Shotgun Moon

by K. C. McRae

  Shirlene said, “She looks like hell, but the burns aren’t too bad. Thank God. She wouldn’t let the paramedics take her because she was afraid they might need the ambulance for someone else.” Her eyebrows drew together. “Good thing, too.”

  Merry was too tired to defend herself. “Any chance we could go home now? Everything seems to be under control. Unless they still need some help with the horses?”

  “No, that’s all handled. We can go.”

  Olivia ran up to them. “Have you seen Bo? I found his truck parked behind the arena. He has to be around here somewhere.” There was panic in her voice.

  They all shook their heads. Dread settled across Merry’s shoulders.

  “Oh, God. Barbie! What happened?” Olivia took off toward a car, where Merry could now see Barbie sitting sideways in the passenger seat, the door open and her feet on the ground. Bright patches of gauze on one side of her face and along one arm delineated her injuries.

  The roar of engines captured their attention as two vehicles turned in the driveway, coming faster than necessary and spraying gravel when they stopped. Given the twin light bars and official logos, Merry figured the speed was more out of habit than anything else.

  One was the deputy she’d seen up on the road, directing traffic around that nasty curve, and the other was Rory Hawkins, looking half hungover and mean as hell.

  Shirlene gave her a look. “We’re out of here.” She started toward the truck. Jamie bent, picked Merry up, and followed.

  “Put me down.”

  “Shut up.”

  He deposited her into the passenger seat. “I’ll call you tomorrow—today, whatever. I have to tell you something.”

  “Tell me now.”

  He shook his head. “Later. Be careful going home.”

  And with that he turned and ambled toward his sergeant.

  ———

  “I wondered if Bo was with that woman he’s been seen around town with,” Shirlene said as she drove back to the McCoy ranch. “Now I hope he was.”

  Merry turned to look at her, but her aunt’s face was in shadow. “What woman?”

  “I don’t know. Herb Paysen said they were together at the Moose.”

  “Bo’s having an affair?”

  She could barely make out the movement of Shirlene’s shoulders against the back of the seat as she shrugged. “Maybe. All I know is Herb said she had long black hair.”

  “Long black hair? Like Anna’s?”

  Shirlene made a sound in the back of her throat. “Oh. No. You don’t think … no, not her. He’s way too old for her. Hell, he’s almost too old for Olivia—he’s in his sixties. I just can’t see it.”

  Merry didn’t know Bo well enough to speculate on whether he’d be interested in Anna or not. But she wouldn’t put anything past the sharp-featured nurse.

  “Does Olivia know?”

  The shrug again. “It’s hard to keep something like that secret around here. Especially if you go flaunt it in the Moose.”

  ten

  Before she even moved, Merry let out a groan, which started her coughing, which sent shards of pain through her bruised shoulders. It wasn’t until she tried to sit up that the pangs started in her head and swollen ankle. She flinched as her fingertips probed the goose egg just above her hairline. Easing the covers back revealed her foot twisted inward as if trying to escape the bulging bruise-stained ankle. A soggy bag of once-frozen peas lay on the wrinkled sheet.

  God. She hurt in places she hadn’t even known she had.

  “Nice job on the alarm clock,” Shirlene said, entering the room with a glass of water and one of the sample packets of Tylenol from the clinic. “About scared me to death when it hit the wall.”

  Merry spied the pieces on the floor. It had been almost six a.m. by the time they got to bed, and she’d promised her aunt she’d set her alarm for every two hours. It had gone off once. Immediately after realizing she didn’t have to muster forth for some prison foolishness, she’d flung the thing across the room. Must have put a little English on it, judging by the fragments.

  She turned her attention to the painkiller. “I need more than that.”

  Shirlene glanced down at her hand, then back up at Merry. “Yeah, okay. I’ll get another one.”

  Handing the water and pills to her, she left and came back a few moments later with more Tylenol and a package of frozen corn. She replaced the bag of peas with the new makeshift ice pack.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “If it’s mine, it hurts. What time is it?”

  “Almost one.”

  “Jesus. How long have you been up?”

  “Got up around eleven. Stuck around in case you needed me.”

  Merry removed the corn and eased her feet to the floor. She tried putting her weight on the damaged one. The sudden, sharp pain felt like someone had shoved a red-hot blade into the joint. With a sharp intake of breath, she transferred all her weight to her other foot and stood, flamingo style.

  Pulling a handful of hair around to her nose, she sniffed. “Yuck. I’m in desperate need of a shower. Go ahead and go home. Take Lotta.”

  “How’re you going to get around?”

  “Hop, I guess.”

  “Hang on.” Shirlene disappeared around the corner, and Merry heard her rummaging in Mama’s room. In a few moments she returned with a polished stick of beautifully gnarled wood.

  “What’s that?”

  “Your mother’s cane. She used it quite a lot, toward the end.”

  Merry took it, angling it in her hands to catch the light from the window. The smooth, warm grain twisted and flowed down its length, suggesting the vibrancy of living wood. She tried to imagine Mama leaning on it, her calloused hand wrapped around the burl at the end, fingers gripping its solid presence as her own existence faded day by day, finally winking out in the early morning hours as Merry lay on her bunk two thousand miles away.

