I-are you sure? James Stillwell?
Yes, maam, James Stillwell retired from the service two years ago.
But he was my- She stopped, unable to think. She felt a curious sensation of being adrift, or of falling, like someone whod grabbed hold of her one lifeline only to discover there was nobody holding onto the other end.
Maam, if youll give me your I.D. number, Ill see if I can find out whos handling your case. It might take a while. The voice had begun to sound testy and harassed. Were short-handed around here right now. Maybe youd like to call back a little later?
Yesall rightthank you, Mary whispered. Her throat ached terribly, and it wasnt just her hand that was shaking now. She didnt remember disconnecting the phone call; her mind seemed capable of processing only one thought: Oh God, Im going to jailfor murder. How can this be happening? Whats going to happen to me now?
On Sunday morning right after breakfast, Boyd announced his intention to ride up to the high pastures to see if the feed was high enough yet to turn the cattle out. Naturally, Susie Grace wanted to go along, so Roan decided they might as well all go and make a day of it.
After the events of the last couple of days, he figured he needed a break, though he suspected it was going to take more than a pretty spring day and a horseback ride with his daughter and father-in-law to cleanse his mind of the images of Mary Owen the way hed seen her last. Lookingnot like any murderer hed ever seen before-not that hed seen so many, but no murder suspect hed ever encountered or imagined over the course of his career had ever seemed sobewildered, he guessed was the best way to describe it. The expression on her face, the look in her eyes The way those changeable eyes of hers had clung to his as she was being led away to lock-up, neither the flat gray-green that so effectively hid whatever she might be thinking nor that surprising golden shimmer of anger, but the deep slate of storm clouds, and the message in them plain and troubling as thunder: Help me. A plea her hopeless expression acknowledged was not likely to be answered that day.
The day had started out cool, but by the time they reached the saddleback ridge the sun was hot on their shoulders. They paused there on the pretext of shedding their jackets, but in truth it was to do as they always did, turn and survey the vista spread out around them, which Roan considered to be 360 degrees of pure heaven on earth. From where they stood, on the crest of a wide-open space knee-deep to their horses in lupin and paintbrush, the world rolled away on one side in gentle waves of foothills carpeted with new green, speckled with buttercups and tiny blue forget-me-nots and dotted with clumps of juniper and sage, down, down, down to the ranch far below, looking like a childs play toy with its cluster of red-and-white painted barns, stables, corrals and feed-storage silos, the main house barely visible in its copse of pines and cottonwoods, and beyond and a little way up a wooded draw, the foremans cottage where Boyd lived now, and beyond that, the sweep of hazy blue and purple mountains stretching all the way north to Glacier Park and Canada. On the other side, the high country began just beyond the thickets of pine and aspen that bordered the meadows, where snow lay in shady places until mid-summer, bald eagles nested and in the autumn the slopes rang with the shrill challenges of bull elk in rut. And above it all, the never-ending sky. It made a man feel small and unimportant, that sky, and damn lucky just to be alive underneath it.
Been a good rain year. Feeds lookin good, Boyd said, squinting into the sunlight and nodding to himself as he leaned on his saddlehorn. And Roan knew the old rancher was feeling much the same way he was.
He clicked to his horse, a bay gelding named Springer for the habit hed had when he was younger of shying at every little thing, tugging his nose out of the grass and clover hed been sneaking mouthfuls of during the respite. Beside him, Boyd, mounted on Foxy, his favorite Appaloosa mare, did the same, and they went on at a walk, scaring up clouds of little yellow butterflies and an occasional meadowlark, which would fly, scolding, almost from underneath the horses hooves. Susie Grace, impatient with their leisurely pace, kicked up Tootsie, the little red-gold mare shed picked for her own because, she said, it had hair the same color as hers, and went loping on ahead. To Roan she looked frighteningly small and precarious perched on top of that horse with her blue cowboy boots sticking straight out in their stirrups and her pigtails flapping under the brim of her blue cowboy hat.
He hollered at her to take it easy and was about to take off in pursuit when Boyd looked over at him and said, Let her be. Shed aint gonna fall offa that horse, and you know it. The kid rides like an Indian. Comes by it naturally-her mama was the same way. Erin used to scare her mother to death.
His tone was easygoing, but when Roan glanced over he saw that the ranchers face wore the same bleak and aged look it always got when he spoke of his daughter. He shifted his gaze back to the little girl and her red-gold horse galloping blithely through a sea of wildflowers, her hat now blown off her head and bouncing against her back, caught by the cord around her neck. The sun struck red-gold fire into her hair the same way it had once done her mothers, and Roan caught his breath, waiting for the stab of grief and pain to follow.
