Anne Marie Duquette

by She Caught the Sheriff

  “I’m game.”

  “I hope there’s no real emergency here. Morgan may just be delayed someplace. But I’d feel better if I checked.”

  Caro didn’t know if he planned to protect his brother or not, but she didn’t doubt the fear in his voice. Whatever had happened to Morgan, Wyatt wasn’t in on it. She certainly wasn’t ready to trust him completely—she didn’t dare—but some of her suspicions had subsided.

  “Then let me wash my face and put on some clean clothes,” she said, heading for the house. “If you could grab us some fruit and maybe a couple of sandwiches, we can get started.”

  I want to find Morgan just as much as you do, she silently thought. I just hope he hasn’t skipped town. Maybe she’d give Marta a quick call and ask her to come along. Three sets of eyes were better than one. And it won’t hurt to have a chaperon—or a witness.

  Caro hoped she’d be in; she couldn’t really leave a message at the desk. And if she wasn’t in, maybe she could at least write a quick note to drop off later if they didn’t find Morgan.

  Paper and pencil. I’ll get them from my lab, she decided.

  Then she stepped into her lab—and screamed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Still Friday—early evening

  CARO’S SCREAM was one of pure, unadulterated rage…

  The table she’d set her equipment on was lying sideways on the floor, along with bits and pieces of what had been her microscope, all her camera equipment and laptop computer. Her field tools had been broken and scattered all over the floor. Forensic chemicals had been poured over her cameras and film. The foul-smelling reagents were now eating into what was left of her toolbox, as well as the throw rug and hardwood floor.

  And worst of all—the skeleton was gone! Where the transport case had been was now empty, that space the only clean area in a sea of devastation.

  Caro stood there, debating whether to scream again from rage or flat out curse, when Wyatt rushed into the room. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “You tell me, Mr. Ranch Owner! I leave the house for one day and come back to… to…” Caro gestured wildly toward the wreckage at her feet.

  “But are you okay?” he demanded.

  “No, I’m not okay! My evidence is destroyed or missing… Well, at least we know where Morgan is!” Her voice was harsh, accusing, as her suspicions about Wyatt rushed back full force.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Morgan isn’t missing at all! He’s probably taking a late run out to your mine to hide the skeleton in one of those secret caverns. Did you know about this plan or was it all his idea?”

  “I don’t even know where Morgan is, let alone why—I mean, if—he’d do something like this!” The unflappable Wyatt Bodine looked as shaken as Caro felt.

  “Well, if he didn’t, then who did? Where were you when I was trying to hide from Morgan at the Bird Cage Theater?”

  “I certainly wasn’t here! Think—if I was going to ruin your evidence, I’d do better than pouring acid all over my own floor.”

  “You know something, Sheriff, I’m awfully tired of these half answers of yours. I feel like getting my suitcase and…”

  Suddenly Caro remembered where she’d put her suitcase—and what she’d hidden in it.

  Oh, please, no! My evidence!

  Caro dashed out of the lab, ignoring Wyatt’s anxious, “What is it?”

  Caro didn’t bother answering him. She yanked open the door to her bedroom, Wyatt right behind her. This time, she did swear at the sight, instead of screaming.

  “Damn it! Look at my room!”

  It was a shambles. Her clothing had been yanked out, along with the dresser drawers themselves, and thrown all over the floor. The bed linen had been stripped down to bare mattress, the mattress slashed open on the floor. Caro’s eyes flicked to the window, but before she could check on her suitcase, Wyatt joined her.

  His jaw worked, and the skin over his cheekbones stretched taut. “If Morgan’s involved in this, I’ll throw him in jail myself.”

  Caro stared at him. Wyatt was either the world’s best actor or he really was as shocked as he seemed. Until she figured out which, Wyatt mustn’t know about the suitcase—if it was still there. It was time for a distraction, a way to get him away from the window and out of her room. She immediately dropped to her knees and started picking up her clothes.

  Wyatt joined her on the floor and started to assist. Caro rudely, purposely, snatched a teddy out of his reach.

  “My lingerie’s had enough trauma for one day, Sheriff. Go get your cheap thrills somewhere else!”

