Paradise Valley

by C. J. Box

  Amanda made an ooof sound as if all of the air had been crushed out of her and she collapsed in front of the stove.

  Ron stood over her glowering and brandishing both fists.

  When she moaned and rolled to her side away from him he kicked her in the buttocks hard enough to slide her a foot across the floor.

  She squeaked—she was trying to get enough breath to cry.

  Kyle said, Please stop, Ron. Please stop.

  Ron looked up at Kyle. His face was a red mask of anger. Kyle braced himself for a beating.

  Then the hood seemed to come partially off and Ron’s face softened.

  He said to Kyle, “Maybe you’re right. Who’s going to cook us breakfast?”

  Amanda got enough air to weep quietly.

  Ron said to her, “All I ask is to eat breakfast in fucking peace. If I let you up can you finish it and keep your mouth shut?”

  She nodded vigorously. Her voice was weak when she said, “Yes.”

  “Good,” he said. “Get up.”

  Amanda rolled to her hands and knees and wheezed for breath. It bothered Kyle to see her that way, to see an adult woman in that position. Finally, she reached out and grasped the handle of the oven and clumsily pulled herself up.

  Ron watched her without extending his hand to help. Then he backed up and sat down heavily in his chair.

  Kyle briefly closed his eyes, praying that it was over.

  When he opened them he heard Ron grumble, “You people don’t fuckin’ deserve a man like me.”

  * * *

  KYLE HAD HEARD Ron come back the night before. It was well after midnight and freezing cold inside the cabin. He and Amanda had added Tiffany’s sheets and blankets to their own to try and keep warm.

  He’d awakened when a sweep of headlights from Ron’s truck raked across the walls through the open window. When Ron came in he pretended he was still sleeping. He’d know in seconds if Ron found out about the message he’d written in blood under the toilet seat. Kyle tried not to tremble.

  He listened as the man sighed and paced and talked to himself in a low but angry tone. Kyle couldn’t hear the words except for when Ron said, “Here’s your goddamn window,” as he shoved the new frame into the opening.

  Then it got quiet, and the quiet bothered Kyle more than the mumbling had.

  After nearly an hour, Kyle opened one eye slightly.

  Ron had been sitting in his chair at the table staring at nothing at all. He wore white coveralls over his clothes. Kyle hadn’t seen him wear the coveralls before. Ron looked as if he were tortured and was fighting back tears.

  Kyle closed his eye before he started to feel sorry for the man for being so sad.

  * * *

  AS AMANDA MOVED the breakfast dishes to the sink with a painful-looking limp, she knew Ron was watching her carefully. When her back was to him and Ron stood up again she didn’t know what to expect.

  But Ron stepped over to her and gently wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind. She stiffened at his touch and she was glad he couldn’t see her face at that moment.

  Ron bent over and pressed his mouth into her hair. “I’m sorry I hit you, Amanda. You didn’t have it coming. You cooked a real nice breakfast and I hope you’re feeling okay.”

  After a moment, Amanda said, “Thank you. I think I’ll be all right.”

  “Your collar looks real nice with those ribbons on it,” he said. “I meant to tell you that.”

  “Thank you, Ron.”

  He said to her, “You’re shaking like a leaf. There’s no need for that. Nothing is going to happen. Okay, Amanda?”

  “Okay. I won’t sing no more.”

  “Best not,” he said with a grin that made her stomach clench.

  “No more singing!” she said emphatically. Then: “Is humming okay, though?”

  “Maybe at times. But if I were you I’d do it while I’m away.”

  “Okay.” She sounded eager to please him.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I think so. I really do.”

  “And we’re good?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear,” he said. He released his hug and kneaded her shoulders for a moment. “What do you have planned for lunch and dinner? You saw all that food I bought yesterday.”

  She nodded. “I was thinking French dip sandwiches for lunch and fried chicken and mashed potatoes for dinner.”

  “That sounds wonderful, Amanda.”

  She turned around and smiled at him, genuinely relieved.

