Hunting Down the Horseman

by B. J Daniels

  “Erik might disagree with that, my love,” Nevada said. “Unless you can produce the Scotch and glasses, I’m afraid you’ll always appear guilty of something.”

  “You find that amusing?”

  “No, I find that frightening,” he said. “And exciting. I always knew you were a dangerous woman. Now I know just how dangerous.”

  “Someone took the bottle and glasses to incriminate me,” she said.

  “Or save you,” he added. “Calm down. You’re in the clear. Erik had a panic attack. And come on, he has reason to panic, the way this movie is going. I just saw Keyes Hasting talking to Nancy. What is he doing here?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? He’s got money in this film,” she said, not happy to hear that Nancy had been talking to Hasting. She hated not knowing what was going on.

  “Erik wouldn’t take money from Hasting,” Nevada said. “Not unless—”

  “He was desperate? Zander’s career is riding on this film.”

  “And so is ours,” he reminded her, as if she needed reminding. A few films that did poorly at the box office and the phones quit ringing. The only thing that had kept her name in the news was her breakup with Nevada.

  He stood now and walked to the door as if leaving. She felt a moment’s relief. Instead, he locked the door and turned back to her.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded as he strode to her, pulled her out of her chair and began to unbutton her blouse.

  She tried to shove his hands away. “Everyone knows you’re in here with me.”

  Nevada grabbed the front of her shirt and jerked. Buttons went flying, fabric tore. Roughly he cupped her right breast and squeezed as he gave her a punishing kiss.

  She fought to push him away, both of them falling backward. The chair crashed to the floor, them right behind it.

  “Stop it, you bastard!” she bellowed.

  Above her, Nevada Wells smiled. “What did I ever see in a bitch like you?” he yelled as he bared her breasts.

  Chantal grabbed the lamp cord and jerked it. The lamp crashed to the floor. She let out an obscenity as her hands went to the zipper of his jeans. Only a few more days and Death at Lost Creek would be over and she wouldn’t need Nevada Wells anymore. But in the meantime…

  MARY ELLEN HAD BARELY made it back to the motel in her rental SUV on the narrow muddy road. Now, as she looked out the window she saw that the rain still fell in a curtain of cold and poured from the rusted motel-room gutters like Niagara Falls. Through the darkness of the stormy afternoon she could see the huge droplets dimpling the ever-expanding puddles.

  She’d planned to leave Whitehorse, to return to Billings, to catch any flight out of Montana that she could get on a moment’s notice.

  But those plans had changed as she drove back from the movie set. A thunderstorm like nothing she’d ever seen had swept in. A gully washer.

  She blinked and could almost hear those words come out of her father’s mouth. She let the curtain fall back over the window and turned to face the desolate motel room.

  Rain or no rain, she couldn’t stand to spend another moment in this room with nothing but her memories—and regrets. Everything about this town brought back the last time she’d been here.

  Grabbing her suitcase and car keys, she pulled on her coat and, opening the motel room door, ran through the rain to the SUV. Once behind the wheel, she started the engine and turned on the heat to clear the windshield. Her coat was soaked and steaming up the windows faster than the heater could warm to clear them.

  As if that wasn’t bad enough, Mary Ellen noticed her gas gauge. She couldn’t leave here without getting fuel—not with a three-hour drive ahead of her and only two small towns between here and Billings.

  She drove beneath the railroad underpass, coming up on Central Avenue, headed south of town on Hwy 191. Her wipers clacked loudly, unable to keep up with the driving rain.

  At the last gas station on the edge of town, Packy’s, she pulled into the pumps and sat in her car, waiting for the rain to let up a little before she got out to fill her tank.

  As she was sitting there, a pickup pulled in on the other side of the pumps. To her shock, Eve Bailey Jackson got out and began filling the truck’s gas tank. She wore a cowboy hat, jeans and boots and a slicker and seemed oblivious of the rain.

