“Molly O’Neil,” he said in a low voice. “Molly Sutter, now.”
“And Eileen Reed. She’s a great woman and she’s about my best friend in all the world, sheriff, but she isn’t the only woman in the whole world. She’s a Wyoming ten, but she’s a Washington seven.”
There was a small silence and Zilla gave an impatient woof at the bottom of the small hillock. Lucy put a hand on her hip and glared at Sheriff King.
“Ok,” she said, with an exaggerated sigh. “She’s a ten in Washington, too. Damn it.”
Richard King threw his head back and laughed, his hands on his belt and his eyes closed. Lucy laughed with him, her voice a silvery tinkle through his lower range, and she wasn’t faking her laughter. She could almost see the tension draining out of him.
“Who are you?” he asked, when their laughter finally tapered off and ended.
“Just a friend from back East, sheriff,” Lucy said with a shrug and a smile. “Just Eileen’s friend. Maybe yours too, if you’ll have me.”
She held out her hand, little and strong, and he shook it with a crooked little smile that looked almost shy.
“Let’s go find that deadfall, Lucy,” King said.
The Reed Ranch, Wyoming
“I was thinking my brain was actually going to explode,” Joe said dreamily. He was on Eileen’s bed, wrapped in a comforter even though the day was warm. Eileen didn’t try to get him through a shower before she put him to bed. She made a mental note to change the sheets before she went to bed that night. Joe was filthy. His hair, unwashed, was matted with blood and sweat and dirt. Dirt was grimed into his knuckles and creased his neck. The bandage was still white but was starting to fray at the edges. Joe had swallowed two of Roberto Espinoza’s pills and collapsed on the bed, obediently drinking a full glass of water.
“Drink some more water, Joe. You don’t want to get dehydrated,” Eileen murmured, echoing her mother.
“Sure,” he said, raising his head with an effort and drinking another half glass of water. Letting his head fall back onto the pillows, he sighed. “Damn highway was going to kill me. I couldn’t take anything more than aspirin or I’d fall asleep. Haven’t slept in – what, two days?”
“What happened, Joe?” Eileen said. She smoothed his dirty hair back from his brow, feeling a fierce protective love and a consuming fear that made her feel like she might throw up. Had he hurt someone, even by accident? Had he done something wrong?
“Got run off the road,” Joe said. His eyes started to lose focus and grow blurred and soft. “They killed Sully, remember? She talked to me, told me to get out of the wreck and hide. I saw them – they killed her, they want to kill me.”
Eileen abruptly reached to the bedside table and picked up Joe’s water glass. She drank the rest of Joe’s water. She shoved her worries about Lucy and Sheriff King, her thoughts about Dr. Jon McBride and his potential murderer out of her mind. They were gone. She brushed her mental table clean and focused.
“Professionals,” she said. “Contract killers.”
“Yes,” Joe gasped, and his hand nearly crushed hers. “You believe me.”
“Of course I do,” Eileen said calmly. “Get some sleep, love. I won’t do anything until you wake. I’ll keep you safe. We’ll take care of this. Go to sleep.”
Joe’s hand relaxed in hers and his eyes closed as though he were waiting her permission to let go, to finally sleep.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Sully told me—”
“Sully told you what?” Eileen whispered, but he was gone. Eileen sat for a few minutes longer, feeling confused. Harriet Sullivan was his old girlfriend, his fiancée, killed in a car wreck over five years ago. Wasn’t she?
Joe snored and rolled on his side. He pulled the comforter up to his chin and drew his legs up like a little boy, like Hank sleeping his happy toddler sleep in the bedroom down the hall.
Eileen held Joe’s hand, leaned over it, and rested her cheek against his grubby skin. His skin was warm and she could feel the slow steady pulse of his heartbeat underneath. She breathed through her confusion, her fear, until the tears that threatened her moved back inside her and were gone.
Eileen finally kissed his shoulder gently, then got to her feet and headed for the door. There would be time, later, to figure all this out. Right now she had to rescue Lucy from the clutches of the sheriff.
