“Where exactly are you on the ranch?”
“Ah. I’m at the intersection where County Road 12 meets Dry Creek Road. That’s the easiest access point.”
“I’ve dispatched an ambulance and Search and Rescue. Sit tight, okay, hon?”
“Okay. There is one other thing. The tractor uncovered another body. A frozen one.”
“Could you please repeat that?”
I did with as much detail as I knew, which wasn’t a lot.
Missy said, “I’ll let the sheriff know. Keep your phone handy. I’m sure he’ll wanna see this.”
Time passed in a blur of nothingness. I was cold, I was scared, and I could do nothing about either. I 171
talked to Brittney until my voice became hoarse. Screaming hadn’t done my vocal cords any favors. I needed to move, to keep the blood flowing. My gaze locked on the body downhill. The second body I’d found today. And sad to say, but finding two bodies in one day wasn’t even a record for me. I started toward the legs, out of more than morbid curiosity. It’d save the sheriff time if I identified the person beforehand. Although why I was still looking for ways to make the sheriff ’s job easier was beyond me.
When I reached the corpse I couldn’t see the face, or the upper half of the body. I’d have to move it slightly.
Don’t do it.
I placed my palm on the denim-covered shin and pushed hard. The cardboard rigid body toppled over, leaving the man prone.
“Shit, oh Jesus, that’s fucking nasty.” I jumped back from the gruesome sight. The man’s head wobbled as if it was only attached to the body by the spinal cord. Dark splotches covered his face and I couldn’t tell if it was blood or mud.
The tractor had ripped chunks out of flesh, in a couple of places, like a cleaver slicing away frozen meat. Were the holes in the cloth puncture wounds from the tractor tines? Or was the body too hard to pierce?
He wore the typical rancher wear: a flannel shirt and jeans. No coat. Yellow cotton liners layered under 172
stained leather work gloves. The boots were a hybrid between hiking and oldfashioned rubber galoshes. I had not a clue who this dead man was. But he was seriously fucked up.
The sound of approaching vehicles made me glance up and scramble back to the tractor. Not an ambulance, or patrol cars, or the volunteer fire department’s extraction van, but two pickups. The men parked alongside the road climbed out. My dad’s buddies, Don Anderson and Dale Pendergrast. Evidently they’d been listening to the police scanner again.
Dale rummaged in his truck bed while Don
shouted, “Julie? You all right?”
“Yeah.”
“Emergency folks oughta be here soon.”
I didn’t answer.
They started toward me, each holding a pair of heavy-duty bolt cutters. In no time flat they had the four remaining sections of the barbed-wire fence cut and rolled out of the way for easier access for the emergency crews. Huffing and puffing uphill, they finally reached me. The concern on their usually stoic faces made me jabber. “Brittney’s still in the tractor. I don’t know how bad she’s hurt and I didn’t want to chance moving her—”
“It’s okay. You did fine. They’ll get her out of there an’ fixed up in no time.”
Dale’s gaze dropped to my bare hands. “Girl, 173
where are your gloves?”
“I-I’m not sure.”
“Losin’ your gloves is a damn good way to lose your fingers. Here.” He tugged off his gloves and passed them to me, then grunted and lumbered back to his truck.
I almost wept when the warmth from the fleecelined leather seeped into my hands.
“What else can we do?” Don asked.
“After they get her out of there …” I swallowed. My mouth was bone-dry from yelling and raw from the cold wind. “While I was chasing after her, I highcentered my truck. I’ll probably need a winch to get unstuck.”
“No worries. You got chains?”
“Yeah. I carry a little of everything in my truck bed.”
“Smart.”
Sirens wailed ever closer.
“Is your daddy on his way?”
I stared at him like an idiot. “They don’t know. Brittney was home alone when she called me. When I found out she was climbing on that tractor by herself, I sped out here. Then this happened … and I didn’t think.”
“S’okay. We’ll let ’em know. I got the number right here.” Don dug his phone out of the front pocket of his bib overalls.
