Cold Case at Cardwell Ranch & Boots and Bullets

by B. J Daniels

  Researching the history of the Hell and Gone Bar turned out not to be as hard as she’d thought it would be. She found that the place was named after what had once been an old mining town in the middle of Montana, miles from anything else. Ella had never heard of it—or the bar’s owner, a woman named Helen Mandeville. But the article she’d first stumbled on had painted quite a picture of the bar and what was left of the town.

  “It’s one of those bars that you know right away when you walk in is dangerous, with dangerous characters,” the travel writer had written. “I was told that more than half of the people who frequent the bar have at least one outstanding warrant. It’s a true example of how the Wild West is still alive in middle-of-nowhere Montana.”

  Ella was sure it was the same place in her mother’s photographs. But why would Stacy go there?

  “The bar had once been the true center of this small mining town, aptly named Hell and Gone, Montana,” the author continued. “Now the town is little more than a wide spot on a two-lane, miles from any other community, the iron ore that had given it birth having run out long ago.”

  “If it wasn’t for the bar, Hell and Gone would have dried up and blown away years ago,” the bar owner had been quoted as saying.

  What about this place had drawn Stacy all these years?

  Ella had always suspected there was a secret man in her mother’s life. A man so unacceptable that Stacy hadn’t dared bring him to the ranch. Instead, she’d sneak off a few days here and there to be with him. Was that the case?

  Early the next morning, she called Nora Cline, hoping the woman was an early riser like her mother. Nora answered on the second ring, sounding wide-awake.

  “Have you ever heard of a place called Hell and Gone?” The woman’s silence made Ella realize that she had. “My mother must have mentioned it.”

  “Jokingly, one time when we had too much to drink,” Nora said. “Are you telling me it’s an actual place?”

  “Apparently. What did she say about it?”

  “I’m trying to remember. I can’t even remember what we were talking about. Life, I suppose. She said she’d been to Hell and Gone, and then laughed. Then she began to cry. We’d had way too much to drink that night. What she said after that didn’t make a lot of sense. But I got the impression there was some man in her life she hadn’t been able to get over.”

  “Is it possible he’s in Hell and Gone?” Ella asked.

  “If it’s a real place, then that would make sense,” Nora said. “But you shouldn’t go alone. If your mother is in trouble, it might be dangerous.”

  “I won’t be going alone,” Ella said, thinking of Waco Johnson. “I’ll have a homicide detective following me.”

  * * *

  Waco was up before the sun after a restless night. Everything he’d learned since seeing the bones in the bottom of the well and meeting the Hanover family had haunted his dreams. The PI he’d hired to watch the ranch had let him know that Ella hadn’t gone anywhere. Yet. Waco didn’t believe for a moment that she’d given up on finding her mother.

  As soon as the post office opened, he stopped to see if his package had arrived. It had. Inside the padded manila envelope was a key in an evidence bag. The key looked old and much larger than he’d expected. He had no idea what it might belong to. He wondered if Stacy knew. But first he’d have to find her.

  He still believed that Ella would take him to her. All his instincts told him that she would keep searching until she found her. So he wasn’t surprised this morning, when he relieved the PI, that he didn’t have to wait long before he saw the woman’s pickup coming out of the ranch.

  He smiled to himself as he watched her turn onto Highway 191 and head north. Where were they going today? He couldn’t wait to find out. He’d sensed that she was like him. Once Ella got her teeth into something, she didn’t let go.

  She went straight at the Four Corners instead of turning right and heading into Bozeman. She made a beeline for I-90 and then headed west.

  Waco settled in, keeping a few vehicles between them. He had a lot to mull over. Everything he’d learned about Stacy so far had led him to believe that she was quite capable of murder—especially given what he now knew about Marvin Hanover. She might even get a reduced sentence for killing the bastard.

  But what about the money? If there really was a fortune somewhere. This key might hold the answer. If someone hadn’t already gotten to it and spent every dime. From what Waco knew of Stacy Cardwell, she had left the marriage with ten thousand dollars, which had lasted only until she’d given birth to her daughter a few years later.

  When she’d returned to Cardwell Ranch, she’d had a baby to raise. Was that why she’d returned to the ranch and never left? If she’d killed Marvin, then she obviously hadn’t gotten the key. Why not?

  The key was a puzzle. How had it ended up at the bottom of the well with Marvin if that was what the killer was after? If he’d kept it around his neck, why hadn’t the killer taken it before knocking him into the well? Or had the killer tried to take it and failed. But if the killer knew the key was at the bottom of the well, wouldn’t he or she have tried to climb down there to retrieve it over the years?

  He had too many questions. He suspected Stacy had a lot of those answers.

  Ahead, he saw Ella turn north off the interstate. With luck, it wouldn’t be long now.

  * * *

  Marshal Hud Savage had seen the worry in his wife’s eyes. Her sister had put her through hell, but for years had been relatively stable. Except for those times when Stacy would disappear. Dana, fine with not knowing where her sister went, had begged him not to interfere.

