by B. J Daniels
“Is it postpartum depression?” Stacy asked.
She shook her head. “It’s Hud. I’m afraid for him.”
“You knew he was a marshal when you married him,” her sister pointed out, looking confused.
“He’s talking about quitting.”
Stacy blinked in surprise. “He loves being a marshal.”
“Loved. After what happened here on the ranch last spring, he doesn’t think he has what it takes anymore.”
“That’s ridiculous.” A woman pretending to be their cousin had turned out to be a psychopathic con artist. “Camilla fooled us all.”
Dana sniffed. “Not Hilde.” Her sister handed her a tissue. Hilde had tried to warn her, but she’d thought her best friend was just being jealous and hadn’t taken her worries seriously. Not taking Hilde’s warnings seriously had almost gotten them killed.
“Hilde’s forgiven you, right?” Stacy asked as Dana wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
“Kind of. I mean, she says she has. But, Stacy, I took some stranger’s word over my best friend’s, who is also my business partner and godmother to one of my children!”
“You and Hud both need to let this go. Camilla is locked up in the women’s state prison in Billings, right? With six counts of attempted murder, she won’t get out until she’s ninety.”
“What if she pretends to be reformed and gets out on good behavior? Or worse, escapes? We’re only a few hours away.”
“You can’t really think she’s going to escape.”
“If anyone can, it’s her. Within a week, I’ll bet she was eating her meals with the warden. You know how she is.”
“Dana, you’re making her into the bogeyman. She’s just a sick woman with a lot of scars.”
Dana looked at Stacy. Her older sister had her own scars from bad marriages, worse relationships and some really horrible choices she’d made. But since she’d had her daughter, Ella, Stacy had truly changed.
“I’m so glad you’re in my life again,” Dana said to her sister, and hugged Stacy hard.
“Me, too.” Stacy frowned. “You have to let what happened go.”
Dana nodded, but she knew that was easier said than done. “I have nightmares about her. I think Hud does, too. I can’t shake the feeling that Camilla isn’t out of our lives.”
* * *
CAMILLA NORTHLAND WAS surprised how easy it was for her to adapt to prison. She spent her days working out in the prison weight room, and after a month of hitting it hard, figured she was in the best shape of her life.
She’d tuned in to how things went in prison right away. It reminded her of high school. That was why she picked the biggest, meanest woman she could find, went up to her and punched her in the face. She’d lost the fight since the woman was too big and strong for her.
But ultimately she’d won the war. Other prisoners gave her a wide berth. Stories began to circulate about her, some of them actually true. She’d heard whispers that everyone thought she was half-crazy.
Only half?
Like the other inmates, she already had a nickname, Spark. Camilla could only assume it was because of the arson conviction that had been tacked on to her attempted murder convictions.
She’d skipped a long trial, confessed and pleaded guilty, speeding up the process that would ultimately land her in prison anyway. It wasn’t as though any judge in his right mind was going to allow her bail. Nor did she want the publicity of a trial that she feared, once it went nationwide, would bring her other misdeeds to light.
The local papers had run stories about the fire and Dana and her babies and best friend barely escaping. Dana and Hilde had become heroes.
It was enough to make Camilla puke.
So now she was Spark. Over the years she’d gone by so many different names that she was fine with Spark. She liked to think that whoever had given her the new moniker had realized she was always just a spark away from blowing sky-high.
She knew that if she was going to survive, let alone thrive here, she had to be in the right group. That, too, was so much like high school, it made her laugh.
The group she wanted to run with had to be not just the most fearsome but also the ones who ran this prison. She might be locked up, but she wasn’t done with Hud Savage and his precious family. Not by a long shot.
Being behind bars would make it harder, though, she had to admit. But she knew there were ways to get what she wanted. What she wanted was vengeance.
So the moment she heard about fellow prisoner Edna Mable Jones, or Grams as she was fondly called, Camilla knew she would have it.
* * *
TAG HADN’T REALIZED where he was going until he saw the sign over the front door. The Canyon. As he pulled up in front of the bar, the door swung open and the barmaid he’d met the night before stepped out and headed for an SUV parked nearby. He figured that by now Hud would have talked to her and anyone else at the bar who’d known the victim.
Earlier, he’d told himself there was nothing he could do but wait for the marshal to catch the killer. That was before he’d talked to his father—and witnessed the meeting between Hud and Harlan at Cardwell Ranch. As much as he didn’t want to believe his father was involved, he knew in his heart that Harlan was up to his neck in this. He was more shocked that it appeared the marshal was involved, as well.
As he watched the brunette head for her SUV, he realized he’d come here because he’d hoped Lily would be able to help him. She had worked with the dead woman. She also might know something about Harlan since apparently the Canyon Cowboys had played at the bar on more than one occasion.
She had started to climb into her vehicle, but when she saw him, she stopped. Frowning, she slammed the door and marched over to Tag’s rental SUV.
