by B. J Daniels
McCall stared at the sheriff. His color had returned but he still looked upset. Because she’d interfered with the investigation? Or because she’d found the pickup when he’d thought no one ever would? She realized that she was looking at everyone as a suspect.
“Aren’t you going to ask where the stock pond is located?” she asked him.
His eyes narrowed. “I was getting to that. You realize I can have you arrested after I told you specifically to stay clear of this investigation?”
“Are you sure you want that kind of publicity given that it’s my father who was murdered and that I’m the one who found his grave and his pickup?”
“You’re treading on thin ice, McCall. If you don’t want to lose your job—”
“The stock pond is on the old Crawford place,” she said, in case there was any doubt that she didn’t give a damn about her job at this point. “The ranch was vacant twenty-seven years ago. Buzz Crawford had sold it, but the new out-of-state owners never took possession.” Had Buzz known that might be the case?
Grant leaned back, worry creasing his forehead as he studied her. “Have you told your mother or your grandmother about the truck?”
“No. I came straight to you. I think it would be best if neither of them was notified until there is no doubt it is his pickup. Right now it’s stuck in the mud about six to eight feet underwater.”
“I don’t want word getting out on this,” the sheriff said.
“That’s why I didn’t go through the dispatcher. I thought we could get Tommy over at T&T Towing to pull it out. I’ve already gotten permission from the new owner of the property—Luke Crawford—so a warrant isn’t necessary. But I would suggest we do this now before anyone else finds out. I want to be there when you bring up the pickup.”
McCall knew she had overstepped her boundaries. She half expected her boss to tell her that not only didn’t he give a damn about her suggestions, but he was also locking her up for obstructing his investigation.
To her surprise, he rose from his seat, picked up his coat on the way out the door, saying, “You better turn in your vehicle and ride with me. I can give you a ride home.”
LUKE SAT IN THE SHADE, drinking a cold beer and watching the road into his place. He hadn’t been able to reach his uncle and he was growing more concerned by the minute.
In the distance, he saw vehicles coming up the ranch road. Dust rose behind them into the twilight and floated south on the light breeze.
A perfect spring evening. Unless a pickup had been found in your stock pond that might belong to the missing father of the woman you loved—and lost.
As the tow truck roared into the yard followed by the sheriff’s patrol SUV, Luke rose, put down the beer he’d hardly touched and watched the sheriff climb out. Grant Sheridan had an even grimmer expression on his face than usual.
Deputy McCall Winchester climbed out of the other side.
“I understand you’ve given McCall permission to drag your stock pond?” the sheriff asked.
Luke nodded. “Like I told her, it’s all yours.” He saw McCall glance around as if looking for someone. It hit him: she’d expected him to call Buzz to warn him. And damned if he hadn’t. Would Buzz be here now if he had reached him—or on his way to South America via Mexico?
In retrospect, he was glad he hadn’t reached him. The way Buzz felt about McCall and the Winchesters, he thought it better to let this play out before Buzz got the news. He didn’t want Buzz making matters worse. It would be bad enough if that really was Trace Winchester’s pickup buried in the mud of his stock pond—and Buzz knew something about it.
As they followed the tow truck down to the stock pond, Luke couldn’t help but notice how nervous McCall was. He doubted anyone else had noticed since she hid it well.
But he knew her intimately. Even making love once changed things between a man and woman. Especially when that woman was McCall. She kept so much of herself hidden behind her tough-girl attitude. Only once had she let down her guard with him. No wonder she’d hated him after she’d thought he’d betrayed her.
“You sure you want to see this?” he asked McCall now as the sheriff went over to talk to the tow truck driver and his assistant, who was suiting up for the dive.
McCall looked over at him, frowning as if she didn’t understand his concern. “My father’s body isn’t in the truck.”
“You’re sure about that?” he asked, studying her. If she was telling the truth, then why was she so nervous? Whose body did she think was going to be in there?
The diver disappeared under the water with a light, only to return moments later to come back for the cable.
Luke watched McCall out of the corner of his eye as the diver slipped under the surface. He reappeared after a short time and signaled the tow truck driver. The cable tightened as the engine mounted on the back of the tow truck began to rev.
Something moved below the surface of the water sending up bubbles then waves that lapped at the shore. Out of the rust-colored water a large pickup-shaped object emerged.
Chapter Eleven
Dark water ran from pickup, gushing to the ground as McCall tried to see what was inside the cab. But the interior was a cave of darkness behind the slimed-over windows.
She felt Grant’s hand on her arm.
“Remember the deal we made,” the sheriff reminded her. “You got to come along but you stay out of it.”
She nodded and took a step back as he walked over to the truck and rubbed off some of the slime to check the color. McCall had already seen that it was black. A 1983 Chevy pickup. Just like the one her father had been driving the day he disappeared.
As the water draining from the cab slowed, Grant glanced back at her. With deliberate motions, he pulled on a pair of latex gloves, then reached to open the passenger’s side door.
McCall gasped as a large object swept out from the pickup on a wave of dirty water.
