JD
I stifle a yawn as I watch Janey and Logan try to control a squealing pig.
The unfortunate young animal was injured in his attempts to evade a crowd of seven-and eight-year-olds trying to catch him in this morning’s main event—pig wrangling.
Pig wrangling always draws a good crowd. The event takes place in several rounds, each of which sees a slightly older group of children try to catch a slightly bigger, greased pig. The kid who catches the pig, gets to keep it.
I remember being ten or eleven and winning one of these at the Lake County fair on the Flathead Reservation near Polson, when we were still living near there. At the time, Pa was on active duty and stationed out of a base near Seattle, but with two young kids, Ma opted to stay closer to the reservation where she had the support of her family. There’d been some lean years, and I recall feeling like a hero when I was able to catch that pig for my family.
Another yawn has me shielding my mouth with a hand.
I didn’t sleep that much last night, and not because of any fun activities. Even if I’d been in any condition for those, Janey would’ve shut me down in a hurry.
Instead, I was lying awake half the night, wracking my brain to try and remember any little detail that might help identify who the hell blindsided me behind the auction arena. Then, when I’d finally exhaust myself and doze off, Janey would wake me to make sure I was still alive.
All in all, a rather restless night, leaving me seriously sleep deprived. The persistent headache isn’t helping much, and I’ve already downed more than my quota of painkillers. It’s going to be a long-ass day.
But you won’t hear me complaining, at least not out loud. Janey didn’t want me to come in the first place, insisted I stay at her place and rest, but that was not an option. To my surprise, Stephanie Kramer agreed with me. She pointed out that whoever was responsible might show a reaction when they see me up and around.
Janey isn’t too pleased though, and has been giving me a bit of a cold shoulder ever since.
“James Dean!”
I turn my head at the sound of my mother’s voice. She’s marching straight for me, a stern expression on her face.
“What the heck are you doing here, Ma?”
“Been waiting for you to get your head outta your ass and call your mother, but we both know that wasn’t happening.”
“Geeze, Ma. I was giving you some time.”
She plants her hands on her hips and tilts her head. “Lemme guess, your father’s suggestion?”
I shrug, she obviously already knows it was.
“How’d you know where to find me?”
She shakes her head. “You underestimate me, just like your pa. I know when that man is brooding on something but tries to hide it. Took me all of ten minutes to pry it out of him.” Her eyes drift to Janey in the pen. “Sticking close, are ya?”
“Ma…you shouldn’t be here.”
Last thing I need is my mother poking around the rodeo.
“Oh, relax,” she shushes me. “I came with Jillian and Hayley, it’s their first time at the rodeo.” She points in the direction of the arena where the pig wrangling is taking place. “They’re in the stands over there. We happened to see you, and it would’ve been weird if I hadn’t stopped by to say hello to my son.”
Jillian is my teammate Wolff’s girlfriend, and Hayley is her eleven-year-old foster daughter. Mom makes it sound like she happened to be here with them, but I’m sure the entire setup was more calculated than the accidental encounter she’d like me to believe this is. Still, I hook my arm around her neck and pull her to me, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“Hello, Ma.”
She briefly leans her head against me and pats my chest with a hand before straightening up. I wonder if she could feel the microphone Agent Wilcox taped to my chest again this morning. It’s a good reminder people are listening in to every word I say.
“I know now is not the time to talk, but at some point we should clear the air.”
I nod. “We will.”
Something makes her pause and scrutinize me. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Her eyes narrow fractionally.
“Nice try, but we’ll add that to our things to address another time.” She raises up on her toes and kisses my cheek. “I should head back to the girls, but promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I will.”
I watch her head back to the stands and return my attention to the pen. Looks like whatever was wrong with the pig has been taken care of, as Logan places the animal in the arms of the waiting man and his young son. Janey walks toward me.
“Was that your mom?”
“Yeah, she’s here watching the pig races with Jillian and Hayley.”
Janey smiles, she knows them. She’s the vet for Jillian’s search and rescue animals.
“That’s great. I hope Hayley has fun.”
Life has been pretty rough for the young girl, losing her entire family earlier this year.
