Читать книгу Betrayal in the Badlands - Dana Mentink - Страница 10

Logan eyed Isabel as she sat on the hard-backed chair at the tiny police station, waiting to talk to an officer. When her turn came, he gave her a reassuring nod. “I’ve got to pick up an order. Tank and I will meet you back at the truck when you’re done. You okay to walk?”

She nodded. “Yes, my ankle’s better. I think the swelling’s gone down.”

He felt reluctant to leave, but he forced himself out of the building. Tank fell into step next to him. Logan could not shake the instinct that told him something was wrong. The watcher in the trees? His own unease when he’d started working on Cassie’s ranch?

Maybe, just maybe, it was the result of being close to a lovely woman again. Could a woman still have the power to unsettle him? As he quickened his pace toward the print shop, he felt the familiar pain build to a wall inside, stoked by the thought of how gullible he’d been, how stupid. It was as if he could hear Nancy’s revelation about the baby word for word in his mind. The baby that wasn’t his. The marriage that had never been enough. The world tilted in that moment, throwing off his equilibrium. He’d stumbled through months, years, after that, never quite recovering his balance. He ignored the pain in his ankle, aggravated by his effort to help Isabel, and moved quicker down the hot sidewalk, Tank panting behind him.

He wondered what the police would make of Isabel’s story. Stay out of it. She can fight her own battles.

Carl Trigg pulled to the curb and got out of his truck. “Logan. How’s Isabel? Thought I’d better come and check on things. Still can’t believe someone would have pushed her.” He raised an eyebrow. “Do you think that’s what happened?”

“I thought she might have imagined it at first, but there were fresh footprints on the edge that didn’t match mine or hers.”

The mayor’s brow crinkled and he let out a sigh. “I’ll make sure it’s investigated fully. We can’t have this sort of thing going on.” He hooked a thumb in the pocket of his pants. “Sheila wanted me to talk to you about a job. Gonna put up some fences, but the ground needs to be cleared first. Your schedule open?”

Logan’s face warmed. “Your son could do that job fine, Carl. You don’t need to pay me to do it.”

Trigg waved a hand. “John wants to spend every waking moment in the stables. No time for fences. We’re indulging him until he puts that law degree into practice. Got distracted by Cassie Reynolds and her horses.”

“How’s he taking it? Cassie’s death.”

“Oh, well, he was sad, of course. He respected her and they shared a common passion for horses, but that was about it. We’re all saddened about that girl’s accident. Sheila’s even decided to help Isabel plan a nice memorial service, if she wants. We want to help, you know. Speaking of help, we’ve got business with you. How about that fence project?”

Logan cleared his throat. “Look. I know you and Sheila are trying to help me make a success of this business, but you’ve done enough by loaning me the start-up money. I’m going to get this thing on its feet and pay you back.”

He smiled. “Sounds like you’re on a mission. Okay, I’ll tell Sheila, but she won’t be happy.”

Logan returned the smile. “Tell her I’ll stop by next time she makes one of her berry pies.”

“I’ll do that.” Carl waved and got back in the truck.

Logan hurried toward the shop to pick up the promotional flyers he’d ordered. If he didn’t start booking some jobs soon, he would be hard-pressed to live up to his words and all the flyers in the state wouldn’t make a difference. The knowledge that the mayor and his wife were offering charity work to tide him over left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Saving the business should have been the only thing on his mind, but he couldn’t resist a quick look back at the police station.

When Isabel was finally ushered back to meet Officer Bentley, she felt only uncertainty deep in the pit of her stomach. After a deep breath, she settled herself into a chair across from the whip-thin officer and took the offensive. “Hello, Officer Bentley. We spoke on the phone when you called to notify me about my sister.”

His dark eyes showed no expression. “I remember. A bad call to have to make.”

“Yes. I know you think Cassie’s death was an accident.” She sucked in a deep breath. “Maybe after you hear what happened to me last night, you’ll think differently.”

He listened, pencil poised, while she related the bizarre episode. After a long look, he put the pencil down. “Ms. Ling, are you sure someone pushed you? Isn’t it possible you stumbled and fell? In the dark, and on that property, it would be easy to do.”

Her cheeks warmed. “I didn’t fall. Someone shoved me and maybe that person had something to do with Cassie’s accident, too. There are footprints there. Whoever did it wore cowboy boots.”

He sighed so deeply the breath fluttered the corners of his mustache. Isabel could see threads of silver in his hair. “You can’t throw a stick around here without hitting someone wearing cowboy boots. I’ll be happy to ride up there and check it out, if that would ease your mind.”

“But you don’t believe me?”

