Body Brace (Caught Dead in Wyoming, Book 10)

by Patricia McLinn

  The gatekeeper — not carrying a shotgun as he had previous times I’d arrived at Teague Ranch — gave Tom a cursory look, scanned the two older women in the backseat, then shifted his attention to me.

  “You’re that Danniher woman.”

  “I’m Elizabeth Margaret Danniher from KWMT-TV.”

  “Thought so. Mr. Teague hated you.”

  “I’ve been invited.”

  “Really, really hated you.”

  I looked at Tom. Apparently relaxed, but not relaxed at all, he looked at the guard.

  The man’s mouth widened in a grin. “The jackass is dead, so go on in. Glad to have you. Only hope he knows. Go right on in.”

  He straightened and grandly waved us ahead.

  * * * *

  We drove past the collection of Old West buildings jostled together along an ersatz Main Street. I counted three dozen — an increase since my previous trip — before they went out of sight and we dropped into underground parking.

  “All those buildings,” Gee said. “I had no idea he had so many.”

  Mrs. P looked grim.

  A man in the Teague Ranch uniform of ironed jeans, shiny tooled cowboy boots, a shirt with a bolo tie directed us to an elevator and pressed the button for the main floor.

  My first visit took me higher, to where Teague had secure displays of many of his acquisitions. This main floor area was more Las Vegas Presents the Old West.

  A business-suited man greeted James and Tom and led them away. The rest of us were escorted to a room I’d swear was modeled after the Ponderosa from Bonanza. Forget a nod toward western roots, this dug up the whole tree and plunked it in front of you.

  A lectern stood at one end, a table with cookies, coffee, tea, and water stood at the opposite.

  I found a spot with a good view of both without being in the middle.

  O.D. Everett, Anna Price-Fox, and Ivy Short joined Mrs. P and Gee. Clara and Nadine went to a window that gave a view of the Old West town and stayed there, talking in low voices.

  I spotted Willa Rennant, drinking coffee, appearing self-contained, and watching everything.

  More filtered into the room. By their dress, employees.

  The biggest surprise was the arrival of Kamden Graf. It took a second to notice Jolie Graf, masked by his bulk and clinging to his arm with both hands.

  Willa’s presence was also a surprise. Unless Teague wrote in some remembrance for the Rennant family in the event Palmer predeceased him?

  “Still the thousand-mile stare?”

  I hadn’t even seen Needham approach. I jumped on him.

  “Needham, what did you mean, not every story needs to be chased?”

  “Just what you thought I meant. Luther Tipton. He’s dead and from everything I ever heard he was a man who needed killing. Some men do, you know.”

  He spoke so mildly it took half a beat for his words’ sharpness to hit. And leave a shimmer of shock in their wake.

  Perhaps recognizing my response, he smiled slightly. “Wouldn’t act on it personally, mind — woman or man — but I can think it. And I can think of the alternative when such people live on.”

  His face changed.

  Less of the smart, noticing journalist. More of the man who said some men needed killing.

  The alternative…

  If Luther Tipton hadn’t died. What would life have been like for Sally? Her stepmother?

  Yet she wanted a decent burial for the man. What did that say about—?

  “Ladies and gentlemen. If I may have your attention, please. I’m James Longbaugh.”

  He spoke from the lectern at the front of the room. Tom stood next to him, with the business-suited man in the background.

  The noise didn’t cease immediately, especially as some jockeyed for better views.

  Kamden Graf moved through the crowd as if he didn’t have a human limpet on his arm, saying hello and smiling at women. Only a few greeted Jolie. I stayed out of his line of sight.

  I did see Willa Rennant make eye contact with her. Jolie shrank closer to Kamden. Willa’s gaze moved on.

  Once James had everyone’s attention, he continued, “I have been asked by the executor to share information with all of you on behalf of the Russell Teague estate.”

  * * * *

  The good thing about knowing ahead of time what a dramatic announcement was about was you got to watch how others received the news. At least as many of them as you could watch at once.

