Hard Evidence Page 4

  “Your description of him fits half the cowboys in this county, Janna. Did you see what kind of truck he had?”

  “Dusty. Beat up. A dark color—black, I think.”

  “And that describes about half the trucks. Maybe it isn’t such a good idea, you being so far from town.” Wade released the metal blinds and turned toward her with a frown. “Two women and a child alone.”

  She waved away his concern. “We aren’t.”

  “I’m not sure your lodge guests would be much protection, my dear.”

  “Our first one sure is.” Janna sorted through the manila folder in her lap and withdrew a draft of a lease contract for Snow Canyon Lodge. “Can’t beat an interim sheriff.”

  “He’s not there all the time though, is he?”

  “No, but soon we’ll have a constant parade of guests, which ought to dissuade anyone from causing trouble. Too many eyes.” She held out the document. “My mother and I discussed your latest version last night. We’re ready to sign, once we have a final copy.”

  Wade settled into the leather executive chair behind a mahogany desk that dominated his modest office space before leisurely reaching across the polished surface to accept it. “You’re sure you don’t want to wait awhile? Just to make sure this is the right decision?”

  “It is.”

  “Even though it locks you into a ten-year contract?”

  “With the right to renew for the same time period, and to buy that part of the Snow Canyon Ranch property.”

  Janna remembered Wade from her high school days, when he’d been a young history teacher fresh out of college.

  Though he’d been a nice guy, he’d been an uninspired instructor, and after that first year he left town and went to law school.

  Maybe that distant association made him feel like her mentor, but at the age of thirty-three she wanted help with legal matters, not fatherly advice.

  Moving an ashtray aside, he braced his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingertips. “That murder investigation isn’t going to be good for business.”

  Startled, she met his gaze.

  “Don’t be surprised,” he said with a chuckle. “This area doesn’t exactly have the latest dispatch system technology. The locals can entertain themselves by eavesdropping with their scanners. I heard the call, and I expect half the people in the county did, too.”

  Michael’s parting words now sent a shiver through her. “The killer might not be too happy about this discovery.” What if he was still somewhere in the area and had already heard about it?

  She lifted her jaw to show confidence she didn’t quite feel. “There’s no proof it was a murder.”

  “That’s not what I gathered from my scanner. Your friend has already called in the Wyoming DCI.”

  “True…but I understand it was sort of a formality.” She shrugged. “I don’t imagine they’ll ever find out anything, and the case certainly has nothing to do with the lodge itself.”

  “You’re sure of that?” He pursed his lips. “Stands to reason that someone from your mother’s ranch was involved, given the isolated location. A hotheaded ranch hand, maybe. Who else would have access to that area?”

  The direction of the conversation made her uneasy. “Maybe it was someone just passing through. An accident or something. Look, about that contract—”

  “The lodge is a risky investment,” Wade said firmly, ignoring her attempt to change the topic. “A fledgling business, negative publicity—you’re falling into a bad situation, Janna.”

  “What makes me feel worse is the poor person who died. We’ll probably never find out who it was, but what about the family? Do they still wonder about his or her disappearance? Or did they die heartbroken because they never found out what happened?”

  “I understand your feelings.” Wade sighed. “I’m just trying to look at all of this from a business point of view. This discovery was unfortunate timing. But with luck, maybe you can keep the local media quiet.”

  “Our Web site will draw vacationers from across the country, not Wolf Creek. I hardly think they’ll be reading our local newspaper.”

  “True.” He tapped a pen against his desk blotter. “One other thing—do you know much it will cost to bring the place up to code?”

  “I plan to do a lot of the work myself. And thanks to my inheritance from Uncle Gray, I should be okay as long as I can start bringing in guests by midsummer.”

  “As I remember, his estate was split between you and your sisters, so I hope you’re right.” Wade smiled gently. “Understand that as your lawyer, I’m just trying to protect your interests. Bankruptcy is not a pretty experience.”

  “I’ll be fine.” But her stomach tightened. Was Wade right? Was she risking everything she owned on an investment that would fail? Please, Lord, guide me. I need to help my mother and support my daughter—am I doing the right thing? “So…can we finish up this contract?”

  “As you wish.” He gazed down at the contract, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the notes she’d written in the margins. “I do think we could find some loopholes here, should you change your mind later.”

  “Loopholes, in a contract with my mother?” Janna sat back in her chair, appalled.

  Wade’s mouth lifted in a wry grin. “I’m afraid you wouldn’t believe how difficult family relationships can be. Should you find that you’ve made a mistake, would you really want to be tied to that crumbling old lodge for another ten years?”

  “If I’d given my word, yes.” Janna looked at her watch. “Look, I’d better get going. Can you give me a call when the contract is ready?”

  “No problem.” Bracing a hand on his desk, he rose halfway out of his chair for a hearty handshake. “End of this week, easily. And about that man you saw out on the street…” His brow furrowed. “I’d be careful, if I were you. Your mother made some enemies in these parts, over the years. Some people might even think…”

  “That she was involved in that murder?” Horrified, Janna stood and gave him a level look. “That’s ridiculous.”

