Forty-Five
A man’s voice breaks through her consciousness. “Maggie. Wake up, Maggie.”
Her eyes fly open in the dark. She throws an arm out, feeling for Hank. His side of the bed is cold and empty.
“Come to the window, Maggie.”
“Hank?” She tries to crawl out from under the covers, but she’s stuck, her pj’s like Velcro against the flannel sheets. “Dammit.” She kicks and makes it worse.
“Hurry, Maggie.”
She stops, clutching the sheet. It’s not Hank’s voice. Her eyes drill into the dark, searching for movement or a shape, but she sees nothing. “Who’s there?”
Downstairs, she hears a cracking sound. Her eyes jerk from the window to the door. She holds her breath. Two long, high-pitched scrapes. Then a thud.
Louise, she thinks. She calls for the dog. “Are you in here, girl?” There’s no response. Yes, it must have been the dog.
The voice is a hiss now. “You’ve got to hurry.”
Something about it is familiar. Compulsion overcomes fear and she finally wrestles out of the bedsheets and runs to the window. No one is there. She’s hearing things. She presses fingertips to glass and gets her face as close to it as she can without fogging it over. The glass is cold.
“What is it?” she asks, then she snorts. Like she expects an answer from someone who isn’t even here.
“Too slow, Maggie.”
She gasps. Someone is in the room. But where? She scans the nooks and crannies, but movement snaps her attention outside. There’s a shadowy figure moving along the road, toward the barn. Her eyes lose it in the dark. It must be Hank, which would account for his absence from bed. Or Gene. Or one of the hands. People move around the ranch at all hours, depending on weather or the needs of the animals.
An image mirrors in the window glass, a man behind her. Compact. Muscular. Dark. Handsome. Mustached. Paco?
She wheels. “Paco!”
But there’s no one there.
A coldness seeps down Maggie’s face that isn’t from the window glass or the fall chill. What had Michael told her about knowing when she sees the spirits of dead people?
She knows.
She hugs herself. There’s nothing to be scared of, Maggie. Paco won’t hurt you. If it’s even him.
But where is Hank?
She burrows back under the covers, knees to her chest, shoulders against the headboard, eyes popped wide and brain spinning over all she saw and heard, until the sun finally makes its dramatic morning appearance across the eastern sky.
Finally, she sleeps.
Forty-Six
Michael attaches a wireless camera to a mount on a tree facing the front door of the summer cabin. Maggie is logged into the cabin’s passwordless Wi-Fi, setting up the system through her laptop. The cameras’ base station she put in a cabinet by the front door. Maggie bought a two-camera package at Walmart the day before, when she was taking a drunk Hank back to the hospital. Hank. The Hank she hasn’t seen since dinner at the ranch the night before. At breakfast, Gene told her not to worry, but it’s hard.
She examines the feed on her laptop. “Looks good. Now let’s sync the other camera and mount it facing the back door.”
They quickly sync it and install it. Michael says as little as possible during the whole process. He seems to be waiting for the boom. For her questions about Penny and Andy. But she’s too exhausted to quiz him.
It’s more than that, though. After the weird events in the middle of the night, she’s unsettled. In the barn at the feeding earlier, she kept looking over her shoulder. Here, now, she has a strange sensation that someone is watching her. She doesn’t know if she’s looking for the mysterious shadowy figure or Paco, but she knows her sonar is pinging like mad.
Maggie closes her laptop. “I think we can take off now. Thank you.” She heads for Bess.
Michael follows her. It’s his first time at the cabin, and while he has played it cool, she’s seen his big, amazed eyes. She knows just how he feels. It’s an impressive place.
He stops, head cocked. “Is someone living here?”
“Why do you ask?”
“The tire tracks on the road when we were driving up. And I thought I saw someone in the window upstairs just now.”
Shadows and light, she thinks. Don’t let this rattle you, too. But Hank had said the same thing the day before. “Hank and I were up here yesterday. But I don’t see a vehicle. How could someone be up here without one?”
Michael shrugs. “They could park in the barn.”
