by Sheryl Lynn
“I sort of thought we had a deal,” she said. “I don’t bother you and you don’t bother me.”
“This isn’t harassment,” he said. “Mr. Bannerman has some ideas about why your father did what he did.”
She had twelve more pieces to finish for the autumn art show in Santa Fe. A successful showing and sales meant the financial freedom to rent a proper studio. It meant commissions and interest from galleries. Failure meant having to take yet more menial jobs that left her too exhausted for art.
“I know how much you hate my father and what he did. I know it’s too much to ask that you put it behind you. Trust me, Chief Cody, if I had somewhere else to go, I’d go there. I only need a few months. That’s all, I promise. Then you’ll never have to think about me again.”
He turned a frown on his boots. “This isn’t about you.”
Meeting him at the creek and now his showing up with a stranger could not be a coincidence.
“Anything worth searching for was stolen or smashed up already.” She indicated the house with a slash of her hand.
He didn’t react.
Maybe she should beg Uncle Willy for a place to stay. He and Aunt Alma had six kids, three under the age of four, and his wife’s mother lived with them, crammed into a tiny house. She’d never get any work done.
For the cops to run her off when she hadn’t hurt anyone or broken any laws was unfair.
He removed his hat and held it over his chest. His eyes were gray, as pale as moonlight in his sun-darkened face. In them lay compassion, perhaps even apology. He was easy on the eyes, and for some odd reason it made her angrier. It was as if he used his attractiveness as a weapon. Which was ridiculous, but it floated through her head anyway.
“It’s not my intention to run roughshod over you.”
She huffed a sarcastic laugh. “You sure didn’t waste any time blowing my cover.”
“You asked me why he did it. If you allow Mr. Bannerman to search the ranch, we might dig up some answers.”
She pointed her chin at the dilapidated house. “The old serve and protect? Where were you when my tires got slashed in broad daylight, right in front of the funeral home? Who were you protecting when creeps trashed the house? Gee, Mr. Policeman, why don’t you put up a billboard to let everyone know I’m here?”
His face darkened. A muscle jumped in his jaw and those pale eyes turned to glass. He settled the hat back on his head. “If you cooperate, I’ll see you and your property are protected.”
“If I don’t? You stand by while the rednecks lynch me?”
“I meant, after a look around, we’ll leave you be. You don’t have to worry about anyone else bothering you.”
Maintaining anger in the face of so much sincerity was difficult. She jammed her hands into her back pockets and scraped the dirt with the toe of her sandal. “What is he looking for?”
He slid a hand across his nape. “He doesn’t want anyone to know. It’s, uh, sensitive.”
“Right.”
“It’s for your own protection, Miss Shay.”
“This is ridiculous. Take that so-called insurance salesman and get off my land.”
“Talk to—”
He suddenly turned to face the road beyond the cruiser. A fresh dust cloud formed and within seconds he heard the growl of an engine. He walked fast across the yard. When a pickup truck came into view, Carson blocked its way. He thrust out a hand, ordering the driver to stop.
Bannerman pushed away from the cruiser. His mouth hung open.
Madeline mentally screamed at them to go away. Anger sat ill with her, especially since she didn’t want to be angry with Carson Cody. His sorrow haunted her. His action today struck her as the worst sort of betrayal. It was as if he didn’t have the guts to order her outright to get out of town. He had to come in here with a lame excuse to search for something. And now more intruders had arrived.
The pickup’s driver opened the door, but Carson ordered him to stay inside. There were two men in the truck. Madeline inched inside the garage. The police chief’s voice rose in anger.
“I said, turn around and git! Stay off this land. It’s none of your concern.”
The engine roared. Madeline feared he’d accelerate right past the police chief and run her down. Gears screamed and the driver backed up. Dust and brush swallowed the truck.
“Miss Shay,” Bannerman said, walking toward her. “I apologize for Chief Cody—”
“Do you think I don’t know what you’re up to? I own this land! I have every right to be here. You are not going to run me off!”
