I swung around to him, letting pass for now that he’d counted himself among the elected and appointed officials it was his job to report on. “Extreme? It’s only through his careful pursuit of a suspicious death that anyone knows it’s a murder.”
“You jumped to thinking it was murder because you hate men,” Fine said. We’d given Haeburn the general outline of Landry’s activities in hopes of getting the story covered adequately. Since Fine clung like a barnacle to Haeburn, that had meant telling him, too. “You and all those women who want revenge. You always stick together, dragging down a man’s reputation, spreading rumors about him after he’s dead. Just a bunch of emotional, hysterical—”
“I am not being emotional or siding with the women because those of us with ovaries always side together. My opinion has been formed based on Keith Landry’s actions. This guy was slime. What he did was the emotional equivalent of a roofie in their drinks.”
“What are the names of these so-called women who are saying this?” Fine demanded.
So-called women? I restrained myself from addressing that. “I’m not giving you names of my sources in a murder investigation.”
“Murder,” Fine scoffed. “It would be better left as a suspicious death.”
“Better for whom? The murderer? It’s not a matter of picking which you like. It’s a matter of what is.”
“Better for this community!” Fine’s face went blood-vessel-popping red. “Something you know nothing about. The Fourth of July Rodeo means everything to this county, to this town. And the rodeo must . . .” His mouth closed, opened, and closed again, like his teleprompter had gone blank.
“What? The rodeo must what, Thurston? Go on? The rodeo must go on?”
Haeburn covered Fine’s inability to speak. “You can sneer at the rodeo all you want—”
“Not the rodeo.”
“—but you can’t get away from the fact of its importance to this community. A community that has suffered greatly from losing its civic and judicial leadership.” He glared at me, as if reporting the truth of what had been going on had been the problem.
“That was—” Mike started in our defense.
Haeburn talked over him. “The county’s leadership has put together a plan to bring Cottonwood back to its preeminent position.” So Aunt Gee’s report that the bigwigs had repaired to a mountain hideaway for a secret conclave on the county’s future appeared to be correct—no surprise there—and any recreational scalp pinkening was purely incidental. I could hardly wait to hear the details. “Having the rodeo’s reputation damaged would be harmful to the economy—segments of the economy.”
Certainly Stan Newton’s economy. I wondered how many bigwigs at the exclusive weekend getaway had financial ties to Newton or benefited from the Fourth of July Rodeo.
“Deputy Alvaro is not impeding the rodeo. He—”
“Deputy Alvaro is no longer in charge of—”
“Of all the idiotic—” Mike inserted.
“—the investigation. Because—”
“Richard Alvaro has done better work this week than all those so-called leaders produce in—”
“Because,” Haeburn shouted over me, “the leadership of this county is confident Watt’s attempt to take his own life resolves the matter.”
“What?”
“His attempt at suicide screams his guilt.”
“Suicide? With no note?”
“No need for a note,” Haeburn started.
“Because his so-called suicide attempt was busy screaming?” Mike scoffed.
“He was remorseful for killing Landry. It might even have been an accident.”
“What about siccing the bulls on me?” I demanded.
“He also felt remorse about thinking he’d killed you,” Haeburn added with ill grace, clearly not recognizing that Watt couldn’t have loosed the bulls on me. He wouldn’t have had time to get back to his truck, run it long enough to pass out and run out of gas before Zane found him.
“Or he was remorseful that he didn’t succeed in killing you,” Fine muttered.
Which, I admit, was a good line. But I ignored it and him. “It’s all wrong. If he killed Landry and made some half-hearted attempt to kill me, he would have waited to see if he succeeded before attempting suicide. No . . .”
But I said no more. The gears of my brain had engaged. What was I thinking, gifting Haeburn and Fine with logic? They didn’t have the first idea what to do with it.
I turned and walked out. Diana followed. Mike remained.
Once I hit the parking lot, I turned to Diana. “Have you ever heard such absolute rot?”
She lifted one eyebrow. “Was it? Absolute rot, I mean.”
“Yes.”
“Or,” she went on evenly, as if I hadn’t snapped at her, “are you reacting to the messenger more than the message.”
“I am not—” I bit it off. Forced air in and out of my lungs a few times. “It is hard to see the clowns take over again.”
“True. But we knew he’d come back.”
“A nice, localized avalanche would have improved the quality of life at KWMT. Although we’d have to get Thurston under that avalanche, too.”
“Wrong season. Is that really what has you worked up?”
I paced away, along the building’s blank side. When I made the turn to start back, I saw Mike come out, buttoning a clean shirt from the stock he kept at the station. They exchanged a few words as I neared.
“Alvaro,” I said to Diana, figuring Mike would catch up with the conversation. “He went out on a limb, and they’re more than willing to saw it off behind him.”
“You think you pushed him out on that limb?”
“Certainly didn’t discourage him.”
“Richard made his own decisions,” Mike said. “He wouldn’t thank you for taking that on your shoulders. Besides, Watt’s so-called attempted suicide can’t change the fact that Landry was murdered, and Richard was right. Nobody can say otherwise. Well, they can say it, but they’re idiots.”
