by B. J Daniels
Cal swore. “How can I help?”
“I thought there might be something on the street. I’d like to know who this guy is and if he’s already in Montana.”
“I’ll put my ear to the ground and see what I can find out. Aren’t most of these old buddies still locked up?” his friend asked.
“A couple of them skated, but most of them are still behind bars, why?”
“You’re talking cold-blooded murder. They knew some lowlifes on the street, but not hit men. I’d say they met someone while in the pen and contracted him. Let me see who recently got released and call you back.”
Rather than hope for service at the cabin, Silas drove on into Zortman to the bar. He braved the storm and climbed out to go inside even though the last thing he wanted was alcohol. The place was packed with the approaching holiday and the weather. He found a small empty table near the door and sat down where he could see anyone who entered. When the waitress came over he ordered a beer and a burger, realizing he hadn’t eaten all day.
He’d finished the burger and half of the beer when Cal called back. A boot-stompin’ song was playing on the jukebox so he tossed down some money for the waitress and took the call down the hallway toward the men’s restroom.
“I’m good friends with the warden at the local penitentiary,” Cal said without preamble. “He says the dirty cops are in a wing by themselves fearing for their lives so they didn’t have much contact with inmates. However, there was one they were seen talking to in the yard a few times. He recently got out. He’s called Little Huey, a mean son of a bee who’s done a lot of time for everything but murder. Real name’s Herbert Jones. Caucasian, five foot nine, doesn’t weigh a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet, but rotten to the core.”
“Might explain why he’s so mean. Probably had to be at that size on the streets,” Silas said. “If it’s him he’ll try to shoot me in the back, blindsiding me rather than come right at me.”
“That would be my guess. You won’t see him coming.”
* * *
SHERIFF MCCALL CRAWFORD read the letters twice before folding them and putting them back in their envelopes. “You say there have been others?”
TJ nodded. “A dozen or so over the past six months.”
“More threatening than these?” the sheriff asked.
“Some. At first True Fan was complimentary, but then that began to change. I didn’t listen to the advice the reader was offering.”
“Your fan suggested suicide?” McCall asked.
“Highly suggested it so I didn’t write any more books that I would be embarrassed by,” TJ said.
“And what makes you believe this individual might be in this area other than the postmark on the letter?”
TJ told her about the reams of paper that Melinda Holmes had sold after it had been stored for years in her basement. She told her about Nellie, Dot and Tommy, the people who had bought the paper that Melinda remembered. “It’s a rather distinct color that would be hard to match.”
The sheriff agreed. “Man or woman?”
“Sometimes I think man. Other times, woman. I have no idea.”
“You had a book signing the other day. Anyone come through who made you suspicious?”
TJ laughed. “Everyone makes me suspicious. But I suspect it is someone with a connection to New York City since True Fan sent me a photo taken from the sidewalk outside my apartment. The person wanted me to know how close they were.” She thought about mentioning being pushed into traffic but tended to agree with Silas that it might have been accidental.
“There are people in town with connections to New York,” McCall said thoughtfully. “Others who have visited. Would be interesting to find out who might have asked one of them to take a photograph of her favorite author’s apartment. Or if they did it themselves. Is that information public knowledge?”
“No, but Silas suggested that someone could have followed me from one of my book signings. I’ve done signings only blocks from my apartment and walked home afterward. I wasn’t paying attention. Anyone could have followed me without my knowledge, waited on the street and seen me close my curtain before turning on a light on the third floor.”
The sheriff nodded. “I noticed in one of your social media photos there is a pretty good view of the interior of your apartment. The curtains were open and I could see not only their design—but the building across the street. Probably wouldn’t take anyone with a knowledge of the area long to find you.”
TJ shivered. While she was writing about stalkers and killers and how they found their victims, there was one stalking her—and she’d probably made it easy for True Fan. She could have even given her stalker ideas on how to find her in her books.
“Mind if I take these with me?” McCall asked as she got to her feet, still holding the letters.
“Please take them,” TJ said, and watched the sheriff pocket the envelopes. “You agree that it’s someone here in Whitehorse?”
“It would certainly appear that way. Let me see what I can find out. If you get any more or you think of anything else, please contact me at once,” the sheriff said.
“I will.” TJ walked her to the door and stood on the porch hugging herself against the storm as the sheriff drove away.
As she started to turn back inside the house, she looked out at the neighborhood wondering if she was being watched at this moment by True Fan.
* * *
SILAS FINISHED HIS call and rather than walk back through the bar, decided to exit through the back. He circled around to his pickup. He’d already checked out the clientele enjoying themselves in the bar and hadn’t seen anyone suspicious, let alone Little Huey. He had looked for the man who would be sitting alone. Even if Little Huey tried to blend in, he would stick out like a sore thumb in Montana.
He’d been aware of that very thing when he’d first moved here. It hadn’t mattered how he’d dressed; it wasn’t as if he could just put on a Stetson, jeans and boots and no one would know he wasn’t from here.
