Clement glared at Clare. He stepped out of the witness chair and walked slowly back to his seat next to his mother. He made sure he caught Clare’s eye as he walked past the defense table before he smiled and brought his hand up and pointed his index finger at her as if it were a gun and pulled the imaginary trigger.
Before court adjourned that day the jurors heard brief testimony from Dr. Wayne, Willis Manning, and Mavis Calendar concerning what they witnessed either during or immediately following the shooting.
Clare was relieved when she was finally escorted back to the jail by Deputy Hardcastle. Much to her surprise the judge temporarily relieved Sheriff Beutler of his duties until the charges that had been filed against him were sorted out. Once her handcuffs were removed, she sat on her cot rubbing her wrists while Jo and Ripley found a place to sit.
“I thought today went fairly well,” Ripley said as he removed his jacket and draped it over the frame of Clare’s cot.”
“We’ll have our chance when the prosecutor rests his case,” Jo said. She pulled a stack of papers from her satchel and thumbed through them. “Now that we know what they’re relying on as evidence we should be able to create enough doubt to sway the jurors.”
Clare snorted. “I don’t know how things work where you’re from, but I saw the way the men on the jury were looking at me.”
“Then we’ll simply appeal and have the trial moved to a bigger city,” Jo said with a shrug.
“I need to speak to Ino,” Clare said, leaning back against the wall of her cell.
“We need to go over your testimony,” Jo said with a frown.
“They don’t care what I have to say. I appreciate everything you’re doing, but I don’t expect to live to see the end of this trial. Find Ino. We’ll talk about my testimony later.”
CLARE COULDN’T SLEEP that night. She was calm, but afraid. She knew something would happen soon and shivered. It was well after midnight when she was awakened by the sound of something heavy falling. She wasn’t sure where the sound had come from. A moment later the door between the sheriff’s office and the cells flew open. Five men wearing masks stormed into the cell area. Clare jumped from her cot and grabbed the closest thing she could find that could be used as a weapon. The ceramic water pitcher would probably break with the first swing, but she didn’t have much choice. One of the men twisted the key in the cell lock and jerked it open while the others held their weapons on her.
“Drop the fuckin’ pitcher!” a voice ordered.
“You afraid of one woman with a water pitcher, Beutler?” Clare asked while shifting her stance. “You fire any of those pistols and you’ll wake the whole damn town.”
One of the men motioned toward her with his pistol and the others rushed into the cell, ducking the pitcher Clare swung at them. One of the men managed to catch her jaw with a glancing blow, enough to force her off balance and allow the others to grab her. They wrestled her to the floor and held her down. A man stepped forward and glared down at her as he yanked the mask from his face. Sheriff Beutler knelt down over her and unleashed a savage blow to her face, knocking her unconscious.
THE SKY WAS dusky gray, shot through with light pink rays of light trying to break through the fog that covered everything. Wet snow seeped through Clare’s clothing. She awoke with a shiver and moved her head slightly to the side. She was lying on the ground and tried to get up, but couldn’t move, her arms were tied tightly behind her back and another rough rope was around her neck and tethered to a nearly tree. She was far enough away from a campfire that the heat couldn’t reach her. She started to open her mouth and groaned from the pain in her jaw as she remembered what had happened a few hours earlier.
“Looks like she’s finally awake,” one of the men said.“Good,” Beutler smirked. “Wouldn’t want her to miss her own party.”
The men rose and tossed whatever remained in their tin coffee mugs into the fire. Clement strolled to where Clare was lying, nudging her with the toe of his boot. “About time you woke up,” he growled, squatting down beside her. “We’ve got a present for you.”
“Fuck you,” Clare mumbled.
“Let’s get this over with,” Beutler said, rubbing his hands together.
“No hurry,” Clement said. “No one’s gonna find her out here until there’s nothing left but bones. This is private property.”
“We need to get back to town for the trial,”
Beutler said. “Soon everyone will know she’s missing and we’ll the first ones they’ll be looking at. Just do it and let’s get breakfast in town like nothing’s happened.”
