Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
EVERETT
While Vivian makes a U-turn, I check in via radio that I’m going off duty then pull away from the curb, conflicted as fuck and my stomach in knots.
I couldn’t let her go to Pinedale—the one place she should avoid at all costs. There’s a couple of thugs using their tattoo shop as a front for illegal shit I have yet to prove, plus it has the county’s rowdiest biker bar.
I tell myself Vivian wouldn’t be stupid enough to visit either place. But what if trouble visited her?
It wouldn’t take long for tongues to start wagging about a leggy brunette taking up residence in one of those rooms.
I’m sure she’d insist that she’s perfectly capable of handling herself, but until I can figure out what the hell is going on—first that near-miss outside Glory Holes, now a break-in?—I don’t want her staying alone, and for fuck’s sake, Pinedale is a big fat no.
If Sepp hadn’t offered the cabin, it’s exactly where I’d put her.
Though a part of me wants her under my roof.
Bad idea, Ev.
Not only because she’s the victim of a crime I’m in charge of investigating, but she seems to have gotten under my skin, and I don’t know what to do about it.
Once we’re all under way, I call my mom.
“Everett,” she answers, sounding pleased. “Logan’s out in the barn. Do you need me to go fetch him?”
This afternoon, Mom picked up Logan and I’m sure by now he’s deep in barn chores with Dad.
“No, I’m on my way,” I answer, keeping one eye on my rearview. “Sepp already call you about lending the cabin to a friend of ours?”
When Linden dropped out of high school, he and I foraged building materials while he sketched out an idea for a cabin on the east edge of the property. It took a year to build and the help of a family friend in the construction business, but completing it was the beginning of a turning point in Lind’s life. It’s rustic but cozy, with a simple kitchen area, woodstove, and a loft. It’s even somewhat private, which was Linden’s goal back then.
“Sepp’s coworker, Vivian, right?” The hinges on the back screen door squeak, like she’s coming in from outside. Probably to monitor whatever she’s got in the oven. Now that she’s only teaching half-time, she uses her extra energy to bake.
“Yes, and her seven-year-old son, Mateo.”
“Wonderful. I’ll get out there and put sheets on the bed and get your dad to bring up dry firewood.”
“I can do that,” I reply.
“Think they’ll want to join us for supper?”
It would sure be a nice way to end what I’m sure has been an ordeal for Vivian, but I’m not going to assume that’s what she wants. “Maybe. I’ll have to get back to you on that.”
“All right. I’ll make plenty, just in case. And I’ll cut up some watermelon. Sounds like everyone could use a snack.”
Mom has no doubt read the situation. I say goodbye and continue past the intersection that leads to Finn River Ranch, the exclusive members-only residential property and resort run by the St. Claire family. After we skirt the edge of town, the lake shining in the muted evening sun below us, we cross the bridge and the road climbs up a gentle rise.
My parents own fifty acres of benchland prairie where they run a small herd of heifers, bordered by Saddleback Mountain to the east and Bitterroot Canyon to the south. I turn up Ruby Gulch, ascending through a band of aspen turning gold mixed with tall spruce, making sure Vivian is still behind me, then turn up our driveway.
I follow the gravel drive along the split rail fencing toward the house complex, pausing at the gate to enter the code. Once we’re through, the farmhouse with the river rock chimney shaded by tall aspens comes into view followed by the detached garage with the apartment above it next door. Behind them is the horse pasture, barn, and beyond that, framed by Saddleback Mountain, is the prairie dotted with dad’s herd. Leading to the right, along Grouse Creek, a narrow dirt road curves out of sight to the cabin Linden and I built in a shaded grove of aspens. I’ll show it to Vivian later, after supper.
Compared to some of the newer properties like those inside Finn River Ranch, Ruby Gulch isn’t fancy, but it’s home and where all my good memories of growing up begin.
Vivian parks next to me.
The hounds come racing around the house, no doubt alerted by the kick of gravel from our approach, barking and wagging their tails. I step down to greet them, then quickly remove my vest and duty belt and lock up my service weapon in the trunk. I’ll change clothes later.
Mateo’s eyes turn anxious when he sees the dogs. I squat down behind him and offer the dogs my hand. “Let them sniff you. It’s their way of saying hello.”
Tentatively, he puts out his fist.
Libby wags her tail and gives him a soft lick, then Chip steps closer, poking his nose under Mateo’s arm and licking his shirt.
