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THE NEXT MORNING, Everette arrived promptly at ten. The drive to Eagle Landing was filled with pleasant conversation. The town had been built by prospectors, and the mining influence remained even though agricultural tax dollars now kept the town financially sound. Everette was the third generation who had chosen to return after college, with a new bride in tow, to raise the fourth generation here.
Everette parked in front of Rosie’s, a run-down-looking hotel. “Have you happened to notice the street names?” he asked before we got out of the pickup.
“No. I didn’t pay any attention when I was here the other day.”
“This is Hardtack Street. It runs the length of the business district. The originators of the town got creative with street names: Claim Jumper, Fools Gold, Mother Lode, Prospector, Tailings. I live on Shaft Street—appropriate in my wife’s family’s eyes. They think their daughter got the shaft marrying me; a small-town librarian wasn’t on their list of acceptable suitors for their only child. But Diane loves it here, and we feel fortunate to be able to raise our children in a small-town atmosphere.”
“Boys? Girls?”
“One of each. Randy will be a senior this fall and Steph a sophomore. Diane’s the school librarian.” He laughed. “Bet you could guess that wasn’t the career choice her parents had for her.”
I nodded. “In my book, no pun intended, school librarians make a lasting impact on children. I was lucky enough to work in the library during high school for Mrs. Knutson, a real special lady.”
We stood looking at Rosie’s; the two-story wooden structure dwarfed the brick-faced bars on each side—The Golden Nugget and The Sluice Box. The sign hanging from the hotel eave read Haunted by Madam Rosie. Everette insisted on carrying my bag through the double doors, which stood propped open. It was going to take more than an open door to dispel the musty smell of age. A free-standing sign pointed to the dining hall and detailed the history of the saloon-turned-eating-space.
The hotel check-in desk was empty. I looked around at the dingy interior. “This looks like a unique experience,” I said.
Everette cleared his throat. “I’m not sure why Nancy chose for you to stay here. We have a new Holiday Inn off the beaten path where I heard the rest of the film crew will be staying. It’s going to be a little noisy here the next couple of nights, with the two bars next door and The Amalgam Bar just down the street. But Nancy said, and I quote, ‘Hotel’s just Courtney’s cup of tea.’”
I’m sure I heard Nancy chuckle.
“Oh, you know us Hollywood types, party all night, sleep all day,” I said in a Valley Girl accent.
“The Friends of the Library luncheon begins at noon. It’s a carry-in potluck at the library, and I expect lots of Opal’s friends will be there who are THRILLED to meet you—just giving you a warning,” he said with a wink. “I’d better get back to the library.”
“Thanks for the ride, and I’ll see you at noon.”
A gum-popping teenager came out from behind a closed door behind the check-in desk. “You checkin’ in?”
“I am, indeed,” I said, feeling empathy for the acne-faced boy.
He grumbled about missing out on all the fun because he had to work. The key to the room was attached to a piece of wood that resembled an old-fashioned clothes peg—not something I could conceal in the tight jeans I was planning on wearing to the evening festivities. I broke a nail down to the quick prying off the key. Being beautiful can be painful.
As Everette predicted, I was overwhelmed with the greeting I received at the meeting room of the library—clouds of old-woman perfume and tables bending under the weight of dish after dish of food. Not wishing to alienate anyone, I sampled each dish they had made special for me, and by two o’clock I was overstuffed and feeling a little dizzy from the mixture of perfumes. I received praise for my books, but their questions had soon turned to the movie being filmed at the TRO Ranch. I was glad to escape to my room, where I exchanged my luncheon attire for elastic-waist (ahh) shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers that were still a little damp from last night’s walk.
Why had David lied to me about jogging on a designated walking path when clearly his sneakers were soaked? I’m pretty sure he was the one meeting in secret with the woman at the ranch entrance. Why all the cloak and dagger?
