Westin Legacy

by Alice Sharpe

  The sheriff spread his hands. “If the killer went to the Garvey house and he and Willet got in an argument that turned ugly, how is it his partner in crime happened to have a bag of cocaine he could conveniently leave behind?”

  “Maybe he used drugs himself,” Echo said.

  The sheriff shook his head. “Never known a user to purposefully leave behind his stash. That bag was worth a pretty piece of change. Still, I suppose it’s possible.”

  “Well, then—”

  “But not likely. Which means whoever went to the Garvey house went specifically to kill Willet and to make it look like something it wasn’t. Doesn’t seem to me like Garvey’s usual crowd has the brains or the cash reserves to come up with something like this and that makes me curious.”

  “Me, too,” Adam said, “but the archaeologists are real close now. We need to talk about the preservation of what’s left in that cave. You know what’s up there, you were part of the team that handled things after Pierce’s experience. Maybe the three of us could continue this…discussion…another time.”

  “Oh, sure,” Inkwell said. “Tomorrow?”

  Adam had rescheduled the doctor appointment for the insurance company. “Okay.”

  “Call ahead to make sure I’m there. And you come along, too, Ms. De Gris.”

  “We’ll be there,” Adam said reluctantly, watching as three ATVs came around the side of the pond, Dr. Wilcox leading the way.

  The sheriff got to his feet as though it was an effort. He pulled on his cap and, hitching his hands on his ample waist, looked at the newcomers who had stopped in the drive and were getting off the motor vehicles. He cleared his throat. “Come to think of it, I think I’ll ask one of them professors if they can verify the origins of that box of stuff we found on Willet’s table.”

  Echo had grown very quiet and had moved back toward the house as if trying to shrink away. A knot twisted in Adam’s gut. She’d tried to talk to him that afternoon—after conducting the team out to the cave. And right now she looked close to running for the hills.

  Oh, crud. What had she done?

  “Howdy, there,” the sheriff called as though he was greeting guests at a hoedown. Adam conducted introductions, then the sheriff posed his question. Dr. Wilcox agreed to look at the contents of the box and compare it to what they’d found at the cave. Echo stood off to the side, watching the proceedings.

  “The burial chamber is fascinating,” Dr. Wilcox said. Professor Lavel, eyes hooded, remained quiet. Quite a difference from the man Adam had met that morning.

  “Then you’ll take it on?”

  “Absolutely,” she said.

  Sheriff Inkwell started down the steps. “I’ll get out of your way. You people have things to talk about, plans to make.”

  “Just a minute, Sheriff,” Wilcox said. “This concerns you, as well.”

  “Pardon me, ma’am,” Inkwell said, “I have been in that cavern before, true, but I’m no archaeologist.”

  “And we’re not policemen.” She looked pointedly at Adam as she added, “We’ll be happy to process your cave as soon as the sheriff clears it.”

  “And what exactly am I clearing it of?” Sheriff Inkwell asked.

  She turned worried eyes to him. “Murder.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Come again?” Inkwell sputtered.

  “Assassinat,” Professor Lavel said dramatically.

  Echo chanced a quick look at Adam, who was staring at the French man. “What are you talking about?” he demanded and then his gaze met Echo’s.

  “I will show you,” Professor Lavel volunteered as he flipped open his camera case. In a few steps, he was up on the porch standing between Adam and the sheriff, the camera in his hands. Echo peered at the screen through a gap between male shoulders, her hands clutching her stomach. She’d been worried about prints and now they had a body?

  Whose body?

  Professor Lavel had used the video mode to film the crevasse. The picture was a little dark and jumpy, but Echo could make out details of the ledge one hundred feet below the cave floor. There were visible pieces of trash, just as he and Wilcox had said, but not much, a can or two and what appeared to be a recently rumpled snack bag. There were also a few scattered human bones, dark from their long contact with the soil, and traces of woven cloth.

  “It’s at the rim of the ledge that plunges down even farther,” the professor said.

  “What is?”

