Murdered in Conard County Page 12

  People had become spooked. Unless they caught the bad guy, Blaire’s campground might remain mostly empty for the rest of the season. That meant she’d be all alone out there in the woods at night after her seasonal staff went home for the day. Ordinarily that wasn’t something she, or he, would worry about.

  Now he was worrying. The woods didn’t feel right, and instinct was crawling up and down his spine telling him this wasn’t over. How he could be sure of that, he didn’t know, but he remained on high alert for anything that didn’t seem normal. Anything that might indicate an important change of some kind.

  For certain, he was in agreement with Blaire that something about the murder seemed more like a planned operation. An assassination. Which made him truly eager to learn anything he could about the victim, but no one was going to feed that information to him. Police stuff. Civilians not wanted.

  Yeah, he was a law enforcement officer, but only in the national forest. If the murder had happened over there, he’d be part of the investigation. This was different. He didn’t have a clear idea of Blaire’s role vis-à-vis this kind of thing. But wasn’t she, too, law enforcement in the park? But maybe not for major crimes. Maybe she was expected to rely on local authorities. It wasn’t as if she had the manpower to do much else.

  But still... Maybe she could press Gage a little more. Maybe, given her position, he might be willing to share more with her than information about the other murders that were now worrying people.

  And man, hadn’t that seemed to come out of nowhere? All of a sudden people worrying about other murders that had happened in the woods over the last couple of years. Linked? How likely was that? He had no idea.

  He just knew that his gut was screaming this wasn’t over, and he couldn’t stop worrying about Blaire.

  Tomorrow they’d pack up some supplies and do a survey of the surrounding area. The killing had been planned. Of that he was certain. And that meant someone had spent at least a little time surveying the campground and the victim. Which also meant a greater likelihood the guy had left some kind of evidence behind.

  He just hoped his need to protect Blaire wasn’t offending her. She had experience in combat, in military operations, and while she hadn’t been in special ops the way he had, it remained she was no greenhorn. He’d often felt kinship with the way her mind worked.

  So maybe he should ask her if she resented his hovering. He couldn’t blame her if she did. Yeah, he should ask. He should do her that courtesy.

  He also needed to be wary of his attraction to her. He’d felt it when they first met, and it hadn’t lessened any with time, but he honestly still didn’t feel emotionally fit to engage in a meaningful relationship deeper than friendship. And from things she’d said occasionally, he believed she felt much the same way: wary.

  A misstep could kill their friendship, and he treasured that too much to risk it. Still, sometimes his body ached with yearning when he thought of her or was around her.

  Careful, dude. Just be careful.

  The radio on his hip crackled and he lifted it to his ear. A satellite transceiver, it usually worked, but occasionally dense woods could interfere a bit. No real interference right now, though.

  “Maddox,” he said into the receiver.

  “Hey, boss,” came the voice of Tony Eschevarria.

  “What’s up?” Gus asked.

  “You said you’d be out of pocket the next two days?”

  “At least. Over at the state campground.”

  “Weird, that killing,” Tony remarked, his voice crackling a bit. “Listen, a deputy is here. He’s looking for you and I can send him over that way if you want.”

  “Sure thing. I should be there in about twenty minutes.”

  “I hope he’s got good news, Gus.”

  “Me, too,” Gus answered. “Me, too.”

  He clipped the brick back in its belt holder, then leaned forward to pat Scrappy’s neck. The saddle creaked a bit, a sound he’d always loved, and nearly vanished in the shivering of deciduous tree leaves in the gentle breeze. The storm that had appeared to be building over the mountains hadn’t materialized, but he swore he could smell it. Tonight, maybe.

  The wood road, as they called it, little more than a cart track, had once been used by lumberers gathering wood to build the old mining town on Thunder Mountain, abandoned more than a century ago. Still, the cart tracks had been convenient enough that they’d been kept clear by usage over those years.

  At last the track emerged onto a portion of paved roadway just above Blaire’s cabin. A truck and horse trailer now filled part of the gravel lot, and Dave was standing out front talking to Gideon Ironheart. Gus smiled. He’d always liked Gideon.

  The man had once been an ironworker who’d walked the high beams, but when he came here to visit his estranged brother, Micah Parish, he’d fallen in love with one of Micah’s colleagues in the sheriff’s office. At least that was the story. Anyway, these days Gideon raised horses, trained them for their owners and rescued mustangs. His two teenage children often led trail rides for tourists, sometimes at the national forest.

  While Blaire parked the truck, he dismounted Scrappy and called a greeting to Gideon, who walked over with an extended hand. “I hear you’re planning to do a little exploring with Blaire Afton.”

  “That’s the plan. Thanks for the help.”

  Gideon grinned. “It’s good for the horses to have a little adventure every now and then. I might have some big paddocks but they offer little new to explore. Lita will enjoy herself a whole bunch.”

  “Lita’s the horse?” He heard Blaire’s footfalls behind him as she approached.

  “Most well-behaved mare a body could ask for.” Gideon turned, smiling and offering his hand. “You must be Blaire Afton.”

