“You try not to show it to anyone else, in the hope—prayer—that they’re not feeling the same way, yet you know they are. You still don’t share it, though, because you can’t risk robbing them of even a breath of the good moments by mentioning the bad ones you’re facing. Or maybe that’s all bullshit. Maybe it was all just pride. And fear.
“It’s a siege. The outside world recedes, becomes stranger and stranger. It’s hard to tell if they withdraw or if you shut them out. I remember going to the drug store, and there were familiar faces. People Inez had known, had helped, had worked with. They were all saying what a lovely person she was, asking how she was doing. I said, ‘She’s dying.’ Just like that. They melted away. I’d broken the rules. I’d made them see. Nobody wants to see.
“Not even Inez. Maybe especially not Inez. She fought to the last second. She died trying for one more breath. No deathbed benediction, no peaceful parting words.
“And when it was over, there was nothing left in me at all. I’d used up every bit of love, of grief, of strength, of hope, of prayer—everything. If it hadn’t been for Cas . . .”
She looked at me, gave a slight smile.
“That’s right,” she said. “Not my father. Certainly not my brother-in-law. They needed greatly, too, but I only cared for Cas.”
I wanted to put my hand on her arm. I wanted to tell her she should not carry that burden. But I was talking to her as a reporter. And who was I to tell anyone such a thing?
“Whatever I had, I gave to Cas. It wasn’t much. I was hollowed out. Spent. Bankrupt. I buried my father not long after, and I felt nothing. Nothing. That was the woman Grayson Zane found.
“What it comes down to is this, I didn’t commit suicide because of Cas. I started living again because of Grayson. It was a short time, really, though it didn’t feel like that while we were together. There was—I thought there was—a restfulness between us.” She laughed sadly. “I suppose I made it simple for him by neither demanding nor asking anything.”
When she didn’t say more, I asked, “Made what simple for him?”
She looked at me. Direct and open. “I believe you know, E.M. Danniher. But I will say it for you. Grayson Zane swept me off my feet, romanced me in his own way for a brief time, left me abruptly and without explanation. He did all of that at the behest of Keith Landry, and in return he received Landry’s assistance getting his career back on track. And when Grayson was gone, Landry, in turn, swept in to scoop up the remains.”
I stared at her. “How long have you known it was a setup?”
“Almost from the beginning. No, perhaps that’s not entirely accurate. I refused to know almost from the beginning. I let myself know only a few months after it was over.”
“You know about the others?”
“Others?”
“It’s far too late for crappy lying, Linda.”
Her mouth shifted. Not quite a smile, but an easing. “I strongly suspected. Landry had said something. A reference to my being a departure from his usual, and something about rodeo queens. It was only when I began using my mind again that I put it together. At first I thought perhaps I was the only one, because of what my family represented. He had a lot to say about that at the end,” she said dryly. “About my family, and about how I thought I was too good for him. But he’d said other things, too. Things about how these other women thought they were so hot, but he had complete power over them. Power. The way he said that . . .
“I warned Sonja Osterspeigel when I saw a cowboy rushing her and caught a . . . an expression on Landry’s face. Sonja did not listen. I was relieved to see the experience showed no sign of diminishing her, ah, exuberance.”
“And this year?”
“I asked Vicky Upton to lunch the day Landry arrived. Among other talk about the rodeo, I dropped in what I hoped would be a subtle hint. She . . .” Her eyelids dropped slowly. When they raised, she met my look. “. . . she left the table and vomited before she reached the ladies’ room.”
Had Linda suspected before that lunch that Vicky had been an early point in Landry’s pattern? That Landry was Heather’s father? She certainly suspected now.
She stood, and something shuffled to the front of my brain to get asked in case her mood of cooperation disappeared.
“The first time we talked, you said you were surprised Landry could supply the livestock for the rodeo. Why?”
Her eyebrows rose. “I thought I said. The Fourth of July holiday is the busiest time for rodeo contracts—except for those who send stock to the NRF.”
By this time the initials were almost as familiar as NATO, UN or POTUS. “And that would affect Landry . . .?”
“I would have expected that he had all his stock committed long ago, with contracts to other venues.” The eyebrows dropped into a frown. “He must have held some out, but that didn’t seem like him. He told me the Fourth came first for a rodeo contractor, and every animal better earn its keep then.”
The wheels in my brain turned, though I was too tired to know exactly where they were heading.
“There’s one more thing I want to say,” Linda said. “I have not a single doubt that Grayson did not kill Landry or try to kill Watt. It’s just not possible.”
LINDA’S HIERARCHY of suspects was clear. Stan got an I-don’t-believe-he-committed-murder. Grayson graduated to absolutely no doubt. Cas wasn’t even a possibility, so wasn’t mentioned.
I watched her go inside, walking through the cafeteria toward the hallway that led to the waiting room.
Gradually, I became aware of another presence on the patio. Still facing the cafeteria, I shifted focus to the side. In the deepest shadow. A tall figure in a cowboy hat. Grayson Zane.
It reminded me of that first day at the rodeo grounds. Zane staying close enough to see what was going on, but keeping a distance. I’d had to run him down and corner him.
