Wolf finished his first beer and set the bottle on the table with a thump. “Worse than mischief. A woman was murdered this morning.”
Wolf wasn’t surprised that the word that came out of Logan’s mouth was uglier than anything he’d heard his friend utter since their college days. “Is the law looking our way?”
“Not for now but … “
“But it’s inevitable, right?” Logan looked more resigned than angry but there was anger, too.
“I think Les will look in every direction. Don’t you?”
Logan sighed. “Yeah. Sheriff Mitchell’s nothing if not thorough. And a prick.”
Wolf couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped him. Les was a prick. Always had been. But he was good at his job and they both knew it. So, there was little doubt, unless Maisy McGuire’s partner confessed, the sheriff would turn his eye toward Cherokee at some point during the investigation. Since Wolf had a gut-deep feeling Ella Necaise wasn’t guilty, he didn’t think that confession was going to happen.
“To answer your unspoken question, then, no, not everyone is thrilled with the idea of a reenactment. On the other hand, I haven’t heard of anyone disturbed enough to kill to keep it from happening. If this woman’s death would even do that.”
“Keep the whole event from taking place?” Wolf gave that a moment’s thought then shook his head. “Not from what I know. She seems to be … to have been … one of a thousand or so people who like to get involved with these things. Not an organizer or anything like Rita. Or Grant and Audra.” He hadn’t brought up Audra’s name on purpose but he couldn’t help the quick glance at Logan’s face as he said it. He’d always suspected Audra was the reason none of the girls chasing Logan had ever caught him. And Audra had ended up married to Grant Edmunds. Who was more of a prick than the sheriff ever thought about being. So, go figure.
Logan’s gaze flickered to Wolf’s but his expression didn’t change. “Any suspects?”
“Les thinks he’s got one. She and her girlfriend had a fight. Girlfriend took off and slept in her truck at a rest stop. I think he’s going to come up cold on it but we’ll see.”
Logan tossed a crumpled napkin on the rest of his fries and stood. “Let’s fish.”
Wolf wasn’t even surprised when the cat joined them as the boat slid into the water. The feline leaped to the bow of the boat, then curled up in the mate’s seat, leaving Logan to sit where he could find a place after he’d pulled the truck and boat trailer to a parking area. Wolf chuckled at the look on his friend’s face and started the engine.
* * *
I suppose I could be affronted. The fishing expedition was a blinding success and it was gratifying to see two men who found real pleasure in the art of the catch. At the end of the day, however, my man Wolf waived all rights to his share of the haul. I’m somewhat mollified to glean that the booty goes to help a needy family. I do hope to find my way around the Qualla Boundary as the territory is called. It seems the Cherokee take care of their own, unlike some of the unfortunate places I’ve visited where the wealthy walk past the unfortunate without a hint of compassion. Still and all, one morsel of fresh fish cooked in a bit of butter would have been a scrummy afternoon treat.
“Why don’t you come back to Ed’s with me?”
From the sideways glance that accompanied the question, I deduce Logan already knows Wolf will decline. And that is indeed what happens.
“You know as well as I do that my uncle would let his wife and young’uns starve before he’d take anything from me.”
“He’s got a lot of pride.”
“Don’t we all.”
And that is all I learn from that exchange. A bit of a mystery but not one that figures into solving the crime of the hour. I will, therefore, relegate it to a backburner, so to speak. And from what I gleaned both now and during their conversation over hamburgers – and mine was delectable – a visit to the Native American land trust is not imminent. Logan does not see a real threat from that quarter which is fair enough. Beyond that, I doubt Wolf will invite me to tag along when he is on the job and seems to have reasons of his own for not being on the Boundary when he’s off-duty. Family reasons, I suspect. Human families can be so difficult.
Chapter Six
Jake brought a sandwich and thermos of coffee with the last horse. He handed Kylah the small canvas tote but held onto the reins.
She forced a smile as she saw the hint of worry in his eyes. “I’m not hungry.” But she opened the tote and pulled out the thermos. The coffee was welcome.
“You’re not hungry because you can’t drink worth a damn. You need to eat, K.T. Hungry or not. These horses deserve your best.”
That stung but she bit back a retort. Jake was right. She knew her work was off this morning. She’d been riding with technical skill but no heart. Her horses deserved better and so did Jake.
He kept an eagle eye on her as she unwrapped the napkin around the sandwich. “It’s time to get over it, Kylah.”
Kylah looked up, startled. Jake didn’t often call her Kylah and was irritated as heck when he did. His blue eyes were rock hard with more than irritation. “I am over it, Jake,” she protested. “You know, I am.”
“No. No, you’re not. You’ve accepted his death. You’re not over what he did and how he did it. Somewhere deep inside, you think he should have turned to you. You think you could have saved him, that somehow you should have. That’s why you get drunk the same day every year for the last four years.”