  Now he wished he had. Maybe then he’d have some clue as to how much trouble his sister-in-law was in. Stacy had had a few scrapes with the law, but nothing that landed her in jail or even resulted in a record. Her marriages, though, had been recorded, starting with her first to a man named Emery Gordon.

  It didn’t take long to find Emery and his home overlooking Bozeman. Hud knew he was clutching at straws interviewing Stacy’s husbands. But he had to start somewhere. Stacy had been divorced from Emery for years. Still, as he stood on the man’s front stoop, he could only hope that Gordon might know where she went when she disappeared.

  Emery, then twenty-six, had married seventeen-year-old Stacy. On her marriage certificate it stated that she was twenty-one—no doubt she’d used a fake ID she’d picked up somewhere. Hud wondered why she’d been in such a hurry to marry—let alone to marry Emery at such a young age—except for the fact that the man must have been a way out. Also, Emery’s family had money.

  Hud rang the doorbell and heard the chimes echo inside the house to a classical song he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He’d grown up on Western boot-scootin’ music.

  A woman opened the door, complete with uniform. “May I help you?”

  “I’d like to speak with Emery Gordon, please,” the marshal said, flashing his badge.

  The woman’s eyes momentarily widened before she nodded and said, “Please, come this way.” She led him into a den. “Mr. Gordon will be right with you. Please have a seat.”

  Hud thanked her, looking around the well-appointed room without sitting. A few moments later, a man some years older than Hud came into the room and apologized for making him wait.

  Like his home, Emery Gordon was dressed impeccably. While Hud doubted anyone had ever called the man handsome, he wore his age well.

  “Can I offer you something to drink, Marshal?”

  He declined. “I need to ask you about Stacy.”

  “Stacy?” Emery seemed surprised as he motioned to the set of leather chairs. “Please, have a seat, although this probably won’t take long. Stacy and I were married less than a year many years ago.”

  They sat. The chairs were angled so that they almost faced each other. The den was warm and sm
elled rich with leather and the faint hint of bourbon.

  “If you don’t mind, why did the marriage last such a short time?” Hud asked. “I know she lied about her age when the two of you eloped.” He suspected she’d lied about a whole lot more. He was uncomfortable with such personal questions and wouldn’t have been surprised if the man told him it was none of his business.

  But if Emery Gordon was offended, he didn’t show it. “I don’t mind at all. Stacy is your sister-in-law?” Hud nodded. “Do you mind telling me why you’re inquiring about something that happened so long ago?”

  “Stacy is missing. I’m trying to find her, which means prying into her past for answers.” He didn’t want to tell the man that she was wanted for questioning in the murder of one of her other husbands. He feared all that would come out soon enough—probably in the newspapers when she was arrested.

  “I see. Then what I have to tell you shouldn’t come as a surprise. She swept me off my feet. She had a way about her...” Emery seemed lost in the past. He shook himself back to the present. “The truth is, she married me for my money. When she found out that most of it was tied up in a trust that I couldn’t touch until I was forty-five, she bailed and took what money she could. I’d like to say that I regretted the time I had with her.” Emery smiled. “I can’t. Even eight months with Stacy was worth the expense, the embarrassment and the painful lesson she taught me.”

  “I’m sorry. I hated to bring it up, but I was hoping you might know where she went next.”

  Emery laughed. “To whom, you mean? You’re welcome to talk to him. At the time, he was my best friend. Now he’s Congressman Todd Bellingham. He lives outside of Helena.”

  “Stacy...” Hud wasn’t sure how to form the question.

  “Todd didn’t marry her, but it still almost cost him his marriage and our friendship. He might not want to talk about it.”

  Hud had taken off his Stetson and balanced it on his knee. Now he picked it up by the brim and rose. “Thank you for your candor.”

  “Not at all,” Emery said, rising, as well. “You’ve brought back some interesting memories, some I actually cherish. Stacy was a wild child back then. I thought I’d heard that she’d changed. Doesn’t she have a daughter?”

  “Yes. Ella, who’s a beautiful, smart, capable young woman with a good head on her shoulders. Nothing like her mother,” Hud said, thankful for that.

  “I hope you find Stacy.” For a moment, Emery looked genuinely worried that something bad had happened to her.

  “Me, too,” Hud said, more worried than Emery Gordon could know—and not just about Stacy.

  Ella had no idea what she was getting into. But he knew she was determined to track down her mother. Hud suspected that if Stacy had killed Marvin Hanover, then she’d gone to someone from her past whom she thought could help her. Someone dangerous. And Ella was headed straight for it.

  * * *

  Hours later, Ella looked around the wide-open, sage-covered country. She’d driven a narrow two-lane north for miles, reminding her just how large Montana really was. With each mile, the population counts had dropped considerably. Cows had given way to coyotes as the land became more inhospitable, the highways even more narrow and less traveled. What was a bar doing out here in such an isolated place?

  She knew the answer to that. Want to disappear? Go to Hell and Gone Bar. That was what the writer of the article had suggested. And her mother might have done just that.

  Buildings began to take shape on the edge of the horizon. The closer she got, she saw what little remained of the once-thriving mining town. Ella slowed on the edge of the community. The few remaining structures looked abandoned.

