Left Hanging

by Patricia McLinn

  Her eyes went wide, and she started to grin. “Cool!”

  “And—” My mind jumped ahead. “See if that minister’s widow has a daughter who was rodeo queen when Landry was in town.”

  “You think . . .” Mike said. “But why?”

  “Think? Yes. Know? No. But it’s sure worth having Jenny—uh, Jennifer check.”

  She didn’t notice my slip. She was already typing.

  TEN MINUTES later, Tom arrived.

  “You all look half dead,” said Mr. Charm.

  “Comes from an afternoon spent with one of your county’s solid citizens,” I said.

  “I heard about that dust-up at Hiram Poppinger’s place.”

  “You saw our coverage?”

  Tom’s mouth twitched. “No. Wasn’t watching TV. Got a ranch to run. Taking advantage of long daylight. You should be home asleep,” he added to Jennifer.

  She didn’t look up, her fingers didn’t slow. “Not yet. But if you’re going to talk, I’ll go somewhere else.”

  At that, she did look up—at me.

  I offered, “Kitchen, bedroom or bathroom—though I can’t recommend the bathroom unless you want to think you’ve come down with the plague.”

  “Kitchen,” she said, balancing her open laptop on her forearm like a waiter, leaving a hand free for a bag of chips, pen, and paper.

  With her gone, Tom turned to Mike and me, and I read the intention in his eyes.

  “Oh, no you don’t. You haven’t known us since we were born. You can’t order us around.”

  “Well, actually, he has known me . . .” Mike started. Tom chuckled, and Mike joined in. “Not that I would leave.”

  I was not in a chuckling mood. “Good. Then let’s go over this.”

  “You’d both be better for some rest,” Tom said. “Why not come to it fresh in the morning?”

  “Because it’s Wyoming’s version of a snow-bound English house party crime scene,” I said.

  “Excuse me?” Tom said.

  “Crossroads. Tell him, Mike.”

  He did, then said, “But I don’t get the English house party connection.”

  “All the suspects are gathered only as long as the storm holds them in place. Once the storm’s over, they disperse. No solution. Same here, except no snow, no English countryside, no house party, no lords and ladies, no servants.”

  “Other than that, exactly the same,” Mike muttered.

  I ignored that. “You told me if the rodeo is canceled, there’s no reason for out-of-towners to stay, and no reason for locals to be even as cooperative as they have been. So, you can leave, either or both of you, but I’m going over what we’ve got so far.”

  “Staying,” Mike said, reaching for pad and pen.

  Tom sat, took off his hat, hooked it on the corner of the couch frame again, and said, “What did you two pick up today?”

  I took that opening. “Linda Caswell called me to the rodeo grounds this evening and proceeded to tell me a.) details about her romantic relationships with Zane and Landry, b.) what a bad relationship Landry and his partner had.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Isn’t it just. After all the effort to tell me the least amount possible, while portraying them as nearly-forgotten episodes in her distant past, suddenly she takes me into her confidence. And she piles on details about Street and Landry’s business that a couple days ago she knew nothing about.”

  “And that has you thinking what, Elizabeth?”

  “It has me thinking that she called me out to the rodeo grounds for the express purpose of telling me those things in order to redirect my attention from something or someone. In other words, covering up for somebody.”

  “Could be.”

  “I’m so glad you think so,” I snapped.

  His mouth twitched. But it was dead straight when he said, “Ask what you want to ask.”

  “Did you tell Linda about Newton bribing Landry?”

  “No.”

  “Was she one of your sources?”

  “No.”

  I believed him. Partly because of those damned Abraham Lincoln eyes. But also because of who else might have told Tom about a potential bribe and told Linda about telling Tom. Cas.

  Mike stepped into a silence. “If Linda was covering up for somebody, can we eliminate her as a possible suspect?”

  “No,” I said. “Might be an effort to throw us off. I’d have expected her to be more subtle.”

  “She’s not accustomed to being subtle about things like murder,” Burrell said.

