Christmas in Cowboy Country (20 page)

Most likely Shep was using an alias. His MO was undoubtedly the same, starting with offering “free” financial and investment advice to senior citizens' groups. Shep and his kind preyed on the most vulnerable and they knew how to get old folks to trust them and believe their promises—before they cleaned out bank accounts and skipped town one step ahead of the law.

For Stone, the chase had lost its excitement. After this case got wrapped up, he would move on. But to what, he didn't exactly know.

Annie Bennett had thrown him for a loop. He'd always made it a point not to get involved with anyone when he was on assignment. Especially not in small towns, or with a rancher's daughter.

Which meant she was all about family. It was clear to him that the Bennetts stuck together—and Annie was the youngest and the only girl to boot. Never mind her father. She had two older brothers he had yet to meet. Stone would have to prove himself to all three of the Bennett men if he wanted to claim her for his own.

Whatever it takes
. The thought came into his mind unbidden. Stone wished there was a way to not want her.

Keeping a safe distance from her at the cabin had been hard. Real hard.

If Annie only knew how he had suffered, lying on the floor, struggling to get comfortable in that narrow sleeping bag, listening to her soft breathing, hearing her stir as she dreamed. He'd fallen asleep just before dawn and woken up to dog breath and a wet nose in his eye.

Yeah. If she'd known, she would have laughed at him and rightly so.

The noise level in the bar had risen as more customers came in. The two women talking in the nearby booth raised their voices slightly.

Stone was startled to hear the old lady with Nell mention Shep Connally. He hadn't been listening long enough to pick up the reason why. He paid close attention, continuing to look into the bar mirror and not directly at them.

“I finally told him that we had no plans to sell. Not to him or anyone else.” The old lady leaned across the table part of the booth, but her whisper carried farther than that. “Did you know that he carries bundles of cash in a briefcase? He snapped it open and I just got a glimpse. I think he was trying to impress me.” She sat back. “I still said no.”

Stone stayed where he was. He set a buck under the empty beer mug, figuring that he would talk to Nell as soon as he got a chance. Maybe there was more. There had to be more.

 

 

“You mean you're planning to set up a sting?” Nell clapped her hands. “I've never been so excited in my life.”

“You can't broadcast this all over town,” Stone said firmly. “In fact, you can't tell anyone. In advance or afterward. We still have to catch the others.”

“Goodness no. I won't breathe a word.”

Mrs. Pearson laughed dryly. “I'm holding you to that, Nelly girl.”

“Well, if I did, both of you would know it was me. So I can't.”

“Right. And from what Mr. Stone has told us, you're not going to be actually involved.”

“I could sit outside in my car and monitor the video feed from the scene.”

“Two deputies in unmarkeds will do that before they station themselves at the doors,” Stone said.

Nell visibly deflated. Then she brightened. “What if I take Jack out? He's not going to be there for this, I assume.”

“One more time,” Stone said patiently. “Mrs. Pearson is going to ask the home health-care aide to drive Jack to the library and stay there with him for a couple of hours. He's been asking to go.”

“That's correct,” the old lady confirmed.

“Neither he nor the aide will know anything about this in advance or afterward.”

Nell nodded. “Makes sense.”

“My partner Kerry is going to pretend to be the aide in a wig and uniform, and she'll wear nonfunctional earbuds so he'll think she can't hear him and Mrs. Pearson. She'll sit with me in a darkened room, because Connally may know what Kerry looks like. He broke into her car. And I am going to be Jack. With the help of this.”

Stone held up a can of white spray-on hair dye.

“I know what I can do.” Nell cheered up again. “I'll style you. And Kerry too, if she likes.”

“That should keep you out of trouble. We want this to go as smoothly as possible.”

“I promise to vamoose and not come back until you call me or Elsie does. But is she going to be safe? How do you know what a cornered man might do?” Nell asked.

“We don't. Kerry and I both have guns for a reason. And we will have the advantage of surprise. I'm not that worried. Shep's never been violent and never even threatened anyone. He's not going to want to add twenty years or more to his sentence by assaulting federal officers. He might try to escape, though. But the deputies will be at the front and back doors by then.”