  “I am,” she answered, shaking his hand. “And you’re Gideon Ironheart, right?”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  Gus was glad to hear her laugh. “Your reputation precedes you,” she said. “I heard someone call you a horse whisperer. So, you whisper to them?”

  Gideon shook his head. “Most of so-called whispering is knowing horses. They communicate quite well if you pay attention and, if you listen, they decide to please you. Sort of like cats.”

  Another laugh emerged from Blaire. Gus felt like a grinning fool, just to hear her so happy.

  “Let me introduce you,” Gideon said. “Then I’m going to ride her up the road a ways to work out the kinks from being in the trailer. After that, she’s yours as long as you need her.”

  “Somebody say that to me.” Dave pretended to groan. “We need horses up here so badly I even took a wild hair and repaired the corral for them. Sell that to the state.”

  “I would if I could,” Gideon answered. “I’ve got some fine mounts that would love working up here.”

  Gus and Dave helped him open the trailer and lower the ramp, then Gideon stepped inside and led an absolutely gorgeous chestnut out of the trailer.

  “Oh, wow,” Blaire breathed.

  Gideon walked her slowly in a circle, leading her by a rein, then brought her toward Blaire. “Get to know her. Pat her neck first, don’t approach her from the front until she gets to know you. Remember, she’s got a big blind spot in front of her nose. And talk to her so she’ll recognize your voice.”

  Blaire apparently didn’t feel any reluctance to make friends with the horse. She wasn’t quite as big as Scrappy, but still large. But then, Blaire had ridden in Afghanistan so this wasn’t exactly utterly new to her.

  It wasn’t long before it became evident that Lita liked Blaire. Five minutes later, the horse wound her neck around and over Blaire’s neck and shoulder, a horse hug.

  “There you go,” said Gideon. “She’s yours now. Need anything in the way of supplies?”

  Gus recited the list of items he’d brought with him, fro
m bags of feed to grooming supplies.

  “You’ll do,” Gideon agreed. “Call me if you need anything at all.”

  “You could send another horse,” Dave laughed. “As long as you’re lending them.”

  * * *

  NOT TEN MINUTES after Gideon drove off, Dave helped carry the groceries inside, then left to spend the evening at home. He once again promised to take over for Blaire the next day if needed.

  Blaire swiftly put away the groceries with an obliging Gus’s help. Then the Conard County deputy arrived.

  A big man, appearing to be in his sixties, he unfolded from the SUV. He had long inky hair streaked with gray, and his Native American ancestry was obvious in his face. He looked at them from dark eyes and smiled.

  “Micah Parish,” he said, shaking their hands. “I saw my brother headed on out.” He pointed with his chin toward Lita. “New acquisition?”

  “A loaner,” Blaire answered. “You’re storied in these parts, and I don’t even spend that much time in town so I don’t get all the gossip.”

  Micah chuckled, a deep rumbling sound. “I’m storied because I broke some barriers around here.”

  Gus doubted that was the only reason.

  “You talked to my daughter-in-law, Connie,” he said. “And, of course, she talked to me. Then Gage talked to me. Seems like folks are worried this murder might be linked to others in the mountains. So, I’m here to share information. Thing is, Gus, I was sent first to you. Somebody’s nervous about the national forest.”

  “The killer, you mean?” Gus frowned. “Has there been a threat?”

  “No.” Micah looked at Blaire. “You got maps of the whole area?”

  “How much do you want?”

  “Most of the mountain range on up to Yellowstone.”

  “On my wall. Come in. Do you want some coffee?”

  “My wife, Faith, tells me the day I turn down coffee I’ll be at the Pearly Gates.”

  She pointed him to the large map hanging on the wall and went to start a pot of coffee. For a minute or so, there was silence from the front room, then Micah and Gus began to talk.

  “The thing here is this,” Micah said. “Can’t imagine why no one noticed it before. Hey, Blaire?”

  “Yes?” She punched the button to start the pot, then came round into the front room.

  “Okay to use the pushpins to mark the map?”

  “Go ahead.” She didn’t usually do that, but the map wasn’t inviolate. There was a corkboard beside it, and other than an announcement of a campfire group every Friday evening, it was simply covered with colored pushpins.

  Micah pulled a pad out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open. Then he read from it and began sticking red pushpins into the map along the mountain range. “Nobody’s perfect,” he remarked as he stuck the last pin in place. “I can only approximate the GPS readings on this map.”

  He stepped back a bit. “These are in order, marking those five murders that everyone is worried about.” He pointed to the highest pin. “Number one.”

  Then as his finger trailed down along the pins to the one in the state campground, he called the order. There was no mistaking it. The murders had moved southward through the mountains.

  “As you can see, it’s not anywhere near a perfect line, but it’s too close to ignore. All of the victims were isolated, but not alone. Like the one in your campground, Blaire. It’s as if the killer wanted the body to be found immediately.”

  She nodded, feeling her skin crawl.

  “Anyway,” Micah continued, “Gage sent me to warn you, Gus, because the forest might be next in line. Although what you can do about it, I don’t know. That’s a whole lot of territory. But judging by the previous timing, the threat won’t be too soon. You’ll have time to figure out what you can do.”

