Secret of Deadman's Coulee

by B. J Daniels

  Hell, everyone already knew that—the divorce had made that obvious. And everyone had probably heard about the stunts Deena had pulled, including sleeping with his best friend.

  He’d blown any chance he ever had with Eve. Why couldn’t he accept that?

  She had him worried, though. Something was troubling her. Maybe, like him, she feared about the repercussions news of the plane—and the murdered man inside—were going to have on Old Town and Whitehorse.

  Word would get out once the crime lab showed up with its vans and helicopter. The news would travel like a grass fire. There was no getting around it.

  He just hoped to hell that none of the occupants of that plane were tied to the town. Unfortunately, his family had lived just this side of Old Town thirty-two years ago and he doubted it would slip anyone’s mind that both his father and grandfather had been pilots.

  In fact, there’d been a grass airstrip on the Jackson ranch not that far from where the Navion had gone down.

  Chapter Six

  Eve couldn’t wait for Carter to leave. He’d come into her grandmother’s house to use the phone, stepping around the ladder and cans of paint. “So you’re fixing up the place,” he’d said as he glanced at the variety of paint colors she’d tried on the living room wall so far. His eyes had widened a little.

  He hadn’t commented on her bright color choices.

  Just as well, since she was in no mood for his opinion.

  He’d made a couple of calls. She’d done her best not to listen. He’d called the crime lab in Missoula, then his office to let them know he wouldn’t be back the rest of the day. While he’d told whomever he spoke to at the crime lab about the plane, he hadn’t mentioned it to whoever he’d talked to at his office.

  All she’d wanted was for him to leave so she could finally have a hot shower and forget for a while about the plane—and the rhinestone pin and murdered man. Forget about Carter.

  She hugged herself against the wind that whipped her hair around her face as she walked him out to the porch. Any minute it would start raining again.

  He didn’t seem to want to leave her. “You should have Doc take a look at that ankle. And you won’t forget about not mentioning the plane to anyone. At least until you hear from me. You will hear from me.”

  It sounded like a promise. Or, in her state of mind, a threat.

  “Fine,” she said, and went inside. When she peeked out just before she closed the door, he was still standing on her porch. She waited until she heard him ride off before she headed upstairs.

  Once in her bathroom, she turned on the shower, stripped down and stepped under the steaming water. But not even the hot shower could chase away the chill that had settled in her bones. She ached all over and was scraped and bruised in places she hadn’t even realized.

  Exhaustion dragged at her, but she forced herself to shampoo her hair, standing under the spray to let the water run over her long dark hair.

  As she shut off the shower and stepped out, she caught her reflection in the mirror across the large bathroom. The glass had steamed up, but she could still see the dark-haired child she’d been. Her sisters and parents were fair, blond and blue eyed. She, on the other hand, had hair the color of walnut and dark brown eyes. She was the duckling in a family of swans.

  She had hated being different as a child.

  As an adult, her dissimilarity just made her suspicious.

  CARTER RODE his horse back to the truck to get what he’d need to spend the night in the Breaks. Growing up in this isolated country he’d learned a long time ago to carry survival gear in any kind of weather and enough food and water to last for at least a few days.

  There was always the likelihood of going off the road and being stranded for days until someone came along or the county got the road open. Each year someone would go off the road or get stuck and think they could walk out for help instead of staying with the vehicle. A fatal decision more times than not. Out here, you did what you had to survive. Just like Eve had done.

  He was tying his sleeping bag onto his horse when Lila Bailey came out of the community center. From her dour expression, he thought she hadn’t heard the news that Eve had been found.

  “Eve’s fine. She’s at her house. Her grandmother’s house,” he added, curious if she was fixing the place up because she planned to stay. “She’s exhausted. I doubt she’ll be coming down to the community center.”

  Lila nodded as if that was no surprise to her and he noticed then that she carried two foil-wrapped bundles in her hands. “You’re going back out?”

  “I saw some mountain lion tracks. Just want to check it out,” he said.

