriff. “He was talking about his boy, weren’t he? Doing your job.”
Ric leaned against the cruiser and shut out the chaos around him so he could think. Tom had spent the last eighteen months showing not the slightest interest in his ranch or livestock. All of the sudden he decided to look at calves.
“The gun,” he said, sotto voce, to Tate. “He must have gotten a lead on the .44.”
Tate gave the sheriff a long, considering look. “Do you think Axton Cross set him up? Lured him out here to kill him?”
Ric’s stomach clenched into a knot almost as painful as his back. If Axton meant to murder Tom, what was to stop him from getting rid of a young girl, too? He beckoned for Elaine. “Where does Axton live?”
Clutching at her throat, she swayed. “He ambushed Tom? Ohmigod. He lives just south of town. We’ve got to get over there!”
“Don’t panic.” Tate snatched up the radio handset and got through to dispatch. He requested a unit to check out Axton Cross’s residence. He added the warning that the man was possibly armed and possibly holding a hostage. As soon as he finished, he said, “It doesn’t make sense. In the first place, Tom couldn’t even say Cross’s name without practically having a stroke. I can’t see him meeting in a secluded place. Second, if Axton had a gun, why beat him up? Why not shoot him?”
Ric shut out the cacophony of vehicles, shouting people, crackling radios and barking dogs. He put himself in Tom Greene’s head, envisioning what the old man was thinking and feeling. Blinded by obsession, Tom wasn’t rational these days. He knew about the bullets found at the lodge. He knew it was a likely possibility that there was a third party at the lodge the night of the shooting. Could Tom keep that information to himself? Ric doubted it. So word of the suspect .44 was probably drifting around the valley. If Cross heard about it, who could he induce to help him take care of Tom?
He watched the sheriff consult with Elaine. She’d stopped crying. Though she looked shocked, her expression was determined. She nodded grimly at whatever the sheriff said.
Try as he might, Ric couldn’t convince himself that the sheriff would harm Jodi. Nor could he believe the sheriff would allow Tom to live. Ric knew of only one person who was loyal enough to Cross to lie for him. One person, too, Tom might trust.
Tate signed off the radio. He said to Ric, “No one’s home at Cross’s place. His car is gone. I’ve got an APB out on him and a man checking out the realty in town.”
“Elaine!” Ric called. He beckoned for her to come closer. “Do you know Linda Pallo’s home number?”
She seemed confused by the question. “Why?”
“She’s loyal to Cross. And she’s mad at Tom. She could have lured Tom up here.”
“She would not do that.”
“She would if Cross convinced her he was going to get Tom off their back.”
Red and blue flashers gave her face an otherworldly look. Her eyes were huge, full of fear and fury. She punched a number into her cell phone. “Busy.” She slapped the unit closed. “Have we heard back from the officer checking Axton’s house?”
Tate answered in the affirmative. “Cross won’t risk driving around too long with Jodi in the car. Does he own any other property?”
Elaine thought about it. “Homes for sale. Empty listings will have a lockbox to which Axton has access.” She turned her attention to the map and loosed a groan so full of despair it choked up Ric’s throat. “I don’t know which houses.”
“Linda will know.” Ric stabbed a finger at the map. “She lives about a mile from here.”
Elaine turned a circle. “What if Jodi is here? Lost?”
“What if Cross has her?”
Again the heart-wrenching groan.
“Run over to Linda’s,” Tate said. “If we find Jodi, I’ll get on the horn immediately. If you get even a whisper that Linda is involved with this, you call me right away. In either case, get a list of all the empty houses to which Cross has access.” He lowered a hard look on Ric. “If you spot Cross’s car, contact me. Don’t go in playing hero. Got it?”
Ric snapped off a grim salute. “Got it.”
Tate dropped a hand on Elaine’s shoulder. “We’ll find her. I promise.”
Ric and Elaine looked at each other. He suspected the same question was going through her mind as was his: What if they didn’t?
They made their way through the chaos back to the Jeep. Elaine slid behind the wheel. Ric questioned her ability to drive.
“I’m okay. Axton won’t hurt Jodi. I know he won’t.” She started the engine. “He probably didn’t mean to hurt Tom either. We’ll find her.”
Ric tried several more times to call Linda’s home. The phone stayed busy. He imagined her gossiping to some other lonely woman about who wore what to the grocery store, unaware of the missing girl or the badly wounded old man. Unaware, possibly, of what damage her loyalty to Axton Cross had wrought. At least the busy signal offered assurance that they would find her at home.
Elaine turned into Linda’s driveway. The ruts and potholes were so deep that the Jeep bounced and rattled as if they were climbing boulders. A few times the wheels spun in mud before slithering onward.
There were lights on inside Linda’s house. Her old Wagoneer was parked beneath a lean-to. When they pulled up, the front door opened. Linda appeared.
Elaine breathed a prayer of relief.
