by B. J Daniels
Frankie got the picture. She opened her door, anxious to meet Carrie White and see what she thought of her for herself. She heard Hank get out but could tell that he wasn’t looking forward to this.
At the front door, Frankie rang the bell. She could hear the sound of small running feet, then a shriek of laughter followed by someone young bursting into tears.
“Knock it off!” yelled an adult female voice.
She could hear someone coming to the door. It sounded as if the person was dragging one of the crying children because now there appeared to be at least two in tears just on the other side of the door.
“Naomi’s dream life?” she said under her breath to Hank.
The woman who opened the door with a toddler on one arm and another hanging off her pants leg looked harried and near tears herself. Carrie was short, dark-haired and still carrying some of her baby weight. She frowned at them and said, “Whatever you’re offering, I’m not inter—” Her voice suddenly broke off at the sight of Hank. Her jaw literally dropped.
“Fortunately, we aren’t selling anything,” Frankie said.
“We’d just like a minute of your time,” Hank said as the din died down. The squalling child hanging off Carrie’s leg was now staring at them, just like the toddler on her hip. “Mind if we come in?”
The woman shot a look at Frankie, then shrugged and shoved open the screen door. “Let me just put them down for their morning naps. Have a seat,” she said over her shoulder as she disappeared down a hallway.
The living room looked like a toy manufacturing company had exploded and most of the toys had landed here in pieces. Against one wall by the door was a row of hooks. Frankie noticed there were a half-dozen sizes of coats hanging there.
They waded through the toys, cleaning off a space on the couch to sit down. In the other room they could hear cajoling and more crying, but pretty soon, Carrie returned.
Frankie could see that she’d brushed her hair and put on a little makeup in a rush and changed her sweatshirt for one that didn’t have spit-up on it. The woman was making an effort to look as if everything was fine. Clearly the attempt was for Hank’s benefit.
“It’s so good to see you,” Carrie said to him, still looking surprised that he’d somehow ended up on her couch.
Frankie guessed that things had not been good between Carrie and Hank after Naomi’s death. It seemed Carrie regretted that.
“How have you been?” she asked as she cleared toys off a chair and sat down. She looked exhausted and the day was early.
“All right,” he said. “We need to ask you some questions.”
The woman stiffened a little. She must have thought this was a social call. “Questions about what?”
“I understand you didn’t see or hear from Naomi the night she died,” Frankie said. Carrie looked at her and then at Hank.
He said, “This is Frankie, a private investigator. She’s helping me find out what happened that night.”
The woman turned again to her, curiosity in her gaze, but she didn’t ask about their relationship. “I’ve told you everything I know,” she said to Hank before turning back to Frankie. “I didn’t hear from her or see her. I told the marshal the same thing.”
“Were you planning to?”
The question seemed to take Carrie off guard. “I can’t...” She frowned.
“Hadn’t your best friend told you that she was going to push marriage that night and if Hank didn’t come around...”
The woman’s eyes widened. “I wouldn’t say she was pushing marriage exactly. It had been four years! How long does it take for a man to make up his mind?” She slid a look at Hank and flushed a little with embarrassment.
“How long did it take your husband?”
Carrie ran a hand through her short hair. “Six months.”
Frankie eyed her, remembering the coats hanging on the hooks by the door. “Were you pregnant?”
The woman shot to her feet, her gaze ricocheting back to Hank. “I don’t know what this is about, but—”
“She was your best friend. You knew her better than anyone,” Frankie said, also getting to her feet. “She would have told you if there was someone else she was interested in. I’m guessing she planned to come back to your place that night if things didn’t go well. Unless you weren’t such good friends.”
Carrie crossed her arms. “She was my best friend.”
“Then she would have told you about River.”
That caught the woman flat-footed. She blinked, looked at Hank again and back to Frankie. “It was Hank’s own fault. He kept dragging his feet.”
She nodded. “So Naomi must have called to tell you she was on her way.”
Carrie shook her head. “I told you. I didn’t see her. I didn’t hear from her. When I didn’t, I just assumed everything went well. Until I got the call the next morning from her mother.”
Frankie thought the woman was telling the truth. But Naomi would have called someone she trusted. Someone she could pour her heart out to since she left the ranch upset. “Where can we find River?”
* * *
HANK SWORE AS he climbed into his pickup. “I don’t want to go see River Dean,” he said as Frankie slid into the passenger seat.
“After Naomi left you, she would have gone to one of two places. Carrie’s to cry on her shoulder. Or someone else’s shoulder. If the man waiting in the wings was River Dean, then that’s where she probably went. Which means he might have been the last person to see her alive. If he turned her down as well, maybe she did lose all hope and make that fatal leap from the cliff. You ready to accept that and call it a day?”
Without looking at her, Hank jerked off his Stetson to rake a hand through his hair. “You scare me.”