“Miss Shay—”
She wished for a door to slam in his face. She didn’t have one, so she sat on a stool, with her back to him. She didn’t breathe easier until she heard the cruiser’s engine start. She didn’t turn around until the sound of tires crunching gravel had faded away.
She didn’t cry, she never cried, though she was as close to it as she had been in years. This land was hers, damn it. No small-town cop, no matter how big a grudge he carried, could run her off.
CARSON LOOKED both ways on the road, seeking any sign of Matt Harrigan’s pickup truck. Of all the people to get a bad case of nosiness, it had to be Matt and Sug Harrigan. Frank Shay had murdered their cousin. Seeing Madeline Shay was guaranteed to drive them crazy.
“What happened back there?” Bannerman sounded squeaky. “Who are those men? What do they want? You didn’t tell anybody about the money, did you?”
Grimacing, Carson drew his head aside. “Calm down. Those are local ranchers. Being nosy.” He worked his jaw against the tightness. With any luck, the brothers hadn’t recognized Madeline. It wasn’t unusual for campers and hikers to set up camp on private land. “I’m sorry, sir. As I explained, without express consent, you can’t trespass on her land.”
“Thirty million dollars!”
Carson shrugged. “Tell her the truth.”
“She’ll look for it on her own.”
Better Madeline earn the finder’s fee than some jailbird.
“There must be some legal maneuver you can use,” Bannerman said.
Civilians.
Even if Carson knew a way to bend the law, he wouldn’t do it. He wasn’t that kind of cop and didn’t intend to become one.
“If she suddenly starts throwing thirty million bucks around, then I’m sure your company can stake a claim to it.” He hoped the Harrigan boys weren’t waiting for him to leave.
“We’re talking about a major crime here, Chief Cody. Hijacking, robbery, murder. Surely you—”
“So you say, based on the word of a crook,” Carson interrupted. “I don’t discount your job. I don’t deny my personal interest, either. But the only way I can search her property against her wishes is with a warrant.”
Bannerman slouched on the seat and stared at the passing landscape.
Carson guessed the insurance man didn’t like hearing the word no. He’d better get used to it. Madeline Shay was one stubborn, gutsy woman. His uniform didn’t intimidate her and neither did Bannerman.
Her sharp words stung, but he didn’t blame her. The condition of the old house had shocked him. Every window busted, holes punched in the walls, and graffiti obscene enough to shock a sailor. He could only imagine what the house looked like on the inside.
“She knows about the money.”
Carson glanced at Bannerman. “Excuse me?”
“She knows about the money. That’s why she won’t let me look.”
“If that’s what thirty million buys, what’s the point of having it?”
“Shay talked about her all the time.” Bannerman sounded as if that were stone-cold fact rather than the chatter of a jailhouse snitch. “He told her about the money.”
The road rose into the rocky hills and the vegetation changed from scrub to pine trees. Ruff used to be made up of ranchers and hunters. Now tourism was the leading industry. The feed store carried souvenirs and camping supplies. Cafés offered lattes and espresso.
The town boasted two national motel chains and six fast-food restaurants. Out of habit, Carson scanned automobiles, sorting locals from the tourists. He drove behind the courthouse, which contained the magistrate’s chamber, health department, clerk-recorder, police station, and public library.
He parked in the spot marked Chief of Police. “I appreciate your dilemma, sir. Wish I had a solution for you.”
“Are you prepared for a gold rush if word gets out about the money?” Bannerman pushed open the car door. “I don’t think you are.”
The insurance man stomped across the parking lot to his rental car. Wondering if the little pissant had threatened him, Carson went inside.
He went straight to his office and shut the door. The tourist season was kicking into gear, causing an influx of petty crimes. His in-box was filled with reports, the majority involving traffic violations.
An unmistakable voice boomed through the closed door. Maurice Harrigan, Ruff’s mayor, insisted on seeing the chief.
Carson braced for the storm.