“Besides,” Mrs. Pearson said to Nell, gesturing at Stone, “look at the size of this man. He's taller and stronger than Jack and fifty years younger. Would you try to bust out if you were a perp? With Stone packing serious heat? I don't think so.”

They both stared at her.

“What's wrong? I enjoy a good cop show now and then,” the old lady said primly.

“Nothing.” Stone suppressed a smile. “I just never expected to hear you talk like that. This isn't a show, though. It is a sting and it's the real deal. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your cooperation, Mrs. Pearson.”

“Connally called me right back. I suspect he hasn't found any other takers. I'm looking forward to doing my bit.”

Nell sighed with admiration. Mrs. Pearson only shrugged.

Stone set down the spray can of dye and Nell peered at the instructions on the back. “Says it washes right out.”

“Good,” Stone said.

“After five shampoos.” Nell laughed at the concerned look on his face. “Not really. I was kidding.”

“That's okay. I can take it. And, Nell, I want you to know that I appreciate your help too. Real estate fraud is big business. Land in Colorado gets more valuable every year.”

“Don't I know it. My property taxes keep going up.”

Stone acknowledged that with a nod.

“I think, Mrs. Pearson, that Connally won't do more than try to obtain financial power of attorney by having you sign something and then forging your signature on real documents. All he wants to do is empty your bank account and skip town.”

“I took out all the money just in case. I can't wait to see him arrested,” the old lady said gently.

 

 

A few days later, they were ready to roll. Connally was due to arrive at the Pearson house in two hours.

Stone squeezed his eyes shut as Nell, wearing safety glasses and a huge scarf over her own hair, climbed onto a stool and sprayed his dark hair. She set down the can and quickly combed in the white dye for a pepper-and-salt look, heavy on the salt.

“That's believable,” she said with satisfaction, climbing down. “I have a shirt of Jack's laid out if you want to change into it.”

“I'll wear my own. A shirt is a shirt. Thanks. Go help Kerry.”

Nell took off the glasses and scarf, and went into the other room.

 

 

At the appointed time, there was a knock at the door. “All set?” Mrs. Pearson whispered to Stone and Kerry.

“Yup. Kerry?”

“Yes.”

They sat in semidarkness, watching Mrs. Pearson go to the door. “Mr. Connally, how nice to see you. I'm so happy you could come.”

He offered her a smile and looked toward the adjoining room. Stone and Kerry had turned away from the open door.

“Is that your husband?” Connally asked. “Who's with him?”

“The aide. Don't worry. He's much less restless when she sits with him quietly. And she's always wearing those darn earbuds. Can't hear a thing I say from the next room.”

“All right then.”

He followed her to the table, took a sheaf of papers out of his briefcase, and settled into a chair, refusing Mrs. Pearson's offer of a hot drink. Then he launched into his pitch. She listened carefully, asking a question now and then. Connally was smooth and fast. It only took him half an hour to explain the deal.

“All you have to do to keep the cash flowing is to sign right there on the dotted line,” he said, uncapping a fountain pen.

“What a nice pen,” Mrs. Pearson said. “I like the old ones with nibs and real ink.”

“I'm a traditionalist myself, Mrs. P. I thought a lady like you might prefer a real pen to one of those cheap plastic things. It makes a document look more dignified, don't you think?”

“I do indeed.” She squinted at the paper. “Just tell me one more time what I'll get.”

He looked at his watch. “Everything we agreed on.”

“So you will hold the deed to my house in trust and invest the profit for me if I should decide to sell—”

“Which is entirely up to you. No pressure, Mrs. P. I do business the old-fashioned way. I trust you. And you trust me. So we are entering into a trust agreement by mutual consent. Go right ahead and sign.”

Mrs. Pearson was still studying the document. “And if I sell the house and there is sufficient profit, I receive the income from that trust.”

“Yes, yes.” He tapped the dotted line. “If you would sign. I do have a bit of a time crunch.”

