Neither the man working the booth, nor the one setting up the targets knew anything about Monty's whereabouts yesterday. Max was captivated by the long-barreled flintlock rifle that the man at the booth was working on, and I knew that at another time he would have wanted to stay and learn more, but he dragged himself away and we headed toward the campground where they were setting up demonstration areas for candle making, leatherwork, campfire cooking, and several other frontier crafts I couldn't identify.
"I think we should separate," I said. "One person asking questions seems less suspicious than two."
"Okay, but don't get out of my sight, and stick with other people as much as possible. Once Monty gets here, stay clear of him."
"You think we're in danger?"
"Depends on how much they think we know."
"What happened to 'let's enjoy the day'?"
He grinned and ruffled my hair. "Maybe I'm overreacting, but it's best to be cautious."
I knew he was right. If we had truly stumbled onto the real motive behind the murders, we were as much a danger to them—whoever they might be—as Opal had been. Though it appeared that Ronnie Mae had been in on their scheme, somehow or other she had become a threat, too. And what about Pussyfoot? Had his snooping brought on his death, or had it been the drunken accident it appeared to be?
Max kissed my cheek and swung off toward the smithy who was firing up his forge, and I approached the candle maker. She was a delightful woman who was a font of information about her craft, but barely knew who Monty Montgomery was. Likewise for the gentleman who was making a powder horn. He had come all the way from California for the meet and planned to attend four other Rendezvous in the area in the next two months. The two women preparing dough for a campfire oven knew Monty well, but hadn't seen him at all yesterday. They thought he had probably been helping get the wagons ready for the parade. And so it went down the line. Nothing very conclusive. It was the same for Max.
"I think we'll have better luck questioning some of the drovers, don't you?" I said to Max as we went back up to the commercial area. "If he was anywhere yesterday other than stalking you, it was helping to get rigs and livestock prepared and moved to town."
A commotion at the entry announced the arrival of the parade. We stood aside with the rest of the people to watch the wagons and horsemen enter the grounds and proceed to the campground. A family of sun bonneted girls and barefoot boys waved at us happily from the back of a Conestoga.
Then came Monty, beaming from ear to ear astride his cream-colored horse, looking like an overweight Buffalo Bill. He saw Max and raised his hand in greeting. Dismounting, he led the horse to where we were standing. Sweat ran in rivulets down his face and dripped in fat glistening drops from the end of his beard. He took off the heavy fur hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. The leather came away dark and damp. I couldn't help eyeing him for any signs of torn fringe or missing thongs.
"Man, what a trip," he said, waving his companions on down to the encampment area. "Don't know if I'll ever do that again. Never knew twenty miles could be so long." A man dressed in loose homespun driving a long horned steer pulling a cook wagon gave us a big grin and a thumbs up. Monty returned the sign. "We trucked him and his outfit to the one-mile spot last night. That steer's gentle as a baby. That guy," he pointed to a freight wagon pulled by a team of six mules, "went the whole way. Got started at the crack of dawn." He watched them pass with the benign pleasure of a king reviewing his troops. "Isn't that just one great damn sight!" He turned to Max. "Hey, man," he said, evidently noticing the crutches and cast for the first time. '"What happened to you?" His eyes widened in concern. The tone and inflection of the voice was perfect.
Either he was completely surprised by Max's injury, or a damned good actor. Then I thought, with even more interest, Monty is an actor of sorts. All the reenactors were. Something to be aware of, perhaps.
"Just twisted my leg some," Max said. He was having trouble dissembling. His emotions and thoughts were usually right there on his face to read, or maybe I was just too used to recognizing them. I hoped Monty would put his coldness off to the pain or discomfort of his injury.
"Well, take it easy, pal. You going to do some black powder with us?"
"Yeah," Max said, looking Monty hard in the eyes. "I'd like that."
He cocked his head and eyed Max quizzically, but didn't put his thoughts into words. "Well, I gotta put this horse away and get into some other clothes." He led his mount off, greeting people effusively on the way.
