by Nora Roberts
him?”
“I do,” Tate said, “seeing as back when I was deputy, I hauled him into a cell more than once, and as sheriff I had a part in putting him away for five years for aggravated assault.”
“He jumped into it, so it was two against one. But that only left two on me, and I had some mad worked up. We licked them. After, Clintok settled for hard words—didn’t have much else, as a couple of the gut punches Cal landed had Clintok puking like a sick dog. I’m saying, if he could find a way to beat Cal down, even if it’s steering you into thinking he’d kill a woman, he’d do just that.”
Piece said, Chase sat again.
Tate sat silent a moment, studying his little book. “I appreciate the information. All right then, Bo.” Tate turned back to her. “What happened next?”
“Cal called you, and I called our security, as I had my wits about me again, so they could block off the road and keep anybody from coming along. Clintok got there first, and it was clear he wanted to push at Callen, so…”
She blew out a breath. “I said how I needed to sit, have some water, and I’d arranged for the office to send down the keys for the near cabin. I wasn’t in the mood to have the two of them snapping at each other with Billy Jean lying over there.”
“That was a smart way to handle it. I’ve got some details to get yet, and I need to talk to Billy Jean’s direct supervisor and whoever was working with her last night.”
“That’d be Drew Mathers. I’ve talked to him and the bar staff. You’ll need to do that, too, but I can tell you: Billy Jean sent the others home about twelve-thirty. She had three couples still in the bar—four of them came in as friends, and the other couple got friendly, so they stayed on. I can’t tell you for sure what time she closed down and left, but I can give you the names of the people who were in the bar after twelve-thirty.”
“That would be mighty helpful. She had a boyfriend, didn’t she?”
“They broke up. A couple of weeks ago. Chad Ammon. He’s one of our drivers, doubles as bell staff. He’s off today.”
“Is that Stu Ammon’s boy?”
“It is.”
“And would you know who did the breaking?”
“She did. He cheated on her with a girl out of Missoula—and a girl from Milltown before that—so she showed him the door. I want to say—and I know you’ll need to talk to him, too—Chad is absolutely slippery when it comes to women, but there’s not a mean bone in his body. And he was about as upset about getting the boot as he’d have been nicking himself shaving. Just something that happens.”
“Was she seeing anyone else?”
“She was, how’d she put it? Taking a breather from…” She glanced at the grannies. “A certain anatomical part. I saw her almost every day, and she’d have told me if she’d shifted her mind on that.”
“All right then. I appreciate you laying all that out for me, Bo.” After tucking his book in his pocket, Tate got to his feet. “That was fine coffee, Mrs. Bodine. I’m going to leave you all alone.”
“Are you going over now?” Bodine asked him.
“I am.”
“If I could go over with you, I can get the people you need to talk to, set up a place for you to do that.”
“That’d be helpful.”
He waited for her while she got her coat. She glanced back at her family. Nothing more to say for now, she thought, and went outside with Tate.
“I know you can’t say what you can’t say,” she began, “but it’s clear somebody went after her. I don’t know why she stopped where she did, how it happened, but it’s clear she was scared enough to run, and that means she was running from something. Someone.”
“There’s more to do before I can say whether or not that’s the case. Officially.”
“I’m asking if I should put on more security.”
“I don’t know that that’s necessary. But when something like this happens, people are going to be spooked until the answers come out. I think you should do whatever you feel’s right.”
A woman she knew was dead, and on her land, Bodine thought. She wished she knew what felt right.
* * *
As he loaded a docile mare into a trailer, Callen spotted the sheriff’s truck heading down the road toward the BAC.
He’d been expecting it.
He lifted the trailer gate behind the pair of horses, stepped toward the shelter where Easy LaFoy was grooming another horse.
“Going to put you to work later,” Easy told the gelding. “So you get your lazing around in now.”
“Easy, I’m going to need you to take these horses down to the center. We got a lesson in about an hour. Maddie’s going straight there for it.”
“I ain’t finished here, boss.”
“It’s all right, I’ll see to it. You get these two down there, saddle them up. Just say to Maddie that she’s to remember the rules. You can take your lunch while the lesson’s going on.”
“Okay, boss.” He stepped out of the shelter with Callen as Tate pulled up. “I guess he’s here about what happened to that girl. Awful thing to happen.”
“Yeah. You go ahead.” And Callen walked over to meet Tate.
“Cal.” Tate nodded. “How’s your mom doing?”
“She’s doing fine. She likes having a grandkid right under her feet to spoil.”