  Mary Ellen wondered what Eve was thinking about as she finished getting gas and went inside to pay.

  In the glow of warm light inside the small old-fashioned convenience store, Eve visited for a few minutes with the young woman behind the counter. Mary Ellen couldn’t tell what Eve was saying. It didn’t matter. She watched her, mesmerized.

  “God help me,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes, as Eve Bailey Jackson came out.

  Their gazes met for a moment through the rain. Eve slowed her step, frowned, and for a moment Mary Ellen feared she would come over to the car.

  Hurriedly, Mary Ellen started her engine and pulled away as Eve walked to her truck and, still standing in the rain, watched as Mary Ellen drove away.

  FAITH’S CELL PHONE RANG. She smiled as she saw who it was. “Hello?”

  “How’re your chores going?” Jud asked. “I was hoping we could meet in an hour.”

  The last thing she should be doing was having dinner with Jud and his family. But she was curious about him. Curious about his family. “See you then.”

  She’d barely hung up when she got a call from her brother-in-law.

  “I did that checking you asked for,” the sheriff said.

  “That was fast.”

  “Stop by my office if you want to see what I came up with. Nothing raises a red flag other than that trouble with the director. It apparently wasn’t his first encounter with the law.”

  When Faith stopped by the sheriff’s office, Carter wasn’t in, but he’d left an envelope for her. She didn’t open it until she reached her pickup.

  Inside was a page of information on each of the people she’d asked him about. She scanned it, disappointed. Most of the information was the same as what she’d read in the movie magazines.

  In the old days, movie stars often changed their names for Hollywood. That was less likely now. Nevada’s parents had been involved in show business and had given each of their children “star” names.

  Chantal Lee was actually Chantal Leigh Olsen. Brooke Keith had changed her name from Samantha Brooke Keifer. Nancy Davis was just Nancy Davis.

  Nothing new about Jud. He was one of five brothers, raised on a ranch in Texas, started riding horses at the age of two.

  Faith started to put the pages away when something caught her eye. Nancy Davis and Brooke Keith were both from the same small town in Idaho.

  Looking up through the rain, Faith blinked. Nancy Davis had just pulled up in front of the Milk River Examiner and was now getting out of the SUV. The timing was too perfect.

  As the assistant director ducked into the local newspaper office, Faith climbed out of her pickup and ran through the rain after her.

  Like a lot of businesses in the small Western town, the newspaper didn’t just offer news. It sold office supplies, offered photo processing and displayed the latest fund-raiser auction items in its front window.

  Nancy turned as she heard the door open behind her and quickly checked her expression, but not before Faith had seen dread in the woman’s face. Nancy wasn’t happy to see her.

  Since Faith had come on the film, Nancy had been cordial and businesslike. But definitely not friendly. Faith had wondered if it was because she’d taken Brooke’s job. Or if Nancy was just that way, since she seemed to keep her distance from everyone on the set.

  “Hi,” Faith said to her and pretended interest in a loose-leaf notebook.

  Andi Blake came out of the back of the newspaper office to wait on Nancy. Andi was dating Cade Jackson, the sheriff’s older brother.

  “Hi, Andi. I didn’t know you were working here again,” Faith said to the pretty Southerner.

 
; “I’m a reporter again.” Andi had been a big-city TV anchor before coming to Whitehorse as a reporter and falling in love with Cade.

  Faith noticed the diamond engagement ring on Andi’s finger. “Congratulations! When did that happen?”

  “Just last night,” Andi said, blushing. “We haven’t had a chance to tell anyone yet.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s Whitehorse. By now, word is already circulating.”

  Andi laughed. “You’re probably right. Several of the members of the Whitehorse Sewing Circle were in this morning, so I guess the announcements have been sent. Heard about you working as a stuntwoman on the film and your accident this morning.”

  “Excuse me?” Nancy said impatiently. “Erik Zander asked me to pick up some old newspapers for the film set?”

  “Sorry, I thought you two were together. Just give me a moment. I’ll get them.” Andi disappeared into the back again.

