You Can't Escape (9781420134650)

by Bush, Nancy

  “You brought up Drummond’s boss, the chief, intimating that you want to go over Drummond’s head and that you think he’s incompetent.”

  “Your point?” She squinted at him.

  He was smiling. “You’re tweaking his tail.” Then, “Should we go to that bar? The Longhorn?”

  “You’ve given up hiding completely?” She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

  “Yeah, I gotta take care of things. I need to make some phone calls. Mind if I use your cell?”

  “No, go ahead. We’ll get you a burner tomorrow. Unless you’re ready to leave . . . ?” The thought seized her with anxiety, for him, and because it meant their time together would end.

  “Not yet.”

  Jordanna drove them to the Longhorn and they headed inside. She kept wanting to offer an arm for support, but she already knew that would go over like a lead balloon. She opened the door, however, and remarked, “You could use a cane.”

  “And a beer,” he said, as they headed to one of the booths.

  She sank down across from him, aware of him even more than she had been before their impromptu lovemaking. “A lot of things are rotten in Rock Springs and nobody seems to give a damn. Talking to Mr. Shitface was like fingernails on a blackboard.”

  “Mr. Shitface?”

  “That’s what Rusty called him. Now I get it.”

  “I noticed you didn’t tell Shitface about the branding you saw on the girl’s body.”

  “I’ll tell Markum. I don’t like him much, but he’s a helluva lot better choice than Drummond, as it turns out.”

  They each ordered a beer, but when Jordanna’s came she turned the glass mug around on the table, smoothing drops of condensation with the bottom of her mug against the lacquered wood top, watching the patterns form and reform. “I don’t even know if Drummond, Shitface, will tell the chief. And where the hell’s Kara? Why hasn’t she called me? Sure, she runs on her own time clock, but she specifically said she was going to be at the homestead and it’s been hours.”

  “Maybe she’s there now.”

  He didn’t believe it, she could tell. He was only humoring her. “Something happened to her between here and there. When she was on the phone, she saw someone she thought she knew.” She made a sound of impatience and ran her hands through her hair.

  “Drummond’ll look into it,” he said. “He’s the kind of guy who loves to be obstinate, but he won’t let himself look bad by ignoring you and having it all blow up in his face.”

  “Good.” She thought some more. “If it’s Bernadette, somebody branded her, and that somebody probably killed her, too. She didn’t die of some accident.”

  “Probably not.”

  She lifted the mug to her lips, held it a minute, visualizing the mark on the girl’s thigh. “An upside-down cross . . .”

  He grimaced. “Think of the mind-set of someone branding human beings. Gotta be some compelling reason.”

  “Anti-religion?” she mused.

  “Maybe just the opposite.”

  She looked at him across the table. His beard had deepened over the past few days and it gave him a rakish look she found even more attractive. “Think I should talk to Reverend Miles again?”

  “Someone in the religion game,” he agreed.

  “Don’t call it a game around this town,” she warned, smiling. “Blasphemy. Everyone takes their own religion seriously, at least those at that end of the spectrum. On the other end, the tavern-dwellers have their own form of religion.” She lifted her glass and this time she drank lustily, until she started coughing.

  “Do I need to clap you on the back?” Dance asked mildly.

  Jordanna managed a chuckle, coughed a few more times, then got herself under control. “No, I’m good.”

  Her cell phone rang and she grabbed for her purse. “There’s no way it can be Drummond yet,” she muttered, reminding herself. Then she remembered, “You wanted to use my phone.”

  “Later,” he said, as she plucked it from her purse.

  “Jennie,” she said, disappointed, staring at the screen. She was probably calling for Jordanna’s father. She thought about not answering, then decided that would only put off the inevitable. Was that progress? she wondered. Probably. She clicked on. “Hi, Jennie.”

  “Oh, Jordanna. Thank the Lord. We’re so relieved! Kara just texted my phone. She said she had to turn right around and go back to Portland, and that’s why she couldn’t meet us. I guess something came up.”

