Her eyes narrowed as she stared at me. The memory was deep, hard to reconcile, but I could see the comparison in her mind.
“Cassidy?”
The cowboy next to her wore tight jeans stacked over his boots. A collared shirt with long sleeves rolled up to his elbow hid the majority of a tattoo on his arm and I wondered what the other half consisted of. He was gorgeous, the standard that was set for every Hollywood actor that had played a gunslinger in ages past. I saw a strong jaw, brooding eyes, and a shadow of outgrowth that was trimmed as if he meant it to be there. Worst of all, he knew he looked good.
“Heya, Cass.” The cowboy crooned. “You’re looking great. You’ve got this earthy thing going on.” His gaze rolled down the length of my body and then back up again. “I like it.”
“Give us a minute, will ya, Wiley?” Dixie snapped. “You two can catch up later.”
I channeled Cassidy the best I could, and refused to move as Wiley brushed past me in the doorway, eyes lingering as he did. With one last appreciative smile and a glance to match, he was gone.
“Why did you come back?” Dixie’s sudden anger snapped my attention back to the curvy blonde who rose up off her bed.
“I missed it here.” It was as good of an answer as any.
She scoffed loudly. “After the last time I saw you, I doubt that.”
My brain tried to connect the dots, to create a plausible reason for why Dixie was unhappy with Cassidy. “Look, I’m sorry about last time. I’ll to do better this time. I’ve grown up some and—”
“You stuck me with all your work so that you could go flirt, I almost lost my job, and you say, ‘sorry’?”
My cheeks puffed out as I held my breath. Knowing Cassidy would be unnerved; I slipped my fingers into my hair and weaved them the way Tate had showed me. “I was in a bad place,” pressure made my lies fly fast, “I was young and stupid, and I’m sorry.” She wasn’t satisfied, so I let the lies spin out of the truth of Cassidy’s real life. “Look, I got into some bad stuff, and I had to go to rehab because of it. I’m trying to make things better now, but it’s hard.
Dixie’s defenses cracked, so I pushed at the fissure, hoping for sympathy. I let my eyes well up with moisture and I swiped at them with the length of my fingers to clear away the offending tears. “I thought you would understand. That’s why I asked Uncle Tate if I could room with you. I need a friend right now.”
She caved. Her sweetheart personality broke through and for the third time that day I was crushed in a hug I never asked for. I forced my body to relax and let her console me.
“I should’ve known, Cass. You were a mess the last time you were here, and you look terrible now.” She pulled back and smiled warmly. “Of course you can stay in here.”
I stepped back and faked a sniffle. “Thanks Dixie. That means a lot.”
“Bring your car around, I’ll help you unpack.”
I stepped back through the doorway and paused. “Hey, do you mind keeping rehab under wraps? I don’t want everyone to know.”
“Of course,” she said.
She was lying, I could see it in the way she salivated over the news, but it wasn’t malicious. It was in her nature. Dixie would hang on to the news as long as she could and then it would seep from one person to the next like a flow of molasses. It was exactly what I needed to counteract the differences between Cassidy and me. If I played it right, every subtle nuance that didn’t fit would be chalked up to an addict in recovery.
Chapter 10
I spent the remainder of my afternoon moving into my half of the cabin. Dixie had the double bed on the right side with the tall dresser. I got the left over bunk, a mattress on the top level and a small dresser tucked underneath where the second bunk would normally reside. I sent a few occasional glances at the mattress that was only two feet off the ceiling. I hoped my new claustrophobia remembered that Cassidy didn’t fear tight spaces.
Around six, I heard a clanging sound from the lower half of the property. Dixie bounced to her feet from where she sat and started for the door. “You coming?” she asked.
The bell signified something, something Cassidy should recognize. “Of course,” I replied.
We walked together down the path to the lodge. The clanging sounded again, and others filtered in around us. Though I tried, I couldn’t distinguish guest from staff. Everyone seemed to wear a cowboy hat, or a baseball cap, each one as dirty as the last. As we passed around the back of the lodge, the loud clanging sounded once more. I almost pressed my hands to my ears to block out the sound, but Dixie remained unaffected so I clenched my teeth and ignored it.