  And then it was on the screen. A skull.

  Adam swore under his breath. “It’s a burial cave! What did you expect to find?”

  “Look closely,” Professor Lavel said, his voice soft.

  Echo peered intently as the picture zeroed in on the skull. She saw a ragged round hole in the middle of the forehead. From the absolute stillness on the porch, it was obvious every mind jumped to the same grisly conclusion.

  Then Adam spoke. “Maybe the Indians drilled that hole. Didn’t they used to do that when people were sick? There’s a word for it.”

  “Trepanning,” Dr. Wilcox said. “Burring a hole in the cranium to expose the dura mater. It was used in the belief it could ease or cure migraine headaches or epileptic seizures.”

  “Yeah, that,” Adam said, and Echo managed to take a breath. There would be a logical explanation—

  “Excusez,” Professor Lavel said curtly. “I know the difference between a bullet hole and trepan burrs. But even if I did not, the bullet we found inside the skull would surely settle the matter, would it not? Native peoples of this age did not have firearms.”

  “And the bone isn’t as dark as the others, indicating it hasn’t been interred as long,” Wilcox added.

  The sheriff’s voice lost its hominess as he barked, “Did you leave the skull just as you found it, Professor?”

  “Oui, Monsieur, but of course.”

  “Can you tell if it’s male or female? Young or old? Was the rest of the skeleton attached? How long has it been down there?”

  Lavel shook his head. “I think perhaps there are additional bones, but not the whole skeleton. A few vertebrae, perhaps. Maybe a small tremblement de terre caused others to fall farther into the crevasse. As for sex, I do not know. None of the indicator bones were present.”

  “I disagree,” Professor Wilcox said. “I went down into the crevasse after Professor Lavel returned and took a good look at the skull. I did anthropological work as a grad student that included a study of indigenous populations of this area in this time period. We did both pelvic and cranial sexing. I’m reasonably sure the skull is male.”

  Lavel turned to her. “You can say this without examining the pelvis?”

  “Not with certainty. Not without being able to apply quadratic—”

  “Doc,” the sheriff interrupted. “Hold on a second. You think it might be male?”

  “I think so. I’ll know more when I can actually examine it. But on subjective visual assessment, that’s my impression. In other words, the sexually dimorphic shape variations suggest a male. However, like I said, my work was on prehistoric indigenous Native Americans which this skull is not. I can say with some assurance that this skull is Caucasian.”

  Lavel cleared his throat. “I would agree with that. The orbital—”

  “Folks?” the sheriff interrupted again. “Could we stay on subject here?”

  “Certainement. Given the chance to closely examine the remains, I am sure we could approximate an age for the victim as well as an approximate date of death, oui, madame?” With the nod of Dr. Wilcox’s dark head, Lavel added, “There are a few teeth still attached to the mandible that could aid in identification.”

  Inkwell snatched his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll call my men.”

  “Professor Lavel has a previous engagement, but I would be happy to assist you this evening,” Dr. Wilcox said. “We left two students on site.”

  “That’s fine,” the sheriff said and walked away from the gathering to communicate with his office.
<
br />   Adam pulled out his own cell. A few seconds later, Echo heard him say, “Cody? Better find Dad and get on back here. There’s trouble out at the cave.”

  He put the phone away and looked at her. His expression clearly revealed he thought she’d done something to mess things up.

  “Now wait just a second,” she said, hands in front of her. “I didn’t know a thing about a skull.”

  He grabbed her hands and led her away from the others. “But you wanted to talk to me after you got back today,” he said, his voice low and urgent.

  “Yes, but I didn’t know about a body. I was worried about the garbage.”

  “The garbage? Hell, Echo, what are you talking about?”

  “Fingerprints. I might as well admit it. I was afraid your father’s prints might be on one of the cans.”

