She obliges. He’s cool and normal. “Nope.”
“Are you sure?”
“Hank, I have bad news for you.”
“What’s that?” He reverses the truck.
“You’re going to live.”
“Maybe not.”
“And I have a question for you.”
“I might be too weak to answer.”
She rolls her eyes. “Why haven’t you guys brought in any female hands at Double S?”
“Well, we have you.”
“I’m a volunteer. And this is my first day.”
“Seriously, no women have ever applied for the job.”
“Why?”
“Would you want to work in thirty-below weather if you had other options?”
“Good point. Now, where’s your doctor’s office?”
“New York.”
Her head whips around to him. “Come again?”
“I Skype with him.”
“So what are we doing in Sheridan?”
“Using the free Wi-Fi outside the library.”
“We had Wi-Fi back at the ranch.”
“Yeah, but you have to be back from Walmart in time for Trudy to cook dinner, and you wouldn’t have made it if you’d waited to leave until after my call with Dr. Clark.”
His logic is convoluted, but it works. “All right, then. I haven’t been to the library.”
After they park, he leads her to a wooden bench outside a picture window. “We’ll get good signal here.”
He unpacks his laptop and boots up. Maggie looks around outside while she waits. The library is a dark fortress of a brick building, but the grounds are spacious and well kept. Right across the street is a park with a sign that reads WHITNEY COMMONS, so the library green space—or tan space, this time of year—seems immense.
Hank says, “I’m making the connection, if you want to come sit with me.”
Maggie scooches onto the bench beside him. “I don’t plan on saying anything.”
“You can if you want to.”
“I just want to know what’s going on. As long as you’re completely open with him, you won’t hear a peep from me.”
He side-eyes her. “Right.”
A surfer-dude-looking man in a white doctor’s coat answers. “Dr. Clark.”
Dr. Clark’s voice is clipped and Bostonian, about as unlike a surfer dude as Maggie can imagine.
“Hi, Dr. Clark. Hank Sibley here for my checkup.”
Dr. Clark doesn’t waste a second on idle chitchat, but launches into a detailed quiz into Hank’s condition and symptoms since they’d last talked. Maggie only has to jab Hank once when he squirms out of full disclosure about the problems with his headaches, mood, and mental functioning. He clears his throat and supplements his answer, then looks to her for validation. She smiles and bumps his knee with hers.
“Is there someone there with you?” Dr. Clark asks.
“My girlfriend, Maggie. She’s been, um, concerned. She’s here to keep me honest.”
“Good. Maggie, did he leave anything out?”
Hank shifts the laptop so the camera lens picks her up.
“Hello, Dr. Clark. I think he downplayed everything a bit, but essentially that’s it. And you’re the brain doctor only, right? Not someone to talk to about an injury to his, um, man parts?”
“Man parts? You mean penis or testicles?”
Hank groans. “Maggie . . .”
“Penis. From sex. It’s crooked.”
“Any pain, Hank?”
Hank partially covers his face with his hand. “Right after it happened, but it’s better now.”
“Go see a urologist if it doesn’t straighten out completely. They can fix it, usually. Better than I can fix your head.”
Hank whispers to Maggie, “I’m going to kill you.”
She gives him a smile worthy of a halo.
Dr. Clark shifts into a review of Hank’s most recent lab work. When he’s done, he doesn’t take a breath before moving into regime changes for Hank. “You’re not responding to the pills anymore. We need a better method of delivery. You’re going to have to learn to give yourself shots a few times a week. If you don’t see significant improvement within three weeks of starting that, set up another appointment.”
“Got it.”
“Stick with the rest of your regimen—food, sleep, exercise, low stress, and your other supplements and meds. It won’t be overnight, but you’re going to feel better, Hank.”
Hank and the doctor discuss the details of the injections. Practice, timing, procedure. Maggie takes notes. They hang up.
“Well?” Hank says.
“He seems good. And he took your issues seriously and made changes.”
“Yes. I like him. He costs me an arm and a leg, but he saved me, back when conventional medicine failed.”