  What happened next was a blur. In seconds Wyatt had grabbed her arms and yanked her up, the lingerie in her hands fluttering to her feet. His fingers held her fast, her face inches from his.

  “Listen to me, lady. You’re not the only one who’s had a rotten day! My house has been vandalized, my investigation compromised, and worst of all, my brother’s missing.”

  Caro shoved free with a violence of her own. They faced off like two bulls in a rodeo pen, her charade of a distraction now turning into a full, heated brawl. “I’ll trade you my slashed cinch and cut brakes!”

  “Caro, this is getting us nowhere! What do you want from me?”

  “How about a more professional way to conduct an investigation?”

  “I’m working on it! Can’t you get it through your head that I’m not the enemy here?”

  “Oh, pul-leeze! Do I look like I just fell off the hay wagon?”

  “You may not look like it, but you’re starting to sound like it. Think, Caro, think! This is my home, my ranch. And I’m the sheriff here. If I was trying to cover up a crime, don’t you think I’d be more subtle? Give me some credit!”

  Caro hesitated. Bodine was an intelligent man. And Morgan was missing.

  “Better yet, lady, give me your trust.” This was said in a quiet voice.

  “Trust? Tell me this, Sheriff. If Morgan’s guilty of grave robbing, cinch slashing, car tampering and destroying evidence for Lord knows what reason, just how hard are you going to work to put him behind bars?”

  “As hard as it takes!”

  Caro’s breath came out in a scoffing gust of air. “You expect me to believe that?”

  “You don’t have a choice. Because the way I see it, you need reinforcements, and you need them now.”

  “I need something, all right. But I’m not sure it’s you!”

  “That’s too bad, because I’m all you’ve got.”

  Oh, I have a few aces up my… suitcase, Sheriff. At least, I hope I do. Caro drew a deep, shaky breath. She’d decide whether to trust the brother of a possible criminal later. First things first. She had to get Wyatt out of the room to check.

  “Well, Caro?” He was waiting for her answer. “Are we a team or not?”

  What to do? Time and time again, her judgment had triumphed over that of others with more experience, more expertise. Caro never trusted anyone. It was her greatest strength; it always had been. Besides, her instincts had already been borne out once—when it came to Morgan’s keys. Why should this case be any different?

  “I suppose I could use a little help from you,” she answered slowly, making sure she didn’t commit herself to the “team.” “Just as you could use my help to find Morgan.”

  He gave a satisfied nod. “Wise move, ma’am.” Then he turned and stared at the mess on the floor. “I’ll send a couple men to clean up. Then you and I can compare notes.”

  “Give me fifteen minutes,” Caro replied. “I prefer to pick up some of my things myself.” She glanced pointedly at the intimate apparel scattered around.

  “Fifteen minutes. We’ll grab a quick bite and decide whether to ring the alarm for Morgan or not.”

  “Fine. Shut the door behind you, please.”

  As soon as he’d left the room, Caro locked the door and raced to the window. She flung open the glass pane, grabbed at the rope and yanked up the suitcase and towels. With
trembling hands she threw the towels on the floor. Her heart pounded as she rested the suitcase atop the slashed mattress.

  “Please, please, please…” she prayed as she worked the locks. “Be there, be there!”

  The locks popped back and Caro flipped open the lid. Her breath caught in her throat. The off-white of the skull filled her gaze. The skull was untouched. Film, notes, computer disk—all were still safe. The instruments she could replace. The evidence she could not. Evidence that might incriminate Morgan far more than a stray set of car keys did. She had to find out if Morgan was involved—and how deeply—and she had to do it alone. Without Wyatt.

  Caro breathed again. She grabbed a fresh but wrinkled change of clothes from the floor, tossed it in, fastened the suitcase, patted her boot to make certain her wallet was still there and hurried to the window. It took only a few seconds to lower the suitcase to the ground with the rope. So far, so good. She was next. It was time to leave, with or without her damaged car. With or without Morgan. As the official forensic investigator on this team, she knew her first duty was to protect the evidence, and protect it she would. Which meant getting everything to Marta, the only person she could afford to trust. The only person she knew couldn’t possibly be involved. She had to put her confused feelings for the sheriff completely out of her mind. At least for now.

