Maggie sat in a chair by the fire pretending interest in the flames. She reviewed her options, wondering what Max would have done under the same circumstances, reminding herself that she’d never had Max’s flair for the dramatic—or his total disregard for danger.
“How long do you plan to hold me here?” she asked the man beside her, trying to keep the fear from her voice.
Lester Wade smiled in answer. He was small, with soft brown eyes, but Maggie couldn’t miss the hard edge to him. Or the pistol he cradled in his lap.
Maggie had gotten back from Missoula anxious to share her news with Denver. She’d verified at The Barn that Pete Williams hadn’t been in Missoula the afternoon of the murder with the rest of the band. But when she’d rushed to Denver’s cabin, she’d found the barrel of a gun—held by one of Pete’s band members—waiting for her.
“Where’s Denver?” Lester had demanded.
Maggie wished she only knew. Worrying about Denver made her feel braver.
Lester jumped when the phone rang. He picked it up. “Yeah?” He listened, frowning, then hung up. “Lucky for you, lady. They’ve found Denver. It sounds like she’s headed back.”
“Headed back here?” Maggie felt sick. Was she being used as a decoy to get Denver to the cabin?
“Don’t worry about it,” Lester said, sitting across from her. “Everything’s going as planned now.”
“What a relief,” she said, but Lester didn’t get the sarcasm. The plan seemed to be that Lester and some others would be skipping town tonight with enough money to retire someplace warm. She’d overheard that much when Lester was on the phone earlier. “Do you mind if I stretch my legs?”
Lester looked worried. “Stay in this room, don’t touch anything and don’t move too fast.”
“I’m too old to move too fast.”
The man had no sense of humor, Maggie thought as she got to her feet. She caught a movement outside the window in the growing darkness. A figure popped up for a moment and disappeared again. She moved to block Lester’s view as best she could. A scraggly boy in his teens with large brown eyes peered into the window. He motioned for her to keep quiet and disappeared again. It wasn’t exactly the cavalry but it was help. Possibly.
“Could I have a glass of water, please?” she asked.
Lester eyed her suspiciously.
“I promise not to try to drown myself in it.”
He shot Maggie a humorless smile and moved cautiously into the kitchen. All the time he let the tap water run, he kept the pistol trained on her. She wandered away from the window, pretending to warm her hands in front of the fire. Lester filled a glass and brought it to her. He put it down on the hearth and stepped back as if he thought she’d try to jump him. He must think that kind of behavior ran in the family.
He headed back to his chair, but never reached it. His head jerked around at a sound in the hallway, the pistol raised ready to fire. Maggie caught a glimpse of the young man’s head and knew Lester had, too. Quickly grabbing a log from the wood box, Maggie closed her eyes and swung. A gunshot whined through the cabin, echoing off the walls, and someone screamed.
* * *
From the top of Grayling Pass, J.D. could see the lights of West Yellowstone glowing in the distance like a small aurora borealis. He let up on the gas as they topped the hill in the van they’d rented in Bozeman and began the drop down into the wide valley.
“About this plan of yours...” he said, glancing over at Denver.
“The blueberry syrup plan?” She shrugged. “It’s biodegradable and environmentally safe. That’s about all I can say about it.”
She’d had him stop in Bozeman, rent a van, and buy four gallons of blueberry syrup, a bottle opener and some wire.
J.D. looked over at her, his gaze softening at just the sight of her. “I hope this works.”
“Have a little faith, Garrison,” she said.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her chew at her lower lip and smiled at the familiarity of it. When he wasn’t touching her, he loved looking at her. Her bravado right now made him love her all the more. But offered little reassurance. They were driving straight into a trap and she knew it.
J.D. honked as they crossed the Madison River bridge, making Denver smile. “I have to tell you these past few days with you have been—”
“Paradise?” she asked, laughing up at him.
He grinned. “Being chased by killers, hit on the head with hard objects, shot at with big-game rifles. Yes, Denny, it’s been a little bit of heaven.”
“Don’t forget that fall into the bathtub.”
“How could I?”
“If you’re trying to say I’m not boring, I thank you,” she teased, her gaze on the highway ahead.