  “—and both those properties are to be sold, with the proceeds to be divided among the current employees by percentages listed in a document each of you will receive.

  “The Cottonwood County Library receives Mr. Teague’s personal library from this property, as well as all research and materials pertaining to his Teague lineage, with a trust account to maintain the collection.”

  Ivy Short looked pleased, concerned, and slightly confused.

  “In addition, the property known as The Buttes is given to the Sherman Western Frontier Life Museum—”

  Sucked-in gasps came from several directions. “He owned it?” came from someone far to my right, though I couldn’t spot the speaker.

  “—with the understanding that it is not to be sold for at least one hundred years, is to be used for Two Rivers Camp and the Miners’ Camp Fight reenactment and to be renamed the Russell Teague property.”

  “We can live with that, we can live with that.” Nadine patted Clara’s arm and smiled broadly.

  “With the exception of two additional bequests, all Russell Teague’s holdings of real estate, property, and cash in Wyoming go to the Sherman Western Frontier Life Museum.”

  For two long beats, the room went silent.

  Then Clara sucked in air as if she’d just come up from underwater, O.D. Everett slapped one fist into the other palm, and the guard from the gate started laughing.

  “Are you sure?” someone in back asked. A few more joined the guard’s laughter.

  James reined it in with three words.

  “There are stipulations.”

  As he read requirements that boiled down to the historic buildings collected on the property being opened — for a fee — to the public and the whole enterprise run by the museum, I studied faces.

  I missed the beginning of Clara’s reaction because Kamden Graf’s broad back was in the way. I moved for a better angle and caught a glimpse of red, but when I looked toward it, all I saw was Nadine’s blue shirt and Clara’s white as they hugged.

  As they released each other, I concentrated on their faces. Clara radiated joy. Beside her, Nadine mouthed over and over what looked like It’s a miracle, it’s a miracle.

  Mrs. Parens looked pleased, but a little gray. The strain of being at Sally’s bedside? Surprise and wary happiness suffused Gee’s face. Needham was as busy watching people as I was.

  Other than a tinge of grimness, Tom remained expressionless. His dark eyes surveyed the group. Then landed on Willa Rennant as she spoke.

  “Palmer Rennant’s children get nothing?”

  “Not from the main bequest, ma’am, but—”

  Executive brusque, she cut off James. “Then why am I here?”

  “Yeah, me, too,” Kamden Graf said. “Did you bring us out here just to cut us off at the knees?

  James focused on Willa. “As your children’s representative, you need to be aware of the final two bequests. The first is outright. A watch matching one your ex-husband had goes to either your daughter or your son, whichever did not receive their father’s watch, so each child has one.

  “The conditional bequest is that if either or both of Palmer Rennant’s children, as well as Mr. Graf, choose to see through to publication the, uh, project titled ‘The Manipulation of So-Called History,’ a sum—”

  A sound came from the direction of Mrs. P and Aunt Gee, but since I could guess their opinion of that opus, I continued watching Willa Rennant and Kamden Graf.

  “—of five-thousand dollars will be divided
amongst however many of the three participate. That—”

  “Five thousand? Divided three ways?” Graf’s loud voice quieted all other sound and seemed to shrink his wife. “Why, they were talking tens of thousands just for me from the royalties. That’s what I was promised. I’ve got a contract. I get all the royalties. Not some piddling—”

  “This is an addition to that agreement, which remains in place, Mr. Graf. If the piece is published, you receive whatever royalties there might be.”

  “Well. Okay, then,” the man said, clearly not picking up from James Longbaugh’s even words that the lawyer did not believe there would be royalties.

  “Copies of the documents and the employees’ schedule of payment are available on the table on that side of the room.”

  James’ announcement started a surge in that direction.

  Nadine floated near me, caught on a wave of bodies moving toward the table.

  “It’s a miracle,” she said — audibly this time.

  As she shifted away, I spotted the source of the red I’d glimpsed.