Colorado Springs, Colorado
“Two more minutes and we’re out of here,” Ken said. Rene didn’t answer. He was sorting through Eileen’s filing cabinet and was elbow deep in Bride’s and Modern Bride magazines. He stifled the urge to throw the things down to the floor and stomp on them. The magazines were the most offensive, heavy and scented so thickly they made him feel like sneezing. The girl, the detective, Eileen, had more than magazines to confound him. She had filing folders full of invitation samples, other ones for catering companies. Then there were dozens of brochures for reception halls, from the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park to the Broadmoor Hotel in Colorado Springs. She had folders for disc jockeys, florists, bridesmaid’s outfits and tuxedos for the groomsmen. She had catalogs that listed bridesmaid’s gifts and other catalogs that offered centerpieces for tables at the receptions. The amount of information was staggering.
Rene continued to sort through the satin and silks of a bride’s planning, his head pounding fiercely. In all this, there was no indication of a second home like a mountain cabin or a favorite place to stay. He shuddered at the thought of checking on all the hotels Eileen was looking into for a wedding reception. Eileen had pictures of her mother and father and pictures of Joe Tanner. She had pictures of a black-haired girl who was holding a little baby boy. She had pictures of a handsome older man who looked eerily like her, perhaps an uncle or a cousin. She had addresses in her address book but her only address for her parents’ house was a post office box in Hulett, Wyoming.
“Less than a minute to go before we have to leave. I think she went to Hulett, Wyoming.” Ken said. He was gloved and masked just like Rene, and the shower cap they both wore looked ridiculous on his wiry brown hair. It made him look like a cross between a circus clown and a psycho. Rene didn’t want to know what he looked like. His head pounded.
He sneezed into his handkerchief for the twentieth time. The detective bitch had a cat, to top things off. The cat was nowhere to be seen, evidently shipped off to friends. This was another sign that Eileen Reed was out of town for more than a day or so. The cat hair and dander remained. With the heavily scented bridal magazines the smell was enough to drive Rene out of his skull.
“I think so, too,” Rene said. “Time to clear out.” He stripped his gloves and shower cap off before they left the apartment. He took a last look around and the apartment, a simple three-room affair with big windows that faced south, was pristine. Unless she was looking for intruders, she would see nothing wrong. Rene had no intention of giving this young lioness his scent. Leave her surprise for when he killed her.
He saw a final scrap of paper on the kitchen counter and put his gloves back on with a sigh. The receipt for a matron-of-honor dress was the jackpot. Lucy Giometti was the black-haired girl with the baby, if the measurements on the receipt looked correct. Best of all the dress was to be delivered for final alterations directly to Lucy’s home address.
The address was listed. Great Falls, Virginia. But at least it was a start.
“So where is Hulett, Wyoming?” Ken asked, as they drove away from Eileen’s apartment. Rene’s head was already starting to clear and he sighed heavily in the Lexus’s air-conditioned breeze. The hour was almost noon, and he was hungry. Being discovered in Eileen’s apartment was least likely at eleven o’clock, when most people were at work. They had their false badges at the ready, but didn’t have to use them.
“False badges aren’t going to work in Wyoming, Ken,” Rene said heavily. “Do you know how many people live there?”
“Not many?”
“Less than the population of Denver, i
n a state as big as Colorado. I’ve driven through there. We’d stick out for miles, you and I. Maybe we can find out more about this Lucy Giometti. She might be the answer. Her and her adorable little brat.”
Ken nodded, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. Rene knew that Ken hated to burgle. Ken loved to kill, that was what satisfied his soul. He loved to kill and he loved listening to music. Rene thought that Ken might have a chance to listen to a lot of music while they drove through the empty spaces of Wyoming. Though Ken didn’t know it, Joe Tanner was a priority higher than they’d ever had. This one was going to be the last hit, the one that broke the camel’s back. After Joe Tanner, there was no one else who was ready to step up and play a thermonuclear attack and win. They were going to have to go into Wyoming and kill him there, like it or not.
Now all they had to do was find out where Eileen’s mother and father lived. That should be possible. It might be best to kill everyone at the Reed household. Set it up as a transient serial killer, the kind that Eileen Reed was so good at catching and putting behind bars.
Humming softly to himself, Rene steered the car towards home and a good meal. There were many plans to make.