  He tipped his head in agreement. “Of course it is. And as far as her ranch is concerned, I know she only did what she thought best, but over the years she stepped on some toes in the process.”

  “If she were a man, she’d simply be considered a successful rancher. Why wouldn’t she make sound business decisions?”

  Wade splayed out his hands in a placating gesture. “I fully agree with you. Claire McAllister is one shrewd woman, and she deserved her success. But unfortunately, you won’t find that she has many friends in these parts.”

  Janna instinctively wanted to argue and defend her mother, but she’d grown up here and knew he was speaking the truth. “Maybe so, but that’s something I can’t fix right now. Just let me know when I can pick up the contracts.”

  When she stepped out the front door, Main Street was empty save for a few dusty pickups parked in front of the tiny grocery store at the end of the block.

  Still, she felt the eerie sensation that someone was watching her.

  She glanced back at Wade’s office, then studied the storefronts on both sides of the streets. Scanned the shadows of the pines at both ends of two-block-long business district.

  There was no one in sight.

  Setting her jaw, she strode to her pickup with all the confidence she could muster. Maybe Wade was right, but whatever the local opinions were, she’d come here to start a new life for herself and her daughter.

  And no matter what anyone said, that’s what she was going to do.

  Four days in Wyoming, and he was already bored out of his mind.

  Ian flipped through a magazine. Tossed it on a growing stack of discards by his bed, then rolled over on his back and stared at the pine-paneled ceiling of his room which had twelve knotholes, including one that bore a striking resemblance to his grandma Mary. The lodge sucked.

  No TV reception.

  He’d left the power cord to his PlayStation at home.

 
And other than the crabby old lady who’d glared at him over breakfast, the woman who ran the place, and her little brat, there probably wasn’t another person for fifty miles. A hundred.

  He might as well be stuck in jail…and the irony of the whole situation almost made him want to cry, because maybe that’s where he deserved to be.

  With a gut-deep sigh, he levered himself off the bed and pulled on his shabby Nikes. He thundered down the lodge staircase and burst out the front door to the wide, sweeping covered porch. A pair of chipmunks scattered down the steps at his approach.

  He knew how to bridle a horse. Maybe he could just hop on that old gray one and take it for a spin, and no one would be the wiser.

  He felt his shoulders slump under the weight of the consequences if Dad found out about that. Ever since the accident, he’d been coddled and watched over like a three-year-old kid, and there was no way Dad would miss the telltale sign of a stray horse hair somewhere. Sometimes Dad just knew things—like he had ESP or something. And he’d made Ian promise to stay close to the lodge until the investigation was over.

  A lane led through the pines and up a hill toward the cabins, where at least he might be able to explore a little. His heart lifted at the thought of seeing wildlife or maybe finding some old arrowheads.

  He’d made it to the farthest cabin before he gave in to the stiffness and pain in his leg and had to sit down on a log to take long, slow breaths, his eyes squeezed shut.

  Quick little footsteps hurried up the road, and a second later, Rylie plopped down on the log next to him.

  Her eyes were alive with curiosity when she smiled up at him, and he steeled himself for the inevitable questions.

  The questions that had made him want to avoid school forever…because there he was a curiosity. A freak. Even to the guys he’d known before the wreck.

  “My mom is working on your cabin,” she announced cheerfully. “Are you glad to be here?”

  Glad? It was so far from the truth that he felt his mouth curl into a derisive snarl. “Oh, yeah. Really.”

  She pulled back a little, her eyebrows drawing together. “It’s pretty here.”

  He rolled his eyes but didn’t answer, hoping she’d take the hint and go away.

  “And your cabin is really nice inside. Mom says—”

  He stood abruptly, ignoring the pain that knifed through his knee at the sudden motion and the brief haze of black spots that danced in front of his eyes.

  Rylie was still at his heels when he stepped over the barricade of pine logs lying across the lane, just beyond the last cabin. “Are you going hiking? There’s some trails up there. One even goes to a waterfall. It’s really fun. My mom and me really like to…”

  Ignoring her chatter and a small, insistent voice of warning in his head, he skirted the area marked with yellow crime-scene tape and kept going.

  Dad had made him promise to stay close to the lodge until the murder investigation was complete. Ian had given his word. But now he forced himself to lengthen his stride until the trail grew steeper and he could no longer hear Rylie tagging along behind him. He suppressed the impulse to look back, knowing that he was mean and small to treat her this way, but needing to be alone, whatever the cost.

  Because he knew exactly what would happen.

  It was only a matter of time before she’d start peppering him with questions about the burn scars on his face. The gnarled scars snaking down his arm. The way he had to clench a pen in his fist like some preschooler and the way he limped like some old man. And then she’d get all wide-eyed and ask about the accident, and that would be worse.

  Even after retelling the story a thousand times, it still had the power to tighten his stomach into a fierce knot and send waves of lava-hot guilt through his heart.

  Far up the trail, he staggered to an exhausted stop, the altitude and the exertion robbing him of breath. He sagged against a boulder. When his breathing slowed, he caught the distant sound of rushing water. Rylie’s waterfall?