  Raised marks on the inside of her left wrist. Poison ivy?

  I shifted, trying to see her right wrist. From this angle, I saw nothing.

  I’d taken half a step after her, when Tom said from behind me, “You’re not surprised.”

  I turned to him, not prepared to reveal Mike’s role in my lack of surprise.

  “What would be interesting to know is if everybody else is truly surprised.”

  His gaze sharpened on me for half a beat, then he casually scoped out the rest of the room’s occupants again.

  “Huh.” That’s all he offered.

  “Why did he name you as executor of this part of his will?”

  “Revenge. Spite.”

  “You think he thought the ranch and the rest would go to Palmer Rennant, which would make the backers of the museum crazy, both because it would be all in an enemy’s hands and they’d know how close they’d come to getting it.”

  “Yep. Then toss in that I’d be forced to implement it as executor.”

  “He had to know you could decline to be executor.”

  “Could,” he repeated.

  I huffed out a short laugh. “He knew you wouldn’t decline because you’d try to protect the community as much as you could while still doing your legal duty. That way, he’d torment you from beyond the grave.”

  “Could look at it that way or that he’d’ve given me an opportunity to make his choices not quite as painful for the county as they’d be with someone else as executor.”

  “Pollyanna,” I muttered. Deeper indentations at the corners of his eyes were his only response. “But even with this happy ending for the museum — not so happy for Palmer Rennant — I thought you’d hate having this ranch open to the public, people swarming into the place next to yours. Why don’t you hate it?”

  He took his hat off and rubbed the back of his neck with his other hand. It was an excuse to lower his head so I didn’t see his face.

  “You see tourists swarming to Cottonwood County?” I didn’t have to see his face. I heard the amusement low in his voice. “Much less to that collection of old buildings — heavy on the saloons? Clara and the museum will improve it, especially with the cash, but still… Swarms?”

  “You have a point.”

  “And a plan. A new road into here. Not as close to my place. Not close to entrances into other places, either. Better approach to the old buildings. Won’t see any of the modern the way you do now.”

  “And I suppose the kids’ camp and reenactment will be fully supported. Going to hold them every year?”

  “Raised making the camp annual with James.”

  “What is his role? He claimed he had nothing to do with the will.”

  “He didn’t. He’s strictly my representative. Wanted someone to steer me clear of any legal cliffs.”

  “And be the public face.”

  “That, too. As for the reenactment’s future, we’ll get with the tribal leaders. It’s a big project. Not sure they’d want to commit to every year. Plus, there could be an opportunity for an event around the historic buildings—”

  “A whiskey festival to celebrate the saloons?”

  “—to alternate with the reenactment,” he finished solemnly, though one corner of his mouth quirked.

  “That all sounds lovely for the future. I’m interested in the past. The immediate past. Specifically, a murder. Who knew about this?”

  He tipped his head and lifted one shoulder, dismissing my question.

  “Burrell, do you really think that’s a satisfactory answer? More important, do you think I will think it’s a satisfactory answer?”

  He looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Can’t get no satisfaction.”

  We were no longer talking murder.

  Then, right next to us, I hear James’ voice saying, “What you do with it afterward is your decision, but the watch will be delivered to your children, Mrs. Ren—”

  She interrupted him.

  But they’d lost me with the broken-off syllable.

  Ren.

  Not When.

  Wren.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Eager to tell the others of that small mystery solved, I hustled my ride toward the exit.

  “Mrs. Parens, Gee, Tom,” a voice called as we reached Tom’s truck. “Oh, and Elizabeth. You, too. Clara asked me to tell you, we’re having a little impromptu gathering at the museum tonight. You’re all invited to come. Seven o’clock.”

  “I’m not sure this evening…” Gee started with a look toward Mrs. P’s strained face.

  Tom helped Mrs. P into the truck.

  Nadine backed up a step, preparatory to turning away. “No need to tell us ahead of time. Come if you can. We’ll talk more about the future later. This is social. As Clara said, to be with people who understand what this means.”