“I got one coming myself.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, first one, due in May. My wife’s half crazy already buying those onesies and teddy bears.” Tate paused, watched Easy maneuver the truck and trailer. “That a new hand?”
“He is, but then, so am I.”
“Not the welcome back anybody’d want. How about you go over it for me?”
“Can we talk while I work? We’ve got a six-person trail ride coming up this afternoon.”
“We can sure do that.” He walked with Cal to the shelter and the horses, and Callen picked up where Easy had left off.
As he worked, Callen relayed everything from meeting Bodine in the stables to finding the body.
“You rode up White Tail Trail?”
“Yeah. This weather, it’s like riding through a movie. Picture-perfect.”
“You’d know about that. Movies.”
“I guess.”
“Have you had a drink in the Saloon here since you’ve been back?”
“Nope. I’ve been busy, and I’ve got beer back at the ranch. I’d never met the woman.” And would never forget her. “I can’t prove I didn’t decide to drive over this way in the middle of the night, and go after some woman I’d never met, but it sure would be a change in habit for me.”
Despite the circumstances, Tate’s lips curved a little. “You got in some tussles here and there as I recall.”
“With boys and men,” Callen agreed easily, even though he heard Clintok’s influence in the line of questioning. “The kind of tussling I did with girls and women? That’s of a different nature, and always by mutual agreement.”
“I’ve never heard otherwise.” Tate gestured to Callen’s eye. “Looks like you’ve had a recent tussle. That’s a decent black eye you’re sporting.”
“I’ve had better. Bodine … She just wanted to get to her friend. She couldn’t think outside of that, and I couldn’t let her. So, yeah, you could say we tussled, and she caught me. She’s got an admirable right hook.”
“This how you told it all to my deputy?”
“I did.”
Tate waited a beat, another. “Don’t want to add to it?”
“There’s nothing to add.”
“I’ve got a story to tell you.” Tate dug a pack of gum out of his pocket. “The wife nagged me until I quit smoking.” He offered the pack, and Callen took a stick out. “Anyway, I was saying. There was a poker game one night, over at the Clintoks’ spread. The missus was visiting her sister, took the little girl along, so it was just Bud Clintok and young Garrett at home. He’d’ve been about twelve, I guess, at that time. Your da
d was there.”
Callen’s eyes stayed flat gray as he nodded. “He usually was if there was a poker game.”
Or a horse race, or a sporting event to bet on.
“That’s a fact, though he had his stretches where he held that devil down. But this wasn’t one of those stretches. It’s not speaking ill of the dead to say Jack Skinner had a weakness. But there wasn’t mean in him. That night, he was having a run of luck. Raking it in. Lot of drinking going on, a lot of swearing and betting and smoking—which I dearly miss.”
Tate sighed, chewed his gum.
“Last pot, it came down to your dad and Garrett’s. Now, Bud had been losing almost as much as yours had been winning that night. This was a rich pot, and Bud, he kept raising. Jack, he kept raising right back. About five hundred dollars in there when Bud ran out of money. He says he’d put something else in. Your dad, half joking, says he could put the pup in. This dog, no more than a four-month-old pup, had taken to Jack. Jack said the pup was his lucky charm. And Bud says that’s fine. And they laid the cards down.
“Bud, he had a heart flush, eight through queen. And Jack? Four deuces.”
Pausing, Tate shoved back his hat, shook his head. “Four deuces, and that was that. Jack took the pot, but he wouldn’t take the pup. That pup belonged to the boy, and there was no meanness in Jack. He said he’d rather Bud buy him a steak dinner, and that’s where they left it. Everybody went home, a little drunk and lighter in the pocket but for Jack—and myself, as I broke even, and that was as good as a win under the circumstances.”
Tate looked away toward the mountains, then straight into Callen’s eyes. “I heard how somebody shot that pup dead the very next day. Now Bud, he can be a hard man, but he’d never have put a bullet in a pup.”
Callen could see it, had seen that mean in Clintok even back when they were twelve.
“Why did you take him on as deputy, Sheriff?”
“He served his country, and he came back home. I figured, from what I could see, Garrett had outgrown that streak of mean. I’m not saying he can’t ride the line now and then, but I can’t say I’ve had cause to complain about him, either. But him and me? We’ll be having a talk, because a woman’s dead, and nobody who works for me is going to use that to satisfy an old grudge.”
“I’ve got no issue with him. If he stays out of my way, I’ll stay out of his.”
“That’s how we’ll keep it. You give your mother my best when you talk to her next.”
“I will.”
Alone with the horses, Callen gave some thought to bitter young boys—he’d been one—and to a father who’d never been mean, but weak enough to lose everything. Including his son’s respect.
