Skin Dancer

by Haines, Carolyn

  “What if he’s hurt up there? What if that killer has him?” Hysteria made her voice shrill.

  “I know Mullet, and he’s a competent guy. Chances are he’s just hunkered down for the night.” She stared into Jake’s eyes and saw his concern grow. “If he isn’t home by morning, we’ll launch a full–scale search. There’s just not much we can do in this storm. If you had some idea where he was camping, we could check that.”

  “Well that’s a stupid damn answer. My husband is missing up in the woods where two people were murdered, and you can’t look for him because you might get wet.”

  Rachel slowly inhaled. There wasn’t any point in explaining to Mrs. Bellows that if she and Scott and Jake and all the volunteers went up to search right now, without a specific location to begin, it would be futile.

  “I’m calling the sheriff. He’ll make you do your job.”

  “We’ll do what we can, Mrs. Bellows. I’ll let you know if I find him. And you call the S.O. if he shows up, okay?”

  Mrs. Bellows slammed the phone down and disconnected.

  Rachel put her cell phone on the table. People didn’t understand that deputies and volunteers for search and rescue didn’t automatically get special powers with the job title. They couldn’t see in the dark or fly in gale–force winds.

  “Mullet gone astray?” Jake asked, deliberately keeping it light.

  “Yeah. Maybe Burl Mascotti, too. Mrs. Bellows said they went up into the wilderness to check out campsites and haven’t come back.” She bit her lip, then stopped herself. It was an old habit she’d worked hard to break. She knew it made her look about fourteen.

  “Those two are probably up to a little illegal hunting.” Jake nodded toward the window. “Nothing you can do about it tonight.”

  “Not with the storm. The winds are too high to call out the rescue helicopter. I’ll stop by the office and give Gordon a heads–up on this. Call the state troopers just in case he’s on the road to Rapid City instead of up in the woods.”

  Jake nodded. “Mullet isn’t known for his fidelity. He and Burl will probably show up home when they run out of beer.”

  It was the logical assessment of the situation, but Rachel couldn’t shake the disquiet that had settled at the table with them. “I saw the storm coming this afternoon about three. What would make an idiot stay out until it hit?”

  “You’ve answered your own question.” Jake placed a twenty on the table. “They’re idiots. Mullet and Burl are two–thirds of the three stooges and neither of them are half as smart as Moe.”

  # # #

  The candles lit the table with a glowing luminescence. Outside, thunder rumbled and rain pounded the windows, but at Frankie’s dinner table, conversation softened the sounds of the storm. It was a select gathering, one more step on the yellow brick road to the Emerald City of Paradise. She rolled one shoulder, then the other. She’d had a busy few days with lots of physical exertion.

  “Frankie, are you going to be able to keep the four–lane on track?” Harvey Dilson’s question cracked like a whip amidst the genteel murmur of her guests.

  She met his gaze. Her family had known him since his first election to the state house. Power had coarsened his features and sharpened his tongue. Harvey was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it.

  She gave him a cool smile. “Let’s save that for later, Harvey, and talk about more pleasant things.” Several of the multi–million dollar investors in the Paradise project—and in Dilson’s political future–were at the table, yet Harvey didn’t have sense enough to keep his mouth shut. “How is your re–election campaign shaping up?” she asked.

  His blue eyes were flinty, but he nodded his head, the candlelight catching in his silver mane. “I never underestimate an opponent, but I don’t see any serious problems ahead.”

  “You have the advantage of incumbency,” Frankie noted. “The people of this region have come to rely on you to look out for their best interests.”

  “Senator Dilson, is it true that the new highway is your idea?” The woman who spoke was young and beautiful, her thick auburn hair pulled back from her face by exquisite pearl barrettes. Her tone was sharp. “I hear you stand to sell a good bit of property for the right of way.”

  “Young lady, are you an investor in Paradise?” Harvey leveled his gaze at her.

  Frankie arched an eyebrow. “Harvey, Justine’s parents are the cardiac specialists in the valley. She graduated early and returned to the area after finishing her master’s at Yale. Business, wasn’t it, Justine?”

