Nella
“Ms. Freling…you are relentless.”
The sheriff sounds exhausted.
“Determined,” I counter.
“Reckless, you mean. What were you thinking? Never mind,” he adds immediately. “I don’t even want to know. Andrew’s Auto Repair is not only outside of my county, it’s in flipping Idaho.”
“Does that mean you’re doing nothing?”
I hear him sigh deeply.
“A tube of hand cream in a medicine cabinet is hardly a smoking gun, Ms. Freling. I can contact local law enforcement, ask them to go have a look at the vehicle, hope the VIN number is still legible but I can’t make any promises as to when that will be. That’ll be up to the locals.”
I glance inside where Pippa is pulling our purchases out of the bags to show Lucy.
“My sister remembers it. The hand cream is hers, as is the motorhome, what more do you need?”
“With all due respect, your sister couldn’t remember her own blood a few days ago. Her recollection seems at the very least unpredictable, if not outright unreliable. Look, I’m not saying I won’t follow up, but my department is spread thin as it is. I have to prioritize.”
I get it, I do, but that doesn’t make me any less annoyed.
“What about—” I start asking when Ewing cuts me off.
“Ms. Freling, I’m sorry but I really have to go. I will be in touch but in the meantime, I’ll ask you again; please don’t interfere with the investigation.”
I puff out a frustrated breath and lean back in the rocking chair, watching Hope chase Daisy the donkey away from the fresh pile of hay Lucy dumped in the paddock earlier.
Ewing may not want me involved, but if nothing is done, that motorhome will be gone and so will anything linking it to Andrew’s Auto Repair. I’m so stupid, I could’ve taken some pictures. I’m contemplating making the two-hour drive back there, but the sun’s already setting and I’m not comfortable sneaking onto private property in the dark.
“Are you coming in? Dinner’s ready.”
I twist my head to see Pippa standing in the open door.
“Be right there.”
She disappears inside and I get to my feet, tucking my phone in my back pocket, but it seems to catch on something. I shove my hand down and retrieve the piece of paper I found stuck under the floor mat in the motorhome. Almost forgot about that.
It’s a gas receipt for twenty-seven and a half gallons of unleaded and five gallons of propane. Cash payment. None of that would be particularly unusual, not with the gas station address listed as Chain Lakes Inn, Highway 2, Libby, Montana. I know it’s south of here. Pippa may well have come through there.
Not on September sixth, though—the date on the receipt—because by then my sister had already been missing for at least a week.
I hesitate for a minute, wondering if I should risk bothering Sheriff Ewing but the likelihood is he’ll just brush me off again. No, next time I contact him it’ll be with something he can’t ignore.
In the meantime, I’ll drive out to the gas station tomorrow, ask around and see if anyone remembers seeing Pippa’s rig.
“Those are the tiniest cinnamon buns I’ve ever seen.” Pippa’s critical eye scans the cooled display case with maybe half a dozen pastries. “Who does your baking?”
“We get them from Rosauers.”
Pippa was craving something sweet so I thought stopping in at Bean There would be a good idea. We just spent over two hours at the bank to get her finances sorted, and I for one could use a large latte and a pastry.
“The grocery store? There’s no designated bakery in town?”
My sister glances at me and waggles her eyebrows. More and more of the old Pippa comes to the surface. It’s not new for her to try and coax me into doing something more interesting with my life. Something I can be passionate about like baking. My canned response used to be that research was my passion, but I don’t think that was ever true. I enjoyed my job and was good at it, absolutely, but now that I’m without I’m not exactly heartbroken about it.
“Not really. The only place they actually bake fresh is at Rosauers,” Kaylie volunteers.
“See?” Pippa smiles at me. “It’s a sign.”
Wishful thinking is Pippa’s department; she’s always been the dreamer, the eternal optimist. I’m supposed to be the logical, practical sister. However, as of this morning I’m also officially without employment, which is the only reason I’m allowing myself to even entertain my sister’s suggestion.
“There are so many reasons why that would be impossible, Sissy. For one, I live in Cranbrook.”
