by B. J Daniels
“They must have been about twelve, thirteen.” He saw Edwin writing this down and added, “One of them, I could never tell them apart, acted much older than her age. Every time I had to go out there, she’d flirt with me when her mother wasn’t looking. Wild as a Montana blizzard, that one.”
“Do you remember the girls’ names?”
He frowned, started to shake his head, then stopped himself. “Wait, the wild one. I heard her called Kathy, I think. She called her sister Lee, I think. I wouldn’t swear to it. I tried to steer clear of them.”
The P.I. looked at his notes, then said, “So, tell me about the murder.”
“The male was killed after I got word about the rape.”
“Who was raped?”
“That’s just it—I never knew for certain. Once I got to the home after I got word—”
“Who sent word?” he asked and realized he already knew before the words were out of his mouth. “Caligrace.” Edwin made a notation. “And you say that Caligrace told you that one of the girls had been raped.”
Burt nodded. “But when I got there, even she wouldn’t talk. Gladys had put the fear of God in all of them. Not that I can blame them for being afraid of her.” He shook his head. “You want to know what the worst part was? The girl who got raped? The rumor was that it was one of Gladys’s own daughters. I never knew which one, but can you imagine a mother like that?”
“I can’t imagine why the mother wouldn’t want the man arrested.”
Burt shrugged. “If it was the wild girl that got raped, maybe the mother thought she’d asked for it. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve run across a mother like that,” he said with disgust. “Or maybe the man was too valuable as an employee. I know it must have been hard for Gladys to get anyone to work in that hellhole. The man who got killed was a punk twenty-two-year-old who’d been in trouble before. He probably liked working in a place with that many wild young girls.”
“You wouldn’t know where I might find Gladys McCormick’s daughters, would you?”
Burt shook his head. “Right after that is when I called the state and they finally came for the girls. But it was too late for Caligrace. She’d fallen ill.” He looked close to tears, just as he’d been at the café the first time Edwin had met him.
“What killed her?”
Burt shrugged. “The doctor said it was pneumonia, but I think it was heartbreak.” He swallowed and met Edwin’s gaze. “Her little girl?”
“Callie,” Edwin offered.
“They found her in the room when they found the murdered man. Apparently, she’d witnessed all of it.”
“She saw the killing?”
“And probably the killer.”
“Who did she say it was?”
Burt shook his head. “She didn’t seem able to speak after that. Walked around in a daze. Caligrace was terrified that her daughter would never come out of it. Then when she fell ill...”
Edwin could see the man’s anguish. Burt would have gotten them both out of there if it wasn’t for the family he already had, a family he’d apparently lost over the whole mess.
“So she didn’t live long enough to see her daughter recover?”
“Not that I know.” Burt shook his head. He looked even older than he had that day in the café. “It only got worse after that. Before the state showed up, Caligrace got word to me that there’d been an accident.”
Edwin looked up from his notes.
“One of Gladys’s daughters had fallen down the stairs and had broken her neck. Word was that the girl had been pushed down the stairs.”
“You don’t mean it killed her?” Edwin asked in surprise.
“Well, that’s where it gets crazy. When I got to Westfield, Gladys said the girl was fine, that both her daughters were just fine. I asked to see them. She told me that they were sleeping but that she would get them if I would wait.”
“Did Gladys know how you’d heard?”
He nodded. “By then Caligrace was real sick, but I didn’t know how sick until it was too late. A few minutes later, the wild one, Kathy, came out, denied she’d been pushed down the stairs, said something rude and went back to bed. Then the other one came out half-asleep, said she didn’t know what I was talking about. They both seemed fine, so I left.”
“This was the day after the murder?”
Again he nodded. “I didn’t get word until the next morning that Caligrace had died.” He shook his head. “She was buried the morning before the state came and took the girls. I tried to put it behind me.”
“So, what you’re saying is that someone else told you one of the girls pushed one of the twins down the stairs and killed her?”
“One of the girls from the home told me that she’d been sent by Caligrace, who thought one of the twins was dead, but apparently she survived the fall, if it had happened at all. By then Caligrace could have been hallucinating. I heard how sick she’d been from one of the girls before the state took them away.”
“Did the girl say who she thought had pushed Gladys’s daughter down the stairs?” he asked.
“Her twin sister.”
* * *
THROUGH THE BRANDING IRON CAFÉ window, Nettie watched Frank drive up. Another car pulled in next to his as he climbed out. It took Nettie a moment to place the older woman he spoke to. She hadn’t seen Charlotte since last year, when she’d visited the recluse.
Charlotte had left Montana to become a movie maven back in the early 1960s. Her brother, Bull, had gone after her four years later. The woman he’d brought home was still beautiful, but broken.
The story was that she’d married some rich older man, Archibald Abrahams, who’d gotten her a few parts in some small movies before he’d died. There’d been some question about the husband’s death, the word poisoned floating around and rumors of a torrid love affair with a young movie director.