One of the men untied the rope from the base of the tree and tossed it to Clement. “Reckon you’ll want the honors,” he said.
Clement caught the rope and looped it in his hands. “Get the horse,” he ordered. “Now I’m going to do something even the great Thaddeus Garner couldn’t. Get rid of Clare McIlhenney once and for all.” He laughed as two of his men picked Clare up under the arms and held her, waiting for another hand to saddle a horse. She struggled when she saw the cowboy and horse approach. She kicked and twisted as they lifted her onto the saddle. She drove the heels of her boots into the horse’s side, but men on either side of her held the reins. They followed Clement toward a tree with a low hanging sturdy branch. He stood beside Clare while he threw the rope over the branch. She brought her leg up and kicked him in the abdomen hard enough to knock the breath out of him. When he finally stood up, he held an arm across his stomach and jerked the rope down hard.
Clare felt the rope tighten around her neck and had trouble breathing as she stretched her body as upright as possible in the saddle.
“Stand the horse under the branch,” Clement rasped. He looked up at Clare, hatred filling his eyes while he watched her vainly attempt to lessen the pressure of the rope around her neck. “Is that too tight, Clare? Well, it’s going to get a lot tighter. This horse is real skittish so I wouldn’t move if I was you.”
“Just finish it,” she managed and closed her eyes.
“I think I kinda like making you suffer,” he said with a cruel laugh. “I could play this fucking game all day.” He turned and looked at Beutler with a smile.
“How long do you figure it’ll take her to choke to death if I leave the rope real tight like this?”
“A few minutes maybe.”
“I want her to suffer. To pay for killing my father.
Real slow like.”
“Then tie the damn rope to the tree tight with no slack and leave her like this. Sooner or later the horse will spook and she can dangle for a while.”
“I can’t wait to watch you die, bitch,” Clement said.Clement pulled the rope behind Clare and took it to the tree trunk. While he was walking behind the horse the rope loosened and Clare drew in as much air as she could through her mouth. She felt the rope pull against her neck enough to lift her slightly out of the saddle as Clement ordered his men to hold the rope while he tied it off. The rope was drawn so tightly that only a small stream of air could get into her lungs which felt as if they might burst at any moment.
“Her face is turning a little red,” Clement laughed as he patted her on the thigh. The horse under her moved, shifting its weight a little. Clare felt her airway grow smaller with every movement. She flinched when the horse moved again as the men walked away. White dots of light sparkled and danced behind her eyes. She tried to sit calmly, but the struggle to inhale a breath made her light-headed and she wasn’t certain how long she could remain conscious. If she lost consciousness, she would hang herself.
CLEMENT GARNER AND his men strolled back to their campfire and poured fresh coffee into their tin cups. They settled down laughing and placing bets on how long it would take Clare to slowly die from strangulation
“Hey, boss, how about we save her after the horse moves? Then we can hang her again?” one of the men said.“I like the way you think,” Clement grinned.
They watched as the horse beneath Clare began to pr
ance sideways. A few minutes passed. Clement picked up a small stone from the ground next to him and threw it at the animal, striking it on its rear leg.
For an instant, Clare’s body dangled beneath the branch before falling heavily onto the snowy ground as the rope snapped.
“What the fuck!” Clement shouted.
“Guess you get to try again,” Beutler said. “I thought you tied that damn rope good.”
“I did goddammit!” Clement said as the five men stood and walked toward Clare’s body.
Ino stepped from behind the tree, his rifle on his shoulder and aimed at them. Before they could react, he began firing. The men tried to run to cover, but they fell to the ground one by one. Ino ran to where Clare lay and loosened the rope around her neck. He shook her arm and cut through the rope binding her hands. “Clare!” he yelled, continuing to shake her shoulders.
His face brightened when Clare began coughing and wheezing when she took a long shuddering breath and looked up at him. “It took you fuckin’ long enough,” she said in a whispering voice.