“So?” She shrugs. “Move. It’s not like you have a job keeping you there. All you have to do is give your landlord notice.”
“For another, I’m not a US citizen. I don’t think I’d be able to set up shop here just like that.”
“One mocha,” Kaylie interrupts, sliding a takeout cup in front of my sister.
“Thank you,” she says before turning back to me. “So find out what steps you’d need to take.”
Yeah, I remember this Pippa. She’s a bulldozer.
“I wouldn’t know the first thing about running a bakery, Pippa.”
“You’re a baker?” Kaylie asks as she hands me my latte.
“No.”
“Yes,” Pippa says at the same time. “She’s an amazing baker.”
Ten minutes later I finally manage to herd my sister out of the coffee shop. She’s already late for her first appointment at the rehabilitation clinic next to the hospital. The clinic offers a variety of therapies—physical, speech, occupational, cognitive—which will hopefully benefit her.
My plan is to drop her off and drive down to Happys Inn to check out that gas station. I have the receipt in my pocket and have tried to come up with a possible cover story but I’m not a very good liar. I’m probably better off sticking as close to the truth as I can.
I walk my sister into the clinic and leave my number with the front desk. I’m told Pippa should be done by four thirty, which gives me enough time to poke around.
The drive to Happys Inn is about forty minutes away. It’s not really a town, more a concentration of population with a bar by the same name at its core, but is still technically part of Libby. There are several signs boasting cabin rentals and resorts on the handful of lakes south of the highway.
The gas station is actually just two pumps in front of the bar. Smart choice, judging by the busy parking lot. It’s a mix of trucks, cars, recreational vehicles, and bikes. A lot of bikes. In addition to the bar, part of the front of the building looks to be a convenience store of sorts. A sign on the gas pumps indicates to prepay inside.
When I drive past the entrance, I spot a sign beside the door advertising live music. I’ve never heard of the band listed, but I guess they’re popular enough to draw a respectable crowd on a regular Monday afternoon. A pickup truck is backing out in front of the convenience store and I slip the van in the vacated spot.
I get out of the van and immediately check the front of the building for security cameras. I spot two; one over the entrance and another one mounted on the post that holds the bar and roadhouse sign.
As soon as I enter the building, I’m glad I wore my hiking boots and the new clothes Pippa picked for me. I would’ve stood out like a sore thumb otherwise. Walking in, the entrance to the bar is straight ahead, a heavy drumbeat filtering through the doors. To my left is a single door into the convenience store.
A bell sounds when I push the door open and behind the counter a young kid—I’m guessing late teens or early twenties—looks up from the screen of his phone. No one else looks to be in the small store.
“Can I help you?”
“I hope so.” I walk up to the counter and pull the picture of Pippa in front of her rig from my purse. “Do you by chance remember seeing this motorhome?” I slide the image across the counter at him. “It would’ve been almost two weeks ago. September six? Were you working then?”
On a shelving unit behind the counter, I notice a small screen showing the feed from the camera above the front door. Part of my van is visible, as is the bike I parked next to. As I look, a man walks into the frame from between the vehicles and takes the steps up to the entrance. My head automatically swivels around to see him walk in the lobby and head straight for the doors to the bar.
“What day was that?” he wants to know.
“It would’ve been a Tuesday.”
“Yeah, I work Tuesdays. Can’t remember seeing her though.” He points at Pippa and then looks at me. “Are you sisters or something?”
“Yeah. She wouldn’t have been here. Just the motorhome.”
He gives me a long glance before he turns back to the image, picking it up for a closer look.
“Hard to tell. We get quite a few through here. Aside from walk-ins for the roadhouse, there’s a repair place as well as a campground not too far from here, and we have the only pumps close by. We even put in the propane fueling station in the back. Lots of traffic through here.”
I fish the receipt from my pocket and show him.
“Does this ring a bell? They paid in cash and the time stamp is for eleven forty-five in the morning on the sixth.”
“It would’ve been me working at that time,” he confirms. “But cash payments aren’t that uncommon. Heck, the guys from Mobilife do it all the time.”
“Mobilife?”
“RV repair place just up past the church. Those guys are here all the time.”