  Ron left her and grabbed his jacket from the peg on the side of the door. He said to Kyle, “Come on. We’re going out.”

  Kyle exchanged a glance with her before he went outside. He was assessing her, she thought, trying to gauge if she had changed.

  She thought to herself: I have.

  * * *

  “GRAB THE TOOLBOX and follow me,” Ron said. It was a cool but sunny morning. Sunlight from the east streamed through the pine trees to the forest floor. Kyle noticed that it was taking longer each morning for the sun to warm things up.

  Where is the toolbox?

  “In the shed.”

  As Kyle walked toward the shed Ron said, “See? I’m starting to understand the way you talk.”

  Kyle nodded and opened the door. The rusty toolbox was on a workbench inside and he grasped the handle and lifted it down. He noticed that the workbench was covered with debris from Ron’s projects. There were lengths of copper wire, electrical tape, thin cable, and square 4.5 volt batteries.

  The toolbox was heavy and the weight of it made him lean to the side as he followed Ron down a rough two-track road into the trees. He switched hands often.

  Ron said, “Sometimes you just have to tell women things even if you don’t really mean it. I think they know you’re bullshitting them but at the same time it seems to cheer them up. I mean, seriously, tying little ribbons to a shock collar? Fucking Christmas songs? I’ll never understand those creatures.

  “Maybe next time I go to town I’ll buy her some ice cream. That ought to keep her happy for a while.”

  Kyle was lagging behind carrying the toolbox. Ron paused to wait for him. He didn’t offer to take the toolbox, just as he hadn’t offered to help Amanda off the floor.

  “Try to keep up,” he said.

  When Ron started marching again Kyle mouthed, Fuck you, Ron to his back.

  The old road wound through the pine trees and soon Kyle could no longer see the cabin. He wondered why they even needed the stupid toolbox.

  After another turn Ron paused and bent over and reached for something in the road. It was a length of wire that was partially coiled on the ground.

  “I drove through it last night,” Ron said. “I wasn’t thinking straight and I forgot to take it down.”

  Kyle had no idea what Ron was talking about. He lowered the toolbox and flexed his hand to get the circulation in it going again.

  Ron wound the wire around his wrist and followed it off the road through some heavy brush and into the trees.

  “Bring me more wire,” he ordered. “The pliers, too.”

  Kyle opened the toolbox and found a heavy coil of it. He slid the pliers into the back of his jeans. He watched as Ron tied the end of the fresh wire to a loose assemblage of empty tin cans, then fed the wire over a branch and handed the coil to Kyle. He recalled Ron collecting the cans one by one after they’d eaten the contents. He made Amanda scrub out the inside before he took them.

  “Back up and stretch that tight across the road about a foot high. I’ll hold the cans in the air on this end until you’re far enough.”

  Kyle did as he was told. When he’d crossed to the other side of the road Ron said, “That’s good. Just stand there and keep the wire tight. Don’t let the cans fall.”

  Ron emerged from the brush and took the coil from Kyle’s hands. He pulled more of it free and wrapped it around the trunk of a tree.

  “
Pliers,” he said to Kyle.

  Ron cut the wire and twisted it around itself. When he was done, he twanged the taut line with the heel of his hand and the empty cans clattered from the other side of the road.

  So no one will sneak up on us, Kyle said.

  “You got it,” Ron said. “We’ll hear ’em coming long before they get to the cabin.”

  He stood up and pointed vaguely through the trees indicating somewhere down the mountain. “I’ve got the rest of my C-4 down there rigged to trip wires and 4.5 volt batteries. Anybody coming up the road will get a hell of a surprise. But I used up all my inventory of explosives, so the best we can do now this close to the cabin are these old-fashioned empty cans. They work, though,” he said while demonstrating the setup again with a tug on the wire.

  Kyle tried not to show his disappointment.

  “Come on,” Ron said, “we’re going to rig up a couple more of these on some side trails.”

  Ron dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a fistful of objects: clear plastic packages along with the collar he’d taken off Tiffany the day before. He separated the collar and shoved it back into his pocket while he shook the packages with his other hand. They rang musically.

