by Kieran York
Royce tensed. “I won’t miss anything about him.” Royce gripped Hertha’s hand. “Please be very careful. Just because he hasn’t done anything yet doesn’t mean he won’t He could be playing with his prey.”
“Royce, you’re frightening me.” Hertha’s eyes flashed the first scrap of fear Royce had seen in them.
“Just anticipate danger. Think of how you would react.”
Hertha’s eyes filled. “You’ve chosen a life where danger is possible. I didn’t.”
“All things are possible in every life. Even danger,” Royce cautioned.
***
“Give me one reason to bust you, and you’re locked,” Royce’s words sliced with all the pent-up anger she had.
Before driving to Crystal, Royce had attended to a serious auto crash. That always unnerved her, but she’d wanted to catch Rick Brown before he left for his day of loitering in Timber City. His small room was located on the lower level of Crystal Basin Ski Resort’s offices. As Royce stepped inside, she noted that it was as filthy and unkempt as Rick Brown.
“I’m givin’ you no reason. I stay my distance like the order says. You got no right here. I done nothing wrong.”
“I’m here to make an inquiry in an ongoing murder case. I have additional questions to ask you about the night Sandra Holt was murdered. That gives me every right to be here.”
His hawk-like fierceness eased and he pointed to a chair. “You wanna sit down?”
“I’ll stand. You sit.” When he had eased his body into the chair, he looked back up at her. “Rick Brown. Common name. So common that I’m having trouble coming up with much information about your past.”
“I been all over. Here and there.”
“Where might that be?”
His grin was tainted and malicious. “All the highways in the country.”
“And they all lead to Timber County?”
“Naw. Just a stop-off point.” He fidgeted in the chair.
“I’ve checked your name and information through the national computer to see if you have a criminal history. No information. But I don’t believe that. So I’ll keep up the search. Sooner or later I’ll find your history.”
His eyes narrowed. “I been rousted by the best cops and if they can’t keep me in the slam, a hick-town sheriff like you hasn’t got a chance.” He leaned back, spreading his long legs. “Naw. I don’t believe you got a chance.”
“Believe it, pal.” Royce wanted to grab him and throw him into the wall. When she realized the moment’s silence was a test of wills, she allowed her vehemence to fade. “Tell me again about the night Sandra Holt was killed.” She took out her notebook and pen and began writing.
“I was on duty. Tryin’ to get everything on my list done. The only time I was upstairs was to work on a chimney flue.”
“In the room down the hall from Miss Holt’s room.”
“Yeah. I didn’t kill her.”
“You were near. Tell me who you saw.”
“I seen some reporters. Big shot actin’ guy was around.”
“Does he have a name?”
“Do I look like I hang out with a guy who has his goatee and mustache trimmed?”
“Give me more description.”
“About sixty. Stocky. Nice suit. Straw hat. Natty dresser. Yeah, he was gray-haired. Runs into that actor and seems to know him. The one looking for Godiva.”
“Tyler McDermott?”
“Yeah. So he seems to know Tyler McDermott. Anything else?”
“Not now.”
“But you’ll be back.” He gave a snort. “You’re just hassling me 'cause of her.”
Royce glared. “You’re stalking her.”
“You got it wrong. She’s just hanging around you 'cause of your badge. She’s afraid of you. She really wants to be with me. But you can’t keep us apart forever.”
Ice went through Royce’s heart. She leaned down. “You touch her and you’ll find me on your doorstep. It won’t be your finest hour. Do I make myself clear?”
With a malevolent, steady grin, he answered. “I got you. But you can’t bust me for no reason.”
“Don’t give me a reason. And don’t be hanging around Timber City after dark.”
“I’m a nocturnal kinda guy.”
“You’re a flipping genetic throwback. You don’t force your attention on women. That went out with cavemen. Stay away from Doctor White and every other woman in this county.” She pitched her note pad on the table. She handed him her pen. “Look over the description of the man you saw. If it looks correct, just initial the margin.” She watched as he made his mark along the side of her neatly printed, capital, block letters. She had purposely used two pages so that he would have to flip to continue. She put the pen and notebook back into her pocket carefully. “I’m watching you,” she warned.