She held the fountain pen poised above the paper, then scribbled her name. “Wait!” she cried. “How could I make a mistake like that?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I used my maiden name instead of my married name. I don't think this is legal.”

The last six words were what Stone and Kerry had been waiting to hear. Before Connally could turn around, they had him cuffed to the chair he was sitting in.

“Shepherd Connally, you are under arrest.”

“What for?” The question sounded almost rhetorical. The man knew.

“For financial fraud. Right here and right now.” Stone picked up the papers from the table, looking closely at the bottom one that Mrs. Pearson hadn't been able to see when she signed it. “She never agreed to give you power of attorney. So the DA will start with that. And you know good and goddamn well that you're suspected of fraud and under investigation for other crimes in several states.”

Stone tested the cuffs, looking up when the deputies entered. He moved to face Connally and continued. “It is my duty to inform you that you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. If you do not have an attorney . . .”

 

 

Nell came in the front door, her eyes bright with excitement. “I saw him being taken away in the unmarked car, but I waited to walk over. Are all of you okay? What happens now?”

She looked at Stone and Kerry, who were sitting at the table, filling out arrest reports. “Paperwork,” they answered simultaneously. “They never do this on cop shows.”

Nell averted her gaze. “I won't peek. Elsie, dear, I'm sure you need a cup of tea.”

“Thank you, Nell. That would be very pleasant.”

“My goodness. You're so calm.”

“It's over. I don't want to think about it. But don't forget your vow of silence.”

“My lips are zipped. Not one word to anyone. No need to remind me.”

Mrs. Pearson gave her a shaky smile. “Nell. I just want to say thanks. For everything. You did more than you know.”

T
he day was cold and clear, with a stiff breeze that blew snow crystals off the remaining drifts. Annie's eyes teared up as she blinked and rubbed her stinging cheeks with her mittens. She should have put on lotion but she hadn't. Now she would look like a doll. Oh well. There were worse fates than having red cheeks and shining eyes.

She'd come into town to pick up hardware items for her dad. The cold snap was making his knees ache and he hadn't been up to the drive.

Ahead of her on the sidewalk was a wrought-iron bench and on it was Marshall Stone, absorbed in a newspaper that he held in gloved hands, his collar turned up against the cold and his Stetson pulled down to block the sun.

He didn't hear her coming. Annie stopped in front of him and he finally looked up.

“Hello. Haven't seen you in a few days.” Annie kept her tone casual. Where he went and what he did really were none of her concern. Exactly why he was sitting on a bench outside the town laundromat wasn't, either. But she asked anyway. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Annie.” He set aside the newspaper. “Rowdy's bed was getting doggy and this place has big machines. Too hot for me in there, though, so I came out. Just thought I'd do all my laundry before—oops.”

Before what? Was he vacating the cabin? About to leave town?

The newspaper went flying. He stood and collected most of it, fighting the breeze to put it back together, more or less. Some of the pages were torn.

“There's an article I wanted to keep,” he explained.

Annie tried to seem interested. “On what?”

“A real estate scam, a big one near Denver.” He stuck the newspaper under his arm. “They used eminent domain to move long-term residents off property that was then condemned. It's complicated. Am I boring you yet?”

“Not really.”

“Thanks for being tactful.” He grinned at her. “Can I take you out for a cup of coffee or something?”

“Don't you have to watch your laundry?”

“I don't think anyone's going to steal it.” He looked at her hopefully. “I'd like to talk to you.”

Annie shrugged that off. If he was planning to make a big deal out of what should be an ordinary good-bye, she didn't feel like listening. “Um, thanks. But no. I really have to get back to the ranch. I just came in to pick up some screws and stuff for my dad.”

He looked through the window of the Laundromat. It was a pleasant place, new, that attracted ski tourists and other people just passing through. There didn't seem to be any other customers. There were only two machines in use, side by side, sloshing away.

“Too bad. I have time.”

How nice of him to fit her in between Soak and Spin. Annie frowned and stepped past him.

“Don't walk away.”

