Читать книгу Secret of Deadman's Ravine - B.J. Daniels, B.J. Daniels - Страница 8

Chapter Three

Lila Bailey busied herself arranging the food as it arrived from local residents. She had to keep busy or she knew she would lose her mind. The thought shook her, considering that her mother, Nina Mae, had literally lost hers and was now in the nursing home in Whitehorse.

The only way Lila could cope was not to allow herself even the thought that her oldest daughter wasn’t coming back. Eve could take care of herself. Eve was the strong one. Eve was a survivor. Even as upset as she’d been yesterday.

Lila had to believe that. If she gave in to doubts, she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold herself together and for Lila, losing control had always been her greatest fear.

More food arrived. She arranged it on the extra tables the men had set up for her. Everyone pitched in when needed. She recalled with shame how the town had offered help when they heard Chester had left her.

Her face flamed at the pity she’d seen in their faces. No one believed Chester would be back. And she was sure they’d all speculated on why Chester had left her.

Well, let their tongues wag. She had turned down their help. She’d pay hell before she’d take their pity. She’d show them all. Lila Cross Bailey didn’t need anyone. Never had.

Tears sprang to her eyes. She furtively wiped them away. The last thing she’d do was let one person in this community see her cry.

Not that there was much left. There were only a half-dozen houses still standing, most of them empty, in what had once been a thriving homestead town a hundred years ago.

Amid the weeds, abandoned houses and what was left of the foundations of homes long gone was Titus and Pearl Cavanaugh’s big white three-story house at the far end of the street. Next to it was the smaller house where Titus’s mother, Bertie, had lived before she’d become so sick she had to go into Whitehorse to the nursing home.

A couple of blocks behind the community center and near the creek stood the old abandoned Cherry house, which kids still said was haunted. Lila was eleven when she heard what sounded like a baby crying in the empty old Victorian house. She still got goose bumps when she thought about it.

At the opposite end of town was Geraldine Shaw’s clapboard house, a large red barn behind it.

Overlooking the town was the Whitehorse Cemetery, where residents had been buried from the time the original homesteaders settled here. The most recent grave belonged to Abigail Ames, Pearl Cavanaugh’s mother. Next to the cemetery was the fairgrounds where community summer events took place.

As Lila looked up, a tumbleweed cartwheeled across Main Street. Like many small towns across eastern Montana, both Old Town and Whitehorse were dying, the young people leaving, the old people heading for the cemetery on the hill.

The young people left for better jobs or to go to school and never return, glad to have escaped the hard life of farming or ranching such austere county.

Lila knew that Faith and McKenna had only come home for the summer because they’d heard that their father had moved out. She’d insisted they take jobs in Whitehorse to keep them out of her hair and make it clear that she didn’t need their help.

Not that there was much in Whitehorse to the north. It had a grocery, a newspaper, several banks, a handful of churches and a hardware store and lumberyard. The bowling alley had burned down but the old-timey theater was still open, showing one new movie three days a week.

Like other ranchers from around the county, Lila went into Whitehorse for supplies and to stop by the nursing home to see her mother.

Why Eve had come back was a mystery to most everyone but Lila. Eve moved into her grandmother’s house up the road and, from all appearances, seemed to be staying, which frightened Lila more than she wanted to admit.

As she gazed out the window, Lila knew it was just a matter of time before she’d be all alone in that big old rambling house with nothing but memories. And regrets.

“They’ll find her,” a deep male voice said behind her, making her jump.

She felt the skin on her neck prickle as she recognized the voice and realized he had her trapped in the corner between the long potluck table and the window.

Her back stiffened and she had to fix her expression before she turned around to face Errol Wilson.

“I know you must be worried, but we all know how strong Eve is,” Errol said. He was a short, broad man with small dark eyes and a receding hairline of salt-and-pepper hair that stuck out from under his Western hat.

As his eyes locked with hers, Lila felt her skin crawl. She nodded, unable to speak, barely able to breathe. Normally, she made sure she kept her distance from Errol at these community gatherings, never letting him get her alone, even with other people around. But nothing about the past few days had been normal.

