Sara is bearing the brunt of this. I can feel it in the tension of her muscles whenever her hand occasionally brushes across the fur along my spine. She seeks comfort that I cannot give save in the form of ensuring Jasmine’s murderer is brought to justice. That she is dead, I have little doubt. That she was murdered, even less.
Whichever is solved first, her death or Jackson’s, will solve the other.
We sit in the dark in Wesley’s jeep, waiting for officials to arrive. As to be expected, I’m the first to hear the drone of the helicopter and head bump Brayden’s shoulder to alert him. His reacts swiftly which I find admirable, reaching to turn on the headlights, and alerting Wesley and Ned, sitting in the back of the jeep, to switch on lanterns that had been darkened to conserve batteries.
The helicopter alters course until it hovers above us before beginning its descent. When it has landed, a door opens on the passenger side and John Wayne steps out. No, seriously, this sheriff is John Wayne if ever he’s reincarnated. He ducks his six plus foot frame under the rotor as he comes towards us. His shoulders are broad, his hips narrow. I can picture a pair of six guns hanging there in an earlier day. His face is lined and craggy but handsome by human standards. Nothing about him is so agile as I but still commanding as befits his station in life.
Sara steps out on one side of the jeep, Brayden on the other. They meet the sheriff at the hood of the vehicle. The sheriff looks toward Brayden. Tsk-tsk. Regrettable tendency in the male of this species. But I secretly applaud Brayden who directs his attention back toward Sara with a small gesture.
She holds out her hand, graciously forgiving his error. He shakes her hand. “Sheriff Long.”
Aptly named. ‘Long, tall drink of water’, isn’t that how such humans are sometimes described?
She introduces herself and then Brayden as well as Wesley and Ned who have walked up to join us.
“We believe a young woman has fallen from this ledge. There was evidence in broken field grass that she came this way, stopped at the point just in front of us.”
I notice she, too, does not mention the possibility of two sets of prints. Neither she nor Brayden are as certain as I that there was someone here with Jasmine. They suspect, but they’re not yet convinced. Nor could the point be proven. There simply aren’t definitive prints. And, while I may be proven wrong, I suspect the sheriff will not be able to discern anything definitive either.
We all walk closer to the edge, illuminated by the lanterns that Brayden and Wesley carry. The grass still looks trodden but is already beginning to spring up where stalks are not crushed beyond repair.
“You don’t think she could have walked back the way she came?”
“It’s possible,” Sara speaks with equanimity. “Anything is, but the fact remains that she’s still missing.”
“But you can’t say with any certainty that the tracks, such as they are, are hers.”
“No, I can’t.”
Good girl. No argument needed unless the John Wayne lookalike does not proceed with search and rescue…or search and recover as I suspect will be the case.
Then she surprises me. “I also can’t be sure that there are just one set of tracks at that ledge.”
He huffs slightly and rubs his chin. “I’ll have my men back off and spotlight the side of the cliff down to the base. If they see something, I’ll send someone down.” He glares out toward the dark. “I don’t like risking my team.”
It isn’t aimed at Sara or Brayden, at least not precisely.
“And I don’t like to think of a young woman lying injured and alone against the face of a mountain.” Sara’s tone isn’t tart, but it bears an edge.
He gives them a curt nod, moves back to the ledge and shines his flashlight all around before he turns toward the helicopter. A moment later, it lifts and veers away and the sheriff walks back to us. We stand watching and waiting as a bright beam of light shines from the helicopter sweeping across the mountainside and back again. Fifteen minutes pass. Thirty. It’s a painstaking process. The searchers wouldn’t want to miss the most miniscule glimpse of something half-hidden by rock and brush. Occasionally the beam passes over us as the helicopter is shifted about. Sara is pale in its light, her face set. Brayden looks grim.
Near the bottom, the beam sweeps halfway and slowly stops to backtrack over the first half of the pass. Then it stops as still as the helicopter allows. The sheriff’s phone rings. He stifles his curse mid-word and answers calmly as a good professional does.
He listens in silence then, “Send William down.” He pauses, rubbing his jaw again and listening. “I’ll be waiting.”
The phone goes back in his pocket. He looks first at Sara, then at Brayden. Like me, they’ve read, or rather heard, between the lines.
“They see her?” Sara says. It isn’t a question.