“Will you tell him it’s not my fault? That I’d never 174
do anything to hurt her …” My throat closed and I couldn’t finish.
Don’s beady eyes narrowed on mine. “If it weren’t for you, who knows what woulda happened to that little gal. If your daddy cain’t see you saved her, then he’s a bigger fool than I thought.”
The ambulance screamed up, followed by patrol cars and the Search and Rescue van. I said nothing at all as I stumbled to meet them.
Didn’t take long for the experienced crews to get Brittney out of the tractor. Knocked cold from the impact, she sported a goose egg smack-dab in the middle of her forehead.
Protocol demanded a trip to the hospital for routine tests. Since she was a minor and I wasn’t her legal guardian, and she didn’t require acute care at this point, the consensus was to wait until her parents arrived. Brittney regained consciousness just as Trish and my dad pulled up. I hid off to the side, watching, scared, waiting, a part of it yet not.
The crowd surrounding the ambulance parted.
Trish crawled into the back of the vehicle and my father stood there, lost. Displaced. Haggard. Dad saw me. When he rushed up the embankment 175
I braced myself for his verbal onslaught. A punch in the stomach wouldn’t have shocked me.
But his full body hug did.
He whispered, “Thank you.” Then he released me quickly, spoke to Don, and climbed into his truck to follow the red and blue lights back into town. I might’ve stood in the ditch forever in utter shock if Sheriff Richards hadn’t pulled me aside.
“Collins?”
I blinked, expecting the surreal scene would vanish and I’d wake up. Nope. The sheriff loomed over me in his woolly coat like a big brown bear.
“You need medical attention?”
“No. Why?”
“You look a little dazed.”
“I am. Cold, too. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had and it’s not even four o’clock.”
He frowned. “Nothing surprises me when it comes to you, Collins. You wanna give me a rundown?”
I did. Starting with finding Vernon Sloane. His eyes stayed flat and emotionless until I came to the part about Brittney. My stupid voice hitched and he put his hand on my arm.
“She’s lucky. Doan know what gets into people—not just kids. Third time in as many months something like this has happened. Two of those didn’t turn out so good.”
“I’ve sort of been out of it. What’s gone on?”
“Remember Darvin Pearson? Ornery old rancher, 176
calls the office and complains ’bout Atberry’s bulls getting out all the time? Well, he tipped over his tractor, fell into Old Woman Creek, and froze to death in his pasture walking back home.”
“No.”
“Yeah. Chris Greywolf used his ATV to pull his buddies on inner tubes. Lost control and ran himself and his friends into the side of a metal barn. Broken legs and arms weren’t the worst of it. Cody Capshaw will be using a colostomy bag for the rest of his life. He’s seventeen. So it coulda been worse.”
“Sheriff?” Deputy Peach Fuzz yelled and motioned him over.
Richards sighed and ambled away.
I didn’t know how long I’d have to stick around—
at least until someone jerked my truck out of a snowbank. I needed a cigarette, but the thought of dragging ass up the embankment made me consider giving up smoking.
People wandered. More neighbors showed up, not strictly for the
voyeuristic factor. This ranching community pulled together, for the most part. Don and Dale slouched against the tailgate, chewing the fat, watching the activity, so I wandered in that direction.
“Feelin’ better now?” Don asked.
“A little.” I looked longingly at Dale’s cigarette.
“You have an extra one of those?” He took out a pack of generics, shook one out for me, and offered me the 177
lighter. “Thanks.” I inhaled deeply. God. Ambrosia.
“So, you worked for the sheriff, Julie. How long you think it’ll take ’em to wrap this up today?”
“I was just wondering the same thing.” Be impossible for Sheriff Richards to contain the crime scene. It’d been completely trampled, say nothing of how he’d gather evidence beneath three feet of snow.
“Well, his ma is damn near dead, from what I understand. This’ll probably kill her, what with all the other stuff that’s gone on.”
My cigarette stopped short of my mouth. “They’ve already identified him?”
“Yeah.” Dale squinted at me. “Din’t no one tell you who got plowed up?”
I shook my head.
