Sinister

by Nancy Bush

  Ira raked a hand through his silver hair. “I thought we agreed that we would have the wedding here. We got the biggest house in all of Prairie Creek.”

  “For the reception, Ira. That’s what we planned. But I couldn’t possibly stage the ceremony here, too. Where would we seat people? There’s no aisle for my train.”

  Cutting into her meat, Ricki wondered why her father was attracted to a woman with the same emotional maturity as her fourteen-year-old daughter.

  “How about the front staircase?” Sabrina suggested. “I always thought that would make a pretty entrance for a bride.”

  Pilar waved her off. “My gown was perfect in the church, but I can’t wear it on that staircase. It’ll snag at every turn.”

  “Screw the staircase …” Ira said. “You don’t need an aisle to make a wedding legal. We’re having it here.”

  “But we don’t have the staff to switch over from rows of seating to tables and chairs, and …” Pilar pressed trembling lips together as she reached for her ever-present glass of champagne, an affectation that began the same time as the wedding plans and looked to be developing into a habit. “I can’t do this on my own. I knew I should have hired that wedding consultant from Jackson.”

  “Well, hire her now,” Ira said.

  “I can’t. She’s booked eight months out.”

  “Then hire someone else.”

  “Don’t you see? There is no one.”

  Ricki’s patience was tapped out, especially when she thought about Kit, waiting for new life in the stables after she’d just lost her mother. Meanwhile, here was Pilar boohooing about her disrupted wedding plans. In the next few days, when the medical examiner released Mia’s body, there would be a funeral to plan. Now that was something to cry over.

  Ricki let Pilar whimper and whine until she could stand no more. “Here’s an idea. Delilah’s coming tomorrow,” she said. “She’s done event planning before.” Delilah had called and let her know she was on her way, though she wouldn’t be thrilled that Ricki had nominated her to the whole family.

  Colton scowled at her as he chewed.

  Nope, Ricki thought. Not thrilled at all.

  “Aunt Delilah’s coming?” Brooklyn’s eyes brightened. “Can she stay with us, Mom?”

  “We’ll see,” Ricki said, turning around to Pilar, who was sitting back now, changing tack. “Delilah’s got the know-how to pull this wedding off in six days, and do a good job of it, too. Besides, everyone else is on their way. Nell’s flying in and Tyler and Jen are bringing the kids. If you’re going to get married, you’d best do it while family is here.”

  Pilar sipped her champagne, considering. Well, at least the whimpering had stopped.

  Ira turned to his bride. “I’ll call Delilah after dinner, get her thinking about it. That way she can hit the ground running.”

  “She’s always had an eye for design,” Pilar said grudgingly.

  “Yup.” Ricki wiped her mouth and put her napkin on the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get into town and meet with Sam.” She picked up her plate and pointed to Brooklyn. “Stay here at the main lodge until I get back, okay? I won’t be long.”

  Snow whispered over his shoulders as he held the binoculars to his face and warmed to the scene beyond the wide windows of the mansion. A family gathering, all the Dillingers basking in the warm yellow light of the big dining room. Such a handsome family Ira Dillinger had there, but no one was crying for Mia Collins? How quickly they forgot the dearly departed.

  Although dangerously close to the lodge, he was well hidden in darkness while they moved like actors on a stage, on display for him to dissect with his eyes.

  One at a time, one at a time, he reminded himself. He didn’t want to get greedy and ruin the plan. And while the flock might be hard to control, it was so easy to bring a single lamb to the slaughter.

  Reaching into the pocket of his pants, he fingered the sharp edges of the teeth. His charms. Mia’s tooth had been harder to extract; surprisingly deep roots for such a shallow person. But he had it now, a fat molar to round out his collection.

  He studied the women behind the window and wondered who would be the next. As his hand moved down, he felt the erection jutted up near the clicking teeth. Smiling, he seared his sharp eyes through to the women in the display case.

