twenty

Kate called that night, after Jamie had gone home to attempt to explain to his wife why he might not have a job anymore.

“Yvette confirmed that you spent the night on her couch and said you left around four in the morning. Apparently you weren’t as quiet as you thought when you left.”

“That’s good, right?”

“As long as Teller was killed before then. Otherwise it puts you in town when you shouldn’t be.”

“How soon will we know?”

“Tomorrow, I’m guessing.”

“Let me know when you find anything out.”

“Will do.”

“So, Kate? I guess I should ask what you charge.”

“Don’t worry about that now. We’ll figure something out.”

———

The next morning Merry drove to the bank, armed with the key to the safety deposit box she’d found in Mama’s desk when she’d searched it unsuccessfully for the bill of sale for the revolver. Going through the contents of the box depressed her. Her birth certificate lay on top, as if Mama had looked at it recently. Below, she discovered birth certificates for Drew and for both Mama and Daddy. Daddy’s death certificate. Three old silver dollars, an elaborate filigree ring that had belonged to her grandmother and, at the bottom, four old stock certificates from a company that had long gone out of business.

Mama had had a life insurance policy, the proceeds of which would obviate the inheritance taxes on the ranch. But there would be no more money from Frank Cain’s leases for the annual property taxes and day-to-day expenses. Time to look for another job.

Employment pickings were lean in Hazel. But surely the Hungry Moose would have some turnover.

Janelle Paysen said they didn’t have openings right then but gave her an application to fill out. Seated in a window booth, Merry looked out at Hazel’s Main Street traffic. Nine-to-fivers took late morning coffee breaks, and summer tourists littered the sidewalks, wandering in and out of shops and stopping to look at the real estate ads plastered on the inside of Hazel Realty’s plate glass window. Merry wondered if that was where T. J. Spalding worked.

Three gray-haired couples ate their early lunches in the other window booths and a lone woman sat at the counter eating a taco salad and reading a book. A group of four men, all wearing wife-beaters, stained jeans, and seed caps so filthy you couldn’t read what they advertised, came in and sat down at a table near Merry. They could have been brothers: the same longish dark hair poking out around the edges of their caps, the same disregard for laundry facilities, and loud, loud voices that mingled with the smells of coffee and Danish, hamburger grease, and onions.

She didn’t want to work here, inside all day, dealing with stupid sonsabitches pinching her ass and making comments. But she filled out the application carefully, and she knew she’d take any job Herb Paysen offered.

Beggars can’t be choosers.

———

“Rory Hawkins graced me with a visit today.” Shirlene leaned her elbows on the table and directed a worried look at Merry.

After giving the job application to Janelle, she’d stopped by Kate’s office. Kate told her she had bypassed Sergeant Hawkins’s game playing by calling a friend at the state medical examiner’s office. Denny had been killed between midnight and two a.m. She’d called Hawkins and informed him that Merry’s parole officer was willing to provide her alibi. He’d responded by shifting his suspicions to Lauri.

But that morning, when he and Lester came by the house to pick her up for questioning, Shirlene had to tell them she had no idea where her daughter was. Now she and Merry were seated in the back room of her aunt’s dry cleaning business, plowing through the tuna melts Merry had picked up at the Moose. The air inside was heavy with humidity and the sharp chemical odors of solvent, detergent, and chlorine. A dryer droned in the back room.

“He threatened to arrest me—which is no surprise, really—for obstruction of justice or some damn thing. Man watches too much television if you ask me.”

“He thinks you know where she is?”

“Naturally. I’m her mother, so I must know, right?”

“Do you?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, Merry. I do not.”

Merry didn’t smile. “Just checking.”

Shirlene sighed and tossed the remainder of her sandwich in the trash. “I wish I did. I’ve looked every place I can think of.”

Merry ate her last onion ring and wiped her mouth. “So Hawkins decided if I didn’t kill Denny, Lauri must have done it.”

“He said Denny told him he got Lauri pregnant, which somehow, I don’t know how, means she killed him. Make any sense to you?”

“No. Hard to get any child support from a dead man.” But it did explain how Hawkins had known about her visit to Denny Teller; he’d likely learned it directly from the victim himself. Which meant they had to be friends—or something like it. She remembered Hawkins’s threat about finding drugs in her truck, and the smell of pot in Denny’s living room.

The evidence in Denny Stand’s murder pointed to Merry, but she hadn’t shot him. The evidence in Clay Lamente’s murder pointed to Lauri. Was someone framing her, too? But she admitted to being outside his window the night he died. And she also admitted to touching the gun, accounting for how her fingerprints came to be on it. Not quite a frame, then. At least not a premeditated one.

Merry leaned back. “Do you know who Mama sold her gun to? The thirty-eight?”

“You mean the one she kept in the kitchen drawer?”

“That one.”

“She sold it to Bo Lamente.”

A tiny shiver whispered across her neck. “When?”

