by A. Gardner
“He’s barking,” Mrs. Tankle pointed out.
The faint sound of Miso barking drifted through the ceiling. Thankfully, Miso didn’t bark that much. Only when he felt threatened.
Or when someone came to my door.
“I’ve got to go.”
Chapter 4
“Your sister is going to murder me.”
Wade had been married twice and both times were to my sister, Joy. Joy had been his first love; the second was his 1967 Camaro. Joy and Wade had been high school sweethearts, and they knew each other well. Sometimes too well. They knew what the other loved and what the other hated. The two of them were a deadly combo, especially since Wade had always been a button pusher.
“Nice to see you too. Thanks for remembering your pants.” I calmly unlocked my door, ready to grab Miso’s collar if he came scrambling outside.
“Here. I got him.” Wade picked Miso up and walked into my apartment. His shoulder-length hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and it was a shade of brown that reminded me of the piles of timber that sat next to his backwoods cabin.
I tossed my keys on the kitchen table and opened the window in my living room. A picturesque view of the Rockies waited for me on the other side. It was a sight that helped keep me sane, especially when Joy and Wade were having one of their feuds.
“You two are technically still in the honeymoon phase,” I said. “You’re not supposed to be at each other’s throats yet.” I watched Wade walk straight into the kitchen and look at the contents of my fridge.
“Why is everyone so obsessed with coconut water these days?” He closed the fridge and moved on to my cupboards.
“Natural electrolytes,” I responded. “And the closest thing you’ll find in there to processed sugar is freeze-dried mangoes.”
“I knew I picked the funner sister,” he muttered. “You’re the worst when it comes to snack food. Am I right, Miso? Bark if you agree with me.”
“No more barking or Mrs. Tankle will lose it. You’re already on thin ice with her.” I took off my shoes, still trying to work out what Wade was doing in my apartment. It didn’t matter. I had a few questions for him anyway.
“I’m on thin ice with half the people in town,” Wade added. “Mrs. Tankle included, but that’s because she doesn’t really know me.”
“We all know you, Wade. We’ve seen you naked.” I took a deep breath. “Now, why are you here? If you’re fighting with Joy, coming here was a stupid move because she might show up at any second. So she must not know what you’re so worried about.”
“Yet.” Wade cleared his throat and abandoned his search for junk food. He dropped onto my couch and rubbed his sunburned forehead. “Essie, you might be the only one who can help me. And I know Joy listens to you.”
“What did you do?” I raised my eyebrows, remembering how nervous he’d been to propose to my sister for the second time. Wade wasn’t a bad guy. He just made horrible choices sometimes, and I hoped that he hadn’t done something that would send my sister over the edge. Joy switched to psycho-mode when she lost her temper. The kind of psycho-mode that involved flying pots and pans and mysterious car dents.
“It’s not what you think.”
“Good. Because my first thought was that you hooked up with some out-of-towner after one of your mine tours.”
“It’s worse,” he said.
I sat down next to him.
“My condolences.” I patted Wade on the back. “I doubt you’ll last the night.”
“Come on, Essie.” He scratched the side of his scruffy chin. “You know how much I love your sister. I’m not on a walk of shame here. This is about last night at the bar.”
“Wade, you’re not the first guy to get in a fight at the Grizzly. The sheriff—”
“I can’t trust the sheriff,” he interrupted. “There might be eavesdroppers at the police station.” His chest heaved, and his jaw tightened. Seeing Wade nervous was a rare occurrence. The last time was when he’d married my sister for the second time. He’d been too drunk at their first wedding to give the importance of his vows much thought.
Miso jumped into his lap, breaking up some of the tension.
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” I suggested. “Tell me what happened last night.”
“I stayed late at the mine,” Wade replied. “The boss makes us do daily inventory now at the gift shop. That tommy really screwed everything up for us.”
“Ralph might have stolen from you, but he did save my life,” I pointed out.
