Lassoed

by BJ Daniels

  “What the hell?” he said tossing the phone on the passenger seat as he floored the Lincoln.

  He was driving so fast he almost missed the turn into the casino. The Chisholm Cattle Company pickup was sitting in the lot away from the few other vehicles, the cab empty.

  Duane hadn’t taken Tanner Chisholm for a gambler, but then he’d gambled with his life when he’d helped Billie Rae, hadn’t he?

  Parking next to a large motorhome out of sight of the cowboy’s pickup, he sat for a moment considering his options. He didn’t have the patience to wait for Tanner to come out. He was too anxious to get to Billie Rae.

  But then again, she might be inside the casino with the cowboy right now.

  The problem was he would have to be careful once inside. If he made a scene, he could end up in a Native American jail cell. He got out of his car. He didn’t think walking into the casino wearing his shoulder holster would be the smartest idea, either. While he didn’t have jurisdiction in Montana, he really didn’t on the reservation.

  But he also wasn’t going in the place unarmed. He took off the holster, tossed it on the seat and removing the Glock, tucked the gun into the waistband of his slacks. The tail of his shirt covered it well enough. If this place was like most casinos, it would be fairly dark inside.

  Duane locked his car and walked toward the front door, hoping he didn’t find the cowboy and his wife together gambling when Billie Rae had convinced him he needed to save her at the end of some dead end road up the highway.

  If that happened, Duane wasn’t making any promises about what he would do. But as it happened, Duane didn’t have to go inside the casino.

  BILLIE RAE LOOKED AT the pile of supplies she’d put in the car trunk, glanced at her watch and slammed the lid. Fortunately she didn’t have far to drive, she thought as she slid behind the wheel.

  She repeated the mantra that had been echoing in her head since Tanner’s call. Desperate times called for desperate measures. She wondered, though, if Duane rationalized his behavior with the same kind of catch phrases.

  The cell phone rang on the seat where she’d laid it. She checked to see who was calling as she drove out of Great Falls. Tanner. She wanted to answer just to hear his voice and take some comfort in it. But there was nothing more to say. She let it go to voice mail. If he knew about her plan he would try to stop her.

  She couldn’t let that happen.

  Billie Rae knew how dangerous her plan was. So much could go wrong she didn’t want to think about it. But she felt she had no choice. She had to stop Duane from hurting anyone else and if that meant sacrificing herself in the process, then so be it.

  Ahead she saw the sign for the dead-end road she’d seen on the map. Turning off the main highway, she drove down the narrow dirt road until it dropped precariously toward the river gorge below.

  Billie Rae hit the brakes and sat for a moment gripping the steering wheel. Where was the road she’d seen on the map? What if it had washed out?

  Setting the emergency brake, she climbed out of the car and walked to the edge. The wind whipped her hair around her face. She brushed it back and looked down. Her stomach knotted at what she saw. Far below was the river, a green snake of rock and rushing water.

  The road she’d seen on the map was little more than a rocky two-rut path that had been cut into the side of the mountain high above the river gorge. Getting to it would require her to drive off this steep edge to reach it.

  She couldn’t do it. She took a step back, glanced at her watch. Time was running out. Duane would be here in the next thirty minutes, maybe sooner.

  That’s when she saw it. The swinging foot bridge across the narrow gorge. It was at the end of the road just like it had shown on the map. Billie Rae stared at it for a long moment, surprised that it was just as she’d envisioned it—except even from here, she could see it swinging in the wind.

  This was pure suicide, she thought as she looked from the swinging footbridge high over the river gorge to the road that ended at the bridge. The map had failed to give her any idea of just how narrow or how rough the road was. Add to that the large sign that prohibited anyone from going past this point unless for authorized use only.

  She’d always been so law-abiding she actually hesitated, then reminded herself given what she planned this was a pretty minor infraction.

  Taking a deep breath, she eyed the road for a moment, then gathering her courage, she got back into the car, released the emergency brake and, riding her foot brake, let the car drop over the rim into the river gorge.

