“If I were trying to convince you that Ryder had tried to kill you, would you believe me?”
I shook my head. “Of course not. I know Ryder. He isn’t capable of it. He saved my life. I owe him everything.”
Isabelle kept her eyes focused on the highway and nodded. “Exactly.”
The connection wasn’t there for me, so I pushed harder. “What do you owe Tumbleweed?”
“Same as you, my life,” she said. “As a young girl I used to visit my grandparents. One day I was playing upstairs in the homestead house. I loved the attic. I’d play with grandma’s dolls and wasted away hours in my hideout.” Her hands tightened on the steering wheel and twisted against the leather. “One day while I was playing, I smelled smoke. I tried to get out, but the attic door jammed. I ran to the window and screamed bloody murder, but no one came. No one knew I was there.” Her voice softened and I recognized the look of someone who’d been consigned to death.
“I thought that was it. At ten years old, I was going to burn alive. My grandparents saw me in the window. I’ll never forget how my grandmother screamed my name until she collapsed.” Isabelle’s lip quivered. “The door to the attic shook twice and then splintered open. There was nothing but a wall of fire behind him, but Tim had braved it all to find me. He scooped me up and tucked me inside his jacket. We made it down the first flight of stairs, but near the bottom I heard him start coughing. I knew he was in pain even though I couldn’t see him. The stairs fell and we crashed into a pit of fire. I remember the flames on his arms, and the way he shielded me from it all.” Her voice cracked once before she regained her composure. “We made it outside. He dropped me seconds before granddad tackled him with a blanket to smother the fire.”
I touched my cheeks and felt the tears that fell for her pain. Her voice halted and then began again. “He spent five weeks in a burn ward, and I didn’t have to go to the hospital. Now you can see why I can’t believe he would do any of this.”
The story was touching, but I had seen good people do evil things out of desperation. “I know he saved you, but what if he’s suffered some sort of psychotic break? What if he’s completely lost it? People can hide behind a mask, Isabelle.”
Her turned voice cold. “You think I don’t know that?”
“But how would you know? I mean, he can’t talk—”
“Oh he talks fine,” she snapped. “We decided long ago it was safer that he act mute. People judge him because of the way he looks.”
The sound escaped my throat in a beleaguered gasp. “Oh, Isabelle…”
I pressed my lips together and shook my head. My only shred of doubt had rested on the fact that Mallory told us her attacker had asked her questions. Tumbleweed’s inability to speak had granted him an alibi, but if it wasn’t true then—
“Why do you protect him? Even if he saved you, every shred of evidence points at Tim. Why can’t you see it?”
“Because he’s my brother.” Isabelle spat the words at me. “Wouldn’t you do everything in your power to save your sister?”
My mouth dropped open. Her brother?
It made sense. I could see the resemblance between Tim and Tate. Wide set shoulders, broad jaw, muscular build. Without the scars of the fire, it might have been more pronounced.
“But how?” I asked.
“My mother had him out of wedlock as a teenager. My father never counted him as his own, but my grandparents allowed him to live on the ranch and work from a young age.” She sighed and shook her head. “Tate has always hated him. Tate is the oldest of my father’s children, Jimmy is Cassidy’s father and he’s the youngest. I’m right in the middle of them. I think Tate resents the fact that Tim was my mother’s oldest child. She always favored him a little more. Tate’s the one who started calling him Tumbleweed.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tate is just shy of violent when I press the issue. Technically the ranch belongs to Tim as the oldest, but Tate managed to take it from him with lawyers. He figures he’s made good on his half of the deal because he lets him keep the old cabins by the pond, but that isn’t enough.”
My mind connected pieces with such speed that I couldn’t keep them all straight. Tate resented Tim for his mother’s affection. It was possible he could’ve framed Tim in all the deaths. But why would he have agreed to let me investigate if he was guilty? I thought back to my arrival at the ranch. Tate wasn’t friendly, in fact he’d only started to warm up once I suspected Tim of murder.