Her eyes cut to it then back to the cabin. He’s right. It could be an unwelcome visitor. Or maybe this is where Hank hides out when he’s not fit for human companionship. Could he have stayed here last night? For a second, she considers knocking on the door, but then gets in the truck instead. If Hank’s in there, she doesn’t want to talk to him in front of Michael. She can come back later, if Hank doesn’t show up by lunch. Or not, she thinks, remembering the footprint Hank saw yesterday.
An hour later Maggie and Michael are back at the ranch building a goat pen. Michael warms slowly as it becomes clear that Maggie won’t be badgering him. She clamps a goat panel to a green metal post. Michael drives in another post with the T-post driver. She hears a grinding sound she can’t identify and looks around for the source. Nothing seems to match it.
Michael’s voice ends her search. “Last one.” He wipes sweat from his brow with the inside of his shirt neck.
He’s driven four more posts while she’s been standing there in a daze. She’s a mess. Maybe he won’t notice.
“Thanks.” She puts another clamp in place and grips it with pliers. Her hands shake.
“You okay?”
She twists the thick metal ends of the clamp. “I’m just thinking about Mrs. Sibley. I wish I’d built this pen for the goats before she died. They drove her crazy.”
“I don’t think the pen would have helped with that.”
She half smiles. “You’re probably right. I just feel guilty.”
A shadow falls across the panel she’s working on. “I’ve got it from here, Michael.”
Michael snaps to attention. “Yes, sir, Mr. Sibley.” He disappears with the driver and an extra post before Maggie can disentangle herself from the panel.
“I saw you coming back to the ranch in the truck with him.”
But from where, Hank? She holds in the game of twenty questions she wants to throw him into, right before she whups his ass. It will go better if she lets him tell her of his own volition. “So?”
“He’s a felon, Maggie. Trouble. You need to stay away from him.”
“He works for you, Hank.”
“For now.”
His eyes are black and hollow. Maggie knows what that means. It steals her breath away. “Gotcha.”
She brushes dirt from the seat of her pants. Hank takes the pliers from her and leans over at the waist to get a clamp, then kicks a leg out for balance. With his tool and clamp, he squats and fastens the panels to the posts far faster than Maggie. He works without speaking. When the last panel is secured, he leaves one side loose as a temporary gate. Maggie hands him a chain latch. He loops it through and clips it back on itself, testing it.
“You can keep Louise in here, too.”
“Why? Is she causing problems?”
“She left a dead squirrel on the porch this morning.”
“That. Okay.”
The awkwardness between them gets worse as they walk to fetch the animals. She halters the goats. Hank takes Omaha, and she leads Nebraska. She whistles for Louise. The goats bleat and fight the leads the whole walk over. Louise meets them at the pen. Maggie closes the gate when all three are inside.
“Crap. I forgot to put their food and water in.”
Hank walks to the barn without further comment.
Maggie stands at the pen, fuming. So he’s done and just walks away, without even explaining where he was last night? Why can’t he just tell he
r he runs to the summer cabin? Give her that little bit of comfort? Anger propels her forward. She marches into the barn with a head of steam. A farrier’s truck is pulling away when she gets there. Grinding. Horseshoes, she realizes.
“Where the hell were—?” She runs into Hank, and a full bucket of water sloshes on her.
Hank lifts the bucket shoulder high. “Watch out.”
Maggie slings water off her arms and brushes it from the front of her jacket and her jeans. Her indignation fades. “Thanks. I’ll get their feed.”
She catches up with Hank at the pen. Louise is sitting in front of the gate, sweeping dirt with her tail and looking hopefully into Hank’s eyes.
“I think you’re all set.” His face is inscrutable. He turns to go.
“Wait.”
He stops and faces her.
“Thank you.”
“Of course.” He takes a step back, pivots, and starts striding toward the barn again.
She raises her voice. “I was up last night. You were gone.”
He freezes but doesn’t turn back.
“I was worried. Where were you?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Like I asked. Where were you?”
The pause is heavy.
