by Karen Harper
So everyone knew everything about everyone else here on the island, she thought, as the wagon with Bronco and Nita pulled away. Except, of course, those stashed here as WITSEC witnesses and visitors like Vern Kirkpatrick.
The sheriff had ordered her to go home, but that would waste time. That heavily forested park they’d seen today was the best place to begin looking. Clear to Arch Rock? Strange how Julia had shared so much with her today about her past, her sadness, how she loved the view of that massive stone gate from the steps where she said she could stay forever. She’d been so honest. Yet the strong woman in her had seemed broken.
Claire gasped. She didn’t really know where Hunter Logan might be, but she knew one place Julia would check for him. Or what if Julia had ridden off before she knew her father was missing? Maybe she had second thoughts about Michael and had arranged to meet him at their “old spot.” Perhaps her father had been desperate to go after her—maybe because, whatever his mental state, he knew that she was depressed, maybe even desperate?
Darned if Claire was going to ride a horse to help him or Julia, but the horses were harnessed again to that wagon. It was as if Julia had intentionally left them that way, then, in haste maybe, had taken a horse to catch her dad or just because she had to be alone again—on that steep stairway.
Claire ran to the front of the house, where Officer McCallum sat with a roll of DO NOT CROSS police tape he hadn’t yet unwound.
“I think I know where Julia would go to look for her father or vice versa,” she told him. “I’m going to take her wagon and check at Arch Rock and keep my eyes out on the way for them.”
“Others will be searching soon. You know how to get there, ma’am?”
“Yes, Julia took us there just today. I’ll be all right. Please tell the sheriff and my husband, Jack Randal, if you see him...that...that I’ll be fine and I’ll be back before dark.”
She ran to the stables and climbed onto the wagon seat. She unwrapped the reins, holding them the way she’d seen Julia do. Surely, these horses knew the way too. They seemed eager to stop just standing here.
Whatever had happened, Claire thought, their WITSEC handler and friend needed help, and Mr. Logan did too. She’d just check the familiar way they’d gone today, look at Arch Rock and head back before the search team the sheriff would send got started.
Wishing Nick, or even Jace, was with her, she flapped the reins and the wagon lurched ahead.
19
“I’ll go look for the old guy and Julia, boss,” Heck insisted after the officer with a message from the sheriff left. “You can’t pedal a bike.”
“Jace took one, but there are more in the carriage house—and that bike for two. I can hang on and use one leg while you pedal. Let’s go. I can’t believe this, but, thank God, Bronco’s all right.”
“We going to Julia’s house? We can call a horse taxi for that.”
“No, we’re going back where Julia took us today, since Claire phoned the sheriff to say that’s where she’s going. He’s gathering others there for a search, and the officer said that’s where Julia’s dad has gone before. Thing is, Claire has a head start on anyone, but at least she has a cell phone with a direct line to the sheriff. And, thank heavens, Officer McCallum said he saw her take the wagon and not a horse. I’ll bet she’s never driven a horse team in her life. She always gets too damned involved in people’s lives and gets into trouble.”
“That’s her all right, boss, but it’s you too.”
“Never mind that. Let’s go.”
* * *
Claire tried to tell herself she was not afraid. She finally had a cell phone, one that, with a simple touch, would get Sheriff Archer on the line, though he’d warned there could be dead spots out here. And she was doing the right thing. She had to help Julia, partly to make up for missing something.
A trained forensic psych, she’d still overlooked signs earlier today that Julia was barely clinging to her inner strength the way that old staircase had clung to the cliff. Why hadn’t she picked up on the cues earlier? Oh, sure, she’d known Julia was upset and had reached out to her. But she’d let her initial reading of Julia—confident, in control, sure-footed—cloud reality. Beset by family problems with her father, her daughter, even her ex, Julia was shaky.
