Secret of Deadman's Coulee

by B. J Daniels

  “You remember it,” Eve said, her voice wavering.

  Grandma Nina Mae’s eyes filled with tears as she shoved the pin at Eve. “Get it away from me!” she screamed. “Get it away. Charley. Oh, my precious Charley.”

  Eve dropped the pin into her shoulder bag and tried to calm her grandmother, but Nina Mae was hysterical now, wailing and wringing her hands.

  The nurse came running, demanding to know what had happened.

  All Eve could do was shake her head. “Grandma. Grandma, I’m so sorry. I—”

  “Please leave,” the nurse said irritably. “Let me get her calmed down.”

  As Eve left the room, she was close to tears. The last thing she’d wanted to do was upset her grandmother. Her mother had been right. Grandma wanted to forget Charley. But did she also want to forget what had happened in that airplane? Because Eve had no doubt that her grandmother had not only recognized the pin—she’d been in that plane.

  As Eve was leaving the building, she spied Bertie, both hands in her pockets, hunched protectively over the smock she wore as if hiding something.

  Eve was reminded of her grandmother’s accusation against Bertie. Was it possible Bertie had taken the photographs? The ones Eve remembered of her grandmother’s wedding and the rhinestone pin she was wearing that day?

  Or could it have been the other person her grandmother had referred to?

  An alarm went off. Eve turned to see the nurse chase down one of the patients who was trying to escape through the side door. When Eve looked down the hall again, Bertie was gone.

  Once outside, Eve headed for her pickup, upset with herself. She shouldn’t have taken the pin from the plane. She should have told the sheriff about it. It was evidence in a murder investigation.

  But Eve knew that was exactly why she’d taken it. For some unknown reason her grandmother’s pin had been in that plane. Because her grandmother had been wearing it and her favorite brown coat? Thirty-two years ago her grandmother would have been young and healthy enough to walk away from the crash.

  But where did the murdered man fit in?

  Eve couldn’t explain it but she had a feeling that the truth would force other secrets to come out. Ones she would wish had stayed buried.

  Chapter Eight

  Carter heard the whoop-whoop of the helicopter just moments before it rose up out of the Breaks.

  He’d finally dropped off to sleep last night. It had taken a while. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that the murderer had been out there in the dark last night. That he’d tracked Carter into the Breaks, afraid the sheriff had found the plane.

  If the murderer had known where the plane had crashed, then he would have come back and disposed of the body years ago. But it made sense that if the plane had crashed in a blizzard in the middle of winter and the pilot and maybe one of two of the passengers, depending how many had been in the plane, had escaped, they would not necessarily have been able to find the plane again.

  The plane had been too well hidden, the area remote. Few people ever went into this side of the river gorge. Hunters preferred the side with the pines. So did the elk and the large mule deer.

  What scared him was that if he was right, the murderer now knew the plane had been found and would cover his tracks, if not disappear entirely.

  Then again if it was someone who lived around here, that disappearance would be like a red flag. So there was a good chance that if the killer was local, he might stay put, blend in just as he had for the past thirty-two years, which would only make him harder to find. But none the less dangerous when cornered.

  The chopper set down, the motor dying, blades slowing. The doors opened and three crime-lab techs jumped out.

  “Mornin’,” Carter said, extending a hand. He’d worked with one of the men, a man his age named Maximilian Roswell. Max shook hands with Carter and gave orders to the other men to get the gear ready.

  “So what do we have?” Max asked, glancing down in the ravine.

  Carter told him about the plane and the body inside. “The last entry in the logbook was February seven, 1975.”

  Max let out a low whistle and nodded. “You said the body in the plane mummified? That’s consistent with the entry in the logbook. If the plane went down in the middle of winter, the body would have kept well, drying out in the cockpit slowly as the weather eventually warmed. And you say the man inside the plane is a passenger. No sign of the pilot?”

  “There’s a chance the pilot didn’t make it out of the Breaks.”

  “Would be hard to find any remains outside the plane after this long,” Max said. “But then, too, he could have made it to one of the ranches.”

  “If he knew which direction to go,” Carter agreed.

  “Which could mean he was local. Or that he’d seen the ranches when he’d flown over before the storm hit.”

  Carter glanced down into the ravine. “What are the chances of identifying the victim?”

  “You didn’t find a wallet or any other identification?”

  “No. I didn’t want to disturb the crime scene any more than it had been,” Carter said. “What about prints? The person who found the plane climbed inside to get out of a storm.”

  Max pulled out his notebook. “And this person who found the plane?”

  “Her name is Eve Bailey. She just moved back.”

  Max lifted a brow. “You know her then.”

  “Yeah,” Carter said. “I know her.”

  AFTER EVE LEFT the nursing home, she stopped by the grocery store as was her usual routine. She never spent much time in Whitehorse, just in and out for supplies and back to the ranch. It had worked well since she’d been home. She hadn’t run into Carter. No, that had taken her spending the night in the Breaks, she thought with a groan.

  As she came out, a figure stepped from the shadows directly into her path. Startled, she hugged the paper sack of groceries to her and stopped so abruptly she turned her sore ankle again.

  “Eve.”