“She wanted to get married and have babies and a man who came home at five thirty every weekday night and took off his tie as she gave him a cocktail and a kiss and they laughed about the funny things the kids had done that day. It’s a fantasy a lot of people have.”
He stared at her. “But not you.”
She shrugged.
“Because you know the fantasy doesn’t exist,” he said, wanting to reach over and brush back a lock of dark hair that had escaped from her ponytail and now curled across her cheek.
“I’m practical, but even I still believe in love and happy-ever-after.”
Surprised, he did reach over and push back the lock of hair. His fingertips brushed her cheek. He felt a tingle run up his arm. Frankie caught his hand and held it for a moment before letting it go. He could see that he’d invaded her space and it had surprised her. It hadn’t pleased her.
“You said you wanted the truth,” she reminded him, as if his touching her had been an attempt to change the subject. “Have you changed your mind?”
* * *
RIVER DEAN OWNED a white-water rafting company that operated downriver closer to what was known as the Mad Mile and House Rock, an area known for thrills and spills.
Frankie could still feel where Hank’s fingertips had brushed her cheek. She wanted to reach up and rub the spot. But she resisted just as she had the shudder she’d felt at his sudden touch.
Hank got out of the pickup and stopped in front of a makeshift-looking building with a sign that read WHITE-WATER RAFTING.
The door was open, and inside she could see racks of life jackets hanging from the wall. A motorcycle was parked to one side of the building. Someone was definitely here since there was also a huge stack of rafts in the pine trees, only some of them still chained to a tree. It was early in the day, so she figured business picked up later.
All she could think was that Naomi was foolish enough to trade ranch life for this? A seasonal business determined by the weather and tourists passing through? But maybe three years ago, River Dean had appeared to have better options. And if not, there was
always Naomi’s stepfather and the real-estate business.
Hank stood waiting for her, staring at the river through the pines. She felt the weight of her cell phone and her past. She’d turned off her phone earlier, but now she pulled it out and checked to see that she had a dozen calls from the same number. No big surprise. She didn’t even consider checking voice mail since she knew what she’d find. He’d go by the office and her apartment—if he hadn’t already. He would know that she’d left town. She told herself he wouldn’t be able to find her even if he tried. Unfortunately, he would try, and if he got lucky somehow...
“You ready?” Hank said beside her.
She pocketed her phone. “Ready as you are.”
He chuckled at that and started toward the open door of the white-water rafting business. She followed.
The moment she walked in she spotted River Dean. She’d known men like him in Idaho. Good-looking ski bums, mountain bikers, river rafters. Big Sky resembled any resort area with its young men who liked to play.
River Dean was tanned and athletically built with shaggy, sexy blond hair and a million-dollar smile. She saw quickly how a woman would have been attracted to him. It wasn’t until she approached him that she could tell his age was closer to forty than thirty. There were lines around his eyes from hours on the water in sunshine.
Hank had stopped just inside the door and was staring at River as if he wanted to rip his throat out.
“You must be River,” she said, stepping in front of Hank. River appeared to be alone. She got the feeling that he’d just sent some employees out with a couple of rafts full of adventure seekers.
“Wanting a trip down the river?” he asked, grinning at her and then Hank. His grin faded a little as if he recognized the cowboy rancher Naomi had been dating.
“More interested in your relationship with Naomi Hill,” Frankie said.
“You a...cop?” he asked, eyeing her up and down.
“Something like that. Naomi came to see you that night, the night she died.”
River shook his head. “I don’t know who you are, but I’m not answering any more of your questions.”
“Would you prefer to talk to the sheriff?” Frankie snapped.
“No, but...”
“We’re just trying to find out what happened to her. I know she came to see you. She was upset. She needed someone to talk to. Someone sympathetic to her problem.”
River rubbed the back of his neck for a moment as he looked toward the open door and the highway outside. She could tell he was wishing a customer would stop by right now.
“We know you knew her,” Hank said, taking a threatening step forward.
River was shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that. I was way too old for her. We were just friends. And I swear I know nothing about what happened to her.”
“But she did stop by that night,” Frankie repeated.
The river guide groaned. “She stopped by, but I was busy.”
“Busy?” Hank said.
“With another woman.” Frankie nodded since she’d already guessed that was what must have happened. “Did you two argue?”
“No.” He held up his hands. “I told her we could talk the next day. She realized what was going on and left. That was it,” River said.
Hank swore. “But you didn’t go to the sheriff with that information even though you might have been the last person to see her alive.”
“I wasn’t why she jumped,” River snapped. “If you’re looking for someone to blame, look in the mirror, man. You’re the one who was making her so unhappy.”
Frankie could see that Hank wanted to reach across the counter and thump the man. She stepped between them again. “Tell me what was said that night.”
River shook his head. “It was three years ago. I don’t remember word for word. She surprised me. She’d never come by before without calling.”