It cameit would always come, but now it mostly came when he summoned it, rather than keeping him company every waking moment of every damn day and then haunting his dreams at night. Sometimes he even thought if he could just find the bastard whod set the fire that killed her he might be able to move on. He knew he needed to; the years since Erins death had been damned lonely for him, and besides, a little girl needed a mother. He knew human beings werent supposed to be alone, and that it was supposed to be possible for them to fall in love more than once in a lifetime, in theory, at least. Maybe, he thought, it was coming time to put that theory to the test.
Thoughwith Clifford Holbrooks ravaged face fresh in his mind and the sadness hed gotten used to seeing in Boyds, he thought it must be different for a parent losing a child. He didnt think the pain of that ever did go away. He tried to imagine how it would be for him if Susie But his mind refused to go there, and he shifted in his saddle, cold to his core in spite of the noonday sun beating down on his shoulders.
Heard you arrested somebody for the Holbrook kids murder, Boyd said, as though his mind had been following the same trail.
Roan threw him a look, half-surprised, half-ironic. News travels fast.
Its a small town, whatd you expect? Boyd let his horse plod on a few paces, then hitched a shoulder in an off-hand way. Little bit and I stopped in at the one-stop on the way back from fishin last evenin to pick up some lemons and breadcrumbs to go with them trout we caught. Ran into that deputy of yours-whats her name? Lori? Said youd arrested the gal that took over the beauty shop when Queenie moved south last winter. He glanced over at Roan, eyes squinted almost shut in the shadows of his hat brim. You really think she did it? That little gal?
Wouldnt have arrested her if I didnt, Roan said in an even tone. He didnt exactly feel comfortable discussing his case with a civilian, even if he was family. And he was even less comfortable with the nagging doubts that question kept stirring up in his own mind.
Boyd lifted up in the stirrups and resettled his bony backside more comfortably in the saddle, a sure sign his arthritis was hurting him. I dont know, just cant hardly believe shed be capable of doin somethin like that.
You know her? Mary Owen? Howd you manage that? Youve never been inside a beauty parlor in your life.
Boyd snorted. The hell I havent. Used to take my wife for her permanent wave every so often-Grace was a good customer of Queenies right up until just before she died. He threw Roan another look, quick and oddly furtive. Dont really know the new gal, except to see her around, you know. Seems kinda meek and mild, though, like she wouldnt hurt a fly. Sure dont seem like the type to commit murder.
There isnt any type when it comes to murder, Roan said grimly. Anybodyll kill if you give em enough cause. Even meek, mild people youd think would never hurt a fly.
Well, I guess youd know, Boyd said.
After an oddly unhappy little silence, by some unspoken accord both men nudged their horses to an easy gallop, heading down the gentle slope to where Susie Grace waited for them at the edge of the grove of aspens.
Chapter 6
The Hart County courthouse was a much grander edifice than the size of the town and county it served would seem to warrant, having been built during Hartsvilles boomtown days when the mines were still going strong. A massive and sturdy granite block with two-story concrete pillars flanking the arched front portico, it dwarfed all the other buildings in the downtown area. The citizens of Hart County were enormously proud of it.
The first floor housed all the offices of county government except for the sheriffs station and detention center, and emergency services. The courtroom, jury rooms and judges chambers were all on the second floor, reached either by a grand curving staircase or the stuffy creaking elevator that had been put in after the Citizens with Disabilities Act went into effect. In contrast to the rest of the building the courtroom itself was almost stark, having been renovated during an era when simplicity was in vogue, with floors, paneling, judges bench, jury box, witness stand and spectators pews all done in some pale golden-brown wood, unembellished and naturally finished. It reminded Roan of the inside of a church, one of the more austere Protestant varieties. Which was maybe why he always felt an impulse to whisper when he was in it.
It obviously didnt have that effect on Senator Holbrook, who hadnt stopped fuming and cussing like a bullwhacker since the moment the judge brought his gavel down. He kept it up while he and Roan waited for the other spectators to file out of the courtroom, and was still going at it as they made their way down the curving staircase together.
What the hell was the judge thinking, granting that woman bail? Holbrooks hoarse attempt at a whisper echoed down the courthouses wide ground-floor corridor, causing heads to turn.