On the other hand, Tim might have a chip on his shoulder because his younger half-brother had stolen his rightful inheritance. Was it possible he’d committed murder to drive Tate from the land? If tourism wasn’t high enough, they’d have no choice but to sell, and at a loss.
“Who was Tim’s father, Isabelle?”
I could feel her reticence to tell me. “My mother was attacked. Tim was the product of that night.”
Yet another possibility unfolded in front of me. Tim might be insane. Half of his genes came from a good woman, but the other half came from evil. I’d seen such stories examined time and time again in my psychology and criminology classes, nature versus nurture. How much of us came from our genetics and how much came from the environment we were raised in?
Isabelle recognized my thought process and stopped me. “Don’t think that because he was created by violence, that he is violent.”
Out of respect for her, I let it drop, but my doubts persisted. Instead, I asked the other question that had plagued me all day.
“Why don’t you like Vanessa?”
My question caught her off guard and I swore I almost saw a sneaky smile. “I told you, I don’t trust people.”
“You said you liked me more than her.”
“I said I didn’t like either one of you.” She glanced around the car and I wondered if she was looking for candy like her son would do in the same situation. “She’s too needy for him. He needs an independent spirit. And Vanessa doesn’t appreciate his art work. Ryder needs support right now. With the death of his father and an inheritance of questionable means, he’s struggling and she’s exploiting it.”
“Questionable means?” It wasn’t my place to ask and yet I had to know.
Isabelle changed lanes and shot me an annoyed glance. “I forget that you haven’t talked to him. He’s been searching through his father’s old office, tracing the money. Most of it is dirty, proceeds from the work he did with that awful secret society of his. Ryder is deciding whether he will keep it now that he knows where it came from.”
My head fell forward into my chest as I thought about how Ryder would react. The wealth had afforded him freedom to chase his dream to become an artist, but knowing the manner in which the money had been earned, I knew the guilt would cripple him. He was too good, too pure hearted for that sort of shame.
Isabelle watched me through the dim light of the cab. “See? That reaction. That’s why I hate you less. You understand what this will do to my son, and she doesn’t.”
I hoped she was wrong, at least for Ryder’s sake. “What was he like as a kid?”
For the first time, I saw a smile seep across her lips, warm and genuine, sweet as the memories she thought of. “He was always so busy. He invented and created; Ryder’s always painted and sculpted out of anything he could find, even mud if he was desperate enough. His father never approved and I had to sneak him supplies. He was always happy and his smile was worth every moment of heartache I endured.”
The road shifted and I felt the dirt beneath the tires which meant we weren’t far from the ranch. She waited a moment and said, “I saw the charcoal he did of you. I thought it was lovely, one of his best pieces.”
“I loved it,” I told her. “I was proud that he was able to sell it, but sad it’s gone.”
She slowed over a pot hole and peered across the cab at me. “He didn’t sell it. He moved it upstairs to his bedroom. Vanessa hated it, so he hid it.”
I wasn’t s
ure how to respond. He’d lied to me. I could feel his mother’s eyes on me as we came to a stop in the parking lot. She shifted the car into park and turned off the ignition. I was so lost in thought about Ryder, that I almost didn’t hear her.
“You’re in love with my son, aren’t you?”
♦ ♦ ♦
Her words had followed me after my swift denial and quick escape from the car. I cared about Ryder, but nothing as dangerous as love. Love would surely split my focus, deny my gift and ruin the brutal edge I protected so fiercely.
I found my cabin empty other than a note from Dixie that told me she was gone on an overnight with Wiley and Dallas. Before I called it a night, I ventured out into the dark to complete an important task. One thought had clung to my psyche all day. I was vulnerable without my gun. If I’d had a weapon, the previous night would have gone differently. As far as I knew, the Bozeman cops still had my gun in their custody and I felt naked without it. I did, however, have a knife.
