Left Hanging (7 page)

Good job, Richard
.

“Yesterday morning, Landry had a long meeting with the rodeo committee. Shouting was heard by passersby. Committee members say it was business as usual. Later, he was heard shouting on his phone, something about he’d do what the hell he wanted to do.

“Had lunch at the Haber House Hotel with Stan Newton. On his way back, he stopped outside the rodeo grounds, was seen talking with or shouting at those protestors by the gate, depending on who you listen to.

“In the afternoon, he was heard shouting on his phone again, apparently at three or more people. Early evening, Oren Street arrived with the livestock, and like I said before, there was more shouting. Enough that the rodeo secretary told them to get away from the office so she could hear herself think.

“Had dinner at the Haber House Hotel alone. Tried to pick up the waitress. Wasn’t taking no for an answer. Lloyd says she reported he got
handy
. The manager asked him to leave. Landry started—”

“Shouting.”

He quirked a grin. “Right. Finally left. And that’s the last report of anybody seeing him. Notice anything about these reports?”

“The only time he wasn’t shouting was at lunch with Stan Newton.”

“You got it. The waitress was the same one he tried to pick up later, and she says it was because he spent lunch leering at your favorite rodeo queen.”

“Heather Upton? What was she doing there?”

“She and Cas Newton had lunch with his daddy and Landry.”

“That’s an odd group, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily. Cas wants to rodeo at a higher level. Landry could be a good connection, since he knows lot of folks running rodeos. Same for Heather. He could get her invited as a special guest with an honorarium at other rodeos.”

“Has Richard talked to the Newtons and Heather?”

“Not yet.” He looked at his notebook, flipping a few pages. “The one other thing Lloyd said was that Landry’s phone was found deeper into the pen than any of them would have expected.”

“And the significance of that?”

“One of those inconsistencies you like to follow.”

“It has to be
follow-able
to follow it. Do they know who he called? Who called him? Who he was shouting at?”

He frowned. “You heard Jenks. The phone was smashed.”

“They should be able to get stuff off the chip.” Dex had taught me that. He’d taught me a lot and answered a load of questions in the years since I’d met the FBI lab scientist. “Melting’s about the only way to wipe it out. After they do the paperwork to line up an expert, they should be able to pull the phone records.”

“Did you know Richard Alvaro’s second-to-the-oldest brother works for the phone company?”

“Of course he does.”

“They’ll get the phone records fast-tracked and won’t need an outside expert. Did you get anything from Richard, or were you whiling away the time while I worked?”

“Time spent developing a source is never whiled away.”

“So you got nothing.”

“Lesson Number Two for the evening, my friend, always give it a try, because sometimes you get a little something.”

I recounted the conversation with Alvaro.

“Whoa. That changes things.” Mike sent me a look. “Doesn’t it?”

“Not for sure. Not unless, or until, Richard’s
not quite right
turns out to have more behind it than a feeling.”

“But you asked him right off about it not being an accidental death. You were already thinking it was murder.”

“No. Richard was trying to shut the door. I lobbed in a little tear gas to make him keep it open. A question’s just a question, not a conclusion. A conclusion’s built on facts. Sometimes you ask a question that’s a hundred yards ahead of where the facts have brought you, just to get the response.”

“So, what have the facts built?”

“Keith Landry is dead.”

“Gee, thanks. Fine had gotten that far.”

“Ah, but Fine doesn’t know the second half of my so-far conclusion. There are a lot of questions to be asked.”

We pulled into the station lot where my car sat in solitude. “You need a different car, Elizabeth. You should have four-wheel drive and something heavier. You’ll definitely need it come winter.”

“Uh-huh.”

I was aware of him turning to me. “You’re not paying attention.”

I’d heard. And if I decided to stick around long enough to worry about winter in Wyoming, I would consider a different vehicle. But that was not a discussion I wanted to have with Mike Paycik. Especially now. It wasn’t even a conversation I wanted to have with myself. Besides, my thoughts were on a different track. “You heard Richard say the acting sheriff’s out of town?”