  TANNER FELT AS IF HE’D suddenly been dropped in Las Vegas. From the carpet to the noise and flashing lights of the gambling machines, it took a moment to get his equilibrium once he’d stepped inside the casino.

  The place was huge and nearly empty, which made the beeps and dings echo through the large room giving it an end-of-the-world feeling as he walked through.

  He couldn’t help searching for Billie Rae among the few patrons and employees even though he didn’t think she could have been here yet unless like him, she’d driven too fast. He wasn’t all that sure that she could get that kind of speed out of the car she’d purnot to mention the fact that her car hadn’t been in the lot.

  But to be safe, he found the rear exit and checked to see if there was a back lot. No Billie Rae.

  He found the men’s room on his way back through the casino. He kept telling himself that once he had a chance to talk some sense into Billie Rae, she would come back to the ranch with him.

  Hell, maybe by now the sheriff had already picked up Duane. Even if she couldn’t hold him long before the cop made bail, at least Duane wouldn’t be stupid enough to get into any more trouble in Whitehorse.

  As he walked back to his pickup to wait, Tanner hoped Billie Rae would be here soon. He couldn’t wait to see her. He glanced down the highway in the direction of Great Falls looking for her small red car.

  He was almost to his pickup when Duane Rasmussen came out from behind a van and jumped him.

  EMMA COULDN’T LOOK AT HER husband for fear she would burst out crying. She had taken his hand the moment they’d all sat down at the kitchen table and now gripped it tightly, afraid of what would happen if she didn’t hang on for dear life.

  As she looked across the table at the sheriff, she told herself this wasn’t happening. “Are you sure I can’t get us some coffee? Maybe some of that cake…” Hoyt squeezed her hand making the rest of her words dissolve in her mouth.

  “You’re sure it’s Krystal,” Hoyt asked the sheriff. He hadn’t seemed surprised when McCall had informed them that Krystal Blake Chisholm’s remains had been found not far from the ranch.

  Emma refused to read anything into that. Hoyt must have suspected his third wife was dead after she and her old boyfriend had both disappeared. But hadn’t he said the old boyfriend lived down in Wyoming? So how did Krystal end up buried up here? And where was the boyfriend?

  Emma’s mind whirled with such thoughts as she tried to concentrate on what the sheriff was saying.

  “We have matched both dental records and the DNA which you provided when she disappeared,” McCall said.

  “So it really is her?” he repeated as if in a fog. He seemed to have aged right before Emma’s eyes.

  “Where did you find her?” Emma asked.

  The sheriff seemed to hesitate, but she had to know the news would be all over the grapevine, if it wasn’t already. “Near where we found Aggie Wells’s vehicle.” She was looking at Hoyt, obviously hoping for a reaction.

  Emma sat up straighter. She’d erroneously thought the remains had been found on the ranch. Why else would the sheriff be acting as if she was about to arrest Hoyt at any moment?

  “Near where you found Aggie Wells’s car?” she repeated.

  Didn’t anyone else see what was going on here?

  “You haven’t found Aggie’s body, though, have you,” Emma challenged. Hoyt squeezed her hand. She pulled it free. “And you
’re not going to find it because Aggie isn’t dead.”

  “Emma—”

  It was the sheriff who cut Hoyt off. “Where would you suggest we look?” she asked, her eyes narrowing as she turned her attention on Emma.

  “Aggie staged her disappearance,” Emma said and Hoyt groaned next to her. “She isn’t dead. I know that because she was here earlier today.”

  “You saw her?” the sheriff asked.

  “After we got back from the hospital, the front door was standing open—Hoyt began to search the house. I smelled her perfume the moment I stepped inside the house.”

  “Emma,” Hoyt pleaded again.

  “I smelled her perfume another time when she went through our things in our bedroom. Don’t you see what is happening here?” Emma cried. “Aggie is trying to frame my husband. She is so determined to be right.”

  The sheriff looked uncomfortable.