“I needed to be alone.”
His boots start crunching again, but she doesn’t watch him go. She’s too busy staring at the dirt. The old Maggie would tell him she didn’t deserve his bullshit. But his mother just died. His brain injury is an issue. So the Maggie who’s trying to make the relationship work won’t rip him a new one yet. But she’s not sure how much longer she can hold out.
Forty-Seven
Laura and Hank leave for the funeral home before lunch. Maggie only knows this because she runs into them on their way out when she’s coming to the house to wash up. Laura nods at her in a more friendly way than she has in the past. Hank isn’t unfriendly. He just isn’t anything, other than factual.
Maggie walks them to Hank’s truck.
“Back before dinner,” he says, and gets in the driver’s seat.
She watches them drive away. They turn north at the ranch gate toward skies dark gray with the promise of a storm. Well, she’s not just going to sit around here and mope all day. Andy is still facing trial for murder, and she needs to figure out whether Mary or her husband are viable suspects. And she has an idea about how to finagle a conversation with Mary.
Louise. The dog needs vaccinations, heartworm medicine, and an exam. She can’t get signal, so she returns to the house and makes a call to the clinic.
“Sheridan Vet.” The voice is raspy and bleak.
“Is Mary Marton working today?” Maggie asks.
“You a friend of hers?”
“Uh, yes, sort of.”
“Yeah, she’s here.”
“I’ve taken in a stray. This will be her initial visit. Do you have any time to see her today?”
“Doc’s going into surgery at one. How fast can you get here?”
“Forty-five minutes.”
“Yeah, we can squeeze you in.”
Maggie makes it to the clinic on the southeast side of Sheridan in forty-six minutes from the time she ended the call. Louise strains against the leash on the sidewalk, pulling Maggie along for frantic examinations of garden gnomes, dog statuary, and a sign that says DOG RELIEF AREA. Once inside the tiny lobby, Louise goes bananas. The bags of dog treats. The Chihuahua in her owner’s lap. The cat carrier, filled with a hissing cat, sitting on a chair. Maggie hauls her to the front desk, away from the cowering Chihuahua owner with the judgmental eyes.
The woman behind the desk looks like she’s wintered outside for forty years, with wind-tanned skin, furrows instead of wrinkles, and hair like a Brillo pad.
Maggie says to her, “I called about bringing in my new stray.”
The woman nods. “Can you control it?”
“The dog?”
The woman looks down her nose at Maggie. “I’m not talking about your bladder, lady.”
Maggie senses a soul sister. “Not so much.”
“I’ll put you in an exam room to wait, then.”
“Thanks.”
“Yes, thanks,” the Chihuahua owner says, her voice snotty.
Maggie considers letting Louise go and imagines the satisfying havoc. But instead she and Louise walk behind the receptionist to a boxy room with a stainless steel examination table and a bench on one wall.
“Mary will be along shortly. Doc, too.”
“Sounds good.”
Not a minute later, the staff door opens. Mary’s curves are mostly covered by blue scrubs.
Her face is puzzled. “Have we met before?”
Maggie sticks out her hand. Mary takes it and shakes before Maggie answers.
“Yes. I’m Maggie. Hank Sibley’s girlfriend. We met at the Ox last week. And a few other times.”
Mary’s eyes widen. “Oh. Yes.” She smiles. “Sorry about Sheila. She’s not taking the breakup well.”
Maggie doesn’t want to talk about Sheila. “This is Louise. She’s a stray from Piney Bottoms ranch. I’m pretty sure she’s never had vet care before.”
“They do their own preventative care out there.”
“She’s my personal pet.”
“Gotcha.” Mary runs through a list of questions about Louise, most of which Maggie can’t answer. “We need to test her for heartworm before we can put her on a preventative. But I’ll go get the rest of the vaccinations ready.” She rattles off their names. “Do you want all of them?”
“Yes.”
“Doc will be in to examine her in a minute.”
Before she can leave, Maggie says, “So you dated Paco.”
Mary’s face blanches. “Can you keep it down?”
