A whimper seeped out of Dixie’s throat, but it was Alexis who spoke. “Come on, you know Tumbleweed. He’s always lurking somewhere. He’s a tracker, blood is what he does.”
The conversation left everyone unsettled. We broke apart for the day’s activities, but Dallas pulled me aside before he left on his trip.
“Hey, be careful while I’m gone,” he said.
I managed a weak smile. “Are you worried about me?”
His right hand held Rocky’s reins, but his left hand brushed against mine, and butterflies crammed tight in my throat. “There’s weird stuff happening around the ranch. I want you here when I get back, that’s all.”
I heard Wiley call Dallas’ name, but he waited for my reply.
“I’ll be careful, I promise.”
He nodded and watched me for a moment more before he swung up on Rocky and trotted after his pack train. I waited for him to disappear down the valley trail and before I set to work cleaning the yard. I stayed at it for about an hour, until my shoulder ached and I heard my name.
“Cassidy! You have a minute?”
I turned to see Tate and Phoenix making their way toward me. I smothered the pain I felt and tried my best to look pleasant. “What do you need?”
“Nothing really, letting you know that Phoenix and I are headed into town for a couple hours. You’re in charge today.” He smiled broadly. “I guess it’s good that it’s a slow day. There’s nothing on the books until this afternoon.” I noted the tightening around his eyes, a signal to me and me alone. “We’re taking Tumbleweed with us. He has a doctor’s appointment, so you’re all alone.”
I thought I understood what he was saying, but I tried to clarify. “Is Aunt Isabelle around?”
“Yes,” his words were tight and clipped, “but she has a headache, so handle everything on your own.”
The argument I’d walked in on the night before made more sense. Tate was with me. He believed there was more to Tumbleweed Tim than met the eye. Tate was giving me a chance to search the cabin.
My pseudo uncle took my hand and squeezed it. “I know you’ll do great, Cass.”
The warm metal key slipped between our hands. “I’ll make you proud, Uncle Tate.”
Ten minutes later, Tate’s truck bounded down the road, three heads bopped as the truck fell into every pothole along the way. I waited until the yard was clear of manure before I deemed it time to go. I traced the outline of the key in my pocket as I hurried down the river trail. The police barricade loomed up in front of me when I was only a half mile or so down the road. A thick cop leaned against a nearby tree, obviously bored, but suddenly alert when I happened upon his path.
He held up a beefy hand and shook his head. “Sorry ma’am. This trail is closed today.”
I resented his use of the word ‘ma’am’. I never felt old enough for that title. “My name is Lindy Johnson, I’m a private investigator. I’m the reason you knew about this in the first place.”
Those words belonged to Lindy Johnson and felt like stepping into slippers after a long day. But I reminded myself that my greater than thou approach with cops rarely got me very far. I had flaws, and one day I’d work on them.
The brawny cop looked a little stunned, but cleared out of my way. I passed by two more cops without paying them much mind and spotted the lead detective with ease. I extended my hand before he could speak. “Lindy Johnson, private investigator.”
Recognition dawned in his countenance. “Isabelle mentioned you. Good work on this find, by the way. I’m Detective Dayton.”
Eager to skip small talk, I asked, “Did you find anything?”
He appreciated my direct nature and I liked him for it. “A trail of blood, and signs of struggle. This was where the victim earned her bruises for sure, and then she was knocked out.”
“The stunner, did you find it?”
He motioned to a cop behind him and was handed a plastic bag with a black object inside. Dayton placed the bag in my hands and let me examine it as he spoke. “Like you guessed, it’s like brass knuckles, but without the brass, and heavily electrified.
With four finger holes, a trigger and a safety switch, it was a stun gun that could be worn on the hand.
“Stun guns don’t usually knock people out. Have you checked to see what kind of voltage it has?”
