Shoot First, page 28
He sat back, looking faintly triumphant.
“That would point to Stan. Unless,” Tom said, looking at me, “you have other enemies?”
“Subjects of some stories don’t send me Christmas cards, but I don’t know why they’d wait until now. As for more personal, I guess my ex theoretically, but it’s been almost a year—”
“To throw off suspicion,” Mike said.
I shook my head. Trashing my career was far more his style. “I can’t see him coming out here, buying gas, and — No. And never in a million years would he hire someone. He’d never let anyone have that kind of power over him.”
Ding-ding-ding. My insight-recognition alarm went off.
Wes hated anyone having power over him, and he saw knowledge of him as power. At the beginning of our marriage, he’d said nobody knew him better than I did. As time had gone on, I’d known him less and less. I’d thought it was a function of growing apart. But could it have been deliberate on his part?
All that flashed through my mind before I added, “As for around here, the only remotely controversial stories have been the ones with you two—” I looked at Diana and Mike. “—so why take it out on me?”
“Outsider,” Mike said promptly. “Still, that’s a stretch, even for Stan. What about—?” He broke off, his eyes lit up with deviltry.
I saw it before he said another word. “No. No way.”
“What?” Tom asked.
“Thurston.”
Mike’s statement appeared to leave Tom thunderstruck. I might have giggled, then all of us broke into helpless laughter.
Sure, it was tiredness and tension and frustration. It was also the idea of Thurston Fine tiptoeing around my house in the dead of night pouring gasoline with his own hands.
Worn out by the laughter, I shifted in my chair. And became aware of two things simultaneously — I was tapping a pen on the table and everyone else was watching.
“What’s on your mind, Elizabeth?” Diana asked.
“Avis’ will.”
“Why?” Mike asked.
“Because it was so strange. Because two people connected with it — Mildred and Helen — were attacked, and one killed. Because all this started just before that estate sale.”
“So, go look at it,” Tom said. “Any will that’s recorded with the Court Clerk becomes public record. And this one was recorded. After I asked James Longbaugh to help Mildred, he mentioned going to the courthouse to read the will because she wanted to hold up the estate sale if she was still in jail.”
“Then he can tell us—” Jennifer started.
I interrupted. “Let’s get our own copy. See what’s in it ourselves.”
“I’ll get a copy,” Tom said. “I’ve got to go to the clerk’s office tomorrow anyway.”
“Good. Thanks.”
“There’s something else,” Mike said. “You said two people connected with that will were attacked, but there’s one person who hasn’t been. Sally.” His gaze slid to Tom.
Before Tom could dismiss the possibility again, I said, “We need to look at her more closely. Sally certainly could have known Avis had something valuable. She admits knowing Gaines, that he called her the night before he went to Mildred’s. And she would get next crack at Avis’ collection if Mildred was eliminated.”
“But Mildred wasn’t and she got her pick, so what would Sally’s motive be now?” Diana asked.
“Plus, she told you she knew Gaines and about his call. You wouldn’t have known, otherwise. That’s hardly suspicious,” Tom said.
“Maybe…. You know, that’s interesting. Sally said Gaines came every few months. Penny said he was here when Avis died. Angie at the airport said he’d rented before, right, Mike?”
“With everything that’s happened, I forgot about that, but yeah, she did.”
“I wonder what Gaines did while he was here? Considering his history, it seems unlikely he hung around kindly doing errands for his great-aunt.”
“I’ll see what the sheriff’s department has,” Mike said.
“I’ll ask Badger at the Kicking Cowboy what he’s heard,” Tom volunteered.
“I know folks who live on Avis’ block. I’ll see what they know,” Diana said.
“And I’m still trying to find more about him,” Jennifer said grimly. “After that stuff I found on the court’s system, it’s like he turned into an altar boy. But I’ll dig again — After Mrs. P’s stuff, I mean.”
“And I’m going to play FreeCell. Strictly to clear my mind,” I said virtuously. There was something … something beneath the surface and refusing to come nearer. Maybe if I let my brain waves free — as in FreeCell — it would come. “But first let’s clean up the mess we’ve made of Diana’s house.”
They decided loading the dishwasher was less strenuous than carrying things, so I was assigned that job.
After bringing in a load, Tom crowded next to me at the sink. With the dishwasher door open at my other side, there was nowhere to go unless I retreated.
“Forget the Haber House. Stay here. In the bunkhouse,” he said in a low voice. So Diana had talked to him.
“If someone comes after me, they could—”
“They know how to handle intruders.” She must have primed him for that argument. “And this way, we’ll all know someone’s keeping an eye on you.”
“That’s ridicu—”
“Then do it because Diana asked you to.”
“There’s no reason to impose on her.”
“You’ve got a strange idea of friendship if you see that as imposing.”
He had me, and he knew it.
Was I reluctant to become true friends with these people? Was that connected to being wary about reclaiming ties with friends from my previous life?
He held the look. I held my tongue.
