After lighting the match, I lit the row of candles on the shelf behind the tub, grabbed the two largest, placed them on the floor, then sat. Placing the lump of ore on the rim of the tub, I started with the gem book. Page after page showed beautifully cut colored gemstones. The rock in front of me hardly looked like any image. I had no idea if this was what, say, a Yogo sapphire looked like in its natural state. Or even if this was a raw gemstone. It could be gold, or silver, or just a rock.
I slammed the book closed in frustration.
Maverick bumped against the door.
“I’m okay, Maverick. Just keep guarding.”
Two of the titles from my bookshelf drew my attention—one on the mining history of the region, the second on regional lore.
The rock looked nothing like any of the precious metals in the mining book. Three strikes, you’re out. The legend book, under different circumstances, might have been interesting, but contained nothing about rocks or gems. I did find the same map that was in the lodge. Mae’s place was probably along Beryl Creek.
I closed the book, but the word stayed with me. Beryl. I had seen that word in the gemstone book. I looked it up in the index, then turned to the correct page. “A mineral colored by trace amounts of chromium and sometimes vanadium. Be3Al2(SiO3)6. Emerald.”
One of the most precious gems in the world.
Chapter 30
My hand shook as I picked up the stone. According to the book, emeralds of lighter green shades were classified as green beryl.
I put together a new theory. Someone had discovered emeralds on the protected border of Yellowstone and began mining them illegally. Just finding the raw stones wouldn’t be enough. What would need to happen next?
I returned to the book on gems. Emeralds weren’t addressed specifically, but in general, raw stones could be taken to a cutter to be faceted, then sold to jewelers.
The Rock & Gem magazine had ads for various services, including cutting of gemstones. One was in Montana, not far from here. Another said they sent the stones to Sri Lanka for faceting. Either way, raw gems could go from a mine, to a cutter, then be sold to jewelers.
A very nice little operation.
I’d found the answer to the first question—what was so valuable that would drive someone to murder? Question two was who wanted it? I carefully reread the resort offerings. Nothing new jumped out at me. The lowest offer did carry the initials SD, but I didn’t know if that was the agent or potential buyer. Question three would also remain unanswered—how did they plan on getting away with all their crimes?
A door slammed in the distance.
I awkwardly stood, dropped the ore into my pocket, then blew out the candles and opened the blackout shade. Very little light came from outside. Closing my eyes to accustom them to darkness, I opened the door, moved to the window, and peered out. A figure with a flashlight was moving toward the lodge. He carried something under his arm.
I grabbed the binoculars from the table and trained them on the figure. The physical outline of the person was indistinct because of a hat and coat, but the object under his arm wasn’t. He was carrying my prosthesis.
I almost dropped the binoculars.
When he’d disappeared around the back of the lodge, I turned and studied the cabin for signs of a second killer. The lights were off. Taking a breath, I opened the door and softly called Maverick to my side. As quietly as possible, I followed the man.
With Maverick’s help, we stayed fairly close. We reached the corner of the lodge and spotted him walking away, now no longer carrying anything. He had to have stashed the prosthetic leg nearby. Unless he threw it into the woods, the only other place would be the staff quarters.
I waited until I could no longer hear his footsteps. Before I could start toward the staff house, a thin line of fire wrapped around the edge of the wall, moving swiftly. I couldn’t take my eyes off the blaze. It raced to the front of the building, which burst into flame.
* * *
A whoomph! and then a crackling sound. Smoke blew into the room.
The building was on fire.
Bram’s gut tightened. He struggled to get to his feet, then pitched forward onto the floor. Already the room was hot and filled with smoke.
The air down low was clearer, though still choking him. Using his body and feet, he started to worm his way toward the door. He was moving toward the fire, but there was no other escape from this room. If there were fire alarms or a sprinkler system, they didn’t seem to be working.
