“I don’t mean that I want to sell it,” Nolan said patiently. “Just that if somebody stole it they could sell it. Jeez.”
“I have a safe here, sheriff, you’ve seen it,” Paul said. His face, lined with age and reddened from the morning’s scouting session, was as solid as bedrock. Eileen carefully looked at the floor, trying to see in her peripheral vision if anyone in the room was fidgeting, twitching, sweating, pale and shiny with guilt. No one seemed guilty, though everyone was sweating.
“I’ll photograph the skull and the er – jewel thing, and we’ll store it here,” the sheriff said, grudgingly. “But I’ll need to ship the stone knife to Rapid City for fingerprint and DNA analysis.”
“All right,” Paul said.
“Tell them to be careful,” Beryl said suddenly, rousing out of her trance. “That thing looks like it might be Aztec as well. Tell them it’s a priceless artifact and they have to treat it that way.”
“Of course, ma’am,” Sheriff King said.
“Well,” Tracy said briskly, standing up from the piano bench. “That’s settled, then. Paul, you were going to take Mr. Magnus and his friends north this afternoon? There’s some excellent meadows that the deer and elk just love. Paul will drive there, Mr. Simmons, no horses,” she added with a smile. “We’ll give you a rest from horseback riding.”
“We’ll get back to the dig, of course,” Jorie said, and Beryl nodded and visibly collected herself. She was fascinated with the skull. Here was the first mystery – what had been taken from the Aztec skeleton – already solved. Eileen hoped the second mystery would fall apart as quickly, and they would be able to jail a murderer.
“I need to see where you found these things,” Sheriff King said to Eileen.
“Of course,” Eileen said levelly.
“I’ll go, too,” Lucy said. “Hank should sleep for two hours or more, he’s very tired. As long as you can listen for him?” she asked Tracy. Tracy, already on her feet and retying her apron, nodded.
“Of course. If he wakes early he’ll just have to help me make cookies. I don’t think he’ll mind. We’ll be fine, you go on. Take Zilla with you.”
Sheriff King glowered at the carpet and Eileen realized he didn’t want Lucy along. He wanted her alone. Eileen cast a timeless female glance at Lucy, the glance that meant don’t-leave-me-alone-with-this-creep, and Lucy answered with a tiny squint of her eyes, a double almost-wink. Of-course-not-girlfriend.
“Let’s saddle up, boys,” Howie said with relish. “Didn’t you say something about black bear, Paul?”
“There’s some good blackberry bushes just coming into fruit,” Paul said calmly. “No guarantees, but we could get lucky. That’s why we’re in the truck this afternoon, too.”
“So the bears won’t get us?” Nolan Simmons asked curiously.
“So the horses don’t throw you on your head and run all the way back to their stable,” Paul said. “Horses do not like bears. Nervous horses mean bear, or lion. Remember that, this fall, if you’re hunting here.”
“I will,” Nolan said, visibly impressed.
“Bye, honey,” Paul said to his wife, and kissed her cheek. A moment or so later Paul and the hunters were gone. Jorie and Beryl slipped out after them, two women in stained khakis with dirt in their hair and under their nails, obviously anxious to get back to their Aztec skeleton. If not for Jon McBride’s death, Eileen thought, they would be the two happiest women on the planet right now.
“Go get your photographs, Richard,” Tracy said. “I have shortcake to make for dessert tonight, and I need my girls back so they can help me out in the kitchen.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sheriff King said. “The camera is in my car. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as he left the room Eileen drew a deep breath and let it out in a huge sigh, as though she’d been holding her breath forever. It felt as if she had.
“Good girl!” Lucy said admiringly. “You kept your mouth shut the whole time, practically. I wish I could do that.”
“Nice work, punkin,” Tracy agreed. “Get back as soon as you can, hear? I have strawberries to cut up for the shortcake.”
“Oh, Mom, you and your elaborate cooking,” Eileen groaned. “Couldn’t we just have leftover apple pie?”