As Dixie pulled the screened door open, I took in the room. A long table filled the space, with white walls, mismatched chairs and a red gingham vinyl table cloth. Barbecued chicken, cornbread, grilled corn on the cob and some sort of gelatin salad filled the table. We were the last two there, but Wiley and a cowboy next to him immediately stood to give us their seats.
After a little reshuffling, the table settled. Dixie spoke first, “Who’s gonna say grace?”
A thick cowboy at the far end, dark hair, deeply tanned skin, grinned a flash of white and said, “Grace. Now let’s eat.”
For the average person the change in volume would have been overwhelming. For me it was especially overpowering, but only because there was too much to observe. I couldn’t process the facial expressions, the words, the movement and intricacies between the staff as they passed food, joked about the day, and devoured everything in sight. My sight moved from one section of the table to the next as I tried to gather whatever information I could. But like picking up handfuls of marbles, the more I gathered, the more they fell from my grasp.
“You gonna eat, Cass?” Wiley asked from across the table. “You’re withering away right in front of me.”
The cowboy to his right laughed under his breath, but kept his head down. He was leaner than Wiley’s muscular frame, collared shirt with long sleeves buttoned down to the cuffs at his wrists. Smudges of dirt from the trails marked his clean shaven face. Angular features, a narrow nose, cheeks slightly sunken, gave him a rugged appearance. The wrangler felt the pressure of my scrutiny and lifted his gaze to meet mine. Dark blue eyes watched me with a gentle inquiry, a glance that lasted maybe two seconds, but felt like a whole minute. The slightest wisp of a smile peeked from his mouth before he disappeared beneath the safety of his hat again.
Knowing that I had to react to Wiley’s comment, I picked up a roll and chucked it at his head. “You mind your business, Wiley. I look fine.”
Tate strode in the door at the same moment. “Cass, no throwing food. Why do I have to remind you every year?” His eyes stayed warm and I could feel the praise for my reaction. He took the seat at the head of the table, but ate nothing. He mostly spoke to the cowboys, upcoming trips, who would take what and which animals would be used. I took the time to fill my plate and eat.
After ten minutes of discussion, Tate rose from the table. He paused at my shoulder on his exit and said, “Swing by the cabin tonight. Your aunt came back early and she wants to say hello.”
Dixie waited for Tate to leave before she leaned over and asked, “Does Isabelle know about,” she lifted her eyebrows with purpose, “you know.”
I shrugged and focused on my food. I wasn’t ready to meet Ryder’s mother. I had too many conflicting impressions of her. The staff at the manor thought she was crazy, Ryder seemed to have forgiven her of every broken promise from his childhood, and I had my own thoughts about the woman who hid weapons all over her bedroom.
♦ ♦ ♦
The Billings’ cabin sat farthest removed from the property. It was also the most complex, with a wraparound front porch, two stories of panoramic windows, and a small flower garden in the front. As I lifted my hand to knock, Tate pulled the door open.
“Cassidy never knocks,” he informed me. “She walks in like she owns the place.”
I nodded and resisted the urge to comment on
how rude she sounded. Following him inside, I was surprised that the interior looked like a normal house, painted walls, art work, couches and rugs. I had naively expected the same logs that adorned the exterior to make up the walls inside.
“My sister is in the sitting room,” Tate said. His tone was colder, but what could I expect? There were no games to play here, no pretenses of a familial relationship and I was a stranger to him.