Chapter Eight
The Reed Ranch, Wyoming
“You couldn’t do better than this?” Howie asked Eileen, gesturing at Joe.
“He cleans up real nice,” Eileen drawled. Joe, still muzzy-headed from his nap and the pills, was trying to get through his head that Howie Magnus was in front of him. He’d had Howie’s poster on his wall when he was just hitting his teens, and knew every song on Howie’s Black Magic collection by heart. He bet he could still sing every verse.
“Nice to meet you,” he said. Howie grinned at him, remarkable blue eyes sparkling in his weathered face. He looked smaller and older than his posters and his albums, all but the eyes. The eyes were exactly Howie.
“You just drove into a prize shitstorm, fella,” he said. “You show him the skull yet, Eileen?”
“Not yet,” Eileen said. “I thought I’d let him get settled in before we started all of that.”
“Is this about the missing guy?” Joe asked. Getting his bruised head around the sight of Howie Magnus was like swallowing one of ’Berto’s horse pills. ’Berto’s horse pills weren’t helping his brainpower, for that matter. Still, there was enough wattage for him to realize there was a lot going on, none of it good.
“Yes,” Eileen said crisply. She was dressed in light khaki pants and a white cotton T-shirt. She wore a light blue button-up shirt, open, over her T-shirt, which Joe appreciated. She looked delicious. If he saw her nipples through the thinness of that old T-shirt he’d go absolutely crazy. He hadn’t seen her for nearly a week, after all, and there was nothing bruised below his waist.
Then again, he knew why she was wearing two shirts on such a hot day. The second shirt hid her holster at her waist. Joe was confident she had her other friend, her revolver, fastened to her ankle. Eileen was carrying her weapons at her own parents’ home. This had to mean trouble.
“Where’s Lucy?” he asked.
“Getting Hank dressed after his nap,” Eileen said. “Dinner in about fifteen minutes, and you’re going to meet more people. Every one you meet was here when Dr. McBride was killed, except for Lucy and Hank and me.”
“Hank, right,” Joe said. The little baby, the boy who’d been inside Lucy when she and Joe and Eileen had saved the world from nuclear war. He surely wasn’t tracking that well, because it suddenly occurred to him that Eileen had just told him that the missing archeologist was now the dead archeologist.
“I think I’ll get this fella a cup of joe,” Howie said, rising to his feet with compact grace. “He looks a bit stoned from his meds. I’m going to get a cup for me, too, even if it is before dinner. I think I’ll be drinking coffee tonight instead of whiskey with my cigars. Story time should be interesting. Tonight looks like your night to tell all, Mr. Tanner.”
“You won’t be disappointed,” Joe said.
“Thanks, Howie.” Eileen said. “Joe takes cream only, just like me. Bring a cup for me, would you?”
“Of course,” Howie said, disappearing through the doorway to the kitchen. Joe sat looking at the empty doorway. Howie Magnus was getting him a cup of coffee. He imagined Sully doing lazy flips and turns, wings outstretched, her laser lance in one relaxed hand, watching him and laughing, and he felt so dizzy for a moment he had to shut his eyes.
“Joe, you need to rest,” Eileen said anxiously. She touched his hand and he took it, holding the warm length of it in his own.
“I’m all right,” he said. “No more pain pills, after this one. It’s aspirin or nothing, from now on. I hate the way they make me feel.”
“No fractures, no bleeding?”
“Nothing but a concussion, and that’s going away,” Joe said. “Now tell me, what happened? The guy that’s dead, he was murdered?”
“He was murdered,” Eileen said, still holding his hand. “We found him by the old chicken coop. He was attacked near the archeological dig, and whoever did it left him for dead. He wasn’t. He got up and made it almost the whole way here before he collapsed and died. Before he died he hid a few things, which Lucy and Hank and I found.”
“What things?”
“Here’s coffee,” Howie said, coming through the doorway with a wooden tray. “I added a cup for Lucy, she’s in the kitchen with Hank. She’ll be along in a minute.”
“What about Mark and Nolan?” Eileen asked.
