by B. J Daniels
* * *
FRANKIE LOOKED OUT at the mountain ranges as she finished the lunch Hank had bought them up at the mountain resort. This was more like a vacation, something she hadn’t had in years. She would have felt guilty except for the fact that technically she was working. She looked at the cowboy across the table from her, remembering the day he’d walked into her office in Lost Creek outside of Moscow, Idaho.
“Why now?” Frankie had asked him after he’d wanted to hire her to find out what had really happened to his girlfriend. “It’s been three years, right? That makes it a cold case. I can’t imagine there is anything to find.” She’d seen that her words had upset him and had quickly lifted both hands in surrender. “I’m not saying it’s impossible to solve a case that old...” She tried not to say the words next to impossible.
She’d talked him into sitting down, calming down and telling her about the crime. Turned out that the marshal—Hank’s father—had sided with the coroner that the woman’s death had been a suicide. She’d doubted this could get worse because it was clear to her that Hank Savage had been madly in love with the victim. Talk about wearing blinders. Of course he didn’t want to believe the woman he loved had taken a nosedive off a cliff.
“I thought I could accept it, get over it,” Hank had said. “I can’t. I won’t. I have to know the truth. I know this is going to sound crazy, but I can feel Naomi pleading with me to find her murderer.”
It didn’t sound crazy as much as it sounded like wishful thinking. If this woman had killed herself, then he blamed himself.
Her phone had rung. She’d checked to see who was calling and declined the call. But Hank could tell that the call had upset her.
“Look, if you need to take that...” he’d said.
“No.” The last thing she wanted to do was take the call. What had her upset was that if she didn’t answer one of the calls from the man soon, he would be breaking down her door. “So, what is it you want me to do?”
Hank had spelled it out for her.
She’d stared at him in disbelief. “You want me to go to Big Sky with you.”
“I know it’s a lot to ask and this might not be a good time for you.”
He had no idea how good a time it was for her to leave town. “I can tell this is important for you. I can’t make you any promises, but I’ll come out and look into the incident.” She’d pulled out her standard contract and slid it across the table with a pen.
Hank hadn’t even bothered to read it. He’d withdrawn his wallet. “Here’s five hundred dollars. I’ll pay all your expenses and a five-thousand-dollar bonus if you solve this case—along with your regular fee,” he’d said, pushing the signed contract back across the table to her. As the same caller had rung her again, Hank had asked, “When can you leave?”
“Now’s good,” she’d said.
Chapter Five
Frankie had tried to relax during dinner later that night at the main ranch house, but it was difficult. She now understood at least the problem between Hank and his father. From what she could gather, the marshal was also angry with his son. Hank had refused to accept his father’s conclusion about Naomi’s death. The same conclusion the coroner had come up with as well.
Hank thought his father had taken the easy way out. But Frankie had been around Hud Savage only a matter of hours and she knew at gut level that he wasn’t a man who took the easy way out. He believed clear to his soul that Naomi Hill had killed herself.
During dinner, Hank had said little. Dana’s sister, Stacy, had joined them, along with Dana’s daughter, Mary, and her fiancé, Chase, and Dana’s brother, Jordan, and wife, Liza. Hank had been polite enough to his family, but she could tell he was struggling after going to the spot where Naomi had died.
She’d put a hand on his thigh to try to get him to relax and he’d flinched. The reaction hadn’t gone unnoticed by his mother and aunt Stacy. Frankie had smiled and snuggled against him. If he hoped to keep their secret longer, he needed to be more attentive. After all, it was his idea that they pretend to be involved in a relationship. That way Frankie could look into Naomi’s death without Hank going head-to-head with his father.
When she’d snuggled against him, he’d felt the nudge and responded, putting an arm around her and pulling her close. She’d whispered in his ear, “Easy, sweetie.”
Nodding, he’d laughed, and she’d leaned toward him to kiss him on the lips. It had been a quick kiss meant to alleviate any doubt as to what was going on. The kiss had taken him by surprise. He’d stared into her eyes for a long moment, then smiled.
When Frankie had looked up, she’d seen there was relief on his mother’s face. His mother had bought it. The aunt, not so much. But that was all right. The longer they could keep their ruse going, the better. Otherwise it would be war between father and son. They both wanted to avoid that since it hadn’t done any good three years ago. Frankie doubted it would now.
“Cake?” Dana asked now, getting to her feet.
“I would love a piece,” Frankie said. “Let me help you.” She picked up her plate and Hank’s to take them into the kitchen against his mother’s protests. “You outdid yourself with dinner,” she said as she put the dishes where the woman suggested.
Taking advantage of the two of them being alone with the door closed, Dana turned to her—just as Frankie had known she would. “I’m not being nosy, honestly. Is everything all right between you and Hank?”
She smiled as she leaned into the kitchen counter. She loved this kitchen with the warm yellow color, the photographs of family on the walls, the clichéd saying carved in the wood plaque hanging over the door. There was a feeling of permanency in this kitchen, in this house, this ranch. As if no matter what happened beyond that door, this place would weather the storm because it had survived other storms.