“Figures. Damn bureaucrats doan wanna tell nobody nuthin’.”
Both Don and Dale made a harrumph of agreement.
“’Course, it doan look none too good, him bein’
found on your daddy’s place and all,” Dale said.
“Yeah, ’specially not after him ‘n’ Doug got to arguin’ at Chaska’s Feed Store.”
“Then again, some folks ’round here ain’t gonna be sobbin’ Melvin’s dead.”
“True enough.” Don spit a wad of tobacco in the snow and reached for his can of Copenhagen for a fresh dip. “How long you figure he’s been missin’? I sure ain’t heard nuthin’ about it.”
“Me neither. Cain’t recall the last time I seen him.”
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“With the way that blade hit him, and his head danglin’ off his body like a worm on a hook, it’s gonna be damn hard to tell how he died, doncha think?”
“Mebbe. Ain’t all them people CSI specialists now? Looks to me like his head was nearly sliced clean off his body.”
That made me think of how quickly my dad
separated that calf ’s head from the spinal cord and I shivered. “What the hell are you guys talking about?
Who is it? I’m lost.”
Don and Dale exchanged a look.
“I forgot you an’ Doug ain’t on the best terms. You probably doan know. Guy’s name is Melvin Canter.”
Why did that name sound familiar?
Don angled his head at the body still visible in the snow. “That man was your daddy’s hired hand.”
Great.
Sheriff Richards returned for my statement. Darkness approached. Don and Dale and two other neighbors were able to get me unstuck without resorting to chains and winches. They waved off my thanks with good ol’ boy smiles and encouraging pats on the driver’s side door. As I passed the house I called Trish’s cell phone. 179
They were waiting on tests, but it appeared Brittney was fine, despite a mild concussion, whiplash, bruises on her collarbone, and a cracked rib. She’d spend a night in the hospital. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Lucky little snot.
When Trish began to cry, thanking me profusely, I quickly ended the call. My emotions were too raw to deal with hers.
Not a single light burned inside my house. My haven looked dark and unwelcoming. If I had a choice, I’d go someplace else. But I didn’t have a choice. I fixed a can of Campbell’s tomato soup. Couldn’t muster up the energy to make a grilled cheese sandwich. At loose ends, I did something I rarely do: I indulged in a long, hot bubble bath. Cocooned in liquid heat, surrounded by the scent of a vanilla candle, the acoustic tunes of Godsmack, and the relaxing properties of tequila, I was able to put everything from the past couple of days out of my mind. It was sheer bliss.
Naturally, it didn’t last.
Right after I’d climbed out of the tub, Jimmer called.
“Jules. Lemme talk to Martinez.”
“Hello, Jimmer. Why, I’m just peachy keen,
180
thanks for asking.”
“Shit. Sorry.” Pause. “Well? Is he there?”
“No. Why?”
“Do you know where he is?”
I wouldn’t share Tony’s private number with anyone, not even Jimmer, not to mention maybe Tony wanted his sudden trip to Colorado to stay hush-hush.
“He’s not answering his cell?”
“Nope. I can’t track him down anywhere. Look. Next time he checks up on you, tell him to call me, pronto. It’s important.”
“Checks up on me? You mean when he checks in with me?”
“I meant what I said, little missy. You oughta know you ain’t ever as alone as you think when it comes to someone like him. He takes care of what belongs to him, especially if he ain’t around to do it in person.”
Huh? “But—”
“Have him call me. Oh, and let’s you and me go out drinkin’ next week. Been a while since I’ve gotten into a knock-down, drag-out bar fight.”
“I don’t always fight when I’m in a bar.”
Jimmer laughed. “Right. Pick a day and I’ll clear it with Tony.”
“I don’t have to get his permission to spend time with my friends.”
“Maybe not, but I have to ask him for permission to hang out with you.”
“You’re joking, right?”
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“Wish I was. Later.” He hung up.
Surely Jimmer was mistaken. Martinez wouldn’t do that to me … would he?