  “Thank you. I—” I interrupted myself. “Gee, Nadine, that’s a nasty rash on your wrist.”

  “I know. You’d think if I were going to get a rash it would have happened last week when I was out with the kids, not from the past few days in the office with Clara.” She lifted one shoulder. “I have no idea where it came from.”

  I might. But I wasn’t sharing.

  She smiled. “The marvelous thing is no more trying to figure out how to support the events next time around. The museum will be able to up its support for sure.”

  Her smile dimmed and she rubbed at the rash on her left wrist with her right hand. “It itches like crazy.”

  “Looks like poison ivy to me. I’m sensitive and I’ve seen some around.”

  She jerked her scratching hand away. “Poison ivy?”

  “Absolutely. Last time I had it, I had good success with an antidote the pharmacy — the one downtown — had. I don’t remember the name, but I’m sure they will. But you have to get it on fast once the rash shows. Well, bye now.”

  She released a pained growl, then renewed scratching, though with her cuff between her arm and fingernails. “Yeah, yeah. Bye.”

  As we drove out, Gee asked, “Was that poison ivy? I didn’t get a good look at it.”

  “Pretty sure.”

  I felt sharp looks from Tom and Mrs. Parens, but my focus was on what I’d swear were two unmarked sheriff’s department vehicles pulled off the side of the road down the highway from Teague Ranch.

  At the Circle B, I said short good-byes.

  Once in my SUV, headed to town, I called Jennifer. “Can you get away from work?”

  “Important?”

  “Yes. Nadine knows Diana and me, but she hasn’t seen you.” Yet another reason to miss Mike … yes, and Tom. They provided additional options for subterfuge. “Go to the pharmacy. Hang around close enough when Nadine talks to the pharmacist to hear if she really has poison ivy.”

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s all. Oh, except keep your eyes open for unmarked sheriff’s department vehicles.”r />
  “Tailing her?”

  “Possibly her. Possibly someone else. Possibly several someone elses. Also, that account by the survivor of the Miners’ Camp Fight, what if he wasn’t writing the deserted When, but the deserter Wren — W-R-E-N?”

  “The bird? That kind of wren?”

  “Or a nickname or alias for someone named Rennant.”

  “Rennant. Oh. One of his ancestors was at the Miners’ Camp Fight? But—”

  “What if he was at the Miners’ Camp Fight because he deserted from the Army? Family members kept joining up to expiate that 1812 blunder. What if one came West? Fort Phil Kearny — all the Bozeman Trail forts — had desertions. If he hooked up with that group of gold miners who left the fort to try the route that brought them here—”

  “I’ll call the guy at the fort again on the way to the pharmacy. Where will you be?”

  “My house, but if you need to finish your shift, call or message instead of coming.”

  “You kidding? I hear that tone in your voice. I’m coming.”

  * * * *

  “Waiting for Jennifer is driving me crazy,” Mike said from the screen of my propped-up device. “We could start going over everything now, let her catch up.”

  “It hasn’t been long,” Diana soothed.

  She and Shadow had been waiting for me when I got home, Mike called soon after. The house felt better with Shadow in it.

  Diana added now, “What are you thinking about, Elizabeth?”

  I didn’t look up from Free Cell, playing on my laptop while Mike occupied the other device. “Insurance. I was trying to remember something Verona Fuller said.”

  Diana chuckled. “If it was Verona Fuller, it was definitely about insurance.”

  “Event insurance? Wonder if it covered canceling the reenactment because of a murder,” Mike said.

  Diana shook her head. “Doesn’t matter now. Assuming the will holds up, the museum will get the ranch, the butte land, and enough money to fund them for a long, long time.”

  “Not to mention the gold coins,” Mike said.

  I looked up. “I was thinking about an exchange I’m not sure I told you about.” I repeated the conversation at the museum Friday morning, when Nadine suggested including Rennant in the coverage and Clara decisively rejected the idea.