“It’s hard on him being back here because of Naomi,” Frankie said.
“Of course it is,” Dana said on a relieved breath. “But he has you to help him through it.”
She smiled and nodded. “I’m here for him and he knows it. Though it has put him on edge. But not to worry. I’ll stand by him.”
Tears filled the older woman’s eyes as she quickly stepped to Frankie and threw her arms around her. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that Hank has you.”
She hadn’t thought her generic words would cause such a response but she hugged Dana back, enjoying for a moment the warm hug from this genuine, open woman.
Dana stepped back, wiping her tears as Stacy and Jordan’s wife, Liza, came in with the rest of the dirty dishes and leftover food. “We best get that cake out there or we’ll have a riot on our hands,” Dana said. “If you take the cake, I’ll take the forks and dessert plates.”
* * *
“I’M SORRY,” HANK SAID when they reached their cabin and were finally alone again. Dinner had been unbearable, but he knew he should have played along better than he had. “You were great.”
“Thanks. Your mother was worried we were having trouble. I assured her that coming back here is hard on you because of Naomi. Your family is nice,” she said. “They obviously love you.”
He groaned. He hated lying to his mother most of all. “That’s what makes this so hard. I wanted to burst out with the truth at dinner tonight.” He could feel her gaze on him.
“Why didn’t you?”
Hank shook his head. He thought about Frankie’s kiss, her nuzzling against him. He’d known it would be necessary if they hoped to pass themselves off as a couple, but he hadn’t been ready for it. The kiss had taken him by surprise. And an even bigger surprise had been his body’s reaction to it, to her.
He turned away, glad it was late so they could go to bed soon. “I think I’m going to take a walk. Will you be all right here by yourself?”
She laughed. “I should think so since I’m trained in self-defense and I hav
e a license to carry a firearm. You’ve never asked, but I’m an excellent shot.”
“You have a gun?” He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised and yet he was. She seemed too much like the girl next door to do the job she did. Slim, athletic, obviously in great shape, she just kept surprising him as to how good she was at this.
If anyone could find out the truth about Naomi, he thought it might be her.
* * *
AFTER HANK LEFT, Frankie pulled out her phone and looked again at the photographs she’d taken earlier from the ledge along the cliff. Standing up there being buffeted by the wind, her feet on the rocky ledge, she’d tried to imagine what Naomi had been thinking. If she’d had time to think.
Hank was so sure that she’d been murdered. It was such a strange way to murder someone. Also, she suspected there were other reasons his father believed it was suicide. The killer would have had to drag her up that trail from the bridge and then force her across the ledge. Dangerous, since if the woman was that terrified of heights, she would have grabbed on to her killer for dear life.
How had the killer kept her from pulling him down with her? It had been a male killer, hadn’t it? That was what Frankie had imagined. Unless the couple hadn’t gone up to the ledge with murder in mind.
Frankie rubbed her temples. People often did the thing you least expected them to do. Which brought her back to suicide. What if Hank was wrong? What if suicide was the only conclusion to be reached after this charade with his family? Would he finally be able to accept it?
The door opened and he came in on a warm summer night gust of mountain air. For a moment he was silhouetted, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. Then he stepped into the light, his handsome face twisted in grief. Her heart ached for him. She couldn’t imagine the kind of undying love he’d felt for Naomi. Even after three years, he was still grieving. She wondered at the size of Hank’s heart.
“I’d like to talk to Naomi’s mother in the morning,” she said, turning away from such raw pain. “Lillian Brandt, right?”
“Right.” His voice sounded hoarse.
“It would help if you told me about the things that were going on with Naomi before her death, the things that made the coroner and your father believe it was a suicide.” When he didn’t answer, she turned. He was still standing just inside the door, his Stetson in the fingers of his left hand, his head down. She was startled for a moment and almost stepped to him to put her arms around him.
“There’s something I haven’t told you.” He cleared his throat and looked up at her. “Naomi and I had a fight that night before she left the ranch.” He swallowed.
She could see that this was going to take a while and motioned to the chairs as she turned and went into the small kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, she called over her shoulder, “Beer?” She pulled out two bottles even though she hadn’t heard his answer and returned to the small living area.
He’d taken a seat, balancing on the edge, nervously turning the brim of his hat in his fingers. When she held out a beer, he took it and tossed his hat aside. Twisting off the cap, Frankie sat in the chair opposite him. She took a sip of the beer. It was icy cold and tasted wonderful. It seemed to soothe her and chase away her earlier thoughts when she’d seen Hank standing in the doorway.
She put her feet up on the well-used wooden coffee table, knowing her boots wouldn’t be the first ones that had rested there. She wanted to provide an air of companionship to make it easier for him to tell her the truth. She’d learned this from her former cop uncle who’d been her mentor when she’d first started out.
“What did you fight about?” she asked as Hank picked at the label on his beer bottle with his thumb without taking a drink.