She’s encouraged, but Dr. Clark’s last words linger. “It won’t be overnight.” A lot can happen in a few weeks. A lot has happened. And there’s a lot that might have happened that she prays didn’t. Thanks, Deputy Travis, for putting that in my head, however unlikely it is. Hank’s no killer, at least not when he’s himself. But when he’s not himself, how can she really know for sure?
Thirty-Three
“I’ll meet you back at the truck, all right?” Maggie lifts the last bag into her cart from the checkout carousel. After Hank dropped her at Home Depot, she and Andy headed to Walmart.
Andy puts new work boots and several pairs of socks on the belt. “All righty.”
Maggie’s cart is full to the brim. She’s shopping for the ranch table, mostly, and for herself and Hank, a little. She pushes the cart out to the parking lot and alongside Bess. As she hefts a fifty-pound bag of dog food into the bed, Andy appears with a bag on one arm.
“I could have helped you.”
“It’s a beautiful day, and I need the exercise.”
And it is beautiful. The sky is a summery blue with only a few wispy clouds floating by. It’s in the high fifties, and Maggie’s in a short-sleeved T-shirt, jeans, boots, and the Frontier Days belt buckle. She’s even wearing her long, white-streaked black hair down, since there’s no wind to tease it into a fright wig.
She’s getting out her keys to open Bess’s old-school locks when she becomes aware of a big white pickup pulling into the empty space beside Andy. A bulky figure appears beside him.
“Ms. Killian.” Travis tips a ball cap.
“Deputy Travis.”
“I was on my way out to Piney Bottoms when I saw your truck.”
“Well, she’s hard to miss.”
“True. I think this will save me a trip.” He puts a hand on Andy’s shoulder. “Andrew Yoder, you’re under arrest for the murder of Paco Lopez.” He holds up a pair of handcuffs. “Do I need to use these here? I can wait to put them on in the truck if you’ll come peaceably.”
Maggie runs around the truck. God forgive her, but her first reaction is gratitude that it isn’t Hank. Her next is to wonder what the hell they have on Andy that Travis has arrested him. The boy’s no murderer. It’s crazy. And why is Travis doing this in a public parking lot? She wants to take him down with a knee to the balls, but she doesn’t want to get arrested.
“What the hell?” Her voice is shrill.
Travis raises a hand to stop her. “No closer, Ms. Killian.”
Andy stares at the deputy without a word, but Travis seems content to let him remain uncuffed for the moment.
“Mr. Yoder, you have the right to remain silent. You have the right to refuse to answer questions. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” Travis recites the rest of the Miranda warning to Andy. “Do you understand these rights as I’ve explained them to you?”
Andy’s eyes are round and pale as a blue moon. Unlike most of his generation, he didn’t grow up hearing the Miranda warning umpteen times a week on TV cop shows. The unfamiliar words must be confusing and intimidating. Despite the lack of cuffs, people are sto
pping to stare, too, adding further pressure to the situation. A young mother in yoga pants gapes, while her toddler son darts between parked cars. A woman closer to middle age, based on her less taut skin and muscles, grabs hold of him and puts her body between Andy and the child. Three teenage boys in high-tops, shorts, and tanks stop to watch, jostling and pushing each other.
“That’ll be you, man,” one says.
Another says, “Nah, cuz I ain’t got no religion.”
The third cackles appreciatively at their wit.
Travis ignores them all and says to Andy, “You’ll need to answer verbally, son. Yes, you understand you have these rights, or no, you don’t.”
“I don’t know, sir. I guess I do all right.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“Yes. I understand.”
“Good. Let’s get you loaded up, then, and I’ll take you in.”
Maggie can’t stand it any longer. “You’re making a mistake.”
Travis huffs at her. He opens the back door of his truck, then puts a hand on Andy’s head to protect it as the young man climbs into the seat. “Why? You think I should arrest Hank with him?”
“Of course not. But there are other suspects. What about Mary’s husband?”
“Who?”