“Eve’s a survivor,” Errol continued, standing next to Lila but not looking at her. So close she knew that no one else in the room could hear him. If anyone looked this way, they would think he was inspecting the dishes that had been set out for the potluck.

“Like her mother,” Errol added.

“Ready?” Frank Ross called to Errol. “You’re going with Floyd Evans and the sheriff,” Frank told Errol, and gave Lila a comforting nod before heading for the door.

Lila turned her back to Errol, but she could still feel him behind her, the scent of his aftershave making her stomach roil.

“Don’t worry, Lila,” Errol said. “We’ll find your daughter and bring her back to you. Wouldn’t let anything ever happen to her. Just like I’d hate to see anything happen to you.”

She gripped the edge of the table, shaking violently with anger and fear and enough regret that she thought she might drown in it.

Please, God, let Eve be all right. Don’t punish her for my mistakes. Give me a chance to make things right with her.

But even as she prayed it, Lila Bailey knew there was no way she could make any of this right with Eve.

CARTER SADDLED up with the search party. After the storm, there would be no passable roads to the south. There were few roads to begin with. A couple of Jeep trails when the weather was good. One road that petered out a couple of miles out near his family’s old place.

His father had sold out a while back. Carter’s brother Cade hadn’t had any interest in ranching and Deena had flat out refused to live on a ranch. She thought Whitehorse was the end of the earth as it was.

So his father had sold the homestead. Not that Loren Jackson had ever had any interest in ranching. He’d always leased the land. No, Loren had wanted to be a commercial pilot, but for some reason hadn’t left Phillips County so he’d ended up crop dusting with his father, Ace Jackson.

That was until he’d up and decided to move to Florida.

Carter had never understood his father. Loren Jackson had always seemed…unfulfilled.

So it felt odd to be here and realize that the old place stood empty just up the road. The Cavanaughs had bought the land, but no one had a use for the house, so it had been boarded up.

Carter rode east to avoid seeing the place, going past Bailey property and the house where he’d heard Eve was staying. One of the search party checked to make sure Eve hadn’t returned.

She hadn’t. And McKenna had come along to get a change of clothing for Eve to wear when they found her. Then they all rode south, leaving behind farm and ranch land for cactus and sagebrush.

Titus had divided the men into groups, each armed with a two-way radio. Ward Shaw had brought along a saddled extra horse for Eve to ride when they found her. Everyone was optimistic they would find her alive.

Or at least they pretended to be.

The thunderstorm the night before had wiped out any trace of her tracks, but her horse had returned this morning, leaving deep gouges in the wet gumbolike mud that were easy to follow.

The sheriff rode with Errol Wilson and Floyd Evans. The others fanned out, hoping to catch sight of Eve’s footprints since she would be on foot.

Although Carter had grown up here and known Errol and Floyd all his life, the three rode in silence with little to say to one another. Both men were older by at least twenty-five years and while Errol and Floyd lived within miles of each other, Carter had never known them to be friends.

In fact, few people in and around Old Town particularly liked Errol Wilson. There was something about the man that put Carter off, as well. Something behind the man’s dark eyes that seemed almost predatory. Errol radiated a bitterness for which Carter had never known the source.

As a boy, Carter remembered overhearing some of the men talking about Errol. There was some concern that Errol might be a Peeping Tom. Carter hadn’t known what that was at the time. And he’d never heard any more about it. He just figured that men like Errol Wilson generated those kind of stories because they didn’t fit in.

Carter gave no more thought to either man as he rode. His mind was on Eve and the argument she’d had with her mother. What had sent Eve riding deep into the Breaks without food or water or proper clothing? Her horse coming back without her was a very bad sign. He was worried what they would find. If they managed to find her at all.

The sun moved across Montana’s big sky, drying the mud, heating the air to dragon’s breath. No breeze moved the air. Nothing stirred, but an occasional cricket in a clump of brush.