Without a flashlight, I crept to the hay stack and pulled up the tarp that shielded it from the elements. The base of the haystack sat on pallets to keep it dry if the rain ever seeped in. Near the middle, I crouched down and set one knee to the dirt. I tucked the blue handled weapon into the open space of the wooden pallet. I positioned it so that the knife was visible, but not noticeable. The tarp crinkled in the night as I replaced it over the hay. I heard a few nickers flow from the corral, horses curious if there would be a midnight snack. Before anyone could see me, I snuck back to my cabin and locked the door. Isabelle was dead wrong about Ryder and me, but her theory on weapons had some merit.
Chapter 19
With Tate’s permission, I skipped breakfast and stayed in my cabin for most of the morning. I moved faster, but the sore muscles lingered. A few granola bars I’d tucked away kept me fed. I heard the overnight trip return, but I didn’t venture out of the cabin to meet them. I didn’t know how to respond to their inevitable questions. Before dinner, I found the courage to step out of my cabin. I started for the lodge, but noticed part of the staff gathered on the hill below the tack barn. They were pointing to something in the distance.
“They’re circling. It’s an updraft,” I heard Dixie say in her adorable drawl as I neared the group.
It was Wiley who spoke next. “They’re circling, but that’s definitely vultures.”
Dallas’ jaw went slack before he said, “It’s probably some wild animal.”
The black shapes rotated like a living room fan, almost lazy, but I knew better. Scavengers like those were only circling because there were already some on the ground ripping whatever they’d found to shreds.
“Do you think they’re in the meadow?”
My voice startled them, but it was Dixie who crushed me in a hug before anyone else could.
“Geez, you’re alive!” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe you’re alive!”
Dallas noticed my pained expression and pulled Dixie off of me. “I think you’re hurting her with all your love, Dix.”
That sent her into another string of apologies and more rambling. I felt Dallas’ arm slip protectively around my waist somewhere around the third apology and guilt crushed me for the time I’d spent thinking about Ryder.
Wiley spoke over the top of Dixie’s chattering. “Do you think we should check it out?”
Dallas shook his head. “I think we should call the cops. They’ve left us alone for long enough. It’s crazy that they haven’t arrested him yet.”
Dixie scoffed and smacked his arm. “Tumbleweed ain’t guilty. He’s off somewhere killing some beast with his bare hands. He doesn’t have time to start killing people too.”
I peered at Dallas. “Did you see his face? When you fought him, did you see him?”
“Not real well. It could’ve been Tumbleweed though. I thought I saw his scarring in the moonlight, but I can’t be totally sure. He was familiar though. I can’t place it.”
Wiley stepped away from our group toward the corral. Was it my imagination, or did he walk with a limp, as if he were sore?
“I’m going to check on it.” Wiley said as he pulled a horse from the corral. “I can’t be sitting here wondering if there’s some corpse out there. Maybe it’s a deer.”
Dallas made a move to stop him and our hands broke apart. “Don’t go alone.”
“Are you offering? Will you protect me?” He laughed as though it was a ludicrous idea for Dallas to protect anyone.
“How about I call the cops?” I offered. “I can use my Aunt’s house line.”
Wiley paused and stared at Dallas for a minute, and then pushed passed us both. “Do what you want, but I’m going to check it out.” He looped the lead rope over the horse’s neck and fastened it to the other side with a knot to create makeshift reins. With the same agility I’d seen from Dallas, Wiley Fox swept a leg over the horse’s back. With a quick spur, he took off.
Dallas pulled on my hand. “Come on, let’s get to your aunt’s cabin before that idiot gets in trouble.”
Dixie scurried beside us. I worked on some sort of plan to cover both sides of my lies. I was saved from explaining myself as the front door of the cabin whipped open and Detective Dayton stepped out. Isabelle stared from the doorway at my rag tag band. Her eyes dropped to my hand in Dallas’. I doubted anyone else noticed the slight twitch of her right eyebrow, but I didn’t miss it.
