Death Changes Everything

by Linda Crowder

  A look came into her eyes that Matt remembered well from his days working a beat. She handed the badge back to him. “Then I guess that’s what you’ll have to do. She’s not here today.”

  Turning away from the surly young woman, he pulled his notebook out of his pocket and made a note of her name. He would have the community affairs officer speak with the hospital. Her hostility couldn’t be allowed to interfere with a murder investigation. He hoped her supervisor would acquaint Krystal with the hospital’s policy on what information could and could not be shared with police.

  “He’s here,” said the ER triage nurse when she saw Matt plodding down the hall. “Doc’s expecting you.” She buzzed him in.

  “Brandy! I thought you quit this chicken outfit.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him. “Gets in your blood.”

  “You should see a doctor about that.” Both laughed, quietly, instinctively keeping their voices low. “You got a guy named Wilson here? Ambulance would have brought him in.”

  “Grayson Wilson, yes, but you won’t get anything out of him tonight. Doc had to sedate him.”

  “Man, I’m two for two with witnesses today. Got any idea when he’ll be back with us?”

  “You harassing my patients again, Joyner?”

  Matt turned and grinned at the man approaching him. Dr. Ted McNutt was a former Navy Corpsman, who’d served three tours in Iraq, and collected two Purple Hearts. Stateside, he’d graduated top of his class at medical school, completing his active duty service at the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda before coming home to Wyoming. A slight limp on his left side was the only visible scar from his wartime service.

  “Would be if you docs wouldn’t keep knockin’ them out. Whatever happened to cowboy courage?”

  McNutt laughed quietly. “That’d really knock ‘em out. Don’t stock that in the pharmacy though.”

  McNutt reached the station and leaned on the counter. “Assume you’re here about Mr. Wilson? Hit me almost as hard, first time I saw a guy get shot to death. Gave him meds to stop the vomiting, but with his blood pressure, I was concerned he was gonna stroke out on me so I gave him a mild sedative.”

  “He say anything?”

  “Couldn’t shut him up, but nothing that’ll help you. Just kept going on about the blood.”

  “Seems to be the general consensus. Gimme a call when he wakes up, okay?”

  “Sure thing.”

  5

  Sunday dawned bright and cold, with the smell of snow in the air. Frost covered the ground and Jake had to rub his hands together to keep them warm enough to grip the trigger. He and Jeb had awakened before dawn and driven the four-wheeler to a clearing about five miles from the cabin. They hiked another half mile into the woods, near the same stream that eventually ran past the cabin.

  They were crouched in the spot they’d gone to the day before, waiting in the half light for elk to come to the stream. Yesterday, only cow elk and their calves had appeared and Jake’s license was for a bull elk. The trees bore telltale signs that bulls had passed by, rubbing their antlers against the rough bark to scrape the velvet, but so far, they’d remained elusive.

  Both men swiveled at the sound of wildlife near the stream. A deer stepped from the shelter of the trees and stood, head turning back and forth, looking for signs of danger. Seeing none, she took a few steps forward and bent her head to take a drink. Two spring fawns, a little more than half her size, joined her.

  Jeb’s general deer license permitted him to take a doe, but a buck would yield at least fifteen pounds more meat so he waited. A bull elk would surpass a buck by almost a hundred pounds, so both had agreed that Jake would take first shot if he could get an elk and Jeb would only take a buck if no bull elk presented.

  They sat in silence, watching the doe and her fawns fade into the woods, for perhaps another forty-five minutes. The frost had melted and Jake could no longer see his breath when he heard the unmistakable sound of a large animal moving through the woods. He shifted his crouch and slipped off the safety on his rifle.

  The elk emerged from the trees about two hundred yards upstream. The bull held his head high, sniffing the air, but the slight breeze was blowing toward the men. Jake lifted his rifle and lined up his shot, waiting for the elk to move closer to the water. Jake refused to shoot any animal unless he could be sure of a clean kill.

