“Tamantha’s on the phone for you right now. At your desk,” Mike finished.
Tamantha Burrell, the heading toward fourth grade daughter of Tom.
For a frozen second, Mike and I looked at each other.
I shot up and was three strides toward the door, when I spun back. “I’m sorry, Odessa. I’m so sorry. There’s an emergency and— I’m sorry. I’ll be in touch as soon as I know about scheduling the finish of this.” My gaze shifted. “Jerry?”
“Go. I’ll take care of it here.”
I didn’t wait for more.
“What makes you say murder?” I demanded of Mike on the move.
“He was found out on grazing association land, dead. Sounds like they’re not thinking suicide or accident, which doesn’t leave much other than murder.”
Mike was behind me as I reached my desk, barely aware of the few staffers in the newsroom. I concentrated on getting the phone in my hand and up to my ear.
“Tamantha? Are you okay?”
“Make them stop, Elizabeth.” No tears, no shake in her voice, vintage Tamantha determination. “Fix this.”
Air streamed out from somewhere that felt far deeper than my lungs at hearing her so like herself. “I need to know more before—”
I broke off because, on the other end, Tom spoke close enough to the phone for me to hear, as long as I didn’t drown him out.
“It’s okay, Tamantha. I told you not to bother Elizabeth.”
“It wasn’t okay last time. Not for months and months and months.”
“This is different.” By the way his voice came closer, I deduced he’d taken the phone from her. “Elizabeth?”
Deduction confirmed.
“I’m here. What can I do? Where are you? If Shelton—”
“We’re at the Circle B. There’s nothing for you to do. Not about that. But…” I heard rare hesitation in his voice. “My sister’s out of town. I don’t have time to get Tamantha to Mrs. P—” Mrs. Parens, a retired teacher and principal, didn’t drive, so couldn’t get to his ranch to pick up his daughter. “—and my neighbor, Mrs. George, isn’t home… Would you come get Tamantha?”
“I’m staying here with you,” I heard in the background from that redoubtable child.
“I’m not staying. I’m going with Sergeant Shelton to help in any way I can.” Tom’s words were for his daughter, for me, and for Shelton.
“Then I’m going with you,” his daughter declared.
“You are not.” Tom’s voice reminded where the redoubtable in Tamantha came from.
“I’ll be there as fast as I can,” I said into the mouthpiece. I’d already stood and was dropping things into my bag. “I’m leaving the station right now.”
“I’m stuck here,” Mike grumbled.
“I’m driving,” another voice said from over my shoulder.
It was Diana Stendahl. My friend, another member of our investigating group, and the best cameraperson at KWMT-TV.
“Then you’ll get here faster,” Tom said, with a faint smile in his voice, clearly having recognized the volunteer’s voice.
Diana’s driving speed is undeterred by pesky items like the Rocky Mountains, which would come in handy, because Tom’s Circle B Ranch had more than a passing acquaintance with their eastern edge.
“We’re leaving now. Tell Tamantha. We’ll be there. I’ll be there.”
* * * *
“It’s not like before,” Diana said into a silence in her truck.
“What?”
I didn’t ask that buying-time question because my thoughts had been in some distant arena, but because they had been on the same track as hers … going the opposite direction. Fearing it could be exactly like before.
“They’re talking to Tom,” Diana said. “That’s what he said. Not questioning him at the sheriff’s department or… anything else. Besides—”
“Do you know anything about this guy who’s dead? Furman York?”
“—it’s not like it was with Sheriff Widcuff not knowing his head from a hole in the ground. It’s Shelton talking to him. And Russ is sheriff now.”
Russell Conrad became sheriff of Cottonwood County last fall. Not long after his arrival, he and Diana became … an item. Russ Conrad made her happy. She seemed to do the same for him. The second point didn’t weigh heavily with me.
About the only thing Conrad and I agreed on was Diana.
“It’s not like before. It’s totally different,” she said again.
“Uh-huh.”
I sure hoped so. But that’s not what had been in Tamantha’s voice.