True or not, Charlotte had never married again after her return. Like a character in a film, she’d spent her life pining away for a career that had never happened and a man who’d gotten away.
Frank stopped to say a few words to Charlotte and then came into the café, joining her at the table.
“Was that Charlotte Westfall?” she asked as she saw the woman drive away.
“She’s going by her married name, Charlotte Abrahams, now. She’d heard the rumors about Beartooth’s reconstruction and had to come out to see for herself, she said. Lynette.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “Let’s get married.”
She was busy watching Charlotte drive away. “What happened to her money?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The fortune Charlotte’s rich old husband left her?” Last year it came out that Frank’s ex-wife, Pam, had stolen all of Charlotte’s fortune. “Did the money ever turn up?”
He nodded solemnly. “It was found in Pam’s bank account after her death. Pam left everything to our daughter, Tiffany, but I made sure Charlotte got every penny back.”
Nettie looked into his handsome face. He’d aged well, but when she looked at him, she saw the young man he’d been when the two of them had first fallen madly in love as teens.
“Does Tiffany know what you did?” She saw the answer in the lines around his eyes. “She must be furious with you.”
He chuckled at that. “What’s one more thing to hold against me.”
Nettie realized he hadn’t mentioned his latest visit to the mental hospital, and she hadn’t asked. “You told her when you went to see her?”
“She’d already heard.” He seemed to hesitate. His gaze lifted to hers. She saw the worry as well as the love. “Tiffany also heard about our plans to get married.”
Nettie suppressed a shudder. “She threatened us if we got married.”
He shook his
head. “She threatened to kill herself.”
Nettie gasped, her hand going to her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Frank.”
“We’re getting married, Lynette. I won’t let Tiffany and her mother rule my life any longer with their threats.”
“What if she does it?”
He looked away. “God help me, but sometimes I think it might be the only way that girl can find any peace.” He shifted his gaze back to her. “Lynette, I had hoped that Tiffany might get better, but I don’t think she can. She has money, and she’s hired a lawyer. She thinks she is going to be set free.”
Nettie felt her heart lurch at the thought. “What do you think?”
“That if I have to, I won’t let that happen. Tiffany is dangerous. I’m afraid she is going to spend the rest of her life either in a mental hospital or a prison cell.” He shook his head. “Pam did such a number on that child, filling her so full of hate.... It isn’t just that Tiffany tried to kill me. She hurt others when she escaped from the hospital. Who knows how many more people she will hurt if she gets the chance?”
Nettie reached across the table and took his hand. “Are you even sure this girl is your flesh and blood?”
“I feel responsible either way because I didn’t realize just how sick my ex was.”
Nettie scoffed at that. “It would be just like Pam to try to pass this girl off as yours to hurt you.”
“She can’t hurt me anymore. Pam’s dead and Tiffany...well, hopefully, will be in a place where she can’t hurt anyone else either. Neither of them is going to keep me from marrying you. We’re setting a date right now. I don’t want to live another day without you as my wife. So, what’s it going to be?”
“Frank—”
“If you force my hand, I swear, Lynette, I will pick you up right now, toss you over my shoulder and carry you to the nearest justice of the peace.”
“For better or worse?” she whispered.
“In sickness and in health.”
She nodded. “The justice of the peace it is.”
He squeezed her hand. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say. Judge Andrews is waiting for us at the courthouse.”
* * *
ROURKE COULDN’T HIDE his disappointment when he reached the café to find that Caligrace wasn’t working and her pickup was gone. He wanted to see her, especially after last night. The kiss had been unexpected, he thought now, smiling in spite of himself. He was looking forward to their date tonight and hoped she hadn’t changed her mind.
The U.S. marshal in him felt as if he was making progress. It hadn’t skipped his attention that the woman was leery of him—and possibly other men, as well. Maybe she had been hurt in the past. Laura would say it gave Callie motive to murder men.
Nor had he lost sight of his original goal. He’d come here to find a killer. That hadn’t changed. But the more time he spent around Callie, the less he believed her to be involved. He hoped that on their date tonight, he could get closer to her. He had to gain her trust. He had to find out why she’d shown up at those three murder scenes.
Rourke had to put his mind at rest about the woman. He was getting closer. The fact that he liked her, was attracted to her, wouldn’t matter if he found out she was involved in the murders. He was the law. Catching bad guys was what he did. He’d worked his way up to where he was today. He wasn’t about to give up everything, not for a case, certainly not for a woman.
But even as he thought it, he felt a strange ache. Not desire, although he’d certainly felt it last night. No, this was something deeper, something more primal. He felt something he hadn’t felt with any other woman. He couldn’t even put it into words. He’d felt...drawn to her in a way that was alien to him. In a way that made him think about settling down.
He shook off the thought. It was only a case. If anything, he was probably afraid for Callie. Afraid, too, that he might be wrong about her.