David’s lying to me bothered me more than I wanted to admit. So what if he’s meeting a woman in the dark after flirting with both Nakita and me earlier? He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and there wasn’t a telltale tan line indicating he’d left one in the drawer at home before coming to Montana.
David be damned! The Days celebration sounded like fun, and I looked forward to barhopping and doing a little boot scooting.
After a quick walk through the city park and along the riverbank, I returned to my room and changed into my tight Cruel Girl jeans and Western snap-front shirt. I threaded my leather belt through the loops and admired its Black Hills gold belt buckle, a gift from my dad.
The Chamber of Commerce mixer was in the Eagle Landing Hardware Store. I enjoy hardware stores, with their color samples, nuts and bolts. And who doesn’t like a good power tool or two? The civic leaders were a happy-go-lucky bunch tonight, but that might have had something to do with the bartender’s generous pours. I fielded many of the same movie questions as I had at the luncheon. Everette was correct, the civic leaders saw dollar signs in us movie people. The mixer broke up around seven, and Nelda and Nova, the two sisters who ran the flower shop, invited me to join them uptown for another drink.
I love small towns because everything is within walking distance. The three of us strolled past barrels filled with blooming flower arrangements. I watched as each sister stopped and fussed over the planters like a mother over a small child, discussing what plant combinations they would try next year. “The plantings are beautiful,” I said. “I travel so much I can’t keep anything green alive.”
“Oh, I couldn’t stand not having plants,” Nova said.
“Ditto,” Nelda added. “But remember after last year’s Days? We had to replant most of the pots in front of the bars. Drunk cowboys and flowers don’t mix!”
We were nearing the downtown area when Nova reached out and grabbed Nelda. “Don’t look in front of the newspaper office, but there he is.”
Of course, I looked. Who doesn’t when someone says don’t look? I thought it might be Alex or Wes.
But the guy standing in front of the newspaper office looked normal to me. He was dressed in an army-green T-shirt and faded jeans. A long-billed cap was pulled low to cover his face. I didn’t see anything to cause the tension I heard in Nelda’s voice.
Nova sucked in her breath and grabbed her sister’s arm.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“The guy over there—” Nelda began.
“We call him Mr. No Face. He gives us the creeps,” Nova finished.
“Creepy how? Serial-killer-creepy or stalker-trying-to-get-up-enough-courage-to-ask-you-out creepy?” I asked.
Nova said, “Creepy as in no one has ever looked him in the eye. His long-billed cap is always pulled down to hide his face. He showed up here last year. Pete down at the hardware store said Skeeter Reed brought him to the store and gave him authorization to charge to the TRO Ranch. I’ve seen him in the grocery store a time or two. When he’s in town, he spends lots of time just standing on a street corner watching people. I get bad vibes from him.”
We continued down the street and I glanced behind me, but Mr. No Face was nowhere to be seen. By the time we reached The Golden Nugget and The Sluice Box, both were packed. The sidewalk was crowded, and patrons spilled out into the blocked-off street. A sea of cowboy hats weaved and bobbed like buoys off a shoreline. Someone nearby was smoking Swisher Sweets, a smell I enjoy. I recognized some of the film crew and searched the crowd for Sissally. I found her sitting on a picnic table. She had added extensions to her already-gorgeous blonde locks. A navel ring peeked out from her flat tummy, as her cornflower blue shirt was tied just underneath her breasts. Her bedazzled cowboy boots and Daisy Duke shorts had the attention of a group of young guns. I brushed away my feeling of frumpiness and excused my way through the Wranglers and Levi’s enjoying the view to stand beside her.
She squealed with delight. “Courtney!” She bent close to my ear and whispered, “Wrangler butts drive me nuts.”
“So I see,” I whispered back.
“Oh, man. I’ve got to pee. The line to the bathroom is insane.”
Digging in my pocket, I handed her my room key. “Here. I’m staying at Rosie’s. Room 111.”
