Saved by the Sheriff

by Cindi Myers

  “I hope they’re giving her good pain meds,” Lacy said. “I feel as if, well, as if I was run over by a truck.” She gave a small, hysterical laugh.

  Her mother squeezed her arm. “You’re getting tired,” she said. “You need to rest.”

  “I’ll go now,” Travis said.

  “Please let us know what you find out,” Jeanette said. “We’re anxious to put this all behind us.”

  “I will.”

  He was walking down the hall and was surprised to see Wade Tomlinson walking toward him. “I heard about the accident,” Wade said. “I came to see if I could give blood or do anything else to help.” He extended his arm to show the bandage wrapped around the crook of his elbow. “They said they didn’t need it for Brenda or Lacy, but they could always use donations, and as long as I was here...” He shrugged.

  “That was good of you,” Travis said. “I was just in to see Lacy. She’s pretty banged up, but she’ll be okay. Her parents are with her now.”

  Wade nodded. “That’s good. I hear Brenda is in ICU. Do you know what happened? I mean, the weather was good today, and Brenda doesn’t strike me as the type to drive too fast on these mountain roads. Or maybe a deer ran out in front of her and she swerved or something.”

  Travis debated how much he should say about the accident. Then again, by the time the wrecker driver and the EMTs and the SAR volunteers got finished telling their stories, everyone in town would know what had happened. “Someone deliberately ran them off the road,” he said.

  Wade’s eyes narrowed. “You’re kidding me.”

  “I’m not. Do you know anybody who drives a black truck with a brush guard who might want to do something like that?”

  “Half of our customers probably drive black trucks, and a lot of them have brush guards,” he said. “Why would someone do something like that?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.”

  The two men stopped at the elevators. “I’m glad I ran into you,” Travis said. “I was going to stop by the store today or tomorrow to talk to you.”

  “What about?”

  “The day Andy was killed—you said you saw a woman going into his office, about the time he would have died.”

  Wade nodded. “I thought it was Lacy—but I didn’t really get a good look at her. I just saw her from the back. She had hair the color of Lacy’s and she was the same height and build.”

  “Is there anything at all about her that you remember—anything that stood out?”

  Wade shook his head. “That was more than three years ago,” he said. “I couldn’t tell you what I had for breakfast last week, so details about something that happened that long ago—they’re just not there.”

  “I know it’s a long shot, but if you think of anything, let me know.”

  “Sure thing. And I hope you find whoever did this to Brenda and Lacy.” The elevator doors opened and they stepped in. “I guess the car is pretty wrecked, huh?” Wade asked.

  “I imagine the insurance company will total it,” Travis said.

  “Brock said he saw Bud O’Brien’s wrecker hauling it through town. He said looking at it you wouldn’t guess anybody could walk away from the crash.”

  Lacy and Brenda hadn’t exactly walked away, but Travis knew what he meant. “They were lucky,” he said. “Whoever did this to them won’t be when I find him.”

  “Bud can add the car to the collection at his yard,” Wade said.

  “We’ll go over it for evidence first,” Travis said. “I’m hoping the forensics team can get some paint samples from the vehicle that hit them.”

  “Yeah. I guess they can do all kinds of things like that these days.” The door opened on the ground floor. “Good seeing you again, Sheriff.”

  Travis checked in with the office on his way to his SUV. “Gage put Eddie Carstairs on traffic patrol out on Fireline Road,” Adelaide reported. “We had so many rubberneckers driving out there to see the crash site that he was afraid there would be another accident. And Eddie needs the training hours, anyway.”

  “Good idea,” Travis said. “I’m leaving the hospital now. And before you ask, Lacy is banged up but awake and should be going home in the morning. Brenda is in ICU with a head injury and broken ribs, but she should recover fine.”

  “That poor woman.” Adelaide clucked her tongue. “As if she hasn’t been through enough already.”