“Yeah.”

I faced him. “Turns out the coroner called to the scene was that new deputy coroner. And Richard clammed up tight when I asked why they didn’t call the coroner. Do you think there’s something weird going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d like to know who else is out of town.”

We looked at each other a long moment, then he pulled out his phone. He started by asking Aunt Gee about the whereabouts of Sherman’s mayor. The Cottonwood County Commission chairman. A number of names I didn’t recognize. After thanking her and hanging up, he looked at me. “They’re all out of town. That can
not
be a coincidence.”

“No coincidence,” I agreed.

“They’re all out of cell reach, too. Definitely weird. It’s like they’ve gone into a bunker or something.”

“I suspect it’s
or something
. Because when it comes to weird, remember who else is out of town and not reachable.”

“Oh, my God. Les Haeburn.”

Chapter Seven

ON IMPULSE, I stopped at the Sherman Supermarket on the way home. It was open every other Thursday until midnight, and this was one of its late Thursdays. I’d like to say the impulse was to pursue background material on a now-suspicious death. But I didn’t think of that until after I was in the cookie aisle.

Better late than never.

The shopper checking out ahead of me was sent on her way with a “Bye now,” and checker Penny Czylinski started on the line of cans I’d picked up to mask two bags of cookies. “Well, hi there—”

I said as fast as I could, “I was at the rodeo.”

No pause, no hesitation, no delay—it was as if Penny had been waiting for me to say exactly that. “Real proud to have Grayson Zane. Used to be he’d come most years, then not, what with what happened five years back. It’s all good to be saying what a top cowboy he is and how proud we are and all—” As she just had. I did
not
point that out. “—But it wasn’t right what he did. You can’t give the heart orders, but you can
do
right. Still, that was a few years back and—”

“Did Grayson Zane do something?”

It was hopeless. Penny’s flow was a river at flood stage. Something might bob to the surface, you might grab for it, but if it sank, it was gone forever.

“This year our rodeo queen is Heather Upton, like her mama was years back. Some say it helped her get the title. It’s not for me to agree or disagree, what with my cousin’s girl being a finalist, and as good a rider as you’ll find, not to mention smart and pretty and kind-natured. But fair’s fair, and I tell the ones talking against her that Heather can rope like nobody’s business. Anything she sets her rope to, she pulls in for sure.”

“So, the rodeo—” I tried.

“Now if you want to know about the rodeo, the one you should talk to is Linda Caswell. Knows that rodeo inside out, right back to the start. That’s a sad story. Sad, sad story.”

“The rodeo?”

She frowned, and I saw a flash of my bleak future if she banned me from the supermarket. Starved of food and information.

“The Caswells. There wouldn’t a been a rodeo without them. They’ve always been important in this county, but had no luck in love. Walter, Linda’s daddy, was the worst. Girl he was crazy for ran off and married somebody else. Walter took it as hard as a man can. Was thirty years before he realized that if he didn’t do something, the Caswell name would end with him.

“Married a young thing from next county over. Sweet, but anybody looking at her—Well, that milk’s long spilt. She had a daughter right quick, Inez, that was.” Cas’ mother if I had the genealogy straight. “Two years later, Linda. The girls must’ve been high school age when their mama was pregnant again.”

A head shake, though it didn’t slow her hands. I’d have to donate the cans to a food pantry or build an annex on the tiny, dismal house I rented. “Worn down, she was. She had a baby boy, but he died at four days. She followed not 24 hours later.

“When Walter got over his grieving, it was like he saw those two girls for the first time. He could have remarried, tried again for a boy, but he didn’t. He set about making them the best cattlewomen, best horsewomen, best ranchers around. Linda took to it like a flower getting its first drink of water. Not that old Walter gave her much credit.