“One of the crime scene techs pulled it open. It’s been heavily modified.” He pointed out the screws that were scuffed at the back. “It’s not the volts that will knock you unconscious, but if you mess with the amps it’ll get dangerous.” He took the bag back and handed it to the officer that waited for him. “Our perp switched the regular capacitor out for a photo flash capacitor, and it tripled his amps. It would easily knock anyone out.” The detective’s close set eyes rested on me for a second as if to scrutinize my motives. “I can’t believe we didn’t see the burns.”
I shrugged. I hadn’t seen them at first either, because most stun guns were two pronged devices, the singular point of the rubber knuckle device left a different mark. “The device is new on the market. At least you’ve learned something.”
“Do you have anything else for us? Anything that might help?”
I considered giving him Tim’s name, but until I had concrete evidence, it wasn’t worth it.
“Not yet, but soon.”
His eyes narrowed in the way that only cops do, as if he was pulling my thoughts right out of my mind to read them like a newspaper. “Where are you off to, then?”
A coy smile teased my lips as I said, “Out for a regular Thursday morning jaunt.”
He didn’t believe me, but he let me go despite his suspicions. Once I was free of the second barricade, I let myself revel in my correct assessment of the crimes. I’d found the scene, I’d guessed the weapon, and I was going to find something to put Tim away.
“Home by Sunday,” I said aloud as I stepped into the meadow. The thought wasn’t as happy as it should’ve been. Home hadn’t been what I’d wanted. Life as Lindy Johnson had become complicated and painful. Cassidy Billings was simpler. Riding had gotten easier. Feeding, bridling, all of it had become routine. I secretly hoped that when I solved the case, I might be able to stay on and finish the season. It was a better alternative than returning to what I’d left.
As I arrived at the cabin I knew was Tumbleweed Tim’s, I slipped the key from my pocket and used the hem of my shirt as a glove to turn the knob. I ducked inside and let the door click closed behind me. A small bathroom tucked on the back of the cabin, giving it the illusion that the square footage exceeded my own quarters. A queen bed with a torn comforter filled most of the space. Heat still radiated from a small stove in the corner.
I spotted a sink with a bucket beneath it for drainage. He hadn’t emptied it in some time and leftover food bobbed in the filthy water. The desk on the far wall seemed as good a place as any to start. I pulled open the drawers, but most were empty, other than a couple knives tucked in the top right. No blood stained the blade, and I knew width was too thick to match the wounds from the victims.
In the center drawer I found a photo, a man on a horse, in his twenties maybe, and a small child sitting in front of him on the saddle. Her brilliant blonde hair and bright eyes caught my attention, but the most striking was her smile. I didn’t know that Isabelle had ever been capable of smiling. I flipped the picture over and saw the words scrawled in childish handwriting, “Belle and Tim on Shadow”.
Isabelle had grown up with Tumbleweed. That was where her loyalty had started. Ryder told me once that she’d lived in the lighthouse, but perhaps summers were spent at the ranch. I tucked the picture back in where I’d found it and turned to the rest of the room.
I began looking in the less obvious places, the upper tank of the toilet, inside cereal boxes and behind the potbellied stove. When I lifted the top mattress from the bottom mattress, I found a book. As I flipped through the pages, my confidence grew.
The text listed the blood rites and r
ituals of every religion and cult from the dawn of civilization. From the Scythians who drank the blood of their enemy to obtain their power, to the Aztec people who used blood sacrifice to gain the favor of their Sun God. My usually iron stomach turned at the descriptions of violence in the name of power. Unable to read anymore, I closed the book and slipped it back into its hiding place.
A feeling of darkness and foreboding descended on me. I’d seen evil before. I’d helped my uncle on multiple homicide cases, all with gristly details, but the victims in this case unnerved me. Motives were typically straightforward. A love affair gone sour, or a business deal that ended in betrayal, occasionally it was some lunatic on a rampage, but this, this was draining the blood from a human being for an unknown purpose and it disturbed me.