  “Accounting.” Her gaze never left the senator. “My parents supported your campaign last election, and we have some concerns about this four–lane. So I ask you again, was the new roadway your idea?”

  Conversation at the table stalled. Frankie considered taking action to put the dinner party back on foot, but she rather enjoyed the discomfort that now marred Harvey’s features. He wasn’t used to being confronted, especially by someone young, passionate, idealistic and female, which was exactly why she’d invited Justine. A successful dinner party depended on the proper mix of guests. Justine’s youth and brains balanced Harvey’s political power. If Harvey couldn’t handle her, it would at least provide for a bit of entertainment.

  “Young lady, the road is necessary for future development in our area. Paradise is a dream, a pollution free industry that will grow our economy in ways you can’t begin to comprehend. Folks won’t live in a place where access is difficult.”

  Justine speared a tender asparagus tip and daintily ate it. “You make several points, Senator, which are completely inaccurate. First of all, any development that requires miles and miles of asphalt to prepare for thousands of polluting automobiles is not what I’d call pollution free. Secondly, we already live in paradise; we don’t need a high–tech city. Why change perfection? Tell me, why do politicians equate growth and development with progress?”

  Frankie watched the reactions of her guests with casual alertness. Richard Jones, the man with the Midas touch when it came to computer technology, had stopped eating completely. Paradise was his dream, his concept, his existence. And he was riveted by Justine. He was a shy man to begin with, and Justine’s passion had unsettled him even further.

  The sheriff, another big investor in Paradise, put down his fork. She’d noticed his discomfort from his hip surgery, but he’d maintained a stoic front. His wife, though, was flushed, whether from embarrassment or too much wine, Frankie couldn’t say for certain. The only one who seemed to enjoy the moment was Douglas Sparks, an investor from Omaha. The party was designed to introduce him to some of the people backing the Paradise project.

  “The dinner table isn’t the place to debate politics.” Harvey picked up his knife and cut the prime rib. “Not when this delicious repast is growing cold while we talk.”

  “I’d like to hear your answer,” Douglas said quietly. “Since I’m thinking of investing, I’m interested in hearing how the…locals view Richard’s project. I mean ‘the Emerald City of technology’ will affect everyone in the area. Is this what the population wants? Do the residents want Oz in their backyard?”

  Harvey’s cheeks, already pink from the wine, colored more deeply. He’d been caught off–guard at a dinner where he expected only praise and the closing of a deal that would feather his nest for the rest of his life. Frankie knew for a fact that he’d invested close to a million dollars of his own money in Paradise.

  “Senator Dilson, we’re all very interested in this question,” Justine said. “As our elected representative, I’m sure you’re well versed in the public’s desires.”

  “You know damn good and well–” He looked at the shocked faces at the table. “We haven’t consulted the locals, as you so quaintly put it. But we will. Once we have the architectural renderings for Paradise and figures on the potential employment and payroll this technology center will generate, you can bet we’ll let the constituency know. We’ll put it on the ballot for a vote.
We certainly don’t intend to ram anything down the throats of the community and I resent–.”

  “So far you’ve managed to ram the four–lane down our throats.” Justine folded her napkin. Frankie noticed she’d eaten the vegetables on her plate but the meat was untouched. Frankie studied the beautiful young woman. Had she come home to join up with WAR?

  “This great country was built on the ability of the population to move westward, and this highway is no exception. We need access to Bisonville and Criss County if

  Paradise is to become a reality. This development will bring thousands of high–paying jobs to an area that’s been economically depressed since the 1800s. It’s a good thing, young woman, so don’t try to paint it as something bad.”

  “Do the Native Americans feel this way?” Justine was completely unruffled by Harvey’s bravado.

  Frankie signaled the servant to refill the wine glasses. Justine was a ballsy little thing to sit at her table with such cool aplomb. She had no doubts now. Justine was a member of WAR. Frankie sipped the crisp shiraz. Life was about passion. Even misplaced passion was better than none. Justine was enchanting, as long as she didn’t become too much of a thorn.

