“And yet, an autopsy is happening, and something about it frightens you, I can tell,” she said, holding up the offer letter turned to the NDA.
Lenkov leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, folding his hands in front of his face, his fingers interlaced. After a moment he put his hands on the table, palms down.
“Ms. Summer, I think you should look at this practically,” he stated, calmly. “Our company would like to acquire your grandfather’s property. You have expressed reluctance. We have a need to do this quickly, so the board of directors has authorized a ridiculously high price for land that is worth less than half of what we have offered. Your grandfather had many debts—so do you. Law school is not cheap, right? A condo in Chicago is quite expensive, no? And you drive a BMW at home, do you not? Ms. Summer, your life is in Chicago, not this penny ante town. Take the money . . . move on with your life. Be happy.”
Rose stood, “Mr. Lenkov, you just made a strategic mistake. All you did this morning was alert me that you are afraid of what we will find. Good day.”
“Ms. Summer, I would strongly urge you to reconsider,” the Russian said. “It is our intent to acquire this property, and make no mistake, we will acquire it. We have offered a deal that far exceeds anything that would be considered fair.”
He stood, his face twisting into a scowl.
“Take the offer, Ms. Summer,” he said in a low growl.
“I’ll read it over,” she said, slipping the letter into her bag.
“No, I’m afraid the offer is off the table,” he said. “Leave the document on the table before you go.”
“No, you gave this document to me.”
Lenkov slammed both palms on the table, hard, “I said, leave the document.”
McCoy moved toward Rose, standing between her and the door.
“Ms. Summer,” Lenkov continued. “You can either leave the document or Mr. McCoy can take it from you.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Rose hissed.
“Let’s avoid unpleasantries, shall we? Leave the papers and go.”
Rose glared at Lenkov and McCoy. She reached into her hand bag, pulled the document and threw it across the room. McCoy looked at Lenkov. He nodded. The big man stepped aside. Rose opened the door.
“Ms. Summer,” Lenkov called out. Rose paused but didn’t look back.
“We will be in touch very soon,” he said.
By the time she reached her car, Rose was still shaking. That animal, McCoy, was ready to put his hands on her, if she hadn’t given the document back. She looked up at the tall coal company office building. She saw Lenkov and McCoy looking down on her from the conference room window. It gave her chills.
She beeped the car to open it and got inside as quickly as possible. She had tried her best to stand strong and avoid the appearance of looking intimidated, but she blew it at the end.
She started the car, put it into gear and drove off. She dialed, the number Sheriff Ford had called her from earlier. It must have been his cell because he answered on the first ring.
“They knew about the autopsy,” Rose barked. “You told them, didn’t you?”
“What the hell?” he barked back. “Who knew about the autopsy?”
“Don’t be coy sheriff,” Rose spat. “Lenkov. Lenkov knew about the autopsy.”
“That’s impossible?” he said. “Where the hell are you?”
“I’m in Billings,” she said. “I went to their offices this morning demanding an explanation.”
“Well, that was a stupid thing to do,” he said.
“I realize that,” she said.
“Are you still there?”
“I’m just leaving.”
“You headed to the ranch?”
“Yes.”
“Look, I can’t talk right now. I’m in the middle of investigating a GSW near Toluca,” he said. “Keep yourself busy in Billings for a few hours. Have some breakfast, do some shopping. There’s a truck stop diner about a half mile east of the Toluca exit sign. Pull into there. I have some news for you, too. I’ll meet you at three o’clock and we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Rose paused. He certainly didn’t sound like a man who had just screwed her over.
“Ok, see you then,” she said.
______________________
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
______________________
Rose had finished half a cup of coffee by the time the sheriff arrived. She made note of him as he walked through the door, hanging his hat on a rack standing by the entrance.
“Hey Sheriff,” a heavy set, middle-aged woman behind the counter called out.
“Hey Linda Lou, how’s Hank doing?”
“Better now that the cast is off,” she replied. “He’s still a little pissed at you, though. He wouldn’t have broken his leg if you weren’t chasin’ him.”
“If he wasn’t runnin’ from me, I wouldn’t have chased him.”
“Why chase him at all?”
“That’s what sheriffs do to people hunting elk off season,” Ford replied.
“I know, but you know Hank, he’s still pissed.”
“Tell him to come on down to the office one evening after work,” Ford said. “I’ve got a fifteen-year old bottle of single malt, just begging to be opened. Tell him we’ll talk about it.”
She smiled, “That’ll do the trick. What’ll you have.”
“Just coffee. I’ll be right over here.”
Ford walked over to the booth where Rose sat, sliding into the bench seat across from her, “Hope I didn’t keep you too long.”
“You were investigating a gunshot wound, a GSW?” she asked.
The waitress brought Ford a cup of coffee. He reached over and grabbed two packets of sugar from the condiment tray.
“Yeah, more hunters,” he said. “Rod Purdy has gained a lot of weight but I didn’t think he looked as big as an elk, but apparently Joe Gibson did. Shot Purdy clean through the right leg. He’ll be alright, though. So, tell me what happened, Ms. Summer.”