Now, he was so busy watching Linda’s departure that I wouldn’t have to corner him. But what if I tried to run? Could I reach the door before him? No. Could I jump from my wall and get around the building to the ER entrance before he caught me? Probably not. Would he try to stop me from doing either move? I doubted it.
If he killed Landry and tried to kill Watt to prevent his sordid story from coming out, Linda was in far greater danger than me.
“Did you hear what you wanted to hear?” I asked, loud enough not to be ignored.
He turned toward me in no hurry. “Couldn’t hear the words from this end.” It was no apology, more a comment of dissatisfaction.
“Do you think Watt tried to commit suicide because he killed Landry?”
“No.” That was either honest, or very smart.
“Did you try to kill him because he saw you string up Landry?”
“No.” What else would he say?
He moved nearer, so light from inside caught him, the top of his face shadowed by the ubiquitous black cowboy hat, while the jaw showed stubble in the stark artificial light.
“You can quit following her around, wondering when she’ll tell what happened. Your secret’s out. A lot more people than me know it,” I added quickly.
“Ma’am?”
“That’s what Linda was telling me—although I already knew you’d been one of Landry’s front men. The big break Landry gave you the year you were down on your luck, that wasn’t a favor. Whatever he gave you was paid for in full, though Linda Caswell was the one who paid.”
He didn’t react to that, either. I prodded more.
“I suppose that’s how you and Watt got to know each other, being studs in Landry’s stable.” No reaction. I kept spinning speculation, hoping I’d hit something that got a response. “Landry called you, demanded you come back to Sherman and serve again as his front-man. Threatened to spread the story far and wide about what happened five year
s ago.
“It would be a hell of a story. Tarnish that image of yours, scare off sponsors. And he’d have done it. He was taking more risks, drinking heavily. You knew he’d do it. So, you went to meet him after you arrived here. Maybe to reason with him, maybe to accept his demands, maybe with other intentions. You found him struggling to get free of a rope. He got it from his waist, to his chest, to his neck.
“It was there—right there. So simple, and it would be over. The hold he had on you. What he was doing to those women, to the rodeos. It would all be over. A pull—not hard for a man of your strength. That’s what you did, isn’t it, Grayson? Tell me. Tell me what you did.”
Slowly he lifted his head, the hat’s shadow receding before the light. He looked like he’d aged a decade. “I told him to do his worst.”
“Landry wouldn’t give up that easily. He—”
“He didn’t. He called Watt and demanded he get his ass over to the arena because there was work to do. Watt was too drunk to hang up his phone, much less go anywhere. I’d gotten Watt into his camper when Landry called me again. He was so sure I’d bow to his threats. I told him to go to hell, left Watt’s camper, and went to bed. That’s all I did. With this happening to Watt, I wondered . . . But no way he could’ve gotten to the arena that night.”
“You wondered if Watt killed Landry?”
A single shake of his head. “Saw something.” He turned on his heel, heading for the door.
“Grayson, I need to know—”
“I got nothing more to tell you, E.M. Danniher,” he said without turning back or pausing. He stepped inside and was gone.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
He’d confirmed his role—Landry pressuring him to repeat by threatening to reveal his past, the phone call—but without giving me a pry bar to use for further information.
I sat there, seeing the convention of black cowboy hats, the unidentifiable individuals under those hats coming together and moving apart in an intricate and unrecognizable pattern that became a square dance that involved Gary Cooper, John Wayne, Joel McCrea, and Jack Palance. Their hats turned white, striped, then back to black as they danced.
I WAS STILL sitting on the wall when Tom came out and handed me a cup of coffee. “You okay?”
“Sure. Where’s Mike?”
“Volunteered to run a couple of the rodeo committee to their cars at the rodeo grounds.” He tipped his head, and I could tell from the angle and gleam of his eyes that he was watching me. “I didn’t mean to intrude on anything between you and Mike.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, the extension cord was to see how a rope—”
“I didn’t mean that. Meant overall.”
I said nothing. Because there was nothing in my head. Not an answer, not a thought. Except a vague idea that if I were lucky, he would let it drop.
I wasn’t lucky.
“Is there something between you and Mike Paycik?”
Now well-worn words and phrases about colleagues and interests in common and working together tumbled through my mind. None of them came out of my mouth. “I don’t know. Maybe there could—I don’t know.”
He sat back a little, still watching. I knew the instant he decided to let it rest, even though it took another minute before he spoke.
“Okay. So, what are you doing out here?”
“Thinking.” I might have dozed, too. “About the murder. What’s been happening at the rodeo,” I added.
“Any conclusions?”
“Not one. All I see are black hats. Doesn’t anybody around here know only bad guys wear black hats? Are the bad guys the ones emulated even in cowboy culture? I thought you guys were all about the cowboy way, and being gentlemen and having honor.”
“We are.”
I threw up the hand not holding a coffee cup in exasperation at that succinct and unhelpful answer. “Then why don’t they wear white hats if they want to be thought of as good guys?”
He regarded me for a long moment. Such a long moment that I had tensed for his accusation that I’d displaced frustration onto cowboy hats. I’d started composing a devastating response to such an observation, when he said, “Seems to me you’re overthinking this, E.M. Danniher.”