“They see someone,” the sheriff clarifies, “near the base. The chopper can’t get close enough to land. It’ll take a few minutes for them to lower someone down.”
Understandably, the atmosphere has shifted from tense to grim and becomes even more so when the next call comes in. The sheriff steps away for this conversation.
Sara crosses her arms in front of her and takes a deep breath. “This is too much like Jackson. That wasn’t a cat we heard,” she says tensely. “It was Jasmine. She was alive when she was pushed, alive and terrified. She screamed, knowing what lay below her.”
I concur and, by his expression, I gather Brayden does as well. There can be little doubt, now, that Jackson’s killer is among our group.
When the lawman returns, he speaks directly to Brayden. I suppose he can’t help that tendency. It seems as natural to him as breathing.
“I’d like statements from everyone who had contact with her in the last twenty-four hours. Particularly anything pertaining to her state of mind.”
“You think she jumped?”
Sara stares at him with more than a hint of incredulity, and his gaze shifts a bit to the left. Ahhh. He thinks nothing of the kind. Voluntary statements are permissible and can prove helpful, even if the witness is lulled by an innocuous slant in the questioning. I feel a bit better about his capabilities. He won’t let an unexpected death slide past without at least a closer look. Nor will he alarm the civilians around him with intentional talk of murder.
But, to Sara, he neither confirms nor denies. “Once identity has been established, I’ll need any contact information for next of kin.”
“Jasmine told me her mother is very ill. I don’t know her name or anything about her. There may be siblings but…”
The sheriff looks aggrieved. This will not be an easy case to crack. There’ll be no need for him to bother. Things are in my capable paws. That, however, is something he has no way of knowing.
“I’ll have my pilot pick me up and carry me to your campsite before they begin retrieval.”
Sara opens her mouth to protest, but Brayden beats her to it. “That won’t work. The rotors will spook the horses. You’ll have to ride in the jeep with us. When you’re ready to leave, one of us will bring you back here to meet your men.”
Whatever protest the sheriff might have made, he stifles beneath a sigh. We all climb into the jeep, and the sheriff pulls out his phone yet again to give new direction to his crew.
Brayden watched as Sara paced beside the fire that Wesley had rekindled. She was exhausted and it showed. Hell, he was, too. The sheriff had questioned Sara first, then Maggie who had emerged looking shaken, and Brayden couldn’t help but wonder why. He doubted she had anything at all to do with the young woman’s death even though she hadn’t tried to like her.
Nina had followed Maggie and Ellie had followed Nina. Brayden occupied himself thinking through reasons the lawman had arranged his lineup for statements with women first. Did he suspect a liaison between a young woman and one of their husbands? Maggie wasn’t married nor was Sara, but they could be the decoys in that arrangement. Or was it no more than a courtesy so that the women could get some rest? As if anyone would, knowing that a young woman who had probably spoken with every person here at some point during the day was being wrapped in canvas to be lifted into the cavity of the helicopter. A corpse. Never to think or feel or speak again.
Brayden hadn’t asked Sara about her statement, but, on one of her passes by him, she stopped. “He asked me if I’d seen signs of chemical addiction.” She didn’t hide that she was bothered by the sheriff’s inference.
“In this day and age, it’s always a possibility, and we’ve only known her a few days.”
“I know, but I didn’t see any signs. I told him that.” She crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed her upper arms as if chilled.
Brayden fought an urge to step closer, to pull her to him and ward off the cold. Not happening, he told himself, not now. Maybe never. They had a business arrangement. But he knew his feelings for her were becoming far more personal than that.
“I don’t think she jumped,” he told her. “But it’s possible she got too close to the edge. She’s had a lot to deal with. Her mother’s illness. Losing her father before she had a chance to know him…whether Jackson was or if she only believed he was. That’s enough to distract most people from their surroundings, especially in the dark.”
After a moment, she nodded. “It’s possible, I guess, but I can’t imagine being at a precipice that dropped a thousand or so feet down and letting myself get distracted. Especially in the dark,” she repeated his words with emphasis.
“But that’s you. We know nothing about Jasmine.” That was true. He couldn’t imagine Sara ever being that careless, but some people were all the time. It wasn’t everyone’s nature to be aware and alert. Then he said what he knew they both were thinking. “It’s also possible she was pushed to her death by the same person who pushed Jackson.” Possible and even probable. And for the same reason which they had yet to discover.