I followed Tate down a hall that emptied into another oversized room, wood floors, and a crimson rug near a stone fireplace. I could smell cinnamon and pine in the air. The dying light of the sun cast a golden glow over the expansive space. As we entered, a lone figure turned toward us from where she stood at the window. Her hair was a light brown with thick blonde streaks likely from the sun, not a bottle. Her face was dainty, feminine to an extreme. If I had to guess, she’d had work done, but it was hidden well. Her stomach was flat, hips almost nonexistent despite the fitted jeans she wore. She didn’t look like the rest of the wrangler women I’d met thus far. Isabelle wore ballet flats with golden buckles, a thick golden necklace, and a thick emerald ring on her right hand. Her lips pulled tight in a semi-frown, as if everything around her displeased her, and maybe it did. Or maybe it was me.
“So you’re Lindy?” It wasn’t really a question when she said it, more of a realization of a face to a name, and the surprise that went with it. It was as if she’d said, “Hmm, I expected more.”
“It’s good to meet you Ms. Billings,” I said to her, hoping to sound gracious.
I expected her to say something to the effect of, ‘No, call me Isabelle,’ but it never came. She motioned to the couches and I followed Tate’s lead.
“Did Ryder give you the files?” she asked as she soundlessly eased herself to the edge of the loveseat. My Aunt Stella had sat in the same manner, never fully relaxed into a seat, but she’d looked regal. As I watched Isabelle, she looked like a predator waiting for prey.
“Yes, what he had at least.”
From beneath her chair she pulled a manila file and extended it to me. “Ryder told me you would be here tonight, so I pushed up my time table.” Her voice was low for a woman, not masculine, but still strong while she maintained her feminine poise.
I took the file and flipped it open. I’d seen most of the photos and a few of the reports, but there was a fourth body, a woman.
“Has there been another attack?”
Tate nodded. “Yesterday, two hikers found that woman buried under some bushes.” He pointed to the report. “You’ll see that there were definite animal wounds, but all post mortem.”
“Was the blood drained again?” I asked.
Isabelle rose with the grace of a dancer and walked to the window. “Yes, but this time, she was alive when it was taken.”
I read over the report with interest. A change in the pattern couldn’t be ignored.
“He’s evolving,” I said to myself.
It unnerved Isabelle. She didn’t have the stomach for any of it, and the fact that I handled it with ease disturbed her.
“So what are you going to do, Miss Johnson?”
I didn’t have an answer yet. I had too much to learn.
“How did you get these reports? They’re official police documents,” I said.
The brother and sister exchanged a look before Isabelle said, “I have a friend on the police force.”
“A special friend,” Tate added with some sarcasm in his voice.
Her icy demeanor turned on him. “We needed the reports, and I got them, didn’t I?”
I felt the need to light a fire in the fireplace to warm myself from the animosity. “The reports say these were animal wounds.” I placed a finger over the picture of an open wound that was clearly made by a knife. “No way are those wounds from an animal. Are the police inept here, or trying to cover something up?”
They stared at each other for a long time before Isabelle said, “They’re covering it up.”
“Why?” I couldn’t think of a single reason to keep people in the dark. “If there’s a serial killer hiding in the woods, people have the right to know. I can’t believe the police here would willing—”
“I asked him to,” Isabelle interrupted. “No, I begged Spencer to write that it was an animal. We would be ruined if people thought we were harboring—”
I exploded to my feet, Cassidy’s persona pushed aside and Lindy in full control once more. “You’re crazy! Why would you ask him to do that? You are risking innocent lives.”
She didn’t back down. “It’s an internal matter. We will handle it.”
A chill ran down my spine. “What do you mean internal?”
Tate spoke from where he sat. “We found a bloody knife behind a hay bale about a week ago. There were no fingerprints, but we figure with the way guests move in and out of this place, it has to be one of the staff.”
My knees buckled and I dropped to the couch again. Ryder had sent me to investigate a crime, weigh in on what the police had already found. It never sounded dangerous. It was supposed to be a simple consulting job. The way he’d held me that last time, the way he cautioned me to be careful, not to do anything dangerous. He said to come back in one piece...
“Ryder knew, didn’t he?”
Isabelle sunk back to the loveseat. “I told him not to tell you. I didn’t think you would come.”
I thought of the dinner I’d shared with the staff. I’d looked at each of them, tried to memorize faces and read emotion. I’d seen a killer and not recognized it. My stomach churned with unease.