“Boring?” He laughed. “Oh, Denny, you are anything but boring.” His heart ached. “No matter what happens tonight—”
She touched her finger to his lips. “I know.”
He pulled her hard against him. “This has to work.”
They drove into West Yellowstone at one-thirty in the morning. Summer’s Coming, read a sign at the Conoco station. If there were any signs of summer in this still-hibernating tourist town, J.D. couldn’t see them.
He turned up Geyser Street. “J.D.” Her hand squeezed his arm; he followed her gaze down the block to Max’s office. “There’s a light on. Sheila must be there.”
“We don’t have much time,” he said as he parked the van. He felt a sense of urgency; they had to be at the dance before two. “Let’s find out what she’s got to say.”
A chill crawled around his neck as they walked up the steps. J.D. took Denver’s hand. The light was on only in the apartment above; it spilled down the stairs into the office, giving the room an eerie glow. No sounds came from inside. Nothing looked amiss. Except for the front door. It stood open, letting the night in.
“I don’t like this,” Denver whispered.
“No kidding.”
* * *
It took Maggie a moment to realize where the screaming was coming from.
“Hey, lady! Are you nuts?” the young man in front of her yelled. She closed her mouth, swallowing the last of the scream, and nodded. She’d never been more nuts in her life.
“Thanks,” the kid said, uncovering his ears. “That’s quite a set of lungs you’ve got.”
“I used to scream professionally,” Maggie told him.
He grinned at her. “You must have made a fortune.”
Maggie smiled. “You have to be Davey.”
“You’ve heard of me?” He sounded pleased.
Maggie noticed then that the front door stood open and Lester was gone. In the distance, she could hear the roar of an engine dying away down the road. Davey picked up the pistol from the floor.
“Max told me about you,” she said, taking the gun from him as if it was a dirty diaper. He was the kind of kid Max had always loved to take under his wing; she suspected he was a lot like Max had been at that same age. “And of course your reputation for trouble precedes you.”
“Oh, yeah?” He grinned, obviously pleased. “You want me to go after that guy?”
“No,” Maggie assured him as she went to the phone. “I want you to stay here with me in case he comes back. And I want you to tell me who killed Max.”
Davey shrugged. “Sure. A guy Cal calls Midnight.”
“Midnight?”
He shrugged again. “Yeah, he offed Max to keep him from dropping a dime on him and Cal.”
She remembered Max taking a stack of old detective-story paperbacks up to his office. “I’ve got this kid working for me. I’m just trying to help him with his reading,” Max had said.
“Dropping a dime, huh?” she said to Davey.
“You know, dropping a dime—making a call to the cops,” he replied.
“I know. And how did you find out all this about Midnight and Cal?”
He grinned. “I hang out. I listen. I do what Max did. I’ve been tailing Cal ever since Max bought it.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t get yourself killed. And what else do you know about this Midnight person?” she asked.
“He’s running a poaching ring here and sending illegal stuff all over the world. Lester and Cal have been stealing antlers and animal stuff out of Yellowstone Park for him. You wanna hear about the animal stuff? It’s pretty gross.”
She declined and picked up the phone to drop her own dime.
Davey looked uncomfortable. “You’re not going to call the cops, are you?”
Maggie dialed the number. “I won’t mention your name.”
He nodded and headed for the fridge. “I hope you have better food than the place where they were keeping me.”
The moment Deputy Cline came on the line, Maggie poured out what little information she had based on what Davey had told her, adding the part about her own kidnapping by Lester Wade. She didn’t mention Davey. Cline listened without saying a word.
“Stay there,” he said when she’d finished. “Lock the doors, don’t let anyone in and don’t answer the phone.” He hung up. She stared at the phone, hoping she’d done the right thing by calling Cline. But she couldn’t throw off the uneasy feeling Cline had given her. Why hadn’t he seemed more surprised by the information?
She dialed Taylor’s number. He answered on the first ring, and she quickly recounted what had happened.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.
She assured him she was fine.
“Where is this Lester person now?”
“I don’t know. Deputy Cline sounded like he might know, though.”