Maurice shoved into the office. “Damn you! Why didn’t you tell me that half-breed was in my town?”
Matt and Sug jostled through the doorway. Matt was a few inches taller than his younger brother, but otherwise they looked like twins. Towheaded, ruddy faced and stocky, the nephews folded their brawny arms over their brawny chests, doing their best to look menacing.
“Last I looked,” Carson said, “you only own about half the town, not the whole of it.”
“Don’t give me your lip.” Maurice dropped onto a chair. “The boys saw that half-breed with their own eyes. You were being nice and cozy with her.”
By Carson’s reckoning, the entire town would know of her presence by sunset. “Madeline Shay has every right to be there.”
“Her daddy killed my boy. She’s got no right at all to flaunt that in my face!”
Carson had known Maurice since boyhood. As a kid, Maurice had been class president, star athlete and all-round mover-and-shaker. A more energetic, civic-minded, generous man couldn’t be found in the entire state. Carson used to consider Maurice his best friend.
Used to… Maurice had never said it straight out, but he blamed Jill for Billy’s murder. If not for her lost goats, Billy would be alive. They barely spoke these days.
“Boys,” Carson said to the nephews, “mind giving me and your uncle a moment?”
Neither made a move until Maurice nodded curtly. The young men trooped out and Sug slammed the door.
“I know how you feel. The mere sight of her puts an arrow in my heart. But she’s a private citizen and the land legally belongs to her.”
“It’s not right. You have to do something.”
“She isn’t coming into town. No intention of bothering anybody. She’s working on a project that will take a few weeks. Then she’ll be gone.”
“It’s a slap in the face to the entire community. Shoot, Carson, she’s barely a rock skip from your front porch. How can you stand knowing she’s there?”
“Her daddy did the damage, not her. If we’re going to get all caught up in the sins of the father, then what about the virtues of her grandfather? Pat and Lois Shay were good people. Good citizens.”
Color seeped from Maurice’s face, leaving him gray. He looked eighty years old. “It doesn’t go away. Every morning I wake up thinking, okay, it won’t hurt so bad today. Only it does. I still have the girls. Still have Mary. They can’t make up for losing Billy.”
“I know.”
“Why can’t that girl go back to the reservation? It’s better for everybody all the way around. Safer, too. Frank Shay wasn’t popular with anybody.”
Carson rested his arms on the desk and stared until Maurice met his eyes. “You’re a good man, a good mayor. You’ve got three daughters and a wife to see to. Businesses to run, a ranch to manage. Don’t let Frank Shay take that away from you, too.”
“I’m not making threats.”
Carson arched a brow. “I know you too well. You’re not saying the words, but I know what you’re thinking.”
“You’re thinking it, too.”
“You’d lose a bet on that. Leave her alone.”
“It’s not right….”
“I looked it up. Madeline Shay paid the tax bill in full two months ago. Deed is in her name. So put her out of mind. I guarantee she won’t step foot in town.”
Maurice released a heavy sigh. He had lost a lot of weight in the past year. His shirt collar gapped and his gold wedding ring shifted loose on his finger. His auburn hair had faded to ginger and receded dramatically from his forehead. He was Carson’s age, not quite forty, but he looked ancient. Carson wondered if he looked as tired and trail worn as Maurice.
“Tell your nephews if anything happens, I’ll look to them first. I won’t treat it like their usual shenanigans, either.”
Maurice rose. “Yeah, yeah, straight and narrow. You’re the only cop I know who’d give his boss a ticket.”
“You were speeding.” He grinned, recalling the incident.
Maurice returned a faint smile. “Have it your way then. Can’t blame that Indian girl for what her no-good daddy did. Just make sure she stays out of town. I can’t be responsible for everybody.”
Carson didn’t know whether to trust him or not.
Pete Morales poked his head inside the office. The sergeant’s normally placid face was a study in worry. “Is it true? Madeline Shay is living at her father’s place?”
So much for Madeline keeping a low profile. He rubbed his weary eyes.