  “I’m headed back out to the crash site,” Travis said. “I know Gage and the crime scene techs already took pictures and measurements, but I want another look on my own. Call if anything urgent comes up.”

  “Will do, Sheriff.”

  As he was leaving the parking lot, Travis recognized Wade’s truck in front of him. It was red, with the Eagle Mountain Outfitters logo on the tailgate. But Wade wasn’t alone. A man sat in the passenger seat. As Wade turned right, Travis got a look at the passenger’s profile and recognized Ian. Odd that Wade hadn’t mentioned that Ian was with him. Then again, maybe they had been headed somewhere else when Wade decided to swing by the hospital. Wade had said that Ian was uncomfortable around new people, so maybe it wasn’t surprising he had decided to wait in the truck.

  Travis was halfway back to Eagle Mountain when his phone showed a call from Gage. “We may have found the truck,” Gage said when Travis answered. “Though I don’t know what good it’s going to do us.”

  Chapter Six

  “What do you mean, you don’t know how much good the truck will do us?” Travis asked.

  “Somebody set it on fire,” Gage said. “A hiker saw the smoke and called it in. By the time the volunteer firefighters got there, it was toast. No license plates, and I’m betting when we examine the wreckage we’ll find the VIN had been tampered with or removed.”

  “Where is it?” Travis asked.

  Gage gave a location on the edge of a state wilderness area—but still in the sheriff department’s jurisdiction. “I’ll be there in about forty-five minutes,” Travis said.

  “I’m going off shift in fifteen minutes,” Gage said. “Dwight is coming on to relieve me, but I can stick around if you need me to.”

  “Don’t you have a class tonight?” Travis asked. His brother was studying for the sergeant’s exam.

  “I do, but I could miss it one time.”

  “No. Go to your class. Dwight can handle things.”

  Travis checked the clock on his dash—almost three, and he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He swung through a drive-through for a chicken burrito to go, then headed out to view this burned-out truck.

  A fire truck and crew stood watching the smoldering remains of the blaze when Travis pulled up, along with Sheriff’s Deputy Dwight Prentice. Dwight walked out to meet the sheriff. A rangy young officer who walked with the shambling, slightly bowlegged gait of a man who had spent most of his life on horseback, Dwight had surprised everyone when he had decided to seek a career in law enforcement after his return from active duty in Afghanistan, rather than take over the family ranch. “Good afternoon, Sheriff,” he said when Travis climbed out of his SUV.

  Travis nodded and looked toward the blackened remains of what had once been a pickup truck, the metal frame and parts of the seats and engine still visible amid the ashes. “That was about all that was left of it when I arrived,” Dwight said.

  The two men walked closer. Tendrils of smoke curled up from the wreckage and heat still radiated from it. “And why do we think this is the truck we’ve been looking for?” Travis asked.

  “The hikers who called in the fire said it was a late-model black Chevy,” Dwight said. “With a brush guard. You can still see the guard up front there.”

  The brush guard lay in the ashes near the front of the truck, blackened but intact. “Something like that would make it easy to ram another vehicle without tearing up your own ride,” Dwight said.

>   “But we still don’t know that this is the truck,” Travis said.

  “True,” Dwight said. “But it looks like the fire was deliberate.”

  “Oh, it was deliberate, all right.” Assistant Fire Chief Tom Reynolds joined them. “You can see they loaded up the bed with gas cans before they lit it.” He pointed to the twisted remains of the cans in front of the rear axle. “The hikers said they heard a big explosion, and a couple of other people called it in, too.”

  “Adelaide said one woman called the station and wanted to know if they were blasting up at the Lazy Susan Mine again,” Dwight said. “And it’s been shut down for thirty years.”

  “I reckon whoever did this stood way back and set the fire by firing a flare gun into the gas cans,” Tom said. “As soon as everything cools down enough to search, we’ll get our arson investigator in here. He might be able to find the remains of the flare.”