  “Bear bells,” Ron said. “Hikers use them in Yellowstone Park. Supposedly, the bells let bears know people are coming. In our case they’ll let us know the same thing.”

  * * *

  KYLE LUGGED THE TOOLBOX through the trees for the rest of the morning. He assisted as Ron strung up four more trip wires across game trails close to the cabin in all four directions. Kyle wondered if Ron was anticipating a visit of some kind.

  As Ron did the work he seemed to have returned to his hooded self of that morning. Obviously, something was on his mind.

  When he bent over to secure the last wire to a tree, Kyle shot a glance into the toolbox at his feet. There were several screwdrivers in there as well as a heavy pipe wrench. He didn’t look at them as tools but as weapons.

  But before Kyle could act, Ron stood up and turned around to face him. He said, “I knew what I had to do last night—what I’ve done a hundred times—and I fucked up. I’m losing my drive. I’m getting up there in years and the drive I need just doesn’t seem to be there like it used to be.”

  Doing what? Kyle asked.

  “Well, you probably noticed we don’t have a replacement for Tiffany. You did notice that, didn’t you?” Ron asked with a sneer. He was suddenly angry again.

  Yeah.

  “I found her, all right. Nice big hips. Young. But I fucked up. I didn’t take action with authority. You can’t hesitate when you set out to do something like that, Kyle. You have to … pounce.”

  When Ron said the word pounce he lunged at Kyle, and Kyle stepped back and threw his arms across his face. But nothing happened.

  It had been a bluff.

  “Like that,” Ron said.

  Kyle felt his heart pound in his chest. He wished he’d grabbed a screwdriver when Ron’s back was turned.

  “My days out on the road are over, Kyle,” he said. “I can’t get it up like I used to. It’s hard to explain. I don’t feel it inside like I used to when I’m on the hunt. I guess I have better things to do now, better things to think about and work on. But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten anything,” he said with a wink. “I know how to stay ten steps ahead and above it all. That’s why I’ve lasted this long.

  “I told you you’d learn things if you stuck with me,” Ron said. “You will if you want to. I’ll teach you. Now grab that toolbox—it’s time for lunch.”

  As they walked back toward the cabin from above Kyle asked, What will we do if we hear the bells or the cans?

  Ron paused and looked over his shoulder at Kyle with a serious set to his face.

  “What will you do?” he asked, patting his holstered .380. “You’ll die. Both of you. I’m not taking you fucking people with me.”

  Kyle felt his mouth go dry.

  Then Ron broke out into a grin. He reached out and tousled Kyle’s hair and said, “Had you going for a second there, didn’t I? Ha! You both mean a lot to me, especially you, Kyle. You’re the only family I’ve got.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  BULL MITCHELL’S ANCIENT Power Wagon ground up the rocky rise high above Gardiner to the east like a slow-motion mountain goat. Cassie held tight to the leather strap above the door with one hand and the dashboard with the other. Sheriff Pederson stuck both of his hands straight up and pressed against the underside of the roof so he could steady himself in the middle seat and not get pitched to the right or left as Bull maneuvered over football-sized boulders.

  The mountainside was bare of trees and what little grass there was on it clung to the terrain as if for dear life. When Cassie looked out through the windshield she could see mainly blue sky.

  “You say there’s a road here?” Cassie asked Bull.

  “Used to be,” he responded.

  “‘Used to be’ isn’t the best answer.”

  “It’s the best one I’ve got,” Bull shrugged.

  She looked over her shoulder at the sheriff’s department pickup behind them. It was then that she realized the angle she was peering down was as close to vertical as she’d ever experienced in a vehicle before. She could see the loose grid of streets far below in Gardiner as well as the Yellowstone River that looked like a rumpled grey ribbon. If the Power Wagon’s tires lost traction or Bull missed a gear as he climbed they could roll dangerously backward down the mountain and take out the deputies’ rig.