Nina came out looking as rattled as those before her. Her husband was called in after her.
When the last man exited, the sheriff poked his head out and gestured to Brayden who ducked and joined him in the tent. He suspected the sheriff had to be getting cramped by now.
They sat in the small space for a few minutes in complete silence before the sheriff said, “It’s possible there were two sets of prints at the edge. I doubt someone else was there and just walked away, but…yeah, it’s possible. A forensics team will be here by daylight. They’ll examine the ledge and the base where she was found. I don’t expect to find anything.”
Brayden didn’t expect them to find anything either.
“Nobody saw anything. By all accounts, the girl wasn’t wilderness savvy. She was grieving her father, a man she never knew and lost before she had a chance. She almost lost her mother, and may yet. That’s a lot of weight to be carrying around. A lot of feelings to process…maybe at the wrong time and place. Odds are she just got too close and slipped and fell.” He sighed. “We’ll test her blood alcohol level, just in case, but it’s been hours now, and there are a lot of factors that impact postmortem tests.”
Brayden tried to read his expression and couldn’t. He was just as glad the sheriff didn’t get into those factors.
“I don’t suppose there’s anything you saw or heard or felt that would give me a clue where to start.”
“No, I wish I did. I wasn’t around her more than a couple of minutes here and there. You probably know as much about her as I do at this point. The others rode beside her, talked with her. I stayed to the back, making sure everyone ahead was safe and staying on the trail.” He shrugged. “I don’t get to interact with anyone for long, except Sara—Ms. Anders—to compare notes at the end of each day and plan for the day ahead.”
The sheriff sighed. “I’ve already told Ms. Anders I’ll need all of you to stay here until the forensics team gets done in the morning. I’ll let you know when it’s okay to head out.” He hesitated a moment more. “Let me know if you think of anything helpful.”
Brayden looked him straight in the eye. “You can bet I will.”
“And, son…I knew your uncle. He wasn’t in my county, but I knew him. He was a good man, and I’m sorry as hell that he’s gone. Some lawmen would’ve had every one of you down off this mountain for questioning, but, unless someone can hand me a motive and a suspect, I’ve got no reason to suspect foul play in Ms. Warner’s unfortunate death.”
“I wish I could give you either one,” Brayden said evenly, “because I don’t think there’s a chance in hell that young woman walked across that plateau and over the edge.” Nor had his uncle. “As far as I know, she’d never met a single one here until a couple days ago.”
The sheriff, however, had the last word. “Every person I’ve talked to has mentioned hearing a cougar scream. I know,” he interjected before Brayden could protest, “some, including you, now think it could have been that girl instead. But you all started out believing it was a big cat by the sound. Even your foreman and he’s heard plenty through the years.” He sighed. “I suspect, it was a cat, like you thought, and the girl came face to face with it alone in a place she had no business wandering. Could be the cougar backed her toward the edge. Could be she turned and ran not realizing how close she was.” He sighed. “In any case, her dying out here so young is a damned shame.”
Brayden couldn’t argue the point. Everything the sheriff said was either true or possible. His gut, more than his intellect, told him different.
When he and the sheriff left the tent, Sara was still close, her gaze fixed on the fire. Brayden walked toward her, fought an urge to pull her back against him. Behind them, the sheriff made his way to the jeep where Wesley waited patiently to return him to the rendezvous point, to his team and helicopter…and Jasmine.
Sara turned to face Brayden. Tears glittered in her eyes but didn’t fall. She blinked hard to keep them at bay. “Jasmine was angry at her mom. Angry she’d kept the identify of Jasmine’s father a secret. She was hurt, and she was angry. She wanted to forgive her, but she couldn’t just yet. She died angry at her mom, and her mom will live with that.”
In spite of his best intentions, Brayden wrapped her in his arms. He felt the trembling in her muscles, the exhaustion and sorrow for what would never be. Forgetting about the morning to come and all that lay ahead of him, he pressed his lips lightly to her hair, and for just a moment, she let him. Then she stepped away.
In the distance, the beat of helicopter rotors filled the night.
With Trouble curled beside her, Sara slept in fits and starts, none of it restful. She was the first one out of her tent the next morning, but Maggie and Wesley were up and busy by the time she walked back from the creek with the cat. She’d wanted a hot shower more than anything she could name but had made do with scrubbing her face in the too-cold water of the stream. At least she was alert now.
