The Thirteenth Skull

by Bonnie Ramthun

  “Why –”

  “What do you have with protesters, Jorie?” Eileen said with a strained grin. “You have cops. Park rangers, anyway, and they carry side arms. If we can get to the Devils Tower, we’ll be able to tell them what’s going on and they can radio the State Patrol.”

  “Can’t we call the State Patrol right now?” Jorie asked in bewilderment.

  “I think we should,” Eileen said. “And after you’re clear from danger and in the woods I’m going to call in on the phone and then come after you. We have to move. Where’s Beryl?”

  “I’m here,” Beryl Penrose said, walking out of the trees. She carried a knapsack, bulging heavily. Tools of various sorts were strapped across the back. A water bottle rode her hip and she wore a cloth folded over her dark hair. Her face was strained and white. “I’ve been here since you helped Doug to the porch. I’m glad you’re okay, Jorie.”

  “I’m fine,” Jorie said. She didn’t look fine; she looked pale and upset. “We’re going into the woods, Beryl.”

  “I don’t think so,” Beryl said quietly. Her words caused a widening arc of stillness in the small crowd at the front porch. Joe blinked at her, astonished, because Beryl was holding a very large and serviceable revolver. She held it very steady. She was aiming it at them.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Reed Ranch, Wyoming

  “Beryl,” Jorie squeaked. “What – what are you doing?”

  “Just trying to get a head start,” Beryl said grimly. “Right, Eileen?”

  Joe realized Eileen was no longer at his side, and hadn’t been since Beryl had come across the yard. Beryl frowned and looked nervously from left to right.

  “Please don’t do this, Beryl,” Eileen said, appearing from behind a pillar halfway down the porch. Her gun was held, level and very steady, aimed at Beryl. Beryl stepped backwards and moved her gun so that it was aimed at Eileen. Joe’s heart nearly stopped in his chest. Eileen had drawn Beryl’s line of fire from the porch to herself. There was no one behind her, so Beryl’s gun would hurt no one but Eileen.

  “So how did you figure it out?” Beryl said conversationally.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Eileen said with equal calm. “You’re not really a killer, Beryl. You know that. If you keep us here much longer, we’re all going to die. You don’t want that, do you?”

  “I didn’t want Jon to die,” Beryl said fiercely, blinking rapidly. The gun barrel shook in her hands. “And I want to know how you figured it out.”

  “I was stirring around the puzzle pieces,” Eileen said. “And your piece flipped over. We all knew Jorie was a lesbian. She told Nolan. What I never thought was that you might be one, too. That you were lovers.”

  Joe’s mouth dropped open. Jorie stood, mouth quivering, a foot from him. Her lovely blue eyes filled with tears. “Beryl,” she whispered.

  “Well you’ve got one lesbian right,” Beryl grinned as though it hurt her. “Me. Jorie’s no lesbian. She’s a hurt little girl, that’s all, visiting the island to soothe her wounds. She won’t be the first, won’t be the last. It’s not her fault that she was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “Island?” Mark Plutt mouthed, his painted face looking comically confused.

  “The island of Lesbos,” Lucy said quietly. “Thought by the Greeks to be where lesbians originated. The island of women only, peaceful and serene.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jorie said huskily.

  “Oh, Jorie,” Beryl said, her gun still aimed at Eileen. Eileen stood with her gun aimed at Beryl, as steady as stone. Her lovely face was calm and unruffled. Joe felt sweat spring out over every inch of his skin, stinking fear sweat. Why did this have to happen now?

  “I am too—” Jorie began, but her face was confused.

  “Jorie, you had a crush on Jon McBride that you didn’t even realize you had,” Beryl said in exasperation. “And what a man to leave the island for! I knew you’d leave me, someday.” Here Beryl’s voice thickened with unshed tears. She cleared her throat. “That’s all right with me. Just to love you for a little while, that was enough for me. But I knew what McBride would do to you. He’s waded through so many young women. He’d have broken your heart, my little Marjorie. I couldn’t—”

  “He taunted you, that day,” Eileen said. “He taunted you with what he was going to do to your lover. And you knew he was going to do it, too.”