“Detective Dayton,” I said, “I was coming to call you.” I pointed over my shoulder. “There are vultures in the meadow. I’m sure it’s a deer but—”
He smiled a tight, apologetic smile. “After what you’ve been through, you want me to be sure.” Dayton stepped back up the steps toward the house. “Belle, do you mind if I use your phone to call it in?”
My fake aunt opened the door, but only enough to allow him entrance. Before Dayton could disappear I added, “Wiley went to check it out. He’s there already.”
The detective understood everything I’d inferred. Wiley could be in danger, or he could be tampering with evidence. The cops needed to hurry.
The dinner bell split the air around the cabin. Isabelle eased the door shut and I heard a lock click into place.
“She’s a lovely woman,” Dixie’s whisper was thick with sarcasm.
“She has her moments,” I replied truthfully.
♦ ♦ ♦
Tate joined the entire crew around the table for dinner. It wasn’t typical, but he explained the situation as we ate.
“I wanted to share some events that have transpired around the Rockin’ B.” He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “I know you’ve all had suspicions about what’s been going on in the woods around here, and I know the cops have been saying that it was an animal that was doing the killing, but I need you to know it’s not an animal. There’s a killer in the woods.”
He paused as if he was waiting for a collective reaction like a gasp, or a shriek. It’d never occurred to him that most of the staff had already come to the same conclusion.
Wiley sat next to Dallas on the other side of the table. He’d come in late from his mission and hadn’t said a lot. When Dixie had asked him what he had seen, he only shook his head. As he listened to Tate, I tried to read his expression. His jaw was tight, almost clenched and his eyes narrowed at the interior. Was he angry? If so, then why?
“We found a body in the woods this afternoon. The police are investigating, but we need to be careful.”
Two-Bit spoke up from his end of the table. “Are you closing the ranch, Tate?”
“No,” Tate answered. That earned him the gasps he’d been waiting for. “And we aren’t telling the guests. If they ask, it was a bear attack. Because of the vultures, there wasn’t much left and the story is believable. For all we know that was exactly what happened.”
I knew it wasn’t true. The killer had set the body in the meadow because he wanted to destroy the evidence.
“No one is to be outside alone at any time.” He shot me a loo
k, more for the benefit of the rest of the room than for me. They all assumed I’d brought the violence on myself, and maybe I had. Tate continued to dole out the rules. “Lock your cabins at night, especially if your roommate is gone on a trip. This guy comes after men and women, so no one is safe.”
“I’d like to see him try,” Wiley Fox said.
“No you wouldn’t,” Dallas said with an unexpected edge to his voice. When he realized everyone was staring at him, he said, “I fought him when he tried to kill Cassidy. I might have landed a punch, but I was lucky I got away.”
“Then you’re a coward,” Wiley countered.
Anger flashed in Dallas’ eyes. “We can go anytime.”
“Enough!” Tate slammed his hands against the table so hard that I had to catch my glass before it fell over. “Our priority is the safety of the ranch and our guests. Don’t lose sight of that.” He let the table settle again and when he spoke his volume and tone had softened. “Friday we will cancel the normal music set, and we will have dancing and a bonfire instead. The bus is bringing an extra evening load specific for this event.”
“So, instead of getting people to safety, we’re bringing in new blood for this guy to kill?” Two-Bit asked incredulously.
“He thrives on isolation, lone hikers, lone campers,” Tate glared at me, “a wrangler out on her own too late at night.” I wondered what I’d done to bring his wrath on me. “With a crowd we’ll actually be safer than otherwise.”
I didn’t like his logic. It made more sense to stage a trap or clear out the guests and leave only the staff. I agreed with Two-Bit, adding extra people seemed as though we were looking to double the body count.
“Wiley, Dixie and Phoenix, you’ll be taking an overnight tomorrow, but I want you to stay clear of the river. Head for the valley, there’s been no activity there.” He slapped his hands against the table and rose with finality. I caught a coy smile pass between Dixie and Wiley as if they’d planned the trip themselves. Dallas glanced at me and rolled his eyes with an overdramatic flair, earning him my internal giggle.
Saddles & Sabotage Page 18