That’s why he knew his would-be killer would be sitting alone nursing a drink. That’s if he’d already gotten this far.
Now as he walked out into the cold snow, Silas tried to think like a killer. If he was after a man like him in a state he didn’t know, where would he start?
He’d fly in, rent an SUV or a pickup. A town like Whitehorse had a ten trucks to one car ratio. Then he would drive up the three hours from the airport to the western town.
Then what? If he asked a lot of questions, people would notice and say something about it. So he’d come armed with not just weapons. He’d know as much of his victim’s backstory as he could get out of the men who’d hired him.
So he’d know about the cabin outside of Zortman. Silas thought of his mailbox down by the road. He couldn’t have made it easier for someone to find him. Look how TJ had found him in a blizzard.
Climbing into his pickup, he started the engine and let it run. Snow had piled up on the windshield and now frozen down. His wipers were covered with ice. He let the defrost run while he thought it out.
His would-be killer would have to come prepared for the weather. That might be tougher. Unless he’d been in a Montana blizzard he would have no idea how hard it was to see—let alone get around—in the deep snow. He would have had to have purchased good boots, snow gear, a hat, goggles. Even that might not save him if he got turned around in the storm or stuck on the road.
Most people, with towns so far apart, carried food, water, blankets and matches. Silas had taken to carrying a sleeping bag behind the seat of his pickup. He never knew when he might need it. Which was also why he carried the shotgun on the rack behind his head—and the pistol under his seat.
But neither would protect him if Little Huey shot him in the back.
He saw that some of the snow had melted on the windshield, but
the wipers would have to be cleaned off. He started to climb out when through the small defrosted spot on his windshield, he saw a man exit an SUV and head toward the front of the bar.
Silas felt his heart drop like a stone. His buddies hadn’t sent Little Huey.
Chapter Seventeen
Kenny “Mad Dog” Harrington. Silas thought about ending this right here and now as he watched the man go into the bar. Kenny hadn’t seen him with the windshield still mostly covered with snow and ice.
Silas stayed where he was for a moment and then hit his wipers. Enough snow and ice came off that he could see well enough to drive. Eventually the falling snow would cake on the wipers and he’d have a blurry mess on his windshield, but right now that was the least of his worries.
He drove out of town, watching his rearview mirror. Had Mad Dog already been out to his cabin? He would know soon enough. On the way, he tried to think. Little Huey would have been waiting in the trees to ambush him. Mad Dog was a whole other breed of violent criminal. He’d come head-on. It would take a cannon to stop the crazy bastard.
Turning on to the road into his cabin, he saw that there were two sets of tracks. Someone had gone in—and come back out. Mad Dog had been to his cabin. Which meant he would be back. Silas had no idea how much time he had to get ready for the killer.
His mind raced as he drove, all the time keeping an eye on the rearview mirror. No Mad Dog yet. Maybe he would have a few drinks, snort some coke or take some uppers. Silas knew how hard it was to stop a junkie. A junkie with Mad Dog’s size and determination would be almost impossible to stop even filled with lead shot. But Silas had no choice unless...
He was almost to the cabin when a plan began to crystallize. It would be damned risky. Crazy under other circumstances. But worth a shot, he told himself as he pulled in front of the cabin and cut the engine. He would have to move fast. He had one thing going for him: Mad Dog wasn’t smart. Also it was snowing so hard, his tracks would be covered quickly.
* * *
TJ’S CONCERN FOR Silas had been growing by the hour. The thought of him alone at the cabin was driving her crazy. She kept telling herself that he was an ex-cop; he could handle himself. But she’d seen his reaction to the man.
“Can you sit still for five minutes?” her sister Chloe snapped. “This is about Silas Walker, isn’t it? What has you so worked up?”
She wasn’t about to tell Chloe. Her sister already thought that he was the wrong man for her. If she knew the danger he was in right now... “We left things a little...up in the air,” she said truthfully.
Chloe shook her head.
“He isn’t anything like Marc,” TJ said in her defense.
“Nothing at all,” her sister repeated sarcastically.
“What are you two arguing about?” Annabelle asked as she came into the living room with a plate of cookies. “Who wants milk?”
“Leave it for Santa,” Chloe joked as she took a cookie. “We were arguing about men.”
“So who’s the right one for you?” Annabelle asked Chloe as she curled up in a chair and took a warm cookie.
“Justin,” TJ said. “Is he still in town?” she asked Annabelle.
“Sorry, he moved away after he married some rich movie star.” Annabelle almost choked on her cookie at her joke, before she said, “No, seriously, after Nici married, he was single for a long time. About five years ago, he married Margie Taylor and they moved to Bismarck, North Dakota, to farm her father’s place. The marriage didn’t last.”
TJ raised a brow. “I’m amazed after being in town for such a short period of time how quickly you got caught up on all the local news.”
Chloe groaned. “Excuse me, but we weren’t talking about my lack of love life. We were talking about Silas Walker.”
