“Who would leave? And who would stay?” Bram finally asked.
“Cookie, you and Angie would stay,” I said. “Someone would have to stay with you.”
Cookie took in a sharp breath as if to say something, then rolled her lips.
“Cookie?” I asked.
She just shook her head.
“I think you and Wyatt should be riders,” I said to Bram.
“What about the third?” Cookie asked.
I sat still, but my thoughts were racing. The three women from Poland were unlikely to know the area and even less likely to be expert horsewomen. I didn’t trust Liam. For a time after he returned to Mule Shoe, he could have been running around with a rock and a knife. Even if he was innocent, he was full of beer. Would he be in any condition to make the difficult journey? I didn’t even know if he could ride a horse. Maybe he only knew how to drive a wagon. Roy was easily in his eighties, although tough as nails, but I had my doubts about him as well. That left the art students. They wanted to leave, but that didn’t mean they’d want to become targets for a killer.
So. Me. At one time I could ride any horse anywhere—but I’d also had two legs. I could feel the horse, grip it with my leg muscles, guide it with my heels. I could hang off a galloping horse’s side and grab things off the ground. I was fearless. If I got thrown, I’d get back up.
But I hadn’t been on a horse’s back until I’d ridden the Belgian earlier today—which was like sitting on a kitchen table—and we’d walked down off the mountain.
I reached into my pocket and took out the three small stones.
No one would think poorly of me if I stayed. In fact, Bram and Roy would expect it. I was, after all, racked with PTSD and partially disabled. And I didn’t want to get shot. Coward.
I placed the stones in a line on the table. Scott had given me three rocks. Ugly, lumpy, heavy. Weighing me down.
Cookie studied my face, then quietly stood and moved back to the lobby.
Bram picked one up. “What are these?”
“My graduation present from Clan Firinn. I’m pretty sure they represent the final burdens I carry. Or maybe my David’s ammunition against the Goliath hurdles I still have.” I’d so glibly suggested Bram and Wyatt sacrifice themselves by going for help while I was thinking about staying here. The words swarmed in my brain. Be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.
I looked across the table at Bram. “Do you believe in God?”
Bram’s eyes widened and he straightened. “Of course. Don’t you?”
“Maybe I need to find out. I’ll be the third rider.”
“But . . .”
I glared at him.
“Um . . . we can talk about it more in the morning. Maybe you should get some sleep.”
“I can’t sleep. Not just yet.” I returned two of the stones to my pockets, picked up the third rock and threw it into the trash, then pointed to his messenger bag. “Let me see those arson notes.”
Chapter 19
Bram handed the notes to me. “I appreciate you taking a look.”
“I’m afraid that’s about all I can do.” I stacked the notes neatly in front of me. “Didn’t you tell me that two men died in one of the arson fires?”
“Yes, a double homicide.”
“But none of the other cases involved the loss of life.”
“Right.”
I nodded and bent over the notes. “Could I borrow some paper?”
He handed me several sheets. “Coffee?”
“Love some.”
Bram pushed back his chair, stood, and walked to the kitchen.
I’d lost my computer, with the programs I used, over the cliff. I wouldn’t be able to do a comprehensive report, but I could certainly give Bram, or whoever followed up, a starting point. The lodge continued to settle into a creaking quietness with pings and groans from the metal roof as the night air cooled it. I had no idea how much time had passed when Bram appeared with a steaming cup of freshly brewed coffee.
“Thank you.” I took the cup. “How did you make coffee without electricity?”
“Gas stove, old percolator pot, Eagle Scout training.” He sat. “How’s it going?”
“I’m just about as far as I can go without my computer.”
“So how do you make the comparisons?”
“I look for style markers and linguistic variations. The unconscious choices a writer makes.”
“For example?” Holly had crept closer and leaned against Bram’s leg. He absently reached down and scratched her ear.
