Still, if she had stayed, maybe she could have gotten a better look at him. Watched him make his way to a vehicle. Something.
But the victim? Harper couldn’t get her face out of her head, and maybe this time she shouldn’t.
“Wake up.”
Harper opened her eyes and found Emily standing over her. Morning light filtered through the mini blinds. So she’d slept, after all.
“There’s someone here,” Emily whispered.
Harper sat up on her elbows, waiting for the details. “Well? Who is it?”
“It’s a deputy. He needs to speak to you.”
Was it Heath? He’d mentioned being a reserve deputy.
Harper groaned. She was already in sweats and only had to slip on a hoodie. She finger-combed her hair, then met him at the door. It wasn’t Heath. Funny that she was disappointed.
“Deputy Herring, what can I do for you?”
“We can’t find a body. I’m going to need you to come with me.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
TUESDAY, 9:00 A.M.
EMERALD M GUEST RANCH
After pouring himself a cup of coffee, Heath stared through the kitchen window at the canvas awash with green—acres and acres of evergreens spread before him. Beyond the hue of green and off in the distance, grays and blues stretched toward the sky. The mountains were hazy due to smoke that had drifted down from a big fire in Montana.
Heath tried to remember that he was a fortunate man to have this view, but life had a way of pulling him in too many directions.
He hadn’t stopped thinking about Harper and his run-in with her last night, or the fact that she’d witnessed a murder.
Concern for her, as well as the victim’s family, weighed on him. Heath reminded himself that Harper wasn’t his business and he needed to keep his distance. The best thing he could do was pray for her. He needed to clear his mind long enough to take care of his guest ranching business.
While sifting through the mail that had come while he’d been gone at the backcountry camp—only a four-night stay this time—he went over his mental checklist.
All his guests were safely back and getting ready to head to their respective home states this morning. A whole new set of guests would arrive this afternoon, with more trickling in the rest of the week. Hired help would clean out and restock the cabins before the new guests arrived.
Then one particular piece of mail drew his attention. He opened the small package to find a framed photograph of his brother and his new wife. Mr. and Mrs. Austin McKade. They could have emailed or texted a picture, but Willow wanted to make it special since Heath hadn’t been able to attend the wedding. And how could he when they’d eloped in Hawaii? Good for them.
Easier that way, Austin had said. Willow wouldn’t miss her grandfather as much. Heath got that.
He set the framed photo on the counter for now. It could go right next to the picture Charlie had sent from Texas, where she was now thriving. He couldn’t be happier for her, after all they’d been through together.
Next he lifted an envelope from the state medical examiner. His father’s toxicology report. His hands shook as he opened the envelope, then slid the pages out.
The results confused him. Five years ago, his father had died in a head-on collision that had taken the lives of a senator and his family. His father had been blamed for driving while intoxicated, but a few months ago someone who should know the truth had told Heath that Dad hadn’t been drunk.
Paws clicked across the floor as Timber approached and whined. The old dog plopped down next to Heath’s feet.
He patted the dog’s head, then studied the paper. According to this report, his father had been drunk. What was the truth? That was something Heath intended to find out. On the one hand, he could go even further in fixing the damage done by his father. On the other hand, dredging up the accident could do more harm than good.
Boots clomped on the front porch. Leroy or Pete? Heath dumped his tepid coffee into the sink and poured a fresh, hot cup. He’d better get his fill of caffeine before the day got busy.
When he turned around, he was startled by Leroy standing in the kitchen. He had taken off his boots and slipped into the kitchen without Heath realizing it. Leroy’s mother had trained him well. But this was Heath’s home, and he would good and well wear his boots where he pleased. Right. He peered down at his own mismatched socks.
“You heard anything more about that murder last night?” Leroy got some coffee too.
“Nothing yet.”
“Seems like being a deputy would mean you were privy to that kind of information.”
Heath frowned at Leroy. “If I was privy to it, that wouldn’t necessarily mean you were.”
Leroy chuckled. “I didn’t mean to pry. Word is going to get out about the murder sooner or later. Besides, I thought you knew that girl who witnessed it happen. Seems like the Heath that I’ve heard about would be all over this.”
Yeah. Well. Maybe the old Heath had learned his lesson. This was the new Heath. The Heath who knew he couldn’t always be the hero. The Heath who knew his limitations.
“Only if they need me, and they’ll contact me if they do.” There. That should keep Leroy quiet.
What was Harper even doing in Wyoming? He’d never even asked. He’d thought she was something special two decades ago, and he had a feeling she’d grown into something even more special. But she looked haunted. It was the same look she’d had in her eyes after her father was murdered. And the same grief when she came to say goodbye and tell him her mother was moving them. He’d had the feeling then that Harper and her family were running scared.
Heath had been too wrapped up in his own misery—and Harper, she’d been the one to help him through it. Now he should be the one to help her through this. But it was probably better for her if he didn’t.
He let his thoughts shift from Harper to the crime she’d witnessed.
What that poor woman went through being chased and hunted like an animal brought his fury boiling to the surface. To think that Harper had witnessed everything and the killer knew it disturbed Heath to his core.