“Oh, yeah?” That was not my devastating response. I had to ad lib. He’d thrown me a curveball, especially since I had a feeling he was applying his observation about my overthinking to more than the topic at hand.
“Want a straightforward answer? Ask the straightforward question.”
I toyed with allowing my bubbling anger to flare and slamming him for condescension. Instead, I asked the straightforward question.
“Why doesn’t anyone wear a white cowboy hat anymore?”
“Dirt.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
I LAUGHED. I laughed until tears started to flow. He gave me a napkin, went inside for more napkins to mop up the flow and a bottle of water to replace what I’d lost.
“Better?” he asked.
“Better.”
Definitely better. I’d said I hadn’t reached a single conclusion, and that was true, but pieces had begun to settle into loose groups. I thought I saw the murky shadow of a solution . . . but was it right? I was tired. Very tired. And sore. And rattled. Still . . .
I blinked.
“Back?”
I blinked again, and Tom came into focus beside me. “Sorry?”
“You’d gone off some place. Pretty sure you’d come back. Didn’t want to disturb you if not.”
“Thank you.” And I was grateful for the time to put together my thoughts. Though it made me feel exposed that he’d sat there beside me, letting me forget his presence. I needed time to work this through. Time when I wasn’t tired and sore and rattled. And when I was alone. “I think.”
He smiled. A smile with a hint of self-satisfaction in it. “No problem.”
“ELIZABETH?”
I woke with a start. Mike sat sideways on the waiting room couch, facing me where I’d drawn up my knees and rested my head atop the back cushion. I rubbed a crick in my neck. “What’s happening?”
“Richard says to go home.”
Behind the counter that kept ravening hordes of waiting room waiters in place, there was a stir of activity. Through vertical blinds on a window facing east, the sky was startlingly brighter.
“Watt?” I asked.
“Not conscious. There won’t be an update until later today unless . . .” Unless it was bad news. I rubbed harder at my neck. “They seem to think he’s got a chance. Tom left a while ago, caught a ride with a friend to pick up his truck at your place. He’s driving Tamantha to his sister’s. He said to let you sleep, but . . .” He looked away from me, across the nearly empty waiting room.
“But?”
“You said something in your sleep. Like a bad dream. I didn’t want . . . I woke you up.”
I didn’t remember a dream. But I certainly preferred being awakened over sleep-talking in a public place, even if Paycik was the only one to hear whatever my subconscious spewed.
“Thank you. Let’s go.”
Out in the hospital parking lot, the eastern sky was well past the first blush of dawn and into its rosy stage.
“Want to get breakfast or—”
Mike broke off his question to check his ringing phone, which he’d just turned back on. We’d all been asked to turn off our phones in the waiting room. “Diana,” he informed me before answering.
His end of the conversation consisted of “I can barely hear you,” followed by “She’s here with me. We were at the hospital all night because of Evan Watt,” a few grunts, a “Right now?” another grunt, then “Diana? Diana?”
He disconnected. “Diana says we should get to the station right now. She was whispering and talking really
fast. Said she’s being sent out to the rodeo grounds to get B-roll. Then the line went dead. Go to the station?”
I straightened from an exhausted slouch. “Yes.”
I WAS SHAKEN. Definitely shaken.
Evan Watt was not one of nature’s noblemen. He was scruffy, at best. Lacked a few essential morals, as well as a crucial amount of calcium where his backbone should have been, and he chewed tobacco. But did I think he deserved to suffocate in his own ratty truck?
No, damn it, he didn’t.
The shaking of my calm shifted to a higher gear when we pulled into the KWMT-TV parking lot, where a gleaming dark blue four-wheel drive that somehow seemed to repel Wyoming dust sat in the prime parking spot.
“Oh, shit,” Mike said, expressing my sentiments precisely.
The big shots were back in town, at least our very own big shot was.
“I ORDERED THEM to leave my story alone, and they’ve been secretly reporting it. The whole time—the whole time!” Thurston squeaked in a range that should have been audible only to bats.
“Not the whole time,” I said. “There were those seven-plus minutes on Monday.”
Fine blanched.
Mike used the opening to say to Haeburn. “Are you aware that since Friday, Fine has logged almost every minute of airtime?”
Haeburn’s eyes goggled, and his mouth opened, but he caught himself before uttering anything useful. “I will review the aircheck from while I was gone, as usual.”
“I was in charge!” Fine bleated. “I was in charge, and even when I’m not, my contract says I get the top news story. I cover it, and I do the on-air. All of it. And they were doing it again, stealing my story.”
“You weren’t covering the story.”
“I was! I was covering the accidental death of Keith Landry, and you were ordered—”
“Deputy Alvaro has been investigating a murder—”
“Deputy Alvaro was ill-advised to take such extreme steps,” Haeburn interrupted. His pinkened scalp showed through thin hair, indicating he’d spent time in the sun lately. Golf? Swimming? Other recreation at this high-powered retreat? “When the county leaders were apprised on our return of this situation, we all agreed on this.”
Left Hanging Page 29