  “If you can’t keep an open mind—”

  He interrupted me. “I’m not going to pretend I think Linda murdered anybody.”

  “You don’t have to,” Mike said. “Elizabeth and I don’t always agree on who’s a likely suspect. Just don’t interfere with thrashing out the possibilities.”

  Tom nodded. “Okay. Here’s what I got today. One source I trust added a couple of tidbits of information, which is the end for what that one knows. But it led me to the second source I trust, and I did more digging. It seems Newton didn’t get one bribe, but more like a series of kickbacks from Landry.”

  “For what?” Mike asked.

  “For his vote on the first go-round, like we thought. And for voting to bring in Landry last-minute, with all those bonuses. Which, by the way, put him over what he’d asked for to start last fall. Then there was an additional payment in there, too.”

  “If he’d heard rumors about Sweet Meadows going under, probably for word if it pulled out so he could get the jump on a last-ditch contract,” guessed Mike.

  “That makes sense. Except it sounds, from what my source says, like it was for getting hold of documents and destroying them,” Tom said.

  Mike raised his eyebrows at me. I replied with the smallest shake. These vague documents didn’t necessarily have anything to do with Sweet Meadows’ DBA status. What Jenny—Jennifer—had told us was so tentative, so new . . . We’d have to see where her research and this conversation took us before trying to make connections.

  “What documents?” I asked.

  “No idea. Source swears to that. It was right around the time Sweet Meadows pulled out. Can’t pin down if it was before or after. I could use some coffee. Mind if I . . .” He tipped his head toward the kitchen door.

  “Help yourself. Mugs are in the cabinet above the coffee maker.”

  Mike stood and said, “I need a refill, too. Elizabeth?”

  “No thanks, I’m fine.” More accurately, caffeine wasn’t going to help what was bothering me.

  I studied the list of women I’d talked to, going back ten years. Then the list of towns where Landry had been with the rodeo. Of course, the rodeos were where he’d met the women. But there was something else . . . a connection like an echo . . . or something. It was right there on the edge of the jumble in my head. If it would just come a little closer . . .

  The kitchen door swung open, and I became aware I’d been hearing more activity from there than coffee required.

  Tom came out with Jennifer in tow. “She was sound asleep with her head on the table. I’m taking her home.”

  She muttered a weak protest, which he ignored. She did look tired. I thanked her, and she said she’d finish in the morning.

  At the front door, Tom said he’d be back in a few minutes, because she lived nearby. I felt vaguely guilty for not knowing that. Or much of anything about her.

  Mike set his coffee cup down and settled into the couch as the door closed behind them. “I know you play your cards close to the vest, but you can trust Tom.”

  I wasn’t so sure. I didn’t believe he would overtly betray confidences, but he made no bones about having divided loyalties. What I said was, “It would be nice to g
et more facts before we launch into that. Besides . . .”

  “Besides?” he prompted.

  “I have a feeling about all those powerful emotions swirling around.”

  “But look at what we’ve found out about the business. Landry was cheating the rodeo left, right, and center.”

  “You’re right. It’s a possible motive.”

  “But you think his relationships are at the core of this?”

  “Relationships is awfully high-tone for the sleaze he pulled.”

  He raised his hands in surrender. “No argument here. Definitely slime. Okay, I buy it’s a possible motive. After all, look at what they say about hell having no fury like a woman scorned. In this case, multiply that by all the women we know about so far.”

  “Oh, God, you, too? And that’s not the correct quote. It’s ‘Heav’n has no Rage, like Love to Hatred turn’d, Nor Hell a Fury, like a Linda Caswell scorn’d.’”

  He eyed me. “My apologies to Shakespeare.”

  “Not Shakespeare. Congreve.” I’d looked it up Friday after the discussion with Burrell on the drive back from the Newtons’. “And you notice the sequence of events here? The guy does the scorning. Not just a heartfelt, sorry, this isn’t working for me any longer, but outright scorning. That deserves more than a little fury. That deserves a capital F-capital U.”