* * *
Clearly no one was going to call the fire department or come swooping in to rescue us. The only advantage I could possibly have over this killer was surprise, but with only one leg, I could neither run nor really fight.
I’d never be able to get through the front door or even the front windows of the staff house. If my limb was in that building, I would have to go get it.
Maverick didn’t want to approach the blaze. I urged him around the side and to the rear. Two small windows were on either side of the chimney with a stack of wood under one. I crawled up the wood and did a chin-up on the window ledge to see.
My prosthesis lay in the center of the room.
Movement drew my eyes to a door leading to another room.
I squinted, trying to see through the smoke.
Someone was in there, someone trying to get out.
A burst of adrenaline shot through me. I wanted to scream, call for help, but that would only alert the man who set the fire. He had to have known someone was in there. Probably Spuds, the missing ranch hand.
There was no way I’d be able to break and climb through this window. My cabin, however, had a small opening where someone could place logs next to the fireplace without coming inside the building. The door was about two feet square. If the same contractor built this building . . .
Dropping to my hands and knees, I eased off the wood pile to the ground and hopped to the other side of the fireplace. No small door.
I frantically searched for a way into the building. More windows were on my left, but that end of the structure was already engulfed in flame.
On a hunch, I started grabbing the stack of firewood and throwing it behind me. The top edge of the opening came into view. “Yes!” I breathed. I yanked the wood away faster.
The fire had grown so large I could clearly see what I was doing now. Just a few more chunks of wood—
The door was nailed shut.
Biting back a scream of anguish, I pounded on the surface.
The wood moved slightly.
I got as close as I could, lay down on my back, and kicked at the door. Kicked again. And again. On the fourth blow, the wood splintered.
Smoke and heat poured from the opening.
I didn’t wait, didn’t stop and think. I ripped the last of the wood free and dove through.
The heat was furnace-hot, the smoke almost overwhelming. I stayed on hands and knees, feeling for the person I’d seen. Could anyone still be alive in here?
Encountering my prosthetic leg, I tried to retrieve it, but it was too hot to handle. I kicked it behind me toward the opening and kept crawling.
I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. My exposed skin was raw. I wouldn’t be able to save anyone. I needed to turn back now—
Turning around, my leg touched something. I reached around. A body. I briefly touched the head. Short hair. A day’s growth of beard.
A gag in his mouth.
No time to remove it. Hooking an arm around his arm, I tugged. He was heavy. A deadweight. Tug. Was he dead? Tug. No time to check. Tug. The heat was unbearable. Smoke saturated the air and clogged my throat. Panic coiled around my brain.
The flames shot up the wall by the door and lapped at the beams.
Crying openly now, I pulled the prone figure farther, just a little farther. Please, God! Again I found my artificial limb. I picked it up and threw it toward the opening, burning my hands. I prayed it made it through.
The a
ir from outside fed the fire. The conflagration roared like a locomotive. My strength was gone, each tug on the body moving him less and less. I was afraid my hair and clothes would catch fire. Be strong and courageous! I couldn’t see where I was going.
Reaching forward, I groped for the small opening. My hand found nothing. Had I gotten turned around?
Something grabbed my arm, bit down, and pulled. I slid forward a few inches. My arm was released and I waved it, smacking into the edge of the opening.
I turned around and backed through. The first gulp of frigid air sent me coughing.
Reaching through, I grabbed the man under his arms and pulled. He moved forward, but not fast enough.
It looked like his legs were on fire.
Gritting my teeth, I put my leg on one side of the opening to brace myself and pulled with all my might.
The man’s body slid out. His pants were on fire.
I jerked off my sweatshirt and smothered the flames. I was almost afraid to see who it was. And if he was still breathing.
With the fire out, I looked at his face.
Bram. Soot rimmed his nose and mouth.
I gasped, then untied the gag with trembling hands and placed my fingers against his neck, praying for a pulse. It was there, weak and thready. His breathing was shallow.