“I had to wait until they were away from you,” he beamed.
“Are they dead?” she asked as she rubbed her throat. It felt raw and burned. Ino ran back to where he’d tied his horse. He vaulted into the saddle and rode quickly back to her. He jumped off and brought his canteen to her mouth. The cool water running down her throat felt good. She choked and started coughing. “Not so fast,” Ino warned. “You feel good enough to ride?”
Clare nodded and sat up, with some assistance from Ino. Her legs felt boneless as he helped her to her feet. Her knees started to buckle and Ino ran an arm around her waist to steady her. “Your horse is close. I tied him in a grove of trees after I followed you here. There is food and money in the saddlebags, along with your rifle, coat, and hat. You hurt anywhere?”
Clare shook her head. “Thanks Ino. This is twice you’ve saved my life.”
“You saved mine too, chica.”
“Take care of the ranch.”
“We will. I hope someday you’ll come back.”
“Not likely, compadre. We?”
Ino’s face turned red and his white teeth shone beneath his moustache. “Me and Mavis is gettin’
married. Now with the ranch and all, I need a new housekeeper.”
Clare stopped and stared at her friend. She pulled him into fierce hug. “Take care of her, too.”
CLARE GUIDED HER horse south, away from Trinidad. Snow had begun falling again, covering her tracks away from where she had been taken to die.
She needed to cover as much ground as possible before dark, but the deepening snow made traveling difficult. She didn’t want to be trapped attempting to get over the pass at Raton after dark. By now it would have been discovered that she was missing.
Kidnapped. Deputy Hardcastle’s body, unconscious on the floor of the sheriff’s office, would assure everyone she hadn’t escaped, but was the victim of vigilantes. Clare McIlhenney was dead.
The sun had just fallen behind Fisher’s Peak to the north when Clare began descending the pass at Raton and into the New Mexico Territory. It was well after dark when she saw lights through the trees from a cabin ahead. She spurred her horse through the deepening snow toward it and was out of the saddle before her horse came to a complete stop. The door of the cabin opened and the silhouette of a woman holding a rifle appeared.
Clare made her way through knee-deep snow toward the door and took the rifle from Loretta’s shaking hands. Loretta backed into the front room while Clare leaned the rifle against a small table inside the cabin door. She smiled and removed her hat and coat, tossing them onto a nearby chair. Before she could say anything Loretta was in her arms, embracing her. Loretta’s fingers lightly touched the red whelp encircling Clare’s neck and tears filled her eyes.
“Are…are you all right?” Loretta asked.
“The marks will go away, but I never will again,”
Clare said softly.
No more words were necessary as Clare claimed Loretta’s lips and devoured them. For the first time she felt free of the ghosts that haunted her past. As Loretta seductively pulled her toward the bedroom, the thought of touching Loretta’s silken skin brought peace to Clare’s soul.
Epilogue
JO WAS SETTLING her bill at the front desk of the Columbian Hotel when Ripley dropped his suitcase next to hers. Within a few hours they would be boarding the stage for Pueblo.
“Is that everything?” Jo asked.
“Yes, mother. I checked three times,” he sighed.
He leaned against the front desk counter. “We could have won,” he said.
Jo shook her head. “Clare was right. We might have won the trial, but she would have lost eventually.”
“Think they’ll ever find her body?”
“Nope. There’s a million places she could have been taken and killed or buried or whatever the hell they did to her. We’ll never know.”
“Damn shame. She was a pain in the ass as a client, but I liked her.”
“Me, too.”
“This was left here for you earlier, Miss Barclay,”
the young man at the counter said, holding out an envelope with Jo’s name written neatly on the front.
“Who left it?” Jo asked.
“A little Mexican kid. I think it was one of Willis Manning’s boys.”
“Thank you,” Jo said as she took the envelope and slipped it into the pocket of her coat.
