Bitter Rain (Kate Fox Book 3)

by Shannon Baker

  He growled into the receiver. “Sheriff.”

  “How far away are you?”

  He sounded groggy. “Who is this? Kate Fox? What do you want?”

  I assumed he’d be alerted by dispatch to the ambulance in Spinner County. “Frankie’s. Kyle’s here. He’s in bad shape.”

  He grunted. Even sleep was an effort for him. “Ambulance on the way?”

  I squeezed Kyle’s hand. “Should be here in another ten.” I meant minutes, but it felt more like years.

  More strange struggle noises. Tricky bed, I guessed. “Okay. Thanks.”

  I watched Kyle’s chest barely moving. “How long will it take you to get here?”

  He paused. “Don’t see any reason for me to drag myself out there again.”

  Shocked by his nonchalance, I blurted out, “It’s Kyle.”

  He cursed. “He might be your deputy, but he’s an Indian. I’m not inclined to ruin what’s left of my night over some Indian who got beat up over a beer and passed out.”

  “He’s not drunk.”

  Barnett’s sigh was deep and irritated. “What does he say happened?”

  “He’s not conscious. Looks like he was attacked and beaten. Are you coming out here?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “I think you’ve got it under control.” The phone went dead.

  Asshole! The lowest, meanest excuse for a human being. I wanted to yell and curse at him and tell him any decent person would care. But Barnett wasn’t my immediate problem. Kyle deserved all of my attention. I bent over him and kept talking.

  I shoved the phone into my pocket, held Kyle’s hand, and encouraged him until finally, the ambulance arrived. I wished I could give Kyle into the capable hands of Eunice Fleenor and Harold Graham, but the Spinner County squad seemed competent. They loaded him onto a hard board and into the ambulance in short order.

  We took off at full speed, me following them in my cruiser, my light bar flaring in the weak dawn light.

  I punched in Milo Ferguson’s number to let him know what happened. And then alerted Pete Grainger.

  Grainger reacted with concern. “You go ahead to Broken Butte and keep us updated on Kyle’s condition. I’ll go to the accident site and see if I can gather any evidence about what happened.”

  Bitterness rang in my voice. “Barnett isn’t going to help out.”

  Grainger clicked his tongue. “You can’t really blame him. This kind of thing happens all the time up there.”

  “What kind of thing?” If he brought up the phrase drunk Indian again, I might call the ACLU on the whole lot.

  Grainger sighed. “Cut him some slack. It’s on account of…” He trailed off.

  “On account of what?”

  Grainger hesitated, then started out, sounding sad. “Happened a long time ago. But Lee’s parents were killed in a head-on up there. They were real nice folks. The driver, a Lakota man, was drunk.”

  Oh. Man. No denying that senseless tragedy would leave a deep scar. With more understanding, I said a little more gently, “If he can’t be impartial, then he shouldn’t have the job.”

  In a level voice, Grainger said, “You know how hard it is to find a sheriff in our counties. In most ways, Lee’s a good sheriff. He’s not usually quick to temper, he’s brave and smart. None of us are perfect, are we?”

  The way he said it sent a shiver up my spine. What secrets was he hiding for Barnett?

  22

  Dull morning sun filtered through the glass doors of the emergency entrance at Broken Butte County Hospital. I paced the empty corridor, hating the weird hospital smell of cleaning fluid, cafeteria food, sick people, and worry. They’d whisked Kyle into the inner sanctum a few hours ago and I’d been restless, my stomach a mass of acid and stress. My muscles twitched from lack of sleep, eyelids like sandpaper, my head buzzing.

  He’d looked pale and lifeless when the EMTs pulled him from the back of the ambulance into the garish overhead lights of the hospital. A surgeon waited in a prepped operating room when we arrived.

  Since then I’d been dozing and staring at the door, waiting for news.

  The double door where they’d spirited Kyle away pushed open. Aunt Tutti tottered out, her violet-colored scrubs looking like she’d worn them for a week of Sundays. Her permed gray hair twisted close to her scalp, and dark circles ringed her eyes. Tutti didn’t usually work ER but she knew everything that went on at the hospital during her shift, and she’d understand my need to hear about Kyle.