“Just call me Rose, please.”
He nodded.
Rose told him the entire story of the morning, including the intimidation tactics.
Ford shook his head, “Like I told you on the phone, Rose, it was silly and dangerous of you to go into the lion’s den like that. Where was Red Feather while all of this was going on?”
“I left him at the house,” she said.
“He thought this was a good idea, did he?”
“No. I didn’t tell him about it.”
“Yeah, thought so,” he said. “I don’t suppose anyone in the offices witnessed this intimidation tactic?”
She shook her head, “No. There was just me, Lenkov and McCoy.”
“Yep, figured that, too,” he said. “Once again, we have a situation where you say you were given a highly suspicious purchase offer with an illegal NDA and you say you were physically intimidated, but you can’t produce any physical evidence to support either allegation, and of course, can’t produce any witnesses.”
“Sheriff, that slab of meat, McCoy, was going to put his hands on me if I didn’t . . .”
Ford held his hands in the air, “Relax, Rose. I believe you. Just stating the facts as a judge would hear them. You’re an attorney. You should know that.”
“You still haven’t explained how Lenkov knew about the autopsy?” she said.
“The only people who knew about the call I made to the coroner are myself, the coroner, the medical courier who delivered the body, and the people in my office.”
Rose’s eyes widened, “You think one of your own people tipped him off?”
He sighed and nodded, “Yeah, I do. In fact, it could only be one person. I know who it was.”
“Who?”
“My business, and I’ll deal with it my way,” he said. “Look, I have some information for you, too.”
He pulled a notebook from his breast pocket, licked his thumb and flipped through the pages, “I
sent two of my boys out to the ranch this morning to look things over.”
“Did they find anything?”
“Wouldn’t be talking to you about it if they didn’t,” he said. “They found good prints of the tire tracks in the area Red Feather said he saw the vehicles fleeing the scene.”
“That’s good news.”
“Two sets of the tracks were made tires that come standard on all Chevy Tahoe’s, 2017 models, very common. The third set of tracks was where it got interesting. They were made by tires from a Hyundai Santa Fe, a brand new 2018 model, way less common.”
“Tell me you were able to trace those tracks,” Rose said, leaning forward.
Ford smiled, “As it turns out, there are only six Hyundai Santa Fe’s sold in Rosebud County this year so far, and one of them was leased to . . .”
“The Mission Mining Company,” Rose finished. “If six of those were sold, though, it wouldn’t be definitive . . .”
He smiled and nodded, “It was MMC, indeed. It gets better.”
“Tell me.”
“Well, Red Feather couldn’t identify the make and model of the vehicles, but we do know with relative certainty what time those SUV’s left the ranch. I went on the assumption that if MMC was behind this, those vehicles might head back to their home base. There are no camera’s until you get to Interstate Ninety. If they drove back to Billings, those rigs would have been on that highway heading west along about three o’clock in the morning. So, I called the Highway Patrol and called in a favor—asked a man I know to view the camera footage along a stretch of the highway I thought they’d be on about that time, and guess what they found?”
“You’re going to show me, aren’t you?” Rose said, smiling.
He turned the photograph face up and pushed it toward her, “This picture was taken at three-twelve in the morning—two Chevy Tahoe’s and one Hyundai Santa Fe. The license plates are clearly visible and all three vehicles are registered to holding companies we can tie to the MMC.”
“Oh my god, sheriff, you’re a genius,” Rose exclaimed.
He sat back in his chair, smiling, “I do believe it was a dandy piece of police work if I say so myself.”
“That’s amazing,” she reinforced.
The sheriff leaned forward, “And now for the really big news. Just minutes before I walked in here, I got off the phone with the coroner.”
Rose gasped.
Ford nodded solemnly, “Brace yourself, Rose. The preliminary report does indicate your granddaddy did not die of a heart attack. Red Feather was right. Your grandfather died of asphyxiation. There were no signs of Eli being choked, no marks on his neck. It all points to Red Feather’s Monkshood poisoning theory.”
“Oh . . . my god . . .” Rose said. The news hit her like a ton of bricks. She had already processed the death of her grandfather and had already accepted a heart attack as the cause of his death. Though this news helped her case, she still hadn’t fully believed in the Monkshood theory and part of her hoped it wasn’t true. Her grandfather was a sweet, caring man. The thought of someone actually killing him . . .”
“Would you like some water?” Ford asked.
“Yes, please.”
“Linda Lou,” he called out, holding up an empty water glass. The waitress brought water.
Rose drank half the glass. Her hands began to shake again.
“What’s the next step?” she asked.
“Like I said, the report is preliminary,” Ford said. It’s a damn good thing Red Feather figured out it could be Monkshood, though. From what the coroner told me, that stuff doesn’t show up in a normal toxicology report. They can only really find it if they’re looking for it. There’s a special test, called a liquid chromatography test. He needs to send the blood off to Seattle for that particular test because it’s so rare. It might be a couple of days to confirm that it was actually Monkshood.”
“And if that happens?”