  As she drove slowly through the town, she saw that the hotel still stood, its sign hanging by one hinge. Across the worn stretch of narrow pavement, she could see a neon beer sign glowing in a window and an almost-indistinguishable hand-printed faded sign that read Hell and Gone. That was the only indication that there was a bar inside. That and the four pickups parked out front. None of the trucks had the Cardwell Ranch logo on the side, although Ella couldn’t be sure her mother was even still driving the ranch pickup.

  A few empty building lots beyond the hotel, there was an abandoned Texaco station, its serve-yourself gas pumps rusting away. Past that, nothing but a dark ribbon of pavement forged its way through more sagebrush before disappearing in the distance.

  After the town ended abruptly, she turned around and drove back through it, even more slowly. Across from the bar she noticed a tiny general store with dust-coated windows. Hand-printed signs in the window advertised sandwiches, mineral rocks and muck boots.

  But Ella was more interested in the bar and its owner, Helen Mandeville. She took the first street past it and drove around the block. There were some small older houses, most in desperate need of repair and paint. But directly behind the bar on the dirt street, she spotted an attached house that appeared to have been painted in the past decade. There were flowers in the front yard. The house looked so out of place among the other buildings around it, Ella knew it had to belong to the bar’s owner.

  She kept driving, aware that Waco was right behind her in his SUV. Detective Waco Johnson had been following her for miles. She hadn’t even bothered to try to lose him—not that she was sure she could. Now that she was here, she wasn’t that sorry to see him still with her, given that this town looked like the kind of place where a person on the run would come—and disappear whether she wanted to or not.

  But if Ella wanted to find her mother, she worried that no one in this town would talk to her with a cop on her tail. Getting rid of him could be a problem.

  She pulled in and parked next to one of the pickups in front of the bar. Was her mother here? Because of some lost love? Or was she simply on the run from her past mistakes, especially this big one? Ella couldn’t imagine her mother in this town for any reason—other than knowing she could hide here and no one would give her up, especially to the cops.

  But then, that would mean Stacy had good reason to fear the law, wouldn’t it?

  * * *

  Waco was at the point that he thought Ella Cardwell was merely taking him on a long wild-goose chase when he’d spotted buildings on the horizon. Way ahead of him, he saw her brake lights. He’d thought she’d only slowed for what appeared to be some sort of dying town.

  But then she’d driven through it and turned around and headed back. By the time he’d reached the edge of town, she was parking her truck next to four others in front of what appeared to be a bar.

  He slowed. She hadn’t tried to lose him. He watched her park and get out of her truck. By the time he pulled in, she was headed for the weathered, discolored wood door next to the neon beer sign.

  She didn’t seem like the sort who suddenly needed a drink. Nor did this look like the kind of place a young woman alone would choose to enter for a beverage. He could see the broken beer bottles and other garbage on each side of the front door. Everything about the place looked rough, he thought as he shut off his engine and got out. It was definitely the kind of place an officer of the law should avoid—especially one alone with little chance of getting any backup.

  But all that aside, including the fact that Ella wasn’t going to appreciate him being there, he couldn’t let her go in there alone. The heavy weathered door groaned as he pushed it open. He was instantly hit with the smell of stale beer, old grease and floor cleaner. He caught sight of someone standing at a grill behind the bar, a spatula in his hand. He heard the sizzle of meat frying on the griddle and the clank of pool balls knocking together, followed by hard-core cussing in the back. Over all of it, country twang poured from the old jukebox.

  Waco blinked in the cavern-like darkness as the door closed behind him with a solid thud. Ella was standing only a few feet inside. A half dozen men of varying ages had turned on their bar stools to stare at her. Another fo
ur were at the pool table, their game momentarily suspended as they took in the strangers who’d just walked in.

  All of the men were staring at Ella, except for the ones who were leering. She’d definitely caught everyone’s attention. Another song began on the jukebox to the sizzle of whatever was near burning on the grill. Otherwise, the place had now fallen drop-dead quiet as the four men in the back leaned on their pool sticks and stared.

  Waco only had a few seconds to decide what to do. He stepped up behind Ella and said loud enough for the men to hear, “Honey, let’s sit in a booth.” There were several sorry-looking booths against the wall to their left.

  At the sound of his voice, she started and half turned, making him realize that she hadn’t noticed him enter behind her. He took her arm before she could resist. “What would you like to drink?”

  They were here now—best to act as normal as possible. These were the kinds of bars that a fight could break out in at a moment’s notice—and usually for no good reason other than the patrons were drunk and bored. Between him and Ella, Waco feared he’d given them an even better reason.

  She glared at him but let him lead her over to the booth. “Bottle of beer. I don’t need a glass,” she said, those green eyes snapping as they telegraphed anger to cover what he suspected might be just a little relief at not being alone in this place.

  “Wise decision,” he said quietly. This wasn’t the cleanest establishment he’d ever been in. Walking over to the bar, he nodded at the men sitting along the row of stools. They were now staring at him with way too much distrust.

  The bartender, a heavyset man with an out-of-control beard, took his time coming down the length of the bar. “You lost?” he asked quietly. The pool game had resumed with a lot of loud ball smacking followed by even louder curses.