Trying to be through, I knelt on the floor and looked under the bed. I spotted a folded map and pulled it from of the dust and grime. As I unfolded the map I saw all the landmarks of the ranch’s vicinity, the valley, the falls and the mountain range behind us, but intermixed were red stars, five to be precise. My pulse quickened. Five deaths, five stars, and the locations matched. Had he planned the dump sites in advance? Or had he marked them as some sort of trophy?
Invisible bugs crawled over my skin at the thought. I folded the map and tucked it back under the bed. I didn’t want to be there any longer, but I had to check everything to be sure. I opened the cabinets, looked in the bathroom, and found nothing. As a last effort, I pulled open the fridge and ducked down to look inside.
The sight took a moment to register. My scream choked there in my throat, a weak gurgling sound as I stared at the five gallons of scarlet red blood, stored in milk jugs only six inches from my face. I slammed the door shut and fell back on my palms. The image blazed in my mind, dark and sticky, like the blood in my nightmares. My stomach lurched within me.
I exploded to my feet and sprinted from the cabin. The door slammed as I fled, as if the evil within was as happy to get me out as I was to leave. My footing was unsure in the tall yellow grass of the meadow. I fell twice along the way. Each time I propelled myself forward again. I had one purpose, to find the detective and turn the information over to him.
Two cops saw me from a ways off and got the detective’s attention. By the time I reached him I was out of what little breath I had left.
“In the fridge,” I panted between phrases, “found blood. Gallons of blood.”
Dayton made the connection and demanded answers. “Where? Where were you?”
I pointed with a trembling left arm. “The cabin,” my voice shook with the fear that had not yet escaped, “in the meadow. It’s where the caretaker lives. He’s gone on errands and—”
“You broke in?”
He obviously hadn’t know me long if he had to ask.
“I was given a key by his employer and the cabin technically belongs to Tate.”
Dayton shifted uncomfortably. “Isabelle won’t like this and we don’t have a warrant.”
“By the time you get one he’ll be back and besides, how will you explain knowing about the blood in the first place?”
The red tape of police work frustrated me. There were five gallons of blood in a fridge and we were concerned with the best legal approach.
I spotted a crime scene unit kit and asked, “What if someone got you samples? Could you hypothetically test it, and have enough for a warrant?”
Dayton didn’t look pleased with my suggestion, but he was out of ideas. “That might work.”
The sun told me my time was running short. I didn’t want to open that fridge again, but if it meant I could stop the killing, it was worth it.
Outfitted with collection tubes and syringes for each milk jug, I returned to the cabin. My heart pounded in my ears as I pushed open the door. I set the tubes on the back of the sink and opened the fridge. I’m not sure why it surprised me that the jugs of blood were still there, but it was as if I’d wished they’d been a figment of my imagination.
As I popped the top of the first one, I gagged as the smell accosted me, but forced myself forward despite the nausea. The stopper on the syringe shook as I pulled upward, the liquid too thick and the pressure too tight. I expelled the liquid into the small vile, and returned the milk jug to the fridge. I repeated the process with increased revulsion each time. By the time I sealed the final cap on the final jug, I felt faint. It was all too personal, to close to my life to be real. When I consulted, I was there for a few minutes at most. The bodies were evidence and I could compartmentalize their death as a catalyst to catch a killer. This killer hunted within walking distance. The blood in the jugs represented five lives that had been snuffed out; one who I knew fought for her life and lost. It was too close to let myself forget it.
A police siren sent up a single cry of alarm. I knew I was in trouble. I grabbed containers and the syringes and hurried from the cabin. I took one moment and locked the door before I ran across the meadow. Unseen holes in the ground threw off my balance and tripped my steps. Though I caught myself twice, the final hole toppled me over and my evidence flew from my grasp. I cringed as I heard one of the tubes shatter against a rock. I had no time to find it, only time to pull myself to my feet, and grab up the remnants of evidence before I dashed through the tree line to the river path.
Dayton was waiting for me, bag open and ready. I dumped what I had in the bag. The words rattled out of me between breaths, “I lost one, and I don’t know which container it came from.”
“If you’re right, it won’t matter.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Two of my guys spotted Isabelle by the barn. Tate’s back. Sorry about the blast, I wasn’t sure how to get your attention.”
