by B. J Daniels
That memory always came with the bitter bite of betrayal. She’d trusted Emma Chisholm. That stupid, stupid woman. Aggie had been trying to save her life and what did she get for it? Shot and almost drowned.
In her more charitable moments, she reminded herself that she had abducted Emma just months before that day on the river. Still, she’d risked capture to bring Emma important information about Laura Chisholm.
Also, Emma had seemed as surprised as Aggie had that day when they’d heard the sheriff and her deputies coming through the trees. Maybe Emma hadn’t informed them about the meeting by the river. At least that’s what Aggie liked to believe. She liked Emma and now there was nothing she could do to save her. The die is cast, she thought. After surviving the cold water and the bullet wound, Aggie had gotten pneumonia and barely survived.
Her weight had dropped drastically and she didn’t seem to have any strength to fight it. She told herself she was bouncing back, but a part of her knew it wasn’t true. Worse, she feared she would never see this case through.
A small, bitter laugh escaped her lips. It wasn’t her case, hadn’t been for years. The insurance company she’d worked for had fired her because she hadn’t been able to let the Chisholm case go.
She couldn’t really blame them. She’d gotten it all wrong anyway. When Hoyt Chisholm’s first wife, Laura, had allegedly drowned in Fort Peck Reservoir, Aggie had been convinced Hoyt had killed her.
He’d remarried not long after. He had adopted six sons who needed homes, and if any man was desperate for a wife, it would have been him. Tasha Chisholm had been killed in a horseback-riding accident.
Aggie couldn’t believe he’d kill another one. And then along came Krystal. Did he really think he could get away with a third murder?
Krystal Chisholm had disappeared not long into the marriage. By then Aggie had been pulled off the case, but that hadn’t stopped her. She couldn’t let him get away with killing another wife.
The first two deaths appeared to be accidents—at least to the unsuspecting. The third wife’s disappearance could never be proved to be anything more than that.
“But I knew better,” Aggie said to herself. Her faint voice echoed in the small room of what had once been a motel and was now a cheap studio apartment where she’d been hiding on the south side of Billings.
She’d hit a brick wall in her covert investigation back then. The insurance company had warned her off the case. But eventually they found out and fired her.
Fortunately, she’d saved every dime she’d ever made, so money wasn’t a problem. She’d taken on private investigations when she felt like it. She was good at what she did, putting herself in someone else’s shoes until she knew them inside and out.
Thankfully, she’d helped people who, when called on, couldn’t say no to helping her. Like the surgeon she’d had to call after she was shot.
She might have given up the Chisholm cases—if Hoyt Chisholm hadn’t married a fourth time all these years later. Aggie had no choice but to warn Emma Chisholm. The woman was blind in love.
“Just as you had no choice but to abduct her once you figured out who the murderer really was,” Aggie said to the empty room, then pulled herself up some in the threadbare recliner where she sat.
Only a little sun spilled in through the dirty window between the two frayed and faded curtains. The light bothered her now. Her illness had seemed to affect her eyes. She drew her attention away from the crack in the curtains, feeling too weak to get up and close them tighter.
But no one believed her. Instead, law enforcement was convinced that Aggie herself had killed Hoyt’s second and third wives in an attempt to frame him for murder.
She scoffed at that. This was about obsession. Not Aggie’s with this case, but Laura’s with Hoyt. Aggie understood obsession, she knew how it could take over your life.
If only the sheriff had listened to her. Instead, she’d been arrested and sent to the state mental hospital for evaluation. They thought she was crazy?
Aggie smiled to herself as she remembered how she’d slipped through the cracks, sending another woman to the state mental hospital who actually needed the help.
Her smile faded quickly though as she reminded herself that she had failed. That day beside the river she had brought Emma the proof that Laura Chisholm was alive and living just hours away in Billings as a woman named Sharon Jones.
But when she’d come out of her fever, surfacing again at death’s door, she’d asked the doctor if a woman named Sharon Jones had been arrested.
“I had hoped and yet I knew better,” she said to herself. Laura was like a warm breeze in summer, drifting in and out unnoticed. She had to be to stay hidden all these years, appearing only to kill and then disappear again.
The doctor had given her the bad news. Sharon Jones hadn’t been arrested and now she’d disappeared again. “I went by the house you asked me to check,” the doctor told her. “It was empty. No sign of anyone.”
