The Lost Sheenan's Bride (Taming of the Sheenans Book 6) (13 page)

“That’s what my mom says. Maybe even some sicko involved with that weird church.”

“Weird church?”

“Traveling preacher. Thought he was the new Messiah or something. Now that is an interesting story.”

The boyfriend had exited onto the street and the girl hurried to catch up. Jet accompanied her out. “Where is your mom now?”

“She lives in Polson. Runs a shoe store with my step-dad.”

“Thank you so much.” Jet extended her hand. “By the way, I’m Jet Diekerhof. I’m teaching at the one room schoolhouse in Paradise Valley. You’ve been really helpful.”

“Laura,” the girl replied, shaking her hand. “Glad I could help.” And then Laura and her boyfriend, Michael, were walking away.

Jet watched them a moment, thinking of everything just discussed, and then she thought of Shane and his book and all the rumors and scandal and how important it was that the book that was being written was correct, that he laid to rest the gossip and rumors and focused on the truth.

She shouldn’t get involved. She shouldn’t. But maybe it was too late for that. Jet reached into her purse for her phone and shot Shane a text
. “I learned some interesting things today about Douglas ranch. Interested?”

He answered almost right away.
“Yes.”
Then added in a new text.
“Heading off to
ski right now, but should be home around two. Should I call then?”

“Sure. Or I could drop by and tell you,”
she answered.

He didn’t hesitate.
“Drop by.”

Jet had a
little over two hours to kill before she drove out to Shane’s. She knew approximately where the Sheenan ranch was as Harley had taken her on a tour of Marietta and Paradise Valley when Jet had first arrived, but needed to double check the actual road as the Sheenan ranch was an earlier exit than her schoolhouse, but then set deep in the valley, up in the foothills of the Absarokas, facing the Gallatin Mountain Range.

Jet pulled up the map app on her phone and noted the exit she’d take off Highway 89 and then the winding road that looped the valley, connecting back with the highway just north of Pray. It’d take her twenty-five minutes or so to get to the Sheenan’s, leaving her an hour and a half to either get some work done, or watch TV, or maybe do a little research of her own into the Douglas ranch murders. She didn’t really know the story and if she was going to try to help Shane then she needed to know what really happened, which meant gathering the facts.

Checking her watch, Jet realized the library would now be open so she walked quickly down Main Street, towards the courthouse in Crawford Park before cutting through the parking lot on Court Street for the library.

The library’s parking lot only had a few cars in it, which wasn’t unusual for a Sunday. Jet climbed the front steps, the handsome building one of the first built in turn-of-the-century Marietta in the heyday of the copper mining boom, hoping Taylor Sheenan, Marietta’s new head librarian, would not be working today.

Jet had always liked Taylor but she was still annoyed Taylor had told the others that she’d spotted Jet talking to Shane at Java Café last week. Just like it was none of Cormac’s business that she’d had dinner with Shane Friday night.

Harley had put the squeeze on Jet to stay away from Shane but Jet wasn’t sure she could.

Thank goodness there was no one Jet recognized at the library’s front desk so she asked the librarian on duty, an older woman with a welcoming smile, if they saved the local newspapers, and if so, how far back did they go.

The librarian answered they had newspapers dating back almost one hundred years, although most of those early ones were fragile and rarely handled.

“What about papers from the 1990’s, would any of those be available?”

“I would think so. What are you looking for?”

Jet drew a quick breath. “Papers that would be covering the Douglas ranch murders.”

The librarian hesitated a moment before calmly answering, “That would be 1996. August. The murders took place on the first.”

Jet met her gaze. “Could I have the papers for that first week?”

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll bring them out to you. Where will you be sitting?”

Jet nodded to one of the empty tables not far from the magazine racks. “Right there.”

The woman returned a few minutes later with the papers. “Are you a journalist, too?” she asked, placing the papers on the table in front of Jet.

Interesting. Shane must have been here researching. “No. I’m a teacher.”

“History?”

“It’s one of the subjects I teach. I’m at the Paradise Valley one room schoolhouse, just south of Emigrant Gulch.”

“Didn’t they hire a new teacher just a year or two ago?”

