Murder at Granite Falls

by Roxanne Rustand

  He did a double take, then grinned—the first brief flash of humor he’d shown since Billy’s death. “And here I thought you were a townie, when you first showed up.”

  “Never underestimate a gal you don’t know,” she said archly.

  “I guess not.” His appreciative expression warmed as he studied her, reminding her of that exquisitely gentle kiss and the wonderful sensation she felt in his embrace. It now seemed like a lifetime ago, with all that had happened in the past few weeks.

  She firmly set aside her thoughts. “Let’s get going. I really want to check out those caves while we still have daylight.”

  There was no sign of Dante in any of the caves within four or five miles of his cabin. Logan and Carrie made it back to the rafting office at dusk, and found Penny waiting for them, pacing the area outside the boathouse.

  “Where have you two been?” she exclaimed. “I’ve been terrified that something happened to you, too.”

  Logan tousled her hair, and she ducked back, swatting at his hand. “We were searching for Dante all this time.”

  “Any luck?”

  “We checked the caves, but didn’t find even a hint that he’s been there. Of course, he’s always been careful to cover his tracks—even if no one is looking for him.”

  “Some people say he must’ve been in covert operations during Vietnam.”

  “Which makes it all the harder to track him down, unfortunately.”

  Penny bit her lower lip. “The sheriff and one of his deputies were here this afternoon. They weren’t very happy to find that you two weren’t here.”

  “Neither of us have been charged, the last I heard,” Logan said drily. “So what did they want?”

  “They were really insistent about finding out where you were, for starters. I think they seemed suspicious about you both not only being in cahoots, but thinking that you might decide to flee the country or something.”

  “If they think that, they’re less intelligent than I thought.”

  “But it worries me that they’d even consider the possibility that either of you had anything to do with Billy’s death. How could they? You have a solid alibi, with Aunt Betty and me. And I don’t believe for a minute that Carrie could’ve pulled the trigger.”

  “Well, they won’t find any evidence proving it, because there isn’t any. So what else did they want?”

  “They wouldn’t say. But,” Penny added, “I do have a good idea about what’s going on, thanks to the local grapevine.”

  “Gossip.”

  “Not exactly. I’ve heard that the deputies and the BCI have been investigating a number of leads since Billy died, but they still don’t have any good suspects.”

  Carrie shivered. “Which means they’re no closer to getting the killer off the street.”

  “But it’s worse.” Penny swallowed hard. “I’ve had some phone calls from several of the people who were around when Billy confronted Carrie after the movie. They’ve all been questioned extensively down at the sheriff’s office about what happened.”

  “That isn’t a surprise, I guess.” Logan rested a hand on Carrie’s shoulder, knowing the murder and uncertainties afterward had to be weighing heavily on her heart. Wishing he could lift her burden.

  “But most of them have been brought in a second time, now,” Penny continued. “And the thing is, none of those people were close enough to hear Billy’s demands, or to hear his threatening manner. And they couldn’t have seen the rough way he grabbed Carrie’s hand.”

  Carrie drew in a slow breath. “You’re right. Billy was much farther in the shadows. They wouldn’t have seen his expression, either.”

  “But one of them did say she saw Logan loom over him, and saw Billy cower. And the others arrived in time to hear Logan threatening to lose his temper. Ivy said she had to tell the truth when Sheriff Tyler pressured her, but she just feels sick about it, because she doesn’t believe Logan did anything wrong.” Penny looked between Carrie and Logan, her eyes shimmering. “And unfortunately, she says Tyler looked absolutely smug when she told him what she saw.”

  Logan nodded. “I can imagine. But just think about this. One small town, two murders in just over a year. What are the chances that there would be two killers here?”

  “Not likely. And so far, no one has been caught.” Carrie’s expression turned somber. “I thought Billy was the one stalking me. Maybe he was…but he also offered to sell me ‘information that could save my life,’ and I didn’t believe him. What if he really did see something—or someone—while he was lurking around, and that’s why he was killed?”

