| |
THE NEXT MORNING, Sissally emerged from the bathroom looking like she was ready for a walk on the red carpet. My head was pounding from the beers I’d drunk and the fitful night’s sleep I’d had due to sharing a bed. “I’m scheduled to help serve the pancake breakfast at seven.” I opened my suitcase and pulled out the shirt I’d intended to wear today. Annoyed at how wrinkled it was, I let out an audible sigh.
“You go shower. I’ll take care of that,” Sissally said. By the time I stepped out of the shower, she had returned with two cups of coffee and a wrinkle-free shirt.
“Thanks. That looks like a professional did it.”
“Compliments of Opal Aungst. She lives just a couple of blocks away. I knew she would be of the generation with a hot iron at ready.” Sissally sat cross-legged on the bed and rubbed her forehead.
“Hey, are you okay? Last night catching up with you?” I chuckled.
Sissally shook her head no. “I told Opal I was feeling kind of spooked after learning Wanda Gasby had been kidnapped and murdered on the mountain behind the ranch. I told her we went online and read the newspaper articles.”
“I didn’t know you were feeling uneasy.”
Sissally shrugged. “It just feels weird to be so close to such a violent crime. But now. Holy cow! What Opal told me while ironing your shirt makes me want to run for the bright lights of L.A.”
I popped the top off the coffee cup and joined her on the bed. “What did she say?”
“Opal said Jason Weatherby has a half-brother, Morgan Weatherby, and there was some speculation maybe Jason wasn’t alone at the time of the kidnapping and murder.”
“You mean maybe Morgan was there, too, and didn’t get caught?”
Sissally nodded. “And here’s something crazy. The authorities wanted to conduct another search on the mountain after Jason was arrested, but Bryce Bentley, the owner of the TRO Ranch, wouldn’t let them.”
“Couldn’t they force him if there was a chance someone was on the mountain who was an accessory to kidnapping and murder?”
“Several weeks had passed by the time authorities did a full background check on Jason and learned about his rather sketchy half-brother—a former Marine who dropped off the grid after discharge. Jason, at the time of his arrest, had declined legal counsel and confessed, so it was an open and shut case. When the authorities wanted to do another search of the mountain, Mr. Bentley said he was within his legal rights to not allow them on his property. In fact, he threatened them with trespass. His high-powered lawyers filed an injunction against all law enforcement, including the FBI. It went before a judge—who happens to be a buddy of Bryce’s—and he signed off on it. Then law enforcement just threw up their hands, figuring by the time they fought it through appeals Morgan would be long gone, if he’d ever been there in the first place.”
“Stands to reason he probably would be. What would be the point of staying around? It’s not like he’s going to break his brother out of jail. That only happens in books.” How would Serena handle being a hostage in a jail-break? Now there’s a plot possibility!
“Opal said coffee talk is the locals think Morgan’s still on the mountain. And something is fishy about Sheriff Connors’s testimony that he was the one who found Jason and the body of Wanda in the cabin. Opal said old man Kreuger swears he saw Sheriff Connors meeting up with another man who already had Jason in custody. They were meeting over on Cricket’s Trail and he heard the guy say he was FBI. But since Buzz Kreuger has dementia, the officials didn’t take him seriously. And there’s more,” Sissally said. “Mr. Stone’s been getting death threats if he doesn’t get the film crew off the mountain.”
Who else had Tiffany shared the death threat notes with?
“Do you think Mr. Stone will shut down the shoot?” I asked. “I mean, if human lives are at stake, you’d think it be a no-brainer.”
“Well, you don’t see him on location, do you? Guess that means we are expendable—as long as he gets the perfect movie footage.”
I checked the time and knew I’d be late to serve pancakes if I didn’t leave right this minute. “I have to run, but I want to hear more later.”
At the pancake breakfast I was quickly swept up in the camaraderie of people I had just met yesterday. After everyone was served, the volunteers sat down to eat. Sissally joined us. She had traded her Daisy-Duke look for more modest attire, but it didn’t dampen the zeal of her fan base. I watched a group of teenage boys walk by several times, pushing and shoving each other, vying to win a glance from Sissally. Her attention, though, was focused on an ancient-looking woman in a wheelchair who was recounting the story of traveling in a covered wagon from Missouri to Montana. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Mr. No Face leaning against the fender of an army-green Jeep and watching the crowd. Definitely a creepy dude!
Riding the sugar high from carb-laden pancakes swimming in maple syrup, we walked to where the parade would pass by. Opal made sure we had a primo spot to watch it. Leading off the festivities was a flashy pair of matched palominos whose riders carried the Stars and Stripes and the Montana state flag. A float honoring the military forces followed. All the parade watchers were on their feet, hats off and hands over their hearts—the kind of patriotism that always makes me tear up.
“Here come Quintin and Zeus,” Opal said as she nudged Sissally. The crowd erupted with shouts, whistles, and cheers as the sheriff’s pickup drove by with a Belgian Malinois sitting on bales of hay stacked in the truck bed. A young man dressed in an Eagle Landing Sheriff’s Department uniform stood, waving to the crowd.