“Yes, Missy Sharp, but she’s on maternity leave and I’m filling in for the rest of the school year.” Jet held out her hand. “By the way, I’m Jet Diekerhof.”

“I’m Louise Jenkins.” Louise glanced towards the front desk, making sure no one was waiting for her. No one was. It was still late morning and the library was practically empty. “Your last name—Diekerhof—sounds awfully familiar, but I’m not able to place it.”

“You might know my sister, Harley. She’s now married to Brock Sheenan—”

“I do. Harley, yes. She’s a lovely woman. She used to always bring the twins in once a week and I’d help them find books. I used to be the children’s head librarian but I retired last year and now just fill in when I’m needed.” Louise beamed at Jet. “So pleased to meet you. This is a wonderful surprise. I take it Harley helped get you the job?”

“She did. I’m grateful.”

“And now you want to know about the tragedy on the Douglas ranch.”

Jet squirmed. “I don’t want to know, but there’s so much talk about it right now, and it’s a sensitive subject with the Sheenans so they never say much.”

“Is there a lot of talk?”

“I think so. Or maybe I’m just hearing about it because the Sheenans are upset about Sean Finley’s book.” Jet’s brow furrowed. “I take it he’s been here and talked to you about it.”

“Yes. Mr. Finely—” Louise broke off as a mother and her three young children approached the front desk, arms full of books. “Let me go help them. Have a look at these and I’ll check back on you when I have a moment.”

Jet didn’t even have to unfold the first paper to read the headlines. It covered the top quarter of the page, the font huge and black and shocking.

Massacre on the Douglas Ranch. 5 Dead.

Jet exhaled slowly, feeling her heart already pound. She wasn’t one who liked horror films. She didn’t enjoy being scared. And this was real.

Spreading the paper out, Jet began to read.

Just skimming the story chilled her. She felt sick by the time she was finished with the first article. Jet glanced up at the date on the paper. Friday, August second.

The first days of the last month of summer before school started.

The older boys, Rory and Quinn, had only been home an hour or so from their high school football practice, the infamous hell week at Marietta High.

Rory, sixteen, had been asked to drive thirteen year old McKenna to a friend’s for a sleepover.

Quinn had headed into the barn to do chores. And then it had happened. The violent assault—

“Pretty horrific, isn’t it?”

Jet jumped at the sound of Louise’s voice. She nodded. “I feel sick,” she whispered, unable to get the words out of her head, unable to imagine the horror Rory found on returning to the ranch after dropping McKenna in town. He had to race to the neighbor’s since, at the time, there was no cell coverage and the phone’s landline had been cut.

“By far the darkest point in Marietta’s history,” Louise said.

“You lived here then?”

“I’ve lived here all my life.”

“You remember it all?”

“I do.”

Taylor lifted the next paper and then the one after, and the front page of each was filled with more gruesome headlines.
Bloodbath on Local Ranch. Baby Slain in Crib. Young Victim Still Clinging to Life.

“And these headlines?” Jet said. “All true?”

Louise nodded. “The nine-year-old tried to save his baby sister.”

Jet swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “Quinn, the boy that was hurt, but survived?”

“He was in ICU for weeks. He wasn’t supposed to make it. He crawled all the way from the barn to the driveway. That’s where Rory found him. He was trying to get help. Thank God for Rob MacCreadie and Bill Sheenan. They rushed to the scene, saved that boy. Both of them gave blood later. The whole town did. People lined up to donate blood. Everyone wanted to do something for those kids.”

“Was Quinn able to identify the attackers?”

“No. He was gunned down in the barn while taking care of horses.”

“He was just a teenager.”

“Almost sixteen. Just about to start his sophomore year of high school.”

“How is he now? Okay?”

“He’s fine. He recovered and went on to become a major league baseball player. He just signed a one-year contract with the Seattle Mariners and many expect this to be his last year.”

So that’s the baseball player Laura and Michael were discussing at Java Café. “Did he have a good career?”

“Excellent. But he wouldn’t have survived those early days if Rory and McKenna hadn’t stayed by his side, day and night. The hospital even put another bed in Quinn’s room to be sure someone could always be there with him.”

“Where is Rory now?”

“Still around, at least when he’s not competing on the IBR.”