  The elk took one hesitant step, then another, and Jake moved his finger to the trigger. He held his breath, waiting for one more step. Before Jake could squeeze the trigger, he heard voices and the sound of hikers in the woods behind him. Just that quickly, the elk was gone, spooked back into the shelter of the trees.

  Jake blew out his breath and took his finger off the trigger, putting the safety on. “Is it possible for them to make any more noise, do you think?”

  “They’re out early.” Jeb checked his watch. “You think they’d know better than to hike this time of day during hunting season. Hope they’re at least wearing orange.” Jeb referred to the bright orange vests and caps that ensured the wearer would stand out against the wooded background. It was the law that hunters wear orange, and while the law didn’t apply to recreational users, it was common sense.

  The voices of the hikers had faded and the men settled down to wait again. They would hunt for a few more hours, then they’d have to head back to Casper because Jake had to be in court on Monday. It frustrated him that he could spare so little time for hunting, but there was nothing to be done about it. At least if he were County Attorney, he would be able to take time off and not have to worry about his caseload.

  Emma’s brother wanted him to go to Texas next year to hunt wild hogs. The animals had overrun parts of Texas, which was unwilling host to half the wild hog population of North America. The animals did extensive damage, both by tearing up the physical environment and by driving out native wildlife. A large hog would feed both families for a year.

  Like most hunters, Jake hated trophy hunting. The idea of taking an animal’s life simply to have something to hang on the wall was abhorrent to him. Game meat was lean, organic, and hormone-free. Jake, like his father and grandfather before him, hunted to fill the freezer. What he couldn’t eat, he donated to local soup kitchens and food banks.

  When the elk did not return, the men waded across the stream and walked up the far bank until they found the bull’s tracks. They followed the tracks into the woods, stepping carefully to avoid dislodging stones or breaking twigs that would warn the elk of their approach. They lost his tracks in a rocky area and fanned out until they found them again, then followed him until the day had become so warm they became concerned that even if they found the bull now, they would not be able to get the meat back to the cabin and on ice before it spoiled.

  They traced their steps back to the ATV and headed back to the cabin. “You’re welcome to hang out here, Jeb. No reason for both of us to go back and forth to town. If you want to get in a little fishing, I’ll be back tomorrow night and we’ll have three more days before the season closes.”

  “Never was much for fishing. I’ll ride back with you and check on my livestock. If we don’t get your elk, why don’t you pick up a general deer license and come up to the house with me next week?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  As they neared the freeway, Jake’s phone started beeping and chirping with a weekend’s worth of notifications. One of the things he liked best about the cabin was its poor cell reception. When the alerts finally quieted, he pulled over to the side of the road. He ran through the list of missed called and grimaced.

  “Sorry Jeb, I’ve got to return a call.” He stepped out of the cab and walked around to the back, leaning against the tailgate. He punched call return and listened while the mother of the client who was due in court in the morning ranted about her most recent run-in with her son.

  “I can’t do nuttin’ with him,” she finished. “Jes’ keeps runnin’ that mouth of his, sassin’ me. You tell that j
udge I don’t want him no more.”

  The group home was full and there was no foster home option for the boy, who’d blown out of foster care the last time his mother kicked him out. His mother had sworn everything was fine at home during the last case management meeting so he’d have a lot of work to do before the nine o’clock hearing. That is, assuming the mother hadn’t changed her mind again by then.

  He hung up and decided to check his voicemail before making the hour-long drive home. There was a message from Steven Hill about the burglary and one from Matt, asking him to call when he got back to town. Two more messages from Matt followed the first. The second, left only twenty minutes ago. “Hey bud, you coming home today? Give me a call when you get this.” Jake punched Matt’s number but the call went straight to voicemail.