“Why aren’t the cops combing this place?
Tate’s teeth bit down on his lip before he replied. “Isabelle has a certain way of convincing the lead detective to keep it all quiet.”
His sister’s eye narrowed. “You make it sound so depraved, Tate. We had dinner. That was all.”
They were banking on me. All the chips were down and they’d bet everything on me. I wasn’t recovered. My doctor had admonished me to avoid life and death situations, so what did I do? I found a serial killer and moved in with him. My heart sank as I thought of the other possibility, or her. I had no way of knowing.
“I need everything you have.” I tried to take control of my reality again. “And I need your support. There can’t be any hint of mistrust when we are around the rest of the staff. They have to believe I’m Cassidy if I can have any chance of getting close to them.” I glared at Isabelle. “Whatever you have against me can’t pass through these walls.”
Her jaw tightened in the same way Ryder’s did when he was angry. “I’m sorry. I have a hard time sitting across from the girl who nearly got my son killed.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t remember seeing you while he was in the hospital for almost a week,” I said.
“Maybe that’s because you were too busy running off again.”
In the time I’d been away, Ryder had obviously bonded with his mother over every single one of my wrong doings, but I didn’t have time for her petty grudges. “Fine, hate me, but keep it in here. Out there, you are my aunt, and you are supporting my recovery.” Both of their eyes bulged at the word, so I explained further as I let my fingers weave up into my blonde hair. “I needed an explanation for why Cassidy is a little off, so I used a version of the truth. Dixie thinks I’m in here being lectured on my sobriety.”
“You’re getting good at that.” Tate nodded toward my hands with a weak smile. “We will both do whatever you need.”
“I need full personnel files on everyone,” I continued. “And an internet connection.”
Isabelle sighed. “We have a dial up connection here in the cabin, but it will be difficult having you here without upsetting the staff. The personnel files will be harder. Most of these people work under the table, cash only and we don’t typically have their real names.”
“But they’re family,” Tate said, as if it made everything all right again.
“Sure,” I agreed sarcastically, “family
that mutilates bodies and drains them of their blood.” I stood and straightened my clothes, a Lindy habit, and said, “Look, I’m not happy you hid this from me, but I’ll do my best.”
Isabelle wasn’t talking, so Tate took over. “Do you need anything from us?”
I blew my breath out as I realized the one thing that would make me feel better. “I’d love a gun.”
A tiny sarcastic sound slipped from between Isabelle’s tight lips, but it was Tate who said, “We don’t have hand guns around the ranch, a couple guys have shot guns for our overnight trips, but we limit the firearms.” He pushed himself up and strode to the desk that rested on the far side of the room. “How about a knife?”
I scoffed as I followed him. “Sure, if it shoots bullets.”
As the drawer slid open, the knives rattled forward, metal on metal, musical, almost cheerful. I counted at least fifteen knives, all different sizes, types and colors. Tate pushed them aside like he was sorting pennies and pulled out a blue knife folded into its housing. “I like this one. It’s a three inch blade, and it has a quick assist notch to pop open faster.” His thumb slipped up the blue metal and in a second the blade appeared. It was impressive. He held it out to me. “Practice, it takes some time to master that.” His fingers hovered over the back for a second. “There’s a clip so that you can snap it on your belt. All of the staff carries at least one knife.”
It seemed odd, even to me. Isabelle explained before Tate had a chance. “Beyond the normal wild life that might try to kill you, sometimes your pack animal at the back of a train will lose his footing and fall over a cliff. You need to be able to cut the rope so that the loss of life is minimal.”
A sticky smile spread over her perfect lips. Seeing my shock at the thought of sending an animal to its death was like a victory of sorts for her.
Tate pulled a smaller pocket knife from his drawer. “Keep this under your pillow, for emergencies.” He placed another switch blade in my hand and said, “And this one, keep it hooked to your boot under your pant leg.”
Saddles & Sabotage Page 9