Janey glances over at the stands, and when she is turning back to me, I notice her suddenly squinting.
“Is he waving at me?” she asks, looking over my shoulder.
I turn and try to follow her line of sight, zooming in on one of the sheriff’s deputies, who is standing on the far side of the stockyard where most of the trailers are parked. He appears to be motioning in our direction.
“Let’s go find out,” I suggest.
Janey calls out to Logan, “Keep an eye on things, I’ll be right back,” and follows me down the path between the pens to the back.
“I’m not good with horses,” the young deputy says, when we get within a few feet of him. “So, I tied him to the trailer where I found him, but I noticed he was bleeding.”
He points at a pinto tied to a small double-horse trailer, wearing a bridle over her halter. I recognize the barrel horse Janey treated yesterday. The wound on her shoulder looks to be actively bleeding again. She must’ve torn it open.
“She,” Janey corrects him as she approaches the skittish animal. “I just stitched her up yesterday,” she explains. “Half of them are ripped, she must’ve got caught on something.”
“Was she not tied up when you found her?” I ask the deputy.
He shakes his head. “No, he was…I mean she was loose. I was patrolling the perimeter when she came out of the trees. She looked a bit spooked.”
She certainly seems to be with her eyes darting around, her flared nostrils, and her ears twitching back and forth.
“Her rope is torn,” Janey points out. “Looks like maybe something scared her and she broke away. She could’ve easily ripped those stitches on a branch or something, if she darted into the trees.”
It’s possible, but something about this is nagging me. For one thing, the fact she’s wearing a bridle tells me someone was riding her. Bareback, obviously, which would suggest someone who’s very familiar with the horse. Also, when Janey carefully probes the reopened cut, I notice some of the blood coating her shoulder appears to be dry.
“This didn’t just happen,” I suggest. “It looks like she’s been bleeding for a while, since most of it has dried already.”
Janey brushes her fingertips over the stain on the horse’s hide.
“You’re right. Some of this is at least several hours old.”
Several hours.
I wonder where her owner is?
Janey
“Have you heard anything?”
Logan crouches down beside me and hands me the wrap I asked for, a hopeful expression on his face.
“No, I haven’t.”
His face falls immediately. Poor kid.
He’d been all starry-eyed yesterday when he returned after walking the pretty girl back to her trailer to check on her horse’s vaccination records. Apparently, he’d asked her out and they’d agreed to meet up tonight after her barrel race.
Except, Lacey Del Franco is nowhere to be found.
JD took off with the deputy to look for her, while I took the horse back to our improvised clinic so I could fix her up. Logan had wanted to go looking as well, but Sheriff Ewing—who’d apparently been called in and stopped by to ask a few questions—suggested he’d probably be of more use sticking with me.
The pointed look the sheriff shot me after his comment turned the granola bar I’d just scarfed down into a lump of concrete in my stomach. I don’t think Logan read the same implications into it I did, which is a good thing. The only reason my mind immediately went to the two murdered women is because JD told me about finding the first body, and the subject of the second girl came up when the sheriff and Agent Kramer showed up at my house two nights ago. I don’t think any of it is public knowledge yet.
To keep Logan distracted, I sent him to pick up some more supplies at the clinic. Only the first official rodeo day and already we’re running low on stretch bandages. This is the fourth horse that was brought in lame, and these are only the kids’ barrel races.
Great fun for the kids, but unfortunately, because some of their horses aren’t necessarily trained for the kind of strain barrel racing puts on their legs—with the abrupt stops and sharp turns—they’re easily injured.
“I’m sure she’ll show up,” I add, trying to sound encouraging, even though I’m pretty concerned myself.
Then I hand him back the roll of bandages.
“You know what? Why don’t you finish this one? I need a bathroom break and a bottle of water. Can I grab you something?”
“Water is fine,” he mumbles distractedly.
“Remember to use padding, start high, wrap from front to back and outside to inside, and then back up. Even pressure.”
If you don’t wrap right, you can cause more problems.
“I know.”
I can almost hear the eye roll in his response and suppress a smile.
The restrooms are packed—lots of moms with kids about to pee their pants—and I’m getting a little worried myself by the time a stall opens up. This is the first bathroom break I’ve taken all day and it’s been hot, so I’ve been drinking a lot of water to stay hydrated.