  “What I can do?” Gus repeated. “Right now I must have thirty hikers out in the woods, plus about sixty families camping mostly at the southern side. I can’t just empty the park indefinitely. Not even for this. Damn, I can hear HQ hit the roof.”

  Micah smiled faintly. “So can I. All you can do is have your people remain alert. These instances might not even be linked. There sure hasn’t been anything like the Jasper murder with a kid in the tent.”

  Blaire had been studying the map closely and eventually spoke. “It looks as if someone is trying to make these events appear random.”

  The men looked again, and both nodded.

  “Not doing very well,” Gus remarked.

  “Actually, take a closer look. Every one of these killings occurred in a different jurisdiction, including two that happened across the state line. That would make linking them very difficult because the different jurisdictions operate independently. That’s clever.”

  “If it’s one killer,” agreed Micah.

  “It looks,” said Gus, “like a carefully planned operation.”

  Silence fell among the three of them. Blaire’s skin tightened the way it often had before going on a transport mission, knowing that danger lay ahead, but having no idea what kind, or from where.

  Micah muttered, “Well, hell,” as he stared at the map. “That would explain a lot.” He faced them. “Gage was going to send you some of the reports, the ones he can get. I’m not sure who’ll bring them up or when. Most of these cases are cold and getting colder. And from what he said, none of them have any evidence except bodies. Very useful.”

  “But there are two murders every summer, right?” Blaire asked. “That’s what I heard.”

  “So it appears, not that you can be sure of much with a sample set of five. All right, I’ll head back on down and pass this information to Gage. Good thinking, Blaire. You may have hit on something important.”

  “Important but probably useless,” she responded. “Somebody with brains is behind this but finding that brain isn’t going to get any easier.”

  “Maybe that’ll change,” Gus offered. “We might find something useful in our survey over the next few days. Or just thinking about all the murders from the perspective you provided might generate some ideas.”

  “Criminal masterminds,” Micah rumbled, and half snorted. “Word is they don’t exist.”

  Blaire couldn’t suppress a smile. “That’s what they say. They also say that every perp brings something to the scene and leaves something behind. Nobody’s apparently found anything left behind except bodies and the bullets in them. Oh, and one shell casing.”

  “Yeah. The reports will verify it when Gage gets them, but from what he mentioned this morning to me, all the weapons were different, too. God help us.”

  Micah stayed just long enough to finish a mug of coffee, then headed back down the mountain toward town. Gus helped Blaire with grooming Lita and feeding her, along with taking care of Scrappy, and she had to admit a certain excitement at the prospect of riding around the mountains with him in the morning.

  It had been a long time since she’d been in the saddle, and she’d realized during those days in Afghanistan that she really loved to ride, that she enjoyed the companionship of a horse, and that a horse could be as much of an early warning system as a trained dog. They reacted to strangers by getting nervous, for one thing.

  When the horses were taken care of, they headed back inside. “I need a shower,” Blaire remarked. “I smell like horse. And since you were here last night, you probably are starting to feel truly grungy.”

  “I’m used to grungy,” he reminded her. “But I’ll never turn down a hot shower. You go first.”

  “It’s a luxury, isn’t it?”

  She’d never realized just how much of one it was until those long missions in the ’Stan. Sometimes she’d felt as if dust and dirt had filled her pores and could never be scrubbed out. She ran upstairs to get clean clothes.

  She would have liked to luxuriate in the shower, but she needed t
o save hot water for Gus. Making it quick, she toweled off swiftly and climbed into fresh jeans and a long-sleeved polo with the state park logo on the shoulder. From the tiny linen cupboard, she pulled out fresh towels for him and placed them on a low stool she kept in the corner for holding her clothes.

  In the front room, she found Gus unpacking fresh clothes from a saddlebag.

  “Always ready?” she asked lightly.

  “That’s the Coast Guard, but yeah. A change of clothes is always a handy thing to have around. I’ll hurry.”

  “I’m done. If you want to use up all the hot water, be my guest.”

  He laughed, disappearing down the short, narrow hallway from the kitchen into her bathroom. A short while later she heard the shower running.

  Now to think of dinner. Fortunately that had been at the back of her mind while she’d been shopping, and it was easy enough to choose a frozen lasagna and preheat the oven. She’d gotten lazy. She could have cooked for two, but in the summers she avoided cooking even for herself, except when her freezer gave her fits. She had plastic containers full of things like pea soup and stew on her refrigerator shelf, but none of them held enough for two. The lasagna did.

  Gus apparently believed in conserving water, because he emerged from the bathroom, his hair still wet and scented like her bar soap, before the oven beeped that it was preheated.

  He looked over her shoulder, giving her the full force of his delightful aromas. “Oh, yum,” he said. “I assume you’re making dinner?”

  “I wouldn’t make this much just for me.”

  He laughed. “So you were thinking about me when we were at the store.”

  She was thinking about him a lot, she admitted to herself. Maybe too much. But she could deal with that later once things settled down around here.

  She put the lasagna in the oven, still covered by its plastic sheeting per directions, then filled their mugs with more coffee. “Front room?” she asked.

  “Let me go hang up this towel.” He pulled it from around his neck. “Be right there.”