  Caro was betting that the Silver Dollar hands, like those on most working ranches, left the ignition keys in their vehicles during the day. Wyatt even did the same with his sheriff’s Jeep when he parked on his own land.

  This time-saving tradition would make her task possible. As some of those trucks and cars were parked behind the house near her room, her escape would be that much easier.

  Caro made sure the rope was still securely fastened at her end and thrust one leg out the window. “I hope you don’t mind, Sheriff, but you’ll be eating alone while I borrow one of your cars,” she said aloud. “I’ve decided to drop in on Marta for a while.”

  A few minutes later Caro and her suitcase were safely inside a ranch vehicle speeding away from the Silver Dollar toward Tombstone.

  “MRS. WENKERT ISN’T IN? Are you sure?” Caro asked the desk clerk at the Triple B.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But she did leave a message and a key for you.” The clerk passed Caro both items, then politely looked away as she read the note.

  Dear Boss—In case you decided to come by, am off researching for you. Talked to the manager at Boothill Cemetery. I thought someone like him would have a good slant on the old Tombstone generation. He has an odd name, Catfish, and we’re having a working dinner. Make yourself at home. Will give you a ring later. Hope the case is coming along smoothly. Best, Marta.

  “Oh, hell,” Caro mumbled, disappointed.

  “Is there a problem?” asked the clerk. “Do you wish to leave a reply?”

  Caro folded the note and shoved it in her jeans pockets. “Thanks, but I’m all set for now.”

  The clerk looked at her suitcase. “If you’re going to Mrs. Wenkert’s room, I’ll have someone carry that for you and let you in.”

  Caro automatically gripped the handle even tighter. “I’ll take care of it myself. But thank you.” She gave the clerk a parting smile, pivoted and headed toward Marta’s room. One thing about small towns—they certainly knew how to treat their visitors.

  Or so she thought…until she stepped into Marta’s room and felt a hand—Sheriff Wyatt Bodine’s hand—grasp her wrist. One of his booted feet slammed the door shut, while his free hand reached for her suitcase. Caro and the suitcase eluded him, but she found herself still caught in his other hand.

  “You!”

  “Yes, ma’am. Too bad you don’t know all the shortcuts. Or that half this town called to tell me someone was stealing my truck and hiding it behind the motel.”

  “Let go of me!”

  “I can’t do that. We need to talk, and I’m tired of your disappearing acts. Grabbing a greased javelina’s easier.”

  “Well, why don’t you grab the door handle and show yourself out?” Caro replied, protectively cradling the suitcase.

  “Why? Afraid I’m the local lingerie thief? What’s in the suitcase, Caro?”

  “Nothing!”

  “Good. Then you won’t mind if I borrow it—just like you borrowed my truck?”

  “Let go of me!”

  “Not until you hand over the suitcase.”

  “Over my dead body!”

  “With pleasure!” Wyatt approached, his free hand extended.

  “Touch my suitcase, and I’ll…I’ll…” Damn! He’s right between me and the door!

  “What? Scream? Sob? Swear?”

  “No, this!” Caro slammed the suitcase square into his stomach as he made a second grab for it. Wyatt grunted, and his hand on her wrist loosened. She ran for the door, still holding the suitcase, but Wyatt recovered with amazing speed. In another second he’d tackled Caro, her suitcase and his Stetson flying through the air. The suitcase squashed the Stetson to the floor with a loud thud just as the two of them landed on Marta’s bed. Caro found herself crushed beneath the rock-hard muscles of the Stetson’s owner.

  “I’m getting very tired of you, lady,” Wyatt ground out, his voice still breathless from her blow.

  “And I’m sick of your unprofessional behavior! I’m warning you—this is your last chance to let me go!”

  “Over my dead body!”

  “Fine. Have it your way!” Caro flung out with all her might and deliberately rolled them both off the bed. Her weight, now on top, slammed into his as he hit the floor. She scrambled to her feet and grabbed the suitcase, ready to run.

  But his strong hands grabbed her left ankle and sent her flying back to the floor where he still lay. As Caro hit the carpet the suitcase snapped open, the skull flying up in one direction, the computer disks, clay kit and her notebooks scattering in others.

  The skull fell and hit Wyatt dead on the nose, and he roared in pain. “Son of a desert-whelped cur!”