“People experience grief differently. Sometimes it’s easier to imagine there’s someone or something to blame. Your sister was thrown from a horse. If you want to affix blame, you can pin it on Blue Boy. Some of those horses your sister rescued had been beaten, hurt bad. You never can really heal an animal like that.”

She willed her voice not to crack. “I’m just presenting facts to you, Officer Bentley. Please listen to me.”

He sat back in his chair, the lights accentuating the creases in his forehead. “All right. Let’s say you were pushed. My next question is, who do you know that would like to see you at the bottom of a ravine?”

Isabel swallowed hard. “I—I have an ex-husband named Rawley Pike who believes I wronged him, but he’s in prison in Orange County.”

The officer’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I’ll check on that. Can you tell me the date he was incarcerated?”

She drew in a breath. “August fifth, ten years ago.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And the crime?”

“Dealing drugs. Cocaine and heroin. And he killed a man during a deal that went bad.”

“You turned him in?”

Her skin prickled all over. “Yes, I turned him in.”

“I’ll check on his status.”

And that means he’ll find out everything about you, too. She nodded weakly. “The footprints?”

“As I said, I’ll take a look and if there’s something there, we’ll talk about it more. Right now, I’ve got a meeting.”

He rose and led Isabel to the door.

She wandered out into the blaze of late-morning sun, her stomach still churning. He didn’t believe her and, what was worse, he was now going to look up her whole sordid past. Logan had not returned to the truck. A sign on the building next door revealed it to be the office of Dr. Lunardi, the person who had examined Cassie and pronounced her dead. He’d also helped Isabel make long-distance burial arrangements.

Isabel walked gingerly to the small building. A white-haired receptionist looked up from her keyboard. “May I help you, honey? Did you need to see the doctor?”

She felt suddenly flustered. Why had she come in? Her face flushed and she fought the desire to run out the door again. “Er, yes. I think I sprained my ankle. Could Dr. Lunardi take a look?”

The lady consulted the computer screen. “He’s got a few minutes. Come on back.”

She led Isabel to an examining room and went to fetch the doctor. A short while later Dr. Lunardi appeared, a small man with the dome of his head shining and smooth and a fringe of neatly trimmed black hair in a semicircle around his scalp.

“Hello, Dr. Lunardi. I’m Cassie Reynolds’s sister. You were so kind to help me make arrangements for her.”

He dropped his pen and bent to pick it up. “Ms. Ling. I didn’t realize you were her sister, with the different last names.”

“I took my mother’s maiden name.”

He fiddled with some papers on a clipboard. “Should have seen the resemblance. I was happy to help you with your sister. I can point you to the right people to plan a memorial service, too, if you wish.”

“I would like that very much.”

“Wanda says you’ve had a tumble. May I take a look?” He busied himself prodding her ankle.

“Dr. Lunardi, I wondered if you could tell me about Cassie, when they brought her in. John Trigg found her, didn’t he?”

The doctor nodded, but didn’t look up. “Yes, John called the rescue squad and they transported her here because…” He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m sorry to say it, Ms. Ling, but there was no hope of resuscitation. I pronounced her dead.”

“From the head trauma?”

“Yes.”

Isabel turned the thought over in her mind. “Was there anything unusual about it? Anything that struck you as odd about my sister’s injuries?”

“What?” He blinked. “No, not unusual. Why would you ask such a thing?”

Isabel sighed. “I wondered if there was something that I don’t know about.”

He stiffened. “Your sister was thrown by a horse and died of head injuries sustained in that process. That’s all there is.” He pointed to her ankle. “It doesn’t appear to be broken or fractured. Continue to ice and keep the Ace bandage on to help you get along until the bruising heals. If it’s not better in a few days, come back. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other patients. No charge for the visit today. Welcome to town, Ms. Ling.”

He hurried out of the room.

She rewrapped her ankle with the bandage and left the exam room. Wanda was not at her station and there was no sign of the doctor. The heat enveloped her immediately as she left the air-conditioning behind. Across the street, a cool spot of wooded green beckoned her. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to face it, but she knew she had to try.

Heart pounding, she made her way to the cemetery.

Cassie was buried here, the arrangements made long-distance as Isabel had struggled to scrape up enough money to fly here to South Dakota. Somehow she would have to come up with the cash to pay the bills when her credit card came due and to plan a beautiful memorial service for her sister.

There would be flowers and sweet music and someone to sing the old hymns like their mother had done when they were children.

Tears pricked her eyes as she entered the cemetery. Trees shrouded it from the road and the quiet was broken only by the twitter of birds. The headstones were well tended, the grass trimmed and many were dotted with small tokens or flowers from loved ones. Isabel walked slowly until she found her sister’s grave.

Cassie Reynolds.

Child of God.