“Hmm. A writer can phrase the same object-clause elements in a sentence differently. For example, I can phrase this idea three ways.” I held up my cup. “You brought me this cup of coffee. You brought this cup of coffee to me. You brought to me this cup of coffee.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“Not to me. Your background, culture, education, region, and other factors define your word choices and sentence structures. I also look for consistency in the style of the writing, then determine if it’s distinctive enough to tell different writers apart. There’s a lot more, but that’s the Reader’s Digest version.”
Holly gave a short bark, followed by Maverick, apparently just outside one window. The earthquake barely made the table quiver.
I took a breath, which quickly turned into a yawn.
“Looks like you’re finally tired enough to sleep,” Bram said.
“Mmm.” I held up a note. “This one is different from the others.”
He took it from me and read aloud. “‘You will never find me. You should make your mindset one of defeat. I am like a vapor—without form and impossible to capture.’” He looked up. “This is the arson note from the double homicide.”
“In that case, you might consider looking for two people—an arsonist and a killer.”
“What about the rest? Did you find anything?”
I couldn’t help it. I yawned again. “I’d need to do more research, but there’s a markedness in some of the punctuation, the use of the phrase ‘no way,’ and the length of words.”
* * *
Somehow Bram wasn’t surprised to find out the homicide fire was different from the other arsons. The blaze had required more than just a can of gas and a match. When he got back to the department—if he got back to the department—he’d pull that case file and comb through it again.
Darby crossed her arms on the table, rested her head on them, and immediately fell asleep. He wanted Darby to lay her head on him as she drifted off to sleep. He wanted to protect her, keep her from the nightmares that haunted her.
The thought startled him. How could he want order in his life, perfection in a mate, and still want to protect the wounded?
His early life had been chaotic, with an alcoholic mother and absent father. He was in his early teens when his mother died of cirrhosis of the liver. His grandmother took over raising both him and his younger brother, who eventually took his own life. His grandmother had told him he had an older sister with fetal alcohol syndrome who’d been put up for adoption. Maybe this combination of events twisted his thinking so that his desire for Darby was in conflict with his need for perfection. Or was it his grandmother’s need for order and perfection?
Even though his grandmother had been gone for five years, her strident voice was a constant reminder. Don’t be like your worthless mother or brother, Bram. It’s up to you. Choose the right road. Make sure you do something perfectly or don’t bother . . .
His eyes were now sandpaper-gritty. He checked his watch, stood, and made his way over to Angie and Cookie. One of the three Polish staff members—he couldn’t remember her name—gave him a worried glance. He stayed until he could see both injured women breathing.
He thought again about Darby. She said the arsonist used the words no way. It was interesting that Liam used those words all the time. He’d have to ask Darby if there was a correlation between
the spoken and written words.
When the FBI report had come back, he briefly considered Liam. The profiler wrote they should look for a white male twenty-five to thirty-five years old who had a low-paying job or wasn’t employed. Liam was only twenty-two, but he did have a series of low-paying jobs.
To be honest, it wasn’t just the age difference that gave Bram pause. He didn’t want to consider the sheriff’s only child might be a serial arsonist—and if so, chances were high she knew it. Liam’s mother couldn’t have read “no way” in the letters and not thought of her son.
Her comment about the recall petition being “for the best” also fit with Liam being the suspect. If she was forced to move and take her son with her, maybe she hoped a new setting would curb his desire to set fires.
The problem was that if Liam set fires to get even with her, moving away with him would only change the landscape of the arsons, not stop the arson. Mother and son were toxic to each other.
Where did that leave him? If Liam was the arsonist, it didn’t change the facts of their situation. They still needed to ride for help. He’d just need to keep an eagle eye on the man.
He looked at his watch again, then moved to Wyatt, stretched out between an easy chair and ottoman near the back door. “Wake up, old man,” he whispered. “Shift change.”
Wyatt stood and stretched. “What time are we heading out?”