  “We argued,” Beryl said dully. “I didn’t know what he’d stolen, but when I came back early from the funding meeting I found him working on the skeleton. It was plainly obvious that something was missing. I could see the gaping hole in the midsection of the skeleton. I didn’t know it was the crystal skull. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew he’d taken something. He wouldn’t tell me where it was, or what he’d taken. He wanted it for himself, he said. Can you imagine, an archeologist of his stature robbing a site like that?”

  “He climbed out of the site and I followed him. We were standing by the tables, and we were arguing. We started throwing everything in, tossing insults back and forth, insults about everything. His lack of publishing in the field. My department’s lack of funding last year. My eyebrow earring and his awful ponytail and then we fought over Jorie.”

  “Oh, no,” Jorie whispered.

  “And there was the stone knife, sitting on the table. He’d taken that from the site, too. I picked it up and we were shouting at each other, I was shaking the knife in his face, telling him his career was finished, he’d have to figure out some other career that would supply him with young female students for him to seduce. And he said – he said something so awful about you, Jorie, so horrid, about what he was going to do to you, with his – with his – and I slashed at him, I slashed at him, I was out of my head with thinking how you were going to be so hurt, Jorie. I swear I didn’t mean to kill him. But the knife, it was so sharp. It cut into him like he was made of butter. It stuck in him. He staggered backwards and put both hands on it and pulled it out of his chest. I turned and ran. I thought he was running after me. He had the knife. I thought he was going to kill me. When I finally got my breath back and my courage and I went back to the site, he was gone.”

  The light was changing. The long evening hours were drawing in. Beryl held them trapped against the porch, her face pale as paper, her hands shaking on the gun. Eileen seemed unconcerned with Rene and the other killer. She was relaxed and focused, intent upon Beryl.

  “Listen, Beryl,” she said. “Let’s talk about manslaughter.”

  “I don’t want to go to jail,” Beryl said.

  “Well, I think we’re going to talk about jail time,” Eileen said reasonably. “But not life. Not life in prison, not a death sentence. Jail, a place where you can write a book about your Aztec warrior and his journey. A women’s penitentiary, Beryl. Women guards. You can survive that.”

  “I can’t,” Beryl whispered.

  “I’m not going to let you commit suicide with me as the suicide weapon, Beryl,” Eileen said. She raised her gun sideways in the air, very carefully, and then put it inside her shirt. She put both hands out, palm up. “If you really want to be a murderer, go ahead. Start with me.”

  “I’m not going to kill you,” Beryl burst out, her face crumpling into tears. “I’m not going to kill anybody.”

  “I don’t think you meant to kill Jon McBride,” Eileen said. “And a jury will see that too. Don’t run. Stay.”

  Beryl stood, gun still trained on Eileen, her face wavering like water, tears running down her face. Then her chin firmed up.

  “Joe, give me your car keys,” she said. Eileen’s shoulders slumped, but she didn’t reach for her gun. Joe looked at Eileen and she nodded. He drew out ’Berto’s keys and said a brief, silent prayer. Not for Beryl, because he knew she was being incredibly stupid. Rene and his friend had seen the Mustang. Beryl was driving to her death, if she drove out of the ranch in the Mustang. He said a prayer for ’Berto’s car, that she wouldn’t dri
ve it off the road or bang it up. Or get it riddled with bullet holes and soaked with blood. ’Berto had trusted him with his car and it had saved his life twice, already. He would hate to see it damaged.

  “Here,” he said, stepping forward carefully. He leaned forward and dropped the keys into Beryl’s outstretched hand, not attempting anything stupid like tackling her. Eileen’s nod had told him that much. Don’t risk it, her eyes had said. “Check the oil when you fill up,” he said. “You need to make sure to do that.”

  “Let her go,” Eileen said, fixing Howie with a stern glance. Beryl hurried to the Mustang without another word. She threw her rucksack into the backseat and turned to Jorie. Jorie looked at her, her expression shocked and hurt. Beryl nodded, as though she and Jorie had discussed something and come to a conclusion. She turned away and got into the car and a minute later the Mustang had roared up the track and was gone.

  “They’ll kill her and be down here in fifteen minutes,” Howie said.