“Whatever.” Wade ran his fingers along Miso’s mane. “I closed the gift shop and stopped at the Grizzly for a drink like I always do. Joy doesn’t mind. She was still at the resort. And, of course, the guy pouring my beer had to be Dalton Dillweed.”
“I think it’s Digwood,” I corrected him.
“Yeah, we call him Dillweed.” Wade rubbed another area of stubble near his mouth—the beginnings of a beard he’d most likely started growing just to bother my sister. “He told me I owed him two hundred and fifty bucks for dinging his car door last week. I told him a seventy-five Pinto was nothing to fuss about, and that’s when he went for the hair.”
I tried to hold back laughter. “He pulled your hair?”
“No.” Wade narrowed his eyes as he looked at me. “Essie, this wasn’t a chick fight. I mean he insulted the ponytail. Why do people always have to go for the ponytail? I can understand a man bun, but a ponytail is completely different. Back me up on this.”
“As someone who has worn her hair in both a ponytail and a bun, I’m here to tell you that they’re the same,” I said.
“Essie, a man bun is like a turd growing on the back of a dude’s head.”
“Does this story end in violence?” I resisted the urge to smooth the pieces of frizz near my ears. “Just skip to that part.”
“The insults escalated,” Wade explained. “I won’t repeat the things Dalton said because they would make your ears bleed. Then he walked out to the parking lot to show me the damage I did to his car and . . . there’s a chance I made it worse.”
“Wade,” I scolded him. “How bad?”
“The guy swung at me.” He shrugged. “He missed, and I took it out on his piece of crap on wheels. I did the polite thing. I didn’t pummel his face.”
“And then you left?”
Wade hung his head and nodded. “Yeah. I hightailed it out of there.”
“That’s quite the story.” I folded my arms, wondering the best way to break the news to Cydney. If the sheriff didn’t find a faulty gun thrown into the mix, then Wade was going to be in big trouble. “But you might luck out of this one. The most likely scenario here is that someone forgot to load their gun with blanks. My money is on Old Man Simpkins.”
“No.” Wade shook his head. “Booney told me that they all check each other’s guns at least three times. Rule of threes. How could all of them have missed that?”
“One of them could have grabbed the wrong gun?” I said, searching for a logical solution in my head. But the only explanation I came up with was a series of unlikely events leading up to a loaded gun being waved freely around Canyon Street.
“Nope.” Wade rubbed his eyes again. “Man, I can’t believe this is happening. Maybe I’m just crazy.”
“There’s more?”
“I wish there wasn’t,” he answered. Miso jumped off of his lap as he stood up and began pacing around the living room. His work boots clanged on the wood floor, and I spotted a few mud stains on his jeans. The stains reminded me of the countless times Joy had ranted about the trail of dirty laundry that seemed to follow Wade wherever he went.
Wade stopped at the window, holding his hands above his head and touching two spots close to my ceiling.
“I keep meaning to buy a new curtain rod—”
“I keep it high above the fireplace,” he stated with his back toward me. Miso wagged his tail, joining Wade near the window. “I swear it was there yesterday when I left for work
in the morning.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My hunting rifle,” he answered. “I noticed the empty space on my wall this morning. I get chills just thinking about it.”
“Maybe Joy moved it?” I threw the idea out there knowing that it wasn’t a likely one. My sister wasn’t a fan of guns. Wade’s hunting rifle was one of their compromises. He’d used it to shoot his first deer. In exchange, Joy got an extra closet all to herself.
“She didn’t,” he assured me. “Someone took it, Essie. Some scumbag broke into my house and stole it. And now that dillweed from the bar is dead. Don’t you see what’s going on here? Someone’s setting me up.”
I flexed the muscles in my torso, finding it hard to breathe normally as I processed Wade’s theory. Killing Dalton the bartender didn’t make sense. He didn’t seem like much of a threat. He’d been no one of importance. But, unfortunately, Wade’s theory did make sense.
But I couldn’t let myself jump to conclusions.
“There’s still a chance that this was all some horrific mistake,” I told him. “The police will have answers soon enough. In the meantime, you should report your missing gun to the sheriff.”