“Do you buy that what happened with Watt was an admission of guilt?”
“He might have done it to divert suspicion.”
“Do you think Watt has it in him—that sort of fancy touch?”
“Once you know the principle, it’s not difficult. Can’t imagine he doesn’t know the principle—all winter there are reminders around here not to let your tailpipe get clogged if you get stuck in snow. Beyond that, it’s a matter of putting together the hose, funnel, and duct tape. One pass through the rodeo grounds, and you’d find everything you’d need. One-stop shopping.”
“I meant the diverting of suspicion. Do you think if Watt thought he was in trouble he’d stick around and try to divert suspicion? Or would he run?”
Paycik considered that. It was one of the things I liked about him. He listened, and he considered what other people said before giving a response.
“Run.”
I liked it even better when he agreed with me.
“Me, too. And the one-stop shopping you pointed out goes for anybody who’d want to fake a suicide to get rid of Watt.”
They both frowned, apparently assessing what I’d said.
Mike asked, “You started to say no-something in there. No what?”
“No, it wasn’t Watt sending the bulls after me.”
“Not enough time,” he said immediately.
“Exactly. Plus, the only thing that makes sense is if the bull attack was meant to scare us away. And the reason to scare us away was to give the carbon monoxide time to kill Watt.”
“You think somebody tried to murder him? Somebody who wanted him to take the fall?” Diana asked.
“If he wasn’t trying to commit suicide, that’s about the only other option. H
e didn’t accidentally attach a funnel onto his truck’s tailpipe and unthinkingly wrap duct tape around it and a hose that he absent-mindedly stuck into his truck’s back window.”
Mike’s mouth twitched. “No, not even Evan Watt. Which means there’s a murderer loose. And—” he added with a jerk of his head toward KWMT-TV. “—Cottonwood County’s brain trust isn’t looking for him.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
“I’VE GOT TO GET to the rodeo grounds.” Diana grimaced. “Haeburn wants shots of the case wrapping up, the rodeo returning to normal.”
“Normal.” Mike snorted. He stretched, arms overhead, yawning hugely, impressive abs pressing against the front of his clean shirt. “More like figuring out how to go about calling off the Fourth of July Rodeo for the first time. The rodeo committee’s getting cancellations left and right. They’re meeting with Street this morning about how to pull the plug.”
“Then everyone will go their separate ways—taking different routes from the crossroads,” I said. “So, we’d better get back to the rodeo grounds, before we run out of time.”
He groaned. I didn’t blame him. I felt like groaning, too. The hovel had never seemed so alluring.
MIKE DROVE US to the rodeo grounds, pulling in behind Diana.
On the way, I’d filled him in on the substance of my patio encounters with Linda and Grayson from the previous night. He told me what little he’d learned while chauffeuring rodeo committee members to their vehicles, though he suspected one of them of being one of Tom’s sources on the bribe.
“So, what now?” he asked as he parked his four-wheel-drive.
There were new holes among the ranks of parked pickups and campers, and I saw a few groups who appeared to be packing up. Beyond the rodeo office, police tape encircled Watt’s pickup truck and the picnic table.
“I think it’s time to hit Zane harder. He’s—” My cell interrupted. Caller ID said Mel Welch. At this time of the morning? “I’ve got to get this.”
“I’ll tackle Zane,” he offered, and headed off as I answered.
Mel sounded frantic. “Are you all right? I tried and tried to call you last night, but you didn’t answer, and you didn’t return my calls.”
“I’m sorry, Mel, I was at the hospital and—”
“Hospital? You’re wounded. Oh, my God, I’ll never forgive myself. We can get a flight out and—”
“No! No, Mel. I’m fine. I was at the hospital’s waiting room. A suspect in—” I edited myself in time. “—a crime might have tried to commit suicide.”
“In jail?”
“No, in a pickup.”
“But they were arrested.”
“Who was? Mel, what are you talking about?”
“That horrible shootout you were in the middle of yesterday.”
It took a couple beats to remember the episode at Hiram Poppinger’s ranch. That couldn’t possibly be just yesterday afternoon . . . but of course it was. What also threw me off were the words horrible and shootout.
“How on earth did you hear about that?” Another implication hit me. “You cannot tell my parents, Mel. If you say—”
“Good God, no.”
That held such genuine horror, I didn’t press the point. “How did you hear about it?”
“I saw your report. A very nice young lady at KWMT-TV sends them to me electronically.” I was impressed he knew how to watch them. “That was an excellent story. Frightening, but excellent. And that other reporter with you . . . he’s, uh, quite good-looking, isn’t he? Do you work together a lot?”
I heard the echo of Mel’s wife Eileen behind that probe. “Paycik? He’s sports. I’m consumer affairs.”
“Oh, yes, of course, of course. I was shocked they tried to pull that scam after you’d aired your first report the evening before. How foolhardy.” He made other comments that proved he’d not only watched those reports, but others. It was touching. Less touching was when he segued to a familiar strain. “Are you really staying there? I know you said so, but . . . What will you do with yourself?”