“So watch,” he spat back. “I done nothin’ wrong.”
After she exited, Royce removed the pen and pad. She wasn’t sure if it was a full set of prints, but she wouldn’t hesitate to return as often as it took to get a set. If her search came up with anyone remotely similar to this man, she would be able to send the prints for a make without going through the paperwork. Asking the court for a 41-1 to obtain prints, handwriting, and blood samples took time. She felt urgency. Time was not tamping down suspicion. It was doing the opposite.
And Royce wondered why Judge McDermott had lied to her. He had been nearer the murder scene than he wanted her to know. There was no doubt in her mind that his was the description Rick Brown had just given.
***
“It’s a shitter deal,” Gwen muttered, then quickly explained that she had come to Crystal for a story on the progress of the film. She had also stopped by to see Jorie. She seemed ill at ease when Royce arrived at the lodge to ask Jorie additional questions.
Gwen was dressed in a chambray blue knit vest that was detailed with Americana icons. A sheen glossed the finish of her hand-corded, black cherry, alligator dress boots. “Dolled up for Godiva?“ Royce asked.
“No.” Gwen’s answer was sharp. “Jorie can use as much cheer as possible.” Gwen glanced over at Jorie. “She’s in a bit of a state, to say the least.”
Gwen and Royce sat in stiff, padded chairs. Jorie resumed her sag on the bed. Jorie’s bedclothes hung like laundry drying on a tree. She eased a glass of mahogany liquor up to her lips. “Just a little morning eye-opener,” she mumbled.
“Hair of the dog,” Gwen chided. She then muttered to Royce, “If she doesn’t stay out of her bottle, she’s going to end up looking old enough to have her rings counted.”
“I’ve got reason to drink,” Jorie said with a snap to her voice. “After all of this is over, I’m going to write a book about my ordeal. The network says I’m on assignment here. Watching the filming of a movie with Godiva is not exactly world-shattering news. Unless whoever’s threatening Godiva carries through, there is no legitimate story here. Not that they’ll air anything I do with this hanging over my head. I suppose you want to go over my statement?“ There was rancor in her question.
Royce looked away. “I came here to make another pass at interrogating the scumbag, Rick Brown. He made statements that have me more concerned than ever.”
Gwen reached over and took a gulp of Jorie’s drink. “I’ve never heard of a stalking like this in Timber City. Once or twice there have been situations where an ex becomes a problem. But not like this. Glad Smoky’s with Hertha.” Gwen laughed, “Hell’s bells, Smoky gets her face right in the middle of action. She’s got more balls than all the tackles in the NFL put together.”
“Gwen loves to change the subject. Royce, you want to grill me again, don’t you?”
“I knew Gwen has been concerned about you. So I stopped by to see how you’re doing.”
“Such linear logic for a sheriff,” Jorie grumbled. “I’m sure you’ve got another question or two. I’ve already answered your question about how I’m getting along. A living hell is about the size of i
t.”
“There is the same question. Why are you so vague about the reason you were fighting with Sandra Holt?“ Royce continued searching for a motive. That was the key. Surely, the slain woman died for a reason more substantial than her obnoxious behavior. More than her arrogance. Royce needed to know the reason. That would tell her the killer. “I’ve got to know what you know.”
“Remarkable. You can hide behind your secrets with all kinds of excuses. The press can have confidential sources, but we’re badgered unless we spill our guts to you. I’m not at liberty to discuss the reason I was feuding with Sandra.”
“Was she going to print something about you being a lesbian?”