The stalemate lifted when the humor that so changed him lit his dark eyes. “As long as you’re staying in the bunkhouse, Diana won’t have to call your parents and tell them she was wrong about everything being under control.”
“Oh-ho. So Tom Burrell plays dirty.”
“As dirty as I have to.”
My gaze slid away from his. “Fine. You win.”
“Good.” I knew he was taking a metaphorical step back even before he spoke the next words. “Besides, Doc says Shadow’s ready to stay with you, and I don’t think he’d like the Haber House.”
Or vice versa.
As soon as everyone else left, I formally accepted Diana’s invitation, insisting on paying rent … after I had access to my money. Once again, I added appreciation and thank-yous until she threatened to hog-tie me if I didn’t stop.
With help from Jessica and Gary, I moved my meager possessions from the guest room into the bunkhouse, while Diana checked it over again. It was clean, fresh, open, and had no suspicious stains on any walls. The bathroom was painted a soft off-white instead of sickly green. The only problem with that was I couldn’t blame how I looked on reflected color.
After dinner, Diana and I sat on the porch, wrapped in blankets against an evening chill, and drinking wine, while Shadow lay once again at the bottom of the stairs.
At last, we were having that drink together.
We talked about our pasts. And our men. I heard about the electricity that struck her when she was sixteen and met Gary Stendahl. And how it never fizzled out. Not through the years of courtship and marriage. Not even after he died. And she heard about my marriage to Wes, so much less volatile than hers, until mine blew up.
It was, I realized, the first time I’d spoken about my marriage and its ending at any length.
With my family and the few friends I’d had contact with, my comments had been brief and elliptical. Partly because they knew the history. Partly because I didn’t want to talk about it. But this was cathartic. Sometimes it required telling the story to truly understand it. To start to understand it.
I didn’t tell all my secrets, and I am sure she didn’t tell all of hers, but it was a step.
* * * *
Diana insisted on walking me to the bunkhouse. I hadn’t had that much wine, but I didn’t mind the company. She pointed out the motion detectors and sturdy locks.
I said good-night, trying to thank her again, for which she did not thank me.
“I now know how to torture you, Diana,” I called as she walked away beneath the clear sky’s starbursts of light. “I’ll just say thanks.”
Without turning, she raised a hand, waving me off.
“When this is all over, I’m going to the Locks and Loaded Salon in Cody for the works, and I’m treating you, too,” I said.
“Now that’s a deal.”
I closed the door and looked around.
I liked the room, dominated by white with warmth added by wood and dashes of sunset colors. I particularly liked the way we’d set the maple desk at an angle so I could look out the window while I pretended to work. The place already looked more like me than the Hovel ever had, and that was despite nothing in it being mine.
A thunk jolted an aborted scream out of me, before I spun around and faced the closed door.
Chapter Forty-Five
I stared at the door’s solid wooden surface, half expecting it to burst open. Or burst into flames.
Neither happened.
Instead, another thunk came from about the level of someone kicking the door. But muffled. As if they were wearing slippers, maybe.
“Diana?”
No response.
I lifted the edge of the window’s closed curtain.
No one. The porch light clearly showed innocent air in front of the bunkhouse door. As well as innocent dirt where a vehicle might have parked.
Then the thunk again.
I grabbed a poker from beside the unlit stove with my right hand and my cell phone with my left.
Then faced the problem of the door handle. Without a third hand available, I put the poker in my left hand, swung the door open, and took the poker back in my right hand in a smooth and speedy move that I could not possibly replicate without a major shot of adrenaline.
Shadow stood on the threshold.
He gave me a quick once-over, apparently dismissed the cell phone and partially raised poker, then entered. He cruised past the sitting area, glanced toward the desk, sniffed at the closet doors, slid into the bathroom with more sniffing, covered the kitchenette, did a U that took him around the foot of the bed, then came back to the middle and lay down, facing the still-open door.
I waited.
Possibly, he waited, too, though it was hard to tell because he didn’t look at me.
After a full minute, I slowly moved to the door and closed it. I waited for him to demand it be reopened, though I didn’t have a clear idea how he’d make that demand.
He didn’t move.
He kept not moving as I locked the door, returned the poker, and plugged in the phone to charge. I gave him plenty of opportunities to move, but he didn’t take me up on any. Even when I went in the bathroom, changed, and got ready for bed. And it wasn’t like I didn’t tell him what I was doing, and that all he had to do was show a sign, and I’d let him out.
“Out?” I repeated with emphasis. “You want to go out, Shadow?”
He didn’t move.
“Okay, but I’m going to bed now. See?” I pulled down the covers, which he didn’t see unless he had eyes in the back of his head, and got in. “I’m turning out the light and going to sleep. And the door won’t open again until morning. So if you want to leave, this is the time.”
Nothing.
“Okay then.” I fulfilled my threat and turned off the light. Then slid down under the covers. “Good night, Shadow.”
He sighed.
If this were a Lassie movie, it would have been a sigh of coming home, of being where he belonged. It sounded more like the sigh of an exasperated male hoping to God the woman would — finally — be quiet.