“Somebody polished it off in the middle of the night,” Tracy said. “Not a smidgeon left this morning. Those boys are using up a lot of calories chasing around after the wildlife. They eat a lot, and we plan to keep them happy. Howie is paying a lot just for this scouting trip. The guide service next fall is going to make us a bundle, if he chooses our service.”
“He will, Mrs. Reed,” Lucy said. “Even without the excitement of a murder, he’ll be back. He loves it here. Can’t you tell?”
Tracy grinned and nodded. “I know,” she said happily. “Now catch us that murderer, girls. And don’t let it be Howie.”
“We’ll do our best,” Eileen said dryly.
“Ahh, Richard,” Tracy said, looking through the doorway. “I need to get to the kitchen. Why don’t you take the pictures you need. Eileen, and Lucy, why don’t you freshen up and drink some water before you go back out? You don’t want to become dehydrated, it’s such a hot day.”
Zilla heard the car first, with her phenomenal collie ears. Eileen and Lucy were in the front hall, ready to retrace their steps with the sheriff, when Zilla came racing down the front stairs. She skidded to a stop at the front door and stood, ears raised, tail down.
“Car?” Eileen said.
“Nobody she knows,” Lucy said. “Look at her tail. It’s not wagging.”
Eileen opened the door and Zilla bounded out. The highway was over half a mile away, and a simple gate marked the road that led to the Reed Ranch. There was no elaborate sign, though Tracy and Paul had discussed an entrance sign at some point in the future. The Reed Ranch sat in a fold of hills and wasn’t visible from the highway. The only cars that came down the ranch road were locals, paying hunters, and the Schwan’s truck. Schwan’s delivered frozen food and ice cream and Zilla knew the deliveryman, Doug, as well as she knew Paul and Tracy. Tracy told Eileen she suspected Doug was the only human who could possibly tempt Zilla away from her owners. Doug had been slipping Zilla ice cream sandwiches since she was a puppy.
Eileen rolled her shoulders, suddenly feeling tense. She couldn’t hear the car but she knew there was one coming. Zilla stood alertly at the end of the lawn, where the road turned into the ranch yard. The trees were in full July leaf and the shade at the front of the house was soothing and green. There was the sound of bees humming and the smell of grass and horses. The bees got louder and then they weren’t bees at all, but the sound of a car engine.
The car came over the final rise and it was a light blue Mustang convertible. The Mustang was trundling along slowly, almost at idle. The car wavered to one side of the road, hesitated, and then straightened. The person behind the wheel wore a dark baseball cap and glasses. His hands were close together on the wheel and his head was hunched close to his hands, as though he were almost blind. Eileen knew the car. It was Roberto Espinoza’s car, his cherished Mustang.
“I think that’s Joe,” Eileen said, in a voice so soft it felt as though she spoke no louder than the sound of the wind in the trees.
The car slowed to a stop in the ranch yard, blocking the sheriff’s car. Eileen flew down the steps and across the lawn. The Mustang was hot from the sun and the man sat behind the wheel, eyes closed, and he was Joe. Joe, with an enormous bruise that covered half his forehead, Joe with two days of beard growth and black sunglasses and a hat that didn’t conceal the white bandage underneath. He sat with his head back against the headrest, unmoving, hands still poised on the steering wheel as though he were driving.
“Joe,” Eileen said in a hoarse little voice. Joe rolled his head towards Eileen and took his hands off the wheel. He fumbled the sunglasses off his face and Eileen bit back a strangled sound as she saw the shiny bruised eye socket, the bloodshot eyes.
“Amen,” Lucy said from Eileen’s elbow.
“What happened?” Eileen said in voice that felt strengthless. “What happened?”
“A lot,” Joe said. “First, since I’m here, I’m going to take a couple of ’Berto’s pain pills. Then before I pass out in your bed—” He leered at her for a second and Eileen grinned, feeling immensely better. If Joe could give her that look, he was going to be just fine. “—I’m going to explain. But first—”
“Who is this?”
Joe winced. Sheriff King’s voice was loud and sharp, and so close that Lucy and Eileen both flinched.