Judging by the rush on the restrooms, I’m guessing the kids’ barrel racing is finished. That means the adults will be in the arena next. The schedule I was given shows today and tomorrow are preliminary rounds, with finals on Sunday. The actual rodeo has barely started and I’ve already had enough. Mind you, that may have little to do with working the event and is more about the stressful circumstances.
Those tensions have only been ramped up now that girl, Lacey, seems to have gone missing. At this point I don’t really believe she’s gone into town or out for lunch with a friend or something. Her horse is still in the pen next to where we’re running the clinic, unclaimed. I saw how the girl was with that horse yesterday, and I don’t believe for a minute she’d leave her unattended for any length of time.
It’s been hours since we found the freaked-out animal.
I find the food stand with the shortest line, figuring they’d at least all have water, and get in line. This vendor sells basic hamburgers and hot dogs and by the time I get to the front of the line, my mouth is watering and I end up ordering a couple of hot dogs for Logan and myself. I know he only asked for water, but the day isn’t over yet and both of us have to eat.
“Late lunch?” I hear behind me.
Phil Jericho definitely looks the part of a rich rodeo benefactor: a crisp white Stetson on his head, a bolo tie with an intricate silver and turquoise clasp at his neck, and what looks like a giant championship buckle on his belt. The ensemble is completed by a pair of expensive snakeskin boots, which would be illegal to wear in some states, but not so in Montana.
All a bit over-the-top for me, but he sure seems to be drawing attention.
“Late lunch, or early dinner, take your pick. It’s been a crazy day.”
I would assume, being the organizer, he must’ve been made aware one of the barrel racers is missing, but I can’t be sure, so I stop myself from asking him if he heard anything. At this point, I really wish someone could give me an update. I feel out of the loop.
“You’ve been busy?” he asks, butting in line to place his order for a hamburger.
“It’s been steady,” I share. “Minor stuff.”
I step off to the side to wait for my order, and Jericho joins me.
“No boyfriend today?”
The tone of his question is a bit sarcastic, but at the same time feels opportunistic. The smirk on his face makes the whole thing feel sleazy. Even though I get the sense he’s probably this way with any woman who hits his perimeter. Trust me, I’m well aware I’m far too plain for the likes of him to be genuinely interested. He’s probably one of those guys who thinks all women should fall at his feet, and this is more about his own ego than it has anything to do with me.
“He’s around somewhere, probably taking in the sights,” I share, hoping the lie isn’t plastered on my face.
Jericho squints his eyes and tilts his head.
“Then he’s a fool. Not a sight better than this one around.”
Okay, eww.
Now I know for sure he’s full of it. I had a glance in the restroom mirror and know for a fact I look like shit, and I probably don’t smell much better.
Thankfully, the arrival of my order saves me from having to come up with a response to that.
“There’s a table over there.” He points to a picnic table that is just freeing up. “I’ll join you and we can chat.”
I plaster what I hope is a friendly smile on my face and remind myself this is the man who’ll be signing my check after all of this is done. At least I hope he will.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid I have to get back; my assistant is waiting for his lunch.”
“Of course,” he immediately returns. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t have any more unpleasant run-ins with John Mackey. The man can be a bit of a loose cannon, I’m afraid.”
Thankfully nothing more than a few dirty looks yesterday afternoon at the auction, but that’s about all and not worth mentioning. No more accusations of stolen cows.
“It’s been quiet on that front.”
He nods and seems relieved. “Good.”
“That reminds me, has there been any sign of that cow?” I ask.
I know full well the FBI was responsible for taking it, but it would probably be the question I’d ask if I wasn’t aware. Besides, I’m curious to see how he’ll answer.
“The missing animal? Not as far as I know, but then I haven’t seen much of Mackey since yesterday.”
“Oh, I thought I saw you talking to him. Well, I hope he finds it. See you later.”
I immediately turn to head back to the improvised clinic, remembering clearly how I saw Jericho in what appeared to be a heated discussion with Mackey on the far side of the holding pens this morning.
I wonder why the man is lying.