  Caro grabbed for the skull and her computer disks. Wyatt grabbed for his bleeding nose and Caro. He missed and she began to crawl toward the skull. Wyatt clutched her shoulder and yanked her back, causing her to drop the skull. Both of them toppled to the floor again, Wyatt on top, Caro on bottom. The skull stopped its topsy-turvy roll and settled, right side up, mere inches away, garishly leering at them.

  And then the door opened.

  Caro saw Marta and Catfish step into the room and freeze in shock. Catfish stared at Wyatt, Marta stared at Caro, and Wyatt—as far as she could tell from her position under his body—was staring at the skull.

  Catfish cleared his throat in embarrassment. “Them youngsters sure don’t neck proper anymore, do they, Miz Marta?”

  Marta pushed Catfish’s escorting arm aside. “Necking, my Aunt Fanny! This looks like assault to me!”

  “Breaking and entering! Assault and battery!” Caro glared at her captor.

  Wyatt glared right back. “I’m filing assault and battery! And grand theft. She stole a ranch vehicle.”

  “Borrowed it!” Caro furiously corrected. “And only after the brake lines in mine were cut and someone stole the skeleton!”

  Everyone started talking at once.

  “Your brake lines were cut? When…”

  “Unless he just told me that to strand me without a car!”

  “Someone stole the skeleton? But the skull is here…”

  “Not that she’d tell me about it!”

  “What’s going on?”

  Caro yelled to make herself heard above everyone. “GET OFF ME, YOU BIG OX!”

  Silence. Then Wyatt was off her, Marta was helping her up, and Catfish was closing the open door against the curious eyes of other guests. Caro contented herself with shoving the hair out of her face and reaching for the skull again.

  Marta hurried over to fuss and comfort. Caro went to pick up the scattered evidence, while Catfish dragged Wyatt over to a chair, thrust a large cotton h
andkerchief at his nose and tossed him his squashed Stetson. Wyatt threw it to the floor.

  “Someone want to tell us what’s going on?” Catfish said.

  “We can start with you telling me what the hell you’re doing here!” Wyatt glared at Marta.

  “She’s a friend of mine, and I’d watch your mouth in the presence of ladies,” Catfish warned.

  Wyatt wasn’t repentant in the least. “There’s only one lady here, and it isn’t her!” The look Wyatt threw Caro was one of pure fury. “If she isn’t turning my job into bedlam, she’s trying to break my ribs or bust my chops.”

  “Only because every time you turn up, evidence about this case disappears!” Caro rose to her feet to drop an armful of evidence, skull included, on the little dinette table. “You call yourself a lawman! The real Wyatt Earp must be turning in his grave.”

  Wyatt flew from the chair as if launched by a cannon. Catfish grabbed his shoulder, stopping the younger man’s forward momentum with surprising strength.

  “Back off, Wyatt,” Catfish ordered. Wyatt did, calming himself with great effort.

  “I told him that, too, but he didn’t bother to listen to me!” Caro said furiously. “Of all the lawmen I’ve worked with, you are the most stubborn, vague—”

  “Enough, everyone!” Caro and the two men jumped at the whiplash crack of Marta’s voice. “Sheriff, sit down. You too, mister. And, Caro, a few deep breaths wouldn’t hurt.”

  “But—”

  “Take them!” Marta commanded. “And then sit down on the bed.”

  Caro’s eyes didn’t leave Wyatt for a moment as she obeyed. The deep breaths helped.

  “Better?” Marta asked crisply.

  “A little.”

  “Good. Now, what’s going on here? Tell me everything, starting with…” Marta pointed to the skull.

  Catfish nodded his agreement. “That’s as good a place as any, don’t you think, Wyatt?”

  Wyatt refused to answer, but Caro had a mouthful of complaints about the professionalism of Wyatt’s investigative procedures. In her fury to protect the evidence and perform her own professional responsibilities, she dismissed all other emotions. The more-than-physical appeal Wyatt had always held for her—still held—was just a distraction, she decided angrily. It sure wasn’t an issue during their no-holds-barred fight, and it wouldn’t be now. By the time she was through, she had everyone’s undivided attention—and sympathy. Except Wyatt’s.