by B. J Daniels
He slammed down his beer bottle and shoved to his feet. “You make her sound like she was—”
“A woman determined to get married, have kids, stay home and raise them while her husband had a good job that allowed all her dreams to come true?”
“She wasn’t—she—” He seemed at a loss for words.
“Hey, Hank. Naomi was a beautiful woman who had her own dreams.” He had showed her a photograph of Naomi. Blonde, green-eyed, a natural beauty.
Ignoring a strange feeling of jealousy, Frankie got to her feet and finished her beer before she spoke. She realized that she’d probably been too honest with him. But someone needed to be, she told herself. It wasn’t just the beer talking. Or that sudden stab of jealousy when she’d thought of Naomi.
In truth, she was annoyed at him because she knew that if he’d reached Naomi on the phone that night, he would have buckled under. He would have done whatever she wanted, including marrying her. On some level, he would have been miserable and resented her the rest of his life, but being the man he was, he would have made the best of it. Naomi dying had saved him and he didn’t even realize it.
“We need to find the other man,” Frankie said as she took her bottle to the recycling bin before turning toward the bedroom.
Hank let out a curse. “You’re wrong. You’re dead wrong. I don’t know why I—”
She cut off the rest of his words as she closed the bedroom door. She knew he was angry and probably ready to fire her. All she could hope was that he would cool down by the morning and would trust that she knew what she was talking about. Oh, she’d known women like Naomi all her life—including her very own mother, who chewed up men and spit them out one after another as they disappointed her. That was the problem with trying to make over a man.
* * *
HANK COULDN’T SLEEP. He lay in the second bedroom, staring up at the ceiling, cursing the fact that he’d brought Frankie here. What had he been thinking? This had to be the stupidest idea he’d ever come up with. Clearly, she didn’t get it. She hadn’t known Naomi.
Another man?
He thought about storming into her bedroom, telling her to pack her stuff and taking her back to Idaho tonight. Instead, he tossed and turned, getting more angry by the hour. He would fire her. First thing in the morning, he’d do just that.
Who did she think she was, judging Naomi like that? Naomi was sweet, gentle, maybe a little too timid... He rolled over and glared at the bedroom door. Another man in the wings! The thought made him so angry he could snap off nails with his teeth.
As his blood pressure finally began to drop somewhere around midnight, he found himself wondering if Naomi’s friend Carrie knew more than she’d originally told him. If there had been another man—
He gave that thought a hard shove away. Naomi had loved him. Only him. She’d wanted the best for him. He rolled over again. She thought she knew what was best for him. He kicked at the blanket tangled around his legs. Maybe if she had lived she would have realized that what was best for him, for them, was staying on the ranch, letting him do what he knew and loved. Sidewalks were overrated.
Staring up at the ceiling, he felt the weight of her death press against his chest so hard that for a moment he couldn’t breathe.
You don’t want to let yourself believe that she committed suicide because you feel guilty about the argument you had with her before she left the ranch, his father had said. Son, believe me, it took more than some silly argument for her to do what she did. We often don’t know those closest to us or what drives them to do what they do. This wasn’t your fault.
Hank groaned, remembering his father’s words three years ago. Could he be wrong about a lot of things? He heard the bedroom door open. He could see Frankie silhouetted in the doorway.
“If there is another man, then it would prove that she didn’t commit suicide,” the PI said. The bedroom door closed.
He glared at it for a long moment. Even if Frankie had gone back to her bedroom and locked the door, he knew he could kick it down if he wanted to. But as Frankie’s words registered, he pulled the blanket up over him and closed his eyes, exhausted from all of this. If there had been another man, then he would be right about her being murdered.
Was that supposed to give him comfort?
Chapter Six
“I told my mother that we were having breakfast in town,” Hank said when Frankie came out of the bedroom fully dressed and showered the next morning. He had his jacket on and smelled of the outdoors, which she figured meant he’d walked down to the main house to talk to his mother.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he said now. “If you want to talk to Naomi’s mother, we need to catch her before she goes to work.” With that, he turned and went back into his bedroom.
Frankie smiled after him. He was still angry but he hadn’t fired her. Yet.
She went into the kitchen and made herself toast. Hank didn’t take long in the shower. He appeared minutes later, dressed in jeans and a Western shirt, his dark, unruly hair still damp at his collar as he stuffed on his Stetson and headed for the door. She followed, smiling to herself. It could be a long day, but she was glad she was still employed for numerous reasons, number one among them, she wanted to know now more than ever what had happened to Naomi Hill.
Lillian Brandt lived in a large condo complex set back against a mountainside overlooking Meadow Village. She’d married a real-estate agent after being a single mother for years, from what Hank had told her. Big Sky was booming and had been for years, so Lillian had apparently risen in economic stature after her marriage compared to the way she’d lived before Naomi died.