  She looked up to find Shirlene watching her, eyes shiny.

  Lowering the end, Merry tried leaning on the cane and taking a step. Still hurt like a son of a bitch. Not something she’d be doing

  a lot of today.

  “I’ll be okay. Do me a favor, though?”

  “Sure.”

  “Feed Izzy and open the gate to the pasture just outside her paddock. Check her water.”

  Shirlene agreed and went out the door. Merry half-hopped, half-hobbled to the bathroom and took an awkward shower. Her head felt better as the double dose of Tylenol kicked in, and discovering more in the medicine chest cheered her considerably. Dressed in loose cotton hiking pants and T-shirt, she left her hair to air dry and made a sandwich with peanut butter and chokecherry jam Mama had made the year before. Check that one off the list. She carried it and the phone back into the living room and propped her foot up.

  She called Jamie at the station. Nadine, the woman who had been taking notes when Lauri had first told them about finding Clay’s body, put her through to him.

  “Hey, McCoy. How are you feeling?”

  “Like hell. Listen, did you guys ever track down Bo?”

  A long silence, and then she heard him exhale. “The sheriff’s department is investigating the fire. This morning they uncovered a body in the debris of the barn.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “They don’t have a positive identification yet … but it’s him.”

  “No wonder that dog wouldn’t leave the barn. She was trying to save him.”

  “He was already dead. Blunt force trauma to the skull.”

  “Damn it. I told you there was a connection between that fire and their son’s death. This has nothing to do with Lauri.”

  He hesitated. Then, “What are you doing this evening?”

  “Well, I had some elaborate plans. Thought I’d sit on my ass with my foot up f
or a while in the kitchen, then move to the living room and see what was on TV, sit on my ass with my foot up for a while in there.”

  “How ’bout sitting on your ass with your foot up by a river?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “I come and get you, we go fishing.”

  “You know what?” she said. “That sounds fan-fucking-tastic.”

  “I’ll be there around four-thirty.”

  ———

  Merry was watching Dr. Phil. She professed to hate the show, had seen more than enough for her lifetime in the prison rec room, but couldn’t tear herself away from the woman who had been convicted of child abuse. Now, teary-eyed and repentant, she tried to convince her hostile in-laws she was off drugs and taking responsibility for her life. It wasn’t Kylie Lynn, Merry’s second cellmate, but the woman sure looked a lot like her, down to the rabbity teeth and big blue eyes. She hoped the woman didn’t have a husband like Kylie’s, who beat the crap out of her on a regular basis. Kylie had told her it was too hard to stay straight when you were afraid of dying all the time.

  “Hello?”

  With a sense of relief, Merry turned off the TV, calling toward the screen door, “It’s open.”

  Barbie Barnes stepped into the living room. “Hi.”

  “Hi yourself,” Merry said. “You look awful.”

  Barbie’s laugh sounded like it could spill over into tears any moment. “I know.” A thin bandage ran along her hairline on that side, and down in front of her ear. The skin around it glowed bright red and shiny with salve. Her jeans were tight, but the long-sleeved T-shirt she wore was at least two sizes too large. To cover the bandages on her arm, no doubt. Her hair had been shaved to a scant inch all over her head. The circles under her eyes looked like they’d been carved into her face.

  “The haircut’s nice,” Merry said.

  “The haircut’s terrible. But it’s not like I had any choice.”

  “It’ll grow back.” Merry waved at the couch sitting against the wall to the kitchen.

  Barbie perched on the edge of the cushion. She moved with care, favoring her right side.

  “How bad are the burns?”

  “First degree, like a really bad sunburn. I’m lucky—blistered up pretty bad, but at least I won’t need skin grafts.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I guess I owe you a thank you.”

  Merry shook her head. “No need.”

  “It would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t helped, you know, pull me out. But I wanted to thank you for saving Ginger, too.”

  “Is she okay?”

  Barbie pressed her lips together. “She has a broken rib, and her lungs were damaged by all the smoke, but the vet says she’s going to be all right. You know, that dog just showed up out of nowhere one day, and Olivia can’t turn away a stray. Now Ginger’s a little something for her to hang onto, I guess.”

  Lowering her voice, Merry said, “I heard about Bo.”

  The tears finally spilled over, and Barbie quickly reached up to wipe them from her cheeks. “I can’t believe it. First Clay. Then this. And Olivia losing her home, maybe even her business.”

  Merry winced. “How’s she holding up?”

  “Horrible. I mean, she’s tough, you know? On the outside she seems okay, but I know better. It’s just too much for anyone to take all at once. She’s staying with me and Anna for the time being. I didn’t want her in some skanky motel. ”

  Merry nodded. “That’s good.”

  They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes, Barbie gazing out the window.

  “You’ve got a nice place here.”

  “Thanks. It’s been in the family for four generations.”

  “My family had a place like this, too,” Barbie said. She sounded angry. “Well, they lost it before I was born, but I’ve always thought of it as my family’s place. Up north of Frank Cain’s.”