  “Is there a better way up?” she called out. As she did she felt her phone vibrate with an incoming call in her pocket. She ignored it.

  “Maybe,” Bull said.

  “Then why don’t we try it?”

  “We’re committed now,” he said with a rakish grin. “Once you start on a grade like this there’s no way to turn around. Is there, sheriff?”

  “I’m staying out of this,” Pederson said.

  Cassie didn’t know whether she should close her eyes and pray or keep them open so she could see firsthand when the Power Wagon stalled out and rolled down the hill. The thing that kept her in her seat was a single word: Kidnaped.

  That Kyle misspelled it in his own blood made her heart ache more for him.

  * * *

  AT LAST THE FRONT TIRES clawed over the edge of the rim and the pickup and trailer leveled out. Cassie found that she could breathe again and she settled back in her seat.

  They were on a rocky plateau and in front of them was an even bigger tree-covered mountain in the distance. But between where they were and the incline was a massive expanse of dead trees that were laid out flat on the ground like they’d all been clear-cut. When she looked closer, though, she could see splintered trunks still embedded in the ground. The trees hadn’t been cut—they’d been snapped off. The dead trees all pointed to the south.

  On the far end of the dead trees a small herd of elk grazed on a mountain meadow. As one, they raised their heads and stared at the interlopers.

  “What in the hell happened here?” Pederson asked Bull.

  “Microburst. It happened after I was here last.”

  “What’s a microburst?” Cassie asked.

  “Kind of a small contained tornado,” Bull said. “It drops down from the sky and just lays all the trees over. They break like matchsticks. Sometimes they fall in a concentric circle and sometimes it looks like this. Like I told Cody Hoyt once, Yellowstone seems to manufacture its own weather. You never know what the hell you’re going to get into—snow in July, a heat wave in January, or a microburst on the top of a mountain that knocks all the damned trees over. I’ve seen the results of dozens of ’em in the park. But this is a problem,” he said with a nod toward the mess in front of them, “because the road I wanted to take goes right through the middle of it. Even cutting some of that timber with a chain saw and using the winch won’t get us through it.”

  Cassie refrained from
asking again where the road had been in the first place.

  Bull pulled ahead far enough for the sheriff’s department pickup to join him on the flat. He kept the motor running while he rubbed his chin and looked at the result of the microburst.

  Cassie glanced over to Pompy who drove the other pickup. The man’s face was white with fear from the drive up and he shook his head from side to side as if he couldn’t believe what they’d just done.

  Pompy rolled down his window and asked Bull, “So, what’s our plan?”

  “Plan B,” Bull said.

  “What’s Plan B?”

  “Haven’t figured it out yet.”

  “What are our options?” Pederson asked. He had a way, Cassie thought, of making everything he said sound perfectly calm and reasonable. It was a gift she wished she shared.

  “I’m thinkin’,” Bull said.

  Cassie’s phone went off again and this time she drew it out and looked at the screen. Leslie had called three times in ten minutes. Cassie hadn’t even noticed the first one because she was scared for her life at the time.

  “Well,” Bull said as he gestured toward the mountainside in the distance, “I wanted to check out the other side of that big hill. My plan was to drive to the top and maybe get the horses out and ride ’em down to where the old cabins are. If Pergram is up there and we come in on horses he won’t hear us coming. But it doesn’t look like we can drive the trailers to where I wanted to start.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Cassie said.

  Bull shot her a look and she figured she probably deserved it.

  Pederson said, “Obviously, if Pergram is somewhere up here he must drive to it. He can’t go this way, so how does he get up there?”

  “Good question,” Bull said. “The fact is there are a shitload of old roads all over these mountains—even inside the park. The park service bermed some of the more popular roads to keep people out which is why I was trying this back way. But if Pergram was up here poaching with his peckerwood father he must have learned some other routes.

  “We can work our way back down and drive thirty miles to the north and then back this direction to try to find his access,” Bull said while gesturing with his hand in a circle, “or we can mount up here and cut straight through that timber toward the other side of the mountain where the cabins were.”