Murder at Granite Falls (16 page)

The fourth one was the oldest, its logs weathered and gray, and the car parked in front had seen better days. Still, the yard was neatly kept and the windows shone. Carrie pulled up next to the car and climbed from behind her wheel, unfurled her umbrella and trotted up to the door.

It opened before she made it to the top step.

“What are you doing here?” Linda whispered. She glanced over her shoulder into the cabin then stepped outside, pulling the front door closed. “I already told you that Noah wouldn’t be back this summer.”

“I understand. But Principal Grover wanted me to make sure everything is all right. Can we talk—maybe with Noah’s father, too?”

Linda anxiously surveyed the yard, then her worried gaze flitted back to Carrie. She reached for the doorknob. “My brother is asleep, actually—he got in late last night and has to leave again very early tomorrow morning.”

“Is there another time? I can come back.”

“He’s a long-haul trucker, so he comes and goes to the east and west coast all the time. I can’t tell you when he’ll be back next—at least until he marks it on the calendar for me.”

“Then, can I talk to you?”

“I have nothing to say.”

Carrie started to envision her fall teaching contract going up in smoke. “But what about Noah—and school in the fall?”

A door slammed. Heavy footsteps creaked across an uncarpeted floor, drawing closer.

Linda shook her head. “You
really
shouldn’t have come.”

“I’m only doing my job. I’m sorry if—”

A burly man pulled the front door open wider, his red plaid shirt stretched across his ample belly. Probably in his forties,
the dark stubble on his face and the weary expression in his eyes suggested he’d been short of sleep for some time.

“What’s going on out here?”

Linda stepped aside. “David, this is Ms. Carrie Randall. She is—or was—Noah’s teacher for the summer.”

He shoved a hand through his thinning black hair and frowned. “So you’re the one. Why are you here?”

“The principal asked me to come for a brief visit, just to talk to you about school in the fall.”

His expression darkened. “Frankly, I don’t want Noah there at all, though my sister disagrees.”

“I still feel so badly about upsetting him, Mr. Colwell. I never meant to do that. Maybe it would help if the three of us could sit down for a talk, so he’d understand why I asked—”

“About his drawings? I handled it.”

“But—”

“Just drop it.” He folded his heavily muscled arms across his chest. “Honestly, I’d homeschool him if I could, but I’m on the road all the time and Linda dropped out of high school, so she’s afraid she doesn’t have the experience. I just want him kept away from
anyone
who might upset him. My son has suffered more than any child ever should, from the things people say to him in town.”

“I understand. Totally.” Carrie debated for a moment. “If you’re really interested in homeschooling, I can get you in touch with the local homeschool association. They offer resources and guidance.”

“I made my decision. You can tell your principal that Noah will be back. But nothing means more to me than my son. So if he comes home crying again, I’ll pull him out faster than you can say goodbye.”

He stepped back and shut the door in Carrie’s face.

Carrie stared at it for a moment, feeling as if she’d just encroached on enemy territory. Was it so wrong to ask about
the child’s welfare? Was the man simply being protective, or had he tipped over into paranoia?

Maybe she’d just confirmed the answer Principal Grover wanted regarding school in the fall, but she sure hadn’t managed to establish better rapport.

And until Linda or the boy’s father decided to open up—if ever—apparently that was how things were going to stay.

Logan had stayed overnight in the boathouse ever since the murder, and always left Murphy with Carrie in her apartment. The dog seemed to understand the new routine, because he settled down and didn’t pace and whine through the night.

On Tuesday afternoon after a long discussion, Logan finally agreed to go back to staying at his cabin…as long as Carrie kept the dog overnight and her cell phone handy.

“So now it’ll be just you and me, buddy,” Carrie said, stroking the old dog’s head as she watched the last customer’s car pull out. “But we’ll be fine.”

Buttoning her sweater against the evening chill, she sauntered over to the boathouse to help Logan and Penny finish putting away the equipment. Murphy followed and curled up on his bed in the corner of the building.

“There were several more calls while you were gone, and four more reservations via the internet. Things are looking good for the next week or so.”