Laura Chisholm was still on the loose. She would take another identity and when the time was right, she would strike again. Emma Chisholm was going to die and there wasn’t anything Aggie could do about it.
Chapter Six
It was late by the time Logan headed for the barn to saddle his horse the next day. He must have been more tired than he’d thought. He couldn’t remember sleeping this late in the day since college.
Once saddled, he rode down the half-mile lane to pick up his mail from the box on the county road. As much as he loved being on the back of his motorcycle, he loved being on the back of a horse just as much.
It was a beautiful Montana spring day, the sky a brilliant blue, no clouds on the horizon and the sun spreading warmth over the vibrant green land. He loved this time of year, loved the smells, the feel of new beginnings.
He wondered if that was what his houseguest was looking for. She’d apparently bailed—at least for a while—on her old life, whatever that was. He hadn’t slept all that well last night knowing she was upstairs. And this morning he had no more idea what she was all about than he had when he’d met her the other night at the bar. He hadn’t heard a sound out of her by the time he’d left. For all he knew she’d sneaked out last night and was long gone.
At least she hadn’t taken his pickup.
He’d already decided to take a few days off work and, if she hadn’t bailed on him as well, show her his part of Montana if she was still up for it. But then what, he wondered? Eventually, he had to get back to work. His father and brothers would be wondering what was going on. The last thing he needed was for one of them to show up at the house, he thought as he reached the county road.
Logan realized Blythe didn’t really know who he was, either. He felt almost guilty about that—even though she had been anything but forthcoming about herself. He wanted her to like him for himself and not for his family money. Of course, it could be that she already knew who he was—knew that night at the bar when he’d asked her to dance. His family had certainly been in the news enough with that mess about Aggie Wells.
He pushed away the memory, just glad that it was over. With Aggie Wells dead, that should be the end of speculation about his father’s other wives’ deaths.
Logan thought instead of Blythe and his reservations about her. He recalled her new cowboy boots. She wouldn’t be the first woman who’d come to Montana to meet herself a cowboy. Even better a rich one.
But with a self-deprecating grin, he reminded himself that she hadn’t even made a play for him. Maybe that was the plan, since it seemed to be working. He couldn’t get her off his mind.
Swinging down from the horse, he collected his mail and the newspapers that had stacked up since he’d been gone. He glanced at today’s Great Falls Tribune, scanning the headlines before stuffing everything into one of his saddlebags, climbing back into the saddle and heading home.
As he rode up to the house, he saw her come out onto the porch.
“Good morning,” he
called to her as he dismounted, relieved she hadn’t taken off. Even without his pickup.
“Out for a morning ride?”
“Just went down to get the mail and my newspapers,” he said as he dug them out of the saddlebag. “You up for a ride?”
She eyed the horse for a moment. “Do you have a shorter horse?”
He chuckled as he turned toward her. “I have a nice gentle one just for you.” He noticed that she was wearing one of his shirts. It looked darned good on her. “Want to ride or have something to eat first?”
“Ride.”
Logan knew he would have granted her anything she wanted at that moment. She was beautiful in an understated way that he found completely alluring. Her face, free of makeup, shone. There was a freshness about her that reminded him of the spring morning. She seemed relaxed and happy, her good mood contagious.
“Let’s get you saddled up, then,” he said, and led her out to the barn.
“This isn’t going to be like a rodeo, is it?”
He laughed. “No bucking broncos, I promise. Don’t worry, you’re in good hands.”
He showed her how to saddle her horse, then led it outside and helped her climb on.
“I like the view from up here,” Blythe said, smiling down from the saddle. “So what do I do now?”
He gave her some of the basics, then climbed on his own horse. At first he just rode her around the pasture, but she was such a natural, he decided to show her a little piece of the ranch.
“This is what you do every day?” she asked, sounding awed.
He laughed. “It’s a little more than a ride around the yard.”
“You said you chase cows.” She glanced around. “So where are these cows?”
“They’re still in winter pasture. We’ll be taking them up into the mountains pretty soon.”
“You and your brothers. You ranch together?”
Her horse began to trot back toward the barn, saving him from answering. He rode alongside her, giving her pointers. She had great balance. It surprised him how quickly she’d caught on, and he wondered if she really had never ridden before.
“You’re a natural,” he said when they reached the house. It was late afternoon. They’d ridden farther than he’d originally planned, but it had been so enjoyable he hadn’t wanted to return to the house.