  ***

  “I was takin’ a nap when I heard Miz Maddie screamin’ like a pole cat fightin’ a dirt dog.” Grayson Wilson was a journeyman electrician who hadn’t lived in the South since segregation. Under stress, the dialect of his childhood resurfaced and this certainly qualified as a stressful situation. Even after telling his story to dozens of nurses and orderlies, the horror of seeing his neighbor’s dead body hadn’t faded.

  “Did you hear anything before Mrs. Hill’s screams?”

  “Nah, mah wife usta tell me I could outsnore a freight train so it’d take one t’wake me up.”

  “Mrs. Wilson is…?”

  “Gone, I’m sorry to say.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss. When did she die?”

  Wilson snorted, “Ain’t said nuttin’ ‘bout her bein’ dead, jes’ gone. Miz Maddie, she was screamin’ her head off, so I goes out to see what’s what. Miz Connie, she got her to stop yellin’ long enough to tell us her husband done been shot.”

  “So you went inside to check on him?”

  “Thought he mighta needed help.”

  “When you went into the house, did you notice anything unusual or out of place?”

  “Cain’t say as I did.”

  “Did you hear anyone moving around in the house?”

  “Didn’t hear nuttin’.”

  “How long did it take you to find Mr. Hill?”

  “Not long. He weren’t hard ta find.”

  “Did you go into the office? Touch anything?”

  “I surefire did not! Weren’t nuttin’ I could do for him. Never saw nuttin’ like that afore and I don’t never want to see the likes a that ag’in.”

  “And what did you do then?”

  “I got outta there quick as my feet could carry me. Sat down on the steps and didn’ budge ‘til the police come.”

  “Did you see anybody while you were sitting there?”

  “Jes’ Miz Connie’s boy. He come and set with me.” Wilson chuckled. “Didn’ look none too happy ‘bout it, but his mama tol’ him to set there with me, so he did.”

  “Did he go inside the house?”

  “Jes set there lis’nen to that music of his ‘til we heard the siren, then he beat feet.”

  Matt thanked Mr. Wilson, gave him his card, and asked him to call if he thought of anything else. Outside, this time with his car in the police spot, he called Cam Ellwood.

  “Lab.”

  “What can you tell me, Cam?”

  “Yeah right. Nobody else is crazy enough to work on Sunday.”

  “Just finished talking to Wilson. He says he went into the house but not the office.”

  “I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t have gone in there if the good people of Casper weren’t paying me to do it.”

  “Got anything for me on the prints?”

  “Still processing.”

  Matt hung up his phone and picked up his radio. The dispatcher put him through to Officer Altrez. “Where are you, Luis?”

  “Mall.”

  “Meet you at the recycle station in fifteen.”

  “Ten-four.”

  Eighteen minutes later, Matt was back in his car. Altrez’s team had thoroughly searched the house and canvassed the neighborhood, but nothing of interest had been found and no one reported seeing anything prior to hearing Maddie Hill scream.

  He noticed a missed call from Jake and checked his voicemail. Since Jake would not be home for at least an hour, he decided he had time for lunch. He made another call. “Kristy? I find myself with a free hour and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend it with. You free for lunch?”

  6

  Emma loved every season, each as different from the others as it was possible for weather to be. Growing up in southern California, she’d been accustomed to having just two seasons, wet and dry. In Wyoming, all four seasons chased each other around the calendar. Before Emma had time to grow tired with one, the next was pushing its way forward. Spring was her favorite time of year, but fall was a close second.

  The change in air pressure that accompanied the movement from summer to fall was draining for Grace. Though she had said nothing to Emma, she hadn’t been able to hide the dark circles that appeared beneath her eyes. Over breakfast, Emma had suggested they skip the drive up Casper Mountain they’d been planning. “There’s a storm blowing down from Canada. Weather report calls for three feet of snow by tonight. I never quite believe the weatherman, but it’s still probably better if we wait.”