From her research, Frankie knew that Big Sky, Montana, once a ranching area, had been nothing more than a sagebrush-filled meadow below Lone Mountain. Then Chet Huntley and some developers had started the resort. Since then, the sagebrush had been plowed up to make a town as the ski resort on the mountain had grown.
But every resort needed workers, and while million-dollar houses had been built, there were few places for moderate-income workers to live that they could afford. The majority commuted from Gallatin Gateway, Four Corners, Belgrade and Bozeman—all towns forty miles or more to the north.
Lillian was younger than Frankie had expected. Naomi had been four years younger than Hank. Frankie estimated that Lillian must have had her daughter while in her late teens.
“Hank?” The woman’s pale green eyes widened in surprise. “Are you back?”
“For a while,” he said and introduced Frankie. “Do you have a minute? We won’t take much of your time.”
Lillian looked from him to Frankie and back before she stepped aside to let them enter the condo. It was bright and spacious with no clutter. It could have been one of the models that real-estate agents showed prospective clients. “I was just about to leave to go to the office.” She worked for her husband as a secretary.
“I just need to ask you a few questions,” he said as she motioned for them to take a seat.
“Questions?” she asked as she moved some of the pillows on the couch to make room for them.
“About Naomi’s death.”
The woman stopped what she was doing to stare at him. “Hank, it’s been three years. Why would you dig all of it back up again?”
“Because he doesn’t believe she killed herself,” Frankie said and supplied her business card. “I didn’t know your daughter, but I’ve heard a lot about her. I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.” Then she asked if it would be okay if Mrs. Brandt would answer a few questions about her daughter. “She was twenty-six, right? Hank said she was ready to get married.”
Lillian slumped into one of the chairs that she’d freed of designer pillows and motioned them onto the couch. “It’s all she wanted. Marriage, a family.”
“Where was she working at the time of her death?” Frankie asked.
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“At the grocery store, but I can’t see what that—”
She could feel Hank’s gaze on her. “Is that where she met her friend Carrie?”
Lillian nodded. Her gaze went to Hank. “Why are you—”
“I’m curious,” Frankie said, drawing the woman’s attention back again. “Was there anyone else in her life?”
“You mean friends?”
“Yes, possibly a male friend,” Frankie said.
The woman blinked before shooting a look at Hank. “She was in love with Hank.”
“But she had to have other friends.”
Lillian fiddled with the piping along the edge of the chair arm. “Of course she had other friends. She made friends easily.”
“I’m sure she did. She was so beautiful,” Frankie said.
The woman nodded, her eyes shiny. “She got asked out a lot all through school.”
“Do you remember their names?”
Lillian looked at Hank. “She was faithful to you. If that’s what this is about—”
“It’s not,” Hank assured her.
“We just thought they might be able to fill in some of the blanks so Hank can better understand what happened to Naomi. He’s having a very hard time moving on,” Frankie said.
The woman looked at Hank, sympathy in her gaze. “Of course. I just remember her mentioning one in particular. His name was—” she seemed to think for a moment “—River.” She waved her hand wistfully. “Blame it on Montana, these odd names.”
“You probably don’t remember River’s last name,” Frankie said.
“No, but Carrie might. She knew him too.” Lillian looked at her watch. “I really have to go. I’m sorry.”
“No,” Frankie said, getting to her feet. “You’ve been a great help.”
“Yes,” Hank agreed with much less enthusiasm. “Thank you for taking the time.”
“It’s good to see you,” the woman said to him and patted his cheek. “I hope you can find some peace.”
“Me too,” he said as he shared a last hug with Mrs. Brandt before leaving.
* * *
HANK CLIMBED BEHIND the wheel, his heart hammering in his chest. “You aren’t going to give up on your other man theory, are you?”
“No, and you shouldn’t either,” Frankie said from the passenger seat.
He finally turned his head to look at her. Gritting his teeth, he said, “You think she was cheating on me? Wouldn’t that give me a motive for murder?”
“I don’t think she was cheating. I said she had someone waiting in the wings. Big Sky is a small town. I suspect that if she’d been cheating on you, you would have heard.”
“Thanks. You just keep making me feel better all the time.”
“I didn’t realize that my job was to make you feel better. I thought it was to find a killer.”
He let out a bark of a laugh. “You are something, you know that?”
“It’s been mentioned to me. I’m hungry. Are you going to feed me before or after we visit Naomi’s best friend, Carrie?”
“I’m not sure I can do this on an empty stomach, so I guess it’s going to be before,” he said as he started the pickup’s engine.
“Over breakfast, you can tell me about Carrie,” she said as she buckled up.
“I don’t know what you want me to tell you about her,” he grumbled, wishing he’d gone with his instincts last night and stormed into her bedroom and fired her. Even if he’d had to kick down the door.
“Start by telling me why you didn’t like her.”
He shot her a look as he pulled away from the condo complex. “What makes you think...?” He swore under his breath. “Don’t you want to meet her and decide on your own?”
“Oh, I will. But I’m curious about your relationship with her.”