“What the hell?” the sheriff cried, jumping back.
McCall couldn’t help herself. She stepped forward as if propelled by an invisible force, stopping short when she recognized what had been at the center of the sludge.
Waterlogged, mud-filled boots had apparently been wrapped up in a wool plaid hunting coat.
She stepped past Grant to look into the cab of the pickup but couldn’t tell what else might be in there, given all the sludge.
Stumbling back, she was surprised when she felt strong arms steady her.
“Easy,” Luke said.
She hadn’t realized she was trembling until she felt him put an arm around her and lead her away from the truck and into the shade of his house he was building.
For a moment, she stood in his embrace, then, fearful at how wonderful it felt, moved just far enough away that he wasn’t touching her, cursing her stupid pride.
Luke dusted off a spot on some lumber beside the house. “Here, sit in the shade.”
She sat, feeling faint and touched by his concern for her. “I hadn’t expected…” Words deserted her.
“Seeing the pickup like that must have been a shock,” he said quietly as he sat down beside her—just not too close.
She’d known the pickup would be her father’s black Chevy. She just hadn’t known it would have this effect on her. The truck looked nothing like it had in the only photo she had of her father.
So why did it hurt so much just looking at it?
Because she knew the last person to drive it hadn’t been her father—but his killer.
For a moment earlier though, she’d feared that what washed out was the remains of Geneva Cavanaugh Cherry.
She could hear Grant putting in a call to the crime lab. Now the team would have even more evidence to work with in the cold-case murder investigation. But McCall doubted there would be anything to find, given how long the pickup had been under the dirty water. Even if they did find something, she wouldn’t be privy to it.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Luke asked.
“I’ll find out. Stay here.”
She stood facing the Little Rockies, the sunset rimming the mountains in deepening shades of orange and pink. A shadow began to settle over the land, over her. Seeing the pickup had made it real.
McCall started at Luke’s touch.
“The rifle wasn’t in the pickup,” he said as they headed toward his truck. “They’re talking about dragging the pond.”
She nodded. She hadn’t expected the rifle to be in the truck. Nor did she believe they’d find it at the bottom of the pond. All along she’d suspected the killer had taken it.
“McCall!” the sheriff called after her.
She stopped and waited as he came over to where she stood. Luke continued to his truck to wait for her, leaving the two of them alone.
“Why did you ask about your father’s rifle?” Grant wanted to know.
“Because he had it with him that day. He’d gone hunting.”
“You’re sure he had the rifle? I thought he’d been ticketed the day before for poaching?”
“He had, but for some reason Buzz Crawford hadn’t confiscated the rifle—or his antelope tag.” She saw the sheriff’s surprised expression. “Buzz says he doesn’t recall, too long ago. But I checked. Buzz never turned the rifle in to the Fish and Game evidence department, and my mother swears Trace had it the day he disappeared.”
Grant was studying her. “How did you know the pickup was here?”
“I told you, I saw the pond from the ridge. What better place to hide the truck than a vacant ranch close by?”
The sheriff pulled off his hat and raked a hand through his graying hair. He dropped his voice as he said, “I know you talked to Sandy.” His gaze searched her face. “Where were you going with this?”
“I talked to anyone who had reason to hate my father enough to kill and bury him on that ridge twenty-seven years ago.”
“And you thought Sandy…” He shook his head.
“Actually, I thought you had more motive,” McCall said.
All the breath seemed to whoosh out of him. “Me?”
“You must have hated him. Probably still do.”
Grant looked away. “You’re wrong. I’m thankful Trace was such an incredible bastard.” His gaze came back to her. “He gave me a chance with Sandy, one I wouldn’t have had otherwise.”
McCall felt a deep sorrow for Grant. The man really seemed to believe that he’d won Sandy.
“This ends here for you,” Grant said. “Got it?”
She didn’t answer, just turned and walked toward Luke’s pickup. Without a word, she slid in. As Luke pulled away, she glanced back at the pond. Her father’s pickup looked like some monster dragged up from the black lagoon.
“EVERYTHING ALL RIGHT?” Luke said as he drove them away. He hadn’t been able to hear the conversation between her and the sheriff, but he’d watched in the rearview mirror, and from their body language it hadn’t been a pleasant discussion.
“Just great.” McCall leaned back and closed her eyes. “Thanks for getting me out of there. I’m sorry about the way I acted earlier.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“What?”
“Pretend. I can tell this is tearing you up.”
She said nothing as he turned onto Highway 191 and headed north toward Whitehorse. Luke wished she would let him help her through this, but he could tell by her silence that she’d already shut him out.
He started to turn on the radio, when her words stopped him.
“There’s a reason I knew my father’s body wasn’t in the pickup.” Her voice sounded small and filled with emotion, and when he glanced over at her he saw the tears beaded on her closed lashes. “Rocky Harrison found my father’s remains not far from the stock pond.”
Luke had heard about the bones from Buzz, but he’d never imagined they would turn out to be McCall’s father’s. Worry burrowed deeper under his skin as he recalled Buzz’s interest in the find. Natural curiosity, like driving by a wreck and being forced to look? Or something more sinister?