The fire had fully engulfed the roof. We had to move. Waves of heat enveloped us. I looked for Maverick to help me move. He was nowhere to be seen, but Holly stood nearby. Holly had helped pull me from the flames.
“Help me, Holly.” My voice was wheezy, my throat inflamed.
She somehow knew what I wanted. She approached and grabbed onto Bram’s jacket. I took hold of his arm. Together we pulled, shoved, towed Bram far enough away from the inferno to be safe. I gave Holly a brief but hearty hug before checking Bram again.
He was pale and clammy, but now breathing a bit easier in the fresh air. His arms and legs were tied. I rolled him on his side and worked on the knots. My hands were burned from the fire and badly scratched from the twine.
Holly sat next to me and gravely watched.
After working for a few moments, I had to stop and give my fingers a rest. I spotted it.
My prosthetic leg lay near the burning building.
“Holly, go fetch.” I pointed.
She wagged her tail.
“Holly, fetch.”
She moved closer.
A section of wall collapsed, sending sparks flying. My prosthesis now lay under the burning timbers.
Something twisted within me. I’d be back on crutches until I could get a new artificial limb. People would again stare.
Bram moaned.
“Bram, can you hear me? It’s Darby. I’m trying to untie you.” I attacked the knot holding his hands together.
Holly growled. She jumped up and raised her hackles.
I glanced in the direction she was staring.
Sam, pistol pointed at my head, glared at me.
Chapter 31
The little hairs on my arms lifted. Breathe. Of course. It would have to be Sam. Mae had practically shown his motive in her drawing by placing the expression of schadenfreude on one side. Taking pleasure from someone else’s suffering.
I worked up enough spit in my mouth to speak. “You don’t want there to be any more killing, do you, Sam?”
“Shut up, Darby. What’s done is done.”
“You took a huge chance flying out here on the chopper. The pilot will remember you—”
“So what?”
Bram was lying on his side between Sam and me. My hands, out of sight, continued to work on the knots.
Sam must have noticed. “Put your hands where I can see them.”
Before I raised them, I gave the knot one final tug. I could feel the rope loosen. “Those emeralds—”
His head jerked backward and gun shifted slightly.
“Yes. I know about the emeralds. The mine. And so will others soon enough. You can’t keep killing people who might stumble on the location.”
Sam pulled back his lips, exposing his teeth more like a snarl than a smile. “You’re crazy, Darby. Cleanup. That’s all I do. Cleanup, but you don’t have to worry about it. It doesn’t matter anyway. The mine tapped out shortly after the accident that killed the miners.”
With an ear-shattering whoosh, the roof of the staff quarters collapsed.
Sam moved closer to us. I could feel Bram working on his bindings, but his face was a mask of pain.
Bram won’t be able to help. It’s up to me.
“Don’t concern your pretty little head about it. What we did find there were world-class stones. We found an investor who took the whole lot.”
An investor? Someone who loved cut stones. Like a husband and wife named Stacy and Peter? Who left with Wyatt to get help.
Had all the riders failed?
A sour taste filled my mouth. I lowered my hands.
“We just had to keep the source of the stones hidden for a bit. And, of course, take care of the loose ends.”
“Loose ends? Like when you killed Mae, then covered up with the note?”
“No one killed Mae. She moved to Pocatello.”
I stared at him a moment. “I found her body. At the cabin.”
His gun wavered slightly before he retrained it on me. “You’re a liar.”
“No. You went to the cabin and tried to kill me.”
“Darby, you’re a liar and crazy. I never tried to kill you. I was off on my timing, but that was an accident. I meant I bought Mule Shoe.” He raised his pistol.
I was going to die.
I dropped my head, but something he said sent my mind spinning. The miners died six months ago. I had thought all the deaths were directly related to the mine’s discovery, but if that wasn’t an issue . . .
“Now, Darby, about you.”
I closed my eyes. Heavenly Father, forgive me—
Crack!