“It was stupid.” He let out a bitter laugh as he lifted his head to meet her gaze. “I wasn’t ready to get married and Naomi was.” His voice broke again as he said, “She told me I was killing her.”
Frankie took a drink of her beer before asking, “How long had you been going out?” It gave Hank a moment to collect himself.
He took a sip of his beer. “Since after college. We met on a blind date. She’d been working as an elementary school teacher, but said she’d rather be a mother and homemaker.” He looked away. “I think that’s what she wanted more than anything. Even more than me.”
She heard something in his voice, in his words. “You didn’t question that she loved you, did you?”
“No.” He said it too quickly and then shook his head. “I did that night. I questioned a lot of things. She seemed so...so wrong for me. I mean, there was nothing about the ranch that she liked. Not the horses, the dust, the work. I’d majored in ranch management. I’d planned to come home after college and help my folks with the place.”
“And that’s what you were doing.”
He nodded. “But Naomi didn’t want to stay here. She didn’t like the canyon or living on my folks’ place. She wanted a home in a subdivision down in Bozeman. In what she called ‘civilization with sidewalks.’” He shook his head. “I had no idea sidewalks meant that much to her before that night. She wanted everything I didn’t.”
“What did she expect you to do for a living in Bozeman?”
“Her stepfather had offered me a job. He was a Realtor and he said he’d teach me the business.” Hank took a long pull on his beer. “But I was a rancher. This is where I’d grown up. This is what I knew how to do and what I...”
“What you loved.”
His blue eyes shone as they locked with hers. She saw that his pain was much deeper than even she’d thought. If Naomi had committed suicide, then he blamed himself because of the fight. He’d denied her what she wanted most, a different version of him.
“So she left hurt and angry,” Frankie said. “Did she indicate where she was going? I’m assuming the two of you were living together here at the ranch.”
“She said she was going to spend the night at her best friend Carrie White’s apartment in Meadow Village here at Big Sky and that she needed time to think about all of this.” He swallowed again. “I let her go without trying to fix it.”
“It sounds like it wasn’t an easy fix,” Frankie commented and finished her beer. Getting up, she tilted the bottle in offer. Hank seemed to realize he still had a half-full bottle and quickly downed the rest. She took both empties to the kitchen and came back with two more.
Handing him one, she asked, “You tried to call her that night or the next morning?” As she asked the question, she knew where his parents would have stood on the marriage and Naomi issue. They wouldn’t want to tarnish their son’s relationship because of their opinions about his choice for a partner, but they also wouldn’t want him marrying a woman who was clearly not a good match for him. One who took him off the ranch and the things he loved.
“That night, I was in no mood to discuss it further, so I waited and called her the next morning.” He opened his beer and took a long pull. “Maybe if I’d called not long after she left—”
“What had you planned to say?” she asked, simply curious. It was a moot point now. Nor had his plans had anything to do with what happened to Naomi. By then, she was dead.
“I was going to tell her that I’d do whatever she wanted.” He let out a long sigh and tipped the beer bottle to his lips. “But when she didn’t answer, I changed my mind. I realized it wasn’t going to work.” His voice broke again. “I loved her, but she wanted to make me over, and I couldn’t be the man she wanted me to be.” His eyes narrowed. “You can dress me up, but underneath I’m still just a cowboy.”
“Did you leave her a message on her phone?”
He nodded and looked away, his blue eyes glittering with tears. “I told her goodbye, but by then it would have been too late.” His handsome face twisted in pain.
Frankie sat for a moment, considering everything he’d told her. “Was her cell phone found on he
r body or in her car?”
He shook his head. “Who knows what she did with it. The phone could have gone into the river. My father had his deputies search for it, but it was never found.” His voice broke. “Maybe I did drive her to suicide,” he said and took a drink as if to steady himself.
“I’m going to give you my professional opinion, for what it’s worth,” she said, knowing he wasn’t going to like it. “I don’t believe she killed herself. She knew that you loved her. She was just blowing off some steam when she headed for her friend’s house. Did her friend see her at all?”
He shook his head.
“So she didn’t go there. That would explain the discrepancy in the time she left you and when her watch was broken. Is there somewhere else she might have gone? Another friend’s place? A male friend’s?”
His eyes widened in surprise. “A male friend’s? Why would you even ask about—”
“Because I know people. She was counting on you to change and do what she wanted, but after four years? She would have realized it was a losing battle and had someone else waiting in the wings.”
He slammed down his beer bottle and shoved to his feet. “You make her sound like she was—”
“A woman determined to get married, have kids, stay home and raise them while her husband had a good job that allowed all her dreams to come true?”
“She wasn’t—she—” He seemed at a loss for words.
“Hey, Hank. Naomi was a beautiful woman who had her own dreams.” He had showed her a photograph of Naomi. Blonde, green-eyed, a natural beauty.
Ignoring a strange feeling of jealousy, Frankie got to her feet and finished her beer before she spoke. She realized that she’d probably been too honest with him. But someone needed to be, she told herself. It wasn’t just the beer talking. Or that sudden stab of jealousy when she’d thought of Naomi.
