by B. J Daniels
“Let’s get this over with,” Dana said, and she and Hilde stepped into the back of the shop where a dozen of Dana’s friends and store patrons had gathered around a cake that looked like it was on fire.
“Quick! Make a wish!” her friend Margo cried.
Dana closed her eyes for an instant, made a wish, then braving the heat of thirty-one candles flickering on a sheet cake, blew as hard as she could, snuffing out every last one of them to the second chorus of happy birthday.
“Tell me you didn’t wish Hud dead,” Hilde whispered next to her as the smoke started to dissipate.
“And have my wish not come true? No way.”
HUD WATCHED RUPERT, the glow of the coroner’s headlamp flickering eerily on the dark dirt walls as he descended into the well. Hud tried not to think about remains down there or the fact that Brick might have investigated the disappearance. Might even have known the victim. Just as Hud and Rupert might have.
Rupert stopped the pulley just feet above the bones to video the scene on the bottom of the well. The light flickered and Hud looked away as he tried to corral his thoughts. Sure as hell this investigation would force him to deal with his father. The thought turned his stomach. The last time he’d seen his father, more than five years ago now, they’d almost ended up in a brawl, burning every bridge between them—both content with the understanding that the next time Hud saw his father it would be to make sure Brick was buried.
When Hud had decided to come back, he’d thought at least he wouldn’t have to see his father. Word was that Brick had moved to a place up on Hebgen Lake near West Yellowstone—a good fifty miles away.
The wind seemed cooler now and in the distance Hud could see dark clouds rolling up over the mountains. He turned his face up to the pale sun knowing it wouldn’t be long before it was snowing again. After all, this was January in Montana.
The rope on the pulley groaned and he looked down again into the well as Rupert settled gently on the bottom, the headlamp now focused on the human remains.
Because of the steep sides of the well, the body was contained, none of the bones had been scattered by critters or carried off. The coroner had pulled on a pair of the latex gloves. He opened the body bag and began to carefully fill it with the bones.
“Good thing you didn’t bet with me,” Rupert said. “I’d say the bones have been here closer to fifteen years.” He held up a pelvic bone in his gloved hands. “A woman. White. Late twenties, early thirties.”
In the light from the headlamp, Hud watched Rupert pick up the skull and turn it slowly in his hands.
“Well, how about that,” he heard Rupert say, then glance up at him. “You got a murder on your hands, son,” the coroner said solemnly. He held up the skull, his headlamp shining through a small round hole in the skull.
“The bullet entered this side, passed through the brain and lodged in the mastoid bone behind the left ear,” Rupert said, still turning the skull in his hands. “The bullet lead is flattened and deformed from impact but there will be enough lands and grooves to match the weapon. Looks like a .38.”
“If we could find the weapon after all this time,” Hud said. He let out an oath under his breath. Murder. And the body found on the Cardwell Ranch.
“Get one of those containers out of my rig so I can bag the skull separately,” Rupert said, his voice echoing up.
Hud ran back to Rupert’s truck and returned to lower the container down to him. A few minutes later Rupert sent the filled container up and Hud found himself looking at the dead woman’s skull. A patch of hair clung to the top. The hair, although covered with dirt, was still reddish in color. He stared at the hair, at the shape of the skull, and tried to picture the face.
“You think she was young, huh?” he called down.
In the well, Rupert stopped to inspect one of the bones in the light from his headlamp. “Based on growth lines, I’d say twenty-eight to thirty-five years of age.” He put down one bone to pick up what appeared to be a leg bone. “Hmm, that’s interesting. The bony prominences show muscle development, indicating she spent a lot of time on her feet. Probably made her living as a hairdresser, grocery clerk, nurse, waitress, something like that.” He put the bone into the body bag and picked up another shorter one. “Same bony prominences on the arms as if she often carried something heavy. My money’s on waitress or nurse.”