I was beyond grateful for his warning, if Tumbleweed had caught me in there…
“I have to go, but keep me in the loop. I’ll do the same for you.” I dashed up the path as fast as my boots would allow and only slowed to a walk when I could see the outline of the barn. There against the tack shed was Isabelle Billings and five guests.
“Cassidy!” she snapped as I arrived. “Where were you? The Mohall’s were signed up for an afternoon ride and you’re late. Nothing is ready.”
“I went for a walk and got turned around,” I lied. She saw through it. I’d come off the river trail. In the least I’d been with the cops, though I knew she suspected more. I looked to the patriarch of the group and apologized. “I’m really sorry I was late, but I’ll have everything ready in about eight minutes.”
Isabelle was clearly more upset than the guests. The family obliged without distress while she stormed off. As I pulled three horses from the corral, I could hear her voice on the wind. The words were unintelligible, but the tone was clearly furious. I brushed and tacked the three horses. Phoenix retrieved two more and jumped in despite his day off. As I loaded the parents onto their horses, Tate stepped in behind me.
“Did you do it?”
I smiled up at the mother and handed her the reins. I turned my fake smile on Tate, but it was anything but happy. “I did.”
“And?”
“And now we wait,” I said with caution.
It wasn’t enough for him, but it had to be. Evidence wasn’t like the movies, there was a chain to work through, tests took time, and they had to be processed in order. While I hated what sat in the fridge less than a mile away, I had to wait and so did Tate.
Chapter 15
Friday morning rolled around a whole lot faster than I wanted. I checked my phone instinctively, though it was habit from a previous life more than anything else. The words ‘No Service’ were only momentarily replaced with a tiny bar before it was snatched away again. There were no messages from PI Net, no voicemails from my Uncle Shane, no one to remind me of the life I’d once led.
I was Cassidy Billings, not Lindy Johnson.
The day progressed uneventfully, with Alexis to help manage the day rides, my life moved at normal pace again, though the contents of Tumbleweed’s fridge were never far from my mind.
Alexis took the rides and I opted to stay in the yard and prep the horses. It left me close to the barn in case news came back early.
♦ ♦ ♦
I’d planned to go straight from the yard to the lodge, but Tate intercepted me. The words, “Your aunt wants a word with you,” sent shivers down my spine. I followed him to the main cabin and through the front door. As the hallway emptied into the living room, I was surprised to find not only Isabelle, but Detective Dayton as well.
Dayton noticed my expression and said, “The results came back early, and I wanted to deliver the news in person.” He nodded toward the couches. “Why don’t we sit down for a minute?”
I slipped into the single chair, while Tate opted to stand. To my blatant shock, Dayton sat and Isabelle slipped in beside him and interlocked their fingers. Her eye brow twitched upward and the hint of a smug grin told me she was pleased that I hadn’t guessed their relationship. I should’ve, with the doctored reports and the hints at a romantic liaison, it all made sense. I wondered how much he knew, and even more curious, how much of their relationship was real.
“We tested the four samples you brought, and then the remnants in the three syringes as well.” His frown warned me of impending bad news. “It was deer blood. No human blood.”
“What about the pieces I lost in the grass, what if one of them had the human blood?”
“The problem is that we can’t convict on a possibility. We need real evidence.”
“But why deer’s blood? Why does he keep five gallons of deer blood in his fringe? It’s disgusting.”
Isabelle broke her silence. “But it’s not illegal. He’s done nothing wrong.”
Any trust I’d built with her had disintegrated. I considered the map and the book about blood ritual, but it was circumstantial. She’d explain it away with ease.
Isabelle turned on her brother with eyes that could scald flesh. “You knew he had that blood, Tate. Why do I get the feeling you were behind this witch hunt?”
“Don’t start with me, Isabelle.” Their relationship was clearly strained, but her accusation was curious to a mind like mine. Tate looked toward Dayton with a tight jaw. “So what now?”
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