by Box, C. J.
Then she opened the text message app. There was one text thread with another number, but there wasn’t a name attached to it. The person Tom was communicating with was designated 307-362-5545. So, a Wyoming prefix.
She scrolled back to when the text conversation began, which was dated a week before.
#5545: This is a test.
TOM: Got it.
#5545: Great. We can’t talk about anything that might be overheard, so keep the phone handy.
TOM: Will do.
And that was it until it resumed with #5545 several days later.
#5545: We need to do that thing we discussed.
TOM: Tonight?
#5545: Tonight.
TOM: What time?
#5545: Let’s meet at 16:00.
TOM: I can be there.
#5545: Lock and load. Tell no one.
TOM: Of course.
Then, the next night:
#5545: I hate myself for what happened.
TOM: You’ll get over it.
#5545: Have you?
TOM: Trying to move on.
#5545: I’m sick about it.
TOM: Does anyone suspect anything?
#5545: No. And they won’t if we keep our heads down.
TOM: Good.
#5545: There’s that one more thing.
TOM: Then it’s over?
#5545: Almost.
TOM: WTF?
#5545: We need to do it tonight.
TOM: The time and place we discussed?
#5545: Exactly.
TOM: You had better be there.
#5545: Oh, I will. And if I get delayed, I’ll text you.
TOM: No deal. This is for you, not me. If you’re not there, that’s it. You can’t ask again.
That was all there was on the phone. There had been no subsequent conversation.
Candy closed her eyes and felt the tears stream hot down her face. She was distraught.
It was obvious what she’d discovered, she thought. Tom and a woman had bought prepaid phones to communicate with each other. They’d made a date because they needed to “do that thing we discussed.” Meaning they’d talked about it before. Candy guessed it was a workplace romance.
That also explained the rifle and the gear. Tom had put them in his pickup to give him an excuse for why he’d left work if anyone asked. The woman probably had a similar ruse up her sleeve. She wondered where they met up. Which hotel? Or did Tom go to her house?
She decided right then and there she wouldn’t confront Tom about it. Tom and his fling obviously had second thoughts about what had happened. She’d even admitted she hated herself, which told Candy the woman was married. Tom wasn’t, of course, but Tom and Candy’s relationship was still undefined. Sure, she’d moved into his home with him, but he’d never pledged monogamy.
And from what she could tell, it might be over and done. The woman wanted Tom more than he wanted her. She must have something on him, Candy thought.
Candy also thought she could live with it. The texting and the tryst weren’t a deal breaker. She hadn’t been so innocent or faithful herself in the past.
It was the “almost” that distressed her the most. The bitch wanted one more thing. Candy could easily guess what it was. She appreciated Tom’s reluctance to give it to her and his statement that she couldn’t ask again. Maybe, Candy thought, Tom had made his choice. And his choice was her.
Candy powered off the phone and placed it back exactly where she’d found it.
Then she finished her glass of wine in three big gulps and went inside to pour some more.
FIFTEEN
THE COW MOOSE WAS ONCE AGAIN STRADDLING THE PATH to his house and Joe slowed his WYDOT pickup to a full stop. The moose squinted in his headlights and looked dully at him through the windshield. Perhaps, Joe thought, she was still flummoxed by the battered yellow truck and didn’t know what to make of it yet.
Then, slowly, she ambled away into the trees and he continued on.
On the slow curve to his home, he winced and felt the air go out of him. A gleaming pearl-colored 4 × 4 Range Rover was parked in his usual spot. It had county twenty-two license plates, which meant Teton County.
It was a new vehicle, but it meant one thing: Missy was there.
He fought against an urge to slam on the brakes, shift into reverse, and back away. Instead, though, he rolled on and parked next to the Range Rover. As he did, Daisy stirred and sat up. It was dinnertime.
Joe’s phone burred in his breast pocket and he drew it out. Anything, he thought, to delay the inevitable. The display read MIKE MARTIN.
“Hey, buddy,” Joe said. “Please tell me you’re driving my truck over here.”
“Tomorrow,” Martin said. “I think I can shake free in the afternoon. Eddie needs to pick up a box of tranquilizer darts for a problem bear in Cody—so he can drive his truck and then take me back.”
“Thank you,” Joe said with relief. “I really appreciate it. I owe you dinner and drinks.”
“You’ll owe me more than that,” Martin said with characteristic gruffness. “But that’ll be good. I’ll be able to catch you up on our grizzly case. It’s getting more and more interesting.”
Joe wanted to know more, but he looked up to see Marybeth glaring at him through the front window. She had her hands on her hips and he knew what that meant. She was impatient for him to come in. Marybeth didn’t like spending any more time with Missy than Joe did. Thus the emoji she’d sent him with steam coming out of its ears.
“I’m anxious to hear about it,” Joe said and punched off.
“Come on,” he said to Daisy as he opened his door. “Remember to growl and bite her if I give you the signal.”
Instead, his dog bounded for the door with her tail wagging back and forth like a metronome.