  Her face was expressionless, but still he suspected she knew he was lying. “You’ll want to take some food with you.” She handed him one of the wrapped items. It felt heavy. “I saw you loading your supplies on your horse so I assumed you weren’t done for the day.”

  “Thanks.”

  Without another word, she walked to her pickup parked in front of the center, her back straight as a steel rod. As she drove away, he noticed there were still a couple of rigs left, including Glen Whitaker’s, the reporter from the Whitehorse local newspaper.

  Carter hurried, not in the mood for an interview. Glen would be beating down his door soon enough for the story once he heard about the plane—and the body inside.

  As the sheriff swung up into the saddle, wind whipped the tall grass, keeling it over, and the first drops of rain began to fall. He hunkered down in his slicker, noticing that the women still inside the community center were watching him from the window as he rode away.

  He wondered if any of them knew about the plane. Or all of them. They were old enough. And as close-knit as this community was he could see the whole town keeping the plane a secret—if they had good reason. He couldn’t imagine what that reason would be, though. Not when it involved murder.

  But maybe it depended on who was dead in that plane.

  If the survivors had managed to walk away from the plane crash, they would have needed help. And help was only a few miles north at one of the ranches—the closest being the Baileys’ ranch. Unless they had gone more to the northwest, then it would have been his family’s.

  Carter realized it might all depend on what the plane was doing flying this way in the first place. There was more than a remote possibility the pilot had been planning to land on Carter’s family’s airstrip. It was far enough from the ranch house and Whitehorse. Remote, but it had been February if Eve was right about the logbook entry being the last one.

  More than likely the pilot had just gotten lost in the storm and his destination was Glasgow.

  At least that’s what Carter wanted to believe. Just as he wanted the passengers and pilot to be total strangers. Much better to believe that they couldn’t have survived after the crash, the blizzard, the climb out of that ravine.

  That way no one in Old Town would have been involved. That people he’d known his whole life wouldn’t have been keeping the secret about the plane. Or the murder. And that this had nothing to do with his family. Or Eve’s.

  EVE HAD JUST GOTTEN dressed when she heard her mother’s pickup coming along the lane. From her upstairs window, she watched Lila pull into the yard and cut the engine. Eve waited. She couldn’t see her mother’s face through the rain-streaked windshield of the pickup, but she could sense her indecision.

  It was late afternoon. The worst of the storm had blown through. Eve could see a sliver of clear sky peeking through the clouds to the west, the sun long gone. A light rain still fell, dimpling the puddles left in her yard, leaving a chill in the air.

  The pickup door finally opened. Her mother stepped out, avoiding the puddles as she ran through the drizzle toward the house.

  Eve turned from the window, and with dread, headed down the stairs. She wasn’t up to continuing their argument. And what was there to say, anyway? Her mother was cheating on her father. And with Errol Wilson, if that wasn’t bad
enough.

  When Eve opened the door, she found her mother standing on the porch looking off toward the Breaks.

  The doorbell hadn’t rung. Nor had her mother knocked. In fact, Eve had the impression that Lila Bailey might have left had Eve not opened the door when she had.

  Lila turned toward her, appearing startled out of her thoughts and looking confused, as if she’d forgotten why she’d stopped by. She held something foil wrapped. Food, no doubt. Her mother’s idea of love was cooking something for her family. Eve suspected it was avoidance.

  “I wanted to make sure you were all right,” her mother said. “I can’t stay. I just brought you some of Arlene’s casserole that you like.” She held it out to Eve, but Eve didn’t take it.

  “Mother, please, come in,” Eve said, stepping back. “I was going to come see you anyway.”

  Lila didn’t look happy about either prospect. She had to know that their discussion from yesterday wasn’t finished. Her mother was the kind of woman who stuck her head in the sand, hoping that when she came up for air the problem would be gone and forgotten.

  It amazed Eve that her mother seemed to be taking the same attitude with her husband, pretending that Chester had moved out just to be closer to his job. The same attitude she’d taken when Eve returned wanting answers.