“Looks like they need you.” Leroy’s words brought Heath back to the moment.
Chugging the rest of his coffee, he eyed Leroy over the rim. “Why’s that?”
“A county vehicle is heading up the drive.”
“Will you go see why they’re here?”
“Nah, I think we both know the sheriff or one of his deputies wants to talk to you. I have a feeling you’re getting dragged into this murder business whether you like it or not. You’ll do the right thing.” Leroy left the kitchen, probably in search of his mother, Evelyn. He lived in a cabin on the property, but Evelyn had a room in the main house.
Heath sort of adopted Evelyn as his grandmother a few years ago after he had hired her to help around the house while he focused on getting the guest ranch up and running. She was like family to him. So when Leroy needed a job, Heath hired him to help with the ranch. Leroy thought of himself as the voice of reason, offering what he considered sage advice. The jury was still out. Evelyn offered more of that for Heath, if he ever needed to talk through his issues.
Heath found his boots and opened the door as Deputy Randall Cook was about to knock. “Can I help you?”
“Sheriff sent me to get you. We need you to confirm exactly where you were last night when you helped Ms. Reynolds.”
“Why didn’t you just call?”
“We did. You might try answering your phone.”
He’d left it charging on his dresser.
“Does he want my help in an official capacity?” If he did, then Heath should change into a uniform, which he didn’t rightly feel worthy to wear.
“Yes. But you don’t need to waste time. Come in plain clothes.”
Heath grabbed a light jacket, though the day would warm up too fast, slipped on his boots, and clomped onto the porch, shutting the door behind him. “What can you tell me?”
>
“There’s no evidence of a crime, much less a murder.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
TUESDAY, 9:23 A.M.
BRIDGER-TETON NATIONAL FOREST
“This is where it happened.” She eyed the drop-off. “And look down there. See, that’s where I took pictures of the grizzly bear. I set up near that boulder by the gully. The bear was by the river. Across the river, that’s where the crime happened.” And where, a lifetime ago, she and Dad had gone fishing on the Grayback River. Now the murder overshadowed those memories.
Harper carefully led Sheriff Taggart and his investigator, Detective Moffett, closer to where she had been when she’d taken the pictures.
She hesitated. “I don’t want to destroy evidence. You do plan to collect evidence, don’t you? I mean, in case the guy came over here to look for me.” As soon as she said the words, she regretted them.
Taggart eyed her. “We know what we’re doing, even here in the country. Moffett will collect it—that is, if she finds any.”
Harper wasn’t sure she liked the suspicion in his tone. Add to that, Moffett was taking pictures with the camera on her cell, not a high-quality camera that would be used by a serious crime scene photographer. Harper pursed her lips before she said something else she’d regret.
“Nature has already taken care of evidence.” Detective Moffett gestured at the ground where rain had formed rivulets that left pine needles, leaves, and debris behind on its path to the river. “Even if it hadn’t rained, the pine needle carpet wouldn’t reveal footprints easily. So far, I haven’t seen any. Yours, McKade’s, or the killer’s. But we’ll keep looking.”
Harper didn’t want to be critical of their methods—then again, if they hadn’t found a body or evidence of a crime, then maybe they weren’t looking hard enough. She wanted to suggest they bring in the state and use those additional resources, but she didn’t want to further antagonize the sheriff, who already seemed irritated. Maybe it was more that he believed her but wasn’t uncovering the required clues to confirm her story.
She wished Emily had come with her today, but she and Emily had agreed they should leave as soon as the sheriff said they could go. So Emily stayed behind to do some prep work. She was very particular about her vintage Airstream that way. And Harper didn’t want to spend one minute longer here than necessary.
“Right next to this boulder is where I stood to look through the camera after I positioned it on the tripod.”
Detective Moffett angled her head. “You used a tripod here?” She was referring to the steep incline.
Harper shrugged. “This was an extreme situation, but I’ve had a lot of practice, and it was worth it to get the bear.”
“Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to get that close to a grizzly?”
“I wasn’t close. This isn’t close. The bear was way down there. At least eighty yards away.” Harper pointed.
“Still too close. You should keep at least a hundred yards away if possible.”
“The gully prevented me from putting that much distance between us. I couldn’t have gotten the shot a hundred yards away.” Unless she’d been on the other side of the river. Her heart palpitated at the thought. Who knew if she could even have seen the murder from there? But it was more likely she would have been a victim too.
Sheriff Taggart stared across the river. “You say the camera was pointed toward the bear down there. Your camera was focused on the bear. Tell me how you took pictures of a murder across the river.”
“I saw something. A flash of color. So I panned the camera—moved it until I saw the woman across the river. That’s where it happened.” She pointed straight across. “See where the woods open up to the meadow at that stack of rocks? I zoomed in to get a real close look.”
Taggart angled his head. “You’re sure about that? We were just there.”
A lump grew in her throat. “Yes. I’m sure. Have you considered the possibility that he disposed . . .” She couldn’t finish the words.
“I’ve considered the possibility that he got rid of the body, yes. You weren’t able to witness what happened next because you say he spotted you and you ran.”