Besides that, both Vern Kirkpatrick and Wade Buxton had put pressure on her. Now here Julia was, in charge of seven—no, with Gina, eight—more WITSEC refugees, trying to play tour guide for them, get them settled and keep them safe.
On the cliffside staircase, Julia had said she wanted to live and die “here.” But by that did she mean die someday on the island or right there on those steps the way her mother had? She’d said she could stay there forever, and Claire should have picked up on that too. People who were thinking of leaving—of death—sometimes wanted to pick the place for...
No, surely, that strong woman would not consider suicide.
She urged the horses faster though. For steering them, she was going strictly on watching Julia today and movies. She’d only seen a few Westerns, not the hundreds that Hunter Logan seemed to lose himself in. Maybe he saw Julia as his jailer and wanted to escape to “Back in the Saddle Again,” that song that was playing over and over in their house.
But other thoughts haunted her about Julia: If she had found Bronco on the floor, wouldn’t she have called for help first before chasing after her father? Or could she have seen her dad riding away without knowing Bronco was hurt? Worse, could she have decided to ride out alone, maybe even head back to Arch Rock, and her father had then hit Bronco so he could go after her?
Parents! Her and Darcy’s father had deserted them, and then their mother had become almost a recluse with her voracious, constant book-reading mania. Even now, as Claire turned the wagon into the depths of the shadowy conifer forest, she thought of a line from the long poem Evangeline by Longfellow their mother had read them amid countless other things. It was something about the forest looking primeval and the whispering of pine trees. Those words were the beginning to the tragic story of separated lovers who didn’t find each other until, in old age, they were reunited only in time for one to die in the other’s arms.
Suddenly, the trees seemed so much thicker than earlier today, but then, she’d had her attention on the people she was with, not so much the forest primeval and the looming tragedy at the end of the story she and Darcy dreaded. She shuddered and shook her head to clear it of her agonizing. Surely, not far behind her were the island police and others to look for the old man—and Julia.
Finally, yes, there in the familiar opening up ahead, Arch Rock. If only it was the busy season, Julia had said many would be here. But if Mr. Logan had a loaded gun, perhaps fewer people was best.
She almost cried in relief when she saw two horses tethered to the big beige-and-green Arch Rock sign. They were here, together. Julia knew how to handle her father, didn’t she, even if he’d turned violent today?
Not wanting to take the wagon too near the edge, Claire pulled back on the reins and headed the team toward a place to tie up. An errant thought in her panic: Wouldn’t Lexi be proud of her for driving a horse-drawn wagon for the first time?
She scrambled down in the shadow of tall white pines, limbless for the first ten feet or so of their trunks before their delicate needles began. It made her feel she walked among giant posts guarding the site.
She couldn’t decide whether to call for Julia or her father or just look. Would it be wise or not to sneak up on the old man if he had a loaded gun? What she’d love to see is both of them sitting near the top of the steps as she and Julia had earlier today, just talking.
A chill wind picked up, rustling the branches overhead and tugging at her hair. By glancing west, she tried to gauge how much daylight was left, but the sun was shrouded by hulking cumulus clouds. Darkness came early in late
autumn. She stood still at first, looking out toward Arch Rock, not getting too near the edge, then walked toward the stairs. The two tied horses snorted and stamped, looking nervously her way, the whites of their eyes showing.
Claire nearly jumped into them in alarm when she heard a man’s voice behind her.
She spun. It was as if Hunter Logan had emerged from a tree. He was wearing a ten-gallon hat and was dressed the same way she’d seen him yesterday but also wore a fringed beige suede jacket. And he was wearing a side holster with a pistol in it.
“This is cattleman’s land, young lady. A friend of mine owns it.”
Claire just stared for a moment. He had suddenly developed a Western drawl. This was like walking into fantasy island. And she had next to no experience dealing with a person with dementia.
“It’s lovely land,” she said, deciding it would be wiser and safer to play along. “I didn’t mean to trespass and mean no harm.”