Fletch
“Everything all right?”
I’m leading King out of the stable when Jonas intercepts me.
“Yeah, one of the hands checking the fence line at Spring Creek gully thought he spotted one of the mares limping. I’m just heading out there to have a look.”
“Good, but I meant with you. Ama said you had an appointment in town.”
I swear, as much as I keep to myself, there is no fucking privacy here at the ranch. Don’t get me wrong, the concern comes from a good place, but it gets annoying.
“Yup. Bank. Getting some stuff sorted.”
“Grimshaw place?”
Jesus. Up in my business.
“What of it?”
“Nothing.” Jonas lifts a defensive hand. “But if you need anything to pull that together, come talk to me.”
The unexpected offer instantly deflates my growing annoyance.
“Appreciate the offer, but I’m good. Needed to shift some things around is all.”
The truth is, I could probably buy Esther’s place outright, but I know dick-all about investments, which is why I wanted to talk to my financial guy first. With a plan in place, I stopped in at the realtor’s office to put in an offer.
Esther let me look around the place last night when I dropped by. The house is in need of some repairs and I wouldn’t mind doing a few upgrades, but the bones look solid. It’s a pretty piece of land. The view from the highway doesn’t do the property justice because you can’t see that the house sits on a ridge overlooking a small valley behind it. I haven’t seen it by daylight, but if the views are as good as I imagine, a large deck will be the first upgrade I’ll invest in.
“A lot to consider,” he observes.
“Already put the offer in, Jonas. Not dicking around.”
He nods thoughtfully before narrowing his eyes on me.
“What if she wants to go back to Canada?”
He’s not a fool. He knows if it wasn’t for Nella showing up in my life, buying a house would probably not have been on my radar.
“Fuck, I don’t even know if she wants me in her life at all, but I’m determined to make that choice easier for her.”
Jonas grins and claps me on the shoulder.
“Never thought I’d see you fall. Bo, for sure, he works that charm hard. Heck, even Sully with his inflated sense of responsibility. But you? Never. Pleased as fuck for you though, brother.”
At my age the pat on the shoulder shouldn’t matter as much as it does, but it lingers through the afternoon while I chase down the injured mare.
I finally locate her in the shadows of a copse of trees, segregated from the rest of the herd. I’m surprised to see it’s Ginger, the alpha mare. She looks to have gotten tangled up with some predator, a mountain lion, judging by the wounds on her hind quarter.
Mountain lion attacks are pretty rare, but not unheard of. Horses have three possible predators out here; bear, wolves, and mountain lions. They don’t make for an easy prey though, so for a big alpha mare like Ginger to be targeted means the lion was either young and stupid, or desperate. Maybe even injured itself. Whatever the case may be, they could pose a threat to the entire herd.
I radio in for backup. The best thing to do for now is to move the herd closer to the ranch before nightfall. The alternative is taking in just Ginger to get her looked after, but then we’d leave the rest of them vulnerable. Safer to bring them all in.
Mountain lions are territorial and can claim anywhere from fifty to a few hundred square miles. But I’d bet the one that got a chunk out of Ginger hasn’t moved too far away from the food source, especially since we’re heading toward the colder months.
“James and Bo are already heading your way. Over.”
“Can we get a trailer up here for the injured mare? Not sure how far she’s gonna get under her own steam. Closest would be the forest road parallel to Fisher River. Radio me when you get close, I can get her there.”
“Ten-four.”
The mare is skittish and not keen on me getting too close, so it takes me a good half hour to get a halter on her. By that time Bo and James have arrived and they’re already rounding up the herd when Sully lets me know he’s getting close.
“Lucy called the ranch looking for you,” Sully announces when I meet up with him.
“Lucy?” I repeat, instantly on alert. “Why?”
The only reason I can think of for her to call me is if something is up with Nella or her sister. Sully doesn’t hesitate to confirm my suspicions.
“She called just before I rolled out. They’re looking for Nella, can’t get hold of her. She was supposed to pick up her sister at rehab at four thirty but she didn’t show.”
I quickly glance at my watch, it’s almost six now.