“You wanta drive?” Holly held up the keys. “It is your car.”
“What? No,” Sarah said. Wherever her mind was at the moment, it would not be on the road.
They drove through town in silence. As they crossed the old steel bridge, Sarah reflexively glanced downriver to the mill that had dominated both town and her family for so long. High above the river’s edge, in a tall cottonwood, a bald eagle surveyed his kingdom.
Good day for fishing, she silently told the bird. He turned his big white head and she swore he was looking right at them. At her.
Her mother wasn’t the only wacky McCaskill.
At the roadside memorial, Holly pulled over. “You know, I don’t think I ever stopped at one of these in my whole life, and this week, I’ve lost count.”
A few minutes later, Sarah suggested they detour down to the old homestead and ice house. It was time to tell Holly one more thing, one last reason she’d felt guilty all these years over what Lucas had done to Janine. Back then, hearing that she and Jeremy had been hooking up in the rickety shack instead of keeping an eye on Lucas would have devastated Janine, and she still wasn’t sure how to tell her. But she was tired of keeping secrets from her sister.
In the last few days, the birch and maple had gotten leafier, the tiny green triangles on the snowberry unfolding into actual leaves, the wild roses bursting with promise.
“I hope George doesn’t mind us coming down here,” she said as they passed the small clapboard house where Mrs. Hoyt had lived when they were kids. The house George lived in now. No sign of his truck. Still in town, no doubt.
“Oh, he won’t mind. He likes us,” Holly replied.
That was then, this is now. They owned his property, and he didn’t know. Though it was clear from the look on his face in the Spruce that he had suspicions.
As she climbed out of the SUV, Sarah spotted a stone chimney, the top visible through the gaps in the woods created by the blowdown. “Look. You can almost see the lodge from here.”
They were standing between the ice house and the pond, the homestead shack a few hundred feet away. “Holly. I need to tell you—” She broke off, listening. George returning? No. His truck had an unmistakable sound. She was hearing nothing more than the noise of traffic filtering down from the North Shore Road.
Holly craned her neck, gazing up at the weathered, two-story building, louvers on the cupola serving as a vent. “This place is fascinating. I’ve been thinking, Sis.” The wooden door creaked as she it pushed open and walked inside, leaving Sarah to follow.
For a long moment, she couldn’t see a thing. Light filtered down from the cupola and streamed in through broken boards on the side of the building, where ice had been loaded onto waiting carts through a sliding door. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out metal tools hanging along one wall.
“You said”—Holly’s words came from the shadows, and Sarah could just see her, standing in the middle of the main storage room, hands on her hips. “You said Becca needs someone to do property management. To handle rentals and work with the snowbirds. I could do that.”
She could. Much of her museum work had been on the operations side. She knew how to maintain and upgrade buildings, many of them historic, and raise the money to keep them running.
“But”—Holly continued—“I’m also loving diving into the history. Not just of our place and family, through the letters and scrapbooks, but the whole valley. The Ladies’ Aid Society, the immigrants. Did you know Pam Holtz’s grandfather was the last steamboat captain on Bitterroot Lake? Anyway, I could combine the two somehow, helping owners piece together the histories of their homes and land. Not sure how, but I could figure it out.”
“That sounds seriously perfect,” Sarah replied. A raven flew overhead, letting out a single caw, and left through the opening made by the missing planks. What she needed to tell her sister could wait.
It would have to. Her sister was nowhere in sight.
From the rear, or outside, she heard a loud crack. A floorboard, or a branch? But Holly didn’t shout for help, so she turned her attention back to the wall where tools hung on nails pounded into two-by-four crosspieces. She’d seen similar tools in the carriage house. Ice saws, tongs, a pointed bar her dad had called an ice hook. Leather cords and ropes. Splitting bars and forks, long poles with a flat blade or pointed prongs, used to break the slabs of ice apart after they’d been cut. Holly had talked about preserving history. This place was ripe with it.
A shadow flickered across the floor. The movement kicked up dust and she sneezed.
“Oh, there you are,” she said when she got her breath back. But the shadow did not belong to her sister. “Renee. What are you doing here?”
“You aren’t going to stop, are you? Poking around. You can’t help it.” Renee Taunton Harper stepped into the dim beam of late afternoon sunlight and Sarah saw the menacing look on the legal secretary’s face. “You and your brother, you think the world exists for you. Your whole family.”
What was she talking about? And where was Holly?
“You think you deserve every good fortune in the world. You’re not as bad as Lucas, but that’s not saying much.”
“Lucas?” Sarah heard her voice crack. “What does he have to do with anything? Renee, what is this about?” Though she was beginning to suspect she knew.
“This is about”—the woman took a step forward and Sarah steeled herself not to step back. She could not let herself be trapped. Where was Holly? “This is about me getting what I was promised. What I deserve. The entire plan was my idea, you know.”