  “I guess so,” Jordanna said, also relieved but nonplussed. It was odd Kara had texted Jennie and not her, but then her sister was never one for convention. “Thanks for calling.”

  “Oh, no problem. We were all so worried. You know, Dayton stopped by the homestead and talked to your boyfriend.”

  Boyfriend . . . The term brought back their earlier lovemaking and she had to push the memory aside. “Uh, yes, that’s right.” She could feel Dance’s gaze on her and knew what he was thinking. Yes, she should use her father as a source, and no, she wasn’t ready to quite yet. Maybe tomorrow.

  “Well, I’d still like to host a dinner while you’re here,” Jennie said. “Life’s short, y’know? That’s all. You never know what could happen next. Sometimes there isn’t enough time for all the forgiveness you need.”

  “What?” Dance asked, after Jordanna had hung up.

  “I think my stepmother just made awfully good sense.”

  He smiled at her rueful tone. “Do you want to order something?” he asked.

  “Do you?”

  “I saw a pastrami sandwich with coleslaw on the menu.”

  “Perfect,” Jordanna said.

  They ordered and just as their sandwiches arrived, Rusty Long strolled through the saloon doors. He looked around and his eyes passed over her, then yanked back. She lifted a hand in hello, and he strode on over.

  “Jordanna, hey.” His eyes were focused on Dance and he thrust out a hand. “Rusty Long.”

  Dance shook the proffered hand. “Jay Danziger.”

  “Something tells me you’re not from Rock Springs. You came with Jordanna?” he asked.

  Dance nodded.

  Rusty’s attention swung back to Jordanna. “Don’t be surprised if my cousin calls you. We didn’t know you were with somebody.” He sounded slightly miffed, but Jordanna just shrugged. She’d kept the information from him on purpose, but she didn’t feel like going into why.

  “Been calling Todd all afternoon, but can’t raise him,” Rusty admitted, looking restlessly around the room once more. “Hikes all over the goddamned country and half the time there’s no cell service. But we were supposed to meet here, and where the hell is he?”

  “You told me Bernadette Fread’s boyfriend is named Chase . . . ?” Jordanna asked.

  “Chase Sazlow, yep.”

  “And he’s missing, too.”

  “Is he?” Rusty asked. “Thought he was just bunking at the Calverson Ranch. It’s close by the Freads, and he kind of works there and stays with them. We all used to kind of hang out at the ranch, when we were kids, you remember.”

  Jordanna shook her head. “Chase doesn’t live at home?”

  “What home? His parents are gone, and Dutton’s just gotten stranger over the years.”

  “Who’s Dutton?” Jordanna asked. Dance was following the conversation closely, but staying out of it, probably correctly interpreting that Rusty would shut down if questioned by someone he considered a stranger.

  “Chase’s older brother. You know him.”

  “I don’t know him,” she said. “And I don’t remember you all hanging out at the ranch.”

  “It was just a bunch of us guys, when we were kids,” he said. “We kind of worked around the ranch. Goofin’ off. Back before old man Calverson pounded religion into Nate and Pru got a hold of him. But Nate’s got Chase working for him hard, so yeah, he probably did run off with Bernadette.” He glanced from Jordanna to Dance, and back again. “You writing up that story?�
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  “You never know. I did meet up with Pete Drummond finally. Just tonight,” she admitted.

  “What’d you think?” Rusty’s grin appeared.

  “Aptly named by you.”

  He chortled, his good mood restored. “Yep, that’s right.”

  The saloon doors swung open and Nate Calverson appeared, alone. He looked around and caught Rusty’s eye.

  “Where’s the better half?” Rusty hollered.

  Nate saw Jordanna and smiled, heading their way. He flicked a glance at Dance, then looked harder. “Pru’s back at the ranch. Who’ve we got here?”

  “This is Jay Danziger, a friend of Jordanna’s,” Rusty introduced equably.

  “Huh.” The name didn’t mean anything to Nate.

  “Rusty was just telling us about being kids around your ranch, growing up,” Jordanna said.

  “Rusty talks a lot. We on for poker?” Nate asked him. “Where’s Todd?”