“That’s one of Gene’s cowboy rules, you know, number three, so it’s pretty danged important. A cowboy must always tell the truth.”
“Yes, I admire that. Actually, I’m here looking for a friend of mine.”
“Not the rancher?”
“Ah, no. Maybe his daughter. Her name is Julia.”
“I just run off that man who owns the saloon with dancing girls. I don’t want to run you off, but Julia’s not here, just her horse.”
“Maybe she was talking to the man with the saloon. Do you remember his name?”
“Vern. He’s a cattle rustler in several of Gene’s movies.”
“Really? Would it be all right with you and your friend who owns this land—”
“It’s a spread. And don’t get pushy with me, ma’am, ’cause I know how to push back.”
“Oh, no, I’m not. Being polite to ladies is probably a cowboy rule too.”
He just nodded but moved his right hand to the pistol.
“Would it be all right,” she said, “if I walk over to the stairs to look at more of the view? I thought my friend might be there. She likes to sit there.”
“You’d need to be real careful. A woman I once knew died there.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He must be referring to his wife, but she said only, “Was that the lady who had the heart attack?”
“It might have been an Indian attack. They can still be seen here’bouts, you know. No, I reckon someone shot her, someone escaping from a posse,” he said, frowning.
Claire’s pulse pounded harder as Mr. Logan drew his pistol from his holster in one smooth move and spun it once, then again, around his index finger.
“I wasn’t here in time to help her,” he said and sniffed hard. He blinked back tears. “The sixth rule is that a cowboy must always help people in distress, but I couldn’t help her. Not the one who died there or her ghost who rode that horse in,” he added, pointing at one of the horses from Julia’s stables.
“Please put your six-shooter away,” she said, trying to sound calm when she wanted to run and scream.
“Now, don’t you be afraid I’d hurt a lady. Cowboys respect women and this nation’s law, rule number nine, so you can tell there’s nothing wrong with my thinking. I just needed to get out, especially to ward off thieves and rustlers like that Vern fella.”
He turned toward a sound Claire heard too. Several horses, yes, but at least four men on bicycles. Two were on the same bike, a tandem. Oh, thank heavens, Heck and even Nick!
But Mr. Logan raised his pistol and aimed their way. Claire leaped forward, hit his arm. He swatted at her but his shot went down, awry. A woman screamed. Oh, Liz. Liz was here too, on a bike barely visible through the scrim of trees.
Two police officers jumped off their bikes and wrestled the old man’s gun away. Claire didn’t even wait for Nick but sprinted to the staircase.
Julia was not there. Maybe she was sitting farther down. With all the ruckus, why didn’t she climb back up? But the wind was whining so loud that she just didn’t hear their voices, that was all. Claire had expected to see her—wanted to see her, sitting here, maybe crying.
As she heard Nick’s voice calling “Jenna! Jenna!” above, she didn’t see Julia.
Then she did. Dear God, help us all. She was sprawled on a rock, facedown, far below.
20
Claire was still trembling when she collapsed into a chair between Nick and Jace at the dining room table late that night. She glanced at her watch: nearly eleven. She hadn’t been to bed yet, but she felt as if she’d just had a narcoleptic nightmare. Even Nick’s presence, his holding her, had not helped. Horror clung to her like a cold, wet sheet.
Julia dead. Liz hysterical. Officer McCallum had to handcuff Hunter Logan to take him away, for now back to a friend’s house where Liz had managed to arrange for someone to stay with him. Mr. Logan had shouted at Sheriff Archer that he was not really “the law” and the posse was coming “to hang him high.”
When they had all finally got back to Widow’s Watch and told Jace, he’d been stunned and furious.
Though at first, Nick had wanted to make this a strategy meeting with just the three of them, he’d also asked Heck to sit in. Bronco was upstairs, back from the medical center, trying to sleep with a raging headache from his concussion. Nita kept running between tending the ice pack on his head and making sure that Lexi, whom they hadn’t told about Julia’s death yet, was asleep.