An hour later, Carter reined in as he lost Eve’s horse’s tracks in a rocky area. “Let’s spread out. Holler when you pick up the tracks again,” he told the two men.

Errol rode off to the west while Floyd went east, kicking up a bunch of antelope. Carter watched the antelope run across the horizon, disappearing as the land began to drop, funneling forward to the riverbed.

To the west Carter saw one of the other groups from the search party had stopped to clean the mud from their horses’hooves. A hawk soared overheard, picking up a thermal, and nearby a mule deer spooked, rising up from a rocky coulee, all big ears as it took off, kicking up clumps of dried earth. No sign of Eve Bailey.

Carter rode straight south to where the flat, high prairie broke into eroded fingers of land that dropped precariously to the river bottom. He kept to the higher ridges in hopes of seeing Eve’s blue T-shirt. The problem was that too much of this land looked exactly the same. That made it extremely easy to get lost. During the storm, Eve could have gotten turned around. If she’d tried to walk out on foot last night she might be anywhere.

At one point, he stopped and realized he could no longer see either Errol or Floyd. He hoped to hell the search party didn’t have to find them before the day was over.

He’d just reined in his horse on a narrow ridge, the sides falling dangerously toward the old river bottom when he caught sight of something light blue in the rocks far below him.

REPORTER GLEN WHITAKER couldn’t believe his timing. He made it to the Whitehorse Community Center just as Arlene Evans was unloading the pies from the front seat of her pickup.

“Let me help you with those,” he said.

Arlene was a gangly woman with an elongated horsy face and laugh that was more donkey’s bray. That alone would have put off most people, but there was also a nervous energy that at best made him jittery and at worse made the hair stand up on his arms.

“Violet, say hello to Glen,” Arlene ordered.

“Hi, Glen,” said a shy and bored voice behind him.

He turned to see Arlene’s daughter, Violet.

While better looking than her mother, Violet was still plain to the point of pitiful. Next to her mother, Violet seemed almost catatonic. “Hey,” he said.

He’d always suspected that Arlene fed off other people’s energy because, like her daughter, Glen found that after a matter of minutes around Arlene he barely had enough energy to escape. And right now escape was exactly what he wanted to do.

“Violet and I can get the pies if you’ll open the front door,” Arlene said, handing off a pie to her daughter then picking up another before kicking the pickup door shut in one smooth movement.

He had to almost run to get the community center door open before Arlene. They both had to wait for Violet, who moved like sludge.

“Violet, why don’t you get Glen a piece of the coconut-custard right away,” Arlene said. “He looks like he could use it.”

Violet nodded as she wandered off to do as she’d been told. Already trained to obey, she’d make someone the perfect wife, Glen thought. Just not him. At forty, he’d never married. His mother said it was because she’d spoiled him.

“Any news on Eve Bailey?” he asked.

“Apparently not,” Arlene said, as she shot a look at the somber group of women waiting in the community center.

All the women looked in his direction, then went back to visiting among themselves or occupying themselves with the needlework in their laps. Glen had never understood it. He was nice enough looking, but for some reason people didn’t seem to pay any attention to him.

Feeling like the invisible man, he drew out his notebook and pen as he and Arlene took a seat in a quiet corner and waited for Violet to bring the pie.

“It’s a shame,” Arlene was saying in a hushed voice so the others couldn’t hear. “She has been through so much and now this.”

“Eve?” Glen asked, wondering what was keeping Violet.

“Lila,” Arlene whispered, glancing in the woman’s direction. Lila was cleaning the sink near the back door, stopping periodically to look out, as if she hoped to see her daughter.

Glen wasn’t interested in Lila Bailey. No story there.

“Her husband left her, you know. Oh, she tells everyone he moved into Whitehorse to be closer to his job, but we all know the truth.”

Arlene took a breath and Glen jumped in, hoping to get some background material, “So what brought Eve Bailey back here?” He watched Arlene shift gears. Apparently she was just getting warmed up on the Lila and Chester Bailey story.