  “On the cans? You mean the ones they found in the crevasse? How? My father never goes there and if for some reason he did, the last thing in the world he would do is litter…?.” His stare deepened. “Oh, I get it. You thought maybe Dad went there to see Garvey, that the two of them sat down and drank a beer together. Snacked on a few pretzels, maybe. Hatched evil plots. Last night you had him killing Garvey and now you have him robbing his own property. Why in the world would he do that?”

  She narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him. Her voice low, she tried to explain. “I knew something was wrong when the archaeologists got all quiet looking at the film. They were acting strange. I couldn’t imagine what had happened and your father being there is the only thing that popped into my head and excuse me very much if I’m dense, I guess I should have thought of someone being murdered and thrown down the crevasse. How could that possibility have escaped me?”

  To her amazement, he smiled. The next thing she knew, he’d put his arms around her. “Welcome back, spitfire.”

  “You don’t like spitfires, remember?”

  “I remember.” He touched her hair and added, “Don’t worry. This murder could have happened a hundred years ago.”

  “I hope so,” she mumbled, detaching herself from his arms.

  “If you’re going to worry, I suggest you concentrate on the fact you’re lying to the sheriff and he knows it,” he added in a whisper.

  “Lying? What do you mean?”

  He lowered his head even closer this time, his lips touching her earlobe. “Willet Garvey said something before he died. What was it?”

  “Why should I tell you?” she said, stalling for time to pull herself together. Despite everything—the people all around them, the tense atmosphere, her own tumultuous emotions—Adam’s lips touching any part of her body created tiny tsunamis.

  But he couldn’t just walk back into her heart this way. She added, “I trusted you once before. It didn’t work out so good.”

  She could tell he wasn’t ready to let this go, but the sound of a truck pulling up in the yard caught everyone’s attention. As it came to a roaring stop, Bagels whinnied and jumped around a bit. Adam caught the horse’s bridle and calmed him as his father and Cody jumped out of the truck.

  “What’s going on?” Birch Westin demanded. He zeroed in on the sheriff. “What are you doing out here, Clayton?”

  The sheriff gestured at Adam and Echo. “I came to talk to these two about Willet Garvey’s murder.”

  Birch stopped advancing and all but scratched his head. “Then why aren’t I still out mowing? Damn it, Adam, explain yourself.”

  “Let me,” the sheriff said before Adam could respond. “Like I said, Birch, I came to talk about yesterday’s murder but that was before the good professors came across a dead body in your cave.”

  Birch looked angry as he turned on Cody. “You know about this?”

  Cody shook his head.

  “These university people just found it,” the sheriff said.

  Birch snatched off his hat and almost threw it on the ground. His gaze flitted from Wilcox to Lavel. “Who the hell died in my cave?”

  But it was Adam who answered. “No one knows yet, Dad. The archaeologist found parts of a skeleton down in that big rift in the floor of the burial cavern. Before you remind us that old bones are what everyone expected to find, this one has a bullet hole in the forehead.”

  “And the bullet is still rattling around in the skull,” the sheriff added.

  “Wait just a damn second,” Birch said, his voice wilting. “We’re still talking about my cave, aren’t we?”

  “No,” the sheriff said. “As of right now, we’re talking about my crime scene.”

  ECHO HADN’T SHOWN UP FOR dinner—Adam wished he’d had the brains to avoid the table, as well. When Pauline wasn’t glowering at him for making trouble, his father was shooting him the evil eye. Even Uncle Pete looked a little green and Adam couldn’t help but notice how often he surreptitiously glanced at Adam’s father.

  Right after dinner there was a knock on the front door—a rare commodity out at the ranch. Everyone who worked on Open Sky Ranch tended to just walk in through the kitchen.

  Adam took a deep breath, fully expecting the cops. Instead, two familiar faces greeted him and he stepped aside to let the duo enter. “What are you guys doing here?” Birch asked as he came into the foyer from the dining room. He was followed by Cody who was trailed by Bonnie, as usual.

  “Is it true what we heard?” Del Halverson asked, his face more flushed than ever as though he’d run the twenty miles between their ranches instead of traveling it in the big blue SUV that sat right outside.