And now Trace Winchester’s pickup had been found on the old Crawford place.
Luke drove, mind racing. He wasn’t sure what scared him the most. That McCall suspected Buzz. Or that she actually might have reason to.
“You’re not wearing your badge or your gun,” he said after a moment.
She opened her eyes and sat up, turning away to wipe her tears. “I’m suspended for two weeks. I withheld some evidence until I was certain the remains were my father’s.”
Luke couldn’t imagine what she’d been going through. “I’m sorry.” He knew the words weren’t near enough. Throwing caution to the wind, he reached over and took her hand. He expected her to pull away and was surprised when her hand closed tightly onto his.
She made an undecipherable sound. He could feel her pain. But it was the anger and frustration he felt coming off her in waves that worried him. He knew this woman.
“I know what you’re planning to do,” he said as the road topped a hill and he could see the dark outline of the trees that meandered through the Milk River Valley. A few lights from town glittered faintly in the growing darkness.
McCall turned to give him an amused smile. He could tell she didn’t think he knew anything about her. She couldn’t have been more wrong.
“I know you’re going after your father’s killer.”
“You witnessed my discussion with the sheriff. If I get involved I’ll be fired.”
Luke chuckled. “Like that will stop you.” He saw the determination in her expression. “It won’t bring your father back.”
“No, there’s no changing the past, is there?”
He glanced over at her, wondering if she was talking about the two of them or her father’s murder.
“I have to find his killer. It’s the only justice he’s going to get.” He could feel her gaze on him. “Why? Worried where my investigation is going to lead me?”
“Buzz didn’t kill your father,” he said, hoping the hell he was right.
“And you know that how?”
“What was his motive?”
“He had it in for my father.”
Luke thought about all the tickets Buzz had written Trace. It certainly looked that way. But murder? “Do you have any proof?”
“Not yet.”
“What if you’re wrong about Buzz?” Just as you’re wrong about me, he thought as he drove through town and took the river road to her cabin.
“One way or another, I intend to get justice for my father,” she said.
He didn’t like the sound of that. He pulled up next to her cabin.
“Thanks for the ride,” McCall said and started to open her door. “If you’re so sure your uncle is innocent, then get me a copy of Buzz’s daily log for those two days. The day before hunting season opened and opening day.”
Luke swore. “I can’t do that.”
“I know you can. But I understand why you wouldn’t want to. Don’t worry, I’ll find another way,” she said, climbing out and slamming his pickup door.
“Wait,” he called as he reached over, opened his glove box and took out the Colt .45. Opening his door, he went after her. He knew this woman, knew she would move heaven and earth to find her father’s killer. Nothing could stop her. Especially him.
But he couldn’t let her do it alone—or unarmed—no matter where the trail led.
“I’ll help you.” His words surprised him as much as her. If she tried to get copies of that logbook, the sheriff would find out and she would be fired—if not arrested. He couldn’t let that happen.
He grabbed her arm and turned her around to face him. Touching her was like sending a bolt of electricity through him. He felt the surge of desire rush through his veins and prepared himself for the powerful ache it left when she pulled free.
S
he didn’t pull free this time. Her eyes locked with his. “Why?”
He knew she was asking more than why he would help her.
“You know why,” he said as he let go of her arm. “You’re the reason I came back here. The only reason.”
A BANK OF LOW CLOUDS MADE the night darker than normal as McCall watched Luke turn and leave. She felt shaken to her core. He’d come back here because of her?
The tall black limbs of the cottonwood trees creaked and groaned in the breeze against a sky as dark as the inside of a body bag.
She hugged herself against the cool breeze and breathed in the scents of the night, trying to clear her head. His confession changed nothing, she told herself, and yet she knew it did.
Suddenly she felt as if she was being propelled headlong into disaster, no longer in control of anything and completely unable to stop what was about to happen.
“Damn you, Luke,” she whispered as the pickup’s taillights disappeared into the darkness.
McCall rubbed a hand over her face. She was exhausted from lack of sleep, her body ached from her crash into the ditch the night before and she was frustrated and confused.
Luke was so sure his uncle was innocent.
Was she that sure that Buzz had killed her father? All she had was circumstantial evidence at best. Anyone would have known about the old Crawford place being vacant. Anyone could have taken Trace’s rifle after killing him.
Nothing she’d learned had moved her any closer to finding her father’s killer. She’d learned things about her mother she hadn’t wanted to know and even worse things about her father.
Her job had been jeopardized, and she wasn’t even sure she wanted it back now. Maybe worst of all, she had the feeling there was no one she could trust. She’d burned bridges with everyone she knew, and now Luke had her questioning where this obsession had taken her.
She couldn’t change the past. Her father was dead. Even her mother was trying to move on.
All McCall had done was stir up a hornet’s nest that had left her alienated from people she cared about.
She felt like crying and had to fight the tears, knowing that once she started she might not be able to stop.