  SIXTEEN

  Carrie tossed and turned most of the night, through broken dreams of Billy, good times and bad. Images of his mangled face. Their first date, when he’d been so courtly and charming, with that dangerous twinkle in his eye and his lazy grin promising fun and adventure. The leering, twisted face of Sheriff Tyler as he relentlessly pursued Logan and her through a nightmare world of eerie darkness.

  The sheriff and his deputies hadn’t been back since talking to Penny on Tuesday, and the uncertainty of that looming encounter awakened her time and again, her stomach twisting in knots.

  The townsfolk who had described the encounter on the night of Billy’s murder had spoken the truth as they saw it. But they’d missed seeing Billy’s angry face, and hearing what he’d said. And Penny was right. Their testimony—if it came to that—could be critical elements in any trial.

  Despite the warm sweater she’d worn to ward off the morning chill, Carrie shivered as she unlocked the door and walked into her empty classroom on Monday morning a few minutes before the bell rang. How had life suddenly become so complicated?

  One silly, immature mistake years ago had set into play a domino effect of events she’d never expected to experience. A rebellious choice to date a bad boy no parent would approve of, followed by a difficult marriage. A painful divorce. The death of her ex-husband, who may have been a rascal, but who certainly hadn’t deserved to die. And now she was caught up in a web of events and evidence that might even send her to jail.

  At the sound of footsteps, she dredged up a smile of welcome and turned to greet her first student of the day.

  But there weren’t any students at the door.

  “Ms. Randall, we need to talk.” Ed Grover walked in, his face somber. He waved her toward the chairs set up at a work-table in the corner of the room, then shut the door behind him.

  Her heart sank. The local newspaper came out weekly and the next issue wouldn’t be printed until Wednesday, but no one in town needed a paper to stay current on what was happening. The ongoing investigation hadn’t turned up Billy’s killer. There’d been absolutely no evidence found by either the local sheriff’s department or the BCI.

  And since most murders were committed by relatives and acquaintances of the victims, suspicion would soon intensify in her direction. She had all three of the necessary requirements—motive, means, opportunity. Except she hadn’t done it, and she hadn’t hired Logan to, either.

  Bracing herself for the worst, she dutifully sank into a chair and smiled at him. “Can I help you?”

  He looked at her from over his half-glasses. “I don’t suppose I need to tell you why I’m here.”

  “I suppose it’s either about the Noah Colwell situation, or because my ex-husband was…” The word was still so hard to say. “That he was murdered. I still can’t believe it.”

  Grover appeared taken aback at the emotion in her words. “Yes. Well…it’s a very sad situation, to be sure.”

  “I still don’t understand why anyone here would do such a thing. I don’t think he’d ever been to Granite Falls before, or that he even knew a soul here, other than me.” She shuddered. “And now there’s a killer on the loose in the area. I’m sure the community is terrified.”

  He gave her an odd look, then cleared his throat. “The thing is, such events are rare in a place like this. In the past forty years, there’s been just
one other murder here. Our parents are, well, understandably nervous.”

  “Of course they are.”

  He fidgeted with his necktie. “I received several calls at home over the weekend, and three more were on my answering machine when I arrived this morning.”

  “I’m not sure what this has to do with me.”

  “They’ve withdrawn their children from your class. They all feel that, in light of the current situation, they’d rather not have their children here.”

  She blinked. “Because my ex-husband was murdered?”

  “Some were quite vocal about their concerns, actually. And I would feel the same, if I were in their shoes.”

  She felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. “So these people are assuming that I was involved in Billy’s death. That I’m not suitable as a teacher.”

  “No one is actually assigning guilt, Ms. Randall.”

  Yet. “But they are listening to gossip. Half truths.”

