by B. J Daniels
The bed was covered in an old quilt, the colors faded, the stitching broken in dozens of places. She started to touch the once-vibrant colored squares but pulled her hand back.
Her eyes lit on the stack of outdoor and hunting magazines piled up beside the bed. Trace had lived and breathed hunting. He’d been like his father that way.
Her husband, Call, came to mind. She chased that memory away like a pesky fly, wishing she could kill it.
The door to the closet was open, and she could see most of Trace’s clothes still hanging inside it, also covered with dust just like his guitar in the corner, like his high school sports trophies lined up on the shelves and his wild animal posters on the walls.
Pepper stood in the middle of the room feeling weak and angry at herself for that weakness. No wonder she had avoided this room, like so many others, all these years.
But as she stood there, she realized there was nothing of Trace left here. There was no reason to lock the room anymore or to keep what her son had left behind.
Trace Winchester was gone and he wasn’t coming back.
That realization struck her to her core since she’d held on to the opposite belief for the past twenty-seven years.
Tears blurred her eyes as she looked around the room realizing what had changed. She’d become convinced her son was never coming home the moment she’d laid eyes on his deputy daughter.
MCCALL MENTALLY KICKED herself for the position she’d put herself in as she pulled into the sheriff’s department parking lot. If she’d told the sheriff up front about what she’d found and her suspicions—
When he’d called this morning, he hadn’t said why he wanted to see her, just that he did, even though it was her day off. He had only said it was important.
The best thing she could do was confess all.
Except as she got out of her pickup, she knew she couldn’t do that. Not yet. Once she told Grant about the hunting license, the news would be all over town.
Right now she had a slim advantage to find the killer because he didn’t know she was after him yet.
Even if the killer—who she was assuming still lived in Whitehorse since few people left—had heard about the discovery of the bones, he would still think he was safe. He’d taken everything that identified the body—even her father’s boots, his wallet, his pickup and rifle—all things that could have identified the body.
The killer just hadn’t known about the hunting license in one of Trace’s pockets, apparently.
As McCall started toward her boss’s office, she hesitated. She was jeopardizing more than her job by investigating this on her own. Once she started asking questions around town, the killer would know she was on to him and she would be putting her life in danger.
But if there was even a chance that Trace Winchester wouldn’t have run out on them, that he’d have stayed and made them a family, then she owed it to all of them to find out who had taken that away.
“Thanks for coming in,” Sheriff Grant Sheridan said as she tapped on his open door. He motioned to a chair in front of his desk. “Please close the door.”
She stepped in, shutting the door behind her. Grant leaned back in his chair. He was a stocky, reasonably attractive man, with dark hair graying at the temples, intense blue eyes and a permanent grave expression.
A contemporary of her mother’s, McCall had heard that the two had once dated back in high school, but then who hadn’t her mother dated?
“How are you this morning?” Grant asked as McCall sat.
“Fine.” She hoped this wasn’t about her visit yesterday to the Winchester Ranch but maybe that was better than the alternative.
“I talked to the crime lab this morning,” he said, not sounding happy about it.
She felt her heart drop. The DNA couldn’t have come back already. But Grant could have heard about the unauthorized test.
“I’ve asked them to put a rush on those remains you sent them,” Grant said.
“A rush?” she echoed. She’d thought she’d have time. Now, her undercover sleuthing aside, once the sheriff found out about the DNA test and the hunting license she’d be lucky to still have a job. Worse, she could end up in jail.
“After what happened at the bar last night, I had to speed up the process,” Grant was saying. “Apparently Rocky, with the help of Eugene Crawford, got a bunch from out on the reservation all worked up. They’re convinced one of their ancestor’s grave has been disturbed.”
“It wasn’t an Indian grave.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.” She wished Rocky had kept his fool mouth shut, but it was too late for that. “Along with the bones, I found shirt snaps, metal buttons off a pair of jeans and what was left of a leather belt.”
“So it was a grave,” Grant said, sounding surprised. “I thought it was just bones.”
He hadn’t asked her and he hadn’t been around when she’d mailed everything off to the crime lab. At least that was her excuse for keeping more than the hunting license from him.
His being distracted for weeks now had made it too easy. Now everything hinged on that DNA report from the crime lab.
“When you said the bones were human, I just assumed they’d been there for a while,” Grant said now. “How old are we talking?”
“Hard to say.” Remains deteriorated at different rates depending on the time of year, the weather, the soil and how deep the body was buried.
“More than fifty years?”
“Less, I’d say.”
He was silent for a long moment. “Where exactly were these bones found again?”
She told him.
He grew even quieter before he said, “Thanks for taking care of Rocky last night. We’re still holding Eugene Crawford. I understand he got into it with you. Are you all right?”
“He didn’t hurt me.”
“But he apparently grabbed you and shoved you?”
“He was drunk and looking for a fight,” she said. “I didn’t see any reason to make more of it than it was.”