“Mary. Paco’s girlfriend.”
“You’re grasping at straws.”
Maggie remembers what Andy had told her the day before, that he didn’t have an alibi for the nights after Paco was last seen. “But you can’t take Andy in just because he sleeps alone in a bunkhouse and can’t prove where he was. It doesn’t mean he killed Paco.”
“No. But his fingerprints on the knife handle are pretty solid evidence. His knife.” Travis gets in the driver’s seat and shoots her one last look before shutting the door.
She knocks on the window.
Travis glares at her, but he lowers it. “What?”
“Can I come with him?”
“It won’t do any good.”
“What can I do, then?”
“He’ll meet with a public defender later today, unless he gets his own lawyer. And I imagine he’ll have a bond hearing tomorrow. You can help with those. That’s all you can do.” He raises the window and backs out of his space.
With Travis and Andy gone, the crowd loses interest and disperses quickly, but Maggie gazes after the truck as it leaves, feeling like she’s failed Andy in some fundamental way. After a few moments, she gets her wits together enough to text Gene and Hank. Andy arrested for Paco’s death. In jail. Bond hearing tomorrow.
Gene: Shit. I hate that I’m not there.
Hank: Calling an attorney for him now.
Maggie slumps into Bess and rests her head against the seat back. Then she bolts upright. Travis is wrong. The attorney, the bond hearing? That’s not all she can do. If the sheriff’s department won’t look for the real killer, she can do it for them. For Andy.
Thirty-Four
The next morning, Hank, Maggie, and Gene are at the county building for Andy’s bond hearing. From its architecture, it’s hard to tell if the courthouse wants to be a pagoda or the Wyoming homage to Frank Lloyd Wright. It doesn’t put a best foot forward. The public entrance is almost like a loading dock. Half the walkway is cordoned with safety tape, cones, and warning signs so that visitors aren’t killed by ice avalanches from the roof.
Outside the third-floor courtroom is a sign for the Fourth Judicial District Court of Wyoming and the Honorable Judge John P. Johnson. The inside has an Old West feel with vertical dark wood paneling and a beamed ceiling, green patterned carpeting and upholstery, and even a brass and velvet rope to mark reserved rows in the gallery. Because it’s the new West, there are laptop-friendly counsel tables and a projector and big screen.
Andy is there, wearing his normal work clothes, dirty and wrinkled. At least he didn’t have to wear prison garb. The attorneys, the judge, the bailiff, and the court reporter are all present, too. Paco’s death isn’t big news in the community. It’s a murder, of course. That got people’s attention. But Paco was a Mexican ranch hand from Texas, not someone from a local family, and that makes a big difference. There are a few people in the gallery, though. Reggie, glowering. Trudy, which warms Maggie’s heart. And—surprise—Penny, which confuses her. She’d told her about the hearing in a text canceling the music lesson the day before, but she didn’t think the girl was that into Andy. She doesn’t get a chance to talk to her before the bailiff calls court to order, though.
The attorneys make their appearances, but the proceeding is anticlimactic. John Fortney does a good enough job for Andy, but he doesn’t have a challenge. Hank and Gene have already pledged adequate bond, with the bondsman present to hand over the check to the court. One hundred fifty thousand is steep to them—they’ll never see fifteen thousand of it again, the fee to the bondsman—and low to the county for murder, at least according to the heated objections of the county attorney. The judge seems to buy Fortney’s argument that a twenty-year-old Amish man who doesn’t drive, fly, ride trains or boats, or own a passport is not much of a flight risk.
Andy spares a brief smile for his supporters as he turns to walk up the aisle without cuffs, although he’s rubbing his wrists like he still feels them there. He sees Penny, and his face lights up like the girl is the present he never dreamed Santa would leave under the Christmas tree.
Reggie steps in front of Andy, blocking his view of Penny. His face is cold, his tone harsh. “Come with me.”
Andy ducks around him to keep Penny in his sight.
“Did you hear me, Andrew?”