“How do you feel about it, Chief?”
He wished people would quit worrying about his damned feelings. “She can live where she likes. Do me a favor, Pete. Put out the word, any officer who uses a badge to harass Miss Shay faces suspension. Now go on out and shut the door. I have things to do.”
Pete looked as if he had plenty more to say. He backed out of the office.
Carson looked up a number. He called the northern office of the Arizona State Police and asked for Lieutenant Paul Imagia.
“Imagia.”
“Paul, this is Carson Cody, over in Ruff.”
“Hey! How are you doing, man?” The lieutenant was in his fifties, but on the telephone he sounded like a college frat boy.
“Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
“For you? I have nothing but time. What do you need?”
“You took part in the manhunt after the Worldwide Parcel hijacking and robbery, right?”
“Like almost everybody else in the Four Corners area. That was years ago.”
“Was the money ever recovered?”
“Not a penny. Why?”
“Do you know if Frank Shay was ever connected to the hijacking?”
A long silence greeted the question and Carson wondered if the connection had been lost.
“That’s an odd thing to ask,” Paul finally said.
“I heard a rumor Shay was one of the hijackers. Is it possible?”
“It’s possible the president of the United States is one of the hijackers, but not likely. Far as I know there aren’t any viable suspects. The case is cold as ice. I haven’t heard mention of it in years.”
“Could you ask around? Talk to your contacts in the FBI?”
“What the hell kind of rumor did you hear?”
“One of those little whispers that sounds crazy enough to be true.”
“I’ll ask,” Paul said. “Only because you want me to. Not because I think it’ll go anywhere.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
An idea occurred to him, but it was a nutty idea and he shoved it from mind. He ignored it the rest of the day, but on the way home it returned with a vengeance. He stood on the front porch and looked toward the Shay ranch.
The way Madeline lived appalled him. No electricity, no running water and having to stare day after day at the venomous graffiti covering the ruins of the old ranch house.
Inside he slid one of Judy’s
atrocious casseroles into the oven. He kept seeing Madeline face him down, her Madonna face carved from marble, her green eyes steady. If not for him, her presence would still be a secret.
While he changed clothes, tended Rosie and choked down a yellow concoction that was either tuna casserole or chicken à la king, he mulled over whether or not Madeline knew about the money. If she did know, why wait an entire year to go looking for it?
Bannerman had wrested a promise from Carson to keep quiet about the money. He could talk to Madeline about other matters. A conversation might turn naturally to her father and his criminal activities. If she recovered the money, it didn’t matter to Mutual Security and Assurance who collected the finder’s fee.
He picked up the truck keys. They were neighbors after all. A friendly visit should prove he wasn’t a hard-ass cop trying to run her off.
He bypassed the cruiser and climbed into his pickup. Bannerman could go to hell. Carson’s primary duty was keeping the peace, and that overrode the fiscal problems of an out-of-state insurance company.
While he drove off the mesa, he practiced what to say. He didn’t know how to act around an angry woman, or most women in general, for that matter. Not a man living intimidated him, but females? A pretty smile or the threat of tears took him to his knees.
A glow over the trees puzzled him. Tony Rule’s cabin, the closest neighbor with electricity, lay in another direction. He had driven about a hundred yards before he realized what he looked at. Fire.
He punched the accelerator. A vehicle barreled out of the entrance to the Shay ranch, heading fast toward town.
It was too far away. He couldn’t make out the model, color or license plate. Instinct urged him to give chase, but the fire was more important.
It burned on Madeline’s land.
Chapter Three
Headlights bounced off the scrub lining the ranch driveway. The sky above glowed orange, shot through with billows of smoke. Carson felt as if he drove in slow motion, that the driveway was a hundred miles long and he’d never reach Madeline in time.
He grabbed for the radio mike before remembering he was in the truck. He fumbled at his belt, shirt pocket and passenger seat even though a sick feeling said his cell phone was sitting on the kitchen table where he’d emptied out his pockets.