  Faith didn’t like Nancy being rude to Andi, who would soon be family, but she hid her feelings as she asked, “Do you have to get right back to the set? I was hoping we could have a cup of coffee.”

  Nancy looked surprised, then suspicious. “Erik is waiting for—”

  “Just a quick cup. I wanted to ask your advice on something.”

  Nancy raised a brow, but said nothing as Andi returned with a large manila envelope.

  “These are replicas of newspapers from the years he asked for,” Andi said. “Should I put that on the movie account?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Nancy shoved the envelope into her large satchel as she turned to Faith. “I suppose I have time for a quick cup of coffee.”

  Faith told Andi goodbye and she and Nancy walked down the street to the small coffee shop. This time of the day the place was empty. They sat by the window. Nancy gave her a wry smile as she picked up the latte the waitress had put in front of her. “So it’s advice you want?”

  Faith had thought about breaking the ice by asking Nancy’s advice about a career in movies, a ruse she realized the woman would have seen right through.

  “I hope this isn’t going to be more nonsense about Brooke’s snakebite,” Nancy said.

  “No,” Faith said. “But it is about Brooke.”

  Nancy frowned.

  “She mentioned that the two of you went to school together in your hometown. Ashton, Idaho, right?”

  All the color left Nancy’s face. “Brooke told you that?”

  “I’m pretty sure she’s the one who mentioned it. Why? Is it a secret?” Faith chuckled as if she’d made a joke.

  “Of course not. It’s just not true.”

  “Really?”

  Nancy seemed flustered. “Well, I mean, I guess she is from Ashton originally, too, but we didn’t know each other.”

  “Oh, I just assumed you were friends, since it’s a small town and you’re both about the same age….”

  “We went to the same school, but Brooke moved to California our junior year,” Nancy said. “I never really knew her.”

  “So the two of you have never discussed being from the same town?”

  “No, this is the first movie we’ve worked on together, and we have no reason to reminisce about Idaho. I’m sure she’s as glad to be out of there as I am.”

  Nancy seemed to realize what she’d said. “Not that there is anything wrong with Idaho or Montana, it’s just…I really have to go.” She rose from the table, then hesitated.

  “My treat,” Faith said, even though Nancy had made no move to pay for their coffees.

  “I know it wasn’t advice you were after when you invited me for coffee, but I’m going to give you some anyway. Stop being so nosy. None of this has anything to do with you.”

  Without another word, Nancy turned and walked out. Faith stared after her. None of what had nothing to do with her?

  She remembered what the sheriff had said about Zander having an earlier brush with the law and pulled out the papers he’d given her. Apparently there’d been another unfortunate accident that resulted in a death years ago. This one a car accident. Erik Zander had been driving.

  A young woman had been killed. That time, too, he escaped being brought up on charges, although it was rumored that he’d been drinking and that the young woman was pregnant.

  Sounded like history repeating itself if Erik Zander had been the father of that baby, as well.

  That death had happened more than twenty years ago.

  Faith paid for the coffee and went out to her pickup before she dialed the sheriff’s office. When Carter came on the line she said, “Thanks for the information you left me.”

  “I warned you there wasn’t much to find.”

  “I’m curious about something else, though. That incident involving the car wreck and Erik Zander twentysome years ago, can you get me more information on it?”

  “What are you doing?” Carter asked with a sigh.

  “Satisfying my curiosity.”

  Carter said something under his breath she didn’t catch. It had sounded like, “You damned Bailey girls.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out. There won’t be much since Zander was never charged.”

  Just like in the hot tub death twenty years later.

  “Faith, I’m a little concerned about what you might be getting yourself into with this,” her brother-in-law continued.

  “Oh, come on, Carter, what could be more dangerous than being a stuntwoman?” she joked.

  “You have a point there,” he said. “Just be careful.”

  “Not to worry. I am always careful.”

  “Sure. Just like your sisters. And just as stubborn as them, too.”