  Harvey was almost spitting. “The Indians have no say whatsoever in this matter.”

  “Except that the Black Hills were deeded to them in the Fort Laramie Treaty. I believe the wording reads that the lands are granted ‘in perpetuity’ to the Sioux.” Justine licked her lips.

  Silence filled the room, and Frankie saw that now Douglas, as well as Richard, was enraptured with Justine. Not exactly what she’d planned. She rose. “Let’s have an after–dinner drink in the parlor.”

  She left the room, wanting only to corner Justine somewhere private. If WAR was planning another raid on the road project, she needed to be one step ahead of them.

  # # #

  The dance studio/dojang looked abandoned, except for Rachel’s truck in front. Frankie cruised to a stop in the parking lot and considered her next move. Her body hummed with tension. Justine had given very little away, but enough for Frankie to believe she was involved with WAR. The question was what to do with the information. She thought she knew, but she’d have to be careful how she went about it.

  During her years at Lida Jane’s Preparatory School for Young Women, Frankie had played field hockey, soccer and danced. It was the discipline, both mental and physical, of ballet that had won her heart. Lithe and quick, she’d been a natural. In fact, she enjoyed any intense workout that demanded all she had to give. Living in that moment of total concentration and focus on a goal was one of her biggest thrills. She smiled to herself at the thought of such pleasures and rolled the tension out of her shoulders. Right now she needed a workout as much as she wanted to talk to Rachel.

  The front door of the building opened easily with the key Rachel had helped arrange for her, and she stepped into an anteroom where a reception desk filled one corner. The smell of sawdust and sweat brought back a memory from high school. She’d danced the lead in Swan Lake and been told repeatedly of her “potential.” She hadn’t been interested in pursuing a career on stage. Dance wasn’t her destiny, and though she loved it, it was an aside.

  Beyond the reception area she could hear the sounds of someone breathing heavily. Rachel. She walked in that direction, her slippers soundless on the polished oak of the floor. When she entered, she was struck by the serene emptiness of the room. The lone figure executing a series of side kicks showed practice, skill, determination and speed.

  Frankie watched silently. Rachel was good. Very good. The black belt that tied her dobok held four white stripes that represented long years of hard work. While the movements Rachel executed were as precise and beautiful as ballet, they could also be deadly.

  She continued to watch as Rachel leapt into the air and kicked with such force that her body shifted horizontal to the floor. She landed on the balls of her feet with a soft thud.

  Frankie applauded, causing Rachel to whirl. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “You were absorbed in the movement. I think that’s the point.”

  Rachel wiped her sweaty forehead with her sleeve. “I figured I’d be the only Criss County resident working out at two in the morning.”

  Frankie heard the message beneath Rachel’s words. “I saw your truck here and presumed too much. I’ll see you later.” She turned to leave.

  “Wait up!” Rachel walked toward her. “It’s okay. I don’t mean to act like I own the space. The exercise…helps me sleep.”

  Frankie nodded. “I know exactly what you mean. When I can’t sleep…I just thought…” she shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Obviously I didn’t think at all.”

  “Stay.”

  Frankie considered. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive. I’m almost finished anyway. If I don’t get home and get at least a few hours sleep I won’t be able to work tomorrow.”

  Frankie saw the doubt in her face. “Has something else happened?”

  “Probably not. A couple of local hunters are missing.”

  “Who?”

  “Mullet Bellows and Burl Mascotti.”

  Frankie nodded. “Mullet works on the road crew. When he feels like it. But you sure can’t start a search party tonight. It’s pouring and the winds are hitting gale force at times.”

  As if to emphasize her words, a gust of wind howled against the front door causing it to knock against the jamb.