  “Then we’ve got to be in the woods in ten,” Paul said. “Let’s go, people! Nolan, Mark, take the group over the southern ridge. Howie, call Jimmy down here. We’ll get the horses and meet you over the ridge. Eileen, make your phone call to the State troopers. I’ll leave Fireball tied to the post for you.”

  “Let’s go, Jorie,” Tracy said. Jorie stood stock still, staring where the Mustang had left a rooster trail of dust. Her face was deathly pale. She let Tracy take her arm as though she were sleepwalking. “Ted, Lucy, Hank, come with us. Joe too. Doug, help Paul with the horses.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Doug said, getting to his feet. The water and the rest had obviously restored him, but he looked stunned. Joe was sure they all looked stunned.

  “Why didn’t you shoot her when you had the chance?” Howie asked Eileen, as she passed them on the way into the house.

  “Because I’m not a murderer,” Eileen said shortly, pausing. “Could you see her revolver?”

  “Yes,” Howie said doubtfully.

  “It wasn’t loaded.”

  “Then why did you let her go?” Jorie burst out. “Why didn’t you stop her?”

  “Because she has to choose her own path,” Eileen said. “She’s no danger to anyone, Jorie. She’ll realize the best option for her. And right now our lives are in danger. We’ve got to get moving. We can’t drag a handcuffed woman with us. We can’t wait. Besides, attacking a police officer is a felony. I wanted to avoid that, for her sake.”

  “But they’ll kill her!” Jorie cried. She froze, and looked around at the grim faces that surrounded her. Joe felt that belly cramp of fear again. Jorie believed, finally. And her pretty face was suddenly shocked and fearful.

  “It’s a damn fast car,” Joe said. “If she can drive fast, they won’t catch her.”

  Tracy pulled gently on Jorie’s arm. “Let’s go, people.”

  Jorie and Tracy followed Paul and the hunters, all of them hurrying. Joe turned to Eileen and she looked back into his face unflinchingly. He saw the truth of what she’d done in her face, and she didn’t look away.

  “You let her go, as a decoy,” he said.

  “If she’s killed, I’m going to have to live with that,” Eileen said, her mouth a thin and unhappy line. “I didn’t know what else to do, other than shoot her, to save our lives. Can you live with that?”

  Joe took her roughly into his arms, not caring if anyone was looking. He kissed her, hard, and let her go. “See you over the ridge.”

  “Ten minutes,” Eileen’s voice came out the darkness of the front hallway as she disappeared into the depths of the house. Joe suppressed the overwhelming desire to go after her, to stand with her and protect her, and headed for the horses.

  Black Hills National Forest, Northeast Wyoming

  “Okay, here’s Eileen,” Paul said, his voice rough with relief. Lucy watched in uncomplicated pleasure as Eileen galloped over the ridge on a brown and white horse that Lucy had heard Paul call Fireball. Fireball had white patches around her eyes and splashes of white along her sides that made her look like the victim of a paintball attack. Lucy admired the sight. If Eileen Reed had been wearing a cowboy hat and chaps she would have looked just like a Hollywood cowgirl, so smoothly did she ride the galloping horse. Fireball came to a neat, bunched stop and Eileen swung out of the saddle and bounced to the ground.

  There were four other horses, saddled but carrying packs instead of riders. Brumby, the tallest horse, had hooves that looked as big as dinner plates to Lucy. Paul held the reins of Brumby and fended off an occasional attack from the enormous horse’s snapping teeth. Zilla sat patiently at Lucy’s side. Hank sat quietly on her hip, still silent, his weight a warm bundle. She knew Hank had picked up on the sickening tension that had swirled like a flood. She hoped that the blood on Doug’s face and shirt hadn’t frightened him too much, but she had no time to engage in toddler talk with him. He would have to wait, and with what must have been the instinctive understanding of a human child in danger, he seemed to know this, and was silent.

  Doug had borrowed a shirt from Howie. Horses didn’t like the scent of blood, and Tracy had whispered to Lucy that bears did. Setting out with a bloody shirt into the National Forest was a good way to get unwanted attention from four-footed predators. Doug strained the limits of Howie’s faded Bud Lite T-shirt, a tight fit that Lucy appreciated even as frightened as she was. She wished she could nudge Eileen and point out Doug’s biceps to her; Eileen was the kind of girlfriend who knew how a woman could be head-over-heels in love with her husband but still admire, um, art.