Mateo’s giggle is like a ray of sunshine. “Hey, that’s my armpit!”
Vivian crouches down, too, and gives each dog a quick pet on their heads .
“You like watermelon, Mateo?” I ask him, standing up just as Sepp pulls in, his music blaring.
“Uh huh,” Mateo replies, the fear gone from his eyes as he takes my hand.
The touch of his palm in mine makes my chest tighten. It’s no small thing to feel trusted, and I soak it in as we walk to the porch.
Vivian falls in next to me, and I brace myself for her to object to me holding her kid’s hand. Or maybe she’s too frazzled to notice.
I smile down at Mateo. “How about puppies? You like those too?”
Mateo gazes up at me with a look of awe that soaks all the way into my heart. “What puppies?”
“Dad’s black Lab Bertie has six of em. They’re out in the barn.”
“Can we, Mom?” Mateo asks, leaning past me to look at her.
“Who can resist puppies?” she replies, giving me a pointed glance.
We climb the stairs and I open the door for them. The dogs gallop past us, their claws clicking on the hardwood floor. Mom comes around the corner in her trademark jeans and oversized sweatshirt, her hazel eyes brightening when she sees us.
I give her a quick hug. “Smells amazing in here.”
“I did what I could on short notice,” she replies with a happy sigh.
“I’m sure it’s going to be great, just like always.”
After Sepp hugs Mom, I introduce Vivian and Mateo, but Mom is already grinning like she knows them, which makes sense given that until last year, she was still teaching kindergarten full time at Huckleberry Elementary.
“I remember Mateo.” She gives him a soft smile. “Was Mrs. Spencer your teacher last year?”
Mateo gives her a shy smile. “You’re Mrs. Rumsey!”
“I am, and I’m so happy you’re here.”
“You have a lovely home,” Vivian says as Mom leads us into the kitchen .
“Patched together with duct tape and bubble gum most days, but thank you.”
Mateo gazes down at the dogs still circling. When Libby snuffles his shoe, he giggles again.
“That’s Libby,” Mom says, then points to our Irish Setter with the chocolate chip coloring. “And that’s Chip.”
Mateo cackles. “He’s eating my shoelace.”
While Vivian squats down with him to pet the dogs, I slip past them to the sink and wash my hands.
Sepp heads for the sliding glass door on the other side of the living room. “I’ll go make sure there’s no coyote poop in the sandbox,” he calls out over his shoulder.
From the fridge, I grab the sliced-up watermelon from the middle shelf.
Mom comes next to me. “Logan and Dad should be in soon.” She nods to a pile of folded quilts and towels sitting on the couch in the living room. “I have linens up at the cabin, but I haven’t had a chance to bring these up and make the beds yet.”
I sling my arm across her shoulder and press a kiss to her temple. “I’ll tackle it later.”
She gives me a curious glance. “It’s a shame it took something like this to finally meet her. She’s welcome to stay as long as she needs to.”
Sepp must have told her about the break in.
“You’re the best. Thanks, Ma.”
“Is there a place we can wash up?” Vivian asks from where she and Mateo are still petting the dogs.
Mom points her to the guest bathroom down the hall while I put the watermelon on a platter and grab a stack of paper napkins.
Vivian and Mateo reappear as I’m heading for the big patio door off the living room. “Let’s eat outside.”
The dogs chase after me, making Mateo squeal. I open the patio door and Mateo and the dogs race past.
Outside, a soft wind carries the hint of sage and stirs the branches of the aspens, setting their leaves rattling. I set the watermelon on the big table and grab a slice. Mateo snatches one then picks up the tennis ball from the corner of the deck and hurries toward the steps, the dogs trotting attentively at his side, though I’m not sure what’s got them more excited—the prospect of snarfing up his watermelon rind, or a game of fetch.
Below us is the big lawn where we played growing up. The little playhouse Dad fixed up when Linden’s daughter Greta came along and the trampoline she and Logan have spent hours enjoying are still there in the corner, shaded by two tall spruces. It’s been a while since anyone’s used the sandbox, but the toy dump trucks, tea set, and sandcastle molds look ready for business.
“You doing okay?” I ask Vivian in a low voice.
“Better, yeah.” She picks up a slide of watermelon and carries it to the railing. “You were right. It’s so peaceful here.”
She’s admitting that I’m right? I drink this in.