Jo sat inside the stage office and took a deep breath. She reached into her pocket and withdrew the mysterious envelope, sliding her index finger under the flap to open it. She adjusted her glasses and began reading:
Jo, Thank you for everything you did for us. I should have trusted Clare to work everything out her way without anyone getting hurt. She knew she couldn’t win despite your best efforts. She killed Thaddeus Garner and believes Amelia shot Jack Coulter. But Amelia is still young and has a long life ahead of her.
Cyrus and Hettie won’t be forced to admit their past and leave town. Lastly, but not least, she killed Clare McIlhenney. I cannot tell you where we will be, but please know we are well and will live a peaceful life of our own choosing. Give our regards to Ripley. We wish you both well.
Loretta
Jo folded the letter and slid it back into her pocket. She removed her glasses and smiled to herself. She held the glasses loosely in her hands for a moment before slipping them back on.
“Bad news?” Ripley asked.
“No. Just a letter from a friend.”
More Brenda Adcock titles:
The Sea Hawk
Dr. Julia Blanchard, a marine archaeologist, and her team of divers have spent almost eighteen months excavating the remains of a ship found a few miles off the coast of Georgia. Although they learn quite a bit about the nineteenth century sailing vessel, they have found nothing that would reveal the identity of the ship they have nicknamed “The Georgia Peach.”
Consumed by the excavation of the mysterious ship, Julia’s relationship with her partner, Amy, has deteriorated. When she forgets Amy’s birthday and finds her celebrating in the arms of another woman, Julia returns alone to the Peach site. Caught in a violent storm, she finds herself separated from her boat and adrift on the vast Atlantic Ocean.
Her rescue at sea leads her on an unexpected journey into the true identity of the Peach and the captain and crew who called it their home. Her travels take her to the island of Martinique, the eastern Caribbean islands, the Louisiana German Coast and New Orleans at the close of the War of 1812.
How had the Peach come to rest in the waters off the Georgia coast? What had become of her alluring and enigmatic captain, Simone Moreau? Can love conquer everything, even time? On a voyage that lifts her spirits and eventually breaks her heart, Julia discovers the identity of the ship she had been excavating and the fate of its crew. Along the way she also discovers the true meaning of love which can be as boundless and unpredictable as the ocean itself
.
ISBN 978-1-935053-10-1
Pipeline
What do you do when the mistakes you made in the past come back to slap you in the face with a vengeance? Joanna Carlisle, a fifty-seven year old photojournalist, has only begun to adjust to retirement on her small ranch outside Kerrville, Texas, when she finds herself unwillingly sucked into an investigation of illegal aliens being smuggled into the United States to fill the ranks of cheap labor needed to increase corporate profits.
Joanna is a woman who has always lived life her way and on her own terms, enjoying a career that had given her everything she thought she ever wanted or needed. An unexpected visit by her former lover, Cate Hammond, and the attempted murder of their son, forces Jo to finally face what she had given up.
Although she hasn't seen Cate or their son for fifteen years, she finds that the feelings she had for Cate had only been dormant, but had never died. No matter how much she fights her attraction to Cate, Jo cannot help but wonder whether she had made the right decision when she chose career and independence over love.
Jo comes to understand the true meaning of friendship and love only when her investigation endangers not only her life, but also the lives of the people around her.
ISBN 978-1-932300-64-2
Reiko’s Garden
Hatred…like love…knows no boundaries.
How much impact can one person have on a life?
When sixty-five-year old Callie Owen returns to her rural childhood home in Eastern Tennessee to attend the funeral of a woman she hasn’t seen in twenty years, she’s forced to face the fears, heartache, and turbulent events that scarred both her body and her mind. Drawing strength from Jean, her partner of thirty years, and from their two grown children, Callie stays in the valley longer than she had anticipated and relives the years that changed her life forever.
In 1949, Japanese war bride Reiko Sanders came to Frost Valley, Tennessee with her soldier husband and infant son. Callie Owen was an inquisitive ten-year-old whose curiosity about the stranger drove her to disobey her father for just one peek at the woman who had become the subject of so much speculation.
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