Hard Evidence (3 page)

A
fter a restless night of turbulent dreams, Janna awoke to the screeching of a hawk circling low over the lodge and the sound of a truck engine roaring to life. Dazed, she stumbled out of bed to the window and pulled up the shade.

Rivulets of rain on the glass turned the landscape into a watery, abstract image, though she could just make out the tailgate of Michael’s truck disappearing down the lane.
Without breakfast
, she thought with a stab of guilt. And here it was—she glanced at her bedside clock—seven o’clock.

Shivering, she donned a set of gray sweats and thick socks and headed for the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

The scent of fresh brew wafted from the kitchen when she walked in. A note of apology lay on the counter: “
Hope you don’t mind—I made myself at home this morning
.”

She smiled sadly, wondering what it might have been like to have had a husband like Michael Robertson. Thoughtful. Obviously a steadfast and loving father, who was trying so hard to reach his troubled son.

A man who might have tried harder to make his marriage work and who wouldn’t have drifted away, leaving a heartbroken daughter and unanswered questions in his wake.

Not that she was looking for husband number two, because that was one road she wouldn’t be heading down again.

Her focus now was on the lodge. Her daughter. Keeping her elderly mother safe. And on Sunday, returning to the church home of her childhood…no matter how many eyebrows raised when she walked in the door.

Toenails clicked down the hall, and she looked down to see Maggie amble over and drop at her feet. The dog peered up at her through the fringe of white fur that arched over her eyes. “I suppose you need to go out, but I’ll bet you aren’t going to like it.”

She crossed the kitchen to the back door and let the dog outside.

Maggie had always done a dynamite job of protecting the family from small, fur-bearing marauders—like chipmunks and squirrels that dared venture too close to the house—but she’d taken a cautious live-and-let-live approach with strangers.

She’d never been daring in inclement weather, either, preferring to do her business quickly so she could beg to be let back inside.

Janna straightened up the kitchen, then rubbed a wrist against the foggy window pane in the back door and squinted at the watery landscape. Strange. Where on earth was Maggie?

With all the rain, usually the little dog would have been back by now, desperately scratching at the door.

She opened the door and leaned out to call Maggie’s name.

Nothing moved across the landscape. There was silence, save for the rain tapping on the porch roof and the rustle of leaves jostled by a fitful wind. Scents of wet earth and pine needles drifted inside.

Suddenly a small, bedraggled white form came bounding down the lane past Cabin One. “Good girl! Come on,” Janna called out.

But Maggie didn’t race to the door. She stopped just shy of the porch, then whirled around and bolted back up the lane, amidst a furious, nonstop volley of barking.

A foolish city dog could get in a
lot
of trouble if she wandered too far, given the coyotes, mountain lions and foxes in the area.

Shivering in the damp cold, Janna stepped out on the porch and hugged herself. “Maggie!”

The dog’s stride didn’t even falter, and a moment later she was out of sight.

Janna pulled on a slicker and a pair of rubber boots, then raced after her, still calling her name. Slipping and sliding on the rain-slickened gravel, Janna passed Cabins One, Two and Three.

Silly dog!

Cabin Four.

Out of breath, now, Janna slowed down. Would Maggie come back on her own? Maybe not—and moving to Wyoming had disrupted Rylie’s life in too many ways to count without chancing the loss of her best friend. “Maggie!”

Cabins Five and Six flashed by.

The sound of barking grew louder.

Halfway up the hill to the last four cabins, she bent over with her hands on her knees and caught her breath.
Please, Lord. Don’t let anything happen to Rylie’s dog. Please!

And then she saw it.

A shadowy figure perhaps a half mile ahead, moving rapidly away through the trees. In a flash he was gone, but Maggie didn’t follow him. She froze for a split second, stared at the interloper, then veered off into the trees.

Janna followed the sound of her barking to the lip of a ravine beyond Cabin Ten and cautiously peered over the edge, hanging onto a slender birch for support.

Near the bottom Maggie barked furiously at something in the muddy earth. Probably some hapless chipmunk caught away from its burrow.