“Thanks. It helps to have a voice instead of a recording if people call.” Penny smiled. “And that’s just the news we want to hear.”

Murphy suddenly stood up, his head up and ears pricked, his tail low and still, then he bolted out of the building to stare at the line of trees to the south, near the river’s edge.

Logan motioned for Penny and Carrie to stay inside. “I’ll go check around.”

They stood in the doorway and watched him go. Dusk was
falling, and now the world was in shades of muted gray. In just a few strides Logan disappeared. Carrie wrapped her arms around her middle, straining to see where he’d gone.

Someone else appeared out of the shadows. Voices drifted through the darkness. Logan’s tone insistent, the stranger’s voice hesitant.

“I think it’s Dante Loomis,” Penny said, after listening intently.

“You mentioned him once before. Who is he?”

“A reclusive old guy who’s lived off the land up in the mountains somewhere since coming back from Vietnam. He doesn’t show up for weeks or even months at a time, then drifts into town for supplies—more alcohol, mostly. The younger kids are frightened of him because he looks scary with all that scraggly hair, but he’s harmless. He hasn’t ever harmed a soul around here, anyway. I hate to think what he might’ve been through in that war.”

“Sounds like a troubled guy.”

“Exactly. They say he was normal before. Now, he supposedly has quite an arsenal, is suspicious of everyone and is still convinced that ‘government agents’ are after him.”

“Shouldn’t he have gotten help? Like at a veterans’ hospital somewhere?”

“You’d think, but he would have none of it. Come on—you should meet him in case you run into him out here sometime. Logan?” Penny called out. “We’re coming.”

Carrie followed her outside to where Logan and Dante stood at the far end of the parking area, under a pool of light from the security lamp overhead.

She could see why small children might be frightened. A good six feet tall, Dante was dressed in multiple layers of ragged clothes, with an army surplus–style backpack hooked over one arm. Between the long, wispy hair erupting in wild tangles from beneath the old baseball cap pulled low over his
eyes and his scraggly beard, he was more apparition than man in the dim light.

One bony hand repeatedly plucked at the buttons of his jacket while his head swiveled back and forth like a radar dish as if he were anxiously scanning the area for the fastest escape route. He gave Carrie a furtive glance, then dropped his gaze and shuffled his feet.

“Dante, this is Carrie. She works for us.” Logan spoke distinctly, slowly. “She’s a good lady.”

“I’m glad to meet you, Dante.” Carrie stepped forward and offered her hand, but the man took a wary step backward. “Nice evening, isn’t it?”

He craned his head in an odd motion, met her eyes for a split second—probably incredulous because she couldn’t have come up with a more inane thing to say—and then he spun on his heel and loped off into the darkness.

“That went well,” she muttered, feeling a flush of embarrassment. “I said ten words and sent him running.”

Logan chuckled. “Actually, it
did
go well. He hung around long enough to meet you before taking off, and that doesn’t always happen…or so we’ve heard. He’s shy as a wild deer around most folks.”

She stared into the gloom, trying to make out his retreating form. “I feel sorry for him.”

Penny nodded. “Me, too. But we heard that he ran away from several facilities over the years, and refused psych treatment. I guess he’s living the life he wants.”

Carrie hesitated. “Does he show up around here often?”

“Nope…maybe just two or three times during the two years we’ve been here. Right, Logan?”

“At the most. And once was just a glimpse.”

“Maybe he could’ve been the prowler I saw.”

“Like we said, he doesn’t come around here much,” Penny
said. “He avoids civilization. So the likelihood that you saw him is pretty slim.”

“What about Billy’s murder? Couldn’t he be a suspect?”

“Dante? I doubt it.”

“Was he ever questioned?”

“I actually did hear that he was, but not for long. He doesn’t always make a lot of sense.”

“Even if he didn’t do it, maybe he saw something suspicious, if he’s been hanging around this area.”

Penny and Logan exchanged glances.

“A slim chance, maybe. But like I said, he’s a recluse. Even if he claimed he’d seen something and was brought in to testify, I doubt a court of law would believe him,” Penny said slowly. “Then again…I suppose anything is possible.”

