“Now, kids, this is a barn owl. We have lots of them here in Wyoming. Do you know where they live?” She turned and smiled at the class.
“Barns!” a boy shouted.
“Yes!” Katie said, grinning. “Barn owls love barns. That’s why they’re called barn owls. Now, Susie here,” she opened the box to show the small, delicate barn owl sitting on her perch, her black, luminous eyes surrounded with white feathers, “was found in the bottom of a rancher’s barn a year ago. She was a baby and had tried to fly out of her parents’ nest when she was too young. The rancher found her flopping around on the floor when he went in to feed his horses one morning. He picked her up and found she had a badly broken leg. So, he called the Game and Fish Department, and then they called me.” Katie put her gloved hand into the box and Susie hopped onto the glove.
Bringing Susie out, Katie held her up on the glove so the children could see the barn owl. “The rancher wanted the barn owls in his barn. Do you know why?”
“They eat mice and rats!” a little girl cried. “They’re good!”
“That’s right,” Katie said, laughing. Susie fluttered her wings, showing the white and soft-caramel coloring beneath her wings. The children oohed and aahed. “The rancher wanted to save Susie. He’d seen the mice and rat population dwindle to nothing because these barn owls were around. They keep a natural check and balance.”
“Do they eat gophers?” another boy asked.
“You bet they do!”
“Good, because my daddy lost his best horse when he was herding cattle last year. His horse stuck a foot into a gopher hole and broke his leg. My daddy cried over it.”
Nodding, Katie said, “I’m so sorry to hear that. But yes, hawks and owls will eat any four-legged critter. The hawks hunt them during the daylight hours and the owls hunt them at night. Did you know that your daddy can call me and if I have a barn owl that is healing up I may be able to put one in his barn?”
The boy gasped. “Really?”
“Sure,” Katie said. “Tell your parents about this tonight. I have a barn owl who is ready to be placed. I’d be happy to talk to them about it.”
The boy rubbed his hands together, glee in his face. “This is rad!” he shouted.
Everyone laughed, the energy of the room amping up.
Casey took her place once more at the back of the room near Megan. The child continued to stand. No one admonished her. The other children were too enthralled with Susie the barn owl to look to the rear of the class to see her standing.
“Now, I need a volunteer,” Katie called out. “Some one who would like to put on a glove and have Susie climb from my glove to their glove.”
Megan shrieked and ran to the front of the class, eagerly waving her hand to take the glove. Casey saw Sherry Harrington’s face go blank with surprise. Katie smiled and handed Megan the glove. Could the raptors be a doorway to Megan’s healing? Casey wondered.
“Okay, we have a volunteer. Megan, right?”
Megan nodded her head and excitedly pulled the child-size falconer’s glove onto her right hand. She could hardly stand still, her gaze rapt on Susie.
“Okay, Megan,” Katie soothed, “the first thing you need to do is stand very quietly. A raptor gets upset if it’s being jostled around. Do you understand?”
Megan instantly quieted and nodded her head, suddenly becoming very serious.
Casey took a small camera out of her pocket. She wanted photos of Megan and Susie for the child’s sake. She would download the photos into her computer tonight and make sure that Megan got copies of them in the mail. Just as Susie was transferred to Megan’s outstretched glove, Casey took several photos.
Megan stood there, her blue eyes huge as she stared wonderingly into Susie’s black, unblinking eyes. The barn owl was relaxed on her glove. The rest of the class gave a collective “ooohhh…”
Katie had Megan turn to the class. “Now, Megan, how does it feel to have Susie on your glove?”
Casey held her breath. The little girl struggled. She opened her mouth, closed it. Frowned. And then tears tracked down her reddened cheeks. Katie gently patted her shoulder. “It’s okay, Megan. Many of us have no words for how wonderful a raptor feels on our glove. Isn’t that right, kids?”
Casey’s heart burst open with sympathy for Megan. The girl nodded briskly and quickly wiped her tears away with her other hand. Susie blinked and seemed to understand what was going on, quietly sitting on Megan’s glove. Casey took several more photos before Susie was transferred back to Katie’s glove.
Just as Katie’s demonstrations were complete, the noon bell rang; it was time for lunch. All the children went to the cafeteria, leaving the three women alone.