DAY TEN
WEDNESDAY
Chapter Forty-Six
I slept well.
Right up until the phone rang far too early.
I braced for a parent call. Diana might be a miracle worker, but some miracles were simply too much to ask.
“Death-defying again?” came a male voice.
“Are you okay, Danny?” asked a female voice.
But not Mom and Dad. It took an extra beat to recognize the voices. “Matt. Bonnie. How are you?”
“We’re fine. How are you?” Bonnie Lester asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Really? You call it fine to have your home burned down around you? Lose all your possessions? Have to be hospitalized?”
“How on earth—?”
“Journalist here, remember?” Matt asked. “Have a few connections in the biz, you know.”
“Danny, truly, how are you? It must have been so horrible.”
I gave them the highlights. Halfway through, Shadow came within four feet of the bed, which was practically cuddling for him, and looked at me. Obediently, I got up, padded across the chilly floor and opened the door. He left without looking back. And, to give him credit, without interrupting the phone call.
Our conversation had slid toward general catching up when another call came in. Dex.
I excused myself to take it. All part of the care and tending of a great source.
I said hello.
Dex said, “Arson.”
“What?”
“The fire that imperiled you was arson. Gasoline was the accelerant. Regular gasoline as used in motor vehicles in Wyoming. No distinctive additives or attributes. Applied to the back door of the dwelling, as well as splashed onto exterior wall surfaces. Not neatly.”
I squelched the temptation to ask if points were deducted for messy arsons.
Before I’d even completed my squelch, he was saying, “That area was possibly selected because the arsonist could remain out of sight of anyone passing by as well as of law enforcement assigned to observe the house across the street.
“That choice was fortunate because it allowed a buffer between your bedroom and the point of origin. Otherwise you likely would have succumbed to smoke inhalation. I’m glad you didn’t,” he added in exactly the same tone.
“Thank you, Dex. Anything on an identity for the arsonist?”
“No.”
He hadn’t even included his usual caveats about how definitive answers were frequently misleading and how he couldn’t share conclusions drawn by his law enforcement connections. I was touched. I was also touched he’d worked those connections to get me what I liked best: information.
“Did you learn anything else that might be helpful to me?”
“Not at this time. I will call you if I do.”
I thanked him again. He hung up as abruptly as he’d begun the conversation.
I smiled at his Dex-ness as I started to get ready for the day.
In the shower — great water pressure and abundant hot water — I replayed what he’d said about the arson.
If someone had wanted me dead, would they have started the fire closer to my bedroom? Of course, that assumed the arsonist knew the house’s layout and knew fires.
I was dressed in the second shirt and pair of jeans Diana had bought for me when the phone rang again.
Again, not my parents.
Wardell Yardley’s voice came through the line with on-the-air clarity.
“If you’re going to put yourself in mortal danger, do it back here where your memorial service would kick ass, Danny.”
“Gee, thanks for that, Dell.”
“I can see it now … not a dry eye in the place when I give the unforgettable eulogy of our dear, departed colleague E.M. Danniher.”
“You? Really?”
“Of course me. If it’s a slow enough news day, we’d get wall-to-wall coverage, not just a swish pan of the church steps. CNN would carry my eulogy in its entirety. You know they really want me over there.”
“Glad I can help your career.”
“Ah. But you haven’t, have you? If you’d died, it would have been out there, wherever there is, instead of here, where you belong.”
“I love you, too, Dell,” I said, recognizing the concern at the bottom of his comments.
“I know you do—”
I laughed.
“—and I’m willing to believe you didn’t do this on purpose to cause me concern, which can lead to wrinkles, otherwise known as Career Death. Because white hair can be distinguished, but wrinkles—? No, no, no.”
“I’ll do my best to figure this all out fast so there will be no more threat of wrinkles for you,” I promised as I grabbed yogurt from the mini-fridge. “You could help by telling me if any of your sources mentioned Gaines having a connection to arson?”
“No. I will ask them, however. But clearly he didn’t commit the arson on your house.”
“True, but maybe somebody he knew or … I don’t know.”
“Ah, but I do know. As usual. And you don’t need to look that far afield. Because our friend Russell Teague has an interesting history with fire. Remember, I did my usual spectacular research before I interviewed him, and…”
Chapter Forty-Seven
“Apparently little Russell Teague had a notion to burn down a hotel,” I told Mike.
He was driving me to meet Deputy Shelton at the former Hovel.
Shelton had called and said he hoped returning to the site of the fire might spark my memory. Yes, he’d said spark, at which I had groaned.
I used the transit time to fill Mike in on what Dell had told me.
“It was a hotel where he and his parents were staying in Switzerland when he was about ten.”
“Any other incidents?” Mike asked.
“No evidence of additional incidents.”
He cut his eyes toward me, so I knew he’d caught the major qualifier. I confirmed it by adding, “The parents tried to buy their way out of any record of that episode, and who’s to say they weren’t more successful other times?”
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