Give me one good reason not to.
She didn't say the words, just pulled out the list from her pocket and waved it at him. “Too many things to do. You know how it is.”

Stone took two long strides to catch up to her. “Come on, Annie. Don't be like that. I meant to call you. I've been busy myself.”

She stopped. The terse explanation didn't mollify her. “Of course. Fences and boundary markers just do not wait. If you weren't out there making sure everything lines up, they would uproot themselves and walk away.”

A smile flickered around the corners of his mouth. “Interesting way to put it. Fences have been known to move. Rocks too. But it's usually people who do the moving.”

“Uh-huh. What are you getting at?”

“I'll walk you to the hardware store,” he said without answering the question. “In case you need help carrying anything.”

She consulted the list. “Spring latch for bathroom cabinet. Picture hooks. Wood screws, small box. I can probably manage all that.”

His gloved hand caught her arm above the elbow. Annie pulled, but he wouldn't let her go. It was broad daylight, but that darkly commanding look in his eyes didn't brighten.

“What's the matter?” His voice was low, though there was no one passing by.

“Nothing. I really am busy.”

Stone let go of her arm and watched her walk away. He headed back to the Laundromat and went in, setting down the newspaper before he took off his jacket and hat. She'd really frosted his shorts. He needed to warm up.

After a while, the washing machines shuddered to a halt. Stone pulled out the wet wash and got everything into a dryer. Then he reread the article for something to do while he waited a second time.

He knew the Denver division office had paid for the public-service ad that ran next to the article. They'd also made sure that no mention of Shep Connally's arrest appeared in the newspapers or any other media outlets.

Connally hadn't talked much, and he probably wouldn't until he sat down for milk and cookies with the DA, who was on vacation until January. Extra weeks added to the waiting game.

At least it gave Stone more time with Annie. Or—he amended the thought—more time to figure out what was bugging Annie. He wished he could tell her the truth about who he was and what he was doing. The twists and turns of the complicated case were getting in his way.

She didn't trust him. He could see it in her eyes. And there was no way to reassure her. Stone tossed the newspaper into the tall trash can by the window just before she walked by it, not looking in.

 

 

“We'll be seeing clear skies across the Rockies and out over the Plains for the next few days,” the weatherman announced, “with scattered snow and extreme cold to the east into North Dakota.”

Bree reached for the remote and turned down the volume on the kitchen TV. She went back to the stew simmering on the multi-burner range in several huge pots, lifting the lid of each and stirring.

“That's us,” a line cook muttered. “I can't stand this weather.”

Bree picked up a large bowl of chopped vegetables and put handfuls into each pot. “It's warm in here,” she said philosophically.

He only grunted.

She looked out beyond the pass-through window into the cafeteria. A shift of workers was just finishing, rising to empty their trays and get back to work. The clanging racket of cutlery and metal was so familiar, she barely noticed it by now.

“I'm going on break,” Bree told her coworker.

“Okay. Eat something.”

The kitchen staff looked after each other in a no-nonsense way. For the most part, there was no time for small gestures of friendship. They worked practically round the clock. No slacking off allowed. The pace was relentless.

Bowls of rice pudding, each topped with a maraschino cherry, were lined up by the hundreds on rolling shelves. She took a bowl, wanting something bland at the moment.

Bree nibbled at the cherry as she went through the swinging doors into the echoing cafeteria. A heavyset field boss waved her over to sit with him and his crew. They'd been here the longest, earned the most, and were on friendly terms with a lot of people from the kitchen.

“Hi, Karl. Hi, guys.”

A stern glare from Karl and the others slid down to make space for her on the bench.

“What is that?” Karl asked, looking at the creamy glop in the bowl she set down.

“Rice pudding.”

He shook his graying, buzz-cut head. “Thought it was oatmeal. Either way, it's all yours.”

“I wasn't planning to share it,” she teased him. She ate a few spoonfuls, then put the spoon down.

“No appetite? Or does it taste as bad as it looks?” Karl asked. The other guys guffawed.

“I'm not hungry,” Bree said. She really wasn't. She'd only helped herself to the pudding because the line cook had told her to eat something.