  My mind had followed a different path while I talked, one hitting the replay button on an unexpected track. Grayson Zane. That first conversation. The one time his calm held an edge.

  Men like Landry take the sure thing. And if there’s not a sure thing to be taken, they rig it so there is.

  “But you say to chase the inconsistencies,” Mike said. “And the business side—”

  “That’s it. That’s exactly it. The inconsistencies disappear if he knew—Oh, my God. He knew. Look at how Landry did things. He didn’t leave things to chance. When he wanted something, he arranged it. He stage-managed situations to make sure things came out exactly the way he wanted. The women, the contracts.”

  I scrambled out of the chair—an effort hampered because the foot I’d tucked under had fallen asleep, as my mother always warned. I grabbed my phone in one hand and found the list of names and contact info with the other.

  “Elizabeth? What—”

  “Sequence of events. Maybe. If—Sonja? It’s Elizabeth Danniher from KWMT-TV. I won’t take much of your time. I have just a few questions. Before you started, uh, dating the rodeo cowboy who swept you off your feet when you were rodeo queen, how was he doing in the rankings?” I jotted notes as she talked.

  I had to break in to get in my next question. “After you broke up, how long before Keith Landry, uh, became part of your life . . . Found you crying that night, huh? . . . Uh-huh, uh-huh. I absolutely do understand your feelings. One last question. Did you happen to notice your cowboy’s career after he broke off with you? . . . Yes. Uh-huh. Right. Got it. Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  I disconnected and started dialing the next number.

  “You’re thinking it was more than Landry picking up after their hearts were broken?” Mike said. “But how—”

  He broke off when I held up a hand to indicate my callee had answered.

  Give Paycik full marks. He jabbed a finger to the third name on the list, grabbed his phone, and headed to the kitchen.

  SEVERAL DIDN’T answer. But in less than half an hour, we had the same story from other women in other rodeo towns where Keith Landry had had a fling with the rodeo queen.

  We sat on the couch and looked at each other.

  “Why? Why would he do that to those women?” Mike asked, and his bafflement made me like him even more. “Okay, he might not have been with rodeo queens, especially not in recent years with him getting older and seedier, but—”

  “It wasn’t about sex. It was about power. Sex was a way to keep score. To let him know he’d won and made them lose. Remember what I told you Street said about how for Landry it was all a game, and he not only had to win, he had to beat the other person?”

  “Holy shit,” Mike said.

  I agreed. “Same sequence of events each time. A rodeo cowboy down on his luck rushes a woman—mostly the rodeo queen. After a brief fling, the cowboy breaks it off abruptly and in a manner sure to break a woman’s heart. Keith Landry swoops in for a week or two of consolation sex—”

  “With a woman who wouldn’t otherwise have looked at him,” Mike pointed out.

  “Afterwards, the cowboy gets invitations to rodeos he otherwise couldn’t have afforded to enter. Gives him a chance to win some, and his career picks up.”

  “Though in Evan Watt’s case, it slides back down,” he said.

  “This can’t possibly be a coincidence. Not the same sequence every time. Landry wasn’t simply an opportunistic vulture or an emotional ambulance chaser, he was arranging it.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  TOM CAME IN and sat while we were absorbing what we’d found. He looked from one to the other of us. “What’s happened?”

  Mike’s gaze met mine with the same question as earlier. This time I nodded. Tom shot me a look but focused on Mike when he spoke.

  “Tom, we’ve spotted a pattern in Landry’s activities.”

  Tom’s brows rose. “In the time I was gone?”

  “Yes.” I said to Mike, “The rodeo first.”

  “If Landry is Sweet Meadows—”

  “What?” Tom demanded.

  Mike backed up and explained what Jennifer had found and what she hoped to confirm with other rodeos and other DBAs.