Few coroners would go out on a limb with such conjecture. Most left this part up to the forensics team at the state crime lab. But then, Rupert Milligan wasn’t like most coroners. Add to that the fact that he was seldom wrong.
“What about height and weight?” Hud asked, feeling a chill even in the sun. His father had always liked waitresses. Hell, his father chased skirts no matter who wore them.
Rupert seemed to study the dirt where the bones had been. “I’d say she was between five-four and five-seven. A hundred and twenty to a hundred and forty pounds.”
That covered a lot of women, Hud thought as he carried the container with the skull in it over to Rupert’s pickup and placed it carefully on the front seat. All the teeth were still intact. With luck, they’d be able to identify her from dental records if she’d been local.
He tried to remember if he’d heard his father talking about a missing person’s case about fifteen years ago. Rodrick “Brick” Savage loved to brag about his cases—especially the ones he solved.
But then this one wouldn’t have been one he’d solved. And fifteen years ago, Hud had been eighteen and away at college. He wondered if Dana had mentioned a missing woman in one of her letters to him. She’d written him every week, but the letters were more about what was happening on the ranch, I-miss-you letters, love letters.
Leaving the skull at the pickup, he went back to watch Rupert dig through the dirt on the well floor. The coroner slowed as he hit something, then stooped and shook dirt from what he’d found.
Hud felt his chest heave as Rupert held up a bright red high-heeled shoe.
AFTER THE BIRTHDAY party and in between customers, Dana defied Hud’s orders and told Hilde about what Warren had found in the old dry well by the original homestead’s foundation.
Dana was sure the news was all over the canyon by now. But still she’d waited, not wanting to say anything to anyone but Hilde, her best friend.
“He really thinks the bones are human?” Hilde asked with a shiver. “Who could it be?”
Dana shook her head. “Probably some ancestor of mine.”
Hilde looked skeptical. “You think the bones have been down there that long?” She hugged herself as if she could feel the cold coming up from the well just as Dana had earlier.
“It’s horrible to think that someone might have fallen in and been unable to get out, died down there,” Dana said.
Hilde nodded. “It’s just odd that you found them now.” Her eyes lit. “You think the investigation will hold up the sale of the ranch?”
“Maybe, but ultimately the ranch will be sold, trust me,” Dana said, and changed the subject. “Thank you for the birthday party. I love the purse you made me.”
“You’re welcome. I’m sorry you’ve had such a lousy day. Why don’t you go on home? I can handle things here. It’s your birthday.”
Dana groaned. “I hate to imagine what other horrible things could happen before this day is over.”
“Always the optimist, aren’t you.”
Dana smiled in spite of herself. “I think I will go home.” She looked outside. Clouds scudded across the pale sky, taking the earlier warmth with them. The sign over the door pendulumed in the wind and she could almost feel the cold trying to get in.
Across the way from the shop, the top of the mountain had disappeared, shrouded in white clouds. The first snowflakes, blown by the wind, swept across the window. Apparently the weatherman had been right when he’d called for snow before midnight.
Dana would be lucky to get home before the roads iced over.
FROM DOWN IN the well, Rupert signaled
for Hud to pull up the body bag. It was heavy, but mostly from the layer of dirt retrieved from the bottom of the well. The dirt would be sifted for evidence later at the state crime lab.
He put down the body bag, noting that the weather had turned. Snowflakes danced around him, pelting him on gusts of wind and momentarily blinding him. He barely felt the cold as he squatted near the edge of the well, pulling up the hood on his marshal’s jacket as he watched Rupert finish.
The red high-heeled shoe had triggered something. Not a real memory since he couldn’t recall when, where or if he’d even actually seen a woman in a red dress and bright red high-heeled shoes. It could have been a photograph. Even a television show or a movie.
But for just an instant he’d had a flash of a woman in a bright red dress and shoes. She was spinning around in a circle, laughing, her long red hair whirling around her head, her face hidden from view.
That split-second image had left him shaken. Had he known this woman?