  Eileen, however, was reporting her findings to Paul, her face focused and intent. Behind her the top part of the green, leafy ridge seemed to break away and slide down the slope. Then Lucy saw the piece of ridge was Jimmy Arnold, who had finally left his post and joined the group. He moved to speak to Howie in the near-whisper that seemed to be his natural way of speaking. Lucy couldn’t see his expression through the paint but she saw him put a hand on Howie’s shoulder. The gesture conveyed a depth of affection that Lucy realized must exist between the brothers-by-marriage. She was fiercely glad, suddenly, that Howie and his friends were innocent of Dr. McBride’s murder.

  “Okay, folks, we have five horses and thirteen people,” Paul announced. “We’ll lead the horses and anyone who gets tired can ride. Ted, I want you to ride with Hank.”

  “I can walk,” Ted said. He was standing next to Lucy, his hand on her waist. A sense of the safe, sure strength that was Ted seemed to flow into her like an electric current. They all stood in the hollow of a ridge, a grassy meadow surrounded by pine and oak trees. Lucy realized suddenly that this meadow was where she and Eileen had stood and looked into Hank’s diaper, to see an ancient stone knife covered in dried blood. They were out of sight of the ranch buildings but they were very close.

  “Hank can’t ride,” Paul said. “And Lucy has been here at five thousand feet of altitude for longer than you have. We’re in a survival situation, folks. We all do whatever keeps us alive.”

  “All right,” Ted said immediately. “I’d love to ride.”

  “Good man,” Paul said, smiling briefly. “Now we need to head south west, towards—”

  “Wait,” Jorie said. She was standing with Tracy, her face still pale and upset. “What about the State Police? What did they say?”

  “They’re sending up the police officer from Sundance,” Eileen said. She rubbed her hands across her eyes and through her tangled hair. Her face was powdered with dust and her hands left streaks behind. For a moment she looked utterly weary and frustrated. “I explained that we thought that Sheriff King was dead, that these men were coming after us, but of course they have to have a police officer on the spot. They didn’t say they thought I was crazy, no, but they insist that they have to have a report from the sheriff. Who is dead, I reminded them. God help him if the officer from Sundance runs into Rene and his buddy. Anyway, I told them where the sheriff had been shot. We’re hours away from any kind of help. No
helicopter with a SWAT team, sorry.”

  “We didn’t expect it,” Tracy said. “That’s why we’re going to the Devils Tower.”

  “Right,” Paul said. “I’d like to put at least a mile between us and the ranch in the next hour or so. Anyone at the ranch could probably hear our voices right now if they listened, and I don’t like that. I’ll lead with Brumby. Howie, you and Jimmy follow and lead Pirate. Nolan, Mark, you’re next with Sunny. I’d like Eileen to lead Starlight, she’s the gentlest, with Hank and Ted on board. Eileen, explain about bear and lion as we go, please.”

  Lucy felt Ted’s hand tighten on her waist, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Joe, Lucy, walk with Eileen. Tracy, Jorie, lead Fireball. Doug, I’ll have you bring up the rear. Keep an eye out for anything dropped, or snagged or torn. We don’t want to leave a trail that’s too obvious.”

  “What about the horses?” Lucy said as Eileen handed Fireball over to her mother and took the reins of a mild looking gray horse. The horse, saddled, carried only small saddlebags. The other horses were weighted down with pack rolls that covered their backs and hindquarters and hung down their sides. All the horses seemed resigned to this, except Brumby. When Paul didn’t mount him but took his reins instead, Brumby gave a few vicious kicks and then tried to bite Paul on the shoulder. Paul knocked the horse’s head out of the way and then patted Brumby on the nose. Brumby shoved his head against Paul’s shoulder, nearly knocking him over, and then followed as meekly as Starlight.

  “Dad’ll take us up and over the brush on the next ridge,” Eileen explained, holding a foot and helping an eager looking Ted onto Starlight. “There’s soft pine needles and some hard stone outcroppings along the top. By the time we get off that ridge and down into the next valley, our tracks will be gone.”