  “Emma, the sheriff isn’t here about Aggie Wells,” Hoyt said. “This is about Krystal.”

  Sheriff Crawford nodded solemnly and then Emma knew even before the woman reached into her pocket that there was more. They had found some kind of evidence at the scene.

  “I need to ask you, Mr. Chisholm, if this is yours.” Sheriff Crawford pushed a small plastic bag across the table. Emma caught sight of something discolored inside it. She recognized it at once—and so did Hoyt.

  “Where did you get that?” Emma demanded.

  “It was found with Krystal Chisholm’s remains.”

  “That’s not possible. Hoyt has his upstairs in his—” Emma was on her feet. She hurried up the stairs and opened the top drawer of Hoyt’s bureau and rummaged through the wooden box. She knew she’d seen the bolo tie with the three C’s on it in the box. It had to be there.

  She found matching cufflinks but no bolo tie. She stood, trying to catch her breath from her panic, her fear, the run up the stairs. She’d been so sure the bolo tie had been in there even though she hadn’t seen Hoyt ever wear it.

  Returning downstairs, she found the sheriff and her husband waiting for her. Hoyt had his head down, looking like a guilty man. She wanted to snap at him, tell him to knock it off. She knew he was innocent. She knew that the reason he was behaving this way was that he felt responsible because he’d married Krystal, because he thought Aggie Wells had won, as if he’d always feared it was just a matter of time before he was arrested.

  Three dead wives. Who wouldn’t think he did it?

  The sheriff didn’t have to ask if Emma had found the bolo tie, but Emma still shook her head, her gaze going to her husband as she slid into the chair next to him and took his hand again.

  “Mr. Chisholm?” The sheriff was looking at Hoyt. “Is this yours?”

  He nodded, then glanced at the tape recorder she had turned on when the questioning began and said, “Yes, it’s mine.”

  “When was the last time you saw it?” she asked.

  He glanced at Emma, then shook his head. “It was part of a bolo tie I haven’t worn in years.”

  “So you weren’t aware it was missing?”

  “No.”

  The sheriff rose to her feet. “Hoyt Chisholm? You are under arrest for the murder of Krystal Blake Chisholm.”

  Emma listened as the sheriff stated her husband his rights. “He didn’t kill her,” she cried as the sheriff pulled out her handcuffs. Hoyt pushed himself up from the table as if carrying the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. “I’m telling you he couldn’t kill anyone.”

  Her husband turned, gave her a sad smile. “It’s going to be all right.”

  The sheriff gave her a sympathetic look as she led Hoyt out the door. “You might want to call a lawyer for your husband.”

  Emma could only nod as she watched the sheriff escort Hoyt out to the patrol car, put him in the rear seat and drive away. She knew she should rush to the phone and call his lawyer and his sons, but what she really needed to do was find Aggie Wells.

  Or maybe, she thought with a sudden chill as she looked out across the wide open country that was Chisholm Cattle Company, maybe Aggie was planning on finding her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Billie Rae drove the car down the impossibly narrow road cut into the side of the mountain wondering if she’d lost her mind. She had to creep along, dodging the rocks that would take out the oil pan, while at the same time avoiding the solid rock face of the side of the mountain—and the sheer drop off into the river gorge.

  Once she’d turned onto the road, she’d also realized she couldn’t change her mind. She would have to go to the end of the road. No way could she back up. She was committed.

  “You should be committed—to the nut house,” she said to herself. More and more she was realizing this was a suicide mission. Desperate times called for— “Just drive.”

  She could hear the wind rushing down through the gorge. It whistled through the gap in her car window and whipped at what little vegetation grew between the boulders on the mountainside next to her. Ahead she could see the bridge and felt physically ill at the sight of it swaying wildly in the gale.

  Billie Rae concentrated on the road and tried not to look—or think—too far ahead. There was literally no turning back now. Duane would be coming soon. She had to get ready. If he caught her now…

  Ahead she saw where the road abruptly ended in a pile of rock and dirt. There was just enough room to park the car. She didn’t try to turn it around. If her plan worked, she would worry about getting out of here then. It was such a long shot that she would be leaving here at all she wasn’t about to take the time now to turn the car around.