  Pilar Larson, Ira’s prize, with round breasts and the black hair of a vixen. He would do evil things to her, and she would lap up every abuse like a thirsty cat. Ricki, the tough one, strong and fierce as her flaming red hair, moved into the kitchen. He would have her moving under him like a sleek gazelle. Sabrina, the sunshiny vet. It would be easy to trap her in the shadowy barn one night, press her into the corner until she squealed like a pig.

  And then there were the young ones. Kit, the missing one, the wild child who would submit to his glimmering blade. And Brook, a kitten-girl, a rosebud ready to be plucked. Would young blood be sweeter?

  He would find out. He would have his taste.

  Fat flakes danced in the air as Ricki pulled into the parking lot at the office. She hoped this new snow wouldn’t be a problem for her sisters, both flying in tomorrow.

  “Hey, there, Ricki.” In his white suspenders and red Henley shirt, Chet Norcross looked like Father Christmas himself.

  “Merry Christmas,” Ricki said, remembering Chet as Mr. Norcross, her high school civics teacher. “You’re looking festive.”

  The dispatcher adjusted the mouthpiece of the cordless device sprouting from his thick, snow-white hair and beard. “My wife and I are big fans of Christmas, and I like to play up the Santa angle.” His chair swiveled toward her and she saw that he had gained weight over the years. Yup, that belly was like a bowlful of jelly. “Welcome to our little family. I heard you hit the ground running, already supervised a search party out on the prairie.”

  “I did. I was hoping to bring Sam … the sheriff, up to speed on it. Is he around?”

  “Back in his office. I think he’s been working the case nonstop since the fire last night. Maybe you can talk some sense into him, get him to sleep. We got a room with some bunks in the back if he really can’t tear himself away.”

  Ricki knew how a homicide could drive a person day and night, fill your thoughts and haunt your dreams. “I don’t think I have any sway with him, but we’ll see.” The precinct was quiet, with lights off in the break room and interrogation room. She headed down the hall and knocked on Sam’s half-open door. “Sheriff?”

  His head was down, resting on folded arms. Knowing Sam, he had to be near exhaustion to pass out at his desk. She stood there for a moment, longing to smooth down his dark hair and massage his shoulders. The instinct was more maternal than sexual, but the sexual part definitely was there, too.

  “Just resting my eyes,” he said without moving.

  “You might want to consider resting your eyes back in the bunk room … or even at home, where you can get decent sleep. Fuel the brain. Keep the pistons firing.”

  He lifted his head, his eyes half-closed. “Too much going on.” Straightening, he sat tall, looking professional once again in his navy fleece. “So Kit showed you some caves, where he seemed to be hiding out. Tell me about it.”

  “That’s pretty scary—you snapping out of sleep to the facts of the case.” She took a seat in the chair facing his desk. “Do you always do that?”

  “I don’t always have two homicides to solve. So tell me about the caves.”

  “Colt and I knew the general location, of course. Davis, too. But Kit knew exactly how to find the paths, even with the snow. She told us she’s used the caves for shelter at times, but not recently. Said she’s been staying in a little shed in the woods since the snow started. That maintenance shed down by the creek.” Ricki immediately felt anxious. Kit had spurned Ricki’s attempts to help her, but she couldn’t help worrying about her. “One of the caves had signs that it had been used recently,” she went on. “A fire ring. Bloodstains, which might be animal. And
a deer carcass, partly skinned with its throat slashed.”

  Sam rubbed his chin, dark with stubble. She’d bet that he really hadn’t gone home all day. “Maybe a hunter used the cave?”

  “And left his prize deer there? I don’t know any hunter in this area that would leave behind enough meat to feed his family for a year. And when I mentioned how it was carved up that way, partially skinned, Sabrina and Colton said something about a coyote that had been skinned and abandoned on the Rocking D. Did you hear about that?”

  “No, but ranchers kill coyotes and mountain lions all the time.”

  “But this was different. Skinned like the other corpses. Sabrina took it in to her lab for a closer look and she said someone had even cut out a tooth.”

  Sam squinted at her. “A tooth?”

  When she nodded, he turned to his monitor and started clicking the mouse. “Then we have a pattern here,” he said grimly. “The preliminary report from the ME showed that crude tooth extractions were performed on Barstow and Collins. In Mia’s case, it was a molar and the killer had to dig deep.”