I selected TM on my cell phone contact list. Immediately kicked me over to his voice mail. “Call Jimmer. He says it’s urgent.”
No reason to leave a personal message. What would I say? “Guess how many dead bodies I found today? Could you come home, crawl in bed with me, and chase away the nightmares?”
Right. I’d chase away my own damn nightmares, in the form of tequila chasers.
An hour later, I’d curled up on the couch, fuzzy pajamas on, a tumbler of Mexico’s finest in one hand, a cigarette in the other. Things improved slightly at the twilight of the day from hell.
Four solid raps sounded on my door. At 9:00 at night? I flipped on the outside light and checked the peephole.
One of Martinez’s backup bodyguards, a former Cornhuskers linebacker named—no kidding— Korny, stood on my porch. I undid the locks and opened the door. “What’s going on, Korny?”
“Just a routine check Mr. Martinez asked me to do tonight.”
“Why?”
Korny appeared confused. “Because he told me to.”
Talk about a canned response. “Is there something going on that requires me to have drive-by 182
protection?”
“No idea.” He stared at me steadily. “Is everything all right? Anything you need?”
Yeah, to kick a certain man’s proprietary ass. Outwardly, I smiled with false sweetness; inwardly, hello uber-bitch. “Actually … I have been craving ice cream. Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey would be perfect. And I’m pretty sure the C-store up the road carries it. You don’t mind picking me up a pint, do you? Oh, and a pack of Marlboro reds.”
Korny’s blocky face made a frowny-caveman-eyebrow squint. I tried like hell not to smirk.
Finally he said, “Sure, Ms. Collins.”
He headed down the steps to a Blazer with—
surprise!—another Hombres spy huddled inside. I yelled out, “Korny. I was kidding. I’m not sending you out for ice cream; I’m sending you back to the clubhouse.”
His mouth twitched.
“But if I see another one of El Presidente’s goons here checking up on me? You tell him I’m gonna use that Blazer or his Cadillac or any other car he sends for target practice.”
Korny hesitated, assuming I’d repeat just kidding. This time I wasn’t.
“Understood. I’ll pass along the me
ssage. Good night.”
I slammed the door. So much for a relaxing night 183
at home.
No big shocker when my cell phone rang within five minutes. He said, “You hate Chunky Monkey. And threatening to shoot up one of my cars? Not nice, blondie.”
“Not a bluff. Remember what I did to Little Joe Carlucci’s Corvette?”
“Vividly.”
“That one will look like a door nick compared to what I’ll do to the next spy car I see parked within twenty feet of my house. I am not a fucking pet poodle, and I won’t be treated like I’m under house arrest in my own goddamn house when you’re the one who’s gone.”
Silence.
“You don’t get to check up on me, or dictate to me, or decide who I can or can’t spend time with. No one needs your permission to be my friend, Martinez. Not Kevin. Not Jimmer. Not Kim. So take your bodyguards and shove them up your ass.”
A beat passed. “You done?”
“I don’t know.” I lit a cigarette and swigged tequila straight from the bottle.
“Can I say something?”
“This oughta be stunning.”
“I miss you, too.”
I choked on the booze, the smoke, and the immediate warm feeling in my chest. “That’s so not fair.”
“Life rarely is.”
No kidding. Vernon Sloane’s frozen face slid front 184
and center, followed by the board-stiff and heavily gouged body of my dad’s hired hand. I squeezed my eyes shut to erase the images. No such luck.
“When were you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?” That I miss you like a limb?
“About all the nasty shit that happened to you today.”
My stomach clenched. “You know?”
“Some of it, not all. I figured I’d hear the rest from you tonight, and I haven’t.” He sighed. “Aren’t we beyond this?”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
“I didn’t tell you because you have enough shit of your own to deal with. I don’t want to be the girlfriend who calls you up and unloads depressing stuff. Besides, you don’t tell me anything about what’s going on with the Hombres, so it’s not like you’re the only one who’s suffering from nondisclosure.”
“Fine. Now that you’ve gnawed my ass, start talking.”
I didn’t want to. I drank and remained quiet.
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