Her cell phone rang and she sprang to her feet. “Saved by the bell.” She headed for her bedroom as she took the call from her agent.
“How are you doing?” Clara asked.
“Okay. I did the signing.”
“I heard. Nice turnout?”
“Not bad.”
“You made The New York Times Best Seller list,” her agent said.
TJ knew she should be more excited about that. “That’s wonderful.”
“Not as high as last time, but it’s early. Let’s see if it stays where it is or goes even higher.”
She was amazed how little any of this mattered right now.
“Have you heard from your True Fan?”
“A few letters, but I’m fine.”
“Okay, but you don’t sound fine. Maybe True Fan will give you a break over the holidays. When are you coming back?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? “Not sure yet.” She hadn’t booked round-trip. Getting a flight could be difficult. But that didn’t worry her either.
“Okay, I’ll let you go. If you need anything...”
“I’ll call. Have a wonderful holiday.” She disconnected. She hadn’t even asked where her book had hit on the Times list. Lower than last time. That was enough to know. She wasn’t even tempted to check online. Normally, she watched closely the first few weeks of a release.
When she came back downstairs, Annabelle’s fiancé Dawson Rogers was sitting in the living room. He got to his feet when he saw her, hugged her, wished her a Merry Christmas, then announced that he’d come to get them all for dinner out at the ranch.
“I decided to drive in for you since the visibility is poor and the roads are a little slick,” he said.
She glanced out the window and realized he was downplaying how bad it was. “I hate to be a party pooper, as Grandma Frannie used to say, but I’m going to have to pass. Please give my best to your mother. I’m sure I’ll see her over the holidays.”
Her sisters started to put up an argument, but gave up quickly when they realized she had dug her feet in and wasn’t going to change her mind. She wasn’t in the mood for dinner and polite conversation. She had a terrible feeling about Silas that she couldn’t shake.
As they all departed, she noticed that Annabelle had left the keys to her SUV on the hook by the door. She told herself that going out in this storm was more than risky. It might prove to be suicidal. Worse might be going to Silas’s cabin when from what she could gather, there was a killer after him.
She thought about calling the sheriff. And telling her what? That Silas’s former cop friends wanted to kill him? McCall couldn’t do anything more than TJ could. That’s when she knew that if she really wasn’t going to do this, then she had not only to dress for the winter storm, but also to go armed.
“You’re acting as if you think you really are Constance Ryan from one of your books,” she said to herself as she went around the property getting things she thought she might need.
* * *
SILAS WORKED AS quickly as he could, given the weather. Another storm had blown in. Snow whirled around him, the cold wind biting at any exposed skin. When he’d first bought the land and begun to build on this spot, he’d thought about booby-trapping the area around it.
That was back when he’d been more worried about his former cops’ plotting vengeance. He’d ditched the idea, fearful that he’d catch hikers or hunters in his traps and find himself in a lawsuit—if not worse. Also he hadn’t wanted to live like that—fearing for his life every day.
Instead, he’d told himself that if they came for him, he’d deal with it then. As time went on, he’d begun to relax. Montana had that effect on him. He had liked feeling safe here, even knowing that it could change at any point.
Now as he finished loading the last booby trap, he stopped to listen. It was hard to hear anything over the wind whipping the pines and howling off the eaves of the cabin. He stared out into the storm, unable to see more than ten feet through the whirling snow.
Mad Dog would have the same problem.
Now all he could do was wait. The question was where? Inside the cabin would make it too easy for his would-be killer. He couldn’t depend on his booby traps stopping Mad Dog. All he could hope for is that one of them would delay the man long enough to give him the upper hand.
* * *
TJ STARTED THE SUV, then remembered something she’d forgotten in the house and, leaving the motor running, had run back inside.
Her heart was pounding. Common sense argued that she was doing a foolish thing. But that ache in her stomach, the feeling that Silas needed her, wouldn’t let her turn back.
Inside the house, she found the flashlight she’d forgotten. It would be dark by the time she reached the cabin. She thought about texting Silas to tell him she was coming but he would just try to talk her out of it and right now she feared any reasonable argument would be all she needed to change her mind.
Back at the SUV, she was delighted to see that part of the windshield had cleared off. She used her gloved hand to take care of the rest. The snow was still falling so hard that it would cover it again if she didn’t jump inside and use the wipers.
She climbed in, cranked up the heater even higher and turned on the wipers. To the steady clack, clack, clack, she shifted into Reverse and backed out.
It wasn’t that far to the cabin. Once she was sure that Silas was all right... Text him, the voice in her head said. Text him. Don’t make this drive in this kind of weather. Not to mention the fact that he wants you to stay away while he handles this.
She thought of Marc. She’d begged him to come home, but he was having too much fun. He loved the danger. He loved telling her about the close calls he’d had. She’d heard it in his voice. He thrived on the near misses.
Silas was different. He didn’t want this. She remembered seeing both fear and dread on his face. He knows he’s mortal, she thought. He’s strong, courageous, but only when it is demanded of him. He doesn’t go looking for trouble.