Grant studied her for a moment before nodding. “Well, good job at keeping a lid on things. It could have been much worse if you hadn’t acted as quickly as you did. It wouldn’t be the first time Eugene Crawford tore up a bar.” He glanced at his watch, sighed and stood, signaling that they were finished.
McCall tried to hide her relief.
“We should have the results from the lab on those bones in a week,” Grant was saying. “In the meantime, I think it would be best if we said as little as possible about the discovery, don’t you agree?”
She did indeed. She couldn’t help but wonder how he’d feel when he found out just whose bones they really were. If he thought there was trouble now, wait until he had to deal with Pepper Winchester.
One week. When the report came back with the DNA test, all hell would break loose. She’d give up the hunting license and let the chips fall where they may. But in the meantime, she planned to make the most of it.
LUKE GLANCED OVER AT HIS UNCLE, worried. Buzz didn’t seem to be taking to retirement well after thirty-five years as a Montana game warden. While he swore that he was content fishing most every day, Luke suspected he missed catching bad guys.
Buzz, who’d made a name for himself as one of the most hard-nosed game wardens in the west, had been written up in a couple of major metropolitan newspapers and magazines, helping make him a legend in these parts.
“Did Eugene get out of jail?” Luke asked into the silence that had stretched between them.
“I’m going in this afternoon to bail him out. It was the soonest they’d release him.” Buzz swore under his breath. “You know who arrested him, don’t you?” Luke felt his stomach clench. “McCall Winchester. The Winchesters have always had it in for our family.”
And vice versa, Luke thought, but was smart enough not to say it.
“Eugene said he hit you up for that money he owes for gambling debts,” his uncle said after a moment.
>
Was that accusation he heard in Buzz’s voice? “He needs fifty thousand dollars. I can’t raise that kind of money.”
“He asked you for that much? When he came to me it was only thirty.” Buzz swore. “He tell you anything about these guys he owes the money to?”
“No.” But Luke could imagine.
“He seems to think they won’t find him here. Or maybe he thinks we’ll protect him.” Buzz had always protected his son, to Eugene’s detriment. Luke saw there was both regret and determination in his uncle’s expression. “I don’t have the money to give him either.”
Luke wasn’t sure where this conversation was headed. “He has to stop gambling, get a job—”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Buzz snapped. “But fifty thousand? It would take him years to make that much at a job in Whitehorse. Meanwhile, these guys aren’t going to wait on their money.”
Luke shook his head, hating the desperation he heard in his uncle’s voice. Eugene would be even more desperate and probably do something crazy, knowing his cousin.
“I need to get going,” Luke said finishing his coffee and rising to take the mug back into the kitchen.
As he came back out, he heard the sound of a vehicle engine. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he saw a white pickup pull in, a sheriff’s department emblem on the side and a set of lights on top.
Luke heard his uncle swear as Deputy Sheriff McCall Winchester climbed out.
Chapter Five
McCall had hoped to catch Buzz Crawford alone. The last person she wanted to see was Luke. But unfortunately as she pulled up to the lake house, his pickup was parked outside.
No way to make a graceful escape even if she could let the coward in her win out.
As she neared the house, she saw the two Crawford men on the deck, Luke standing as if about to leave and Buzz sprawled in a lawn chair as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
She stopped at the bottom of the stairs to the deck, shading her eyes to take in the two. It hadn’t escaped her notice last night that Luke had changed. He’d filled out, looking stronger, definitely confident and as always, handsome in an understated, very male way.
She could see that Luke didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone with his uncle given the family history. Of course he would be protective of the uncle who’d raised him and by now he would also know about his cousin’s arrest last night and who Buzz would blame.
McCall smiled to herself at the indecision she saw in Luke’s expression. But was he afraid to leave her alone with Buzz because of his fear of what his uncle might do? Or her?
“I’d like to speak to Buzz alone,” McCall said flashing her badge. She heard Buzz curse loud enough for her to hear.
“You coming out to arrest me as well as my son?” Buzz snapped.
Luke started down the steps to the shore. As he stepped past McCall, he said under his breath, “You sure this is a good idea?”
“I can handle Buzz.” The nearness of Luke Crawford was a whole other story, she thought as he brushed on past her.
“And I can handle the deputy,” Buzz said from his lawn chair.
McCall listened to the crunch of Luke’s boot heels on the rocky shore before ascending the stairs to the deck.
Buzz was a big beefy man with ham-sized fists and a predilection for violence—much like his son Eugene. As the former county game warden, he’d made more than his share of enemies since he had a reputation for being a heartless bastard who would have arrested his own mother.
McCall had heard stories about him roughing up poachers, claiming they’d resisted arrest when they swore they hadn’t.
“What do you want?” Buzz demanded scowling at her now as he got up and went through the open door into his house.
She stepped cautiously to the doorway and peered into the dim darkness.
The place wasn’t much larger than her cabin on the river and even more sparsely furnished. The only thing on the walls other than deer and antelope mounts were framed yellowed articles from newspapers and magazines featuring Buzz when he was a game warden.