“Inez—that’s the one he held up as so smart and all. But she wouldn’t have anything to do with it. She’d been neglected too long. Or she had too much of her father in her and got her prideful back up. Some say she took up with Newt to get her father’s goat. It sure did that. Walter and his oldest didn’t talk for years. Linda refused to break off with her sister, but wouldn’t go against their father, either. She walked a tightrope between them, even though she’s a woman who’s got a good head on her shoulders most times.”

Penny wiped her counter, having already disposed of my order and taken my money. Nobody was behind me, so I stayed put.

“Inez got sick. When it was nearly too late, the both of them, her and her father, finally put aside their fighting. She had a rough time, real rough, but she was a fighter that one, and she beat it. Walter and his grandson were thicker than thieves, Linda was happy as all get-out, and even Newt seemed to have mellowed.

“Then the cancer came back. Inez fought. But this time—” Penny shook her head. “It was long, and it was hard. It seemed as if any one of the others might go with her from their hearts breaking. In the end it was Walter. Six months later.”

I took the opening. “The man who died today at the rodeo—?”

“Keith Landry’s not from Cottonwood County, but he’s been coming a lot of years.”

I heard the creak of a cart behind me. I wanted to order the intruder to go buy more. But I didn’t dare break eye contact with Penny. Maybe she hadn’t heard—

She had. “Bye now, Elizabeth. Well, hi there.”

WHEN I GOT IN the car, a note sat on the passenger seat. Had it been there at the station, and I hadn’t noticed? Or had someone spotted my car here and left the note?

Either way, what did it say that I’d left my car unlocked. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done that.

I’d like to talk to you. TDB

Thomas David Burrell wanted to talk.

So, what was I supposed to do with that information at this hour of the night?

The only reasonable thing a grown-up, professional journalist could do. Go home and eat cookies.

DAY TWO

FRIDAY

Chapter Eight

EVEN AS I reached for the phone that had jolted me awake after too little sleep, I knew it was my mother.

She had a knack.

In college, if I’d been out late the night before, perhaps had more than a modest amount of alcoholic beverage, Catherine Danniher invariably called first thing. Last night’s overindulgence had not been alcohol. Instead, a serious sugar buzz from the cookies had left me tired, but too restless to sleep for three hours. That, and considering how the situation might change depending on what Richard Alvaro’s sister’s employer discovered.

“Elizabeth, it’s your mother.” As if I didn’t know.

“And father,” Dad added.

“Hi.”

“We want to talk to you about that wonderful job offer in St. Louis.”

I stretched, hoping against hope this would be quick enough that I could go back to sleep. “It’s for a talk show. I’m a reporter. Not a good fit.”

“Don’t be hasty, Elizabeth Margaret. Before you make a decision—”

“I decided. I told Mel to tell them no thank you. It’s done.”

“The position is still open.”

I sat up. “How do you know that, Mom?”

“We saw Mel at your second cousin Sally’s son Kiernan’s wedding. The subject came up.” Dad made an inarticulate sound. I envisioned her glaring at him. “It’s fortunate—”

“Who brought up the subject?”

She gave her signature sound of exasperation—a muffled tongue click accompanied by a huffing out of her breath. “That’s unimportant. What matters—”

“It’s important to me, if my agent is talking about my business without my consent.”

“Very well. I asked. Why you have to get every last detail when all—”

“It’s my profession, Mom.”

“That’s precisely the point,” she said in triumph. “It doesn’t need to be your profession any longer. Before, with Wes pushing you every step, that was one thing. But on your own, the way you are now, you can take something slower, more relaxed. You’ve been strained for so long, trying to keep up with that career Wes put you in. This will suit you better. Not to mention it will give you more time to have a normal social life. You’d be closer to home in St. Louis. You could come home for weekends—”

So much for normal social life.

“—and truly be a part of the family.”

