Burning Ridge

by Margaret Mizushima

  BURNING RIDGE

  A Timber Creek K-9 Mystery

  Margaret Mizushima

  To my daughters and son-in-law,

  Sarah, Beth, and Adam

  ONE

  Saturday Night, Mid-May

  If Deputy Mattie Cobb had eaten supper at home with her K-9 partner, Robo, she wouldn’t have noticed the rig parked illegally across the street from the Main Street Diner. But there it was, a charcoal gray truck and horse trailer parked parallel in front of the Watering Hole Bar and Grill, taking up more than their share of the diagonal parking spaces. A rack full of rifles filled the back window of the truck. California license plates, probably someone passing through town.

  Being off duty didn’t really matter in Timber Creek, Colorado. The sheriff’s department was small enough that the entire staff needed to assume they were on call any time of the day or night. Besides, Mattie felt more ownership of this town than some, since it was the only place in which she could ever remember living. She’d grown up here, she’d struggled to survive here, and she now worked here to protect citizens, especially kids, from threats that lurked outside the sheltering mountains of their little community.

  But this vehicle didn’t pose much of a threat. As Mattie stood and stared at it, wondering if she should write a citation, one of the horses inside the trailer neighed. Four horses tied on the near side peered out, shifting their considerable weight enough to make the vehicle rock.

  When Mattie’d left work, she’d agreed to meet her friend Detective Stella LoSasso for a bite to eat. Main Street consisted of only six blocks, and it was hard enough for businesses there to thrive without the sheriff’s department ticketing their customers. The rig’s owner had probably stopped for dinner and would be leaving soon. She decided to let it go until after she ate. If parking filled up and it became a problem, she’d deal with it then.

  Inside the diner, Mattie found Stella already seated at a table near the window, her head bent over the one-page, laminated menu. The detective had taken down the ponytail she wore for work, and the slanting rays of early evening sunlight touched the highlights in her auburn hair. She glanced up and made a little grimace as Mattie sat down. “I don’t know why I keep thinking I’ll find something new on this thing. I have it memorized by now.”

  Mattie smiled her agreement. “I’ll just have my usual.”

  Stella went back to frowning at the menu. “Burger, fries, and a vanilla shake. I swear, Mattie, I don’t know how you stay in shape eating the dinner of champions as often as you do.”

  “Running up and down the hills with Robo every morning before work.”

  “Yeah, but still. It’s all about nutrition, girl.”

  Mattie eyed the empty beer bottle in front of her friend. “And the nutritional value of your favorite beverage would be?”

  The waitress approached to take their order.

  Stella gave Mattie one of her too-sweet smiles, picked up her empty beer bottle, and tapped its end against the tabletop. “I’ll have the chef salad. And go ahead and bring me another beer.”

  After Mattie ordered and the waitress left, Stella settled back in her chair. “It’s been a while since we had a chance to catch up. Have you been in touch with your brother lately?”

  Although Mattie didn’t like to share information about her family, Stella had become a trusted friend, and Mattie felt safe with her. “We’ve been talking on the phone once a week for about a month now.”

  Stella paused while the waitress set down their drinks and then left. “And?”

  “It’s been okay.” Her vague reply hid the trepidation she’d felt upon contacting Willie and inviting him back into her life. “We’re talking about getting together some time. Maybe meet halfway between Los Angeles and here, like in Vegas. In about a month.”

  “Sometime in June? We’re usually not too busy then. You should be able to get the time off.” Stella gave her one of her penetrating looks. “How do you feel about seeing him again after all these years?”

  “Nervous. I mean, it’s been almost twenty-five years, you know? And our lives are so different.” Truthfully, she feared Willie might say more that would dredge up memories that could haunt her for months.

  “Has he ever heard from your mother?”

  When Mattie was six and William eight, their father had beaten their mother badly enough for her to be hospitalized. He’d been sent to prison, only for their mother to abandon them when she was discharged from the hospital. They’d been raised in separate foster homes and had lost touch with each other until seven months ago, when Willie called out of the blue, releasing memories of abuse that Mattie had repressed for years.