“The sun will rise around seven. We need to organize who’s going and who’s staying, then saddle the horses. I’d say give it an hour. There’s fresh coffee in the kitchen.”
Wyatt moved away and Bram took his chair. It felt as if he’d barely closed his eyes when Wyatt announced, “Wake up, folks, we need to get moving.”
The muttering and groaning ceased as each was reminded of their predicament. Wyatt walked to where everyone could see him. “Ladies and gentlemen, listen up. The sun will rise in less than an hour. Three of us, Bram, myself, and—”
“Me.” Darby stood at the opening to the dining room.
Wyatt’s forehead wrinkled, but he continued. “And Darby will be going for help. We’ll be splitting up and riding hard over incredibly rough ground. If all goes well, someone should reach civilization by early afternoon. We need to know who’s going and who’s staying behind with Cookie and Angie.”
“Is he still out there?” Grace asked. “Waiting?”
“We will have to assume so, yes.”
“Which way are you going?” Peter asked Darby.
“I’m open to suggestions.” Darby looked at Wyatt, then Roy.
“You might take the route around the back of the Devil’s Pass, then to Targhee Falls,” Cookie said. “It’s the longest, but fewer obstacles. It’s still a hard ride, and anyone riding with you should be prepared.”
“I’ll go with Darby.” Liam licked his lips and grinned.
Bram gritted his teeth. “If you’re riding out, you’ll go with me.”
“But—”
“With me or not at all.” He stared down the young man. “We’ll go east to Yellowstone Park.”
“That leaves me heading north to the town of West Yellowstone,” Wyatt said.
Soft murmuring followed the announcement.
“We”—Zofia pointed to herself and the other two Polish women—“will stay with hurt ladies.”
“I’ll remain behind as well,” Roy said.
Grace, Stacy, and Peter looked at each other. “My wife and I will go with the deputy,” Peter finally said.
“I believe I’ll stay,” Grace said.
“Be ready in ten minutes,” Bram said.
* * *
Cookie struggled to her feet and came over to me. “All your clothes were on that wagon, right?”
I nodded.
“You’ll need warm clothing to make that trip. Come with me.” I followed her to the gift shop, where she handed me a long-sleeved T-shirt, hooded sweatshirt, and water-resistant jacket, all with the Mule Shoe logo. “Put these on. Layers. I think I have a hat and gloves in lost and found.” She disappeared behind the counter for a moment, returning with a pair of wool gloves and a knitted hat.
“Thank you, Cookie. I don’t think I would have thought about it until I was out there.”
She moved closer, wincing slightly as she bumped into the counter, and lowered her voice. “I don’t know how this is going to turn out, but if things go south here, I’m going to make a run for my cabin. The lodge is too big with too many ways to break in.”
“Are you sure it’s safer there? And that you can make it?”
“I don’t know, but just as you’re dividing up to increase your chances of getting through, I think we should divide up so we’re not all sitting around like . . . sheep, waiting for the slaughter.” She patted my cheek. “You be careful out there, and get out safely, you hear?”
I nodded. I didn’t trust my voice.
Chapter 20
As Cookie and I returned to the lobby, Roy asked, “What about the guns? Who will be armed?”
Everyone looked at Wyatt. He and Bram exchanged glances. “We’ll leave the pistol here,” Bram finally said. “Wyatt will take the rifle.”
“In that case”—Peter stood—“my wife and I will go with Wyatt.” He turned to Bram. “No offense, but—”
“None taken,” Bram said.
The six of us moved to the center of the room. “I think we should use the same strategy in getting to the barn that we’re using to ride out,” Bram said. “Wyatt, Peter, and Stacy will go out the back of the lodge. Liam, Darby, and I will run out the front.” He didn’t have to say that the killer couldn’t be two places at once. Unless there were two . . .
“Good idea,” Wyatt said. “Darby and Liam.” He looked at both of us. “You two can help me saddle and bridle the horses.”