“IBR?”

“International Bull Riders circuit.” Louise grimaced. “Talk about a rough sport. Don’t understand why anyone would want to do that.”

“There’s got to be money, otherwise, why do it?” Jet agreed, thinking about everything she’d read and heard. “So what happened to the kids afterwards?”

“Their mother’s sister, Karen, took them in for a bit. She used to live north of Livingston in a little town called Clyde Park, but she sold her house and bought something close to the high school. McKenna and Quinn lived with her after Quinn was released from the hospital.”

“And Rory?”

“He wanted to live with friends in Marietta. He was a senior and a star wide receiver and everyone wanted Rory to have a normal senior year…or as normal as it could be, considering. The town rallied around those kids. No one wanted to see them get sent to foster care, not after what they’d been through, and even though they are no longer teenagers, those three still mean a lot to Marietta.”

“So who did it?”

Louise shook her head. “No one knows.”

“No one has any suspicion? No person of interest that wasn’t charged for whatever reason?”

“There has been so much speculation that I hate to weigh in. It doesn’t help.”

“I met someone today whose father was a ranch foreman for the Circle C and she mentioned a traveling church that came to Paradise Valley every summer. Do you know anything about that?”

Louise’s expression firmed. “Pastor Newsome. Went once to hear him preach but didn’t like his message, or some of the people he traveled with, and never went back.”

“Could he have been involved?”

“He was leading a Bible study at the time so it wasn’t him, but he had some odd followers. They were a little too zealous. Wasn’t for me, and OC—my husband—agreed.”

“How were his followers odd?”

“Now you sound like Mr. Finley. He asked me that, too, when he interviewed me.”

“People are upset about the book he’s writing. Does his book bother you, too?”

She hesitated. “I know Mr. Finley’s work and the quality of his writing and research, so in theory, I don’t have an issue. But as someone who has watched over those Douglas kids, and fretted over their well-being, it’s difficult.”

“So you wouldn’t try to stop it.”

“I don’t believe in censorship. I’m a librarian.” She smiled, and then her smile faded. “But it’s not an easy subject. I grew up with Grace Gordon—that was Grace Douglas’ maiden name—and she was a very dear friend. What happened to her, and her family, in that home still haunts me to this day. I’ll never forget visiting with Catherine Sheenan not long after the murders, and Catherine said,
‘That could have been me.’
And Catherine’s words stuck with me, because I think every woman in this community felt that way.”

Jet was usually
quite comfortable driving Highway 89. After six weeks of commuting to Emigrant Gulch for the teaching job, she knew the road well. It was just one lane in each direction and traveling south, the Yellowstone River was on her left, a dark glimmer against the patchy snow on the riverbanks.

The sun was trying hard to shine through the heavy clouds that gathered over the Absarokas, and Jet appreciated the effort as she battled a fit of nerves.

Harley would not be happy if she found out about Jet visiting Shane on the Sheenan ranch.

But then, no one in the Sheenan family would be happy.

Jet had never thought of herself as a rebel. Yes, she’d always had a mind of her own, as well as a strong sense of self, but she’d never broken “rules,” she hadn’t ever caused trouble. Even as a teenager she hadn’t been contrary, too intent on excelling in school, too determined to be a success. So Jet didn’t know why she felt so compelled to see Shane. She didn’t like conflict. She didn’t want to stir things up. And yet here she was, heading straight into potential heartache.

Uncomfortable with the direction of her thoughts, and the butterflies in her middle, she forced her attention to the narrow road taking her deeper into the rolling hills. The smaller houses and acre properties lining the river gave way to larger spreads. Rustic signs and cattle guards marked the entrance to different properties. One of them was the entrance to the MacCreadie ranch. Another was the entrance to the Douglas’. And then the Sheenan’s, the big iron “S” dangling from a wooden beam the only indication she’d reached the entrance to their property. She knew from hearing the Sheenans talk the ranch had been in the family for almost a hundred years. The first Sheenan had arrived in Montana in the 1890s but didn’t have the money to buy the current property until the 1920s. It was a big property, too, and the only other family spread that rivaled the size of the Sheenan ranch was the Carrigan’s, owners of the Circle C, the ranch east of the Sheenan place.