Chapter Six
Clancy realized it was the patter of falling rain on the window in her room that had awakened her.
She groaned at the thought of getting a ride to the highway, only to end up hitchhiking back to Grass Range in the rain.
Yesterday, she’d been ready to leave her car behind if it meant getting to Billings.
Now, though, she realized she had to go back and not just for her vehicle.
She shouldn’t have run and regretted her hasty decision to flee.
She blamed it on being scared and not thinking clearly.
She’d been so shocked by Esther’s death and feeling guilty about the things she’d said to the woman earlier that afternoon—let alone going back that night.
Only one person had seen her—Jane Cooke.
Jane liked her and would never tell, so she wasn’t worried.
Anyone who knew Clancy would know she couldn’t kill a person, even Esther. Once she told Max everything, he’d find the killer. Then she’d get her car fixed and there would be nothing keeping her from lighting out again.
Having made up her mind, Clancy felt relieved. She was going back, but she wasn’t staying. She rose from bed, already feeling chilled by the sound of the rain drumming against the window. Grabbing her backpack, she began to reload it, hoping to find something warmer to wear as she did.
She’d packed quickly when she’d left her trailer, stuffing only the essentials into the backpack and tossing the rest into the back of her car. She wished now that she’d grabbed more clothing out of the back seat when she’d abandoned her car. She definitely hadn’t been thinking clearly yesterday.
As she looked for a sweater, she also hoped to find her phone cord. Not finding either, she finally stuffed everything into the backpack and zipped it closed. As she did, she heard her phone announce a text. She saw it was from Sarah, but before she could read it, a knock on the door made her jump.
“Yes?” Her voice broke. She cleared her throat. “Yes?”
“Thought you might want some breakfast,” the rancher said from the other side of the door.
“I’ll be right down,” she answered, not in the least hungry.
She felt sick to her stomach. What was she going to do with Esther’s bag of jewelry?
She looked around the room as if she could get rid of it here.
No, she’d have to take it with her when she left and throw it away once she was alone on the highway.
A terrifying thought struck her. What if the reason Esther was dead was because the killer had been looking for this very bag? If so, was the killer still looking for it?
* * *
MAX WASN’T SURPRISED when he got the call from Forensics on the knife used to kill Esther Mason. Diana had already verified that her best carving knife had gone missing.
“No fingerprints,” the lab tech told Max. “The killer either wiped it clean before the murder, then wore gloves, or after. Probably before, since there were none on the blade either.”
It didn’t help to find out that residents often wandered into the kitchen to see what was cooking and how long before it was ready.
“Most sneak in to find treats,” Diana told him when he spoke with her again.
“That’s why we have to lock the cabinets and refrigerator.
I lost a large container of peanut butter once and I can’t keep salsa from one resident. ”
“But Esther only came to the kitchen to ask for a tray?”
“Sometimes she would stop by to give me advice on my cooking. Didn’t like this, didn’t like that, but like I said, she licked her plates clean.
If I’d listened to her, I’d have been creaming all the vegetables and putting cheese on everything.
It was like she wanted to give the whole bunch of them heart attacks. ”
“Did she stop by the day she died to ask for a food tray?”
Diana gave it some thought before she said, “She must have, because I made her trays for all three meals. You think she’s the one who stole my knife? I guess she stole most everything else around the place, so why not?”
Max hadn’t thought of that. He’d assumed the killer had brought the knife to Esther’s room. “If so, why would she take the knife?” he asked more to himself than the cook.
“To protect herself,” Diana said without hesitation.
“From whom?” he asked.
“Everyone in this place hated her. Maybe she was scared someone might try to kill her.”
* * *
ONCE IN THE kitchen with the rancher, Clancy couldn’t believe the news.
She’d lived in the area long enough to know that rain or snow could make any roads off pavement impassable.
Usually, that meant waiting a day or two for the sun to come out or the wind to dry the surface enough that it wasn’t inches of nothing but gumbo.
But the news John gave her was far worse.
“I was worried after all this rain that the road out to the highway would be near impassable, but Tanner found one of our reservoirs breached,” the rancher said.
“It’s washed out the road and taken out the bridge over the creek.
I’m sorry, I’m afraid there’s no getting out of here until it dries up enough we can get a makeshift bridge in there for the time being. ”
She blinked, afraid to even ask how many days that might take.
“We’ll try to make you as comfortable here as we can, but no one can get in or out for a few days, maybe a week,” he said.
Fighting tears, she nodded and tried to find the silver lining her cousin Goldie was always fond of telling her patrons at her café in Dry Gulch about.
Clancy told herself that she was safe here.
This would give the sheriff more time to find the real killer.
No one knew where she was, but that could be a blessing.
She would let Sarah know she was all right, swear her to secrecy and her friend could let her know what was going on in Grass Range in the meantime.
The only problem was that bag of jewelry and the fear it filled her with at even the thought of being caught with it.
“No problem,” she said, although sounding less than enthusiastic. “I can help out around here.”
The rancher smiled at that. “You a good cook?”
“I wouldn’t say…good.”
He laughed. “Don’t worry, Tanner usually handles the cooking. Anyway, you aren’t expected to pitch in.”
“I appreciate that, but I would like to help.”
“I’m sure we can find something to keep you busy, then. Maybe you could help Dub with his barn chores.”
She heard something in the man’s tone and shot him a look. He wasn’t thinking of playing matchmaker, was he? She said nothing, telling herself she’d be counting down the days until that bridge was operating again, just as Dub Crawford came through the door.
* * *
THE DEAD WOMAN’S name was Jane Cooke, the same woman who had been defending Clancy yesterday, Max realized. She lay on top of the covers on her bed, fully dressed with one leg hanging off the side and one arm thrown back as if she’d struggled against her attacker.
A brightly colored scarf was bound tightly around her slim neck.
There were scratches on her neck and skin under her fingernails from where she’d fought to loosen the scarf without success.
One look at the scene and Max suspected her attacker had been larger and stronger.
Even if the person had taken her by surprise, Jane had put up a fight.
He glanced around the room and saw that the woman must have been sitting at her desk writing something when the intruder entered the room. He leaned to get a closer look at what she’d written. Jane’s note appeared to be a confession.
What wasn’t clear was whether she was writing the confession voluntarily before her attacker came into the room, or if she’d been coerced into writing it by her killer.
He noticed how she had stopped mid-word, the ink leaving a line across the page as if the pen had been abruptly jerked away. Was that when someone had come into the room? Or had she stopped at that point because the killer had put the scarf around her neck?
Max frowned as he realized the pen she’d been using was missing. Stepping back, he surveyed the room, wondering if the killer had taken it. That was when he spotted it lying on the floor next to the far wall.
He pulled an evidence bag from his pocket, bent down and, using his gloved fingers, picked up the bloody pen and slipped it into the bag.
Was that Jane’s blood on the pen? Or had she managed to stab her attacker?
He turned to find Vernon in the doorway and started to speak, but before he could get any words out there was a horrified scream directly behind him. They both started and looked to the hallway to see Myrna Larson.
Max was thinking, Don’t tell me there’s another dead body, when Myrna Larson cried, “That’s Hazel Brockman’s scarf!”