Laura was right about one thing. He was obsessed with the woman. He wanted to get into her head—under her skin. The cop in him wanted to know why. What made a killer? Was there a tipping point where one person raised exactly like another became a killer and the other became a schoolteacher, a preacher or even a cop?
Callie felt like the key to a mystery he’d spent his career trying to solve. What was it about this woman that made him believe if he could just get close enough, he would find his killer?
“Coffee?”
The sound of Kate’s voice jerked him out of his thoughts.
He cleared his throat and said, “Please. You handling things today by yourself?” he asked, hoping maybe Callie was coming in late.
“Just me. And I’ll warn you right now, I’m not as patient or competent as Callie, but I’m meaner, so don’t give me any trouble,” she joked as she poured him a cup.
“I’ll keep that in mind. It’s nice that you give her a day off once in a while.”
Kate merely smiled and then took off to refill coffee cups at the large front table where the local ranchers hung out.
Rourke had taken the same table he always did since the place was half-empty. He didn’t need to bother with the menu. It was as basic as any menu could be. When Kate swung by, order pad ready, he said, “Ham, eggs over easy, whole-wheat toast and hash browns.”
She scribbled down his order, slopped more coffee into his cup and was gone.
He stared out the window at the construction workers moving like ants around the general-store site. They were making good progress. For a moment, he wondered who in their right mind would try to rebuild Beartooth. He kind of liked it the way it was. He had a feeling Callie did, too.
When his order arrived, he ate, feeling time slipping away as he reminded himself that he was no closer to finding the killer. What would he do when his two weeks were up, if he hadn’t solved this?
The thought of leaving Beartooth before he’d finished seemed inconceivable.... Or was it leaving Callie? He had to clear her. He couldn’t leave this until he could prove she had nothing to do with the murders. Or that she had.
So unless he was on a wild-goose chase—which he often feared was the case—then there had to be someone close to her who was committing the murders. But who? So far he hadn’t seen Callie with anyone—except himself and Carson, he thought, recalling last night at the lake.
Unless there was more to her relationship with Carson Grant than he knew.
When his cell phone vibrated, he saw it was Edwin and took the call outside. He had to walk around to the side of the building because of the noisy construction across the street.
“What did you find out?” he asked without preamble and listened as the P.I. filled him in. The more he heard about Callie, the more his heart ached for her.
“She saw the murder?” he asked in shock.
“And the murderer, apparently. I don’t know how long she went without speaking. Apparently, she was better by the time she was taken to a foster home after Westfield closed down.”
Rourke could well imagine Laura’s take on this. He didn’t need her to tell him what that kind of trauma at that age could have done to her. It could have made her into a killer.
He had a sudden thought. “What was the date of the murder?” He heard Edwin shuffling through his notes.
“October five.”
“October five,” he repeated and let out a curse. There was definitely a pattern, and he had a pretty good idea that it had begun that night in Westfield.
“You think your killer is mimicking the first murder?”
“It would appear that way,” he said, feeling sick.
“There’s more. Gladys McCormick had two daughters of her own. According to the deputy, one of them was raped preceding the murder. Gladys denied it. But the deputy said he got called up there again about another murder. Your girl�
�s mother had heard that one of Gladys’s daughters was pushed down the stairs and that she thought the girl had either died or was badly hurt. Again Gladys denied it. He saw both girls later and they seemed to be fine. But the rumor was that one of the twins pushed the other down the stairs.”
Rourke let out a low whistle. “What do we know about these twin girls?”
“Very little. He wasn’t even sure of their names.”
“Find them.”
Lost in thought after breakfast, Rourke walked back to his cabin. Callie had seen the man murdered—and apparently seen the murderer. He couldn’t wait to find Gladys McCormick’s daughters. If it was true and one of them was raped prior to the murder...and then one of them pushed the other down a flight of stairs...there had to be a connection to the killing and therefore to Callie.
“Rourke?”
He spun in the direction of the voice, shocked to find Laura in the shadowed corner of his porch. As she stood from where she’d been sitting on an old chair, he realized he hadn’t seen her car. Had she planned it that way?
“Laura?”
Her face seemed to crumple as she stepped to him, and suddenly she was in his arms, sobbing her heart out.
“Your mother?” he asked.
She nodded against his shoulder.
“It’s all right. It’s all right,” he said, patting her back, but he had a feeling it was far from it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AS ROURKE LED her into the cabin, Laura let him believe she was upset over her mother’s death. She was embarrassed enough for breaking down the way she had. She wasn’t about to tell him that she’d come looking for him last night and that she’d seen him with Callie Westfield. Nor that witnessing the kiss had broken her heart as well as terrified her at how foolish he was being.
But breaking down like that? It was so unlike her. Why wouldn’t she be upset, though, after seeing the man she loved kissing another woman? The thought made her laugh inwardly. Not just kissing another woman. Kissing a woman who was in all probability a killer.
“I’m so sorry about your mom.”