“I’ll start with the rifle and keep watch while you do that,” Bram said. “Peter, you can keep watch at the other side of the barn.”
I looked from face to face. Stacy was pale and had her arms tightly crossed. A vein throbbed in her husband’s forehead. Liam kept rubbing his mouth. Bram’s jaw was determinedly tight, while Wyatt’s hands were clenched into fists.
Cookie had disappeared into the hall. She now reappeared with handheld GPS units, bottled water, and granola bars. “You’ll need these.” After she handed everything out, she said, “What about setting up a diversion?”
“What kind of diversion?” I asked her.
“I can go to the kitchen door and make some noise. That could draw the killer to that end of the building.”
“That’s a good idea, but be careful.” Roy had joined us. “Where do you want me?”
“We’ll need someone at each door to block it once we’re outside,” Bram said. Roy directed the Polish women into place. “Ready?”
As I moved toward the front door, Bram put a hand on my arm. “Darby, can you run?”
I stiffened.
He let go. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Yes, Bram, I can run.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, but Wyatt said, “Come on, folks, the time’s getting away from us.”
Grace took her place by the chair blocking the front door. Cookie went into the kitchen. Wyatt, Stacy, and Peter, along with Roy, moved to the back door.
My mouth dried and stomach tightened. Stuffing the water bottle, granola bar, and GPS into my jacket, I shook out my hands to try to loosen up. It’s not far. Just run to the barn. Just run—
A cacophony of banging came from the direction of the kitchen.
“Go!” Grace yanked away the chair and opened the door.
For a moment, I couldn’t move.
“Go! Go! Run!” Bram yelled.
I ran, Holly at my heels. Bram and Liam sped ahead of me, weaving to make a harder target. I ran in a straight line, sucking in large gulps of the cold morning air. My back felt naked, exposed. I listened for the sound of gunfire, but I could hear nothing. My vision narrowed, with only the barn door in focus
. Run, run, run! The words pounded in my head with every beat of my heart.
The world dissolved around me.
I was running toward a line of trees, clinging to a pistol. I heard a voice, his voice. “Shoot now, Darby!”
Something smashed into my leg. I pitched forward. The ground rushed up to meet me. I landed hard on my side. The odors of dust and dead grass and the coppery stench of blood filled my nose. My vision narrowed to a small pinprick of light. In the center was the killer.
I raised my pistol to shoot him. My hand was empty.
The killer’s face disappeared. Bram came into focus. He grabbed my outstretched hand and yanked me to my feet.
The flashback clung to me like a gauzy spiderweb.
Bram put his arm around my waist and partially carried me to the barn’s dim interior. “You okay?”
“I . . . yes . . . sorry.”
The dogs had followed us into the barn and immediately began exploring. We were in the side of the barn next to the pasture, on the opposite side of where Riccardo had fallen. Open stalls lined up on the right. While everyone caught their breath, Wyatt handed out bridles, then picked up a bucket and filled it with oats. He jerked his thumb to the right. “Tack room. That door over there”—he pointed to the far end of the room—“is facing east. You’ll find a trail that will take you to the top of the first ridge, where the road will split. From that point you can see all of the resort and, just on the other side, the trails. The different directions are well marked for our guests. Bram, you’ll take Pinecone Path and keep heading east. Pinecone loops around after a few miles, so keep an eye on the GPS. I’ll be following the ridge to the north on Blackfoot Track. Darby, you’ll head southeast over the ridge. You’ll be going cross-country without any marked trails. All of you, get out of here fast and don’t stop until you’re at the top of the ridge. Everyone got it?”
We all nodded.
He walked to the door to the pasture and rattled a bucket of oats to draw in the herd. As the horses approached, he’d move aside and let in the ones he wanted, calling out the correct bridle and bit as they passed. “Snaffle on the bay and buckskin, curb on the dun, sorrel, and this bay. Hackamore on the Appaloosa.”
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