Читать книгу Montana Midwife - Cassie Miles, Cassie Miles - Страница 7

Aiden stood over the body of a man who wasn’t much older than his sister. The fresh blood on his shirt made a vivid splash of crimson against the dry prairie grass in the clearing. The wind sighed through the bare branches of trees, and the rushing of the river played a quiet dirge. The family and friends of this young man would mourn his passing. Out of respect for them and for the victim, Aiden spread a tarp from the helicopter over the body.

He stood and took a step back.

His sister had a talent for getting into trouble, but this went beyond her usual. When he turned, he saw Misty was standing by the Jeep with her boyfriend. This time, she’d gotten herself involved in a murder. There would be consequences.

Before landing, he’d done an aerial sweep of the area and had seen nothing that appeared threatening. In the afternoon sunlight, his vision extended for miles in every direction. He hadn’t spotted the shooter fleeing or hiding among the rocks and brush. There were no signs of a getaway vehicle, which didn’t surprise Aiden. Almost an hour had passed since the first phone call from Tabitha; that was plenty of time for a shooter to put distance between himself and the scene of the crime.

If there was a shooter …

As he moved to the edge of the clearing, Tabitha joined him. “I’m glad you covered him,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if that would disturb evidence.”

“We aren’t exactly dealing with a crack team of CSI investigators.” He’d done enough work with local law enforcement to know the drill. “The police will be more concerned with obvious stuff. That’s Misty’s rifle on the ground. Do you know how it got here?”

“You need to ask her.”

“There’s a smear of blood on the stock.”

“When I arrived,” Tabitha said, “Misty was kneeling beside the body. I think she was trying to help. She had blood on her hands.”

“Do you think she did it?” He asked the question of the sky and the hills and the river. “Do you think she killed that young man?”

“I don’t know.”

Though he wasn’t sure what he’d do, Aiden had to know the truth. “Misty isn’t a murderer.”

“No, she’s not.”

For the first time since he’d landed, he looked directly at Tabitha. Her blue-eyed gaze was disconcerting, partly because the color was unexpected and partly because she was a lot prettier than he remembered with high cheekbones and a strong, stubborn chin. Her long black braid glistened in the fading sunlight. Though he should have been focused on his sister and the murdered man, this beautiful woman distracted him. His fingers itched to unfasten her braid and caress her silky hair.

“There is a plus side,” she said. “Emergency medical evacuation isn’t necessary. Not for Misty, anyway.”

He watched her full lips as she spoke. “Does that mean she isn’t in labor?”

“I haven’t done a full exam, obviously. But her mysterious labor pains seem to have disappeared, and she’s a month away from her due date. I advised her to check with her doctor in case there are complications. She might need to be on bed rest.”

“I like that idea.” With an effort, he reined in his inappropriate thoughts about Tabitha’s long legs and slender waist. “It’d be nice to keep Misty close to home before the baby comes.”

“I’m more concerned about Clinton.” Her crisp, professional tone helped create a distance between them. “I patched up his head wound, but he’s had a concussion and needs to be under observation.”

“I understand.” But he didn’t agree. He could have cited five or six times when he’d been knocked unconscious and had survived just fine. “I’m mighty glad you got here when you did. This situation could have been worse. Not that there’s anything worse than murder.”

Even if his sister was the killer? Surely, there was an explanation. Self-defense?

“We should call the sheriff,” Tabitha said.

“But this is reservation land. That means we call the Crow police chief, Joseph Lefthand. I’ve worked with him before. He’s good at his job.”

“I agree. Joseph is a good, dedicated lawman.”

He took out his cell phone. “I’ll call him.”

“Wait,” she said. “The tribal police don’t have the resources to process forensic evidence, and I want to make sure the investigation is done right. This isn’t a straightforward murder.”

“It’s not that complicated.” He didn’t need to go into detail about how his aerial sweep failed to show evidence of a killer on the run, or how Misty’s rifle was on the ground beside the body. “We’re looking at an obvious case of self-defense.”

“That’s not what Misty says.”

“Do you believe her, Tabitha?”

“I do. Your sister might be irresponsible, but she’s not a liar.” She arched an eyebrow. “Please call me Tab. The only other person who uses my full name is my grandma, and that’s only when she’s mad at me.”

Her slight smile made him want to see a full-fledged grin and to hear her laughter. “I remember your grandma. Maria Spotted Bear.” He looked past the Jeep to where a black mare was grazing. “Is that her horse?”

“Shua,” Tab said. “Don’t ask me why a black horse is named with the Crow word for blue. Grandma has her reasons.”

“Is she well?”

“According to her, she’s in great health. But she’s been diagnosed with a touch of congenital heart failure. A couple of months ago, she fainted and broke her wrist. One of the reasons I moved back here was to take care of her.”

“Sorry to hear that she’s ailing.”

Tab shrugged. A simple gesture, but he found it charming. “How’s Sylvia?”

“Mom is strong as an ox. It’s hard to believe she’s almost sixty.”

A silence stretched between them. Much had happened in the ten years they’d been out of contact. Though he’d never been a real chatty sort of guy, he had an urge to tell her everything about his life, his hopes and his dreams. With so much to say, he didn’t know where to start.

Tab took the first step. “Let’s talk to your sister, and then we can decide who to call.”

Together, they returned to the Jeep where Misty leaned against the front bumper with her arms cradling her belly. Clinton stood beside her. He’d slapped his cowboy hat onto his head, almost covering the gauze bandage that Tab had applied.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Clinton said. “I should have protected my girl. But I was out cold.”

“And you didn’t see anything,” Aiden said.