“I had so much fun,” she said as she swung down out of the saddle. “I wish we could do it again tomorrow.” She groaned, though, and he could tell she was feeling the long ride.
“We can do it again tomorrow, if you’re up to it,” he said, liking the idea of another day with her.
“You probably need to start chasing cows again and I should be taking off, though, huh?” She looked away when she said it.
He really needed to get back to work, but he said, “I can take a few days off.” As she helped him unsaddle the horses and put the tack away, he wondered again how long she planned to stay and where, if anywhere, the two of them were headed.
He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his family from Blythe long. Since his father Hoyt had remarried after years of raising his six sons alone, all six sons were expected to be at supper each evening. His stepmother Emma wanted them to spend time together as a family, and she was a great cook. It was just a matter of time before the family heard he was back and started wondering why he hadn’t been around.
LORETTA WAS WAITING FOR THE others late the next morning down in the coffee shop. She’d already had a cup of coffee, which had only managed to make her more jittery. How long was the sheriff going to keep them here? She was broke and wondering how she was going to pay her motel bill, let alone eat.
Not to mention the latest news she’d just heard before coming down to the coffee shop. JJ had been killed yesterday in a car accident.
As Betsy and Karen joined her, she said, “You heard?”
“It’s on all the news stations,” Karen said.
“You and JJ had been closer than the rest of us,” Loretta said, noticing that Karen had been crying.
“They were best friends when they were kids, huh,” Betsy said.
That was news to Loretta.
“We grew up next door to each other,” Karen said. “People thought we were sisters.” She smiled at the memory, her eyes filling with tears.
“Must have been hard when she left the band,” Loretta said. “So did she keep in touch with you?”
“No.” Karen looked away.
“I thought it was just us,” Betsy said. “But then none of us kept in touch either after that first year. Not surprising, I guess.”
“Yeah, after everything that happened,” Loretta agreed. She’d called Betsy a couple of times but felt like she’d gotten the cold shoulder. Karen, who she thought always acted as if she thought she was better than everyone, she hadn’t even bothered to call.
“So we know what Betsy’s been doing the last ten years, cranking out kids,” Loretta said. “What about you, Karen?”
“I work in New York as a magazine editor.”
Beat the hell out of Loretta’s bartending job and part-time drumming gigs.
“So you never married?” Betsy asked.
“Three times. None of them stuck,” Loretta said. “What about you, Karen?”
Karen shook her head.
“You got married quick enough after the band split,” Loretta said to Betsy. “But I get the feeling you’re still carrying a torch for Jett.” Loretta couldn’t help herself, even though Karen shot her a warning look.
“Jett made the rounds among us,” Karen said pointedly, “but I don’t think any of us were ever serious about him.”
“Is that right?” Jett said shoving Karen over as he joined them in the booth.
Loretta didn’t miss the look Jett and Betsy exchanged. He was up to his old tricks, she thought, and wondered what Betsy’s husband would have to say about it. That was, if anyone bothered to tell him.
She discarded the idea. What did she care? She hadn’t come here to bond with her former band members. She’d come for the money and now there wasn’t any.
“You all heard about JJ?” Jett said, glancing around the table. He looked solemn for a moment before he asked with a grin, “So which one of you killed her?”
“Why would any of us want to kill JJ?” Karen asked with obvious annoyance.
Jett shrugged. “Jealousy. I’ve already told the sheriff to check the brakes on her rental car.”
“Jealous? Not over you,” Loretta said.
“Maybe,” he said still grinning. “But I definitely felt some professional jealousy. JJ became a star while the rest of you—”
“Did just fine,” Karen said. “Let’s not forget that JJ, according to the tabloids, had been trying to get out of her contract. I don’t think her life was a bed of roses.”
“So we’re all supposed to feel sorry for her?” Loretta asked. “Excuse me, but she dumped us. Sold us right down the river. I, for one, haven’t forgotten or forgiven.” When she saw the way everyone was staring at her, she added, “But I had nothing to do with her driving her car off a cliff.”
“I’m sure it was just an accident,” Betsy said.
“Sure,” Jett replied with a chuckle. “Just like Martin getting shot through the heart.”
BUFORD’S PHONE HAD BEEN ringing off the hook all day. As hard as Kevin had tried to keep the news of Martin Sanderson’s death from the media, he’d failed.