  “It would have worked something like this. He would come in as Landry, make a real high bid. Maybe a few times a year, just with the rodeos he thinks might be getting restless,” Mike said. “If the rodeo accepts the high bid, fine, he makes his money. If the rodeo balks and asks for more bids, he sends in a bogus company to undercut everyone else. His bogus company gets the bid, then goes belly-up—not hard, since it never existed except on paper.

  “When the bogus company disappears, it leaves the rodeo in the lurch. Landry comes back to save the day. Gets bonuses piled on top of bonuses, making even more than he would have with the first, inflated bid. The next year, the rodeo pays what Landry asks.”

  Tom remained silent so long that the urge to over-explain that Landry had arranged the whole thing in order to swoop in and take advantage financially nearly overwhelmed me.

  Twice, Mike and I exchanged looks—each said, “How long do we wait?” and “I don’t know”—before Tom spoke.

  “If you want, I can do some checking without raising suspicions. Maybe back up whatever Jen found.”

  “That would be real helpful, Tom,” Mike said.

  “There’s more.” I pulled out the list of women’s names that had started with towns and dates and phone numbers, and now had the names of rodeo cowboys added. “If Keith Landry operated like this in business, what are the chances he operated the same way in private?”

  I explained why we thought the chances were excellent.

  “That son of a—” He bit it off. “You’re going to report this? Make public what happened to those women? Pile on more embarrassment?”

  “They have nothing to be embarrassed about—any more than someone who’s the victim of a robbery has cause to be embarrassed. But, no, we’re not planning to report on this. Unless one of them is a murderer,” I said. “But we need to confirm that what we think happened did happen.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if we need it as a lever to get information on anything else, or if it turns out to be the motive for Landry’s murder, we’re not likely to have time to work the angle later. Or access.” I looked at the list again. “What I don’t understand is why he selected some rodeo queens and skipped others.”

 
“I do,” Mike said slowly. “I think I do. Seeing the list of women and their rodeos got me thinking.” He dug a paper from the pile on the table, held out his hand for the list I had, then set them side by side.

  “Landry’s schedule. The women he went after. He pulled his shit on the women only when he had a schedule break. When he had to move on to another town right away, he didn’t have time. That’s why he pulled it here some years and not others.”

  A quick look showed he was right. Tom muttered something. I didn’t catch the words, but I shared the sentiment.

  “What we have to look at now is who knew about this, and if that knowing gave them a motive,” I said.

  “The women knew,” Mike said. “At least part of it. If any of them figured it out . . .”

  “You don’t have proof any of them figured it out,” Tom said.

  “We don’t have proof of much of anything,” I said. “We’re gathering possibilities for motive. Not everyone could make that initial throw over the beam, but assuming Heather left Landry tied up as she described, most of Sherman has opportunity and means. So, we have to look at motive, and there’d be motive for any of the women who figured out what he did. But they also have to be here in Sherman, so that means Linda Caswell and Vicky Upton.”

  “This long after the fact for Vicky?” Mike asked.

  “Hey, you were the one backing her earlier. But, yeah, I think Vicky would have no statute of limitations on Landry’s crimes.”

  Tom said, “Anyone who cared about the women involved—if they knew.”

  “That lengthens our list considerably.” I was lamenting, not disagreeing. I added a line to the list to include the category.

  “Including Stan Newton,” Mike said.

  Tom agreed, but I was in the dark. “Why would he kill Landry over his sister-in-law?”

  “Cas is her heir,” Mike said. “Aunt Gee told me that. If Linda took up with a man serious, he could become her heir. Not out of the question that she’d have a child of her own, too.”

  “Stan was not happy when she was seeing Landry,” Tom said. “Or Zane.”

  “Wait a minute,” I protested. “That would be a motive when Landry was seeing her, but what motive would Newton have after Landry dumped her? Especially after a few years.” Could that be why he’d checked on Zane’s arrival here? Worried that Zane and Linda would rekindle something? And what if his tirade Friday night about a cowboy taking things away from him had not been aimed only at Evan Watt’s forty-dollar mistake?