  Mattie reached for her shake. “He hasn’t heard from our mom either, but he’d like to help me look for her. Since Willie is older, maybe he can remember something that can point us in the right direction.”

  Stella adopted an innocent expression as she changed the subject. “How are things between you and Cole?”

  Warmth crept upward from Mattie’s throat. The local veterinarian, Cole Walker, and his two daughters had become an even more important part of her life during the past month. “We … uh … we’re getting along fine.”

  Stella suppressed a snort of laughter. “Well, that says it all. You’ve got a definite tell behind that poker face. Do I sense romance in the air?”

  “We’re taking it slow.” Mattie couldn’t help but smile. Thinking of Cole, Angela, and Sophie gave her heart a much-needed lift. “We’re with the kids most of the time.”

  “And when you’re not?”

  Thoughts of snuggling on the couch while they talked and good night kisses made her blush deepen. “You know, Detective, some things might not be your business.”

  Stella laughed full out. “Okay, Mattie. I’ll let you plead the fifth.”

  Mattie sipped her shake, hoping to damper the heat that infused her face. Despite guarding her feelings, she’d surprised herself by falling in love with Cole. She sensed that he might feel the same, though neither of them had said the words.

  Flashing lights from down the street caught Mattie’s eye, and she leaned forward to watch a Timber Creek sheriff’s cruiser pull up and park across the street. Her radar spiked when Deputy Garcia exited the vehicle and sprinted toward the bar. “Garcia must’ve been called to the Watering Hole. I’ll go see if he needs backup.”

  Vaguely aware that Stella was speaking to the waitress, Mattie dashed out the door and headed to her SUV. She was still wearing her uniform, but she’d left her utility belt locked in her car, which held some vital peacekeeping equipment. It took mere seconds to unlock the door, strap on the belt, and zip across the street.

  When she cracked open the bar door, raucous cries and shouts greeted her, and she knew she was in for it. Two burly men dressed in western shirts and jeans were pounding their fists into each other’s faces while local citizens cowered against the walls. A small woman, her long black hair worn in a braid down her back, jumped onto one of the men’s backs and rode him like a bronco, boxing his ears while he roared and whirled away trying to shake her off. A third big cowboy with a bushy red beard had grabbed Garcia by the shirtfront and was yelling and shaking a finger in his face.

  She radioed dispatch to request help, then pulled her tactical baton from its strap and snapped it into extension, feeling it click into place.

  “Sheriff’s department! Halt!” she shouted as the guy with the red beard threw a punch at Garcia’s face. Everyone ignored her, so she dove in and used her baton to whack Redbeard on the muscle at the back of his calf.

  Redbeard grabbed his leg, giving Garcia room to twist free and get the upper hand. A roar from behind them made Mattie turn. While the one guy was still fighting with
the woman, the other—a tall blond cowboy with a military buzz cut—picked up a chair and hurled it at Mattie. She ducked, and the chair whizzed by before crashing into a table.

  He lowered his head and charged. She stood her ground until the last second when she dropped low to the floor, shot forward, and rapped him hard with her baton on the muscle outside of the thigh and above the knee.

  During almost eight years of experience on the force, she’d found that old adage to be true: “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.” This one crashed down, grabbing his injured thigh as he howled. Though Mattie hadn’t seen her arrive, Stella jumped in to take over, cuffing the guy before he recovered. A quick glance told Mattie that Garcia had twisted Redbeard’s arm behind his back and appeared to have him under control.

  The bald man with the woman on his back yelled obscenities while he used his body weight to slam her against the wall. Air wheezed out of her lungs and her eyes glazed over. She released her grip from his neck and slid down the wall until she collapsed onto the floor. The guy bellowed and launched himself toward Mattie.

  She stood her ground, intending to use the same tactic. She crouched, but before she could drop low to strike his leg, he used his head to crash into her full steam. She took the blow squarely on her chest. Gasping for air, she clutched her baton as she fell.