He saw her looking at the write-ups about him and chuckled. “That’s what a real officer of the law looks like,” he boasted as he poured himself a mug of coffee but he didn’t offer her one.
She saw that he’d changed since he’d left his game warden job. He wasn’t in shape anymore and he’d aged. She thought retirement wasn’t working out so well for him.
“So what brings a Winchester out to see me?” Buzz asked, glaring at her.
She smiled, wondering at this hatred between the Crawfords and Winchesters. It made no sense. Especially when aimed at her since no one in town considered her a Winchester—including the Winchester family.
“I’m here about Trace Winchester’s disappearance,” she said into the cold malevolent silence.
Buzz had started to take a drink of the hot coffee, but jerked back at her words, spilling some on the floor and burning his mouth. He swore and put down the cup.
“Your name keeps coming up in my investigation,” she said. “I was wondering why that was.”
“No mystery there,” Buzz spat. “Your old man kept breaking the law and I kept catching him.”
“How many times was that?”
He shrugged. “I lost track.”
“Really? You were the only game warden for this entire county back then. You alone had an area the size of Massachusetts to cover, from Canada to the Missouri River Breaks. It would have been impossible to catch Trace Winchester every time he broke the law unless you made it a personal vendetta.”
“Maybe he was just stupid and got caught a lot.”
“Maybe. I guess it would depend on how many times you arrested him and for what.”
She’d checked the arrests before she’d driven out. They were public record. “Let’s see,” she said taking the list from her pocket. “Littering, trespassing, improper boat safety equipment…” She looked up. “You wrote him far more tickets than you wrote anyone else in the county.”
Buzz looked uneasy.
“It makes me wonder just what your relationship was with my father.”
“Relationship? I couldn’t stand the little—” He caught himself. “Trace Winchester was a spoiled kid who thought he was above the law. I was a law enforcement officer. You should be able to understand that.”
She nodded as she stuffed the list back into her pocket and took out her notebook and pen. “When was the last time you saw Trace?”
Buzz picked up his mug again and took a sip of coffee, letting her wait. “Hell if I know. Whatever date I ticketed his worthless ass.”
“You never saw him again? Like say the next morning?” she asked, her gaze riveted to his.
He stared right back. “That’s right.”
“You’re sure about that? You didn’t by any chance wait for him on a ridge south of town?” Was it her imagination or did she see fear contract his eyes?
“You deaf? I already told you. Quit wasting my time.”
“What exactly is your problem with the Winchester family?”
He blinked in surprise. “Why don’t you ask your mother. Or your grandmother. Oh, that’s right, Pepper disowned you.”
“Actually, I don’t think she went to the trouble.”
He sneered at that. “Your grandfather cheated my brother out of some land. Call Winchester was a crook and a liar.”
“Call’s been dead for more than forty years. What did that have to do with my mother? Or my father other than he was a Winchester and spoiled?”
“I didn’t say it had anything to do with your father.” His smile was as sharp as the filet knife lying on the counter next to him. “If you want to know what it has to do with your mother, well, I suggest you ask her.”
McCall studied Buzz for a moment, hoping he wasn’t another of her mother’s old boyfriends. “What happened to my father’s rifle?”
Buzz jerked back as if she’d taken a swing at him. “Ho
w the hell should I know? I would imagine he took if with him when he left town.”
“How is that possible? You arrested him the day before for—” she made a show pulling out her list and checking it again “—poaching an antelope before opening season. If the rifle had been used in the commission of a crime, the weapon would have been considered evidence and confiscated under the law. So you must have taken it, right?”
Buzz looked worried. “No. Maybe Trace hid it. Or maybe I just forgot. I can’t remember. But if I had taken it, the rifle would still be locked up in evidence.”
“I checked. It’s not. Anyway, my mother swears that Trace had the rifle the next morning when he left the house to go hunting. A model 99 Savage rifle with his father’s initials carved in the stock.”
“You’d take the word of your mother?”
She studied him, feeling an icy chill at the malice she saw in his eyes.
Her mother had said Trace might have had something on Buzz he used as leverage to keep his rifle, but why the obvious hated for her mother?
“Was my father blackmailing you?”
Buzz went to slam his mug down on the counter but missed. The mug hit the floor, shattering. Coffee shot out in an arc across the tile, making a dark stain at his feet.
She saw he was shaking all over, even his voice. “Get out of my house. I’m done talking to you without my lawyer.”
McCall closed her notebook, put it and her pen away before she stepped back into the sunlight on the deck. Even the early morning sun felt good after the cold inside.
“One more thing,” she said sticking her head back into the house.
He seemed shocked she was still on his property and had the audacity to ask him another question.
“Did I mention Rocky Harrison found a human grave south of town on a high ridge from a spot where you can see the Winchester Ranch in the distance?”
Buzz didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t even seem to breathe. It wasn’t the reaction she’d hoped for but it was a reaction.
“What the hell does that have to do with me?” he finally demanded.