  Travis nodded and looked around them. The country up here was pretty desolate—rocky and covered with knots of Gambel oak scrub, prickly pear cactus and stunted juniper trees. In the fall, hunters swarmed the area hoping to bag a mule deer or elk, but this time of year the only people who came to the area were more adventurous hikers, looking for a challenging route over Dakota Ridge, which rose on the horizon to the north. “If somebody drove the truck up here to dump it, then set it on fire, how did they leave? Did the hikers report seeing another vehicle?”

  “Gage asked them that and they said no,” Dwight said. “But it’s possible they weren’t in a position to see the road, so whoever did this could have had a second vehicle waiting to drive away. Or they could have walked out cross-county.” He gestured past the burned-out vehicle. “There are a couple of trails you can access from here that will take you back to the highway. It would only be a hike of three or four miles.”

  “We’ll ask around, but I’m not holding out a lot of hope.” He turned to Tom. “When is the arson investigator coming out?”

  “Tomorrow morning. It would be a good idea if you posted someone here to guard the scene until we can give it a good look.”

  “I’ll stay here until my shift ends at midnight,” Dwight said. “Then Eddie will relieve me.”

  “I thought Eddie was on traffic duty on Fireline Road,” Travis said.

  “Gage sent him home, since the lookie-loos had apparently had enough. He told him to come back out here at midnight to relieve me.”

  “All right.” Travis studied the still-smoldering wreckage. “What do you think a late-model Chevy is worth these days?”

  “Depends on how old, but thirty or forty thousand at least.”

  “That’s a lot of money to burn up,” Travis said. “If this is the truck we were looking for, somebody was willing to get rid of it rather than risk getting caught.”

  “Some people will do anything to avoid going to jail,” Dwight said.

  “A good lawyer would try to plead down to reckless driving. Someone without a record might get off with probation and community service, maybe lose their license for a while.”

  “Or somebody who already had a criminal record might be looking at serious time,” Dwight said.

  “Or whoever did this is involved in something else they don’t want us to find out about.” Travis shook his head.

  “Do you think this is connected to Andy Stenson’s murder?” Dwight asked.

  “Do you?” Travis asked.

  Dwight nudged his Stetson farther back on his head. “Brenda is Andy’s widow. Lacy was the woman everyone thought killed him. Targeting them seems like more than a coincidence. Maybe the real killer thinks they know something—or could learn something—that would point back to him or her.”

  “Maybe,” Travis said. “Which makes me think the sooner I can see what’s in Andy’s files, the better.”

  * * *

  “EVERY INCH OF me hurts, but I don’t even care, I’m just so glad to be alive.” Lacy sat on the wicker settee on her parents’ front porch, a bowl of popcorn on one side of her, a glass of lemonade on the other, talking to her attorney, Anisha Cook, on the phone. The sweet scent of peonies drifted to her on the breeze and in spite of everything, she felt happier than she had since she had walked out of the door of the Denver Women’s Correctional Facility. Although, who was to say some of that wasn’t due to the painkillers the hospital had sent her home with?

  “Do the police know who did this?” Anisha asked. “Are the drivers that bad over on your side of the Divide?”

  Some of Lacy’s euphoria evaporated. “Whoever did this deliberately hit us,” she said. “I don’t think the chances are very good that the police will find them, though Travis is apparently out questioning anyone and everyone.”

  “Travis? Do you mean Sheriff Travis Walker?”

  “Yes. He seems to be taking this attack on me personally.”

  “Well, that is in-ter-est-ing.” Anisha drew out the last word, a hint of laughter in her voice. “Looks like he’s appointed himself your personal knight in shining armor.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” The settee creaked as Lacy shifted position.

  “It’s no secret he feels guilty about what happened to you,” Anisha said. “I had my doubts when he first came to me with the evidence he had found to clear you, but I think he might be the genuine article.”

  “What do you mean?” Lacy asked.