“They’re setting up some targets for shooting practice tomorrow,” Howie said, setting the tray down on the coffee table and taking his own black coffee from the tray. He sat down and sipped, eyebrows raised over the rim of the cup. “Your dad is directing, they’re setting up. Jimmy is taking a shower. I excused myself because I’m old and tired.”
Eileen laughed and Joe surprised himself by laughing with her.
“Okay, I wanted to meet Eileen’s boyfriend. I took a quick shower and hustled down here. I was thinking she’d called up her muscle-bound buddy to help her out when she wrestles the bad guy into handcuffs, but you don’t look like a cop.”
“I’m not,” Joe said.
“Hey, Joe,” Lucy said, coming through the door with a small boy on her hip. Joe hadn’t seen Lucy face-to-face since she was pregnant, over two years ago now. He hadn’t really seen her that afternoon when he’d driven in; he was too busy trying to keep his brains from leaking out of his ears.
Lucy was just beautiful, he thought, and he’d thought that when she was bulging with pregnancy. She had a glorious mane of dark hair and a lovely face and eyes. Best of all, she was Lucy, personality blazing like a bonfire. She was thinner now but still rounded in a way the fashion magazines frowned upon but Joe did not. He found himself grinning like a happy pup.
The little boy in her arms, with curly dark hair and dark eyes, must be her son Hank. He looked unsmiling at Joe and Joe smiled at him. Hank hid his face in Lucy’s neck as she leaned over and gave Joe a big kiss. Joe was probably a nightmare to a small boy; bruised, one eye bloodshot, white bandage covering his stitches. At least he’d showered and shaved, so he looked a tiny bit more presentable.
“Hi, Lucy,” Joe said. “Hello, Hank. I’m sorry I look so awful. I’ll be all better soon.”
Hank kept his head in Lucy’s neck and she shrugged. She walked around the couch and took a seat on the other side of Joe with Hank clinging to her like a little barnacle. She took the coffee Howie had brought in and sipped it, then relaxed into the couch.
“He’ll get over it,” she said. “How far did Eileen get? Did she get to the skull?”
“What skull?”
“I’ll have Dad get it out tonight,” Eileen said. She handed a cup of coffee to Joe and he took a hot mouthful that cannoned down his throat and lit him up like a light bulb. The mere smell was enough to revive him, earthy and sweet and bitter at the same time. “It’s a crystal skull, Joe, along with a crown of rubies and emera
lds in about two pounds of gold. That’s not all.”
“Oh,” Joe said. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. He drank more coffee.
“It’s Aztec, or so the archeologists think,” Lucy continued, her barnacle son now peeking with one bright eye from her chest. He saw Joe’s glance and hid his face again, but Joe could see him smiling. “They have the skeleton that wore it down at the buffalo jump, along with a few more artifacts. A jaguar medallion that’s surrounded by skulls, worked in turquoise and maybe emeralds.”
“Emerald eyes,” Howie said, his own glittering like jewels.
“I didn’t know you’d been down there,” Eileen said smoothly.
“I haven’t,” Howie said. “I’m a shameless snoop. I heard you and your mom talking about it in the kitchen.”
“Howie wouldn’t be welcome at the dig,” Lucy said. “There’s the anthropologist, Beryl Penrose, and the other archeologist, Jorie Rothman. They don’t like the hunters and the hunters don’t like them—”
“On the contrary,” Howie protested. “I think Mark and Nolan would both like to become extremely friendly with Jorie.”
“So friendly she’d walk funny for days,” Lucy said dryly.
“Jorie is pretty?” Joe guessed.
“You have no idea,” Lucy looked past Joe at Eileen and they both smothered smiles in their coffee cups.
“So that’s the situation. Howie is the head of a group of hunters who are scouting out my parents’ ranch. Beryl and Jorie worked with Dr. McBride. Anyone could have killed him, and as Nolan puts it so well, anyone in a dark alley would be happy to kill Dr. McBride for what he was carrying.”
“Which you now have,” Joe said. Howie looked at Joe over the top of his coffee mug, his eyes suddenly interested. He looked at Eileen and nodded.
“Looks like you picked a smart one,” he said. “I’ll have to check back later on the looks when he heals up.”
The Thirteenth Skull Page 9