“You called Cline?”
She couldn’t miss the worry in his voice. “You don’t think—”
“I’m sure you did the right thing.” Taylor didn’t sound sure at all. “I’ll keep an eye on Cline. Just stay there.”
She hung up, relieved she’d called Taylor. Max had once told her the reason he didn’t get along with the deputy was because Cline bent the law when it suited him. But not even Cline would bend the law to protect a murderer, would he? Unless he was the murderer.
Just as she finished locking the doors, Davey came out of the kitchen with a large bag of chips, a jar of salsa, a couple of turkey and cheese sandwiches and two Cokes.
“Hungry?” he asked with a grin.
* * *
Denver expected Max’s files to be ransacked again. But as she stepped in, she realized it looked just as it had the last time she and J.D. had been here.
“Sheila?” Denver called out.
A sheet of silence as thick as ice lay over the house. Not even a breeze stirred the pines outside. Denver followed J.D.’s gaze to the stairs and felt him squeeze her hand. As she trailed after him, her pulse thundered in her ears. The stairs creaked under their weight as they climbed slowly into the light above.
On the landing at the top, Denver slipped and would have fallen if J.D. hadn’t caught her. “What is it?” he whispered.
“Something’s on the floor.” She moved her foot to find a dark stain. She bent down to touch it gingerly with a finger, knowing what it was before she felt the sticky substance. “I think it’s blood.”
J.D. let out a groan; his hand tightened on hers. “Stay here.”
She watched him cautiously push open the door to Max’s apartment. He swore angrily.
“Tell me it’s not Maggie!” she cried, hurrying up behind him.
“It’s not Maggie,” J.D. assured her, trying to hold her back. She pushed past him and stared down at the figure on the floor.
Sheila Walker lay on her side in a pool of blood. She was very dead.
* * *
J.D. dialed the Sheriff’s office. Denver stood at Max’s office window staring out into the night. When the dispatcher came on the line, she informed him that Deputy Cline wasn’t in and couldn’t be reached by radio right now. Was there a message?
“Tell him there’s been a murder at Max McCallahan’s. Upstairs. Her name’s Sheila Walker.”
Denver headed for the front door as J.D. hung up. “Where are you going?” he demanded, following her out to the porch.
“I don’t want to be here when Cline gets here. He’ll try to stop us. We have to fix the band’s rigs and find Maggie.”
J.D. checked his watch. He couldn’t believe he was going along with her blueberry-syrup plan. “We still have time.” He pulled her into his arms, cradling the back of her head in his hand. Just the touch of her hair brought back the memory of them together. His heart ached with worry that he might lose her.
“I can’t quit now,” she whispered against his shirt. In the distance, J.D. could hear the wail of a siren.
“I know.” He released her; she stepped back and looked up at him. Her expression tore at his heart. They would never find happiness until Max’s killer was caught.
J.D. took her hand and they ran across the street to the van. His ankle still hurt but felt stronger, he realized. With the headlights off, he quickly turned down the alley into the dark pines. Moments later, a patrol car came to a screeching halt in front of Max’s office. The blue light on top spun, flickering against the night sky. J.D. pulled the van to the end of the alley and, heading toward the old depot, turned on the headlights.
* * *
Denver could hear the music from the dance as J.D. pulled the van under a large pine on a logging road behind the depot and killed the engine. The festive sounds of the party drifted on the cool night air, belying the danger.
Denver glanced at the dashboard clock. It was 1:48 a.m. “Wanna flip for the bus or the pickup?”
J.D. shook his head. “You can have the bus. You’d probably cheat on the coin toss anyway.”
She started to open her door, but he pulled her into his arms. His kiss promised her things she could not bear to think about. The feel of his lips, the taste of him, made her crave more. When he released her, she looked into his eyes, seeing the love she’d always dreamed of. How badly she wanted to forget this mess and just take off with him. But she knew Max’s murder would always haunt her. And she had to find Maggie.
“I’ll see you in a few minutes,” she whispered and kissed him quickly. “For luck.”