*
AS HE ENTERED the house, Missy looked up at Joe from their high-backed wicker chair in the living room. Her mouth pursed with contempt, but then instantaneously returned to a well-practiced half smile that was equal parts amusement and disdain. Her lacquered fingernails wrapped around the stem of a wineglass that rested on the arm of the chair.
She wore a high-collared jacket that looked Scandinavian, a soft turtleneck sweater, shiny black slacks, and knee-length high-heeled boots. Her heart-shaped face looked sculpted out of flawless ivory with the exception of an almost invisible web of wrinkles around the corners of her mouth. Missy, Joe thought, was remarkably ageless, although he had seen her once or twice without makeup where she almost looked her age.
She said, “I bet you thought I’d never get back.”
“A man can dream,” Joe said. What he’d dreamed about was her cruise ship hitting an iceberg. Or the vessel being boarded by murderous Somali pirates.
Missy didn’t respond to him. She seemed distracted, although when Daisy padded up to her with her tail wagging, Missy froze the Labrador in her tracks with a withering Don’t come any closer glare. Daisy turned away in mid-stride and sulked past Marybeth toward the kitchen.
Marybeth watched the exchange between her mother and Joe with caution. He noted that there were no place settings on the table or any food warming up on the stove. That was a positive sign, he thought. Marybeth had made no preparations for dinner and therefore there was no reason for Missy to stay. The wine was no surprise. His wife probably needed it to get through the evening.
Marybeth said to Joe, “I was catching Mom up on what the girls are doing. Somehow, she didn’t realize they were all out of the house.”
“Imagine that,” Joe said.
Joe wagered that Missy, if put on the spot, would be unable to say how old Sheridan, April, or Lucy was. She’d never really kept track of her growing granddaughters, although for a few years she’d sent Lucy a card on her birthday because she’d thought, erroneously, that their youngest daughter was the most like her. Sheridan and April had been onto Missy’s act and therefore hadn’t been gifted with her attention.
“One minute
they’re babies,” Missy said wistfully, “and the next minute they’re grown.”
“Not really,” Marybeth said.
Again, there was no pushback from Missy. To Joe, that was uncharacteristic of his mother-in-law.
“So,” Joe asked as he passed by Missy, bound for the bourbon in the pantry, “what brings you here?”
“I really can’t say,” she replied.
He paused. “You mean you don’t know?”
“She means she won’t tell us,” Marybeth said. “I’ve asked. She’s being inscrutable.”
“I have my reasons,” Missy sniffed. She changed the subject by looking around the house. “This house is so empty and cold without the girls in it. I find it ironic that they moved you to a nicer and larger place once the girls were gone.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Marybeth said to her mother. “I told you what happened.”
“Oh, yes, your house was burned down,” Missy said with a roll of her eyes, like she didn’t really believe it.
Joe flushed with anger and embarrassment as he poured himself a drink over ice. Missy had a way of putting things that made him feel embarrassed for the life they lived. And he noted that she referred to his daughters as “the girls” because she couldn’t bear to call them her granddaughters. That would suggest she was old enough to be a grandmother, which she was.
“So you were out driving around and just decided to drop by?” Joe asked her.
Missy turned in her chair to look at him. She said, “I suppose I could have come over here and gotten my business done and not called at all. But I wanted to see the girls and my only daughter. I’ve been out of the country for a long time and I missed them.”
He squinted at her. Was she getting soft and sentimental? Was he too hard on her, given her age? Then he thought: Naw.
“What business could you possibly do in Saddlestring that you couldn’t get done in Jackson Hole?” Joe asked.
Missy and Marcus Hand lived in an exclusive gated community north of Jackson. They had access to private aircraft and amenities few others in the state could even imagine.
Missy took a thoughtful sip of wine and looked out at a middle distance between Joe and Marybeth. She said, “I had no choice but to cut my trip short and return. In my case, it happened in the Venetian lagoon. Marcus told me to continue on, but I just couldn’t.”
She paused dramatically, then said, “Sometimes real life just intrudes.”
Joe had no idea what that meant. Intrudes on what?
Perhaps, he thought, the feds were closing in on her. Maybe the IRS, SEC, or FBI? All three agencies likely still had her in their sights.
“Let me guess,” Joe said. “You needed to come back in order to destroy evidence.”
Marybeth had to turn her head away so she wouldn’t be caught giggling at that. But Missy simply scoffed. “Joe, when you reach my station in life and you’re married to a man who is an absolute titan in the legal profession, there are certain things you no longer need to worry about. That’s why we pay lawyers, accountants, and politicians such ridiculous amounts—so we’re insulated from all of that.”
“So what’s the occasion of your visit?” Joe asked. “Are you hatching another plot to get me fired?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said.
“Right,” he said. Two years before, Missy had used her influence with Governor Allen to set Joe up in a situation where he’d fail spectacularly and therefore lose his job. Apparently, she’d thought that when it happened, Marybeth would come to her senses and move on.
There was no need to point out to her that he, and they, were doing better than ever with a new home, a new truck, and a raise in salary. It seemed petty to do so, although he had no doubt that if she had pulled off her scheme, she would have rubbed his nose in it.