“A man,” Arlene said flatly. “It’s the only thing that brings a woman her age back to the ranch. You know she’s thirty-two. Just two years younger than my Violet.”

An old maid in Arlene’s eyes.

“I heard she became an interior designer.” Arlene lifted a brow as if to say what a waste of time and education that was. “You can bet some man broke her heart and she came running home with her tail tucked between her legs.”

Glen wrote on his notepad a new headline: Jilted, Whitehorse Woman Returns Home Only To Die Alone In Missouri Breaks.

Violet slid a plate with a large piece of coconut-custard pie in front of him and sank into a chair as if the chore had spent all of her energy.

He glanced at her as he picked up the fork. “Thanks.” She stared back with large, liquid, colorless eyes, but with just enough expectation in them to make him nervous. It hit him then that she would want to get married even more than her mother wanted her to. Marriage would be the only way to make her mother stop trying to hoist her off on men. Any man.

As he took a bite of pie, he noticed Arlene had stopped talking and was staring toward the front door.

A man in his early thirties who Glen had never seen before stood in the doorway as if looking for someone but not seeing them, turned and left, letting the door close behind him.

“Who was that?” Glen asked, seeing Arlene’s obvious interest.

“The fella who’s renting the old McAllister place,” Arlene whispered. “Bridger Duvall. Sounds like the name of an actor. Or a name he just made up. No one knows anything about him. Or why he rented that old farmhouse, since he hasn’t shown any interest in raising a thing. He was downright rude when Violet and I went out there to welcome him to the area.”

Glen could well imagine what Arlene’s welcome visit was all about—and no doubt the man had, as well, the moment he laid eyes on Violet.

“I wonder,” Arlene said slowly. “You know he showed up about the same time Eve returned to town.” Her eyes widened. “What if he’s the man who broke Eve Bailey’s heart?”

And this, Glen thought, was how rumors got started.

SHERIFF CARTER JACKSON felt his breath catch in his throat as he stared down into the ravine. The spot of light blue hadn’t moved and, from this angle, he couldn’t tell what it was but he had a bad feeling it was Eve Bailey.

He raised his binoculars. The light blue moved. He felt his heart lift like helium. Eve Bailey rose from where she’d been almost hidden in the rocks. He watched her work her way slowly up the slope head down, oblivious to him standing high above her. She climbed the rocks with fluid if exhausted movements.

Carter found himself grinning, overjoyed that she was all right, glad he would be able to take good news back to the Whitehorse Community Center.

Now that he knew she was alive, though, he wanted to wring her neck. What the hell had she been thinking riding out like that yesterday afternoon? Maybe more to the point, what was she doing down in that ravine to begin with?

“I’ve found her,” he said into the two-way radio. “She looks like she’s all right. I’m going down to get her out. Bring the horse to the top of the ravine.” He gave a reading from his GPS.

Titus Cavanaugh came back over the radio an instant later, sounding equally relieved. “We’re not far from you. Glad to hear the good news.”

Carter dismounted and, taking his pack with his rescue gear, started to work his way down the rocky slope. His earlier exhilaration at seeing that she was alive was dampened at the thought of what her reaction would be to seeing him. It had been years, but he doubted she would have forgotten the way things had ended between them.

Eve had taken off for college right after high school graduation and he hadn’t seen her since. He knew she’d come back for holidays to see her parents and sisters, but she’d made a point of avoiding him. And since he lived in Whitehorse, he’d had no reason to go out of his way to see her.

In fact, the way even the mention of Eve set Deena off, he’d stayed as far away as he could from Old Town—and Eve Bailey.

He was pretty sure Eve hated him. Not that he could blame her. Or maybe she hadn’t given him a thought since the day she left.

He wished he could say the same.

As he cut off her ascent up the rocky ravine, he realized he was nervous about seeing her. This was crazy. Hell, it had been years. She’d probably forgotten that night in the front seat of his old Chevy pickup behind her parents’ barn.

Just then she looked up and he knew Eve hadn’t forgotten— or forgiven him.