“You,” she said as he put down his side window. “I just told the marshal about you and how you were the last one to see Mia.”
He laughed, clearly surprising her. “Other than the killer. Also, the marshal already knows about me. Hud Savage is my cousin-in-law. I’m the one who found her body.”
Lily pulled back, startled. “You?”
Tag hadn’t heard the bartender from last night come out of the bar until he spoke. “Lily, you’re starting to sound like an owl,” he said as he joined them.
“This is the man I told you about,” she said to the bartender. “The one who said Mia was drunk.” She narrowed her eyes when she looked at Tag again, accusation in her tone and every muscle of her nicely rounded body. “He claims he’s related to the marshal.”
The bartender shook his head at Lily and reached past her to extend his hand. “James McCabe, but everyone around here knows me as Ace. You must be one of Harlan’s sons, right?”
“Tag Cardwell.”
“Cardwell?” Lily said in surprise.
“This is my sister, Lily, but I guess you two have met.” Ace seemed amused.
Then his sister said, “He found Mia.”
Ace nodded somberly. “We’re in shock. In fact, I just put a note on the door that we’re going to be closed tonight. We didn’t know Mia that well, but the least we can do is close for the night in her memory.” He glanced at his watch. “I told the marshal I would stop by his office. I better get going.” He squeezed his sister’s shoulder and said, “Nice to meet you,” to Tag before he walked over to an old Jeep and climbed in.
Neither Tag nor Lily spoke until her brother had driven away.
“Sorry about—”
Tag waved her apology away. “You don’t know me from Adam. I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t suspected me.”
She narrowed her eyes at him again as she realized he was flirting with her. “Have you remembered any more about the man Mia left with last night?” she asked, all business.
He shook his head. �
��I wish I’d gotten a better look at him or paid more attention to the truck he was driving.” But it had been snowing hard and he’d had no reason to pay that much attention.
“I can’t believe anyone would murder her.”
He nodded, thinking what a shock murder was in a place like Big Sky. Crime was so low people felt safe here. When he was young, he and his brothers were allowed to wander all over this country. Looking back, he knew there’d been a fair share of close calls while climbing rocks, swimming in the river, skiing and sledding off the side of mountains. But they’d never known the kind of danger the dead woman had run across.
“You said you didn’t think she had a boyfriend, right? Did you ever see her talking with someone in the bar she might have had an interest in?” Like a member of the band, but he didn’t say that.
“No one she seemed interested in. She just did her job. I never even saw her flirting with anyone. So maybe she did have a boyfriend. She didn’t talk about her personal life.” Lily sighed and started to walk to her vehicle again.
“Lily?” He liked the name and it seemed to fit her.
She turned to look at him over her shoulder, leery again.
“If you ever want to talk, or maybe...” He dug in his coat pocket, thinking he might have one of his business cards. When he felt something odd shaped, cold and hard, he frowned and drew it out. “What the...?”
Lily stepped back to his open window. “What’s wrong?”
“This,” he said, holding up the object he’d found. “I don’t know what it is.”
“It’s a computer thumb drive,” she said, then eyed him as if she thought he was messing with her.
“I know that,” he said. “The question is, what is it doing in my coat pocket? I have no idea how it got there.”
“When was the last time you checked your pockets?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I bought this ski jacket before I flew out here. Yesterday was the first time I’ve worn it.”
She frowned. “Are you saying it wasn’t in your pocket when you left Texas?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. All I can tell you is that it isn’t mine.” He tried to remember where his ski jacket had been. Last night at the cabin, his father had taken his coat and hung it up. Was it possible he’d put the thumb drive in the pocket? Why would he do that?
With a start, Tag remembered the dead cocktail waitress stumbling into him, grabbing his coat and holding on to him as he tried to help her get her feet under her. A chill ran the length of his spine as he remembered her words.
“You look like him.”
Was it possible she meant Harlan?
Before he could shove the thought away, Lily said, “Is there any chance Mia put it in your pocket last night?”
Chapter Five
“I think we’d better see what’s on that thumb drive,” Lily said. “There’s a computer in the bar office.” With that she turned and headed for the front door. She heard Tag Cardwell come up behind her as she inserted her key into the lock.
“Why would she put this in my pocket?”
Lily shook her head. She had no idea. Just as she had no idea why Mia had left early two nights in a row or why Tag had thought Mia was falling-down drunk. She said as much as she opened the door to the bar, locking it behind them, before leading him to the office.
“Isn’t it possible she was pretending to be drunk?” Lily asked, although that seemed even more far-fetched.
“She wasn’t pretending,” Tag said.
“Then she got drunk awfully fast after I talked to her.” Stepping behind the desk, she held out her hand for the thumb drive.
“She smelled boozy, but it could have been drugs.”
Lily shook her head. “Not Mia.” But even as she said it, she realized again how little she really knew about the woman.