Suddenly, we were surrounded by crowds of people that surged into the grounds behind the parade. I saw Clyde talking with two men, one of whom looked like Elton Rydell. Clyde's broad gestures included his sleeping dragon butte along with a wide expanse of land. I smiled, sure he was giving them his New Sedona spiel. I wondered how happy his friends were if they were still holding down the fort back at the store and missing all the fun. If Max got too tired maybe I could talk him into the two of us taking their place for a while. In fact that wasn't a bad idea, it would give us a chance to check out the back room again. I was about to suggest this, when I saw Yvonne and Charlotte walking toward us.
"Hi," Charlotte said. "I see you're out taking in the sights." Then of course they asked Max the inevitable question about his leg. He gave another flippant answer that made Charlotte laugh.
Yvonne, always more direct, asked, "What did you do, break it?"
"The fibula, nothing major."
"Well," Charlotte burbled, "I guess Thea here is just going to have to take real good care of you, now, isn't she." Max's normally lazy eyelids dropped even further, and I knew he was writhing with boredom at this chatter. For myself, I was glad to see Charlotte back to her effusive, effervescent self. Whatever had been bothering her must have eased in some way. She turned to me. "Did you see those fantastic leather shoulder bags? I think they were in the second stall. I might just have to go back and buy one."
"No, we haven't had a chance to really look at things yet."
"Where's Rusty?" Max broke in.
"I don't know where he is right this minute, there's so much going on today. He was here first thing this morning, checking out the safety precautions, and I'm sure he'll be back again later."
Obviously, Rusty hadn't told her about Max's accident, or our late night session with him at the hospital, but then why should he?
"Do you want to go look around with Yvonne and Charlotte? I'll check out this black powder stuff."
"Yes, please come with us, Thea. We need to do some serious shopping."
"Oh, no," Yvonne said, glancing over Charlotte's head at the throng of people, "there's Twila and that damned chicken. I'm out of here. Meet you over there." She slid off and disappeared down the second aisle of stalls.
Max turned and swung off toward Monty's sutler's store booth.
"I'd love to go with you," I said, keeping a wary eye out for Twila myself, "but can you hang on a minute?"
I caught up with Max. "What are you going to do? Where are you going to be?"
"I'm going to hang out at the booth with Colton, see if I can find out anything more." I urged him to be careful. "I will be," he said. "I'll stick with the crowd, you do the same. Stay with Charlotte and Yvonne. Don't go off on your own. Keep an eye out for the sheriff and I'll do the same. We need to tell him the latest development."
We agreed to meet at the sutler's booth in thirty minutes. I'd kept my eye on Twila's progress as I spoke to Max. She'd chatted briefly with Charlotte, then moved off with her group of friends, so she was well out of the way when I rejoined Charlotte.
Charlotte gave me a knowing smile. "Twila supplied all the animals for the petting zoo. Sugar will do her stint there, too. Twila's not a bad sort. She's just an opinionated old woman, don't let her bother you."
I suppose Rusty hadn't told her how Twila had ruined his crime scene, either. "Whatever," I said. "I'm just glad you're feeling better. You seemed so down yesterday."
&nb
sp; "My father left town this morning," she said with a wry smile. "I didn't know my relief would be so evident. I suppose it sounds awful for me to say so, but Dad's been in so many scrapes that I kind of dread it whenever he shows up. And I must say his timing was bad. I was so worried that he might've had something to do with all this." She held up her hands helplessly, but I knew what she meant. "Anyway, I guess I was worried for nothing. He's off to Montana now and I can relax. Maybe all my worries will disappear as easily."
"Let's hope so, for all of us."
Charlotte took a couple of deep breaths and eyed the crowds gathered around the booths. "Where do you want to start?" She held her elbows close to her body, and made small sweeping movements with her hands in front of her body.
"Let's start at the last row and work our way back here," I suggested. She flicked her hands a few more times as we walked, but seemed perfectly content. I asked her, "How are the auras today?"
"Just fine." She gave a self-conscious little laugh. "Moving them away a bit, is all, so I can get through."