Janna coaxed. Pleaded. Called her name over and over. Then she finally made the descent, slipping on wet pine needles, tangling in thorny vines, while grabbing at bushes and branches to slow down.

“You are definitely getting a leash,” Janna muttered when she finally made it to the bottom and reached for the muddy dog. Maggie desperately tried to wriggle free of her grasp, her paws peddling wildly. “And you definitely need a bath—”

But then Janna looked down and drew in a sharp breath.

Maggie hadn’t been after a chipmunk at all.

Janna was now alone. Far from the lodge. No one knew she was out here—except for a stranger who might just be a hiker passing through…or who might care very much about what the dog had found.

A stranger who even now could be watching her from the shadows.

With a strangled cry she stumbled backward, the dog clutched at her chest—and stared at the eroded bank of the ravine…

Where Maggie had unearthed a human skull.

Shivering despite her shawl and dry clothes, Janna cradled a cup of coffee in both hands and gratefully absorbed its warmth.

Michael and one of his deputies had arrived less than an hour after she called 911—amazing, considering the twenty-mile distance from town on difficult mountain roads.

After telling them about the trespasser she’d seen in the woods and the strange, faded stains on Cabin Ten’s floor, she’d led them to the place where she’d seen the skull, then went back to the lodge to stay out of their way.

They spent several hours out in the rain before the deputy drove away and Michael came back to the lodge.

Now he sat at the dining room table with Janna and Claire, his hand poised over a clipboard, the soft light of the rustic antler chandelier highlighting the angles and planes of his rugged face and deep, rain-damp waves in his dark hair.

If he was frustrated by Claire’s imperious attitude, he certainly masked it well.

“So this place—the lodge and the cabins—have been empty for…”

Claire gave him a look of utter disdain. “The lodge, at least fifteen years. The cabins, much longer.”

“The buildings were kept locked?”

“Of course.”

“No one was allowed to use them? Family members? Friends?”

She took a long, slow sip of coffee. “The water and electricity were turned off, of course. I don’t remember anyone…” Her brow furrowed. “Maybe a ranch hand used a cabin from time to time, while up here moving or doctoring cattle or riding fence. It’s a long ways from the home place.”

Michael’s fingers tensed almost imperceptibly on his pen. “Would you still have records on your employees over the past, say, twenty years?”

Claire snorted. “There weren’t that many.” She lifted her gaze to the window beyond his shoulder, as if mentally cataloging each one. “Not more than a dozen. I always kept detailed records on everything pertaining to the ranch, but those files are at the ranch office, not here.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “I don’t suppose you did prehire background checks.”

That earned a sharp, derisive laugh. “In these parts, a few phone calls are enough.”

Janna nodded. “Word travels fast in a small town, and the ranchers know each other well. If someone was fired for good reason, he probably wouldn’t find another job in the entire county.” Janna frowned as Michael’s words registered. “You said twenty years. Are you guessing the bones have been here that long?”

He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t even want to hazard a guess, but we’ll probably have some preliminary answers for you once the state crime lab people get out here.”

“The
state
?” Claire’s chin jerked up. “You can’t deal with this on your own?”

“We need to call in some experts. Our county can’t afford its own forensics specialists or a crime lab.”

“They can’t go traipsing all over, digging and ruining my land,” Claire snapped.

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Michael said with a reassuring smile. “The director will send out a team—just a single van—and they’ll process the scene in a single day. Possibly tomorrow or Thursday.” He shifted his attention to Janna. “You’ll barely know they’re here, unless they need to ask you some questions.”

Even from across the table, Janna could see a vein pulsing at her mother’s temple, a sure sign of her rising anger. Anger that had always been quick to ignite, but now—coupled with the doctor’s strong suspicions about early Alzheimer’s—it was far more unpredictable and intense.