  Her mind had been on Sheriff Carter Jackson, so she was even more startled to find his ex-wife Deena Turner Jackson standing in front of her, blocking her way.

  “Deena.” This was something else Eve had tried to avoid—an encounter with Deena.

  “I see you found your way out of the Breaks,” Deena said, an edge to her voice. “Didn’t really need Carter to save you after all.”

  For the life of her, Eve had never understood the animosity Deena had toward her. Deena had gotten Carter. No contest. Eve hadn’t even been in the running. So what was the woman’s problem?

  Just the sight of Deena brought it all back, though—the hurt, the heartbreak, the betrayal. This was the woman Carter had chosen over her. It was that simple in her mind, that painful to admit.

  It didn’t help that Deena was so beautiful. Eve had never seen her without makeup or with a hair out of place or wearing something that didn’t flatter her.

  Eve lived in jeans and always had. Unlike Deena, who had been born and raised in a city, Eve grew up on a ranch. Dresses were something to be worn to weddings, funerals and church.

  Also, Eve usually had to pick up feed or fertilizer or some other ranch supply. It would have been pretty silly to dress in anything other than jeans and boots when she came to town.

  And that was exactly what she was wearing today—jeans, boots, a Western shirt, her long dark hair in a ponytail, a straw hat pulled down to shade her eyes.

  Deena Turner Jackson wore a sundress, sandals and had her blond hair swept up in the latest fashion.

  “Is there something you wanted?” Eve asked, realizing that it was no accident their paths had crossed today. Deena must have seen her pickup and been waiting for her.

  Around her neck Deena wore a gold chain with what appeared to be her wedding ring hanging from it. She touched the ring now as if it were a talisman, her eyes maybe a little too bright as she smiled at Eve.

  Now what? Eve had heard about the divorce, just as she’d hear
d about the fights and the reconciliations over the years. For whatever reason, Carter and Deena just couldn’t seem to stay together any more than they could stay apart.

  “Don’t get the wrong idea about me and Carter,” Deena said.

  Eve had no idea what the woman was talking about and said as much.

  “There are things you don’t know about him.”

  Eve was sure there were. “Nor do I care.” She started to step past, but Deena blocked her way again.

  “He isn’t the man you think he is.”

  Eve laughed at that. “You have no idea what kind of man I think he is. Look, Deena, why would I care about Carter Jackson? Remember? He dumped me for you.”

  Deena brightened a little. “Yes, he did, didn’t he?”

  “Now if that’s all,” Eve said, not sure what she would do if Deena tried to block her way again. After all, she was a Bailey and if she hadn’t had an armful of groceries…

  “You will never have Carter.”

  Eve bristled. There was nothing she hated more than being told she couldn’t have something. She would die trying to prove that person wrong.

  Except that one time years ago. Deena had told everyone the very next day that she’d been with Carter. Once Eve had heard that, she wanted nothing to do with him. Carter had tried to call her a few times. She hadn’t taken the calls and avoided him. She’d hidden her heartbreak, graduated and left town as fast as she could. Carter had betrayed her. She had wanted nothing to do with him.

  But that was all water under the bridge now. And while she might regret that she hadn’t given Deena the fight of her life for Carter, she wasn’t going back down that road.

  “I repeat, I don’t want Carter Jackson,” Eve said. “Now get out of my way.”

  Deena hesitated, but only a second before stepping back. “He will always be in love with me,” she called after Eve. “He just used you.”

  Eve did her best to ignore the woman as she climbed into her pickup. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than brawling over Carter Jackson in front of the grocery store, especially at this late date.

  But at the same time, Eve had no intention of being that nice to Deena next time. And she was certain there would be a next time.

  CARTER MADE a few calls on his way home to shower and change. He called in the identification numbers on the downed plane to the Federal Aviation Administration and was waiting to find out who it had belonged to.

  He’d forgotten all about Deena until he pulled up in front of his place and saw the package waiting for him on his doorstep.

  He hesitated as he started up the walk. The large box was brown cardboard, with some kind of manufacturing printing on the side. He tried to remember if he’d ordered anything, wishing that was the case.

  But he knew better. He’d married a woman he hadn’t really known, brought her into his life with a wedding ring and a vow to love her until death parted them. He’d even given her his name—something he’d never get back. Just like the years he’d tried to make the marriage work.

  Deena didn’t love him. He doubted she ever had. Deena just didn’t want anyone else to have him. It was crazy. Completely crazy. And scary. To have someone want you so much that they’d do anything to have you. It scared the hell out of him to even think how far she would go.

  It reminded him of the time he’d seen a fox corner a mouse at the edge of a fence. The fox would give the mouse an escape route and even a head start before pouncing on it again.

  He’d felt sorry for the mouse. Even as the mouse tired, it seemed to hold out hope that the next time it would get away. The fox finally accidentally killed the mouse. He watched the fox bat the dead mouse around. Clearly, the fox was sorry he’d killed it, the game spoiled.

  That’s how he felt it would be with Deena. He’d thought he’d gotten away when he’d divorced her. But he knew that the only way she’d ever let him go was feet-first.