Gina, who was the one really overseeing Bronco’s concussion, came into the dining room with a pot of cocoa and four cups.
“Anything else I can do?” she asked. She didn’t go across the table to Heck but put her hands on Claire’s shoulders. “I know you’re still in shock, all of you, yes?” she asked, kneading Claire’s tense muscles.
“Yes, but you’ve been great,” Claire told her. “Sorry I was too upset to eat the quesadillas you fixed when we got back.”
“Even though I had to use ketchup for salsa, yes?”
“Meggie said she loved them, called them ‘Cuban grilled cheese sandwiches.’”
“You plan to tell her tomorrow? She knew everyone was upset about something.”
“She will be too, big-time. But I needed her at least to get a good night’s sleep before we try to explain it to her. I’m scared it’s going to set her back—set all of us back.”
“So,” Gina said, still hovering, “like I said, I brought you cocoa, but you just remember, it has some caffeine, so you should eat something too. You need to sleep.”
“Yes, Dr. Hermez,” Claire said, reaching back to clasp her hand. “But after today, I don’t think I could sleep anyway.”
“Any of us,” Nick put in with a sigh. Claire saw he’d been twisting his watch around his wrist, again and again.
Jace sat stoic and stone-faced but still seething. And fidgeting, as if something else was eating at him and he wanted to say something but was holding back—so unlike him.
When Gina went out, sliding the pocket door to the kitchen closed behind her, Nick said, “I know we’re all distraught and exhausted, but we need to decide how to handle this, since Julia was our contact and handler.”
“Damn FBI job of hers,” Jace muttered. “Who knows who she had to deal with before us. Like Claire said, maybe that Buxton character. What if someone held a grudge against her for how she dealt with things? Claire said Julia had navigated those stairs for years—the old ones, the new ones. Her job endangered her. Someone knew and hurt her so—”
Nick interrupted, “We can’t assume that it was an FBI connection, even if Wade Buxton is a WITSEC refugee and was upset Julia wanted him to steer clear of Liz. Most WITSECs, present company excepted, are criminals trading testimonies for protection.”
“My point exactly,” Jace put in.
Claire said,
“Julia also had problems with Vern Kirkpatrick, but there were family tensions too. Her father was acting weird, which I guess is par for the course for him. He was angry she didn’t let him ride the range anymore. And then,” she added, her voice shakier than ever, “her ex was back in town and that could be—well—touchy.”
“Tell me about it,” Jace said. “And didn’t she have words with her daughter about her decamping for New York City?”
Nick hit his fist on the table. “Let’s not try a murder case right here, okay? Both of you, back off with all the theories. We don’t know what the offshore coroner will rule after the autopsy. What I want us to get clear right now is that—if there was foul play—other than statements any of us have to give Sheriff Archer, we stay out of an investigation, out of the limelight, to stay safe. We have to wait for Rob Patterson or another contact to reach out to us, tell us what’s happening next. Ordinarily, I’d be looking over my shoulder for Ames and his goons, thinking they’d hurt Julia, but I really think we’ve found a sanctuary here. I just hope this doesn’t somehow screw it up. And yes, I’m mourning her too.”
“I agree we should stay out of it,” Claire said, “but we know who could have wanted her hurt—dead—if there is an investigation.”
“You know what I hate too?” Jace blurted. “It’s the idea of that strong, beautiful woman being autopsied. After a nearly one-hundred-foot fall, she’s got to be really—really hurt,” he finished lamely with a loud sniff.
Claire covered her face with her hands so she wouldn’t burst into tears in front of the three men. She was so tired of being strong, of running, hiding, fearing. She took her hands away, swiping at her tears, then blew her nose. “Julia’s beyond our help but maybe we can help Liz or even Hunter Logan,” she said, her voice cracking. “That, and helping whoever does the investigation—if they think it might be murder—is one way to honor Julia.”