  Grace had accepted Emma’s weather excuse despite the bright sun that was streaming in at every window and had readily agreed to another quite day at home. She’d fallen asleep on her easy chair, Peachy curled in her lap and Sparky on the back of her chair, snuggled against Grace’s shoulder. Emma had spent the past few hours lost in thought. Grace had told her that all of her family was gone. Jake, too, had lost his parents and had no siblings. He had cousins down south, where his mother was from, but they’d never been more than Christmas card family to him.

  Her own family was big and boisterous, with several generations that gathered for holidays and special occasions. She and Jake had stayed home from the family Christmas celebration last year and they hadn’t been planning to go to Florida this year because of Grace. She decided to call her sister to see if she could fit one more person around her table. It might do Grace good to immerse herself in family, and everyone was family at her sister’s house.

  Grace slept the morning away, while Emma took advantage of the quiet to read a book. A gust of wind slammed into the southwestern corner of the house with such force it startled both Grace and the cats. “Is it snowing?”

  “Just wind. Clouds are blowing in. Weatherman might be right after all.”

  “I hope so.” Grace hadn’t seen much snow, spending most of her time living in California or traveling the globe, going from airport to hotel to conference center to airport again. She was looking forward to what she’d told Emma would be her first white Christmas.

  The two women were sitting down to a late lunch of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches when they heard Jake’s truck in the drive. Emma ran out to greet him, throwing her arms around him as if they’d been apart for weeks instead of just two days.

  “I should go away more often if that’s how you greet me when I come home.”

  “I just missed you. Catch any fish? Did you get your elk?”

  “Nah, but Jeb and I are going back tomorrow night. We’ll get in a couple more days before I have to give up and just go after deer. I missed you.” Emma walked in with Jake and made him a grilled cheese sandwich. She ladled soup into a mug for him and popped her own lunch into the microwave to reheat.

  “So, what did you decide about running for County Attorney, Jacob?”

  “Ninety percent.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “There’s a few people I want to talk to first.”

  “Lining up your support in advance?” asked Emma. “Smart idea.”

  “How was your weekend?”

  “Quiet. Peaceful.”

  There was a knock at the door and Jake went to open it. “Matt? Since when did you start knocking?”

 
Matt stood awkwardly in the entry. “Afraid this isn’t a social call.”

  “Is it about the breakin? I got a voicemail from Steven Hill right before you called me. I don’t know how I can help you, but if I can, I’m glad to.”

  “Why don’t we talk outside?”

  Jake grabbed his jacket from a hook by the door. “Heading out to check on the barn,” he told Emma.

  He slipped his arms into his jacket as they walked. “So what don’t you want Emma to hear? There’s not much I can tell you that Steven couldn’t.”

  “Steven Hill’s not saying anything anymore.”

  “Why not? Did Roger ask him not to cooperate?”

  “Not that I know of. We’re trying to reach the Hills, but it’s crazy. How do you go anywhere in the world these days without somebody being able to reach you?”

  Jake unlatched the barn door and both men were grateful for the shelter from the wind. Jake turned on the light and opened the bin where dry cat food was stored. As soon as scoop hit food, barn cats began to materialize. Cats fed, he leaned against his workbench. “Out with it. What do you need?”

  “When did you hear from Steven Hill?”

  “Got the message about two hours ago, when Jeb and I got into cell range but the message was dated on Friday. He said his parents’ home had been broken into and you might be calling me. Told me he was trying to reach his dad.”

  “That’s it? Nothing after that?”

  “Just messages from you. Again, I don’t know how I can help. Steven said something about the safe being broken into, but the insurance company would be more help to you there. I’m sure Roger had a complete inventory on file with them.”

  “You still work for Roger Hill?”

  “You know I can’t tell you that.”

  “Steven Hill told me. I didn’t know you took anything but juvenile cases now.”

  “Mostly. When I made the change, I didn’t take on new clients but I kept any of the old that wanted to stay with me. I’m down to a handful now.”

  “Is Steven Hill one of them?”

  “You’ll have to ask him.”