  Climbing out, she felt the full force of the wind as it roared through the canyon. For a moment she froze as she watched the footbridge swing back and forth high above the rocks and dark green water below. Could she do this? Or had she played right into Duane’s hands and given him the perfect place to kill her? This would give him such an easy out. He could get away with her murder if things went wrong and never serve a day in jail for it.

  But then, Billie Rae thought no matter where she met him, he would figure out a way to get away with what he planned to do to her anyway. He’d gotten away with murder before. All the odds had been stacked in his favor, they always were. But she promised herself that she would end it here. One way or another.

  She glanced at her watch. She could feel time slipping through her fingers. She had to move. Now! If Duane caught her just standing here, everything he’d said about her would be true. And everyone knew what happened to cowards.

  Billie Rae cautiously moved to the rear of the car, feeling as if she was hanging on the side of the mountain by the skin of her teeth. Opening the trunk, she pulled out the large jacket she’d purchased, then taking the knife, began to cut into the cloth.

  This morning after Tanner’s call she’d known she had to use her husband’s Achilles heel if she hoped to still be alive by dark. She’d found out about Duane’s weakness by accident—something Duane had never forgotten—or forgiven.

  “Did you hear about your big, tough husband?” one of the other cops she’d only just met, had asked her after too many drinks. They had been at one of the few parties with his fellow boys in blue that Duane had allowed her to attend—and the last after that night.

  “Shut up,” Duane said under his breath, but either the cop didn’t hear or ignored the warning.

  “So here we are chasing a robbery suspect and he hightails it up a six-story fire escape,” the cop continues. “Duane starts up after him, me behind him. Then all of a sudden Duane looks down and stops dead. I crash into him and say, ‘What the hell?’ The dumb bastard, it turns out, is scared of heights.” The cop broke up in loud guffaws.

  The cop hadn’t been watching Duane, but Billie Rae had. His face had been flushed with anger, a vein throbbing in his neck, his hands fisted at his sides. She’d known Duane would never forgive the cop for telling that story—especially in front of her.

  Two months later the c
op was found shot to death in an alley. No suspect was ever found, but Billie Rae knew who’d killed him—and why. She also knew that had she told the police, no one would have believed her.

  Just as no one had believed her the one time she’d tried to report the abuse.

  “I’m going to give you some good advice,” her husband’s captain had told her after she’d taken a taxi down to the police station on a day she knew Duane would be on assignment away from the department. “Go home. Stop fighting with your husband. Work a little harder to make him happy.”

  Now she glanced again at the bridge hanging suspended over the gorge. She was about to take on the fight of her life with her cop husband. And how it ended would all depend on how badly he wanted to get his hands on her.

  TANNER CAME TO in the dark. He was immediately aware of the pain—and his surroundings. He was in the trunk of a fast-moving car. He could hear the whine of the tires on the highway and smell exhaust. His hands were bound in front of him and he felt cramped even in the roomy space of what he knew was the Lincoln’s trunk.

  He wiped something sticky and wet from his left eye and tried to sit up. His brother Marshall had been right. He had gone for Duane’s throat, charging him after the ambush even though the cop had quickly pulled a gun from under his shirt.

  Tanner had gotten in a few good punches, catching the cop off balance. Duane had thought the pistol he pointed at Tanner would deter him. It hadn’t. Tanner hadn’t thought Duane would shoot him in the casino parking lot but the furious cop had definitely wanted to pull the trigger.

  Duane had gotten the final blow, though. Tanner hadn’t seen the butt of the gun coming until it was too late. He tried to block the blow, but his head had taken the brunt of it.

  That’s all he remembered although he was sure Duane had kicked him a few times when he was down. His ribs hurt like hell and he felt as if he’d been used for a punching bag. From what he could tell, there was a cut over his left eye which was bleeding and his nose might be broken.