The celebrating was ramping up a notch as dusk settled over the town. A stage had been erected in the street in front of Rosie’s, and Chancey Williams and the Younger Brothers Band were tuning up. Chancey hailed from Moorcroft, Wyoming, thirty minutes from my hometown. I knew the music would be damn good.
The band began to play, and the street filled with all ages of dancers: little girls standing on their fathers’ toes, mothers holding babies swaying in time with the music, teenagers showing off, couples swirling around with the familiarity that years together brings to their dance. The celebratory mood was catching, and I was soon dancing with partner after partner. I spotted Mr. No Face a couple of times, just outside the periphery of the partygoers. I saw what Nova meant by his cap pulled low, hiding his face. It was kind of creepy.
When the band took its break, the crowd shifted like a slow-moving lava flow toward The Amalgam Bar where music blared from the back patio. The beers I’d drunk were doing their own boot scooting against my bladder wall, and Sissally hadn’t returned my room key yet. The line to use the bar’s bathroom was long, so I opted for one of the porta potties that had been set up in the parking lot of the grocery store just down from the bar. I left the music and the people behind, and I’d only walked a few feet when I had the eerie feeling of being watched. My Spidey sense buzzed, and I wished I’d gone looking for Sissally and my room key. The parking lot lights cast long shadows over the potties, making them look like fat aliens. No one else was in the parking lot, and I thought as I stepped into the small smelly space—get in, get ’er done, get out.
I used my elbow to push the porta potty door open to see Skeeter standing in front of me. “Evening, little lady,” he drawled around an extra-large pinch of chewing tobacco. He sounded more like Elmer Fudd than Sam Elliott.
“Hey,” I said, trying to keep my voice normal, though my heart was thumping loudly in my ears.
“I think it’s time you and me got to know each other a little better,” he said as he stepped closer.
I glanced around, hoping to see someone else, anyone else. Seriously, no one else had to pee.
“Let’s start with a dance,” I said, stepping to go past him.
“Let’s start with a kiss,” he answered, moving into my path. The strong smell of beer mixed with his Copenhagen.
“Shitters are gross. Let’s get away from them.” I faked him out by starting to the right and changing directions. But I misjudged his long reach. He gripped my bicep hard enough to make me gasp.
“Skeeter, let go of me or I’ll scream.”
“Who’s going to hear you?” he waved his free arm to indicate the empty parking lot and squeezed my arm tighter.
“I will,” David said, materializing from the shadows. “Let her go.”
“Make me,” Skeeter said, sounding like a six-year-old.
“Gladly.”
David’s jab connected with Skeeter’s jaw, and he began to fall, still gripping my bicep. David’s arm snaked around my waist, and he caught me before I fell. “One pile of shit deserves another,” he said, looking down at Skeeter crumpled against the porta potty (David-2, Skeeter-1).
“Thanks,” I said to David, around a tongue that felt dry as a cotton ball.
“Not a problem. I’ve been looking for an excuse to drop his ass.”
“Bet this just makes him mad. I’d watch my back if I were you. I don’t think Skeeter’s the kind to fight fair,” I said with real concern.
“His kind never does.”
“Buy you a beer?” I asked as we rejoined the mass in front of The Golden Nugget.
Before he could answer, a very drunk Sissally stumbled into me. “Mr. Horse Wrangler, your Wrangler butt drives me nuts.”
Oh, great.
“Do you have a twin? ’Cause I’m seeing two of you,” Sissally slurred.
“I think it’s time this party girl called it a night,” David said.
“I have a room here at Rosie’s. Would you mind helping me get her into bed?”
OMG! I hoped that didn’t sound as dirty to David as it did to me. From the grin on his face it must have, but thankfully he kept his comments to himself. Sissally passed out halfway up the steps, and David effortlessly picked her up and carried her the rest of the way. I dug in her Daisy Dukes and thankfully found my room key. David laid her gently on the bed, and we returned to the hallway.
“This is quite a hotel,” David said.
“Interesting to think about who walked these halls in the past, slept in these rooms.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Don’t think these rooms were for sleeping.”