  “Don’t know. Late.” Rusty glanced toward the door.

  “Well, I don’t have that much time,” Nate complained. He threw a glance toward Dance. “You play poker?”

  “Some,” Dance admitted.

  “Hell, Nate, we’re not starting a game without Todd,” Rusty said, annoyed. “Sorry, man,” he said to Dance, then to Nate, “Not our fault Pru’s got you on a short leash.”

  “No problem,” Dance said.

  “Well, I’m gonna get started,” Nate muttered.

  “Who’d you take to the old cemetery?” Jordanna burst out as he was stalking off toward the back room. Nate threw her a look, but didn’t answer. “In high school,” she added, raising her voice so he could hear. A couple of people at a nearby table looked over, then turned away.

  “The playground,” Rusty said, grinning. “Everhardt Cemetery. That’s what we called it. Just across from the ranch.”

  “I meant a different cemetery,” Jordanna said.

  Rusty looked perplexed. Then Nate demanded, “You coming?” pointing to an imaginary watch on his arm.

  Rusty snorted. “Marriage, huh?” he said to them with a smile, drifting away.

  Dance waited till they were out of earshot, then said, “You met these guys the other night when you were here.”

  “Yeah, they’re frenemies. I had a crush on Nate in high school,” she admitted a bit sheepishly. “I couldn’t tell you why now. There’s nothing about him that interests me.”

  “You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he said, draining the last swallow of his beer. “I married Carmen Saldano.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I can’t stand it,” Jordanna muttered as she was driving them back to the homestead. “Drummond isn’t going to call. He may not have even told the chief.”

  “You want to go back to the cemetery?” Dance asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  They drove past the homestead and kept going till they connected with Summit Ridge Road and wound their way toward Zach Benchley’s house and the entry to the cemetery. Jordanna’s headlights caught the NO TRESPASSING sign across the first property, and she remarked, “That’s where the last of the Benchleys live, according to Zach. The family that once owned the greater part of these properties. Not the Treadwells, but most of the others that run almost all the way to Rock Springs, farms and developed land alike.”

  As they turned a slow curve before the spot where Zach had discovered the body, they ran into a carnival of flashing lights. “Whoa,” Jordanna said, braking.

  “Drummond brought the cavalry,” Dance observed drily.

  “He did hear me,” Jordanna said. “Woulda been nice of him to let me know.”

  She drove past the cemetery entrance and pulled to the side of Summit Ridge, wary of the ditch on either side of the road. She and Dance climbed out into a chilly night with fog climbing into the foothills in a wispy blanket.

  “Go on,” he told her. “I’ll get there.”

  “Bullshit. Hang on.” She looped an arm around him and reluctantly, he leaned on her, limping forward.

  A young officer stood stiffly at the trampled entrance. “You can’t enter. This is police business,” he told them crisply.

  “I’m the one that reported the body,” Jordanna told him, just as crisply.

  “Sorry, ma’am.”

  “Let me talk to Peter Drummond.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Dance inserted, “Has the chief been informed?”

  “It’s not for me to say, sir.”

  Dance glanced around at the three vehicles, all with their lights revolving, blue and red strobes coloring the countryside. “I’m going to say yes,” he said to Jordanna. “I mean, how many officers and police cars does Rock Springs have?”

  “I want to talk to the chief,” Jordanna ordered the young officer. “Chief Markum knows me. He’s good friends with my father, Dr. Winters.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” the young officer said again, though he sounded a trifle less officious.

  “You need to tell him I’m here,” she warned. “He’ll want to know.”

  The officer looked at her a moment, then reluctantly moved to his walkie. Dance pulled Jordanna out of earshot. “Try to get him to tell you whose body it is. He’s going to want to shut you down, so be ready.”

  “Oh, I know Markum,” she said.

  It was about ten minutes later she saw the chief come from the direction of the cemetery into the glare of the revolving lights. She would have hurried forward to meet him, but the young officer held out his arms, as if she were a bronco that needed corralling.

  “Jordanna,” the chief greeted her as he trudged her way. “Pete says you’re the one who called this in.”