  “A nice guy. And he’s definitely easy on the eyes.”

  Lacy’s cheeks felt hot, and she was glad Anisha wasn’t here to see her. “You didn’t call me to talk about Travis Walker,” she said.

  “No. I have some good news for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “The state is cutting you a check for $210,000.”

  Lacy almost dropped the phone. “What?”

  “It’s the money they owe you for your wrongful incarceration—seventy thousand dollars a year for three years. All duly authorized by state law.”

  Lacy collapsed against the back of the settee. “I don’t know what to say,” she said. “I’m stunned.”

  “It’s no less than you deserve,” Anisha said. “It’s money for you to use to start over. Maybe you want to use it for your education, to start a new career.”

  “I don’t know what I want to do,” Lacy said. “I haven’t had time to think.”

  “There’s always law,” Anisha said. “I can recommend some good schools.”

  Lacy laughed. “I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me, but I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a lawyer. I’ll have to think.”

  “You do that. And let me know if the check doesn’t show up in a couple of days. They’re supposed to be sending it directly to you.”

  Lacy ended the call and sat back, trying to let the news sink in. The money didn’t feel real yet, but then, nothing about her situation did.

  The door into the house opened and her mother stepped out onto the porch. “How are you doing out here?” she asked. “Do you need anything?”

  “I’m doing well,” Lacy said. “Great, even. I just heard from Anisha. The state is paying me a bunch of money. I guess there’s a state law that says they have to.”

  Jeanette hugged her daughter. “That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.” She sat next to Lacy.

  “I should use the money to pay you and Dad back for all you’ve done for me,” Lacy said. “I know you took out a second mortgage on this house to pay my legal bills, and you used your savings...”

  “Don’t say another word.” Jeanette put a hand over Lacy’s. “We want you to use the money for your education, and for things you need—a car, maybe, or a place to live, though you are welcome to stay here as long as you like.”

  Lacy nodded. She would need all those things, wouldn’t she? After so many months with no hope, she was going to have to get used to planning for the future again.r />
  A familiar black-and-white SUV moved slowly down the street toward them. Lacy’s heart sped up, though not, she had to admit, from fear. She no longer feared Travis Walker. And she had stopped hating him. But she wasn’t indifferent to him, either. She couldn’t decide where he fit in her categorization of people. He wasn’t her enemy anymore, but was she ready to accept him as a friend?

  Travis parked at the curb and strode up the walkway, confident and oh-so-masculine. He was one of those men who never looked rumpled or out of shape. “Good afternoon, ladies.” He touched the brim of his Stetson. “I heard they let you out of the hospital, Lacy. How are you feeling?”

  “Sore, but I’ll live. Too bad it isn’t Halloween, though. My face could be my costume.”

  He leaned closer to examine her face. “The bruises are turning Technicolor,” he said. “Better start embellishing your story. Who did you say beat you in that boxing match?”

  Lacy laughed in spite of herself. So much for keeping her emotions in check around this man. “What brings you here?” she asked. “Or did you just stop by to see how I’m doing?”

  “I thought I should let you know the latest on the case, before the news got back to you through the Eagle Mountain grapevine.”

  “Eagle Mountain has a grapevine?” she asked.

  “You know it. And half the time it starts in my office, with Adelaide Kinkaid.”

  “Sit down, Travis.” Jeanette pulled up a chair. “Tell us what you’ve found out.”

  He sat. “We think we found the truck that ran you off the road,” he said. “Someone drove it to an isolated area and set it on fire. We can’t be 100 percent sure that it’s the right one, but we think so. The Vehicle Identification Number was removed and there were no license plates. I don’t know if we’ll ever identify the owner.”

  “I wish you could find him,” Jeanette said. “I hate thinking someone like that is out there, running free.”

  “We’re doing the best we can,” Travis said.

  “I know that. And we appreciate it.” She stood. “I have to get back to work. You stay and talk to Lacy.”