The cat had gotten no closer than the bank, picking a point where it curved inward and formed a quiet pool to lap at the water. He hadn’t appeared impressed with the splash of the water against the rocks and had looked with faint interest at the fish darting in flashes of silver beneath the surface.
Sara passed the tents to check on the horses. She caught the sound of helicopter rotors in the distance. The forensics team. She forced herself not to pause and listen. Taking a deep breath, she released it slowly to relax her shoulders, reminding herself their arrival this early was good. The sooner they started, the sooner they’d be done, and the shorter the delay here on this plateau, the better.
The horses ate contentedly from nosebags with Ned watching over them. She smiled at him as he tipped his hat.
“You okay, Ms. Sara?”
His concern touched her, and she nodded. “As well as any of us. Did you rest?”
“A bit, yes, ma’am, a bit. Wesley says we have to stay here awhile this morning.”
“I’m afraid so. Hopefully not for long.” The rotors were silent now. The forensics team would be on the ground and working.
She and Trouble were walking the perimeter of the camp site, just strolling and thinking when Vance Hardeman caught up with her. She’d begun to wonder why the cat stayed so close to her heels, for all the world as if he were guarding her. Which, of course, was a silly thought. At least until she recalled the snake and Trouble’s quick work of dispatching him. Maybe not so silly, after all.
“Mind if I intrude for a minute or two?” he asked. His eyes were dark and serious.
“Of course not, please join me.” She even managed a smile to go with the lie.
“I haven’t said…just wanted to say…” he shrugged and looked away. “Jackson was a good friend, a damned good friend. I’ll miss him. And he cared about you. If you ever need anything, all you have to do is ask. It’d be the same as him asking for you.”
Sara felt touched in spite of herself.
“That’s kind of you. And I know he felt the same about all of you. You were the only friends he saw on a regular basis. He had a lot of fans but maybe not a lot of friends.”
“Do any of us have?” He shook his head. “I don’t mean that in a negative way, but—for me, anyway—I know a lot of people. I like a lot of people but friends, they’re different. Those are people you can call when things are bad, maybe when you think they’ll never be good again. I’ve got a handful of those kind of friends. Jackson was one of them.”
She turned her face slightly and blinked back the tears that burned before they could spill. It struck her that, if the roles were reversed and Vance Hardeman’s ashes were in that carved box, Jackson would have been devastated by the loss.
Stopping in her tracks, she turned to look at him. “The same goes for me, Vance. You, any of you, can turn to me for help. Jackson would want that from me.”
He took a deep breath and nodded. When they started walking again, he gave her a half-smile. “You’ll have your hands full with this place. I know something about cattle, but Wesley knows as much and he’s loyal to the core. Still…”
“I won’t forget,” she said. “Besides, I’ve got a partner and, yes, good folk like Wesley. We’ll get along.”
“Well, if it gets to be too much to manage, I’m close enough to be of assistance.” He managed a small sad smile. “This place may take more effort and money than either of you expect. Jackson had a money-making touch. Not everyone does and that’s no insult to you.”
“None taken,” she said lightly. He seemed an old-fashioned kind of man, and she suspected he meant well.
If she let herself think about it, there was probably more than one person who thought she might not make a go of it here. Maybe even her unexpected partner. That was fine with her. She’d been proving people wrong for a while now.
Interesting. Our Mr. Hardeman is being disingenuous, but about what, I’m uncertain. Reading bipeds is a gift I’ve honed into a skill. There are always giveaways that their fellow humans fail to see. A glance shifted at the beginning of a sentence. A tightening of the shoulders. A loose hand suddenly curled while facial expressions remain calm. This is because most seem only able to school one aspect of their body into compliance at a time. Yes, yes, it’s also true that any of these could be signs of other emotions, but—when placed in the midst of what sounds a benign conversation—they become cause for suspicion. It behooves me to determine what truth the man has chosen not to share. Perhaps eavesdropping on the mister and missus in private conversation will provide a revelation.
It’s been said, and said accurately, a sleuth’s work is never done. I cannot, therefore, rest upon my laurels. Someone means Sara harm. It may be Hardeman, but it may not. I’ll make no hasty judgement and miss a crucial clue in the process. To that end, I’ll be sure to spend a bit more time with him in the near future.