  I jumped up and hurried to her.

  “He’s still alive.”

  A steel rod inside me melted with the release of a pent-up breath. “Thank God. How is he?”

  She licked her lips, looked around the open corridor, and waddled to the row of hard plastic chairs bolted together against a wall where I’d perched earlier. She plopped down. “I’m too old for this double-shift nonsense.”

  I lowered myself next to her. “You look exhausted.”

  “Honey, I’d make the Grim Reaper look good. Looks like you been rode hard and put up wet, yourself.” She glanced at her watch.

  I leaned in, my nerves jangling with dread. “Well?”

  She massaged the bridge of her nose. “He’s got a couple of busted ribs. His shoulder was dislocated, but it’s set now. Lots of bruises. Somebody worked him over pretty good. All in all, that stuff will mend.”

  I hated the inevitable “but.”

  She rubbed her eyes. “The real problem is the knock to his head.”

  He’d been through a war in Afghanistan with nothing more than athlete’s foot. It was so wrong that he’d been nearly killed behind a liquor store just off the rez. “How much damage?”

  “We don’t know. There is some swelling, but not enough we need to drain it. Doc is going to keep him in a coma for twenty-four hours just to be sure.”

  “So even if he could regain consciousness, you’ll keep him under?”

  She nodded. “In the meantime, he’s in ICU.”

  “Can I see him?”

  “Yep. I’ll take you down.”

  The hospital was a beehive. Once morning hit and the sun came out, everyone buzzed and flew on their missions. Food trays appeared in the hallways, staff doubled as one crew came on before the night shift left. The administrative people turned on lights, cranked up coffee pots, greeted and conversed and started their day.

  ICU took up a small section of the hospital, around the corner from the ER. Kyle wasn’t aware of the morning bustle. He lay swaddled in the soft hums and beeps of monitors and equipment, which I prayed helped him heal quickly. His beautiful copper skin had taken on a gray pallor. I ached to see him open his eyes and tell me how his uncle Lloyd Walks His Horse had roped a tornado or talked a cow into letting milk flow like a faucet.

  I settled for watching his chest rise and fall with regular breaths. Situating myself close to him, I kept up inane chatter for the five minutes allotted me and promised to return that evening.

  Before I left the hospital, I wandered into the cafeteria for coffee, hoping for eggs and toast. I’d assumed I’d find an institutional breakfast I’d merely choke down, but I wanted something fast, and finding a decent breakfast would take time.

  The happy surprise of fresh cooked scrambled eggs, hot toast with lots of butter, and coffee that tasted like a little bit of Columbian heaven could only have been ruined by who sat down at my table before I’d even finished half of my breakfast.

  Gulping a mouthful of eggs, I said, “Ted. What are you doing here?”

  He placed a tall to-go cup of coffee on the table and sat across from me. “Milo called me, said you were down here with Kyle.”

  “Why would Milo call you?”

  “It’s a sheriff thing.”

  “But you’re an ex-sheriff.”

  Another cup landed on the table along with a loaf-sized cinnamon roll. Milo pulled out another chair a couple of feet from the table to make room for his belly. He settled himself in. “Morning, Katie.”


  I didn’t have a chance to respond before Pete Grainger sat down with his coffee and Lee Barnett dragged a chair from the table next door, spun it around, and straddled it. So much for the one pleasure I might have enjoyed that day. I shoved my plate aside and gripped my coffee, not sure what to expect.

  The buttons of Milo’s shirt strained at his belly, showing his white undershirt. He spoke around a bite of cinnamon roll. “They say Kyle’s not looking too good.”

  Barnett didn’t have food or coffee. He hunched over the back of the chair like a trained bear.

  Milo’s prognosis irritated me, so I defended Kyle. “He’s doing pretty well. His bones are going to heal.”

  Grainger thrummed with restless energy. I wondered if he’d had enough sleep to do him any good. “But that head injury. We just don’t know.”

  I looked around at each one in turn. “What is this convention about, boys?”