“Sorry.” Maggie lowers her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Penny said Paco told her your husband wasn’t very happy about it.”
“We’re trying to make things work.” Mary puts her hands on her hips. “Paco had a big mouth. Penny still does.”
The staff door opens again. Doc Billy enters.
Maggie says, “Hello, Doc Billy. We’ve met, out at Piney Bottoms. I’m the one who rides Lily.”
He nods distractedly. “I remember. Sorry to be in a rush. We’ve got a dog about to go under sedation.” He starts examining Louise, poking and prodding her, and says over his shoulder, “Honey, tell me about the dog.”
Mary shoots a look at Maggie. “Sure, Billy.” She repeats what she knows about Louise to him.
Maggie stares between the two of them. She remembers Mary’s Facebook page. Husband: William Marton. William. Billy. Doc Billy. Of course. Gears start to mesh in her mind. How nice that with Paco dead the two of them can try again. Then Maggie’s mouth goes as dry as the Wyoming badlands. Whoever killed Paco had to have access to the ranch. Doc Marton is out at the ranch a lot. Sure, so are a lot of people. Even the farrier today. But Doc Billy had motive. And he knows about the dead pile.
“Maggie, are you okay?” Mary says.
“Fine. Yes. You were saying?”
“I asked you whether or not you’d like Louise on a flea, tick, and tapeworm preventative?”
“Um, sure.”
“She looks healthy as a horse,” Doc Billy says. He takes off his exam gloves. “Nice to see you again, Maggie.”
He puts his hand on Mary’s shoulder, and they walk out together.
“Holy shit,” Maggie says to Louise. “Holy frickin’ shit.”
On her phone, she looks up the website of John Fortney’s law firm for his contact information. Email, that’s what she wants. She writes one to the attorney as fast as she can thumb-type and hits send. Her next call is to Travis. She leaves him a message about what she’s learned. She hasn’t completely lost faith in Sheridan County yet.
Forty-Eight
Back at the ranch, Maggie is still riding high from her discovery at the clinic. She puts Louise back in with the goats. The weather is continuing to worsen, and it l
ooks like the rest of the day will be best spent inside. She goes in and washes her hair. While she’s drying it she checks her phone. She has an email from Fortney.
“The other-guy-did-it defense. Works for me. Thanks!”
She feels a sense of progress. When her hair is dry, she decides to bring Louise up to the house. She puts on a sweatshirt and a fleece jacket. As she’s walking out to the pen, she hears a commotion at the barn over the sound of the wind.
Andy’s voice. He’s yelling. “Get back in there. No. All of you. No. Bad dog.”
A barreling gust of wind hits. The temperature feels like it’s dropping a degree a second. She zips her jacket collar to her chin. A fully enclosed Ranger approaches her. Andy and Michael are in it, dressed for a norther. She hustles to meet them. At least Andy doesn’t know Michael is the reason Penny broke off their very short-lived engagement. Still, they both look tense.
On the passenger side, Andy cracks his door open.
“Louise let the goats out.” Andy points in the distance. “And Lily.”
“How’d she do that?” Maggie shouts to be heard over the idling engine.
“No idea.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, I am. There’s a storm coming, and we’ve got to tend to the rest of the livestock. That dog is trouble, but she’s crazy smart. They’ll probably come in them own selves. But if they don’t, best you wait for Hank, okay?”
She looks north. The dark gray sky feels like it’s closing in on them. Already her fleece jacket isn’t enough to ward off the cold. “Do you need my help out there?”
“No, but thanks. It’s a two-man job.”
“Be careful.”
Andy salutes and Michael accelerates toward the ominous wall of clouds. The wind rumbles like a runaway freight train. Dirt swirls in the driveway. Even the eaves whistle. She scans the pastureland and ridgelines within sight. No big black mare. No little red goats. No fast, low-slung dog with flapping ears. Andy told her to stay put, but she can’t do nothing. She’ll just look around the central ranch grounds, stay close to the compound. But first she needs better clothes for the conditions.
Maggie Box Set Page 71