Behind her, Frankie heard Hank groan. River heard it too and looked worried. Both men were strong and in good shape, but Hank was a big cowboy. In a fight, she had no doubt that the cowboy would win.
“It’s like I just told you. She was upset before she saw what was going on. I told her she had to leave and that we’d talk the next day. She was crying, but she seemed okay when she left.”
“This was at your place? Where was that?”
“I was staying in those old cabins near Soldiers’ Chapel. Most of them have been torn down since then.”
“Did you see her leave?” Frankie asked. “Could she have left with anyone?”
River shook his head and looked sheepish. “Like I said. I thought she was all right. I figured she was looking for a shoulder to cry on over her boyfriend and that she’d just find someone else to talk to that night.”
“Was there someone you thought she might go to?” she asked.
River hesitated only a moment before he said, “Her friend Carrie maybe? I don’t know.”
Chapter Eight
“You should have let me hit him,” Hank said as he slipped behind the wheel and slammed the door harder than he’d meant to.
“Violence is never the answer.”
He shot her a look. “You read that in a fortune cookie?” He couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this angry.
He saw Frankie’s expression and swore under his breath. “Yes, I’d prefer to blame River Dean rather than the dead woman I was in love with. You have a problem with that?”
She said nothing, as if waiting for his anger to pass. His father had warned him that digging into Naomi’s death would only make him feel worse. He really hated it when his father was right—and Hud didn’t even know that was what he was doing.
He drove back to the ranch, his temper cooled as he turned into the place.
“I had no idea about what was going on with Naomi,” he said, stating the obvious. “You must think me a fool.”
Frankie graced him with a patient smile as he drove down the road to the ranch house. “She loved you, but you both wanted different things. Love doesn’t always overcome everything.”
“Don’t be nice to me,” he said gruffly, making her laugh. Her cell phone rang. She checked it as if surprised that she’d left it on and quickly turned it off again.
“You’re going to have to talk to him sometime,” Hank said, studying her.
“Is there anyone else you want to go see?”
He shook his head, aware that she’d circumvented his comment as he parked at the foot of the trail that led to their cabin on the mountainside. “I need to be alone for a while, Frankie. Is that all right?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
He smiled at her. “You can take care of yourself, right? Never need any help.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” She opened her door and got out.
He swore and, after throwing the pickup into Park, got out and went after her. “Frankie, wait.”
She stopped and turned back to him.
“I don’t know what your story is, but I do know this,” he said. “You have closed yourself off for some reason. I recognize the signs because I’ve done it for the past three years. In your case, I suspect some man’s to blame, the one who keeps calling. One question. Is he dangerous?”
She started to step away, but he reached for her arm and pulled her back around to face him again. “I’m fine. There is nothing to worry about.”
He shook his head but let go of her arm. “You are one stubborn woman.” He couldn’t help but smile because there was a strength and independence in her that he admired. He’d never known a woman quite like her. She couldn’t have been more different from Naomi, who he’d always felt needed taking care of. Just the thought of Naomi and what he’d learned about her before she died was like a bucket of ice water poured over him. He took a step away, needing space right
now, just like he’d told her.
“I’ll see you later.” With that, he turned to his pickup and drove off, looking back only once to see Frankie standing in the ranch yard, a worried expression on her face.
“Nothing to worry about, huh?” he said under his breath.
* * *
AS FRANKIE TURNED toward their cabin on the mountain, she saw movement in the main house and knew that their little scene had been witnessed. They didn’t appear to be a loving couple. She didn’t know how much longer they could continue this ruse before someone brought it up.
But this was the way Hank wanted it. At least for the time being. She felt guilty, especially about his mother. Dana wanted her son to move on from Naomi’s death and find some happiness. Frankie wasn’t sure that was ever going to happen.
She hated to admit it to herself, but the moment Hank had told her about the problems they’d been having, she’d nailed the kind of young woman Naomi had been.
The weight of her cell phone in her pocket seemed to mock her. She was good at figuring out other people, but not so good when it came to her own life.
“Frankie!” She turned at the sound of Dana’s voice. The older woman was standing on the ranch house porch, waving at her. “Want a cup of coffee? I have cookies.”
She couldn’t help but laugh as she started for the main house. Dana wanted to talk and she was using cookies as a bribe. Frankie called her on it the moment she reached the porch.
“You’ve found me out,” Dana said with a laugh. “I’ll stoop to just about anything when it comes to my son.”
“I understand completely,” she said, climbing the steps to the porch. “Hank is a special young man.”
“Yes, I think he is,” the woman said as she shoved open the screen door. “I thought we could talk.”
Frankie chuckled. “I had a feeling.” She stepped inside, taking in again the Western-style living room with its stone fireplace, wood floors, and Native American rugs adjacent to the warm and cozy kitchen. She liked it here, actually felt at home, which was unusual for her. She often didn’t feel at home at her own place.