  Ted’s hands cradled his cup, and he engaged me with one of his serious, understanding looks. I remembered that particular expression from when he asked me to marry him, and a few years ago when we’d discussed having a baby. Most recently, it was the face he used when we’d oh-so-civilly negotiated our divorce. It was the face of fake compassion I hated worse than cooked cabbage. And that was a lot.

  He added a sincere eye blink before he began. “Couple of reasons we’re all here. First, of course, is to see how the deputy is doing, give our support.”

  Bull malarkey.

  “The other reason is to talk to you.” He paused.

  Again, I let my gaze rove around the table. “And it takes all of you for that?”

  Ted laughed even though I hadn’t joked. “It’s that stubborn streak you’re famous for.”

  Air pushed through my lips like a bored horse. “I’m not stubborn.”

  Milo’s eyebrows shot up in amusement and his belly jogged with a silent chuckle. Grainger’s leg jiggled and he pondered something fascinating on his coffee lid. Barnett had the look of a teen whose mother dragged him to church.

  Ted reached out a hand and lightly gripped my wrist. “Just listen, okay?”

  I whisked my arm into my lap and gave Ted my stone face.

  He sat back, sipped his coffee to show his command, and then started. “Pete got out to the site a few minutes after you’d taken off. He looked around, got an idea of what happened, and, well, why don’t you tell her, Pete.”

  Pete pushed his coffee cup from one hand to the other and fidgeted enough to make his chair squeak. “You’re not going to like this, and I hate to have to say it. But what I found out there…well. I found a whole lot of beer cans.”

  “It’s right behind a liquor store. Of course you found a bunch.”

  He glanced at me, then back to his cup. Each word struggled out as if it pained him. “These were still wet, and three of them weren’t even open.”

  I turned to Milo, who chewed his roll and nodded as if some vote had been taken.

  “What are you saying? That Kyle was drunk?”

  Barnett’s paw slapped the table, and a big green toad jumped up my throat. “For chrissake. That’s exactly it. Kyle went on a bender, some Indian clocked him and took his money for beer.”

  My jaw dropped at the preposterousness of this claim. I finally found my voice. “Kyle wasn’t drinking. He’d called me earlier to meet him in Dry Creek.”

  Barnett guffawed.

  Ted reached for me again, but I shifted away. He paused. “You’re going to have to face it. Kyle wasn’t the guy you thought he was.”

  I shoved my chair back. “Is. Kyle is a good deputy. He’s not a drunk.” I paused to remember. Had I smelled beer on him? I would have noticed. “They had to check him when they treated him. If he’d had alcohol in his system, they wouldn’t have induced a coma.”

  Pete tilted his head. “He might have been out there long enough it went through his system.”

  I glared at them all in turn. “You’re wrong.”

  Milo put his fork on his plate. “Now listen. I got a call last week from Frankie. He thought I ought to know that Kyle had been in for three days in a row buying beer.”

  My turn to laugh. “No, he wasn’t.”

  Barnett glared at me. “That’s good sheriffing, Fox. Ignore what all of us—with how many years of experience—know. Pay no attention to the citizens giving you fair warning. You just keep believing your fairytale because you don’t want to admit you’re wrong.”

  Ted still had that sincere look I knew to be anything but. Grainger had given up on his coffee cup and offered me sympathy. Milo seemed to be waiting for my agreement.

  Barnett flexed his arms and leaned away from the chair back before he passed final judgment. “Just like a Fox.”

  Milo cleared his throat and patted his belly. He spoke to me. “I think we can wait to see what Kyle has to say about his drinking when he comes to.”

  “If he comes to,” Barnett threw in, and I thought I might actually hate him.

  Milo ignored the interjection. “But the fact is he’s laid up and not going to be able to deputy for a spell.”

  Oh, now I knew where this was heading. I’d been clever…until now. How had I got suckered into this? They blew the whistle and the engine chugged toward me. I was tied to the tracks with no escape. Mad didn’t seem like a big enough word.

  Barnett gave me a smile I hankered to slap off his face. “We’ve taken a vote.”