Sherry Harrington’s face was filled with excitement. “Katie, Casey, this is a first! Megan Sinclaire has been a ghost throughout the first and second grades. You don’t realize how wonderful this is!”
“Raptors are magical,” Katie murmured, closing Susie’s box. “They can reach in and touch our hearts in a way nothing else can. I thought for sure Megan was going to speak.”
“She tried,” Casey murmured.
“Oh, I know!” Sherry sighed. “Katie, I honestly believe you’ve provided an important breakthrough for Megan. This afternoon I’m going to have the children draw their favorite raptor, and then we’re going to the library computers and they’re going to do research on their raptor.”
“I have photos of Megan with Susie,” Casey told her. “Do you think that it will be helpful to send them to her father?”
“I think so. In fact,” Sherry touched Casey’s arm, “would you do something for me?”
“Sure.”
“I’m going to call Matt Sinclaire tonight and tell him what happened today. Would you have time to drive over to his house with the photos? You saw Megan here in class. She knows and she trusts you. Maybe if you take the photos over to Megan, he can see for his own eyes the effect it had on her. This could be a way to get her to speak again. Oh, I’m so excited! We owe both of you so much! I was so worried for Megan. I was anxious that the birds would scare her or traumatize her even more. But they didn’t. They opened her up as nothing else has!” Sherry quickly wiped away tears. She took out a tissue and blew her nose.
Katie touched the teacher’s shoulder. “I had heard of Megan’s situation before this. Jackson Hole is a small town and we all knew what happened to the Sinclaires. I was over at Quilter’s Haven when I heard about it from Gwen Garner, the owner.”
Sniffing and laughing, Sherry said, “Oh, yes, our quilting store! If you want to know anything about what’s going on, you go there.”
“You know that Bev Sinclaire was a quilter before she was murdered?” Katie asked.
Casey said, “I’m new here, and I haven’t gotten to know this area yet.”
“Do you quilt, Casey?” Katie asked.
“I sew my own clothes. I don’t have any quilting skills.”
“Well,” Sherry said, “since you’re stationed here for the next five years as a ranger at the Tetons National Park, make yourself known to Gwen at the quilting store. The women all gather over there. They know everything that’s going on in the area. It might do you some good to go there for a visit with Gwen before you see Matt Sinclaire and his daughter.”
Nodding, Casey said, “I’ve just rented an apartment in town with a woman firefighter, Cat Edwin.”
“Oh, I know her!” Sherry said. “She’s the only woman on the fire department. And she’s a quilter. Did you know that?”
Shaking her head, Casey murmured, “I just got the apartment with her because she’d advertised for a roommate. I knew she was with the fire department, but I haven’t had time to get to know her much at all.”
Katie grinned and picked up the two raptor boxes. “Go visit Gwen. She’s the wife of a rancher. The Garner family has been in this valley since the fur trappers came here a hundred and fifty years ago. I think it’s a great idea to take the photos over to Megan, bu
t get the scoop from Gwen first. That way, you can be educated and handle the situation with the father and daughter even better.”
Casey nodded. “Okay, sounds like a plan. I’ll do that.”
Sherry gave them a warm look. “Thank you, ladies. Casey, give me your phone number. I’ll call Mr. Sinclaire tonight and fill him in. He can call you and you two can set a day and time to exchange those photos of Megan holding Susie on her glove.” She clasped her hands. “I just pray to God this is the breakthrough Megan needs. Her father, Matt, is so filled with guilt over his daughter’s condition. It just tears my heart up.”
Casey nodded. She understood tragedy, suffering, grief and guilt. “Sounds like a plan to me. She’s a sweet child. I’d like to see her work through her trauma and start talking again.”
Katie walked to the door and waited for Casey to open it for her. “It’s known as hysterical muteness, Casey. Megan has been through a battery of shrinks and they’ve all told Matt Sinclaire the same thing—it’s hysterical. A little six-year-old doesn’t realize that, of course. And now, two years later, Megan is still mute, which tells you the power of the trauma she experienced.”
Casey opened the door. “Yes,” she murmured, “it does.”