We looked down the other aisles as we passed, but didn't see Yvonne. "She'll catch up with us," Charlotte said, unconcerned. We concentrated on the beckoning wares.
We had fun plowing through everything, and I truly felt as if I'd set my troubles aside. I bought a beautiful set of bone buttons for my mother; lusted over a stunning handmade leather jacket for myself, but didn't want to spend the money; found a belt for my brother, but was unsure of the size; and before I knew it, my thirty minutes were up. Reluctantly, I told Charlotte I had to check up on Max and would join her again later.
I hurried to the sutler's booth, expecting Max to be waiting for me. He wasn't there; neither was Wiley Colton, or Monty. The young man I'd seen with Wiley when we went to Monty's ranch was tending store. He was helping several customers at once, and more were clustered around the tables, looking things over. I scanned the crowd. Surely a man on crutches shouldn't be hard to spot, but I couldn't see him anywhere. If I went looking for him I was bound to miss him. I'd wait at least fifteen minutes. If the young man ever got free of customers I'd ask him, but that could take the same amount of time the way it was going. My only purchase had been the buttons, so I stowed them in my fanny pack. I watched two boys who looked to be around eight years old rummaging around in Monty's crate of bargains. I wanted to look through it myself to see if I could find something for my nephew.
"Cool!" crowed one of the boys, holding up an old red bandana, sadly in need of a washing and still knotted as if it had once been tied around the brim of a hat. The price was written on a piece of masking tape. "Ten cents. Wow! I'm getting this." His companion was just as pleased with his find, a small jackknife with one broken blade. They ran to the cash register with their treasures and I took their place over the crate.
It didn't take long to realize that I wouldn't find anything for my nephew in there, but the lure of a box of junk is incredibly strong. I found an old tam-o'-shanter, a rusted spur, and from the depths I pulled out a belt, black with age and grime. The buckle was hanging by a thread, the leather around it dried and papery. Remnants of leather thongs dangled from the belt here and there, one with a broken lanyard clip on the end. It was pretty disgusting. I was about to drop it back in the crate when a touch of color caught my eye. I turned the dangling buckle over. A small piece of pink ribbon was caught under the rough edge of a rivet. My heart began to pound, registering the tiny scrap's meaning before my mind did. The picture of the shirt Opal had been wearing, so carefully decorated with flowery knots of pink ribbon, swirled before my eyes; the scrap of ribbon Twila had found.
Chapter 25
My heart beat so hard I could scarcely breathe. Had there been a thong hanging beside the buckle? Had Opal grabbed this belt in a last-minute struggle? I dropped the belt back in the crate and covered it quickly with other things.
What to do. Think! Think! I didn't want to touch the belt any more than I already had, or draw attention to it in any way. I couldn't just leave it here for some little kid to buy, either. I looked around hoping to see Max, or even the sheriff, but of course, neither one was here when I needed them. I clutched both ends of the crate. The guy running the cash register gave me a strange look. I plastered a smile on my face. "How much will you take for Monty's whole bargain crate?"
"I don't think that's Monty's," he said, coming over. "Most of the stuff on this end is the Aussie's."
The Aussie's! What did that mean? But I knew, instantly. The belt wasn't Monty's; it wasn't big enough. Was it the Aussie's or had someone else dumped it in the crate?
The young man picked through the jumbled items, wrinkled his nose and eyed me suspiciously. I knew he thought I'd found some undiscovered treasure worth a bundle, and in a way I had, just not the Antiques Roadshow kind of discovery he suspected.
He saw the belt, and picked it up. "Yeah, that's Colton's all right." He dropped it back on top of the other things.
My heart began its trip-hammer beat again. It was Colton's belt. And if the piece of ribbon meant what I thought it did, he must have killed Opal. He could have been the man with the shotgun as well; his size was right. Was he also the person who had attacked me in my house?
The young man shrugged, eyeing the crate dubiously. "I don't know where Colton is."
"Surely we don't need to bother him," I said. "It's just old stuff. He's probably busy with the mules, anyway."
"Mules!" he laughed. "Not him. He hates mules. Wouldn't go near them if his life depended on it."