“No, sir.”

He turned to his sister. “I’m guessing that you were attacked. Maybe this guy—”

“David Welling.” There was a hitch in her voice. “His name is David Welling.”

“Okay, David Welling came at you, maybe he—”

“I can’t believe he’s dead.”

“Calm down, sweetie. Take a nice, slow, deep breath.” He waited until she’d composed herself before he continued, “It’s not your fault. You had to shoot David in self-defense.”

“I didn’t shoot anybody.” She shook her head, and her curly blond hair whipped across her face. “I never would shoot anybody.”

Aiden exchanged a glance with Tab. She’d warned him that his sister’s story was complicated. “Take your time, Misty. Tell me exactly what happened.”

“I was waiting for Tab. I heard a noise over by the river, and I got my rifle out of the back of the Jeep. I was scared that somebody might come after us. Poor Clinton was unconscious, and I couldn’t let anybody hurt him.”

“Whoa,” Clinton said. “I’m not helpless. I could’ve got to my feet and taken care of you.”

Aiden held up his hand, signaling Clinton to stop. “I’m listening to Misty, now.”

She continued, “As soon as I got a little bit closer—”

“Did you take the rifle with you?”

“I left it right here.” She pointed to the front bumper. “I figured that if I needed it, I could run back and grab it real quick.”

“But I thought you were trying to protect Clinton?”

She tapped her foot. “Do you want to hear this, or not, Aiden?”

Understanding her motivations was like asking a chicken why it pecked in the dirt. “Go on.”

“I recognized David. I dated him before he graduated high school and moved away from Henley.”

As far as Aiden could tell, she’d dated most of the male population of Henley High, which made it even more astounding that she’d ended up with a pea brain like Clinton. “Is this David Welling any relation to Bert Welling who runs a gas station in Henley?”

“Bert is his uncle,” Misty said. “David used to pump gas for Bert before he moved to Billings with his dad. Anyway, when I saw him standing there in the clearing, I said hi. And he said I shouldn’t be here, and I told him that we were stuck, and he said I needed to get away from here, to get the hell away from here.”

Her eyes welled up with tears. “Then I heard the shots. David grabbed his chest and fell down. And there was blood. Oh my God, there was a lot of blood.”

“Did you see who shot him?”

“I hit the dirt. I thought they were shooting at me. I covered my head and I thought about my baby. I couldn’t let anything bad happen to my baby, I just couldn’t.”

Her hands flew up to cover her face as heavy sobs shook her shoulders. For once, Clinton did the right thing, stepping forward to comfort her and hold her against his chest. His protective attitude made Aiden wonder if there was something Misty had left out of her story.

Clinton might have been the shooter. Misty could be claiming responsibility to keep her boyfriend from being a suspect. But that didn’t make sense. A self-defense plea worked just as well for Clinton as for Misty. Aiden doubted that either one of them would be charged with murder … except for one hitch. The victim appeared to be unarmed.

As Misty’s sobs abated, Aiden asked, “Why was your rifle in the clearing?”

“I ran back to get it, but the gun wasn’t where I left it.”

“Where was it?”

“Right about here.” She pointed to a clump of sagebrush that was about twenty yards from the clearing. “I could tell it had been fired.”

“Are you saying that the killer used your rifle?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you see him?” he asked.

“He must have run off.”

Or maybe he turned invisible. Aiden was getting more and more frustrated with her story. “How long between when you heard the shot and ran back to get the rifle?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think, Misty.”

Tears streaked down her cheeks. “Don’t be so mean to me.”

“I can help,” Tab said. “When I heard the first shot, I was on the other side of those hills. It took five or six minutes before I got to the crest and could see the Jeep. Clinton was unconscious in the backseat. I fired a warning shot in the air to scare off anybody who might be hanging around.”

“I shot back,” Misty said. “I didn’t aim at anything. I was just shooting in the air. Twice.”

Aiden fitted the pieces together. According to his sister, a mysterious shooter had killed David Welling using her rifle, and then disappeared within five minutes. He gauged the distance from where she found the rifle to the trees and shrubs that bordered the river. Though it was possible that the killer could make that dash, it was unlikely. Why use Misty’s rifle? Why choose this particular moment to kill David Welling? And what was Welling doing out here in the first place?

After patting his sister on the arm and offering reassurances that he hoped weren’t empty, Aiden pulled Tab to one side. His senses registered the clean fragrance of her shampoo and the warmth that emanated from her body, but he kept his mind trained on the problem at hand.

“You’re right,” he said to Tab. “This investigation is beyond the resources of the tribal police. But we still need to contact Joseph Lefthand.”

“I’m not sure of the procedure,” she said.

He explained. First, they needed to notify tribal police of a crime committed on their land. In most cases, the Crow were happy to pass on the problem and cede jurisdiction through an agent of the federal government, namely someone from the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Then the county sheriff would take over.

“I hope the sheriff can get started with his investigation before dark.” She looked toward the sun sinking in the west. “There might be footprints from the gunman. Or evidence of his vehicle.”

“If Misty’s story is accurate,” he said, “ballistics will show that the bullets came from her rifle.”

“There might be fingerprints.”

“In addition to Misty’s prints.” She’d already said that she fired the gun and would, therefore, have gunshot residue on her clothes.

He wished that his sister had come up with a more convincing story—something about how David Welling attacked her, and she was forced to defend herself. The idea of a murderer who could appear out of nowhere and vanish in the blink of an eye was improbable. It sounded like a lie. And lying made Misty look as if she had something to hide.

If this investigation went wrong, it was entirely possible that his sister would be delivering her baby in jail.