  Driving down to Packy’s to meet Jud Corbett she reminded herself that she and her sisters had that in common—curiosity. It had gotten them in trouble more times than she could remember. It had almost gotten both her sisters killed.

  THE SCOTCH BOTTLE and the two glasses weren’t the only things missing, Erik Zander had found out when he returned to his trailer.

  That damned doll was gone. It had been the last thing he’d seen before he’d passed out, and now it was nowhere to be found.

  He glanced out his window and saw Nancy returning. He tried to remember what he’d sent her to town to get for him. Whatever it had been, she didn’t seem all that anxious to bring it to him.

  “Erik?” Nancy looked surprised to see him standing at her trailer door. “I was going to bring you the old newspapers you had me get.” She picked up a manila envelope and held it out to him.

  He didn’t take it.

  “Erik? Is something wrong?”

  He glanced over his shoulder and saw some of the crew standing a few yards away. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course.” She moved aside to let him enter. He closed the door behind him, then stood for a moment wishing he hadn’t been so impulsive. Just take the damned envelope and leave well enough alone.

  If he asked her about the doll, she was bound to wonder why he was making such a big deal out of a damned rag doll. It would be all over the set that he believed the evil of Lost Creek was real. Everyone was probably already talking about him after his so-called panic attack.

  “Is there something else?” Nancy asked. She looked flushed, even upset. Since she never got rattled, he wondered if something had happened in town.

  Not that he cared what had her stirred up. He had too many problems of his own. His throat felt dry. He would have killed for a drink—if he hadn’t been afraid to take one.

  “I wanted to ask you if you took anything from my trailer,” he blurted out.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You asked me to take the Scotch bottle and the two used glasses, but like I told you, they weren’t there when I looked for them.”

  “Not that.” He glanced around her trailer, surprised how neat it was. He realized he didn’t know this woman, certainly hadn’t recognized her name when he’d been blackmailed into making her assistant director on this film. Was she Hasting’s spy on the set? She seeme
d a bit…weak for the part.

  “I thought I saw something on the floor of the bedroom right before I passed out,” he said regretting this. “You didn’t find anything?”

  “What did you think you saw?”

  He waved a hand through the air. “It’s not important.”

  “Erik,” she said as he turned to leave. “I didn’t find anything out of place when I searched your trailer for the Scotch and glasses you and Chantal used.”

  He nodded and pushed open the door. Whoever had gotten rid of the glasses and Scotch had also taken the doll. But why? Someone had entered the trailer after he was flown to the hospital.

  Not Nancy, since she’d flown with him in the chopper to the hospital. That left Hasting, Nevada, Chantal and Brooke. All of them had been in his trailer just that morning before his soon-to-be-legendary panic attack.

  “Who has keys to the trailers?” he asked as a thought struck him.

  “The occupants.”

  “The company that rents them must keep an extra. They didn’t give you a master key?”

  She frowned. “No. No one has a key to your trailer but you and the rental company. Why? Have you lost your key? I didn’t think you ever locked the door.”

  He didn’t.

  “I tried it this morning when I came over. It was open,” she explained, looking embarrassed. “It was open when I came back. Anyone could have gone in. I’m sorry I didn’t think to lock it.”

  He stared at her. She was so damned competent. He didn’t know what he would have done without her. Hell, she was the one that got both him and Brooke to the hospital before they’d died. He stared at her, seeing her maybe for the first time.

  Something about the way she was looking at him nudged a memory. Maybe he had worked with her before and just forgotten. Or maybe they’d met somewhere else….

  “Erik? Are you sure you’re all right?”

  He shook his head as his skin went cold and clammy, the contents of his stomach recoiling. He suddenly felt sick. Stumbling down her trailer steps, he aimed himself at his own trailer, hoping he could reach it in time.

  MARY ELLEN DROVE AROUND aimlessly until she realized she hadn’t had anything to eat all day and was weak and sick with hunger.