  Wind whirled cold, damp air through the open doorway. “You can take a few minutes, I’m sure,” she said. “I need to show you something.”

  Her mother hesitated, surveying the paint cans and ladder. Clearly she hadn’t expected the conversation to take this turn and was curious about what Eve wanted to show her.

  “I see you’re changing the place,” she said, sounding disapproving as she gingerly stepped around the paint cloths on the hardwood floor and Eve closed the door behind her.

  “I really need to get back to the center. Pearl is in the hospital and if we’re going to get this quilt done before Maddie and Bo get married…” Lila stopped just inside the living room.

  Yes, Eve thought. Her mother always had somewhere she had to be when Eve wanted answers.

  “So which color do you like best?” Eve asked, as if that was her only reason for wanting her mother to come in.

  Lila glanced at the bright paint smears on the wall and seemed to be trying to think of something nice to say. “They’re all fine.”

  Eve chuckled. The walls at the farmhouse where Eve was raised had had the original wallpaper—until her father moved out. Eve noticed Lila had painted over them. Everything was now white.

  Had her mother done that as a fresh start? Or had she been dying to paint over the wallpaper for years? Eve had no idea. Her mother kept her feelings, as well as her own counsel, to herself.

  “Pick the one you like. You’re the one who’s going to be staying here for a while. I really need to get back.” Lila started to turn toward the front door.

  “That isn’t what I wanted to show you,” Eve said as she reached into the shoulder bag hanging over the stairs banister and pulled out the rhinestone pin. She’d taken it out of her pocket because it kept biting into her flesh. Even dulled by years in the plane, the stones flashed, making her mother stop at the sight of the pin.

  It was old-fashioned in its flower design and at least thirty-two years old, although Eve suspected it was much older than that. When she’d seen the pin in photographs, she’d always been fascinated by both the pin and the story her grandmother told with it.

  As Eve held out the pin now, her mother seemed to shrink away. “What is that?”

  “Don’t you recognize it?” Eve asked, even though she could see her mother’s shock at seeing the pin again.

  Lila Bailey had recognized the piece of jewelry—just as Eve had done when she’d found it in the plane. “It’s Grandma Nina Mae’s. The brooch Charley Cross gave her on their wedding day.”

  Her mother dragged her attention away from the pin and looked at Eve. “You’re mistaken. It can’t possibly be your grandmother’s. She lost hers years ago, in Canada, I think she said. Anyway, there must be hundreds of pins around like it.”

  “Actually, I doubt hundreds of them have a replaced stone that doesn’t quite match,” Eve said. “I’m sure you remember the story.”

  Lila said nothing. She stood as if waiting for the next blow.

  Eve wasn’t sure why, but she suddenly felt sorry for her mother. Worse, she realized that she’d been angry with her for years and had blamed her mother for Chester moving out. She thought her mother cold, uncaring. And yet the woman standing before her looked sad and hurt.

  Pocketing the rhinestone pin, Eve looked into her mother’s eyes. She wanted to demand to know what her mother could possibly see in a man like Errol Wilson, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She felt too weary.

  “If that’s all, I need to get back to my quilting,” her mother said, and turned toward the door, walking quickly, seemingly afraid Eve would stop her. “We’re working late tonight since…well, since we didn’t get a lot done earlier.”

  Eve’s fault. Eve always had been a problem, her mother’s tone said. Now she was just making trouble again.

  Eve couldn’t help herself. “Don’t you want to know where I found Grandma Nina Mae’s pin?” she demanded as her mother opened the door.

  Lila stopped in midstep, the door open, the chill of the rain wafting in. “Charley Cross broke your grandmother’s heart. I doubt she would want a pin that would only remind her of him, do you?”

  “Is that why there aren’t any photographs of Dad in your house? Because he broke your heart?” she asked facetiously.

  Her mother’s fingers whitened as she gripped the doorknob. “I’m not having an affair with Errol Wilson. I’m sorry you misunderstood.”