Beyond the lawn, the land has been left wild, the dry sage and bitterbrush mixed with clusters of aspens and spruce that slopes toward Grouse Creek. Further up the gulch, bordered by a narrow gravel road, are the pastures. Two of our horses stand at the fence as if watching us, their long tails swishing in the breeze.
“Now it is,” I say with a laugh. “Not so growing up.”
“I’ll bet. Four siblings.” She nibbles the tip of her watermelon slice.
I try not to get hung up on the way her lips wrap around the fruit or the way she slurps the juice.
“That must have been busy,” she says.
“And noisy.”
She arches her brow in acknowledgement. “Were you all adopted at the same time?”
“Linden’s my biological brother, so we were a package deal. A year after us, Sepp came along. Then Cam a few years after that.”
“Where does Edie fit in?”
“She’s the baby.”
Her storm-gray eyes turn thoughtful. “A baby in the house with four older brothers. What was that like?”
“She was the miracle that bonded us together.”
She closes her eyes for an instant, then smiles. “That’s really sweet.”
“She thinks we’re a pain in her ass now, though. We might be a little protective.” I crunch the last of my first slice down to the rind. “Do you have family?”
“A sister. McKenna.”
Down in the grass, Sepp helps Mateo get Chip to drop the tennis ball. They’re both laughing when Mateo yells “fetch!” and tosses the ball into the sage.
The dogs take off, tails wagging.
“Are you close with her?” I ask.
“Yes, but she’s a musician, so we don’t see each other very much.”
It’s easy to read the warmth in her expression and the way talking about her sister lights her up. “How about your folks?”
She gives a little shake of her head. “Mom passed away when I was fifteen. Our dad’s not really in the picture.”
I wince. That she’s lost her mother’s jewelry box, likely forever, tugs at my gut. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Mom!” Mateo points to the trampoline. “Can I?”
“Wait for me,” she replies, setting down her watermelon rind on the edge of the platter and rushing down to the grass.
Down below, Sepp uses the spigot to wash his hands, then bounds up the deck. “Watermelon, yum,” he says, plucking a slice from the platter before joining me at the railing. I pick up another one as he zeroes in on Vivian and Mateo climbing into the trampoline.
“Any idea why someone would break into her place?” He takes two huge bites of watermelon.
The way everything was torn up inside the trailer indicates that the intruder was after something specific. They also knew she’d be gone all day—ransacking that trailer so thoroughly wasn’t a quick job. The missing jewelry box could be what they were looking for, or it could have been opportunistic. I won’t know until I can put together a few more pieces of the puzzle.
“Is someone at work harassing her?” I ask.
He gives me a wary glance. “No. Why?”
I’m getting pretty good at reading her little tells, and the way her shoulders jerk when I ask a question she doesn’t want to answer is one of them. “Just looking for information.”
“Dr. Boone was in a few weeks ago, covering for Ava.”
I look away from where Vivian and Mateo are bouncing around on the trampoline together, laughing. “Don’t tell me he’s a jerk to her too?”
Dr. Boone made a few borderline bigoted comments to Sepp back when they worked together. Sepp brushed it off because it was never overt, and Dr. Boone was on his way to retirement.
“He stares at her ass.” He swallows another bite of watermelon.
I grip the railing. “Has he touched her?”
“No, and I’d jump his shit if he did.”
Maybe I need to pay Dr. Boone a visit. Though it’s doubtful I could be objective given this new intel.
Fuck.
I take a bite of watermelon, leaning out so the juice drops to the deck and not on my shirt. Try as I might, I can’t picture Dr. Boone slicing open Vivian’s couch cushions and squeezing out her toothpaste tube and conditioner. There’s something else going on here.
“Who’s her ex? Is he in the picture?”
“She never talks about him.”
Never ? I watch Vivian help Mateo out of the trampoline. “Why not?”
Sepp gives me a shrewd glance. “I don’t know, and I don’t pry.”
I read his subtext loud and clear, but it’s my job to pry. “She needs to trust someone.”
“And that someone is you, huh?”
“Why not me?” It comes out heated, and I grimace. It’s a good thing I’m not having this convo with Linden, because he’d put me in a headlock. Repeat after me, bro: not all drowning kittens need saving.
Sepp points his rind at me. “Stand down, Ev. I mean it. You don’t know what she needs.”
“You’re right, I don’t.” Though I want to, despite all the warnings.
With a huff, Sepp sets his rind on the platter and heads down to the grass.