“This is Joe Tanner,” Eileen said. “My – my—” she floundered, so concerned about Joe that she forgot the word that meant two people were going to be married. For a second her brain seemed to thrash like a fish caught on a hook. “My – my beloved.”
“Your what?” King said.
Lucy snickered, and put a hand to her mouth. Joe blinked through his tiredness and grinned at Eileen.
“Fiancé, I mean,” Eileen said, feeling a wave of heat in her face and remembering the word at last.
“I prefer beloved,” Joe whispered, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the seat. He reached out blindly with his hand and she caught it in her own, feeling tears rise and forcing them ruthlessly back down. She was not going to cry.
“What’s going on here?” King said flatly.
Eileen didn’t have to look at Lucy. Lucy knew Eileen needed her help.
“Looks like Joe was in an accident, and he’s come up to see Eileen,” Lucy said briskly. “He needs to get inside, and get some sleep. I’ll take you to the place where we found the – er, the objects, sheriff. Eileen needs to stay with Joe right now.”
“Come on, Joe,” Eileen said gently, opening the door to the Mustang. Joe was wearing some sort of soft cotton trousers and what had to be a silk shirt. It felt warm and soft to her touch and molded itself to his chest as she helped him out of the car. The shirt, the pants, the baseball cap, they frightened her, even more than ’Berto’s car. The car might be borrowed but the clothes added up to a man on the run.
“Backpack in the back,” Joe said. Eileen hooked the pack with one arm and put her shoulder under his arm. He leaned into her heavily and sighed as they walked into the shade of the trees on the front lawn.
“Bed upstairs, babe,” Eileen said. She spared one glance at Lucy, who waved her on. Sheriff King stood scowling at her side, a tall pole of a man next to the compact curves of her friend. Eileen reminded herself that Lucy could more than handle herself. She had Zilla, too, to help them find their way through the woods. Joe was important right now, not Lucy or Richard King or anybody else. Joe was hurting, he was in trouble, and she had to help him.
Chapter Seven
West of the Reed Ranch, Wyoming
“So what’s your story, anyway?” Lucy asked abruptly.
“Excuse me?” the sheriff said, his dark look momentarily replaced by surprise.
Lucy was pleased. She meant to be surprising. They were walking briskly west, Zilla trotting ahead of them. The mixture of pine and cottonwood trees that covered the steps of the ancient riverbed was fast approaching and Lucy hadn’t the faintest idea how to find the deadfall where they’d found the skull and the murder weapon.
She was from Baltimore, a very old city, and she prided herself on being able to find her way around in any metropolitan area. But these were woods, Wyoming woods, and the only structure in sight was the ancient homestead cabin and chicken coop where Dr. McBride had been found. Sheriff King walked quickly, his camera swinging in one hand.
“I was wondering what your story was. I know about you and Eileen,” Lucy said.
“You do?”
“We’re women, if you’ve noticed,” Lucy said with exaggerated sarcasm. “Girlfriends. We’ve told each other things you’d never tell another soul. We compare tampon types, for goddsake. I know about you.”
Sheriff King flushed and looked away. Lucy grinned to herself. Tampon talk always disconcerted and embarrassed men. It was a cheap shot, but she was willing to use it.
“So what do you know?”
“Eileen went to prom with Owen Sutter and his new girlfriend Molly, because they were all friends. The three had been friends since they were kids, right? So Eileen was already on her way to college and flight school in the Air Force, which you know all about. She left after a few years and went into police work, but she was on fire to get out of Wyoming and Owen wasn’t, so they had broken up months before the prom. She told me it was better when Owen was with Molly, because that’s the way it should have been in the first place. Things just felt right. Eileen didn’t have a boyfriend and didn’t want one, so she went solo but traveled to the prom with Owen and Molly, and you thought you had a chance with her and you tried to make out with her.”
Lucy stopped and drew breath. Damn Wyoming, anyway. The air was too thin out here, five thousand feet above sea level and a thousand miles inland. The air was thin and dry, too. She wasn’t feeling tired, just out of breath, but it didn’t suit her to let King know that. She wanted to connect with this man and she needed an excuse to make conversation. So she stopped and gasped and gestured for a little time to recover her breath.