I jumped. The sound hurt my ears. Was I dead? Or . . .
Opening my eyes, I reached for Bram and looked up.
Roy stood outlined by the fire, Bram’s Glock in hand. Behind him stood Grace, two of the Polish ladies, and Cookie.
Sam sprawled on the ground, motionless.
“Snake.” Roy spit at him.
I wanted to scream, cry, pray, vomit. I remained motionless until the waves of emotion passed. When again I could get control of myself, I helped Bram to a seated position leaning against a tree stump.
Was it over? Really over? I pushed to my feet and hopped over to Sam’s body. I knew everyone would stare at me, at my missing limb. I didn’t care.
Sam’s partially open eyes stared at eternity.
The pistol Sam pointed at me was the same kind of weapon I’d owned, the last gun I’d touched since the shootout five years ago. A Sig Sauer 9mm. I reached for it, hesitated, then picked it up.
A memory opened. I gasped. A memory, not a flashback. I remembered grabbing the gun from the glove box. I’d thought something was wrong. Wrong with the gun.
Jim had been talking to the serial killer. I was supposed to cover my husband. I’d sighted in on the man’s head, but I didn’t shoot. My brain had kept pounding out, Terribly wrong.
“Now, Darby. Shoot now!” Jim had screamed.
The killer had fired. Jim had dropped to the ground.
I had run. I hadn’t taken the shot. I’m a coward.
A heaviness settled in my chest. I’d failed to correctly interpret the killer’s letters, lost my husband and baby, and finally lost my leg, all because . . . I shook my head.
No. Something else. The gun. I kept coming back to the gun. My flashbacks and dreams had returned to the Sig Sauer. Why hadn’t I pulled the trigger?
I looked down at the weapon in my hand. Could it be? I turned my back to Roy and the staff, then ejected the gun’s magazine. No bullets. Just like my gun five years ago.
I’d known then that the gun’s weight was off. I knew that weapon, handled it every
day. In the mind-numbing terror of that day, I’d known something was wrong but couldn’t figure out what. When I’d been discovered by that group of teens, they took my purse and the weapons. I remembered their voices.
“Hey, Matt, Chris, come over here! This is cool. A body!”
“Naaa, really? Awesome!”
“Whatcha think we shood do?”
“Grab his gun, man. ’Nother gun over there.”
Approaching footsteps. “Hey, there’s a chick here. Pretty. Should we—”
“Naa, man, I ain’t that drunk.”
When they’d stolen my pistol and left me to die, they’d also stolen the one way I could have known I wasn’t a coward. I wasn’t running away—I was running for help because the gun was unloaded.
“Darby, are you okay?” Roy asked.
“I’m better than okay. I’m exonerated.” I slid the action back slightly and stuck my finger into the chamber, then quietly closed it.
“It’s finally over,” Cookie said.
“Yes.” My neck started to itch.
Something had fallen from Sam’s pocket. A walkie-talkie.
The itch grew. What had Sam said? The mine tapped out shortly after the accident that killed the miners. We found an investor who took the whole lot. No one killed Mae. She moved to Pocatello. I never tried to kill you. I bought Mule Shoe.
I knew the answer to question two, who wanted it. Just one problem.
We. Sam had said “we.”
My neck was on fire. I still needed to figure out who he was working with. Roy? He was the one who shot Sam, but he wouldn’t drive down the price of his own resort. Cookie? Possibly someone had found out about her PTSD and stint at Clan Firinn. Yeah right. Then she’d somehow stabbed herself in the back and hit herself over the head. Spuds, the missing staffer? Open to bribes? Wyatt? He’d been in prison and was strong enough to have carried bodies into the building and set it on fire. He’d also ridden out to safety . . . and freedom.
“Roy.” Cookie put her hand on Roy’s arm holding the pistol. “We need to have a mindset for resolution here. Sam was the killer.” She gently removed the weapon from Roy’s hands.
Woman in Shadow Page 21