“So he can pin the whole thing on me, no thanks.” Wade practically scowled at my suggestion.
“Sheriff Williams is smarter than he looks.”
“And what if they find my gun, huh? What if it was used to kill Dillweed? Then what?” He tugged his ponytail—something he reserved for times when he was too upset to think straight. “No one will let me off the hook for conveniently reporting the murder weapon missing the very same day. Especially not after that fight last night. I’ll be charged with murder. There’s no doubt in my mind.”
“One step at a time, Wade. If you jump too far ahead, your brain will explode. Trust me. It’s like marathon training. You have to focus on one phase of the race at a time.” I did what I could to keep a smile on my face. I’m bad at this.
“I didn’t come here for your organic voodoo talk. I came here because you’re you.”
“There’s no black magic involved when it comes to exercise.”
“Joy is right about you,” Wade continued. “You notice things that other people don’t. You have to help me find my rifle. It’s out there somewhere just waiting for the police to pick it up. I feel it in my bones.”
“Okay,” I agreed. “I mean, I’ll keep my eyes open but chances are you just misplaced it, and this whole shootout incident was just a sad accident. The sheriff won’t throw you behind bars for no reason. Don’t you worry.”
“Oh, it’s not the police I’m worried about.” Wade crossed his arms, showing off a set of full biceps. His eyes softened as he glanced down at Miso and then back up at me. “It’s your sister. I promised her no more screw-ups. She makes me crazy, but I can’t lose her. Not again.”
Chapter 5
My feet hit the pavement as I ran down Canyon Street and toward a dirt trail that looped around Lake Loxley. Miso trotted by my side, and I clutched his leash praying we wouldn’t see any deer or bighorn sheep. Miso couldn’t contain himself when it came to bighorn sheep. Last time I rubbed my hands raw gripping his leash to stop him from giving chase.
Morning jogs were something I loved about the warmer months in Bison Creek. The sun hitting my face and the ocean-blue sky never failed to lift my spirits when I was feeling anxious. Saturday had come and gone. Before I knew it, I’d be walking up the front steps of the Jayes’ residence and joining them for Sunday dinner. Sometimes I swore Patrick’s parents still saw me as the chubby little girl who lived down the street. My memories of the Jaye family moving into town always made me smile. They’d relocated from Alabama, and Joy and I used to find excuses to knock on their door just to hear their southern accents. Buford and Anne still had them, but they were mild compared to Patrick’s aunt Clementine. Spending most of his childhood in Bison Creek, Patrick didn’t have an accent. But he’d inherited the urge to walk around town shirtless or barefoot. Sometimes both. His habit had earned him the nickname Bama Boy at school.
I took a deep breath as I approached Lake Loxley. It was surrounded by jagged mountains, and the water was so still it looked like glass. When it froze in the winter, the locals gathered to race all sorts of vehicles across its slippery surface. Ice racing was a tradition the tourists couldn’t get enough of and the only requirement was a helmet and snow tires.
“Glad to see you out and about.” A familiar voice interrupted my jog.
Mim Duvall kept her eyes on Miso as she knelt down and cooed. She was the owner of Bone Appétit Pet Grooming, the only groomer for miles. She also tended to speak to animals as if they were humans and to humans as if they were wild animals. At least she’s not wearing that vest that looks like it was knitted with golden retriever hair.
“Mim,” I said, “nice to see you.”
“Look at you out for a run,” Mim continued to say to Miso. “Make sure you drink plenty of water when you get home.” She scratched his floppy ears. “Looks like you could do with a good bath as well.” Mim finally directed her attention to me. “Mom?”
“You were booked last week,” I responded. “You took all of those clients from Silverwood after that pipe busted, remember?”
“All right, no need to get worked up about it.” A light breeze swirled through her frizzy updo. She glanced down at my dog. “I got this, Miso. Adulting is hard for your mama sometimes.”
“So, I’ll give you a call.” I pulled Miso away from her, avoiding the subject that always seemed to come up when I chatted with Mim. Or rather, when Mim chatted with Miso.