  His expression hardened. “I talked to the sheriff a few minutes ago. It’s clear enough that there’s an ongoing investigation. And until everything is fully resolved, your presence here is not an asset to the school.”

  “But—”

  “I consulted our school district’s in-house attorney, and given that most of your students have withdrawn and that there are possible legal issues ahead, we are placing you on unpaid leave. You can, of course, elect to simply end your contract.”

  She blinked as the enormity of his words hit her. “I feel as if you’re sentencing me without a trial, Mr. Grover. I haven’t even been charged with anything.”

  “We have a responsibility to our students above all else, and the moral turpitude clause in our employment contracts makes our choice very clear. But,” he added when she began to protest, “we are trying to be fair. Hence, the unpaid leave status…which is more than generous given the situation. And when…” he cleared his throat “…when you are cleared of all suspicion and the case is solved, then of course you may come back.”

  She sank back in her chair. Armed with a good lawyer, she could fight this and win. The district had no right to leap to such assumptions. There’d been no formal charges, much less a trial. But a lawyer would cost a lot, and her savings were slim. And with what might lay ahead, her far greater legal issues could just be over the horizon.

  Grover had her cornered, and from the faint, satisfied gleam in his eyes, he knew it.

  “If you’d like to gather your things, I can wait,” he prompted, waving an impatient hand toward her desk.

  Humiliated, she scooped up her folders of research on Western American Art and her personal items from her desk, gathered her purse and walked to the door.

  She paused, a hand on the door frame, and looked back, her throat tight. “You know I could fight this, but I won’t. Not now. But when the truth comes out, I will be seeing you again, with a lawyer of my own.”

  On Tuesday, with no class to teach, Carrie jumped at the chance to take a dozen scouts from an inner-city area of Chicago and two adult leaders on a four-hour trip. With one adult and six boys per raft, and the leaders actively providing local naturalist information to the scouts, she settled onto the center mainframe seat and concentrated on guiding the raft through the now-familiar channels of the Wolf River after letting the first raft go downstream until it disappeared around a bend.

  Lord, thank You for this beautiful day, she said to herself as they bobbed through a rocky, narrow run in the river. This section was relatively calm, though ahead, there would be four exciting passages between the high granite walls of Bear Claw Ravine, and beyond that, a calmer stretch where side channels often offered glimpses of moose and bear before once again the river turned to Class III and, very briefly, Class IV rapids, and grew more exciting again.

  Just being out here, concentrating on the river and away from her worries, made her feel free and renewed, and at peace in this beautiful place.

  “Look up—eleven o’clock. The tallest pine, with the broken top. What do you see?” The leader in her raft was Joe, in his mid-fifties, fit, with a military haircut that belied the kind expression in his eyes. When the boys didn’t answer, he added, “Who sees that flash of white up there?”

  The scouts, all encased in bulky orange life vests, twisted around to peer up into the trees and broke into excited chatter as they searched, until one shouted, “I see it! It’s an eagle!”

  “Good eyes. Okay—does anyone recognize that next clearing on the right?”

  A chorus of voices shouted, “Our campsite!”

  She tuned out the conversation and laughter as she manned the oars to guide the raft through the currents, around some massive boulders and a snag of downed logs. She stood as they approached the faster, rushing currents to better read the river.

  “Hold on,” she ordered, casting a quick glance at the passengers seated on the high, inflated perimeter of the raft.

  The current bucked and swirled, sending waves of water over the scouts seated at the front, and they all shrieked with laughter.

  All too soon, the river widened and slowed for several miles of quiet current. “So, boys, where have you been and what have you been doing on your trip?”

  They all spoke at once, each trying to talk louder than the rest, until she laughed and shook her head. “One at a time. Okay, let’s go around the boat. Each of you, tell me your favorite part of your trip.”

  “Earning high-adventure badges.”

  “The bear and cub we saw yesterday.”

  “Driving out here.” The smallest boy, with freckles across his nose and strawberry-blond hair ducked his head shyly. “’Cause of the crazy rocks at Vedauwoo.”