Then, pulling two gallons of the blueberry syrup, wire and a pair of pliers from the back, she headed for the band’s old school bus before she could talk herself out of it.
It felt like a lark, something she and Pete and J.D. would have done when they were kids. But she neared the bus cautiously, only too well aware of what was at stake. The bus was parked behind the depot-turned-community center, secluded by virtue of the darkness and the large pines that loomed over it. Denver stopped for a moment to look back at J.D. He carried the same equipment she did, only he was working his way toward Pete’s pickup parked around front, and she realized why he’d given her the bus. It was safer.
Laughter rippled on the breeze, mixing with voices. But no music. The band must be on a break. A few partygoers stood on the back steps of the old railroad depot, smoking and talking. It was too dark to see their faces—only the glow of their cigarettes was visible. She hung back in the shadows until they returned inside when the music started up again. Taking one last look around, she climbed under the bus.
* * *
J.D. crawled beneath Pete’s pickup, pulling the supplies with him. The sounds of the dance drifted around him. He listened for closer sounds as he checked his watch. Almost 2:00 a.m. The dance would be over soon. He reached for the first plastic gallon of blueberry syrup and the wire. Cutting a piece of wire, he tied the container to the undercarriage of the pickup, then carefully made a small hole in the plastic. The syrup began to drip. He reached for another gallon and attached it with more wire to the first in piggyback fashion, making a hole between the two gallon jugs. He watched the slow, steady drip of syrup for a moment, and smiled. He’d laughed at Denny’s idea in the beginning.
“Well, it might not be as good as Hansel and Gretel leaving bread crumbs,” Denny had said. “But at least the syrup should leave a trail we can follow on a snow-packed highway in the dark.”
J.D. listened to the night sounds for a few seconds, thinking he’d heard a noise nearby. Nothing. He slipped out, brushed snow from his jeans and turned to find himself staring down the barrel of a shotgun.
* * *
Denver finished “syruping” the bus and looked around for J.D. Not seeing him, she headed back to the van according to plan. Her heart jackhammered at the thought that their plan might actually work. Now it was up to the FBI to stop the poachers; she’d called them from Billings and told them about the blueberry-syrup trail she planned to leave for them. But she couldn’t be sure they’d taken her seriously. She’d warned them not to contact Marsh or Cline, and that could have been a mistake.
Now she couldn’t wait to get back to the van—and J.D. More than ever, she wanted this whole thing to be over so they could be together. Once Maggie was safe—
Something moved ahead of her. Denver slowed, searching the pools of blackness beneath the pines and the shadows that sprawled across the aging snowbanks.
“J.D.?” she whispered.
A large dark shadow stepped from the trees. Just in time she caught the scream that rose in her throat. “Deputy Cline!” Her heart thundered against her ribs. “What are you doing here?”
“I believe that’s my line. You’re the one sneaking around in the dark.” He nodded to the wire and pliers. “Like to tell me exactly what you’ve been up to?”
She took a step back in the snow, but he restrained her with a hand on her arm. “A hitchhiker didn’t kill my uncle.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” he demanded. He motioned toward his patrol car parked in the pines down the road behind the depot. “You’re coming with me.” His fingers bit into her flesh.
“You’re behind all of it?” Denver burst out, jerking her arm free of Cline’s grasp as she tried to get her wobbly legs to move.
“You fool woman!” he snarled, reaching for her again.
She stumbled back. He grabbed her shoulder and spun her into him. She heard the metal clink of handcuffs and his mumbled curses as she fought to escape, but she didn’t stand a chance against his strength.
Denver didn’t hear the other person approach. It wasn’t until Cline’s grip loosened and he crumpled to the ground, that she realized she’d been saved. Again. She looked up to see Taylor looming over her. She fell into his arms, tears overflowing at the mere sight of him. “We have to quit meeting like this,” she said on a sob.
He laughed softly. “I guess you’re all right if you see any humor in this,” he said, holding her at arm’s length.
“This is twice that you’ve come to my rescue.” Then she heard it. The rumble of the bus engine. Through the pines, she could make out two distinct figures. Cal was forcing someone into the back of the bus. “Oh, my God, they’ve got J.D.”