“I noticed the way Miso pulls on his leash,” she blurted out. “You know, there’s a great obedience training course in Silverwood that’s accepting new students.”
And there it is.
“Thank you, Mim. We’re working on it.”
“Uh-huh.” She scratched her arm, staring at the way Miso continued to pull me closer to the lake. “Hey, did you hear about what happened in town yesterday? So sad.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I’m sure the news will travel all the way to Denver. Hopefully, it won’t affect tourism too much.”
“I meant the break-in at Oso Cantina,” Mim said plainly. “The intruder left the door open, and little Tamale escaped. I tried talking to Mrs. Santos's daughter Tina about posting flyers on Canyon Street, but she wasn’t very helpful. Must have been the shock of losing him. He’s pretty slow though. I doubt he made it far.”
“I didn’t know the Santos had a family pet.”
“A bulldog,” Mim said. “Yep.” She checked her watch and walked off with a bounce in her step.
“Bye.” I didn’t bother waving.
Miso’s tongue hung out as he happily regained speed alongside me. My stomach churned just thinking about my upcoming evening with Patrick’s family. The two of us enjoyed each other’s company, and we’d been avoiding the subject of marriage and engagements altogether. Patrick had been engaged once before, and it had ended badly. I didn’t know what sort of future awaited the two of us, but I still felt the need to people please my possible future in-laws.
The faster I ran, the more my mind seemed to be at ease.
Until Miso stopped abruptly and I almost lost hold of his leash altogether.
He bared his teeth, keeping his eye on something in the distance.
The hairs on the back of my head stood straight up. It could be a moose. A black bear. A mountain lion waiting to pounce. My muscles tensed as I looked into the distance and saw a man casually strolling toward us. His scruffy beard and cigarette gave him away.
“Okay, Miso,” I muttered. “We can go a different way.”
I turned around.
I’d promised the sheriff I wouldn’t mingle with his little brother, Ralph.
I was a woman of my word.
* * *
I stood on the Jayes’ front porch admiring the wooden letter J hanging on the door. Mrs. Jaye had painted i
t red to match her flower boxes. A color I’d later realized matched their favorite college football team. I rang the doorbell and looked down at my shoes. No matter how many years had passed since I was that overweight high-schooler with dodgy self-esteem, Patrick still made me nervous. Picking the right outfit for Sunday night dinner had felt like choosing the right dress for prom.
I hated my prom.
Finally, I’d settled for dark wash jeans and a collared button-down that matched the powder blue shade of my flats. It wasn’t particularly dressy, but it wasn’t too casual. It also didn’t show off my bits and pieces, as Joy sometimes put it. It was a conservative choice that happened to flatter my toned arms. And with my hair styled down in loose curls, I hoped Patrick would like it too.
A cloud of floral perfume engulfed me as the door swung open and Patrick’s aunt Clementine hugged me. Her larger than life personality never failed to chip away at the tension in my shoulders. Her lemon yellow blouse matched her dangly earrings, and a set of long, acrylic nails dug into my biceps.
“Essie, I haven’t seen you in a while,” she exclaimed, showing off her sparkly nails. Her southern accent rolled off her tongue like an avalanche on Pinecliffe Mountain. “Can you believe the salon had a polish called Clementine? I couldn’t help myself.”
“They look great and so do you.”
“It must be the warmer weather. I’m a happy camper when I’m wearing open-toed shoes. I also might have lost a few pounds.” She turned around, sucking in her gut as much as she could. I smiled. She looked smaller, but most of all, she looked happier. “Ever since I went gluten-free, I feel like a whole new woman. My guests at the inn don’t mind it either. In fact, I get lots of compliments for having gluten-free options on the breakfast menu.” She grabbed my hand and led me into the living room. “Come on in. Dinner is almost ready, and Annie Mae made her famous Mississippi Mud Bites for dessert. Don’t worry, I made a flourless chocolate cake for myself, so I wouldn’t feel left out.”