“Well, don't go away,” Karl said. He moved the bowl to the center of the table. “Me and the boys want to make you a proposition.”

Bree gave him a wary look, even though she knew Karl was married and had a daughter her age plus younger kids. Besides, he never let any of the roughnecks on his crew say a rude word to her.

“Really.” The one word seemed like a safe enough reply.

“We heard—don't ask me how—that you aren't going home for Christmas.”

“That's right.”

“No. That's wrong,” Karl growled.

“It's my business, not yours.” Bree wasn't annoyed by his blunt comments, just drawing a line. Sometimes you had to with these guys.

Karl looked at the others. “You hear that? With all due respect to this nice lady, I don't agree.”

“Me neither.”

“Nope.”

And so on, up and down the table.

Bree was puzzled. The older man understood something about what she was going through, though he was happily married. He had five boys at home in Kansas who were a lot younger than his grown daughter. “Don't tease me, Karl,” she said quietly.

“This is no joke, Bree. We passed the hat last night. Give it here.”

A man's upside-down hat went from hand to hand until it reached Karl. He placed it in front of her where the rice-pudding bowl had been.

Bree saw the cloth sack inside it. It seemed to be stuffed with bills.

“You may count it at your leisure,” Karl said.

“There's the gas money you need to get home, plus the bonus you woulda gotten.”

“I can't take this.”

Karl stared her down. “Oh, yes you can.”

Bree looked up and saw Marta by the wall, giving her a smile of encouragement.

“Marta, did you tell them about me and the kids?”

The other cook nodded.

Bree pressed her lips together, her eyes wide and shining as she looked down the table and back at Karl.

“Don't cry,” he whispered. “We'll take it all back if you do. Just can't stand it when women cry.”

She lowered her head for a silent moment. Then, with a huge grin on her face, she lifted her chin and declared, “Okay! I can't say no!”

Karl confirmed that. “Damn straight. She's going home for the holidays, fellas!”

Bree held up the hat to loud cheers, saying thank you to every man at the table. A few workers on the incoming shift glanced curiously toward their table, until the usual commotion began as hard hats came off and trays were banged down and slid along on the counter railing.

“Guess I should go pack. Oh my. I'm not going to tell the girls. What a surprise.”

“Then you have to call me from the road. What's your number? Just so your name comes up. I'll answer right away.” He took a smartphone out of the pocket of his workshirt and peered at the screen.

“Ready? It's three-five-seven—”

Karl took a photo of Bree clutching the hat and turned the phone around to show her. “Never seen you look happier.”

“That's a fact!” She hugged him to more cheers.

On second thought, Bree called Cilla and Ed Rivers after the girls had gone to bed to tell them she was coming. She promised to keep in touch during the drive. The forecast didn't predict any big storms. Her dented mom-mobile oughta make it.

 

 

“You're good to go. We just wanted to be sure.” An oil field mechanic walked out from under her car and around the hydraulic lift, holding a lube gun.

“Thanks. I still can't believe I'm going. You've all been incredibly helpful.”

He shrugged. “Didn't want you driving all that way to get to them kids without checking your car. I'm thorough, and the crews know it.”

He pushed a button to lower the hydraulic lift as Bree watched. Once the tires touched the concrete floor, he patted the hood with a massive hand that looked like it could leave a dent in rolled steel. “Lots of miles on her, but she's still going strong.”

“I always remember to have the oil changed and the tires rotated. There's a maintenance booklet in the glove compartment with the dates.”

“Yes, ma'am. I took a look at that before I jacked the car,” he said politely. “And the engine was in pretty good shape. But we're talking about driving through North Dakota, Wyoming, and Montana in winter. You need your vehicle to be in great shape. I got it hummin' like a bumblebee now. You'll get to Colorado just fine.”

“I can't thank you enough.” She fumbled in her purse for a bill—she had a few fifties in there.

The mechanic shook his head, his thick brows drawing together. “Don't even think about paying me,” he said. “Just drive safe. You got a long way to go.”