“Whose Quintin? And Zeus?” I whispered in Sissally’s ear.
“Quintin Williams is a former Army EOD specialist who adopted Zeus after the dog was injured in an explosion in Afghanistan. Quintin works as a deputy sheriff for Eagle Landing.”
“EOD?” I asked.
“Explosive ordnance disposal. Opal is friends with Quintin’s grandmother. He’s single, and Opal’s going to hook me up.”
Next in the parade lineup were floats put together by local clubs, organizations, and businesses. Sissally and Opal scrambled to see who could collect the most candy thrown by the float riders, and I picked up my share of Dubble Bubble. I was too caught up in the festivities to even look around for Mr. No Face or Skeeter.
After the parade, Opal hustled us over to where the barbecue lunch was being served, deposited us in the waiting line, and left to serve lemonade and iced tea. As we waited for the volunteers to start dishing out beef sandwiches, potato chips, and baked beans, my Spidey sense buzzed. I looked around.
Skeeter.
An ugly bruise the size of a grapefruit showed dark on his jawline, and a couple of scruffy-looking cowboys stood with him. Skeeter said something, and they all looked my way. A smile that would put Snidely Whiplash’s to shame crossed Skeeter’s face.
“Are you okay?” Sissally asked.
“I had a run-in with Skeeter last night, and David just happened to show up and knocked him out,” I said. I jerked my head in the direction of the three men. “It looks like he’s gathered reinforcements.”
“Mr. Horse Wrangler just happened to show up?” Sissally gave me a wink.
The line began to move forward, saving me from having to reply. Picnic benches had been placed under a huge tent to keep the hot July sun off the diners. I kept an eye on Skeeter and watched as Mr. No Face passed by the three cowboys and gave them a nod. Between Mr. No Face lurking around and Skeeter and his friends staring at me, I lost my appetite. I finally gave up moving the food around on the plate and said to Sissally, “I’m going over to the park to get set up at my booth. Are you up for the rodeo later?”
“Absolutely,” she said, her eyes fixed on a group of cowboys walking away.
***
EVERETTE, WITH THE help of a younger version of himself, was setting up the booth when I got to the park. “It looks great,” I said smiling.
“This is my son, Randy.” Everette nodded toward the teenager, who was setting a box of books underneath the table.
“Thanks so much for the help,” I said.
The foot traffic was heavy the first couple of hours, and book sales were brisk. When there was a lull, I stepped away to stroll around the other vendors’ booths. I felt safe being alone, thinking that it wouldn’t be Skeeter’s modus operandi to show up here. He preferred places that smelled—the barnyard and porta potties. I took a break in the park’s restroom, and when I emerged, there was Mr. No Face, leaning against a tree facing the building. I couldn’t tell if he was looking at me, since his cap was pulled so low, but it felt like eyes were tracking me as I walked away.
Get a grip. He could have been waiting for someone else to come out of the restroom.
I stopped at a jewelry-seller’s table and quickly picked out earrings for Sissally and Opal, a bolo tie for Everette, and a key chain for Randy.
A silver-haired woman was talking with Everette when I returned to my booth. She was pushing a stroller back and forth, soothing the child inside. “Courtney, this is Sally Pickerel and little Timmy.”
Sally gushed, “Oh, I just love your books. Can’t wait for the next one to come out.”
Me neither, I thought.
“Thank you so much.” I smiled at her and then bent down to greet Timmy, “Hello, little man.” He rewarded me with a smile and waved a stuffed giraffe at me.
After they had moved on, Everette said, “Sally is Wanda Gasby’s mother, and little Timmy is Wanda’s son. That family has had so much tragedy. Sally’s husband died three years ago of a heart attack. Then Wanda’s husband was killed in a logging accident before Timmy was born. Wanda often drove down forest roads saying she felt close to Aldean when she was there. That’s what she was doing the day she disappeared. It was their anniversary. Little Timmy is all Sally has left.”
“Oh, that’s heartbreaking.”
An older couple stepped up to the booth. After a lengthy conversation, they bought the last two books and moved on. “Well, that’s all of them,” Everette said, folding the flaps in on an empty box. I guess we can shut down—”
I interrupted him. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather stay. We advertised I’d be here from one until four, and I’d rather not disappoint anyone that might have come just to see me.” I paused and grinned sheepishly. “WOW! That sounded a little egotistical.”
Everette rewarded me with a rare laugh. “No, it shows you are a caring person, respectful of others. I can take book orders if you’d like,” he said, waving a notebook.
Riding the high of selling out of books and ego stroking from fans, I had a little extra swing in my backyard when I walked to the rodeo grounds. Since I’d only picked at my lunch, I was starving, and my nose led me to a food stand where they were grilling hamburgers. I had just taken a huge bite when David slid in next to me at the picnic table. He did his sexy shoulder bump thing. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I mumbled back around a perfectly charred hunk of Angus beef. I offered him a bite, and he cupped my hand in his and drew it to his mouth. I nearly choked when he murmured “mmm.”