Sherry followed Kate and Casey out into the empty hall and walked with them. The children were all in the lunchroom, but Sherry kept her voice low. “Listen,” she told Casey, “Mr. Sinclaire has his problems, too. I mean, Bev Sinclaire and he were childhood sweethearts from the moment they met in the first grade. She was the love of his life. He’s not over her death. He’s filled with guilt and remorse from what I can see.”
Katie nodded and they turned down the hall toward the exit doors. “He’s blaming himself for what happened. He was in Cheyenne at fire school when it occurred. But look, go to the quilting store. You’ll find out everything you ever needed to know about Matt Sinclaire from Gwen.”
Casey opened the door, the cool April breeze hitting them. There was snow on the ground, but the sky was a bright blue. The sun warmed her a bit. “Okay, I’ll do that.” Casey gave Sherry Harrington her business card. “Call me, Sherry, when you know something.”
“Oh, I will, Casey. Bless you! Thank you!”
Casey didn’t feel very blessed. She walked with Katie out to her SUV and opened the rear door so Katie could put the bird boxes in and strap them down. The asphalt parking area had been cleared of snow and was wet and gleaming under the midday sunlight.
“Do you know anything about Matt Sinclaire?” Casey asked, shutting the door.
Katie fished the keys out of the pocket of her red jacket. “He’s a hunk.”
Casey laughed. “Okay.”
Grinning, Katie said, “He’s thirty years old, black hair, green eyes, square face and about six foot two inches in height. He’s been on the fire department eight years, and he’s a lieutenant. Before Bev was murdered, Matt was a pretty outgoing dude. But now—” Katie opened the driver’s-side door “—he’s pretty serious, unreadable and just about as mute as his daughter.”
“Sounds pretty grim,” Casey muttered, frowning.
Katie nodded and frowned. “How do you get over your wife suddenly being torn from you? And on top of that, your child goes mute and is trapped inside her own trauma? Matt can’t fathom what she has endured. No one can.”
“Really bad stuff,” Casey mumbled, frowning. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her brown nylon Forest Service jacket. Her mint-green USFS truck was parked next to Katie’s vehicle.
“Gwen has said repeatedly that Matt needs psychological help, but he’s refused. He’s gummed up tighter than Fort Knox when it comes to his own grief. All we see is his guilt. He just hasn’t been able to open up and let out all that toxic grief,” Katie said. She climbed into her truck. “Maybe, Casey, you’re a ray of sunlight into his dark world. That was smart of you to take those photos.” She grinned and slipped the key into the ignition. The engine growled to life. “Who knows? Maybe those photos will not only help Megan, but Matt, too. Good luck!”
CHAPTER THREE
CASEY’S HANDS WERE DAMP as she stood at the door of a white, one-story, ranch-style house with green trim. Flexing her fingers, she couldn’t stop the tension that thrummed through her. Nervously, she smoothed her shoulder-length brown hair. The April morning was sunny with a cobalt-blue sky—a rare event for this time of year, she’d been told by her supervisor, Charley, who had given her two hours off to run over to Matt Sinclaire’s home.
Knocking a couple of times, Casey stood back and waited. In her left hand, she held her beat-up brown leather briefcase that had seen her through her university years. What was Matthew Sinclaire like? And how would Megan receive the photos of Hank, the red-tailed hawk?
The door opened.
Automatically, Casey held her breath for a moment. Her eyes widened as a man in a red T-shirt and jeans appeared. Instantly, her heart began a wild, unfamiliar beat. She looked up into his green eyes and felt consumed by his intent gaze upon her. To say that Matthew Sinclaire was a hunk was understating the obvious. The red T-shirt emblazoned with the words Jackson Hole Fire Department emphasized his broad, deep chest. His shoulders were powerful. He stood relaxed, body at a slight slouch; a man who was comfortable with who he was.
“You must be Ranger Casey Cantrell?” he asked in a deep voice.
Giving a nod, Casey rasped, “Yes, sir, I am. Are you Lieutenant Matthew Sinclaire?” She felt, suddenly, like a teenager in front of this guy. Clearly, Sinclaire was a man’s man, and it triggered something deep and hungering within her. Fingers tightening around the handle of her briefcase, Casey tried to appear just as relaxed as he seemed to be.
“Call me Matt. Come on in. Meggie is waiting for you.” He smiled a little and gestured for her to step into the brightly lit home.