And now the lie, I thought, my mind spinning with possibilities. So the Aussie hadn't been helping some man with his mules. He could have been stalking Max at the claim, using Monty's truck. I wanted to scream with impatience. I needed to get this stuff and get out of here without drawing any more attention to it.
"I'll give you twenty-five dollars for the lot." I flashed my dishiest smile.
He picked up a few more things, and dropped them back in. "Thirty and it's yours."
"Sold." A couple of men standing beside me shook their heads in disbelief. "I have a bed-ridden nephew who'll think this is the best present he's ever received." I didn't want this transaction to become the talk of the show.
"Cool!" a little boy behind me pronounced with obvious pleasure. Everyone looked at him and smiled indulgently. I thanked him silently.
I paid the man and asked quickly, "Have you seen Max Holman around?"
He shrugged. "Don't know him."
"A tall guy with crutches."
"Oh, him," he said. "He went off with the Aussie awhile back."
Oh, shit, I thought, panic-stricken, and he's suspicious of the wrong guy. I picked up the crate and headed off. I had to find Max and warn him about Colton, but first I had to get the crate to a safe place. The trunk of my car. It was more awkward to carry than heavy, but I was also weaving my way through people. The farther I went the heavier the crate got. My arms burned with the effort. I had to stop and set the damned thing down to get a different grip on it. Hoisting it back up, I raised my eyes and saw Wiley Colton standing not ten feet from me. He was staring off toward the shooting range, but any second he'd turn his head and see me. If the belt was the damning piece of evidence I thought it was, I didn't want him to see me carting it off. I about-faced and slid through a slight gap between two booths.
"Excuse me," I said, "excuse me," as I caromed off the side of one table and into another, pushing through to the next aisle and around the corner out of the Aussie's sight line.
I dropped the crate on the ground and quickly shoved it under the booth's display table.
"Hey!" the booth's owner said. "What are you doing?"
Breathless, I asked, "Is it okay if I park that thing here for a bit? I can't carry it another foot. I've got to get my boyfriend to help me. I promise I'll be back in ten minutes to pick it up." She, and the two customers who were looking at copper bracelets, stared at me hostilely. I breathed deeply, willing myself to calm down. If my fac
e reflected the turmoil churning inside me, I must look like a crazy woman. Relax.
Relax. Slowly, I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and gave them all a big smile. When their mouths softened in response, I confided, "I thought my arms were going to break." The two women went back to examining the bracelets. I whipped a five-dollar bill from my fanny pack, the last of my money, and tucked it in the owner's hand.
"For your trouble," I said, with another big smile, and took off. "Be back in a sec," I called over my shoulder.
I ran around the end of the aisle and dodged through the crowd. The Aussie was not where I'd last seen him, neither was he, nor Max, at the sutler's booth. I back-tracked, angling toward the shooting range. Over a young couple's shoulders, I saw Dan Lorenzo walking with a hurried intensity toward the shooting range. About twenty feet behind him, almost as if he were deliberately following him, was the Aussie. Colton was taking his time, rolling up the blousy sleeves of his voyageur's shirt as he walked.
I pushed through the crowd, but the traffic was moving against me. The air was permeated with the mouth-watering smell of sizzling beef and onions. Everyone was following their noses to the far end of the demonstration area where the campfire cooks were at work. I dodged around a set of twins in a two-seater stroller.
Then I saw Max. He had been leaning against the end support pole of the Powder House. I wouldn't have spotted him now, if he hadn't at that moment moved away from the pole on his crutches. Two other men stood just under the awning, one of them wearing a long leather apron. The other stepped out from the shade and I saw it was Monty Montgomery. He put something on the picnic table and Max moved around the end of the table to observe. Dan Lorenzo arrived and joined the man in the apron. Frustrated, I pushed through a family group, bobbing and weaving, trying to keep my eye on Max. The Aussie had gained on Dan, arriving at almost the same time. I began to run. But Colton didn't join the others, just raised his hand in salute and veered off behind the Powder House.
Dead in Hog Heaven (A Thea Barlow Mystery, Book Three) Page 21