“Yes. I was afraid he would shoot me too. I was able to grab the camera. I knew the pictures I had taken would be important, but in scrambling to get away I stumbled, fell, and hit my head. That’s when I dropped the camera.” Harper slumped at the confession. They already knew about the camera, but the failure grated.
His gaze flicked to the bandaged wound on her head. “Are you taking the painkillers this morning?”
Was he accusing her of not remembering where the crime happened because of being drugged? “No. I didn’t take them. I won’t lie, the wound hurts and I wish I had.” The painkiller she’d taken last night had worn off sometime early this morning. Should she simply speak her mind? “I’d like to go over to the other side to see for myself where it happened. If you’ve already looked, I want to look for myself. I don’t see any yellow tape cordoning off the scene yet, so will you take me there?”
“We’ve secured the area across the river. No one is coming or going until further notice.” He scraped a hand across his jaw. He seemed young for a sheriff, at least in Harper’s limited experience. Sharp brown eyes stared back at her. “Ms. Reynolds.”
“Please call me Harper. I’m not big on formalities.”
“Ms. Reynolds, if I don’t find a body or evidence of a crime, I’ll open a file and keep it open, but without anything to go on, there’s nothing more I can do.”
“But you have the pictures from my camera.”
Detective Moffett stepped up, her form inflexible. “I’m afraid that’s another dead end.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve already looked here and only wanted you to confirm we were looking in the right place since we didn’t recover the camera, the phone, or the memory card.”
“You’re telling me that someone climbed down to look for my camera and it wasn’t there?”
Moffett nodded.
Harper stared at the woman for a few long seconds, her heart in her throat. Deputy Herring had failed to mention that on the drive there. Maybe he didn’t know. Or maybe they wanted to see her reaction to that news.
Harper turned and retraced her steps. “This is where I was when I fell and dropped the camera.” And she would get it now too. She started making the climb and slipped, barely catching herself on a rock that stopped her fall. Her stomach clenched. This would be a hard, rocky descent.
“Ms. Reynolds, Harper, please come back up here,” Sheriff Taggart called down after her. “We’ve already looked down there. I told you. And you hit your head last night. I don’t need you getting hurt again, and on my watch.”
“I’m going to find my camera. The proof you need.” Her hands shook. This turn of events had surprised her. The sheriff was having doubts about the murder she witnessed. Doubts about her.
Well, she would prove she was telling the truth.
“Oh, for the love of Pete!” Taggart scrambled down after her.
Arms crossed, Detective Moffett supervised from above like a petite drill sergeant.
Harper continued down, using patches of foliage or jutting rocks for leverage. “I would have gone after it last night, but . . .”
Now wasn’t the time to add in that she’d been confused and disoriented. She never should have left her camera. Honestly, with the gash in her head, the bear, and Heath, she’d all but forgotten about it until she’d told the sheriff last night. In the back of her mind, she’d hoped to go back for it and believed it would remain where it had fallen. She hadn’t considered the rain or the possibility that someone would take it.
Finally, she hopped to the bottom. Last night’s rain had washed a ton of debris into the gulley. Had it also washed her camera out to the river? For some reason, she didn’t think it had fallen all the way to the bottom. And in that case, she should have seen it on her way down. The deputy who searched ea
rlier would have found it already.
She looked at her path down. The rocks, trees, bushes. No camera. The camera, with the big telephoto lens and the tripod, all gone. That was going to cost her in multiple ways.
“What happened to it?” Harper eased to sit on the edge of a boulder. Was she going crazy? Losing her mind?
I know what I saw.
She’d been thinking about how she didn’t want to photograph blood and crime and violence again, and then she’d seen him.
A killer.
A murderer.
That woman brutally hunted and shot.
That couldn’t have been a figment of her imagination brought on by past traumas.
Unshed tears surged in her eyes. She’d better pull herself together or the good sheriff would think she was crazy and had imagined it all, or was pulling a stunt and wasting his time.
She and Emily had planned to head home as soon as the sheriff said she was fine to leave, and she’d been hoping that would be today or tomorrow, after he found the crime scene. She’d told him everything she could. But things were turning out much differently than expected. How could she leave if he wasn’t even convinced a crime had taken place there?
If no one believed Harper, then who would solve the murder? Harper thought about the woman. In her mind, she could see the woman’s eyes pleading for help from her unmarked grave in the Wyoming wilderness.
Justice hadn’t been served for Harper’s father either. “The woman, she should have been reported missing by now.”
Sheriff Taggart frowned again as if he feared Harper would send him on a wild goose chase. If he’d called her old boss, he might already know about her mental health issues. He lifted his palms and approached her slowly. Yep. He thought she was unstable.
She’d have to prove otherwise.
“I want to meet with a sketch artist. I can describe the victim for you.”
CHAPTER NINE
TUESDAY, 9:59 A.M.
BRIDGER-TETON NATIONAL FOREST
The sun shone harsh and bright on the trail by midmorning and Heath paused to remove his Stetson. He wiped his brow. He found the spot easily enough, though dusk had set in when he’d ridden Boots up the trail to search. But he was on foot today.
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