“You know, I was just thinking,” he said as he handed over the thumb drive with obvious reluctance. “It’s possible one of my brothers put it in my pocket at the airport as I was leaving. We’re in business together, so it could be tax information they wanted me to look at. My brother and my nephew saw me off at the airport. In fact, my brother held my coat while I was looking for my ticket.”
She could tell he wanted the thumb drive to turn out to be something simple and innocent. No one wanted to think they had any kind of connection to a young woman’s murder. She figured he was probably right. The other was too much like a spy movie.
As she considered Tag, she had to admit he would make a great spy. He looked like the kind of man who could save the damsel in distress. He definitely was sure of himself. But a spy with a Stetson and a Texas accent? It had more appeal than she wanted to admit, and she quickly shook the image off.
Lately her mind had been wandering into the strangest places. She knew what her brother would have to say about it. He was determined she find another man after what she liked to think of as “the Gerald Era” with its straight-out-of-a-country-and-western-song bad ending.
She pushed in the thumb drive, and Tag came around the end of the desk to stand next to her. He smelled like winter, a blend of cold and pine. She ignored the masculine scent just below the surface as she ignored the way her nerve endings jumped with him standing so close. Maybe her brother was right and it was time to get back on that horse that had thrown her.
It was definitely time to quit the cowboy clichés.
The icon came up on the page. She hesitated only a moment before she clicked on it. A series of random letters appeared.
GUHA BKOPAR
CAKNCA IKKNA
BNWJG IKKJAU
HSQ SWUJA
YHAPA NWJZ
NWU AIANU
LWQH XNKSJ
IEW ZQJYWJ
YWH BNWJGHEJ
HWNO HWJZANO
DWNHWJ YWNZSAHH
DQZ OWRWCA
“It’s just gibberish,” Tag said with a relieved laugh. “It looks like some kid was playing on a computer.”
Lily nodded, feeling disappointed. “It does look that way,” she agreed. She checked, but this page was the only thing on the thumb drive.
She’d wanted answers so desperately about Mia that she’d latched on to the thumb drive, determined she could solve the mystery. It was the way she approached life, her brother would have told her. Full steam ahead—as long as it was logical. The thumb drive hadn’t been the answer, nor had she jumped to the logical conclusion. It wasn’t like her.
Tag stepped away, shaking his head. “Maybe it was something my nephew put in my pocket. Ford’s five and is always playing on the computer. He was at the airport with his dad the day I flew out.”
“You’re suggesting your five-year-old nephew put this on a thumb drive for you?” she asked skeptically.
“It’s probably his idea of a goodbye letter. My brother would have put it on the thumb drive for him. Jackson is a single parent,” he said as if that explained it enough for him.
Lily wasn’t as convinced. Admittedly, she’d been so sure Mia had put it in his coat pocket last night that she hated to give up the possibility. How nice it would have been if whatever was on the thumb drive would provide a clue to the woman’s murder. Unfortunately the world seldom worked the way she thought it should.
“I was wondering,” Tag said. “Since the bar won’t be open tonight...”
His words didn’t register until much later. Lily was busy staring at the letters on the screen trying to make them into more than they no doubt were.
The fact that the letters were all capitalized substantiated Tag’s theory that they were probably done by a child who had just happened to hit Caps Lock before he started typing.
What interested her was that the lines were so short—none more than fourteen letters. The columns were
also short, one on top of the other, broken halfway down by an empty line, then an equal number of lines below that. Six each. Awfully neat for a child, she thought, but then it could have been random—just like the letters.
She mentioned this to Tag without looking away from the screen.
“You counted them?” He laughed, then sobered when she sent him a withering look. “Sorry, it just seems odd to me that you’d count them.”
Lily tried not to let his comment annoy her. “I’m a mathematician. I tend to count things.”
His dark eyes widened. “A mathematician?”
She could tell he was fighting a grin, hoping she was joking. “I teach math at Montana State University,” she said simply. Lily had seen too many men’s eyes glaze over when she’d tried to explain her love of mathematics or how important it was for solving economic, scientific, engineering and business problems. Few people realized they used math in so many ways in their daily lives. Nor did they care, for that matter.
“Oh,” was all he said. Much better than the men who said, “So you’re smart.” After that, they quit calling.
“Would you mind if I kept this for now?” she asked, pointing at the thumb drive.
Tag shrugged. “It’s all yours. I’ll check with my brother, but I’m betting my nephew Ford is behind this.” Clearly, he was no longer worried about it. “I could call you later and let you know.”
Lily realized that earlier he’d been about to ask her something about tonight. Had he been about to ask her on a date? She hadn’t dated since Gerald. The thought of going out with this cowboy—
“I’ll need your number,” he said.
“So you can let me know what your brother says about the thumb drive. Right.”
“Right,” he said, looking amused at how flustered she had become.
She scribbled her number on one of the Canyon Bar business cards and handed it to him. Then she saved the page to the computer, emailed herself a copy, ejected the thumb drive and stood holding it.