Casey walked past him and into the house. It was near freezing on this April morning and she welcomed the warmth inside. She waited on a red and gray Navajo rug. Megan was standing at the other end of the foyer. The girl was dressed in a pair of dark green corduroy pants, a white blouse with long sleeves, her hair in a pair of cute pigtails. In her arms was Elmo, looking pretty bedraggled from a lot of care over the years. Casey smiled at her. She took off her ranger’s hat, which she hated wearing anyway, and quickly ran her fingers through her flattened hair.
“Hi, Megan. Do you remember me? I’m Casey.”
Megan broke into a welcoming smile and waved shyly at her.
Matt turned after closing the door. He saw Megan’s reaction to the woman ranger. Having a strong reaction to her himself, Matt tried to brush it aside. “I want to thank you for coming over on a Saturday morning, Ranger Cantrell.”
“Call me Casey,” she asked. Looking up at Matt, she felt her heart spring open like a flower in bloom. Sinclaire’s face was oval with a strong chin, broad forehead and crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Casey knew he was thirty years old from the gossip she’d gotten down at Quilter’s Haven, where Gwen Garner had filled her in on this handsome firefighter. It was so easy to drown in the dark green of his intent eyes. He seemed to Casey to be an eagle, his pupils huge and black as he studied her, a slight tilt to his head. She was only five foot seven inches tall compared to his six foot two, but she was built with good, strong bone, no wilting lily of a stick-like woman. Still, Casey felt overshadowed by Matt Sinclaire’s powerful presence. There was an unspoken care that radiated from him toward her. Casey could see why this man, when in his firefighter gear, would ooze a sense of protection toward anyone in his safekeeping.
Matt gave her a tentative smile. “My friends call me Matt. Come on in. I’ve got coffee waiting for us in the kitchen.”
“Oh…” Casey murmured, “I was just going to drop these photos off, Mr. Sinc—I mean, Matt. I’m on duty today and Charley gave me some time off to deliver these to Megan. I don’t want to intrude on your weekend.”
“You’re not.” Matt held out his hand. “Give me your jacket, Casey. I kno
w your boss, Charley. We’re good friends. I know he won’t care if you have a cup of coffee or two with me and Meggie.”
Hesitantly, Casey slid out of her warm brown nylon jacket and handed it to him. She saw Megan watching her, her eyes shining as much as they had in class five days earlier. “I’ve brought the photos of Megan holding Susie,” she offered. Dressed in her ranger uniform—a tan long-sleeved blouse and dark green trousers—Casey felt very unfeminine. She watched Sinclaire move. He possessed a cougar’s grace, bred from being an athlete. Casey knew firefighters lifted weights and jogged daily to stay in tip-top shape for the demands of their dangerous job. Still, she had to tear her gaze from his powerful back and narrow hips as he hung her coat up on a wooden peg next to the door. She gulped, and her mouth went dry. What kind of reaction was she having around this stranger?
“Come on in,” Matt invited her warmly, reaching down to take his daughter’s small hand that was swallowed up in his.
Quickly looking around, Casey saw a huge wood-stove in one corner with flames dancing behind the glass window. The red-and-yellow cedar floor was waxed and gleaming. There were Navajo rugs here and there. The room was painted a pale yellow; the drapes at the main window were brown with red flowers and green vines woven into the fabric. To her, this was a man’s home. There were no photos or pictures up on the walls. There were no green, living plants anywhere, either. It felt like a shell to Casey, not exactly alive or nurturing. She wondered if their home had exuded more of a woman’s touch when Bev was alive.
Following father and daughter into the kitchen, Casey saw Megan sit in a chair with Elmo in her lap. Her father had given her a glass of orange juice. “I feel badly for interrupting your breakfast,” Casey murmured, standing uncertainly in the doorway. The kitchen was white with blue curtains over the window. The smell of frying bacon filled the air.
“Don’t worry about it,” Matt murmured. “Just take a seat opposite Meggie here at the kitchen table. Have you eaten breakfast yet?”
“No…I don’t eat breakfast.” Not anymore, at least. Casey saw him frown and then saw the question in his eyes. She hoped he wouldn’t ask it. Gripping the wooden chair, Casey pulled it out and sat down. “But if you have a cup of black coffee, that would be fine,” she added.
Deadly Silence Page 3