“Oh, God, I don’t know. Three, four years ago. She only had it for the coyotes when she had those chickens. Harlan tried to give her a newer model, but she liked that old thing.”

“Yeah, thanks for telling me about Harlan and Mama, by the way.”

Shirlene set her jaw. “It wasn’t my place.”

“Still.” She took a sip of soda.

“Anyway, she never used the gun. After she stopped keeping the chickens, she sold it with all your daddy’s hunting guns. Only thing she kept was that old shotgun of our dad’s.” Shirlene’s face softened as she remembered her father, several years deceased.

The shotgun. Merry had forgotten about that old thing. An ancient Remington twelve-gauge, it had always been tucked in the mudroom cupboard. Just having it on the ranch was a parole violation.

“You know if Bo still had the thirty-eight? Apparently it was used to kill Denny Teller.”

Shirlene’s hand flew to her mouth. “So that’s why they picked you up? Bo bought and sold guns as kind of sideline a to everything else he did. He could have sold it to anyone. Or kept it. I don’t know.”

“Olivia might know.”

“She might. You should have Kate ask her.”

“That’s a good idea.” Merry cocked her head to one side, studying her aunt. “You seem … better.”

“Hon, I gotta say, I feel like I got a second wind. I may lose the house since Lauri’s taken off, and now she’s being accused of another murder, but she’s not in jail, and if they don’t find her she’s not going back. I know it sounds wrong, but I don’t want them to find her.” She paused. “I’m sorry about your money, though.”

“Kate’s a good lawyer.”

“I’m sure she is. And we may have to face a trial, I know. But for right now I’m going to live my life and hope my daughter’s safe, wherever she is.”

“Wherever she is, huh.”

Shirlene rolled her eyes and stood to dump out a bag of dirty work clothes. “So, what’s the deal between you and Kate?”

Merry shrugged. “We knew each other in college.”

Shirlene looked over her shoulder. “Right. You were a mess the other day when she was at the house.”

“I was not.”

“You were. But you don’t have to tell me.”

Several seconds passed. “We knew each other in high school, and then in college we got to be really good friends. Then this older guy, well, not that much older, but out of school, out in the world, came into the picture. They began dating. Then he left her for me.”

“Ouch.”

“It was Rand.”

Shirlene winced. “Double ouch.”

“Yeah.”

“But you two seemed okay after that first time I saw you together.”

“We’ve worked it out.”

Shirlene loaded the clothes into the washer and added detergent and Borax. “You should go talk to Harlan.”

Merry almost choked on her iced tea. “Why?”

“Because he’s miserable. And he thinks you’re angry at him for dating your mom.”

“How do you know I’m not?”

“Because you’re not an idiot, Merry.”

Well, when she put it like that. “I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah. And then when you’re done thinking about it, go talk to the poor guy.”

———

At the ranch, Merry found two cars blocking the circular drive. She’d never seen the Land Rover, but the Cadillac was familiar. That damn real estate doofus was around here someplace.

She climbed out of Lotta—she’d dropped by Shirlene’s house and traded the Blazer for the old pickup—and heard voices coming from the direction of the barn. She slammed the door and strode
toward them, ignoring the twinge in her ankle. In the paddock outside Izzy’s stall, a woman stood stroking the mare’s neck and talking to her in a high-pitched voice better reserved for babies and Pomeranians.

“Oh, and aren’t you a sweetheart? What a pretty girl!” Izzy nibbled at her fingers. “Is you hungry? Does the pretty girl want a little snack?” With her other hand she reached into her pocket.

Merry walked through the open gate and up behind the woman. “Don’t even think about feeding my mare. And don’t ever offer your fingers to a strange horse unless you’re willing to lose them.”

The woman whirled, then laughed. “Oh, you scared me. But don’t worry—this little darling and I are no strangers. We met just the other day.”

Smooth blonde hair capped her skull, framing a heart-shaped face. Small-featured, tan and pretty, the effect was marred by her thinness, so extreme that her head looked too large for her body. She couldn’t have weighed more than ninety pounds.

“She is a girl, isn’t she?”

Merry sighed. “Yes. Most mares are.” She studied the woman. “So you’ve been here before.”

“Mr. Spalding brought us out the other day, but the owner wasn’t here—is that you? We looked around a bit. The house was locked, so we couldn’t see the inside, but we were able to check out everything else. Including this sweet horse.” She turned and hugged Izzy.

“You tried to go in my house?”

“Well, of course. After all, if we’re going to buy the property, we have to be able to see what we’re getting.”

“You’re not going to buy the property. It’s not for sale.”

The woman took a step back, a small frown creasing her brow. “It’s not?”

“No. It’s not. You’re trespassing. And you endangered my horse by leaving the gate open so she could get out the last time you were here nosing around. She might have run away, or injured herself. Of all the thoughtless—”

“Hey now, hey now, no need to fly off the handle there. You are a prickly one, yes, you are.” T. J. Spalding and another man approached through the gate and walked toward them. His companion, tall with a thatch of dark unruly hair and an open face, watched them.