  Adrenaline tingled in her veins—a mixture of “aha” and horror—as she jumped up and leaned over his desk to view the report. “He’s taking a tooth, one from each of his victims.”

  “That assumes that Barstow and Collins were killed by the same person who skinned the coyote and deer,” he said.

  “Well?”

  He ran his knuckles over his chin and nodded. “Seems likely.”

  “I started to suspect this when I saw that Barstow and Collins were carved up in the same way. But now, with these animals and the missing teeth, I feel him breathing down our necks. He’s out there, Sam. We’ve got a serial killer in Prairie Creek. A twisted one, with some wicked knife skills.”

  “Those teeth …”

  “They’re trophies. Trinkets. Maybe he keeps them in jars. Maybe he’s stringing them into a necklace.”

  Sam let out a heavy breath. “Lot of folks in these parts know how to skin and quarter an animal. It’s a matter of survival. But this guy’s an expert.”

  “Not just experienced. Trained. When I saw Mia Collins all carved up, it made me think of my biology class at Wyoming State. You know, in the lab when they slice off a cat’s skin and pin it back. Those perfect cuts so you can see the muscles and bone …”

  “Maybe a surgeon, or taxidermist,” he suggested.

  “Or a butcher. A meat cutter knows anatomy … and talk about knife skills.”

  “Maybe he’s just passing through. Serial killers wander.”

  “Maybe,” Ricki agreed. Neither one of them said anything for a moment. Looking at him, Ricki felt a surge of energy. Tossing out ideas with Sam got her mind spinning, her investigative juices flowing. They were on the same wavelength.

  He pulled out a notepad. “Let’s get a list of possibles. Persons of interest. Surgeons, doctors, butchers …”

  “Does Clyde Denowski still do taxidermy?” she asked.

  “He’s the only one that I know of within a hundred miles.”

  “And how about Dodge Miller? He used to have that expensive butcher shop off Main Street.”

  “Had to close. With the bad economy, people couldn’t afford expensive cuts of meat at his prices. Most people buy their meat at that wholesale store in Lander.”

  “So what happened to Dodge?”

  “He’s working at the wholesale store now, always complains about it when I see him. Hates the drive out to Lander.”

  “Maybe we should talk to him,” Ricki said.

  Sam was nodding. “First thing tomorrow.” He stretched and yawned. “I’d do it now, but most people don’t take kindly to having the sheriff drop in this late at night. That’s okay. I’ve got to go over these reports more closely.”

  “Let me know when the information comes back from forensics,” Ricki said.

  “Will do. It could be that the place was used by some hunters, but from the smell, I don’t think so. I wouldn’t be surprised if our killer moves from place to place, staying ahead of anyone who might be out there. Those acres are fairly deserted, but you’ve always got stray cattle and ranch hands, as well as the odd wanderer like Kit Dillinger.”

  She thought hard for a moment, knowing she needed to talk to him about her failure to keep Kit contained. “One of these days Kit’s going to have to come back to earth long enough to plan her mother’s funeral. As far as protecting her, it’s not easy. She wants to be near the animals and she’s hanging out at the stables. I can’t get her to come back.”

  “Kit could be the killer’s next target. She’ll be able to roam free again someday, but not right now.”

  “Well, good luck with that. Maybe she’ll believe that if she hears it from you. Or from Davis. She respects him. And he seems really worried about her. There’s something weird there … can’t put my finger on it. Can you ask your brother about it?”

  “Apparently my brother can’t be trusted.”

  “Say what?”

  “I drove out to the Rocking D just after dawn to talk with him. I wanted the names of his recent ranch hands. Routine part of the investigation. He was in a foul mood, but now that I hear about the coyote, I know he’s holding something back. He didn’t say a word about it.”

  Ricki thought back to Davis’s discomfort in the caves. “You need to talk to him again.”

  “I have half a mind to arrest him for obstructing justice.”

  “Spoken as a bossy big brother. I know because I have one.” Her cell phone buzzed in her jacket pocket. “But there comes a point when age is no longer the great dictator.” She glanced at her phone. “It’s Brook. Sorry.” She took the call. “Hey, honey. I’m right in the middle of something.”