“Then we still have a long way to go to prove that Lenkov or someone from the MMC actually administered the drug,” he said. “We certainly have motive. We may have the murder weapon, the Monkshood. What we need to do now is place them at the scene of the crime. I’ll be working on that.”
“What about the fire?” Rose asked. “Can we at least arrest someone for that?”
“We have a really good start, Rose,” Ford said, “but we want those boys for murder, not vandalism. I don’t want to throw some two-bit flunky in the hoosegow. I want the men at the top. Hell, I want the whole MMC.”
“I agree, Sheriff, and Sheriff?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“If we can get this done, it will be my pleasure,” he said. “In the meantime, you hunker down. No more direct confrontations. Stay away from them. Give me a chance to do my job.”
She nodded, “I will.”
______________________
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
______________________
Rose stopped at the supermarket on the way home, picking up enough dinner for two. She had not intended to strand Red Feather on the ranch all day long. She had left that morning with a full head of steam. She hoped the hot Cheyenne wasn’t too upset with her. Until that moment, standing in the produce section, she had completely forgotten he didn’t have a cell phone, so he would have had no way to even call anyone, and the ranch was hours by foot to the nearest phone.
She decided she’d try to make it up to him with an incredible dinner. She didn’t cook a tremendous amount, but she had a few go-to dishes. She’d make her specialty, Chilean Sea Bass, served on a bed of steamed spinach, with orzo and broiled cherry tomatoes. She bought all the ingredients and picked out two bottles of oaked chardonnay.
She drove back to the ranch at fifteen miles per hour over the posted speed limit. She was excited to tell him about her confrontation with Lenkov and her conversation with Sheriff Ford.
Her mind drifted to Red Feather as she drove. What an incredible man she stumbled onto, she thought. She compared him to her boyfriend Michael. They were both great looking, though physically Red Feather was nothing short of a Greek god and Michael was thin and not well defined. Michael was brilliant, driven and successful. Red Feather was brilliant in his own way but she saw no indication he was driven by money or material things. Red Feather worked outdoors, hard, back-breaking work, creating beautiful things. Michael worked out in the gym and had never done a hard day’s work outdoors in his life. Red Feather was humble and kind. Michael was a walking definition of prima donna. Michael was self-centered and egotistical. Red Feather only thought of others. And perhaps most importantly, while Michael was back home stabbing her in the back to meet his own personal agenda, Red Feather was here with her, helping her any way he could, and asking for nothing in return.
What the hell was she doing with Michael, she wondered? Was it money? She didn’t grow up a rich girl. Money was never what drove her. So what if Michael made money. As a lover, Michael was quick and selfish. Red Feather was . . . well, she only knew what she imagined, and right then and there, she decided she wanted to find out if she was right.
When she arrived at the ranch the first thing she noticed was that the landscaping work was finished. It looked incredible. He had to have been working at this all-day long. A beautiful row of hollies had been planted along the fence line. The hollies were surrounded by a colorful arrangement of petunias, zinnias, and Rose of Sharon.
She saw no sign of Red Feather outside. She managed to carry all three bags of groceries inside in one trip, sitting them on the counter. She heard sounds of water running. He was in the shower.
Rose walked down the hallway to the bathroom door. She knocked on it.
“Red, I’m back,” she called out through the door.
“It’s about time,” he called back. “I’ve been worried.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to be this long.”
She put her palm on the door, her mind wandering to the day before,
when she saw him in the shower, wet and naked. He was so gorgeous.
“Did you see the front lawn?” he asked.
“I did. It’s beautiful.”
“I hope you don’t mind me using the shower again,” he said. “I know it was a little presumptuous of me, but you did sort of leave me here, stranded.”
She chuckled lowly, “I know. I’m sorry. You can use my shower anytime.”
Her mind once again drifted, imagining Red Feather in the shower, lathered and soapy. She wondered what it would be like to run her hands across his soapy chest, down his arms, across his belly and down to his . . .
“What did you do all day, anyway?” he asked.
“I’ve had a big day. I’m going to make dinner. When you get out of the shower, I’ll update you.”
“Great, I’ll be just a few more minutes. By the way, I don’t know where you keep extra towels.”
“It’s called a linen closet,” she chuckled, “and it’s right across from the bathroom door. I’ll get you some.”
Rose pulled two large towels from the closet and stood outside the door, where she suddenly faced a moment of truth. She could just set them on the floor, call out to him and leave, or she could . . .
She gently opened the door about sixteen inches. She balanced the towels with her right hand and pushed them through the door and sat them on the counter. She once again glanced at the reflection in the mirror, the same as the day before. She saw Red Feather once again, naked, only this time, he was looking . . . at her—he saw her watching him.
For a split second a wave of humiliation overcame her. She thought about slamming the door shut and running away, but something stopped her. It was his expression.
He did not look offended, or even surprised or embarrassed. He looked . . .
She pushed the door open and stepped inside, the most forward move she had ever made with a man—ever. He stood there in the shower, motionless, allowing the hot water to dance on his sculpted shoulders and flow down his muscled back.
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