“We’ve gone over this before. I’ve been forced underground. We are censored by the decision to love our own. I know I’m taking the coward’s path. But I’ve tried to explain about the veils. If I were to come out, there would be a media showdown. Yes, media would back me for a time. Then would come the cocktail parties and the whispered innuendo. The subtle snubs. Coming out is a package deal. There’s the freedom, but there is also the stigma. From one side, where the jokes begin, to the other where political change could put pink or black triangles on our pockets and ultimately stamp us out. This century saw McCarthyism and Nazism. We see the haters finding their way through the courts. One Amendment at a time. We stay hidden for a reason. Many of us don’t have what it takes to become visible. We need to look mainstream for acceptance. Our reclaimed sexuality is behind closed doors. We remain repressed and exploited by fear and by the lies we perpetuate.” Her eyes misted.
“It can only get better if we’re united,” Gwen asserted.
“Can’t I make you understand? I don’t want to explain the influences of nature upon my ovaries. I don’t want to advance the chronicle of lesbian endeavor. I don’t want to explain the dictates of chromosomes on my genetic imprint. I don’t want to make biological excuses and psychological apologies. It’s a titanic struggle to get up in the morning. Beyond that, some imperious, negligent goddess is not hearing my prayers.”
When Jorie began sobbing, Gwen went to her and wrapped her inside protective arms. “Royce wants to help you. I know she does.”
“I’ve got to question that,” Jorie said with a sob.
Royce walked to the door. “I do want to help. And I understand what you just said.”
By the time Royce reached the elevator, Gwen was behind her. “Royce, I’m really worried about her. I’ve never seen her like this. She’s a deluxe woman. I remember our past with warm feelings. And then some.”
The elevator’s bell bleated. “Is everything okay with you and Nadine?”
“I’m beginning to think she wants to leave me.” Gwen stepped into the elevator. She looked away. “I couldn’t handle that. She’s my life. Her leaving wouldn’t simply create a vacancy. It would make my life empty. Devoid of meaning.” Gwen’s eyes were moist. She blinked, skirmishing with tears. “I love that woman.”
“Have you told her that?”
“She knows.”
“Use the tools of your trade and tell her. Use the words, Gwen. Don’t assume she knows.” Royce reached and her clasp gathered in her friend. “Please, tell her one more time how much she means to you.”
“I don’t know what I’ve done to make her change like this.”
“Maybe it isn’t what you’ve done. Maybe it’s circumstances. But whatever it is, tell her what you just told me.”
“Think we can ever get back to normal around here? That Nadine will fall back in love with me?”
“I find it plenty amazing that a woman of Nadine’s class and merit gave you a tumble in the first place.”
Gwen gave Royce a playful shove. “You’re in danger of losing my vote, Sheriff.”
“The dozen remaining votes aren’t going to elect me,” Royce muttered with dejection.
“Timber County will galvanize behind you, Royce.” Chuckling, she added, “Hell’s bells, Dillon Granger is such an incompetent, he’s the best competition anyone could have.”
“But he can twirl his six-shooter.”
“I’ve seen him do that trick,” Gwen laughed. “He’s going to shoot his pecker off one of these days.”
Chapter 12
It was the first Sunday Royce had been scheduled off in weeks. Yet for the very reason it was scheduled, it didn’t feel like a day off. This was the day of the first debate she would be having with Dillon Granger. It was to be a late-afternoon event, and would be held at the home of Jakob and Elizabeth McDermott. They were the community leaders for their party. And they were ranking members in the Family Morals Coalition, as well. The second debate would be held at the home of leaders of the opposite party. Gwen and Nadine would sponsor that debate. Both debates would be held for candidates, sponsors, and media. They would be broadcast over the local radio station.
Royce’s morning and early afternoon had been planned with two objectives in mind, to spend time with her family and to be in an area of tranquility. She welcomed the traditional family trek to witness the changing of aspen. It had been a late showing this year, and that meant that it probably would be a mild winter. She picked Molly up early, and they drove out to get Gran. Hertha stayed behind with an ailing terrier.
Royce’s family went to a special area each autumn. The changing trees were pockets of gold. The Rockies became a blazing zenith of color. As Royce drove, she witnessed the mountains flanked with canyons. From tilted and folded rocks and their skinlike sheets of granite, to verdant valleys with their undulating terrain, Earth’s mantle was magnificent.