“What plan? Ohhh. The plan for McCaskill Lumber to buy the Hoyt land through an intermediary?”
“Owned and financed by a rich in-law.” Renee took another step closer and Sarah’s skin prickled. “Now, to be fair, although life never is, your husband didn’t make me any promises. Not directly. I doubt he ever knew I existed, let alone that I cooked up the whole thing. Ran the numbers, laid out the steps, showed Lucas how it could work. Not that it would ever have occurred to Lucas to give credit to anyone else, especially not a woman. If an idea popped into the air near him”—she lifted a hand, fingers curved as if holding a light bulb—“he would snatch it up and call it his.” She closed her fingers with a flourish, crushing the imaginary glass.
“There are men like that. Entitled narcissists, psychologists call them.” Sarah had seen the term while flipping through Abby’s textbook, wondering how the intro to psych class had changed in thirty years. The terms, yes; human experience, not so much. “I’m not surprised. What else did Lucas do to you?”
Keep her talking. That bulge in the woman’s jacket pocket, the pocket she kept patting, had to be a gun. A .38, she guessed. The one she’d taken from Lucas’s desk before shooting him and leaving the office. A lucky break, running into Becca—anyone who knew the two women would easily believe Renee’s lie that she’d been trapped in the P.O. by chatty Becca.
“What he did was break his promise. I”—Renee pointed at her chest—“I was supposed to get half his commission for brokering the deal. And every month, there was a processing fee tacked onto the loan payment. Fifty percent of that was supposed to be mine, though I did all the work. But he wouldn’t give me a cent. Not one penny.”
“I know you’ve worked hard for what you have, Renee. Do you know our families go way back, a hundred years or more?” Though the last thing this desperate woman would want to hear was how Caro had loaned money to—who? Renee’s grandmother? Great-grandmother?
“Oh, spare me the history lesson. If I’d had half the opportunities you’ve had, everyone in this town would know who I am like they know you and the rest of your clan.”
She heard a scurrying sound somewhere in the distance. Renee heard it too. Too loud for mice. What other wild creatures had taken up residence in the ice house?
“Taking care of your mother must be difficult,” she said. “You’re a good daughter.”
“You don’t know if I’m a good daughter or a terrible one. You’re just saying what you think I want to hear. That’s what people like you do.”
“People like me?” Sarah took another step sideways, aware of how far the door was.
“You don’t know. You and your millions and your big houses and your perfect life. You pretend to be interested in me. Lucas didn’t even bother.” She shoved one hand into her pocket.
“I understand why you killed him—”
“Do you? Really?” Renee was moving closer now, into deeper shadow.
Don’t lose sight of her.
“A good lawyer—”
“Righhht. You forget, he was a lawyer, too. Not a popular one, but no matter. No one will want to help me. I’ll be stuck with the stupidest public defender they can find.”
Where was the woman? Sarah was having trouble seeing her, seeing anything, in the fractured light. She had to get out of here. She had to find Holly and get out of here.
“Don’t do this, Renee. Your mother needs you.”
“My mother doesn’t know her ass from a teakettle. She can’t even wipe herself anymore. She’s run off every home health aide I’ve hired. I finally talked the memory care facility in Whitefish into taking her, so I could get away from here. Live a little, before I end up like her.”
Too late. This was the cost of bitterness. But Sarah was not going to pay the price.
“Then you came back to town,” Renee continued. “Lucas said you never would, not for more than a few days. But here you are, making plans. Make Whitetail Lodge great again.”
How did she know Sarah’s plans? Small towns … “Killing me won’t help. And you won’t get far.”
“Maybe not,” Renee said, but underneath her cackle, Sarah could hear her feet edging slowly closer. “But won’t it feel sweet, taking something from people who have more than they need, who will never even notice. My family’s been beholden to yours for a century. What’s that old line? Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb? Your sister’s around here somewhere.”
Did she mean to kill Holly, too? Did her rage and resentment extend to the entire McCaskill clan? And what about Vonda and Janine, who’d been in the law office at exactly the wrong time?
Dust motes danced in the faint beam of light. She’d never make it out alive.
“You’ve been watching me, haven’t you? That’s why you were driving down the trail between George’s place and ours the other day. Did you tell George about the deal? Did you think that would help you?”
“You can’t talk your way out of this, Sarah.” Renee raised her arm and pointed the gun, Sarah sensing the movement as much as seeing it.
Could she do it? She’d never been much of an actress, but her life might depend on it.
“Ah-ah-ah-CHOO.” The sound gave her cover and she reached behind herself to the wall, fingers scrabbling for something, anything. Touched a metal rod and tightened around it, tugging it free. A nail clattered across the floor and she heard the other woman stop, heard her swear softly.
Outside, an engine? Did Renee hear it, too?