The canyon was like a small town except for a few months when the out-of-staters spent time in their vacation homes or condos to take advantage of the skiing or the mild summer weather.
But if the woman had been one of those, Hud knew he’d have heard about her disappearance. More than likely she was someone who’d worked at the resort or one of the local businesses. She might not have even been missed as seasonal workers were pretty transient.
“I’m going to need another container from the truck,” Rupert called up.
The wind had a bite to it now. Snowflakes swirled around him as Hud lowered the container down and watched the coroner place what appeared to be a dirt-caked piece of once-red fabric inside. Just as in his memory, the woman had worn a red dress. Rupert continued to sift through the dirt, stooped over in the small area, intent on his work.
Hud pulled his coat around him. The mountains across the canyon were no longer visible through the falling snow. And to think he’d actually missed winters while working for the police department in Los Angeles.
From down in the well, Rupert let out a curse, calling Hud’s attention back to the dark hole in the ground.
“What is it?” Hud called down.
Rupert had the video camera out and seemed to be trying to steady his hands as he photographed the well wall.
“You aren’t going to believe this.” The older man’s voice sounded strained as if he’d just found something that had shaken him—a man who’d bragged that he’d seen the worst of everything. “She was still alive.”
“What?” Hud asked, his blood running cold.
“Neither the gunshot wound nor being thrown down the well killed her right away,” Rupert said. “There are deep gouges in the earth where she tried to climb out.”
Chapter Three
Long after Rupert came up out of the well neither he nor Hud said anything. Snow whirled on the wind, the bank of clouds dropping over them, the sun only a memory.
Hud sat behind the wheel of the SUV, motor running, heater cranked up, drinking coffee from the thermos Rupert had brought. Next to him, Rupert turned the SUV’s heater vent so it blew into his face.
The older man looked pale, his eyes hollow. Hud imagined that, like him, Rupert had been picturing what it must have been like being left in the bottom of that well to die a slow death.
The yellow crime scene tape Hud had strung up now bowed in the wind and snow. The hillside was a blur of white, the snow falling diagonally.
“I suppose the murder weapon could still be up here,” Hud said to Rupert, more to break the silence than anything else. Even with the wind and the motor and heater going, the day felt too quiet, the hillside too desolate. Anything was better than thinking about the woman in the well—even remembering Dana’s reaction to seeing him again.
“Doubt you’ll ever find that gun,” Rupert said without looking at him. The old coroner had been unusually quiet since coming up out of the well.
Hud had called the sheriff’s department in Bozeman and asked for help searching the area. It was procedure, but Hud agreed with Rupert. He doubted the weapon would ever turn up.
Except they had to search for it. Unfortunately this was Montana. A lot of men drove trucks with at least one firearm hanging on the back window gun rack and another in the glove box or under the seat.
“So did he shoot her before or after she went into the well?” Hud asked.
“After, based on the angle the bullet entered her skull.” Rupert took a sip of his coffee.
“He must have thought he killed her.”
Rupert said nothing as he stared in the direction of the well.
“Had to have known about the well,” Hud said. Which meant he had knowledge of the Cardwell Ranch. Hud groaned to himself as he saw where he was headed with this. The old homestead was a good mile off Highway 191 that ran through the Gallatin Canyon. The killer could have accessed the old homestead by two ways. One was the Cardwell’s private bridge, which would mean driving right by the ranch house.
Or…he could have taken the Piney Creek Bridge, following a twisted route of old logging roads. The same way he and Dana used when he was late getting her home.
Either way, the killer had to be local to know about the well, let alone the back way. Unless, of course, the killer was a member of the Cardwell family and had just driven in past the ranch house bold as brass.
Why bring the woman here, though? Why the Cardwell Ranch well?
“You know what bothers me?” Hud said, taking a sip of his coffee. “The red high heel. Just one in the well. What happened to the other one? And what was she doing up here dressed like that?” He couldn’t shake that flash of memory of a woman in a red dress any more than he could nail down its source.