Izzy pushed past the blonde woman and came to Merry, who walked her into the stall and shut the half door.

She heard the woman whisper behind her. “Look how that horse follows her. Can you teach them to do that?”

Merry gestured the trio out of the paddock before closing the gate. As she latched it behind them, she shot a pointed look at the woman, who blushed. Spalding had reached the porch and had his hand on the door before he noticed Merry and the couple had stopped in the middle of the yard. He jogged back to them. The few steps of exertion left him panting.

“Now listen here, Ms. McCoy—” Spalding began, but the other man held up his hand.

“I’m Thomas Brentwood, and this is my wife, Theodora.”

“You can call me Tee.”

She gave a little nod. “Merry McCoy.”

“Ms. McCoy, you own this property?” Brentwood’s mellifluous voice sounded like it had been aged in an oak casket for twenty years.

“Yes. And you’re trespassing.”

Brentwood raised his eyebrows. “We’ve been given to believe that this property is on the market.”

Merry narrowed her eyes at Spalding.

Brentwood looked displeased. “Apparently that’s not the case. Perhaps Mr. Spalding here was mistaken.”

“No,” Merry said. “I was very clear.”

“I see.” Brentwood shifted his gaze to the shorter man beside him. “T. J.?” A vein of iron ran through his smooth voice.

Spalding blanched. “Well, I … of course she’s going to sell.” Regaining his cockiness, he spoke to Merry. “Sure you are, sure you are. Your mother is unfortunately deceased, and you don’t want to stay around here where everyone knows what happened down in Texas. You’re a pariah. Why would you keep the place when you have buyers standing right here in front of you that are very—very—interested and able to take it off your hands?”

“T. J.,” Brentwood said.

“Exactly what do you think happened ‘down in Texas,’ Mr. Spalding?” Sarcasm laced Merry’s tone.

“I asked around,” Spalding said. “I know.”

“I just bet you do.” She turned to the other man. “Listen, Mr. Brentwood, I’m sorry you wasted your time coming out here, but I’m not selling.”

“I won’t say I’m not disappointed. We really like the place.” Brentwood smiled.

Merry smiled back. It wasn’t his fault Spalding was such a little prick.

“Oh, you’re being downright unreasonable, Ms. McCoy,” Spalding said.

“T. J., please wait for us by the car,” Brentwood said without looking at him. Reluctant, Spalding drifted to stand by his vehicle, a big sulk all over his soft little face.

“Honey,” Tee Brentwood said. “You made him mad.”

Brentwood shrugged. “Sorry about all this, Ms. McCoy.”

“Merry is fine.”

“Okay. And I’m Thomas. You don’t have to worry about us bothering you again.”

“Thank you. Now if I could just get it through to Mr. Spalding that his time is wasted here.”

Brentwood frowned. “I have some friends on the real estate commission. I’ll see what I can do to help you out with that.”

“You don’t need to do that. He should take the hint this time.”

“It’s just a phone call. And maybe you’ll let me know if you hear of any property coming up for sale that we might like.” He reached
into his pocket and handed Merry a card. “Needless to say, we just lost ourselves a real estate agent, and while we love this country we don’t know the area very well.”

She considered the card. The phone number had a Montana area code, but she didn’t recognize the prefix. Probably a cell phone. There was no address.

“What exactly is it you’re looking for?”

His wife answered. “Enough land to get a taste of open country. I’ve lived in the city my whole life, and now I want to live in some of this wonderful untrammeled space you have here. Keep some animals—I love horses, but as you’ve already guessed, I don’t know much about them. I’m really very sorry about letting that one out the other day.”

“You just have to use common sense with animals. Helps if there’s someone around who will answer questions, too. Are you looking for a vacation place?”

“No,” Brentwood said. “I’m retiring. We want to live here full-time, be a part of the community. Maybe even get some cattle.”

“Why were you looking at this place? It sounds larger than what you want.”

“T. J. told us smaller plots weren’t available. And I wouldn’t mind having a good-sized chunk of land.”

“Well, I’ll keep your number. You never know.”

She shook both their hands, and the couple walked to where the real estate agent waited. Merry watched Spalding’s irritation turn to something like fear as Thomas Brentwood spoke to him. He jumped into the Cadillac and jerked it into drive, spraying gravel as he drove away. Tee Brentwood said something to her husband. Brentwood smiled and kissed her on top of her head.

The Land Rover worked its way around a couple of potholes before picking up speed. Merry would think long and hard about recommending a place to Brentwood. Like most Montana natives, she didn’t like the idea of a bunch of rich outsiders moving in, the preponderance of Hollywood types buying up land for vacation homes they rarely visited having long ago jaded those who lived and worked here. At least the Brentwoods planned to stay year round and had a lot of money, some of which they’d spend locally.

And for some reason, Merry kind of liked the guy.