In the shadows, they were quiet as breath. Then came the softest hint of movement and Sarah gripped the tool with both hands, like a baseball bat. Eyes on the ball. But she couldn’t see it. Could not see the woman.
Another movement and a whoosh of air. She swung hard. Hit the target, heard her cry out. Swung again, aiming the pointed prongs of the splitting fork where the woman’s right hand must be. Aiming for the gun, her arm. Anything.
A blast deafened her. She lunged forward, the fork in hand, aiming for the body. And knew with a sickening certainty that she’d found it.
Where was Holly?
Sarah used the belt from her jacket to tie Renee Harper’s hands and dragged her across the room to the sliding doors, where she ran a leather rope she’d grabbed from the tool wall through the handle of a sliding door, then wrapped it around the woman’s ankles. Not that she’d be going anywhere, bleeding as she was. And not that Sarah wanted her to die, but she wouldn’t mind if Renee lost consciousness and stopped screaming.
Back where they’d scuffled, she’d found the gun and run outside, gun in one hand, splitting fork in the other.
The rented SUV was parked where Holly had left it, listing to one side. The crack she’d heard had been Renee, shooting out a tire.
Another vehicle was approaching, though she couldn’t see the road. She ducked behind the SUV, peering through the windows. Out of nowhere came a streak of energy. A black-and-white dog, poking his nose at her. “Shep,” she whispered, grateful but confused.
A sheriff’s SUV came into view, another behind it, the drivers stopping well back of the ice house, as if according to a plan. Her cousin slipped out of the lead vehicle, gun in hand, gesturing to his uniformed deputy with the other.
“Leo!” she called, crawling out from behind the SUV. “Leo.” Then she ran to him, the dog behind her. Explanations tumbled out of her as she pointed to the ice house door and a whimpering Renee Harper.
“You okay? You’re not hurt?” he asked.
“Yes. No. But where’s Holly?”
No time for answers, as Leo and the deputy took charge. By the time they had Renee cuffed and were checking out her injuries, George arrived, emerging from the woods to stand next to Sarah. He ran his gnarled fingers over the dog’s ears, a shotgun in his other hand. For the first time, she noticed the ancient Chevy truck parked behind the small, square white house.
And then she heard her name and Holly came racing around the end of the pond, past the homestead shack, and into her arms. More deputies arrived, followed by EMTs, and once again, the two sisters watched an ambulance leave the woods and speed down the North Shore Road to town.
“She’ll live,” Leo said. They’d moved off the lane and into the woods, giving the deputies and medics room to do their jobs. “Whatever you stabbed her with was sharp enough to hurt like hell and make her bleed like crazy, but not enough to do any serious damage.”
“Thank God,” Sarah said. “I want her to die in prison, and not any time soon. I assume the gun belonged to Lucas. I tucked it on top of the rear tire, in the wheel well. I left the ice splitting fork under the car.” She pointed and a deputy trotted over to her vehicle.
Still gripping the heavy black flashlight she’d grabbed in the lodge, Holly explained how she’d gone into the smaller, secondary storage room. When she heard voices, she peeked into the larger room and saw Renee confronting Sarah.
“I didn’t know if she had a gun, but I knew she meant trouble. No cell signal, so I sprinted out the back and around to our car, but it had the flat. I checked Renee’s car”—she gestured at the blue sedan parked beside the ice house—“but she’d taken her keys. I didn’t see George’s truck so I ran down to the lodge, intending to grab Nic or Janine’s car and drive up to where I could call for help. Didn’t know I could still run like that.”
“Holly, honey,” George said. “I’ve got a landline. And I never lock my doors. You coulda gone in.”
“Now you tell me.” Turned out Nic and Janine had managed to splice the landline at the lodge and got it working, so Holly called Leo. Who was already on his way—moments after Holly left, George had arrived home after dropping off his great-granddaughter.
“I saw two vehicles I didn’t recognize,” he said. “Not that I’m one to worry about trespassers, but I been seeing that blue car prowling around and it felt hinky. I didn’t wanta go over there myself, after sitting on those damned aluminum bleachers for hours, but the dog was clueing on danger. So I called you,” he said to Leo. “Forgot for a moment you’re a McCaskill and I’ve got my beef with your family.”
His old grudge, flared up from news of the recent purchase. How much had Renee told him? “We’ll sort that out later, George,” Sarah said.
“Then I heard the gunshot, so I grabbed this.” George gestured with the shotgun, then continued. “But you three had things in hand, like true McCaskills. You, sir, are a damn fine sheriff,” he said to Leo before turning to the sisters. “And you are my neighbors and friends no matter what. No matter what.”
“No matter what,” Sarah agreed, and glanced down. There, on the duff of the forest floor, amid the pine needles and spruce cones and bits of moss, lay three shiny bright pennies.