* * *
In her office, Bodine pushed through the steps, handling the work that couldn’t be put off, but stopping everything whenever one of the resort crew came in for comfort or with questions.
She worked through it with a fist in the pit of her stomach and a headache brewing behind her eyes.
Jessica paused in the doorway, tapped her knuckles on the doorjamb.
“I’m sorry to interrupt.”
“No, it’s okay. I was going to come get you in a bit anyway. Saves me the steps.”
“Have you eaten anything?”
“What?” Momentarily blank, Bodine rubbed at her stiff neck.
“That’s what I thought.” Taking charge, Jessica simply picked up the phone on Bodine’s desk, pushed the extension for the kitchen.
“Hi, Karleen, it’s Jessica. Would you send a bowl of the soup of the day and some chamomile tea down to Bo’s office? Yeah, that’d be nice. Thanks.”
“What if I don’t want soup?” Bodine said when Jessica hung up.
“You’ll eat it because you’re smart enough to know you need it. The same as Rory is, and your mother.”
Bodine worked up a smile. “Are you taking care of us?”
“Somebody has to. You look worn-out, and I happen to know there’s been a steady procession of people coming in here today looking to lean on you, like there’s been in Rory’s office, and Maureen’s. But more streamed in here.”
“Big boss.”
“That’s right. They need you for comfort, so you need soup. Now, tell me what I can do to help.”
“I’ve been working on a couple of things, and … Didn’t you have a consult on the Rhoder Company’s conference set for right about now? And an interview today?”
“I rescheduled them. It wasn’t a problem. We’ve had a death in the family.”
Now Bodine’s aching eyes burned with tears. As she pressed her fingers against them, Jessica turned back, shut the door. “I’m so sorry, Bodine. I didn’t know Billy Jean very well, but I liked her. Let me take some of this off your hands. I know Sal generally picks up your slack when you need it, but … she’s a wreck right now.”
“They were really good friends. I could use your help with a couple things. And I know you’ve got plenty on your hands right now, too.”
“Chelsea’s every bit as good as you and I thought she’d be. Adding her to my team’s freed me up enough I can take some time.”
“I can fill it. First, I’ve written up a statement for the press. I’ve already had to use it twice with reporters who’ve called about what happened. I want to make sure it hits the right notes.”
“I’d be happy to look at it.”
“We need one for guests, too. Those who are here, those who are booked and might contact us about this. I’ve got that drafted up. You didn’t know her very well,” Bodine added, “so you’ll be more objective. I’m not sure I haven’t gone too far toward the brisk and brief because she was my friend and I’m overcompensating.”
“All right.”
“And finally, we need to hold a memorial for her. Here. I spoke with her mother already.” Bodine paused, blew out a breath. “We offered them cabins here, and drivers, whatever they need, but they’re going to stay in Missoula, and they’re going to take her back to Helena, back home, when they can. The memorial will be for all of us, all of us, resort and ranch and anyone around who knew her and wants to come pay respects.”
“Let me take that. I’m not being flippant when I say a memorial’s an event, and events are my area. You just tell me when you want to have it, and where on the property, and I’ll put it together.”
Grateful, Bodine let that weight slide away. “I think it has to be indoors, as we can’t trust the weather. The Mill’s the best place.”
“I agree.” Jessica rose at the knock on the door, opened it. “Thanks, Karleen, that’s just perfect.”
She brought the tray to the desk, set it down. “Eat.”
“Stomach’s in knots.”
“Eat anyway.”
On a weak laugh, Bodine picked up the soupspoon. “You sound like my grammy.”
“A towering compliment. Give me a general idea of what you want, and I’ll work the details.”
Flowers, because Billy Jean had loved them. And country-western music. As she sketched it out, Bodine ate. The soup had been a good choice, as it sort of slid right in and down without much thought.
“I think we’d need to have it open for four or five hours, with someone from the family there. We can work that out,” Bodine said. “But I’d want to give everyone who works here a chance to come in, spend a little time, and there’s no day coming without bookings. I thought about shutting down for a day.”
Jessica, still taking notes, didn’t bother to glance up. “Then you thought about ruining the plans of people who’d not only booked a cabin but maybe airfare, taken off work.”
“It wouldn’t be right. But everyone needs to have the chance to come in. It’d be easier to do at the ranch, but—”
“She was resort family.”
“I can’t get it straight in my head.” Though her throat clogged, Bodine pushed the words through. “I can’t get that this could happen straight in my head. It’s not that we never have trouble. A guest getting a
little out of hand or staff getting