  She hit the floor on her backside, the big guy on top of her. She drove her left fist into his Adam’s apple, and he reared up, grabbing his throat and giving her those few extra inches she needed. She thwacked her baton as hard as she could on the muscle at the base of his neck. He let out a roar, his breath tainted with the smell of liquor, and pinned her to the floor.

  Unable to breathe, she pushed at the guy feebly. She was seeing stars when all of a sudden he flew off her. As her vision cleared, she could see her boss, Chief Deputy Ken Brody, dragging the man away and yelling, “Cobb! Are you okay?”

  She struggled to prop herself up on one elbow, filled her poor lungs with enough air to say, “Yeah,” and scanned the room for Garcia. He’d gotten the better of his guy and had him in cuffs.

  The bald one glared at Mattie while Brody cuffed him, arrested him for disorderly conduct and criminal mischief, and read him his rights.

  As Mattie struggled to regain her feet, the guy spat at her, splattering her boots. “I’ll get you, you bitch.”

  “Add assault in the second degree to that one’s charges,” Stella said, as she escorted the man she had cuffed toward the door.

  After Deputy Johnson arrived and a large part of Timber Creek’s entire sheriff’s department had loaded the gang of cowboys, including the woman, into the backs of cruisers to drive to the station, Brody returned to where Stella and Mattie stood on the sidewalk.

  “Damn, Cobb,” he said in his growly voice as he approached. “If I’d known you were here kickin’ butt and takin’ names, I might not have hurried so fast to get here.”

  Mattie rubbed her sternum, where she’d taken the brunt of the head butt. “Could’ve used you sooner, Brody. What took you so long?”

  He gave her a half smile. “Do you need medical care, Cobb?”

  “Nope. I’ll be okay.”

  He looked at Stella. “Shame. Can’t make the assault charge stick.”

  She gave Mattie a once over. “If I took a headbutt like that, I’d be heading to the doctor’s office.”

  “Cobb’s tough.” Brody started to walk away but turned back. “Where’s your partner? He would’ve made short work of those guys.”

  “Home, eating.”

  “That’s where we should all be. Damn dog’s smarter than the bunch of us.” Brody laughed as he headed toward his cruiser.

  “Do you want me to call the Humane Society to take care of these horses?” Mattie called to him as she gestured toward the illegally parked horse trailer.

  “Nah, Garcia will handle it from here.” He got into his vehicle and drove off.

  Stella’s face showed her concern. “You took quite a blow, Mattie. Do you feel like going back to eat?”

  “I’ll get it to go. I’ll feel like eating later.”

  They stepped off the sidewalk and headed toward the diner.

  “I don’t know why the guy singled out you,” Stella said, “and not Brody for arresting him.”

  “He was the one scrapping with the woman. Might be a macho thing.”

  “They’ll probably all bond out by tomorrow. Watch your back until you know he’s well out of town.”

  Mattie nodded in agreement, though she wasn’t too worried about it. These things were all in a day’s work. No big deal.

  * * *

  When Mattie drove home, she spied Riley Flynn sitting on the edge of the front yard by the street. She was tossing a pile of pebbles, one at a time, into Robo’s empty water dish, which she’d evidently moved off the porch. Her shoulders were slumped, her long brunette hair trailing to her chest in a side braid.

  Riley and her father had moved to Timber Creek only a few weeks earlier, and since then she’d been somewhat at loose ends. Making friends at the end of the school year was a challenge for anyone, but Riley appeared to be more reserved and quiet than most other fifteen-year-olds. And though Mattie had connected with her quickly, having once lived at the fringe of a high school peer group herself, the girl struggled to connect with kids her own age.

  Riley perked up when Mattie drove in and parked. Her amber eyes lit and a grin bunched her lightly freckled cheeks. She was a cute girl who always seemed eager to please, and Mattie’s heart had gone out to her when they’d first met at the school. But this was the first time Riley had shown up uninvited.

  Riley gave a little wave as Mattie grabbed the bag that contained her meal and exited the car. “Hey, Mattie!”