“Now, Cat, that’s not fair. Maggie Liz is part of the family.” The childhood nickname inverting and shortening my first and middle name always warmed me.

“Of course she is,” she shot back, as if she hadn’t just said otherwise. “But how
can
she be, way out there by herself in that shack she’s living in?”

It was early, but if I’d heard her right, my mother had contradicted her contradiction. Which, by my counting, still had me not being part of my family. In that case, why had she called me at dawn?

I might be foolhardy at times, but I’m not an idiot. I didn’t ask. “Sorry, Mom, Dad—I have to get ready for work. Talk to you later.”

I hung up before they could do the time-zone math.

I made good on my fib by showering, dressing, eating breakfast, and putting out food and water for the canine shadow that had been materializing in my yard over the past weeks. In fact, I’d named him Shadow. Although, I appeared to be the only one who recognized that as his name.

Ever since he’d sided with me against an interloper during the pursuit of Foster Redus’ murderer, the dog no longer disappeared at the sight of me. On the other hand, he didn’t come running when I called his name, either. Or when I put out his food and water.

“Morning, Shadow,” I said.

He watched from a safe distance, approaching the bowls perched on the stump in the barren back yard only when I retreated to the steps.

I’d read a book about dogs last week that said some were praise-motivated while others were food-motivated or play-motivated. The first thing in training a dog was to figure out what motivated yours. The writer suggested paying close attention during all interaction for clues. Since Shadow avoided interaction, I was short on clues.

Most mornings I was in enough of a hurry that I’d go inside at this point. Today, I sat on the back steps.

He stopped. Stared at me, flashed a glance at the bowls, back to me.

I sat and waited.

Me, bowls, me. Then a shift. Not only was it bowls, me, bowls, but the looks at the bowls lingered.

He took a step toward the bowls, shot me a suspicious look, which found me innocently sitting in the same spot as the previous check. Took another step, looking at me. A third.

Then he turned away for several steps—presumably so he wouldn’t run into the stump. Because as soon as he reached it, he pinned me with a long, assessing stare.

At last, he turned away and chomped on a mouthful of food. He watched me while he chewed. So went the entire meal. Although when the food was gone, he turned away long enough to lap up water. Finally, he turned to me again. His chocolate-brown eyes looking directly into mine, he belched.

I laughed.

Startled, he darted five yards away, stopped, and looked back at me, still on the steps, still chuckling.

“Glad you enjoyed it, Shadow. Have a good day,” I called.

He stared for a long moment, turned slowly and loped away. But we’d made progress, I decided. Real progress.

Having been awakened early, I also had time to call Dex before I left the hovel, as I had come to think of this house. I timed the call to hit his morning break, knowing he’d be out feeding squirrels at the FBI facility in Quantico, Virginia.

“Do you know a forensic pathologist in Montana named Grenley?”

Most people would have responded to that opener with the conversational equivalent of an eye-roll: either “Good morning to you, too, Danny” or “I don’t know every forensic pathologist in the country, you know.” But I know my audience.

Dex said, “No. What agency?”

It was only part of why I loved him like a brother—better than a brother, since none of my brothers worked in the FBI crime lab. Best of all, although Dex worked at the FBI crime lab, he hadn’t given himself over to the FBI crime lab’s culture, which is why he’d talk to me. Most FBI crime lab types would rather drink every chemical in their arsenal than talk to a member of the media.

Dex never treated me like media. Early on, he’d called me Danny to mask my identity from his coworkers—a nickname that caught on with family and friends—but now I’m not one-hundred percent sure he remembers I’m with the media. By completely protecting him as my source, I give him no cause to remember.

“None. He’s a civilian as far as I know. But some Wyoming counties and other places use him.”

“Ah.”

“Ah what?”

He ignored that. “Where?”

“Billings.”

“I’ll get back to you.”

He hung up. There must have been a particularly hungry-looking squirrel.
Good morning to you, too, Dex
.