  “Ahh…the campground close to Laramie, right?”

  “Yeah—some of the huge rocks are like moon creatures, or something. They’re cool.”

  The leader chuckled. “We camped there one night on our way out here, and we didn’t think we’d ever get the boys rounded up. They would have stayed there the whole time, if we’d let them.”

  “I know what they mean. Okay, who else has a favorite?”

  S’mores and swimming in a pool at the base of a waterfall were the next favorites. The last boy who was the biggest of the six, and had yet to say a word, was sitting opposite Carrie on the raft and remained silent.

  He scowled when the boy next to him elbowed his ribs. “Camping, I guess,” he finally ground out.

  “I know what Ian liked best,” taunted another boy. “But he isn’t gonna say.”

  Ian’s ears reddened. “Shut up.”

  “I saw, too,” blurted a blonde with glasses. “And I bet he’s got it in his pocket, ’cause he was afraid we’d tell.”

  Joe’s head jerked up and he leveled a steady look at Ian from across the raft. “What’s going on here, boys?”

  Ian dropped his head. “Nothin’.”

  “Ian…” The warning note in the scout leader’s voice was unmistakable. When Ian didn’t respond, the man frowned. “We’ll talk about this privately later, son. But if you broke the rules, you know that you could be sent home.”

  A long pause. Then, the boy jerked a shoulder. “I didn’t do nothin’.”

  “He stole a billfold. I saw,” whispered the one with freckles. “It was close to our campsite.”

  “Did not!” Ian roared as he launched toward the younger boy.

  Joe leaned over in an instant and blocked the charge.

  The raft tipped wildly, one end rising high out of the water. Two boys screamed, arms flailing. Carrie dropped the oars and caught the front of their life jackets as they started to fall out, then she fell back, bringing them with her as she landed on the rising side of the raft and forced it back down.

  The raft slapped the river, sending a massive wave of water into the boat…and just ahead, she could see the trio of boulders that marked the start of the next rapids.

  Carrie grabbed the oars that had narrowly missed hitting the passengers and took a quick
survey. “Everyone is here—now hold on tight. And stay seated, hear? I really want to get you all home in one piece.”

  At the landing site, Carrie pulled alongside the first raft and helped everyone out of their life jackets. Ian, his head bowed, refused her help and fumbled with his straps until he finally gave up in obvious frustration.

  “These buckles are really tricky,” she murmured. She looked over at Joe, who was directing the other boys up the hill, and nodded for him to come over.

  “I know you all plan to discuss this later,” she said quietly, looking between the two of them, “but this is really important because your campsite isn’t more than a couple miles from Wolf River Rafting.”

  Ian dug a toe in the wet sand.

  “I need to see the billfold, Ian.”

  He shot a defiant glare at her. “So, you gonna search me?”

  “Ian.” Joe rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You could be on a Greyhound headed for Chicago first thing in the morning if you don’t cooperate. I’m sure the lady has good reason.” Joe looked up at her. “Did you lose your wallet?”

  Carrie debated about how much to reveal. “Let me see the wallet, Ian. I need to see the driver’s license inside, for starters.”

  “I didn’t steal it, or nothin’,” he said sullenly, unzipping an inside pocket of his jacket. “It was in the woods. Nobody was around.”

  “Exactly where did you find it?”

  He shuffled his feet. “The big boulders next to the river, close to our campsite. It was wadded up with some stupid tent and some other junk—shoved way back. There were a bunch of rocks jammed in front…but I could see the red stuff—”

  “A one-man tent?”

  “I don’t know. Yeah…I guess. Nothin’ worth taking except…uh…the billfold.” His head jerked up. “There wasn’t no money in—honest. It was empty already.”

  She stared at the object in his hand, her heart thudding in her chest. A buzzing sound filled her head as she slowly extended her shaking hand.