  Robo, Mattie’s German shepherd, stood at the front window, paws on the sill, barking at them from inside.

  “Hey, Riley. I’m surprised to see you here.”

  Riley avoided eye contact as she dumped the pebbles out of Robo’s bowl and stood. “I hope you don’t mind. I was out riding my bike, and I thought I’d come by to say hi to you and Robo.”

  “How did you know where I live?”

  “Everyone knows where you live.” Riley gestured toward the backyard. “You’re the one with the razor wire at the top of your fence.”

  “Oh.” The county had added the wire to the top of Robo’s seven-foot-high enclosure after someone had tried to poison him during a nasty case last summer. “I suppose it does sort of stand out.”

  “Uh, I’ll put Robo’s bowl back on the porch. I guess I’d better go home now.”

  Mattie paused. Battered and tired, she didn’t feel up to hosting a guest, but she didn’t mean to act unfriendly. Word at school was that Riley’s mother had died of cancer about six months earlier, and at least Mattie could make the girl feel welcome. “Have you had any dinner yet?”

  “I had a sandwich before I left.”

  “Does your dad know where you are?”

  “He’s at work. He started working nights at the bar in Hightower.”

  As they walked toward the house, Robo popped in and out of the window to bark. Mattie could picture him beating a path from window to door as he eagerly willed it to open.

  Riley put his bowl back on the porch and gave a shy smile. “That’s why I moved out into the yard. He was pitching a fit to get out.”

  Making a decision, Mattie raised her bag of food. “Why don’t you come out to the backyard and we’ll watch him play while I eat my dinner? I have part of a vanilla shake here that I could offer you. Or a soda from the fridge, maybe?”

  Light returned to the girl’s face. “I’d love that. Robo’s the best.”

  “Yes,” Mattie said, leading the way to the door, glad that she could make both her dog and this girl happy while she did nothing more than sit on her back porch and eat. “Yes, he is.”

  TWO

  Sunday Morning

  Cole Walker leaned forward in the saddle as hi
s horse, mud sucking at his hooves, lunged out of a stream swollen from spring snowmelt. He kept an eye on his two daughters riding in front of him. Sixteen-year-old Angie led their three-pony string while sitting astride Cole’s roan gelding, Mountaineer, who could be trusted to stick to any trail you set him on. Nine-year-old Sophie sat atop a mount named Honey, an aged palomino mare borrowed from Cole’s dad. Cole also rode one of his dad’s horses, a tall, bay gelding called Duke.

  The family’s Doberman pinscher, Bruno, ranged off trail, often loping out front and then trotting back. Much to Sophie’s disappointment, Cole had decided to leave Belle, their Bernese mountain dog, home because of a gunshot injury to her hind leg from last summer. Though her wound was nine months old and well healed, Cole thought a long trek through mountain terrain would be ill advised, since she still walked with a limp that he feared might be permanent.

  He wanted to show his kids the mountain sheep that he and a crew from Colorado Parks and Wildlife were going to relocate in a few weeks. The sheep lived on Redstone Ridge in the national forest west of Timber Creek, an area still recovering from a major fire from decades earlier, and the herd had grown too big for the available food supply. Cole had signed on to help sedate and trap about half the herd so they could be moved to a range farther west near Durango.

  “How ya doing, Sophie-bug?” Cole asked for the umpteenth time as they breasted the steep incline that led them out of the draw. He would be the first to admit that he’d grown overprotective of this child—his baby—since she’d been kidnapped a month ago.

  “My legs are getting sore,” she replied over her shoulder, her brown curls jostling as Honey made the last hump up the hill. She clutched the saddle horn.

  “We’re almost there, and then we’ll stop for lunch. Look at how green everything is up here and how big the trees are getting. Twenty-five years ago this part of the forest was entirely black.” Although the forest still lacked density, healthy evergreens topped out at about twenty feet here in the old burn area. He wanted the kids to develop an appreciation for how long it took a forest to recover.