  “I alerted the troopers who’ll pass the info on to the road and power crews. I’ve got a search party lined up for first light, and Gordon talked to Mrs. Bellows. Mullet apparently has a history of staying out overnight. It’s just that–”

  “The murders. I know. But no point jumping to conclusions. If you need some help looking for them in the morning, I’d be glad to lend a hand. I’m a pretty fair tracker. My dad taught me. He was a great man.” She felt Rachel’s assessing gaze. The deputy was green, but at times she could be a little disconcerting. Frankie enjoyed that. Most people were so easily manipulated. Rachel was difficult to manage.

  “Jake told me you moved down South just before you hit your teen years. Alabama, I think.”

  Frankie wondered how much Jake had told her. “I spent most of my life in Montgomery, but my early childhood was here. On a ranch.” Frankie hesitated. “Because of a head injury, I don’t have many memories of those early years. I can’t remember birthday parties or playing with friends. But I never forgot how to do certain things. Like tracking or riding a horse. Setting up a camp or building a fire. I remember the skills, but not the emotional aspects.”

  “What kind of injury?” Rachel motioned to a wall where several folding chairs had been stored. “Let’s sit for a minute.”

  Frankie followed more slowly. When they were seated and facing each other, she answered. “I was shot in the head when I was twelve.”

  Rachel’s face registered concern, and Frankie felt her gaze searching for the bullet wound. Everyone did it. “Was it a hunting accident?”

  “Sort of.” Frankie shrugged. “I don’t really remember what happened exactly, but my mother said my father went up in the hills looking for some cattle that had strayed. He told me to stay home, but I waited until he had a lead and then I saddled Dolly and went after him. He had a head start, but I was a good tracker.” Her voice grew husky with emotion. “I don’t remember anything else. I was shot. No one really knows what happened.”

  She could almost see Rachel’s thoughts. “If you’re thinking illegal hunters shot me, you may be right. My personal theory is that my dad caught some poachers and they panicked and killed him. I rode up on them and they shot me and left me for dead.”

  “Your father was shot, too?”

  “I can’t answer that. His body was never found. Some folks think he abandoned the family because he was losing our ranch. Cattle prices had bottomed out and things were bad economically. It was a to
ugh time, or at least that’s what Mother always told me. So the gossip was that he couldn’t face it and left.”

  “But you were shot. He wouldn’t have left you.”

  “They found horse tracks that led to the main road and then some tracks from a horse trailer pulled by a dually.”

  “That could indicate foul play to me.” Rachel took a deep breath trying to contain her frustration. “Did they question any witnesses or find any evidence? Your father wouldn’t have left you wounded in the wilderness.”

  Frankie tried not to show the strange elation she felt. Rachel understood. She was smart, and she saw the obvious.

  “Gordon was a deputy then, and he and Mel Ortiz, who was the head of the state parks, figured Dad was too far ahead of me to know what had happened. He said Dad had probably loaded up his horse and was down the highway before I was even shot. Had he known, he wouldn’t have left.”

  “That makes a certain kind of sense, I guess.” Rachel rubbed at the deep furrow between her eyebrows. “But—”

  Frankie wanted to hug her. She was a stranger, but she saw the stupidity of thinking Dub would abandon his family.

  “They did put out a missing person’s report and they got a couple of calls. Someone saw Dad working the rodeo circuit in Amarillo and Houston. Then there was an airline ticket purchased in his name in Missoula. I was really sick then and my mother didn’t pursue any of it. She said if Dad would abandon us, she wasn’t going to track him down and force him to take care of his family.”

  “But you never believed that?” Rachel asked.

  Frankie shook her head. “I think the same people who shot me shot him.”

  “But a body just doesn’t disappear.”

  Frankie nodded. “I was shot on state land. Gordon and Mel worked it together, sort of like the way you and Jake are working this double murder. Anyway, they found where I’d been shot, and what looked like a practice target deeper in a clearing in the woods. There was no trace of my father or any sign of a struggle.” She met Rachel’s gaze squarely. “The official version was that I was shot accidentally and that Dad left. I think Dad was killed and they took his horse and his body. I don’t believe the shooters even knew they’d hit me.”