  “Just as I misunderstood the letters I found under the floorboards in your sewing room?” Eve shot back.

  “If you want to know why your father left, why don’t you ask him.” With that, her mother left, back ramrod straight, head high. But as Lila Bailey descended the porch stairs, her shoulders drooped. Eve saw her mother grab the railing to steady herself, stopping on the bottom step as if to catch her breath, head bowed.

  That show of weakness lasted only moments. Quickly straightening, her mother walked briskly to her pickup through the rain, determination and resignation in her bearing.

  As had constantly been the case, Eve felt drained from the exchange with her mother. She also felt sick to her stomach. Her mother had recognized the pin. And she hadn’t even asked where Eve had found it.

  Didn’t it follow that her mother knew about the plane crash south of the ranch in the Breaks—and the murdered man inside?

  GLEN WHITAKER HAD TRIED to hide his disappointment when the search party returned with the good news that Eve Bailey had been found alive and well.

  Just as he’d suspected, no story here.

  What a waste of time. Except for the pie. He’d stuffed himself on Arlene’s pie and sampled all the other dishes as well. The only downside was Violet. She’d sat still as a stone, those watery eyes on him like a toad’s on a fly.

  Violet’s younger sister Charlotte had joined them. The teenager smelled of artificial fingernail remover and had complained about being on her feet all day at one of the beauty shops in Whitehorse where she worked.

  As Glen polished off the last of the pineapple upside-down cake that Alice White had brought, Arlene said, “Glen, you and Violet should get together sometime.”

  Glen squirmed in his seat, trying to smile, wanting to run. “I’m pretty busy this time of year.” A lie.

  “Oh, you have time to take in a show or dinner out,” Arlene pressed.

  Glen scraped crumbs from his plate, eyes cast down. He couldn’t bear to look at Violet, who’d made a pained sound at her mother’s audacious efforts to pawn her off.

  Charlotte was busy checking her long blond hair for split ends and obviously bored by the conversation.

  “I’m busy, too,” Violet said.

  �
�I think the two of you would be perfect together,” Arlene said, refusing to let it drop.

  “Mama,” Violet said on a breath.

  The tension at the table was palpable. Glen felt a bad case of indigestion coming on. He’d stayed too long. He hadn’t even noticed that it was getting dark outside. While skinny as a beanpole, he did love his food and he had to admit, the Old Town women were great cooks. But clearly, he’d worn out his welcome.

  “Well, I really should get back,” he said, rising from his chair. Violet had her head down, her neck flushed with embarrassment. Arlene looked disappointed and a little upset.

  Glen felt guilty for eating most of the coconut-custard pie. “Violet, it was nice seeing you,” he said, feeling he had to say something. “I’ll give you a call.” Another lie.

  Violet lifted her head slowly. He felt a start when her eyes reached his. Fury. She knew he was lying. He thought her flush had been embarrassment, but now he realized it had been anger. And it was directed at him.

  He hurried out, hating that he’d have to drive back in the dark. On top of that, it was raining.

  Once he reached the car, he knew he was in no shape to drive home. He’d parked under a tree a ways from the center and now he laid back the seat and closed his eyes, just planning to let all that food settle before he headed home.

  A sound woke him. He sat up, surprised to see that it was pitch dark and had stopped raining. A pickup pulled in and parked. He saw Lila Bailey get out. He’d seen her take food out to the sheriff earlier and then leave.

  As late as it was, he was surprised she’d come back. But the lights were still on in the center and most of the old biddies’ cars were still parked out front.

  Just as Lila got out of her pickup, Errol Wilson materialized from the blackness along the side of the building. Glen, a born voyeur, watched with interest. It was clear they were arguing about something and that Errol had startled her.

  Glen slid down a little, taking advantage of the darkness and the fact that they hadn’t seen him sitting in his car. Surreptitiously inserting the key in the ignition, he lowered his electric window a little on the side closest to Lila’s truck so he could hear.