“That’s her story?” King asked, stopping. “That’s what she told you?”
“Well, I would go on but I seem to be running out of breath out here,” Lucy said finally, with a smile she considered her very best. The sheriff wasn’t immune. His expression lightened and he fumbled at his side for his water bottle. Lucy took it gratefully, ignoring her own water bottle. The sheriff might not know how powerful a symbol sharing water represented, but Lucy did. She handed it back with a grateful sigh and a shrug.
“She hit me,” King said after taking a drink from his bottle. He didn’t look at her when he said it.
“I imagine she would hit pretty hard,” Lucy said, trying to keep her expression mild and friendly. She was now determined to make this man a friend, or at least to make him friendly. She thought the whole case might revolve on whether they could get this man, the local sheriff, to cooperate. “Worst would be the rejection, I suppose.”
“Yeah,” the sheriff said, his face darkening into his usual glower. “I fell into the lake. In my tuxedo. In front of everybody.”
“Not in front of me,” Lucy said. When he looked at her, she pointed her finger at him. “Listen to me, sheriff. Do you know why this state scares the crap out of me? There’s nobody here, for miles and miles. Things seem incredibly large out here, and incredibly important. Maybe something that happened a long time ago still seems important because everyone knows the same stories. Maybe things aren’t that important. Come on, I’m not that much of a wimp.”
She started walking and Zilla wagged her tail and gave a happy little rowf. She’d been lying in the shade of a leafy tree, her nose settled on her one foot. Lucy suddenly had an idea. Perhaps she could find her way to the deadfall after all, without having to admit to the sheriff that she didn’t know where the hell she was going.
“Zilla, find, find,” she said, waving her hand the same way Eileen had done down on the river. Lucy’s heart thudded hard as Zilla scrambled to her feet and started nosing back and forth. Would she find Dr. McBride’s trail again, or was she simply sniffing for rabbit?
Zilla wagged her tail briskly and gave a sharp bark. She headed up the grassy slope and into the trees, then turned and looked at the sheriff and Lucy with an inquiring expression.
“Good girl, Lassie,” Lucy said under her breath. “I mean, Zilla.”
“So what do you mean, things aren’t so important?” Sheriff King asked after a minute of silent hiking. Lucy didn’t smile, although she wanted to.
“Just that
. Things aren’t so important. Back in Baltimore, where I grew up, you could move twenty miles away and nobody would know you from Adam. There’s lots of people back east, have you ever been?”
“I went to California once,” the sheriff said in a low voice. “Never east. Always wanted to go to the Capitol, see the Declaration of Independence.”
“You should go,” Lucy said. “It’s great. There’s a guard there all the time, did you know that? So nobody can take pictures. The room is dark and quiet and there isn’t a lot of light, and the Declaration is under about a foot of bulletproof glass. Gives me the shivers just to look at it and see the signatures. Damn, I have to stop again.”
“You do go on,” King said, but he said it kindly. Lucy stopped for breath and looked down the slope where Zilla waited impatiently. She recognized the meadow with all the tiny flowers, wasn’t that where they’d looked in the diaper and saw the knife? Only a few minutes to the deadfall, then. She couldn’t fake another oxygen stop.
“Well, yeah, I do. But you should go. But watch out. Go into a bar in Georgetown and you’d never make it out alive, sheriff.”
“Why’s that?” King said, his face darkening again. Lucy laughed internally. It was all too easy.
“Because the women there would fight over you like a bride’s bouquet in one of those funny home videos. They’d probably carry you off on their shoulders like a trophy. You’re a fine looking man, don’t you know that? Or aren’t there any women in Wyoming other than Eileen Reed and her friend Molly what’s-her-name?”
The sheriff looked as though he’d been struck. His face reddened again and then paled. Lucy wondered if he’d ever been complimented before. Didn’t women flirt out here? Were there any women out here?
The Thirteenth Skull Page 8