While Elaine ran up to the front porch, Ric followed more slowly. There was a sodium arc lamp mounted on a pole in the front yard, but it wasn’t turned on. Or else, it had burned out and the bulb hadn’t been replaced. Ric guessed it was the
latter.
Linda stood behind the screen door. She made no move to welcome them inside. Used to seeing the crisp, almost military woman in her severe suits, Ric was astonished by her appearance. Her hair, the color and texture of steel wool, hung in disarray to her shoulders. Her face looked even craggier and more dour than usual. She wore a man’s cardigan sweater over her broad shoulders.
“Thank God you’re home,” Elaine said. “May we come in?”
“I’m not set up for company,” Linda replied.
“This isn’t a social call.” Elaine pulled open the screen door.
Linda stood her ground. Behind her, the parlor held sparse, shabby furniture. The walls were dark with age and water stains. The rugs were threadbare. Elaine pushed her way inside. Ric disliked the sour, old smell of the place.
“I’ve got nothing to offer,” Linda said, her tone belligerent. “Haven’t been to the store yet this week.”
Ric could see into the kitchen. It had old steel cabinets and ancient linoleum. It was neat, but tired looking. The whole house seemed weary, as if it were worn out by merely standing. There were muddy tracks on the floor from Linda’s rubber galoshes. It struck him as wrong. If she were chatting on the telephone, there should be no reason her boots were muddy. No reason for her to be wearing boots.
Elaine launched into a rambling, disjointed tale about what had happened on Branch Road. Linda stood stiffly. Her cheeks were flushed. The more Elaine talked, the redder Linda’s face grew. It might have been from the heat. A fire in an old potbellied stove turned the room stuffy. Under the cardigan, Linda wore a flannel shirt. At her throat the gray-white neckline of thermal underwear showed. A coat lay crumpled on a chair, as if carelessly dropped.
Ric unbuttoned his coat and rubbed his aching back. Prickling suspicion made him want to scratch. The longer Linda stood silent and unmoved, the more high-pitched and frantic Elaine sounded. Her hands flailed like panicky birds.
Ric sidled closer to the kitchen doorway. A rolled sleeping bag and a coil of rope lay upon a metal table. A wall-mounted telephone caught his attention. The old-fashioned harvest gold receiver hung there, but no cord or handset.
When Elaine paused for a breath, Ric asked, “Might I bother you for a glass of water, ma’am?”
Linda glared, her eyes narrow and hate-filled. He could almost smell her fear. She looked about to flatly refuse him, but seemed to gather herself. She stomped into the kitchen.
Ric snatched the coat off the chair. Listening to water running from the faucet and anticipating Linda’s heavy footsteps, he examined the front and sleeves. Mouth agape, Elaine tugged at his arm, demanding in a whisper to know what he was doing. There were streaks and spatters on the fabric that might be dirt, might be paint, or might be blood. Linda’s return made the floor vibrate faintly. He dropped the coat. Linda’s hand shook so water sloshed from the glass.
If she had a handgun, he reasoned, she’d have shot Tom instead of beating him. Or perhaps she hadn’t intended to kill him. Still, a woman living alone in bear country probably kept a rifle or shotgun within reach.
A short hallway led off the parlor. Both doors he could see were closed.
“Might I bother you again, ma’am? I need to use the restroom.”
“This ain’t a service station,” Linda snapped. She was hugging herself, backing away, shaking her head, emphatically negative. “’Sides, the toilet’s busted. I have no information for you, Elaine. I haven’t seen Axton since five o’clock. I left him yakking on the telephone. Doubt I’ll see him until Monday. And it’s just plain ridiculous thinking he has anything to do with your daughter. So you’ll have to leave now. I’ve got, uh, I’ve got—” Her movement had taken her close to a narrow door.
A coat closet, Ric thought. If she owned a weapon, it was in there. In two long strides, Ric blocked her way. She was a big woman and in an instant seemed to get bigger.
“Get out of my house!”
“Where is she?” he asked.
“Ric?” Elaine stared as if he’d lost his mind.
“She knows where Jodi is. Give it up now, Linda, before things get out of hand. I know you don’t want to hurt Jodi. You probably didn’t want to hurt Tom either. We can clear this up, make things right. Did you help Axton? Is he behind this?”
If he were wrong, it would end now.
“Get out of my house!” Linda screamed. Her face blazed crimson and veins throbbed in her temples. Her hands clenched in white-knuckled fists.
A loud thump, as if something heavy had hit the floor, startled all three of them. It came from the rear of the house.
“Jodi?” Elaine headed for the hallway.
Screeching, Linda jumped on her, tackling her to the floor. Elaine hit the ground so hard the wooden planking rocked. Ric had a glimpse of Elaine’s wide, stunned eyes before Linda reared back and swung a wide roundhouse punch aimed at the much smaller woman’s head. Elaine grunted with the blow.