  “Really?” Merry asked, surprised. “Frank told me the other day he’s buying that spread.”

  Barbie stared at her, her face going white. She got up and walked to the window.

  Without turning around, she said, “I’ve been saving up my whole life to buy that land back.”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe Frank’ll sell to you when you get the money.”

  “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. To have some real roots. My dad’s military, and we always moved around a lot.” She turned. “I guess that’s partly why I was so attracted to Clay. Because he was so solid, like he was part of the earth. And Olivia and Bo treated me like I was their own daughter.” Her eyes filled again, and she turned back to the window.

  Merry didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything. After several moments, Barbie wiped the sleeve of her T-shirt across her face and turned back around.

  “Sorry. I seem to keep leaking.”

  “I think you’re entitled.”

  “Anyway, I wanted to say thanks.” She took a step toward the door.

  “Glad you stopped by.”

  Barbie nodded, but seemed to have difficulty speaking.

  “Really,” Merry said. Watching the other woman struggle to keep it together made her whole chest ache.

  She nodded again. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  “I hope so.”

  And as Barbie left, Merry realized she really meant it.

  ———

  It took Merry a while to dig her tackle box, Daddy’s old fishing vest, and a dusty bamboo fly rod out of the basement. She’d bought the rod from the Sears catalog the summer between her freshman and sophomore years in high school with money she earned haying. Jamie, a serious fisherman, would probably laugh his head off when he saw it.

  The Wrangler pulled up in front of the house, a pair of waders slumped against the rear window, and at least three poles growing out of the tumble of other equipment in the back seat. Her friend bounced to the ground and strode toward the porch. She met him at the door.

  “Got enough stuff with you?”

  “Never.” Jamie grinned. “Wait ’til you see what Gayle got me last Christmas.”

  “New toy?”

  “Oh, yeah. Spey rod. The thing is so light you hardly know you have it in your hand. You gotta try it.”

  “Sounds like she did good.”

  “And I only had to hint around about it a couple dozen times or so.”

  “What did you get her?”

  He shrugged. “Some bracelet she’d been wanting.” He looked around. “Where’s your stuff?”

  She nodded toward the front door. “You just walked by it.”

  He eyeballed the meager pile. “I brought extra gear, just in case.”

  But fishing was just an excuse for her. Running water soothed: the motion of it, the sound of it, the way light became fluid within its flow. The more she’d thought about going fishing the more she craved time by the river. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been near water.

  They headed to Troublesome Creek, a tributary feeding into the west fork of the Bitterroot River. The radio blasted country music that competed with the rushing currents of cool air flowing through the open windows as they drove 93 out of town. Jamie drummed the steering wheel and sang along.

  Merry indicated a Richardson’s ground squirrel, called a picket pin because it sat up so still and straight at the side of the road. Jamie nodded that he saw it, though he looked surprised that Merry would even think it worth pointing out. She thought about the car game she and Drew played as children, sitting in the back seat and counting the picket pins on their respective sides of the road. She never won because Drew cheated.

  There had been more of them to count then. Farming, ranching, oil wells, mines, and the ubiquitous onslaught of people seeking out refuge in Montana, “The Last Best Place,” had taken their tol
l. She felt the undercurrent of the coming change move through her with a pang. Watching for more picket pins, it felt as if yet another element of her childhood had been irretrievably lost.

  She shook it off. “What were you going to tell me last night?”

  Jamie looked grim, then seemed to make a decision. Reaching under his seat, he handed her a folder.

  “You never saw this.”

  She glanced at him and flipped open the brown cover. Wire tabs clasped a single page inside. No photos, just the one form filled out by hand in blue ballpoint ink. She tried to decipher the scrawled handwriting.

  “It’s not the final report, just a preliminary to give us something to work from. The rest of the autopsy’ll be done tomorrow. I had to go up to Missoula yesterday afternoon, so I stopped by and got that.”

  She looked up. “So this might not be accurate?”

  “Theoretically there could be changes. But all it says is, big surprise, Clay Lamente died of a gunshot wound to the heart. Additions will likely be the results of the toxicology report, information on stomach contents, things like that. But with a gunshot they don’t have to get too fancy, once they make sure it’s the cause of death. Medical examiner says he died sometime between nine thirty and midnight.”

  Leaning back and stretching her legs as far as she could in the somewhat cramped quarters of the Jeep’s passenger seat, Merry looked out over the green-gold fields flowing by.

  Suddenly she turned back to him. “What about the gun that was used to shoot him? Do you know what kind it was?”

  He looked sidelong at her, then back to the road. “We may even have it.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “We found a thirty-eight revolver. And a bullet in the mattress —there were two shots, but one just winged him—and the bullet was a thirty-eight caliber. Found the gun in the desk drawer in Lamente’s living room. Belongs to the roommate, Denny Teller. It’d been fired, but we don’t know when because he said last time he used it at the range he didn’t clean it afterwards.” Jamie’s voice was disapproving. “I bet he’s never used it at the range. He’s more the type to shoot rats at the dump.”

  “When will you know if that’s the murder weapon?”