Andy returns his gaze to his father. His jaw flexes as his head inclines. Maggie is sure he’s about to say “Yes, sir” when Penny steps up beside Reggie.
“I’m happy they released you, Andy.”
Andy’s suddenly two inches taller, his shoulders rising up and back. That brief smile returns, directed straight at the brunette. “Thank you.”
“I mean, I’m sad Paco died. But I’m sure you didn’t do it and they’ll find who did.”
Maggie is torn between agreeing with Penny and the fear that the someone they’ll find will be Hank. But she won’t let that happen. He’s standing ramrod straight beside her, no dimples, no smile, but his eyes are kind.
“Andrew, now,” Reggie says, in a deep hiss.
Andy shakes his head. “No.” He clears his throat. “No, sir.” He turns and extends his hand to Hank. Then to Gene. “Thank you both. More than I can say.”
Both of his bosses shake his hand.
“I’ll pay you back.”
Gene crosses his arms. “You’re a good man, Andy. And we know you’re a good investment.”
Penny steps closer. “Could you use a coffee, Andy?”
Andy laughs, starting to seem more his age. “Yes, I believe I could.”
Hank and Maggie share a look. Maybe Penny has gotten over her religious objections, Maggie thinks.
Hank says, “If you don’t mind, we have some errands to run. But we could pick you up and give you a ride back to the ranch from there.”
“Oh, and before I forget, let’s reschedule that music lesson for the two of you. How about tonight?” Maggie asks.
“That will work for me,” Andy says.
Penny nods. “And Java Moon is just down the street. The weather is so pretty. Would you like to walk, Andy?”
“Enough of this. You’re defying the faith before my eyes.” Reggie’s face is so red it’s almost purple.
Andy speaks softly, but firmly. “No, I’m not. Goodbye, Father.”
Reggie storms out of the courtroom, looking like the poster child for a movie on Old Testament vengeance.
Gene whistles. “That’s not a happy man.”
“You staying in town?” Hank asks.
“Nah, I’ll get on back to the ranch. See you there.”
Fortney joins them as Gene departs. The attorney talks about Andy’s next steps in the criminal justice system and promi
ses to call the ranch to set up an appointment for trial prep. After the attorney takes his leave, Andy walks out with Penny.
Hank offers his arm to Maggie. “I thought we’d walk to the compounding pharmacy to pick up my prescription.”
“That’s sexy talk, cowboy. I’m so excited for you to start the new treatment.”
They walk along busy Coffeen Avenue chatting and holding hands.
Maggie says, “I was thinking about Andy’s defense.”
“Fortney will do a good job.”
“I know. But there’s no substitute for someone who really cares about and knows Andy. Should we hire a private investigator?”
“Maybe. The state still has to prove he did it, though, and I don’t see how they can.”
“It would help if we could show them who did.”
“But we don’t know who did.”
“I’d like to try to figure it out.”
“So hire the private investigator.”
“Okay. I’ll just do a little digging first, so I can start a PI in the right direction.”
“That sounds like a good way to get yourself killed.”
They enter the pharmacy. Hank’s prescription is ready. While he pays, Maggie Googles for private investigators in the area. She doesn’t come up with anyone promising. Plus, she starts wondering about the impartiality of a small-town investigator when all the suspects are likely to be local, too. Everybody knows everybody here.
Hank shakes a white paper bag at her. “Got it.”
“I’m proud of you.”
On the way back to downtown, they talk about Hank’s injection schedule.
“Are you scared to give yourself a shot?”
“I’m not looking forward to it, but I’ve given injections to animals nearly all my life. I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t you get the vet to do the injections?”
“You wouldn’t ask that if you knew what Doc Billy charges. We take very good care of our livestock. They’re our income. But what we can do ourselves, we do.”
“What about labor and delivery?”
“Now you’re thinking about Lily?”
“Yes.”
“She’s done it by herself several times now. We’ll be there to help her if she needs it. But unless there’s a problem, we won’t call Doc Billy.”
Dead Pile (Maggie #3) Page 17