  Had he really thought that a legal piece of paper would deter Deena? So what was next? Having her arrested? He groaned at the thought.

  She’d pulled on every heartstring she could think of on this quest to get him back, to revive the chase. Over the weeks, he’d found a lot of things on his doorstep, on his desk at work, even once before he’d changed the locks, inside his rented house.

  Each time, he’d made the mistake of calling her to demand she stop. As a trained officer of the law, he knew about stalkers, knew that the worst thing you could do was respond, because that only encouraged them. It was just hard to see someone you’d loved become a stalker.

  He’d known that if she hadn’t stopped after being warned a half-dozen times, then a restraining order wasn’t going to faze her.

  He didn’t know what it was going to take.

  He stepped closer to the box, half-expecting to find it ticking. The top of the box hadn’t been taped, the corners tucked under with only a dark hole at the center.

  He considered what to do with it. He thought about calling one of his deputies to dispose of it. But he was so tired of Deena’s pranks and presents.

  Giving the box a wide berth, he opened his front door, glad to see that nothing seemed amiss. Not that this was any palace. He’d rented it after moving out of the house he’d bought when he and Deena had gotten married.

  It was hard to believe that it had been almost two years and he was still living out of boxes.

  He recalled Eve’s place. She was trying to make the place her own. His house didn’t even look lived-in, the walls a faded white just like they’d been when he’d moved in. He thought about the warm colors Eve had tried on the walls. Even with paint cans and cloths on the floor, the feel of her place had made him want to sit down in one of the overstuffed chairs by the window and stay.

  He’d been tired for too long.

  He stood for a moment, disgusted with himself. For months he had been stalled, unable to move forward, unable to go back.

  But after seeing Eve today, he was ready to move on.

  He showered, shaved, changed clothes and went to work, avoiding the box on his doorstep.

  There were a half-dozen messages on his desk from the newspaper. Glen Whitaker probably wanted a quote. Carter balled up the slips and was about to toss them in the trash can when the dispatcher appeared in his doorway.

  “It’s Mark Sanders from the newspaper again,” she said. “He’s trying to find Glen Whitaker. No one has seen him since yesterday evening at the Whitehorse Community Center.”

  “He’s probably just running late,” Carter said, making a face. “You know Glen.”

  She nodded. “What do you want me to tell Mark?”

  “That I’m checking into it,” Carter said. “Thanks.” He had no doubt that Glen Whitaker would show up and, meanwhile, Carter had something he needed to take care of first—a call he’d wanted to make the moment he saw the Navion plane in the ravine.

  Loren Jackson answered his cell phone on the third ring. “Carter,” his father said, his greeting more jovial than usual, which meant his father must be in his plane, although Carter couldn’t hear the engine.

  But high in the air seemed to be where Loren was the happiest. That certainly hadn’t been the case when he was on the ground in Montana.

  “How’s Florida?” Carter asked. It was part of their usual ritual. Next they’d discuss the weather and fishing and after that Carter would hang up.

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  Carter frowned. Florida weather was either hot or wet or both. The fishing was either excellent or damned good. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “Actually, I’m headed your way,” Loren Jackson said.

  His father hadn’t mentioned a visit the last time they’d talked, which hadn’t been more than a couple of weeks ago. In fact, the last time they’d talked, Carter had made a point of asking his father to come up to Whitehorse. It had been years since Loren had been back and Carter had only visited his father in Florida once and that was several years a
go.

  His father had seemed content enough in Florida, but Carter still thought it odd how quickly his father had left after losing his wife to cancer. Also strange was that there were no pictures of Carter’s mother in the small beach house his father had bought. There were no pictures of any kind to document Loren Jackson’s past except for his first airplane—a Cessna 172.

  Apparently, his father hadn’t just started over in Florida; he’d completely erased his past as if there was nothing about it he wanted to remember.

  Why the sudden change of attitude now? A sliver of worry worked its way under Carter’s skin at the thought of the person who’d ridden out to his campsite last night. He’d thought then that the secret was out. Was it possible the horseback rider had warned others?

  “Is something wrong?” Carter asked his father now. “You’re all right, aren’t you?”

  “I’m fine. Can’t I just want to come visit you and your brother?”

  Yeah, sure, maybe. Carter’s suspicious mind was wondering if his father had heard about the plane being found. If that was the case, then his father’s sudden appearance in Montana would mean that his father had some connection to that plane crash and the dead man inside.

  Feeling scared at the thought, he asked, “Dad, did you know anyone around Whitehorse who owned a Navion about thirty years ago?”

  “A Navion?” his father repeated. “Listen, son, my cell phone battery is running low. Let me call you back when I get to town.”

  And just like that, his father was gone.

  Carter swore under his breath. Just before Loren Jackson had disconnected Carter thought he heard a meadowlark in the background. But if true, then his father wasn’t in his plane. He was already in town.

  Either way, Carter felt his mistrust growing at an alarming rate. He wished Eve had never found that damn plane. But then, he suspected she wished the same thing.

  Chapter Nine

  Lila Bailey stood in her kitchen, staring into the refrigerator trying to remember why she’d opened the door to begin with. She was losing her mind. Just like her mother.