When she reached a favorite spot along a serpentine stream, she drove her Blazer down a side road. The women walked through a coniferous forest to a spot overlooking a panorama of greens, golds, and rusts. Royce took Gran’s hand and helped her up onto a rock, where they stood for many moments. Gran sat on the edge of the rock and motioned for Molly.
“You come on over here and have yourself a look at this,” Gran said as she patted the rock. When Molly had eased onto the rock ledge, she sighed. “Now,” Gran questioned, “is that the prettiest postcard scene in the world?”
“I do believe it is,” Molly agreed.
Royce leaned back against a sturdy pine and breathed the heavy pine sap scent. The bark of a nearby quaking aspen tree trunk was gray-white like sun-bleached bones. Atop it was a flourish of rustling leaves. The still mountain quiet flushed upward with great orchestral ripples. Royce held her breath to listen. “This is magnificent.”
“Hope this gets your spirit tranquil,” Molly inserted. “You need to be fresh for that debate.”
Royce glanced at the ground. She saw rose quartz flickering with the sunlight. Beside her was a gray slab of granite. A patina of velvet moss adhered to the rock. Green lichen was frosting on the rock’s tip. Off to the side, an old stone wall stood with grace and symmetry. As a child, Royce had walked its ledge, balancing and hearing the encouragement of her father. She listened closely, trying to hear Grady Madison’s words of belief in her ability to be just as capable and just as strong as any of the area’s boys. “You can do it, Roycie,” he would cheer her on. “Anything in this world you want, you can do.” She shut her eyes before they clouded.
The sound of the bucolic, meandering stream that gurgled behind them broke her thoughts. When her eyes opened, she saw the gossamer web of a diligent spider. Silver threads strayed out in many directions.
“You feelin’ poorly, girl?“ Gran asked.
“No. Just thinking about the debate. I hope I can get through it.”
“Hope is a flower or a weed,” Gran said. She crossed her arms and her head went up. “You can do it. That Dillon Granger is a disgusting mess of a man. Why he’s a couple mackerels short of a school of fish. It’s a fine how-do-you-do when he’s the kinda man we got running to be our sheriff. He and those so-called family morals folks get along like a house afire now. But he gets in office, and they’ll see they got them a man worse than what the
y put behind bars. They got a fox in the chicken coop.”
“He’s whistling their tune now, though,” Molly remarked. “And with outside money, they’ve got an organized grassroots campaign. An agenda of hate, they have.”
Royce surveyed the azure blueness of the skies. She was glad that they had decided to spend a part of the day with the solitude of nature. She required this alcove of remoteness. “I can’t give the citizens of Timber County an ole boys troop of renegade deputies. I can’t make it easy on them. I can’t pour my values into their plastic form. It wouldn’t be doing anyone a favor. It would be endangering them. So without the support of the deputies, I may very well lose the election.”
Gran reached and touched Royce’s chin. “Girl, you got an old head on young shoulders. Stand your ground. Your daddy would have.”
“I’ve just got to stick by the code of morality that you’ve both taught me. And Dad and Gramps.” Royce realized the symbol by which a civilization is judged is its people’s law. She believed in her heart, for all its shortcomings, it’s the most decent, just framework of civility the world has known. She knew it could be refined where minority rights are concerned. “I was taught that we can’t afford to allow hate to destroy personal rights. We can’t allow fear to dissuade us from trying to attain justice.”
“You just tell them that this afternoon,” Molly prompted.
“I’ll probably get all tongue-tied,” Royce said with a slight smile. “This election means the world to me.”
Gran shook her head. “We look at life through different entry points. You got all kinds of time left to win and to lose. But this time, you’ll be winning.”
Molly stood and began her walk toward the Blazer. She then turned when she reached the vehicle and looked back into her daughter’s eyes. “You just tell this community how you believe.”
* • *
Nadine had gone ahead to work out the last-minute details of the debate. She would make certain the lighting and audio didn’t give an advantage to either candidate.