  “I don’t know. What did you hear?” Adam asked.

  J. D. Oakes stood at Halverson’s side, smoothing his mustache, his keen eyes bright and watchful. A few years before people had urged Oakes to run for mayor of Woodwind, but he’d declined. Claimed he came to ranching a little later than some and was having too much fun being a cowboy to mess about in politics. He said, “Seems one of the students who was out here today has a big mouth and spread the word about your dead body.”

  “Hell, it’s not our dead body,” Birch said. “Who knows how old that skeleton is? My money is on hanky-panky dating back before my grandfather’s time.”

  “Do the cops know who it is?” Oakes asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Suppose they’ll have to investigate.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What I want to know,” Halverson said, “is why you never mentioned that cave had remains and artifacts in there.”

  “I didn’t tell many people but I could have sworn I told you two. Melissa was the only one who ever went there. Said she found it peaceful.”

  “I don’t remember you saying a thing,” Halverson insisted.

  “I don’t, either,” Oakes said.

  Birch shrugged. “Must have been over thirty years ago. Maybe I didn’t. Hell, who can remember, we’re all getting old. Speaking of which, where’s Lonnie? He called here before dinner. Said he was coming on out to talk to me tomorrow. Either of you fellows know what that’s about?”

  Halverson darted a swift look at J.D. but he shook his head. “He’s been acting squirrelly. The Garvey murder really got under his skin.”

  “Lonnie is the high-strung type,” Oakes added. “The sheriff say anymore about suspects in the Garvey murder?”

  “Not a thing, leastways not to me.”

  Adam shook his head as all the others’ eyes slid to him. “Nothing.”

  Halverson’s small features bunched together even tighter as though he’d gotten a whiff of something foul. “You better know I heard talk some people think you killed Willet Garvey ’cause he was stealing from you, Birch.”

  Oakes snorted. “What a bunch of malarkey.”

  Halverson nodded. “I’m thinking Lonnie has something to get off his chest.”

  Adam tensed. “What do you mean?”

  Halverson’s gaze once again darted to J.D. and then back. “Nothing. Not my place to get into this. If Lonnie has something to tell you, he’ll do it on his own time.”

  “No doubt
it’s why he wants to see you,” J.D. added.

  Birch swore softly. “I don’t like all this sneaky stuff. Give me cattle and fresh air and a real job. Which reminds me, Adam, sometime in the next few days, you need to go take a look at the fences up at the Hayfork field. Mike said they need attention.”

  “Sure,” Adam said. Like his father, he, too, liked a chore he could do with his own hands.

  “Hell, I need a drink,” Birch mumbled.

  “You gonna let me smoke in your office?” J.D. asked, patting his chest pocket to make sure he had his tobacco and papers.

  “If you sit by an open window,” Birch said reluctantly. The three older men trooped into the office in gloomy silence, followed by Pete. Adam hadn’t even noticed his uncle had joined the group.

  Cody caught Adam’s eye. His lowered his voice. “You have any idea who’s in that blasted cave?”

  “None. You?”

  “Yeah. One.”

  “Who?”

  “That ranch hand Dad thought was carrying on with Mom.”

  Adam looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening. Still, the direction this conversation was taking begged for privacy. He opened the front door and strode outside, Cody right behind him, Bonnie darting ahead. They shoved their hands in their pockets as the door slammed at their backs. When Adam spoke, his voice was soft. “David Lassiter? You’re kidding.”

  “Think about it. Eight or nine years after Lassiter disappeared and we were old enough to be out on our own, Dad forbade us to go into the burial cavern. What if he shot David Lassiter and pushed him into that hole? What if that’s why Mom left here?”

  This was too much. The day before, Echo had more or less accused their father of killing Willet Garvey and now Cody had him murdering David Lassiter. Hell, even their friends were passing along rumors. Adam stared at his brother as though he were a stranger. “Do you honestly think Dad is capable of something like that?”

  “I think any man is with the right provocation.”