After coming to Granite Falls, Carrie had twice felt the eerie, unseen presence of someone watching her, and she’d seen a prowler once. With the timing of Billy’s emails and his ultimate arrival in town, she’d been sure that he was the one who’d been lurking in the shadows. But now, there was an alternate explanation.

It could have been Dante, with his secretive, vagabond ways, though Logan and Penny had both insisted that the old guy was harmless. Maybe he’d just been curious about someone new moving into his territory.

The more frightening possibility was one that she didn’t want to think about—that the prowler had been Billy’s killer. A killer who was still at large.

Had Billy been a random victim—or a specific target? Knowing her ex-husband, he could’ve headed north to escape serious gambling debts or a run-in with a dangerous element at some honky-tonk bar. That could explain why he’d come back to Montana to find her, and wanted money so badly.

If the guy had come after him from down South, maybe he was long gone. If it had been a random act…

She shivered, thinking about the dense forest and the perfect cover it offered. The rushing water of the nearby river that could mask the sound of someone approaching.

Saying a silent prayer to herself, she tried to shove those fears aside as she showered and put on her favorite Snoopy pj’s and a red summer-weight cotton sweater, then checked her windows and door locks and whistled to Murphy as she headed for bed.

Watching from the shadows at the end of the boathouse, his frustration grew by the minute.

It had seemed so perfect.

A grisly murder on the Bradley property and Logan’s past legal history should have immediately branded him as the lone suspect. Eliminated all future risk and helped settle the past once and for all. Even better, there’d been a perfect victim—one who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and had inadvertently seen too much. When he became confrontational there’d been no other option but to eliminate him, but there couldn’t have been a better choice. Learning that the ex-wife probably had good reason to see Billy disappear had been icing on the cake.

But oh, no.

Despite a murder in his own backyard, Logan had come up with an alibi that would probably hold up in court. And now people were beginning to dredge up the topic of Sheryl Colwell’s death again. Starting to think Logan seemed like a “nice young man” and wondering why he’d ever been brought to trial for her murder.

Those questions were dangerous.

Though there’d been no witnesses in either case, questions
could lead to more curiosity. And if anyone delved too deeply into Sheryl’s past…

Cursing under his breath, the man lifted his gaze to the curtained windows of the apartment above the rafting company office and watched the silhouette of the woman checking her windows and turning off the lights, one by one.

The sheriff was a fool and the BCI investigators clearly weren’t much better, but he’d been careful to eliminate evidence at each murder scene at any rate, for he was a meticulous man. But Penny, Logan and Carrie were starting to ask questions around town…and he knew they wouldn’t stop until they’d discovered way too much. They had to be stopped.

And if one of them needed to die to make that happen, so be it.

FOURTEEN

T
hough business had been slow the week before, the July Fourth holiday brought a welcome surge in reservations. Penny and Tina each took groups on six-hour white-water trips, while Logan took care of slow-paced scenic float trips both morning and afternoon. He’d let Carrie guide with him on his early morning run, then she’d guided her first scenic float down the river solo, with a small group of passengers from California.

Now, at eight o’clock in the evening, the customers and Tina were long gone. Logan had just finished grilling hamburgers and brats out next to the river, while Penny and Carrie shook a red-checked tablecloth over the picnic table by the boathouse and brought out potato salad, baked beans and thick wedges of watermelon.

“Gorgeous evening,” Carrie said, her voice wistful. “Brings back a lot of memories.”

A shadow of worry crossed her expression, and Logan wondered if she was remembering any good ones spent with her ex-husband.

“What are some of your favorites?” Penny asked as she adjusted the foil covering on a bowl of potato salad that she’d set in a larger container filled with ice.

“Picnics—a lot like this one, back when Trace and I were kids. Fireworks, of course. And sparklers.”

“Maybe you should have gone back home to be with family today,” Penny said with a smile as she laid out paper plates. “We could’ve managed. But we’re sure glad you’re here.”

“I had to teach yesterday and figured I needed the hours of working here. I’m not sure I feel much like celebrating this year, anyway. Not after…what happened to Billy.” She bit her lower lip as she glanced toward the woods where he’d been found. “It still doesn’t seem real.”