He felt his stomach tighten when Rupert didn’t jump in. It wasn’t like Rupert. Did his silence have something to do with realizing the woman in the well hadn’t been dead and tried to save herself? Or was it possible Rupert suspected who she was and for some reason was keeping it to himself?
“The heels, the dress, it’s almost like she was on a date,” Hud said. “Or out for a special occasion.”
Rupert glanced over at him. “You might make as good a marshal as your father some day.” High praise to Rupert’s way of thinking, so Hud tried hard not to take offense.
“Odd place to bring your date, though,” Hud commented. But then maybe not. The spot was isolated. Not like a trailhead where anyone could come along. No one would be on this section of the ranch at night and you could see the ranch house and part of the road up the hillside. You would know if anyone was headed in your direction in plenty of time to get away.
And yet it wasn’t close enough that anyone could hear a woman’s cries for help.
“Still, someone had to have reported her missing,” Hud persisted. “A roommate. A boss. A friend. A husband.”
Rupert finished his coffee and started to screw the cup back on the thermos. “Want any more?”
Hud shook his head. “You worked with my father for a lot of years.”
Rupert looked over at him, eyes narrowing. “Brick Savage was the best damned marshal I’ve ever known.” He said it as if he knew only too well that there were others who would have argued that, Hud among them, and Rupert wasn’t going to have it.
Brick Savage was a lot of things. A colorful marshal, loved and respected by supporters, feared and despised by his adversaries. Hud knew him as a stubborn, rigid father who he’d feared as a boy and despised as a man. Hud hated to think of the years he’d tried to prove himself to his father—only to fail.
He could feel Rupert’s gaze on him, daring him to say anything against Brick. “If you’re right about how long she’s been down there…”
Rupert made a rude sound under his breath, making it clear he was right.
“…then Brick would have been marshal and you would have been assistant coroner.”
“Your point?” Rupert asked.
Hud eyed him, wondering why Rupert was get
ting his back up. Because Hud had brought up Brick? “I just thought you might remember a missing person’s case during that time.”
“You’d have to ask your father. Since no body was found, I might not even have heard about it.” Rupert zipped up his coroner jacket he’d pulled from behind the seat of his truck. “I need to get to the crime lab.”
Hud handed Rupert the coffee cup he’d lent him. “Just seems odd, doesn’t it? Someone had to have missed her. You would think the whole area would have been talking about it.”
The coroner smiled ruefully. “Some women come and go more often than a Greyhound bus.”
Hud remembered hearing that Rupert’s first wife had run off on numerous occasions before she’d finally cleared out with a long-haul truck driver.
“You think this woman was like that?” Hud asked, his suspicion growing that Rupert knew more than he was saying.
“If she was, then your suspect list could be as long as your arm.” Rupert opened his door.
“You almost sound as if you have an idea who she was,” Hud said over the wind.
Rupert climbed out of the truck. “I’ll call you when I know something definite.”
Hud watched the older man move through the falling snow and wondered why Rupert, who was ready to bet on the bones earlier, seemed to be backpedaling now. It wasn’t like the old coroner. Unless Rupert suspected who the bones belonged to—and it hit a little too close to home.
THE PHONE was ringing as Dana walked through the ranch house door. She dropped the stack of mail she’d picked up at the large metal box down by the highway and rushed to answer the phone, not bothering to check Caller ID, something she regretted the moment she heard her older brother’s voice.
“Dana, what the hell’s going on?” Jordan demanded without even a hello let alone a “happy birthday.” Clearly he had been calling for some time, not thinking to try her at her new job.
“Where are you?”
“Where do you think I am?” he shot back. “In case you forgot, I live in New York. What the hell is going on out there?”
She slumped into a chair, weak with relief. For a moment she’d thought he was in Montana, that he’d somehow heard about the bones in the well and had caught a flight out. The last thing she needed today was her brother Jordan to deal with in the flesh. Unfortunately it seemed she would have to deal with him on the phone though.