“My job. The job you got me.”
“I wish I hadn’t. You know that talk show in St. Louis—”
“Mel. I’m staying to work out my contract, and to sort out . . . things.” Like what kind of reporter I truly was. “Maybe eventually I’ll decide talk show is a direction to go, but I’m not ready to commit now. Tell them I don’t want the job.” I’d have loved to add tell my parents, too, but I wouldn’t foist that on him.
“If I were a better agent—”
“Hey, if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have a job.”
“Some job for E.M. Danniher. Twice a week? You’d be climbing the walls if it weren’t for these burglars and that murder in the spring.”
“How do you know . . . Never mind. What matters is that you cannot tell my parents.”
He snorted. “You think if your mother knew I’d still have any skin?”
“You make her sound like Hannibal Lecter.”
“Scarier. But I can’t blame her or your father, since I sent you out there.”
“No, you didn’t, Mel. I’m responsible for my being here and what I do while I’m here.” I said that off the top of my head.
A beat later I realized its truth. I’d been numb when Mel set out my options last winter, so I couldn’t claim coming here as an active choice. But I had chosen to stay.
And I was responsible for what I did here. Not Wes the Ex. Me. Wes had pushed me, and for that, I might thank him—at least in my head—at some point when I thought of him without grinding my teeth. But my ability had made the most of each new situation.
I laughed.
“Sure, you can laugh,” Mel said morosely. “You’re several large states away from your mother.”
I laughed more. “Not only that, but it’s a sunny, blue-skied Wyoming day, and I’ve been doing some damned fine reporting. I’m doing you the favor, Mel, of not telling you any more about it, so you have full deniability.”
“Oh. Oh. Thank you.” Catherine Danniher would never fall for that ploy and would give him heck for it eventually. Mel, poor baby, was caught between a rock and a hard place—two Danniher women. “Well, you sound good. But how will you keep yourself occupied?”
“There’s that dog I’ve acquired. And my job and attending the local rodeo.” No sense mentioning I was attending because of a murder, an attempted murder, and a give-it-a-shot try aimed at me. “And I might take up cooking.”
“You’ve always been a great baker, but do you think that’s wise? Your father is concerned about that house’s oven.”
“Poor Mel—I told them it was my choice entirely. But as a matter of fact, I’m talking about cooking, not baking. Go to the Farmers’ Market each day for fresh ingredients, grow my own vegetables. Real Earth Mother. I might stop coloring my hair and let the gray show.”
“You color your hair?”
“Oh, Mel,” I said through laughter, “Eileen should not let you out alone.”
STILL SMILING after hanging up, I checked my messages, phone and email, guiltily deleting the ones from Mel. Among all the usual detritus was an email yesterday from Jennifer with the subject line of Rodeo Queens Complete List.
As I looked around for Mike or Zane, I opened the message and skimmed down the list, starting with the familiar names of the women from the past eight years, then unknown names before spotting Vicky Upton near the beginning.
I was poised to close the list when a niggle of delayed recognition hit. I scrolled more slowly back up the list.
And there it was. An entirely unexpected connection.
I whistled softly.
I looked around again, saw plenty of activity, including a glimpse of Richard Alvaro talking to someone on the rodeo office porch, but no Mike or Za
ne.
Before I decided where to try, I heard shouting from near the arena and headed that way. Raised voices guided me, though no words came through. The next shout was either a man or a woman who shouted like a man.
“Go to hell!” came another shout, this one definitely female. Pauline’s blue-streaked hair showed as she ran away from the concessions stand area toward the front gate.
I took off after her. With less speed, but a better angle, I cut her off before the gate and grabbed her arm.
“Get off me, bitch!”
“I see you’re your usual charming self this morning, Pauline.”
She froze at the name. Then she resumed snarling, “Let go of me.”
“First, I want to know what you were doing by Evan Watt’s pickup last night.”
“No idea what you’re talking about.”
“The guy who almost died of carbon monoxide poisoning in his truck, behind the rodeo office. I saw you there.”
“Yeah? So what? Everybody was there. Wanted to see what all the excitement was about.”
“You disappeared. Didn’t stick around to help.”
“Wasn’t anything I could do. He—Somebody was pulling that thing out of the exhaust pipe. People were all over. That Newton guy who owns the place, the cowboy, and that TV guy. So I split.”
I was a little slow in responding because I was taking in something I should have spotted earlier. “The police want to talk to you, Pauline.”
“Don’t call me that. And why would they wanna talk to me?”
I debated pursuing the animus toward her name, but decided for this first girl-talk session I should avoid more conflict. “Your buddy Roy Craniston got in a shouting match with Keith Landry last Wednesday. What was that about?”
She sneered. “That old man came sniffing after me, like I’d ever let anybody that creepy touch me.” She and Heather had more in common than they knew. “I had it handled, but Roy butted in like always. Assholes.” That dispensed with both males.
“Do you remember anything they said?”
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