What things would she have had written on the stone if she had known her sister better? Lover of horses? Willing servant who cared for their abusive father? But maybe willing wasn’t the right word. Cassie took on the role because Isabel had run, abandoned her family and left it all behind for her sister to deal with after that final, awful confrontation with their father.

The tears left hot trails down her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, Cassie. I was weak and selfish and I waited too long.” She ran a hand over the grass that surrounded the stone. “Why didn’t I reach out earlier?” It was a question she had asked God almost continually since she had gotten the phone call three weeks prior. The grief squeezed her heart so hard she thought it would stop beating. “I wasn’t there to help when you needed me. I wasn’t even there to bury you properly. I’m so sorry.”

Sitting under the trees, alone with her sister, she let the sadness flow.

It could have been a few seconds or many minutes before the sound sank into her consciousness. An eerie, familiar tune that took her a few moments to place.

“The dear old flag…”

It was the strange song she’d heard right before someone had pushed her into the ravine. She leaped to her feet, whirling around. The song continued in soft, low tones.

She backed up against a wide pine and scanned wildly for the singer.

Finally she spotted him, standing in the shadows, leaning against a headstone. He was thin, dressed in brown pants and a tunic, slouch hat over his long reddish-blond hair. His eyes were pale, icy and metallic, as he stared at her.

Her mouth went dry and she could not force out a word. Her gaze slid down to his feet. Cowboy boots.

With a graceful gesture, he tipped his hat and gave her a wicked smile. “Afternoon, Isabel.”

Logan didn’t see Isabel at the truck, so he stopped in the grocery store. He didn’t need anything in particular, just killing time, but he came out with a bag nonetheless. Tank got up from his spot in the shade and greeted his owner with typical canine enthusiasm. Logan gave him a scratch behind the ears and loaded the supplies into the truck.

Still no Isabel.

He scanned every inch of the sun-soaked street. If she was still in with the police, he decided, things must not be going well. It wouldn’t hurt to drop in and check. He was headed in back toward the station when he heard the scream.

He took off at a dead sprint for the direction of the cry; the cemetery. Tank raced along beside him, matching him stride for stride. His mind took note of certain facts as his body hurtled along. Unfenced area. Cover from trees and shrubs. Plenty of places to take a shot, hide an assailant, conceal a body.

He gritted his teeth and crouched as he ran through the entrance, staying low, his route zigzagging as he scanned for any sight of her, or signs that there had been a struggle. He stopped to listen, sweat beading on his face.

Tank gave him a questioning look.

He quieted his breathing and listened again. This time Tank took off on his own, darting from headstone to headstone, moving steadily up the slope.

Logan ran after the dog until he heard it. The tiniest of noises, a shuddering hiccup. He headed for the sound, body still low, feet soundless as he could make them. It took him only a moment to find her.

Isabel was crouched in a ball behind a gravestone, her face stricken with terror.

When Tank bounded up, Logan commanded him to sit.

“Isabel.” He reached out a hand to her and she jerked back violently, breath heaving, eyes unfocused.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed.

He knelt next to her. “It’s okay. It’s Logan. Remember me? Logan Price. I drove you up here.”

Her face was blank, frozen in fear by whatever had caused her scream. He called Tank to his side. “Remember my dog, Tank? He’s been looking for you.”

When Logan released him, Tank trotted up to Isabel and licked her face. She jerked at first and then wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close, her fingers clinging to his black fur.

Logan stayed quiet for a moment, letting the dog ease Isabel out of her shock. Very slowly he laid his hand on her forearm. “Can you talk now?”

She looked at him for a long time before she blinked, rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes and nodded, all the while keeping one arm around the dog.

“I heard you scream. What happened?”

She tried several times before the words came out. “It was the man, the one who pushed me into the ravine. I came to visit Cassie’s grave and he was here, watching me.”

Logan frowned. “How do you know it was the same man?”

Her eyes brimmed with tears. “That awful song. He sang the same song.”

He kept his voice soft and gentle. “Did he touch you? Hurt you?”

She started to tremble. “No. He just watched me. Watched me run and fall and get up and run again. He just watched me. And…”

“And what?”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Logan, he knew my name.”

He squeezed her forearm, wishing he could force the fear out of her. “Stay here. I’m going to check around.”

She looked panicked, so he added quickly, “Tank will stay with you. No one will touch you when he’s on duty.” He ordered the dog to stay and moved away.

He did a quick perimeter check and worked his way inward in ever-diminishing circles until he rejoined Isabel. “No trace of anyone.”

She was calmer now, but her voice still held an edge of panic. “He was here. I saw him. Leaning right against that tree. I’m not making it up.”

Logan reached out a hand to her and, after a moment of indecision, she took it.

“We’re going to go back to the police station, and this time, I’m staying with you.”