  I’d had about enough of elections in my life. “I haven’t voted.” I couldn’t have sounded more pathetic.

  “Don’t matter how you vote. It’s four to whatever your bleeding heart says,” Barnett said, slapping the back of the chair.

  I gave a last-ditch plea to Pete with my eyes. He was back to reading his coffee cup.

  Barnett crowed, “Ted is going to be the new sheriff.”

  There was silence before Milo corrected him. “Deputy. Ted is our interim deputy.”

  23

  I’d given them the satisfaction of all the rise they were going to get out of me. With my most businesslike nod to Ted, I said, “Great. I can use the help if you’re available.”

  Not sure he looked surprised or disappointed by my acceptance. “Sure. What do you need?”

  The other three sheriffs passed off nonverbals to each other. Relieved, pleased, and in Barnett’s case, only slightly less irritated than usual.

  Tutti hustled into the cafeteria carrying a coin purse. She seemed surprised to see a whole herd of sheriffs and wound through a few tables toward us. “This looks like trouble.”

  Pete jumped to his feet, fired with his usual friendly fuel. “You must live here.”

  She beamed at him. “Pert near. Kyle’s gonna be under for a while. No need for you all to hang out here.”

  Milo pushed back from the table and tossed out a goodbye.

  Barnett stood and yanked up his pants. “I got court here this afternoon. Sure messed up my day having to come up here this morning. Now I’ve got a couple of hours to kill ’cause it makes no sense to drive home just to turn around and come back.”

  Cry me a river, you big baby. I watched him trudge out.

  Pete paused with Tutti. “Please keep us informed if there’s any change.”

  Tutti nodded. “Sure will.” She watched the three men walk out and nodded at me. “That Pete Grainger is a good guy.”

  If you don’t mind being shot at. I kept that to myself.

  She didn’t wait for consensus and scurried off to the concession.

  Ted sipped his coffee, a satisfied expression settling on his face. “Are you wanting to take some time off? I can fill in for as long as you’d like.”

  Mr. Helpful and Sincere. I figured he was sincere in helping himself back into my job.

  Calving was over, but he’d still have lots to do on Frog Creek, not to mention planning his branding, fixing fence, and getting hay equipment ready. Maybe he’d hired someone and I hadn’t heard. That would eat into the small profit Frog Creek
managed every year.

  Sheesh. It was none of my business if the spring ranch work didn’t get done or if Frog Creek went tits up. “I need you to go to David’s Lifestyles class and talk about law enforcement jobs.”

  His face fell. “You’re not serious.”

  The fake smile I sent his way matched him for sincerity. “You’ll need a PowerPoint presentation.”

  His eyebrows dipped in skepticism. “What are you going to do?”

  I gave him wide-eyed innocence. “Nothing.”

  He pinned me with his disbelief.

  “Okay. But I don’t want you ratting me out to the others.”

  He drew an imaginary cross on his heart.

  I used to talk to Ted about most things. Old habits and all that. I couldn’t trust Ted with my heart or job, but he wasn’t stupid or mean and I needed someone on my side. “I don’t care what they say, Kyle isn’t a drinker. Something is going on, and I’ll bet it has to do with Shelly’s disappearance.”

  “Shelly?”

  “Kyle’s sister. She went missing Saturday night. She sent him a message Monday, telling him she was fine. But I know he didn’t believe her. We found out she’s still around, but she’s hiding.”

  Ted took that in. “How do you explain Kyle being in Dry Creek, getting beat up and all the beer cans?”

  The evidence was circumstantial and stupid. “I don’t believe he was drinking. I think he was lured out there and someone was waiting for him.”

  “Why would someone want to hurt him?”

  “Because he’d found out where Shelly is and what happened to her.” I threw it out to see how he’d take it. “And whoever it is didn’t want the information getting out.”

  Ted shook his head. “You’re reaching pretty far just to deny Kyle is a drinker.”

  Why wouldn’t he listen to me? “Kyle isn’t a drunk. Period. If this accident doesn’t have to do with Shelly, then it has to do with his brother Alex.”

  Ted gave me a pitying look. “Now you’re making up things.”