Without tasting it, she started eating the sandwich he’d brought her, that he’d fixed for her because he cared, really cared about what happened to her. Not because she was his livelihood but because they’d saved each other four years back. Just as Wolf had done last night, Jake had made sure she reached home unharmed after she’d gotten herself shit-faced on the first anniversary of Marty’s death. The anniversary of his suicide. The day the pain inside of him had become greater than the love he felt for her.
She’d been on the road then, too. When she’d stepped out of her living quarters the next morning, there he’d sat sprawled in a folding chair holding a thermos of coffee. Waiting for her to come out. They’d been together ever since. They were family.
“The first couple years, yeah. But not this year, Jake. Not even last year.”
He took a sip of his own coffee, watching her with that calm way he had. He never asked a question, he never had. Anything he knew about her she had shared when she was ready.
“Last year I was running from the fact that I was truly, finally angry at him. And it felt wrong. He’s dead and I’m alive and 364 days a year I’m pretty much content, sometimes even happy. I got over the anger.”
She started eating again, finishing her sandwich, realizing she was hungry now that she had something in front of her.
When she fell silent, Jake had given his attention to her horse and a last-minute check of straps and buckles. He always did that. Every time she rode. He never expressed worry or fear that something would happen to her but he did his damnedest to make sure it wouldn’t happen because he’d neglected something. The realization touched her.
Putting the lid back on the thermos, she got to her feet and tugged the reins from his hands. He studied her with affection and she matched him look for look. “This year I realized I can’t recall the sound of his voice, of his laughter.” Marty was always laughing, always a clown. It was what had first drawn her to him. And not once had she heard the pain hidden behind the façade of that laughter. “I’m losing him all over again, Jake.”
“Then let him go. It’s time.” Jake took the tote from her and turned away, walking back toward the barn and the horses where there was always something that needed doing.
“I know,” she said. “I know it’s time, but I’d rather be angry at Marty than forget him altogether.” Jake was too far away to hear her but she wasn’t talking to him anyway.
What she hadn’t told Jake was that she’d also com
e to understand that Marty was never going to grow up and, if he hadn’t died when he had, she suspected her love for him would have. And she didn’t want to keep living on the memory of his love. She’d realized it was time to move on when she’d dressed and gone out on the town. Every other year, she’d drank alone sitting in solitude in a dark corner of some bar. Last night, for the first time, she hadn’t wanted to be alone. And all it had gotten her was a hang-over, a black cat, and a stranger who doubtless thought she was a good-time party girl. Not that it mattered what he thought. She doubted she’d ever see him again. Besides, she was better off alone. Just her and Jake.
* * *
The deputies made one last round as Jake and Kylah sat outside the trailer in companionable silence, watching the setting sun deliver a breathtaking show of colors across the top of the hills. She was in no hurry to return to the hotel room. When more than four horses were needed for an event, she and Jake each pulled a trailer. She wished now she’d pulled one empty for the convenience of the living quarters.
The officer who stepped out of the patrol car looked to be the youngest of the deputies Kylah had spoken to that day. His partner remained behind the wheel. Kylah saw his lips moving but couldn’t tell if he were singing along to the radio or talking handsfree on his cell phone. She supposed one scenario as probable as the other.
“Good evening, folks.”
Kylah thought the deputy looked a bit like a very young Barney Fife. She let Jake respond, which he kept to a tip of his cowboy hat.
“We’re pretty much wrapped up here. We believe we’ve ID’d the culprit but keep your eyes open and call if you see anything that concerns you or if you remember anything that didn’t seem important at the time.”
“So, you think it’s case closed?” Jake eyed him curiously.
The deputy turned cautious, realizing his indiscretion. “Well, not quite but there was a quarrel not long before the crime was committed. Sheriff Mitchell thinks it’s pretty cut and dried at this point.”
Kylah recalled the shock and grief in Ella Necaise’s eyes and very much doubted they had the guilty party identified but she kept her thoughts to herself. She felt Jake watching her, suspected he knew what she was thinking, but she didn’t react to it.
“We’ll do that. And thank you for stopping by.” Jake touched the brim of his hat.
“Well, just wanted to check on you folks. Y’all have a good evening.”
He climbed back in the patrol car and they watched as the tail lights faded.
“You think they’re wrong.” Jake’s voice was quiet.
“So do you,” she challenged. “You saw what I saw. The shock. And the grief.”
“People can fool you,” he said.
“You forget whose daughter I am. I’ve seen the world’s greatest actors and actresses on the most acclaimed stages and sound sets. I’m hard to fool.” She hesitated, then added, “As long as my emotions aren’t involved.” As they had been with Marty. Because she loved him, she’d seen what he wanted her to see.
Jake would never point that out to her but, then, he didn’t have to. She got to her feet. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
‘Night, K.T.”
* * *
Kylah turned onto the street leading to her hotel and realized her thoughts had turned to dinner, which surprised her. Hunger wasn’t one of her strong points. She ate because it was necessary. She wondered if her recent internal revelations, her new self-awareness, made her hungry, then snorted at her own imaginings.