  “When are you coming home?” Brook’s voice was shaky.

  Ricki was on her feet. “What’s wrong?”

  “Pilar sent me home. She said I’d be fine if I locked the door. So now I’m here alone with Rudolph and … I thought I heard something out by the woodpile.”

  “Good God.” When Sam looked up, she said tersely, “Pilar booted Brook out and she’s alone at the foreman’s house.” She covered her phone. “She thinks she hears someone outside.”

  Sam leapt up and grabbed his jacket. “Let’s go.”

  Ricki followed him out the door, phone pressed to her ear. “Did you lock the door behind you?” And had she locked the kitchen window? She always opened it when she cooked bacon and she was pretty sure Kit had escaped through it.

  “Of course I did. Why did Pilar do that to me?”

  “I’ll have a talk with her. Do you want to go back to the lodge? I’ll have Grandpa come get you.”

  “No.” Her voice cracked. “I’m too scared to go out in the dark, and I’m not opening the door to anyone.”

  “Okay.” Ricki climbed into Sam’s Jeep, a knot in her throat. She told herself her daughter would probably be fine, that it was merely Brook’s vivid imagination, but her galloping heart wasn’t listening.

  What was the noise that Brook had heard? The sound of him trying to get into the house?

  “I’m on my way,” she said tautly. “Stay on the phone. Just keep talking to me.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  With lights flashing, Sam sped down the state road, ignoring the snow that shimmered in the headlights. As he listened to Ricki’s end of the conversation, he considered the choice words he would have for Pilar Larson, sending Brook out alone after dark when there was a killer at large. Foolish. Irresponsible. Reprehensible.

  He had no patience for people who didn’t take care of their own family. Maybe he wasn’t winning any awards as father of the year, doing the long-distance parenting thing, but he made sure his daughter, Ava, got what she needed. Hearing the strain in Ricki’s voice, he hoped to God Brook was safe. She was priority one.

  And once he was out at the ranch, he’d have some face time with his brother. Davis had been holding back, and Sam wanted to know why. Sam wouldn’t stop
till he cut through to the truth.

  “Stay calm,” Ricki told her daughter. “Try to watch TV. One of those housewife shows.”

  Sam could hear the strain in Ricki’s voice; she was right to worry. The image of bare bone and muscle and skin curling at the edges flashed in his mind, and he tamped it down, focusing on the road.

  “You want to be able to hear if there are any more sounds? That’s actually a good idea. Where are you hiding? The closet. I hear Rudolph there. Yes, I’ve heard those stories of animals that have saved people’s lives. Okay, honey. You just stay put. We’ll be there in a flash.”

  Ricki was still talking with Brook when they came to the turnoff for the Rocking D. He slowed the vehicle as they headed toward the main gates. He could tell Ricki was anxious, but she put up a good front for her daughter.

  The foreman’s cabin in sight, he turned to Ricki and mouthed: “You have a gun?”

  She pressed the phone to her jacket and reached for the small five-shot clipped to her belt. “My off-duty pistol. It’ll scare Brook’s socks off if she sees it.”

  “Then don’t let her see it.” He drew his gun. “I’ll clear the interior with you, then check outside. She said she heard something by the woodpile, right?”

  “Yes. The wood’s stacked under the living room window, on the west side.”

  That pile needed to be moved—too combustible to sit against the house—but they could work on that later.

  “We’re here, honey. I’m just unlocking the door, and Sam and I are going to search the place when we get inside.”

  The door open, they moved in one at a time, pressed against walls, clearing the place, room by room. Standard defensive tactics, and Ricki played them well, like a seasoned dance partner who signaled right or left or blinked when it was time to swing around. At times like this, Sam felt like he’d had Ricki beside him all his life.

  “Brook?” Ricki called into the small bedroom. When the girl answered, Sam headed outside to check around the house. He shined his flashlight on the woodpile, which seemed to be intact. Could have been an animal burrowing in. Another reason you didn’t want a stack of wood leaning against your house.