  “That’s right,” she said. “Who is it? Do you know?”

  “Well, that’s the thing.” He grimaced and threw a glance back the way he’d come, then focused on Jordanna. “There is no body.”

  She almost laughed. “Yes, there is. I touched it. I could smell it, even before I found it.”

  The chief shook his head. “There was some soil disturbance, but the only bodies in that graveyard have been there a long, long time.”

  “That’s not possible,” Jordanna insisted. “It’s only been a few hours since I was here!”

  “The ground’s been raked. That’s about all I can tell you.”

  “Well, then someone moved her.” Jordanna was positive, and growing angry. “And she was branded, just like the male vic whose body was found right over there.” She threw an arm out to encompass the whole area. “And there was an upside-down cross burned into her skin.”

  That took him aback for a moment, but he recovered quickly. “I talked to Doc Ferguson. He told you about the cross.”

  “Yes, he did,” she agreed. “And now I’m telling you it has to be the same marking.” When he didn’t say anything, she asked, “What?”

  “He thinks you’re making up seeing the cross to match the facts of the original male branding victim,” Dance said drily.

  “I’m not!” Jordanna was outraged, and suddenly aware that she was in a very precarious predicament. They all thought she was crazy already, and here she was, damn near giving them proof positive of that fact because someone had moved the body. “Who got here first?” she asked.

  “Pete was here, with two other officers. All we had. Because we believed you, but there was nothing here.”

  “I want to see for myself.”

  “Jordanna, you’re trying my patience,” he said tiredly. “I came out here in deference to your father, who deserves a lot more respect than you give him. But there’s no body there. Maybe you should think about returning to Portland, or wherever you came from.”

  “I’m not leaving,” she warned him. “Something’s going on here, even if you won’t let yourself believe anything bad can happen in Rock Springs.”

  “I know bad things happen,” the chief barked out, then turned sharply to trudge on back.

  Jordanna looked at Dance.
She was so frustrated she could hardly speak. “Do you believe me?” she asked.

  She’d let go of him for her encounter with the young officer and Markum, but now he slid his arm around her, pulling her close. “Yes. And even if there’s no body, the police know something’s going on. They’re not just sitting out there in the fog, waiting for spirits to rise.”

  “Who moved her?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Someone who knew you found it.”

  “But there was no one around.”

  “Maybe there was,” he said.

  A shiver started at the base of her spine and slid upward, cold as a finger drawing a line along her back. Her gaze darted in all directions, trying to pierce through the gray fog and dark night.

  Maybe there was.

  The shovel rang against the stony ground like a bell in the thick night. He was sweating freely and he had a long way to go before he was done. He’d had to jog back to his truck, after moving the Treadwell girl’s car to the cliffs near Fool’s Falls, diving down into the steep slopes of fir and brush along the ditches whenever a car drove by, then had been shocked, stupefied, to see a man suddenly appear at the turnout above the falls. Todd Douglas. Lord above. He’d been ill with remorse when he’d realized who it was he’d had to smack senseless with the rock.

  But God had reasons for his plans, he reminded himself. Todd had been there for a reason. His mind touched on the barred door in the barn. He’d had to do many things in His name that hurt him.

  He dug some more, his muscles aching at the hard work. It was the appearance of the other Treadwell bitch that had nearly done him in, however. Where had she come from? How had she found the cemetery? How?

  She’s a daughter of Lucifer.

  Seeing her there, he’d been jangled with fear. He’d driven the other Treadwell bitch to his barn, stuffed down in the footwell, covered by a blanket. Luckily he’d only encountered one other car on the road, one of the old Benchleys, he thought. Half-blind and barely herding her ancient Ford truck down the road. He’d purposely kept his speed down as she drove past, even though he wanted to tear to safety. The fear of being caught was a rush. At the barn, he’d wanted to pleasure himself with her, but had managed to refrain, though when he’d dumped her in front of the cold brazier, he’d stretched out upon her again and thrust against her twice before pulling himself back. She was dead. One of the lost ready to come home.