Janna lifted a brow and pointedly slid a glance toward Claire, then met Michael’s gaze, hoping he’d catch her silent message. “Perhaps you could tell us a little more about what these investigators will be doing, Michael. Just so there aren’t any…surprises?”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “The team will take measurements and create diagrams of the scene, then they’ll carefully excavate the burial site, looking for evidence. They’ll probably take a lot of video footage and dozens—even hundreds—of digital photos to show the position of anything they find.”

“And the remains?”

“Those will go back to the crime lab, along with anything else that can be analyzed. Maybe forensics can help identify the deceased and figure out the cause of death.”

Claire drummed her fingers on the table. “And how long does that take?”

“Quite a while, I’m afraid. The lab has to prioritize its workload based on which cases are scheduled for court, and whether or not immediate suspects are being held. A cold case like this one will take a backseat.”

“Weeks?”

“Probably many months. Worst-case scenario, maybe a year or more. Real life isn’t exactly like what you see on TV.”

Janna worried at her lower lip. “But we could soon face a flood of reporters.”

“The local paper, if they get wind of what’s going on,” he admitted. “Wider coverage, if we actually bring someone to trial. But that’s jumping the gun, given how long those bones have been here. And supposing that we eventually do identify the killer, he might even be deceased himself by now.”

“We’ll cooperate with you, of course.” Janna eyed her mother’s rigid jaw. “Won’t we?”

Claire’s mouth thinned, though she gave a faint nod.

Michael dropped his pen on the table and leaned back in his chair, the picture of affable charm. “So, what do you think?” His casual air belied the sharp intensity in his eyes. “Anyone from the past come to mind—any difficult employees?”

“If they were difficult, they packed their bags. I had no time for boozers or fighters. Not with three girls to raise and a ranch to run.”

Michael toyed idly with the handle of his coffee cup. “Remember any local troublemakers over the years? Neighbors…trespassers…any suspicious activity in the area?”

“No.” Claire gathered her cup and saucer and stood. “So are we done here?”

Michael rose, as well, and nodded. “If there’s anything else, I can always check with you later. In the meantime, Janna can probably answer some of my questions.”

Claire’s dismissive gaze flicked toward Janna. “She deserted this ranch a long time ago, so I doubt that very much.”

“What about your other daughters?”

“Leigh’s doing a vet school residency but she’s moving back in the fall,” Claire snapped. “You can find Tessa working down at the ranch or up in the mountains. I never know where.”

Michael waited until Claire left the room, then settled back in his chair. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to open any old wounds.”

“It’s okay. My mother and I have a rather long and difficult history.” Janna hesitated, weighing her mother’s rights to privacy against the added security of having another adult aware of the situation. “Since you’re staying at the lodge, you should probably know that her doctor suspects early Alzheimer’s.”

“That’s hard for both of you, I’m sure,” he said, his voice warm with sympathy.

“One reason my daughter and I came back to Wyoming was to help my sisters care for her, but she isn’t very happy about it. She’s a proud and independent woman.” Janna studied the remaining coffee in her cup. “About your questions…my sisters and I were in our early teens during the time frame you mentioned. I don’t recall anything unusual.”

“No exciting local headlines? Scandals or rumors about missing people?”

“If there had been, this town would’ve been abuzz with curiosity.” Janna shrugged. “The hottest gossip of the day was the affair between the postmistress and the owner of a tavern in the next town. They carried on for years and probably never realized that the whole town knew.”

“And your mother’s ranch hands?”

Janna smiled wryly. “As soon as we girls could ride, we were pretty much it. I was the bookworm and never as good a cowgirl as Tessa and Leigh, but we all racked up a lot of wet saddle blankets over the years. Mom usually had just one, maybe two men working for her. Most came and went pretty fast, though, because she wasn’t easy to work for. I can see about finding their files.”

“It’s possible the body was simply dumped here—maybe even hauled from a great distance in an effort to hide it well. But I want to check every local angle.” Michael dropped his pen into the pocket of his shirt. “In the meantime, be sure to remind everyone to stay away from the area cordoned off with yellow caution tape. Tomorrow, too.”

“No problem.” She shivered. “I just want this to be over as soon as possible.”