Hank let out a curse as he drove toward a local café off the beaten path. The place served Mexican breakfasts, and he had a feeling Frankie liked things hot. She certainly got him hot under his collar.
It wasn’t until they were seated and had ordered—he’d been right about her liking spicy food—that he sat back and studied the woman sitting across from him.
“What?” she asked, seeming to squirm a little under his intent gaze.
“Just that you know everything about me—”
“Not everything.”
“—and I know nothing about you,” he finished.
“That’s because this isn’t about me,” she said and straightened her silverware. He’d never seen her nervous before. But then again, he’d never asked her anything personal about herself.
“You jumped at this case rather fast,” he said, still studying her. She wasn’t the only one who noticed things about people. “I suspect it was to avoid whoever that was who kept calling you.” He saw that he’d hit a nerve. “Angry client? Old boyfriend?” He grinned. “Old boyfriend.”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Am I? I don’t think so.” He took her measure for the first time since he’d hired her. She was a very attractive woman. Right now her long, dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. Sans makeup, she’d also played down the violet eyes. And yet there was something sexy and, yes, even sultry about her. Naomi wouldn’t leave the house without her makeup on.
That thought reminded him of all the times he’d stood around waiting for her to get ready to go out.
This morning Frankie was more serious, more professional, more hands-off. Definitely low-maintenance in a simple T-shirt and jeans. Nothing too tight. Nothing too revealing.
And yet last night at dinner when she’d snuggled against him, he’d felt her full curves. Nothing could hide her long legs. Right now, he could imagine her contours given that she was slim and her T-shirt did little to hide the curve of her backside.
“Why isn’t a woman who looks like you married?” he asked, truly surprised.
“Who says I’m not?”
He glanced at her left hand. “No ring.”
She smiled and looked away for a moment. “Isn’t it possible I’m just not wearing mine right now?”
Hank considered that as the waitress brought their breakfasts. “Are you married?” he asked as the waitress left again.
“No. Now, are you going to tell me why you didn’t like Naomi’s best friend or are you going to keep stalling?”
Chapter Seven
Johnny Joe “J.J.” Whitaker tried the number again. Frankie hadn’t been picking up, but now all his calls were going to voice mail. Did she really think he would quit calling? The woman didn’t know him very well if she did. That was what made him so angry. She should know him by now. He wasn’t giving up.
He left another threatening message. “Frankie, you call me or you’re going to be sorry. You know I make good on my threats, sweetheart. Call me or you’ll wish you had.”
He hung up and paced the floor until he couldn’t take it anymore. She had to have gotten his messages. She had to know what would happen if she ignored him.
He slammed his fist down on the table, and the empty beer bottles from last night rattled. One toppled over, rolled across the table and would have fallen to the floor if he hadn’t caught it.
“Frankie, you bitch!” he screamed, grabbing the neck of the bottle. He brought the bottle down on the edge of the table.
The bottom end of the bottle broke off, leaving a lethal jagged edge below the neck in his hand. He held it up in the light and imagined what the sharp glass could do to a person’s flesh. Frankie thought he was dangerous?
He laughed. Maybe it was time to show her just how dangerous he could be.
* * *
CARRIE WHITE HAD gotten married not long after Naomi died, Hank told her on the way over to the woman’s house. She had been about Naomi’s age, and they’d met at the grocery sto
re where Naomi had worked. Carrie had worked at one of the art shops in town. They became friends.
“Was she a bad influence?” Frankie asked.
Hank shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“How was Carrie with men?”
“She always had one or two she was stringing along, hoping one of them would pop the question.”
Frankie laughed. “Is this why you didn’t like her?”
“I never said I didn’t like her. I just didn’t think she was good for Naomi. You have to understand. Naomi was raised by her mother. Her father left when she was six. It devastated her. Lillian had to go to work and raise her alone without any more education than a high school diploma.”
“So they didn’t have much money?”
“Or anything else. Naomi wanted more and I don’t blame her for that.”
“Also Naomi didn’t want to end up like her,” Frankie supposed.
“She wanted a husband, a family, some stability. When her mother started dating the real-estate agent, she wanted that for us.”
“Seems pretty stable at the ranch,” Frankie said.
“I would have been working for my parents. Naomi couldn’t see how I would ever get ahead since even if they left me the ranch, I still have a sister, Mary, and two younger brothers, Brick and Angus. I could see her point. She wanted her own place, her own life, that wasn’t tied up with my family’s.”
Frankie held her tongue. The more she found out about Naomi, the more she could see how she would not have been in the right place emotionally to be involved in a serious relationship. But she was having these thoughts because the more she learned about Hank, the more she liked him.
“So Carrie encouraged her how?”
Hank seemed to give that some thought as he pulled up in front of a small house in a subdivision in Meadow Village. “Carrie encouraged her to dump me and find someone else, someone more...acceptable. Carrie married a local insurance salesman who wears a three-piece suit most days unless he’s selling to out-of-staters, and then he busts out his Stetson and boots.”