Ric grabbed Linda’s arm. Her weight and strength astonished him. He dug in his heels and hauled her off Elaine. Still screeching, the woman writhed and twisted. She locked her arms around his knees, driving him backward. He felt something tear in his lower back. His left leg went numb. He hit the floor so hard that he feared his teeth had shattered.
Disbelief stunned him. She was incredibly strong, and she had murder on her mind. Unable to gain any reliable movement out of his lower body, he caught her in a bear hug and squeezed with all his might. He heard her teeth snapping close to his ear, felt her hot, angry breath against his neck. She stank like an animal, rank and vinegary. Her arms strained against his. Her fingers clawed.
Elaine grabbed fistfuls of Linda’s hair. Ric gained enough leverage to get his good leg under him. He managed to roll, wrestling Linda beneath him.
“Stop it!” he roared into Linda’s face. He jerked his right arm from beneath her bucking body. He jammed his forearm against her throat. She gagged. Her heels drummed the floor. He tightened the pressure on her throat. Her eyes began to bulge from the sockets.
“You’re killing her, Ric!”
He heard Elaine’s cry as if from far, far away. She grabbed his shoulder and shook him, begging him to stop. Linda finally went limp beneath him. Carefully, praying she wasn’t playing possum, he relaxed his hold on her throat. She gasped raggedly and coughed.
“Rope,” he grunted. “Kitchen. Get the rope!” The pain along his spine had transcended reality. He seemed to be floating above himself, watching his body press Linda against the floor. Watching himself use his arms to lever off the woman, grab her wrist, and loop it with clumsy knots. Elaine rolled Linda onto her stomach, and tied both hands behind her back.
Linda roused with renewed strength and fury. She flopped like a fish, yelling incoherent threats. He hurt too much to prevent her from struggling to her feet.
Elaine grabbed a coat tree and menaced the woman. “Hold still, damn you!”
“Tie her to the stove,” Ric managed to choke out. Every breath left him cross-eyed with agony.
Elaine ran the long end of the rope around a leg of the cast iron, pot-bellied stove. She dragged Linda across the floor, away from Ric. Then she tied the woman off, snubbed short like a cow to a tree.
Elaine ran to Ric. A huge welt was darkening her eye.
“Find Jodi.” He groaned. Pain was an old acquaintance, one he thought he knew well. This pain, however, had youthful vigor, fiery and sharp, as if demon hands wrenched and ripped at his spine. He imagined shards of broken vertebrae grinding, cutting, slashing against his spinal cord.
Elaine’s boots thudded against the floor. “She’s here!” she called.
Time distorted. He didn’t know how long he lay, listening to Linda’s ragged breathing and cinders popping in the stove. Then a long golden braid swung before his eyes. The elfin face he’d grown to love hovered anxiously over his. He couldn’t muster the strength to touch her.
“Mommy, he’s hurt,” Jodi said. Her sweet face was tear-s
treaked. She ran anxious hands over his shoulders and cheeks. “Help him, Mommy, he’s hurt!”
“I’ll live,” he rasped out, but wondered why. He couldn’t move. As if he’d never be able to move again.
DAYS AND NIGHTS passed in a blur for Elaine. Ric was hospitalized in Durango with a sprained back. Fortunately, he was in such good overall physical condition that Linda’s assault hadn’t wrought permanent damage. Tom Greene wasn’t so lucky. He was hospitalized up in Denver, in an intensive-care unit, having suffered a fractured skull, arm and ribs, and a punctured lung. Lillian had chartered a private plane to fly Gwen to Denver to be with her husband.
Despite exhaustion, whenever Elaine began to drift off to sleep, terror grabbed her. She’d startle and frantically search for her child. Jodi suffered her own nightmares. Mother and daughter slept in one bed, holding each other close. Jodi was unnaturally quiet. She spent a lot of time leafing through photo albums. She refused to leave the house alone.
Linda was locked up in jail. Claiming self-defense, she denied she ever intended to harm Jodi.
Finally, Elaine was able to bring Ric home from the hospital. A day of pure joy for her, but rather uncomfortable for him.
“Will you stop being such a big baby?” Elaine said. She steered her mother’s Lincoln Town Car toward McClintock. Ripping noises made her grimace. Ric adjusted the Velcro fasteners on his back brace for about the ten-thousandth time since they’d left the hospital. “Quit playing with that thing.”
“It itches,” Ric complained. “It’s pinching under my arms. Who designed it anyway? The Marquis de Sade?”
Elaine choked down laughter. He had to be feeling pretty good to act this grouchy. He had to wear the back brace for a while and take it easy for the next few weeks. He’d be back to normal in no time.
He fidgeted on the deep leather seat. “Any news about Linda?”
She slowed for a tractor on the road ahead. Even four days after the assault and kidnapping, she still couldn’t believe what Linda had done. “She’s still insisting that Tom attacked her first. I’ve known her all my life. She’s not the nicest person, but she’s never acted crazy. It just doesn’t make sense.”