Regardless, the idea of sitting on her bed with an apple, studying her notes for the up-coming battle scenes, was unappealing. She felt restless. But the thought of being in a restaurant alone was also unappealing. Yet … a change might do her good. She could take her notes. Still study. She’d see if that idea held appeal after a quick shower.
She slipped on the backpack with her laptop and camera before she grabbed her purse. Stepping out of the truck, she closed the door then clicked the lock button on the ignition key to the dually. Halfway up the sidewalk to the entrance of the hotel, she caught sight of a man propped against the front of a truck and her steps slowed. As a course of habit, her hands were free with her purse turned for easy access to her concealed carry. She didn’t like over-reacting but there had just been a murder in this scenic little college town.
The man had his elbows behind him, leaning on the hood. A casual enough stance but not until she caught sight of the black cat, almost invisible in the dark, did her shoulders relax. But instead of slowing down, her pulse seemed to speed up a bit. She’d think about that later, she decided.
She realized he was watching her, had been watching her since she pulled into the hotel parking area. She angled her path away from the hotel entrance and walked straight over to his truck.
“Hi.” She felt awkward but it would have been more awkward to ignore him, all things considered. He’d done her a solid favor getting her back to her hotel room in one piece, even if she hadn’t asked for it. Or had she? The possibility was humiliating. What a mess she’d made of things.
“Hungry?”
She ignored the voice in her head telling her to say no. “Yep.”
He walked around her and opened the passenger door. “Climb in.”
She hesitated. “I smell like horses.”
He smiled. “I smell like fish.”
Some of the tension, some of the uncertainty left her. She didn’t have to think of this as a date. Not when neither of them bothered to shower and change. They were two people caught up in strange circumstances.
The cat jumped in ahead of her, then leaped to the back seat. Her day had been filled with oddities, that cat being the least of them. Murder was the greatest. Somewhere in between was having a rock flung at her face from beneath the truck wheels of a suspected murderess. A least Ella Necaise was suspect in the eyes of the law.
“What are you hungry for?”
His voice was low and deep, but not gravely like Jake’s or boisterous like Marty’s had been. It was soothing. It appealed to her. She realized in the same instant that he was watching her, waiting for a response, and that she was staring at him.
She began tugging at the seatbelt. “I’m not picky.”
Wolf started the truck and she fought a moment’s panic. She didn’t go out to eat with men. Ever.
“Relax.”
“I’m relaxed.”
He laughed and the soft sound made something inside of her unclench.
During the short drive, she discovered that he did not smell like fish at all. He smelled like fresh air and sunshine. He smelled like man. She, however, without a doubt still smelled like horses and dust and leather.
He parked curbside at a small restaurant and walked around to open the door on her side. She stepped out, thinking the place looked a bit fancier than what she would have preferred and he smiled at her as if reading her thoughts. “They have a little courtyard on the side. We’ll sit there with Trouble.”
“Trouble?” Her gaze followed his to the cat who’d gotten out when he did.
He shrugged. “Seemed to fit.”
The cat glanced upward at them before, tail swirling in the air, he walked over to the intricate iron fence that separated an outside seating area from the sidewalk. After a look back, as if to tell them to hurry along, he stepped through to the other side.
“There’s a lot more to him than a simple cat.” Wolf held the door open for her.
Kylah shot him an amused look. “Animals are smarter than we are, by far, but I think that was a coincidence.”
He placed his hand on the small of her back and she fell silent, startled by the warmth that shot through her at his touch.
“You may change your mind about that coincidence thing,” he murmured as they followed their hostess to a courtyard table. “I’ve had an interesting day.”
Kylah wasn’t sure of that change of mind but neither was she surprised when, once the hostess turned away, Troubl
e moved from the shadows to sit beneath their tablecloth. Watching them for cues was one thing – most animals did that – listening and reacting to their words was a very different thing.
Wolf waited until they’d placed their order with a waiter before he told her about visiting the murder scene with the black cat.
“He made you follow him?”
She knew he could hear the skepticism in her voice but it didn’t seem to bother him.
“He convinced me to, that’s for sure. It’s tough to explain. He showed me some footprints that were outside the barricade.” He did a decent job of describing the murder scene with its barricade, the rough built table, and the outline of the victim. And the footprints beyond that.
“But the footprints could belong to anyone.” She’d decided not to debate whether or not the cat had led him to those prints.
“That’s what the deputy on the scene said but Trouble – and I – disagree.” He showed her the pictures and videos on his phone.
“These are pretty good shots,” she murmured. “And some are nice clear prints.” But there was nothing outstanding about either the faint but visible tread or the size. “Looks like whoever they belong to walked out of the woods, stood square in front of the table for some period of time, before walking toward the victim then away back into the woods.”
“You’ve got a good eye.”
“It’s part of the training of choreography, seeing how things lay out – in your mind, on paper, then in action. Works the same in reverse, I guess. The difference is that this is on grass and sticks and dirt, not paper.”
“Yeah, it’s too bad it wasn’t all dirt there. The prints would be a lot crisper. I hope the ones the crime scene workers casted will provide more information.”
Trouble in Action Page 6