“You’ve got some mustard on your shirt,” he said, pointing at my chest.
Of course, when I was trying to look sexy, I’d end up with a blob of calf-scour yellow on my boob.
I was unsuccessfully wiping it off when I heard, “Am here.”
Nakita. Of course.
“Nakita’s never seen a rodeo,” David said. “I told her I’d give her a play-by-play of the action.”
“How nice for her,” I said trying not to sound snotty. Evidently, I didn’t succeed because David flashed me a look of disdain. In my defense, Nakita was playing in my sandbox. Unable to think of anything else to say, I handed David the rest of my burger and walked away to find Sissally.
I wanted to enjoy the rodeo, but too many factors interfered. Unfortunately, Sissally and I sat above and to the right of David and Nakita. She was definitely a touchy-feely kind of person, and it didn’t help matters that David caught me watching them. His forehead crinkled in a frown. Skeeter and his compadres walked past several times, making sure I saw them, and Mr. No Face was not to be outdone. He leaned on the railing facing the crowd, his head moving like he was searching for someone. To top it off, a whirlwind blew across the arena, showering my side of the crowd with animal-excrement-filled sand and dirt.
“I need a shower,” I announced as we waited to file out of our aisle. I couldn’t help but notice David and Nakita weren’t moving, content to sit in their seats.
Sissally said, “I moved a couple things into your room so I didn’t have to go all the way out to the Holiday Inn. I need extra time to get ready for tonight. I saw a pair of handcuffs on Quintin’s duty belt.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
I did a double take when I unlocked the door to my hotel room. A couple things was an understatement. Looks like I’ve got myself a roomie.
After we each took a turn in the shower, Sissally sat me down and did my hair and makeup. OMG! Now I understand why stars look flawless. I was still myself but a much, much better model. I raised my newly perfectly shaped eyebrows at Sissally’s hair.
“Big hair, big fun,” she said, referring to the height and volume that she had cajoled her locks into.
As we stepped out onto the packed street, she asked, “Are you worried about Skeeter?”
“A little. I figure safety in numbers.” I patted the pocket that held my room key. “No more shadowy porta potties for me.”
The temporary beer stands in front of the nearby bars were packed. “Do you want to try The Amalgam Bar?” I asked.
Sissally nodded, and we began to weave our way through the crowd. “I’m having such a good time,” she said when we were able to walk side-by-side on the sidewalk. “I wish my little sis, Reba, could be here. She’s in love with anything to do with the Wild West—reads every Western she can get her hands on. Mama always tells her she was born a century too late.”
“Good thing we aren’t dying of thirst,” I said, motioning to the long line in front of the beer stand.
“Sissally,” came a shout from the crowd. “Courtney, over here.” I looked around to see Opal standing on a chair waving a purple cowboy hat. We worked our way through the crowd, and Sissally helped Opal off the chair.
“Opal, you could have broken your neck climbing up on that,” a white-haired lady said as she scooted her chair back from the iron table and stood to offer me her hand. Every finger was adorned with beautiful silver and turquoise rings. “I’m Lydia Collins.” A jingle of bracelets sounded as we shook hands. “I was so sorry to miss meeting you at the library luncheon yesterday, but I had eighty acres of prime horse hay ready to bale.” Here was a woman every bit of Opal’s age scolding her for climbing on a chair when she’d just admitted to spending the afternoon with lethal farm machinery. “Oh! Here’s my grandson, Quintin.” Pride and affection showed on the woman’s suntanned face as she slipped her arm around Quintin’s waist and gave him a hug.
“We should all head over to the park soon,” Opal announced. “I’ve got chairs set up for the fireworks. Courtney, Sissally, come join us!” I was sandwiched between Opal and Lydia, and Sissally and Quintin followed as we walked to the park.
The fireworks were spectacular; it was evident there had been some big donations for the display. After the show was over, Quintin offered to help Opal with the chairs, but she waved us away, saying, “You kids go have fun.” I was lagging behind Sissally and Quintin when a shoulder bump sent me jumping.
“Has the green-eyed monster retired for the evening?” David asked.
“I beg your pardon,” I snapped back.
“You aren’t in competition with Nakita.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Buckwheat. I’m not jealous. You’re a free agent. Do what you want with who you want. I don’t care.”
“Doth the lady protest too much?” David asked teasingly. “But seriously, you are looking quite fetching tonight.”
“Give it a rest,” I barked.
“At least let me walk you back downtown. Never know when the boogeyman is lurking close by.”
Boogeymen, Skeeter, Mr. No Face, Nakita—all were soon far from my thoughts as I got caught up in the celebration. It turned out that David was an excellent dancer, and though I hated to admit it, it was reassuring to have him close by.
At three o’clock, the bars shut down and The Log Cabin Cafe began serving breakfast. David and I shared a table with a couple old enough to be my grandparents. They were in full-on square dance attire, and after a hearty breakfast they headed to a sunrise square dance in front of the stage at my hotel. As tired as I was when I unlocked my room door, no amount of do-si-do-ing was going to keep me awake.