Missy tucked a stray hair behind her ear and said, “It’s about Marcus. He’s been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.”
Marybeth gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. It was very much to his wife’s credit, Joe thought, that despite what her mother was and all the things she’d done, her first reaction was empathy. Marybeth was the precise opposite of Missy.
“You didn’t know?” Joe asked Marybeth. She shook her head.
“My daughter has a much firmer grasp on what this news means than you do, Joe,” Missy said with distaste.
Joe looked to Marybeth for an explanation, but before she spoke, Missy provided it in a schoolmarm tone, since he was obviously not smart enough to understand.
“Pancreatic cancer is a death sentence ninety-five percent of the time,” Missy said. “Most people who have it die within three years. With the exception of small-cell lung cancer, it’s the worst cancer you can get. That’s because the tumor releases cancer cells that infect other organs even if the tumor has been surgically removed.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Joe said.
“We’re so sorry,” Marybeth added.
Missy thrust her chin out defiantly and looked at them both. “Oh, I’m not going to let him die. He’s not going to get off as easy as that.”
“What are you talking about?” Marybeth asked.
“I’m going to save his life,” Missy said. “He’s really going to owe me.”
Joe and Marybeth exchanged a puzzled glance.
“Despite what Marcus told me, I had to come back here,” Missy said. “Marcus was all ready to give up. But one of the many things I learned abroad is that we tend to look at sicknesses and diseases from the perspective of our own health industry. We don’t know what else is out there in the world. There are creative ways to treat even the worst diseases—we just have to find them and embrace them.”
Missy launched herself up and walked over to the kitchen counter to refill her wineglass. As she did so, she said, “He’s too sick to travel internationally right now to where the clinical trials are taking place. But that doesn’t mean he has no options. I told him to leave it up to me. I told him I’d save his life and that’s what I’m going to do.”
Joe was shocked to realize that he found himself admiring her will and tenacity. It was an uncomfortable feeling. Until that moment, he hadn’t known Missy could have such deep feelings for anyone in her life as she apparently did for Marcus Hand. When he looked over at Marybeth, he could see she had tears in her eyes as well.
“There are experimental treatments for pancreatic cancer,” Missy said. “I’ve read all about them. They might not yet be approved in this country, but they exist.”
“Where?” Marybeth asked.
“The treatments are being done in France and the Netherlands,” Missy said.
Joe was flummoxed. “We only have one doctor,” he said. “Dr. Arthur isn’t known for special cancer treatments.”
“Who said it has to be a doctor?” Missy asked with a mad gleam in her eye.
“Mom, what are you talking about?” Marybeth asked.
“No,” Missy said. “I can’t tell you any more or I void the deal I made. I’m sworn to secrecy.” Then she wheeled and set the glass down hard on the counter without drinking from it.
“I knew I shouldn’t have come here,” she declared. “I knew I should have just gotten my business done and not said a word about it to either of you.”
She strode toward the front door and snatched her purse from the wicker chair in mid-stride.
Joe watched her go until Marybeth said, “I’m really worried about her frame of mind. Don’t let her leave like this.”
He sighed and followed Missy. He caught up with her as she was opening the door to her Range Rover. She paused and didn’t climb in, but she refused to look over at him.
“Your daughter would like you to come back. She has some questions,” Joe said.
“She does?” Missy said with sarcasm. “Or do the two of you want to make more jokes at my expense? Don’t think I didn’t hear them.”
“We didn’t know about Marcus,” Joe said.
&nb
sp; The interior lights from her car were harsh and they made her look older and much frailer than in the house. They also reflected on moisture in her eyes. He’d never seen her cry before and he felt very uncharacteristic mixed emotions as far as Missy was concerned.
She said, “You know, when you two got married I was heartsick. I was depressed and disappointed. You know that, don’t you?”
Joe rolled his eyes and said, “But you always kept so quiet about it.”
Missy ignored him. She said, “I had such high hopes for my daughter. She had such promise. Everything I did, I did for her—to make her life better. I wanted to open doors for her that had always been closed to me. She was my first priority, but she didn’t get it then and I’m afraid she still doesn’t understand what I went through to provide her opportunities and connections. I thought I’d showed her the way, but she refused to give me credit or follow my example. When you two got together I thought she deserved so much better than a state-owned shack to live in and a paycheck-to-paycheck existence with an unimpressive state employee.”
Joe didn’t say, I agree with that. But he agreed. He always had. And he’d heard it all before.
She continued on in a soft cadence that had the tone and rhythm of a dramatic reading, he thought. She said, “That was a long time ago. Before you had children together and raised them well. I’ll give you credit for that, although I think you poisoned them against me. Now the girls have grown up and moved away. I’ll reconcile with them someday. And despite all the odds, you two are still together. And after all these years, you know what?”
“What?”
She looked over at him and, despite the tears, her eyes were ice-cold. “I was right all along.”
With that, Missy slid into her car, slammed the door, and backed away without another glance.
Joe stood for a moment and watched her taillights strobe red through the timber. He hoped the cow moose would startle her on the road and she’d swerve headlong into a tree.