The little hairs on my arms lifted. Breathe. Of course. It would have to be Sam. Mae had practically shown his motive in her drawing by placing the expression of schadenfreude on one side. Taking pleasure from someone else’s suffering.
I worked up enough spit in my mouth to speak. “You don’t want there to be any more killing, do you, Sam?”
“Shut up, Darby. What’s done is done.”
“You took a huge chance flying out here on the chopper. The pilot will remember you—”
“So what?”
Bram was lying on his side between Sam and me. My hands, out of sight, continued to work on the knots.
Sam must have noticed. “Put your hands where I can see them.”
Before I raised them, I gave the knot one final tug. I could feel the rope loosen. “Those emeralds—”
His head jerked backward and gun shifted slightly.
“Yes. I know about the emeralds. The mine. And so will others soon enough. You can’t keep killing people who might stumble on the location.”
Sam pulled back his lips, exposing his teeth more like a snarl than a smile. “You’re crazy, Darby. Cleanup. That’s all I do. Cleanup, but you don’t have to worry about it. It doesn’t matter anyway. The mine tapped out shortly after the accident that killed the miners.”
With an ear-shattering whoosh, the roof of the staff quarters collapsed.
Sam moved closer to us. I could feel Bram working on his bindings, but his face was a mask of pain.
Bram won’t be able to help. It’s up to me.
“Don’t concern your pretty little head about it. What we did find there were world-class stones. We found an investor who took the whole lot.”
An investor? Someone who loved cut stones. Like a husband and wife named Stacy and Peter? Who left with Wyatt to get help.
Had all the riders failed?
A sour taste filled my mouth. I lowered my hands.
“We just had to keep the source of the stones hidden for a bit. And, of course, take care of the loose ends.”
“Loose ends? Like when you killed Mae, then covered up with the note?”
“No one killed Mae. She moved to Pocatello.”
I stared at him a moment. “I found her body. At the cabin.”
His gun wavered slightly before he retrained it on me. “You’re a liar.”
“No. You went to the cabin and tried to kill me.”
“Darby, you’re a liar and crazy. I never tried to kill you. I was off on my timing, but that was an accident. I meant I bought Mule Shoe.” He raised his pistol.
I was going to die.
I dropped my head, but something he said sent my mind spinning. The miners died six months ago. I had thought all the deaths were directly related to the mine’s discovery, but if that wasn’t an issue . . .
“Now, Darby, about you.”
I closed my eyes. Heavenly Father, forgive me—
Crack!
I jumped. The sound hurt my ears. Was I dead? Or . . .
Opening my eyes, I reached for Bram and looked up.
Roy stood outlined by the fire, Bram’s Glock in hand. Behind him stood Grace, two of the Polish ladies, and Cookie.
Sam sprawled on the ground, motionless.
“Snake.” Roy spit at him.
I wanted to scream, cry, pray, vomit. I remained motionless until the waves of emotion passed. When again I could get control of myself, I helped Bram to a seated position leaning against a tree stump.
Was it over? Really over? I pushed to my feet and hopped over to Sam’s body. I knew everyone would stare at me, at my missing limb. I didn’t care.
Sam’s partially open eyes stared at eternity.
The pistol Sam pointed at me was the same kind of weapon I’d owned, the last gun I’d touched since the shootout five years ago. A Sig Sauer 9mm. I reached for it, hesitated, then picked it up.
A memory opened. I gasped. A memory, not a flashback. I remembered grabbing the gun from the glove box. I’d thought something was wrong. Wrong with the gun.
Jim had been talking to the serial killer. I was supposed to cover my husband. I’d sighted in on the man’s head, but I didn’t shoot. My brain had kept pounding out, Terribly wrong.
“Now, Darby. Shoot now!” Jim had screamed.
The killer had fired. Jim had dropped to the ground.
I had run. I hadn’t taken the shot. I’m a coward.
A heaviness settled in my chest. I’d failed to correctly interpret the killer’s letters, lost my husband and baby, and finally lost my leg, all because . . . I shook my head.
No. Something else. The gun. I kept coming back to the gun. My flashbacks and dreams had returned to the Sig Sauer. Why hadn’t I pulled the trigger?
I looked down at the weapon in my hand. Could it be? I turned my back to Roy and the staff, then ejected the gun’s magazine. No bullets. Just like my gun five years ago.
I’d known then that the gun’s weight was off. I knew that weapon, handled it every day. In the mind-numbing terror of that day, I’d known something was wrong but couldn’t figure out what. When I’d been discovered by that group of teens, they took my purse and the weapons. I remembered their voices.
“Hey, Matt, Chris, come over here! This is cool. A body!”
“Naaa, really? Awesome!”
“Whatcha think we shood do?”
“Grab his gun, man. ’Nother gun over there.”
Approaching footsteps. “Hey, there’s a chick here. Pretty. Should we—”
“Naa, man, I ain’t that drunk.”
When they’d stolen my pistol and left me to die, they’d also stolen the one way I could have known I wasn’t a coward. I wasn’t running away—I was running for help because the gun was unloaded.
“Darby, are you okay?” Roy asked.
“I’m better than okay. I’m exonerated.” I slid the action back slightly and stuck my finger into the chamber, then quietly closed it.
“It’s finally over,” Cookie said.
“Yes.” My neck started to itch.
Something had fallen from Sam’s pocket. A walkie-talkie.
The itch grew. What had Sam said? The mine tapped out shortly after the accident that killed the miners. We found an investor who took the whole lot. No one killed Mae. She moved to Pocatello. I never tried to kill you. I bought Mule Shoe.
I knew the answer to question two, who wanted it. Just one problem.
We. Sam had said “we.”
My neck was on fire. I still needed to figure out who he was working with. Roy? He was the one who shot Sam, but he wouldn’t drive down the price of his own resort. Cookie? Possibly someone had found out about her PTSD and stint at Clan Firinn. Yeah right. Then she’d somehow stabbed herself in the back and hit herself over the head. Spuds, the missing staffer? Open to bribes? Wyatt? He’d been in prison and was strong enough to have carried bodies into the building and set it on fire. He’d also ridden out to safety . . . and freedom.
“Roy.” Cookie put her hand on Roy’s arm holding the pistol. “We need to have a mindset for resolution here. Sam was the killer.” She gently removed the weapon from Roy’s hands.
Mindset. The arson note had that unique phrasing. You should make your mindset one of defeat. Wyatt had used a similar phrase when we were trapped in the lodge. We want you to adopt the survival mindset.
And Roy had written the welcome greeting in the brochure. You should bring to Mule Shoe your mindset for success.
It wasn’t unusual for people who lived and worked together to pick up each other’s unique dictionary of words and phrases. I’d have to figure out something else. Some clue I’d overlooked. Where had everyone been? What had people said?
I bought Mule Shoe. Probably the lowest bid, which was SD. Sam . . . Dankworth?
Words written. A note. As per our tradition. The note from Scott Thomas to me. Gift. The puzzle pieces dropped into place.
I knew who, and I knew what I had to do. I just hoped it wouldn’t kill me. Be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid. God is with you.
“Are you okay, Darby?” Roy asked. “You have a strange look on your face.”
“I just figured out the answer to question three. What was the escape strategy? How could someone possibly get away with all these murders and still end up with the mine and Mule Shoe? You simply blame everything on Sam, then kill him. If you’re the closest relative, you inherit everything. Resort, emerald mine, the whole enchilada. Who was he, Cookie? Your dear brother?”