  Intrigued, he forced himself to continue up the rocky path and through a heavy stand of pines.

  And there it was—sparkling like a cascade of crystals falling from a cliff high above. Splashing into a dark, mossy pool rimmed with boulders, as if a giant had placed each of them in perfect symmetry. At the far end of the pool, the water flowed into a stream that disappeared into the trees.

  Ian’s breath caught. Across the water, nearly hidden in the shadows, a bulky form stirred, twisted around and froze—looking straight at him. A bear?

  Fear lanced through him. He was alone, at least a mile from the lodge. No one but Riley knew he was out here. No one would know exactly where to look. And there was no way he could run fast enough to reach safety.

  He eased back a step, then another, never taking his eyes away from the hulking creature, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

  He blinked. Squinted, and then felt his tension ease. It wasn’t a bear. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the shadows, he could make out the shape of someone with a backpack and a bulky jacket, though the distance was too great to make out the guy’s features. He seemed to be searching for something on the ground.

  His knees rubbery with relief, Ian started to raise a hand in greeting. But the man feverishly gathered some objects at his feet, then he spun around and disappeared into the trees.

  Weird.

  Ian stayed motionless for several minutes, his thoughts flying through a dozen possibilities. Maybe the guy was on the run. An escapee from prison. The murderer. Or a bank robber. Or some crazy guy who lived in the woods.

  Just a camper, more likely. Someone who wanted to enjoy nature all alone.

  Snorting in disgust at his initial fear, Ian made his way to the pool of water and peered into its dark and mysterious depths, imagining the wild prehistoric creatures that could be living down there.

  On the other side, something glinted in a thin shaft of sunlight.

  Curious, he scrambled over the rocks to where the stranger had been. He searched the thick bed of pine needles, his frustration rising. There was nothing, except a crumpled ball of aluminum foil. No exciting treasures, after all. The jerk had simply been eating his lunch, probably, then dropped the foil on the ground.

  Disappointed, Ian turned to leave, picking up the foil as an afterthought. His fingers disturbed a thin layer of pine needles and brushed against something cold.

  It was a pocket knife. He grinned and lifted it for inspection. The case was heavily tarnished, but it was still pretty cool—three blades, plus a corkscrew and all sorts of tools on the opposite side. He looked around, ready to shout after the man who’d left. But there was absolute silence, except for the rush of the waterfall. Not a leaf stirred.

  A bone-deep chill worked its way down his spine as he took in the menacing shadows of trees that seemed to press in on him from every side. The darkening clouds that were barely visible over the heavy canopy of branches overhead. A twig snapped…then another.

  Suddenly he knew—without a shred of doubt—that staying here a minute longer would be a terrible mistake.

  Ignoring the leg muscles that screamed in protest, he pivoted and started running—raced over the tumble of rocks around the pool and fled down the path, slipping and sliding on loose pebbles and pine needles until his lungs were raw and aching and the cabins finally came into view. He collapsed on the steps of the first one he reached, his heart pounding and muscles quivering.

  Had he heard a harsh curse the moment he’d started to run? Had there been someone just behind him? Maybe it had all just been his imagination, born of too many Stephen King books read late at night.

  Then he uncurled his fingers and stared at the knife in his palm. He hadn’t thought to drop it. Maybe the owner was the guy he’d seen—and would follow him here, irate and accusing Ian of theft. If he told Dad…

  Ian’s stomach lurched.

  He absently rubbed at the drab, outside case of the knife, wondering what to say. A sharp beam
of sunlight lasered up into his face from the spot he’d just cleaned, where the metal now gleamed like molten silver.

  Holding his breath, he carefully snagged one of the blades open with the edge of a fingernail.

  Though the case might be real silver, the blade was badly rusted, and flakes of brownish residue blew away on the cool breeze. Disappointment washed through him. It was just a stupid old knife—probably lost for years and years—though at least he didn’t have to worry about that creepy guy coming after it.

  Disgusted, he nearly dropped it to the ground…but then had a sudden thought.

  Who knew? There were faint initials on it—not clear enough to read. But maybe it had belonged to a fur trapper. Or even an explorer. If it was really old, maybe he could try selling it on eBay.

  His spirits lifting, he shoved it deep in his jeans pocket and sauntered down to Cabin Five.

  Dad still might be mad about him going off on a hike, though, so he wouldn’t say anything about it just yet.

  After all, what could be the harm in that?

  FIVE

  Michael parked his patrol car in the shade of several towering pines by the lodge and sauntered up the walk. Just as he’d expected, Ian was slumped in a porch swing at the far end of the porch. Alone, and appearing completely bored.

  The boy didn’t even bother to look up when Michael dropped into a weathered wicker chair next to the swing. “So…did you have any fun today?”

  Ian angled a brief look at him that suggested Michael was insane, then silently slouched even lower.

  “Play video games?”

  Silence.

  “Watch any movies?”

  No answer.

  “Read?”

  He wanted to ask if Ian had pulled out the new charcoals and sketch pads Michael had casually left in his room after work on Thursday, but knew it was a dangerous topic to broach.