Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Vance
I heard Deputy Hawkins behind me on the hill, catching up quickly despite her short legs. She was fast, even on this steep slope.
And when she caught up, stuck behind me on the narrow path, I could practically feel the impatience vibrating off her.
“In a hurry?” I asked over my shoulder, chuckling.
“I can practically smell the coffee from here,” she said, nearly groaning.
The trail gave way to the wider, gentler area close to the campground where her friends were set up. She slipped out from behind me and set her own pace.
And shot me an annoyed glance when I matched it.
I took the chance to look at her again. When she’d introduced herself, I almost hadn’t believed she was really a deputy. From a distance, she’d looked like a kid who’d been dared to spend the night alone out there for the thrills.
She barely came up to my shoulder. But she had to be pure muscle based on the way she moved.
She wore no makeup that I could tell, adding to the impression of youth.
She was tanned like she had spent most her life outdoors, with a scattering of freckles on her nose and her cheeks.
Her long blonde hair was a tangle of curls and waves.
It made me think of mermaids—and not the princess kind. Based on the way she’d spoken to me, I had a feeling she was as unpredictable and dangerous as the mermaids in the legends of old.
But behind that fierce exterior, I’d noticed shadows in her eyes. I suspected she’d had a tough night, whether she would admit it or not.
She let out a sigh of relief when we broke the tree line and her friends came into sight. “Please tell me there’s coffee left,” she called out.
Cheyenne, the one who had led me to the crime scene, slipped on a glove and pulled the percolator off the fire. “Of course there is,” she called back, lifting it in salute.
“You should sleep, you know,” I said under my breath.
Deputy Hawkins glanced my way. “Why? I slept last night, remember?” The words came out like a challenge.
I looked again at the shadows underneath her eyes—and at the ones that lurked within them. “You may have slept on the job, but there’s no way you got any decent rest down there. ”
She waved me off. “Nothing a good cup of coffee won’t cure. We’ll share if you want some.”
“I’m good,” I answered.
“Suit yourself.” She shrugged and took off in a jog, catching up to her friends as she called out a question. “What happened to my tent?”
“We packed it up,” the long-haired man said, slinging an arm around her shoulders as she reached them. Protective stance— boyfriend, maybe? He eyed me as I gave them a nod, passing by them to get my gear.
A truck emblazoned with the Sage County Sheriff’s emblem pulled over on the campground loop, unable to squeeze into the packed campsite. The sheriff jumped out and walked to my vehicle.
“Sheriff McGrath,” he said, introducing himself, pumping my hand. “Appreciate you coming out, Agent Weston.”
“Of course.”
His eyes went to Deputy Hawkins, who had seen him and was walking toward us. He glanced at the vehicles crammed into the site. “Is Sergeant Collins manning the site?”
Deputy Hawkins nodded. “Yes. He just took over.”
“Good deal,” Sheriff McGrath said. “Have you met Agent Weston yet?”
I answered for her. “Yes, we met down at the crime scene.”
Deputy Hawkins gave us a tight smile.
“Great.” Sheriff McGrath took a deep breath, staring off at the tree line in an awkward moment of silence before remembering himself. “Claire, go home and get some sleep.”
Her head jerked back. “What? I’m already here. I can help process the scene.”
Sheriff McGrath shook his head. “No,” he said, his tone firm. “You’ve done enough. We’ve got this covered.”
“But—”
“That’s an order,” he said, cutting her off. He called out to her friends. “Rhett, Cheyenne—make sure she gets some sleep, okay?”
The man nodded, his arms crossed, while Cheyenne gave the sheriff a salute.
Sheriff McGrath turned back to Deputy Hawkins. “Be at the office tomorrow at eight.”
She clamped her lips and gave a little nod, then turned on her heel and joined her friends. She refused to even look at us when Sheriff McGrath and I grabbed my gear and headed down the trail together.
The next morning, I stepped out of my car and surveyed Wildwood’s Main Street, my first real look at the town in daylight. You could tell a lot about a place by scoping out the area. This looked like your typical tourist town—minus the tourists.
Main Street was set up like other cowboy towns I’d seen, with false front shop buildings and a western vibe that you’d think had been plucked straight out of a theme park.
There were hitching posts out front, and one of them actually had a live horse hitched to it.
Either a nice touch for visitors or a holdover from days gone by.
The business names promised all your typical touristy fare—a bar with saloon doors, an old-fashioned “trading post” where suckers probably bought overpriced groceries, and a hipster-meets-western coffee shop that likely served eight-dollar cups of coffee.
Down the street, I spotted a gallery advertising local art, stores hawking cowboy boots and hats, and a place claiming to sell authentic Native-made goods.
It was like a dozen other towns I’d seen in Wyoming, except that the streets were nearly empty, missing the hordes of tourists that flocked to places like Jackson Hole. And there was something else that felt different. I leaned against my car, crossing my arms as I thought it over.
Authenticity .
Strange word to give a town like this, but I had to admit, the street gave off vibes that felt different than some of the other places I’d been.
We’d just have to see.
I strolled over to the sidewalk, heading toward the county courthouse that also housed the jail and the Sage County Sheriff’s Office.
I’d deliberately parked a few blocks away, wanting to get my lay of the land before I headed in.
As I walked, I studied the buildings that lined the street, casting quick glances in the windows and getting my first look at the citizens of Wildwood.
Wondering if one of them knew what had happened to my victim.
It would take time to get an official identification, but my gut said the bones we’d painstakingly removed from their resting place belonged to Katelyn Brown.
It all fit, including the charm bracelet.
Once I’d seen the photographs of it, I had to agree with Deputy Hawkins’ assessment: it was identical to the one worn by Katelyn.
But Wildwood was a long way from Laramie. If the remains turned out to be her, my first step would be to start looking for someone here who had a connection to her. That was the ideal scenario.
There was always the chance that the location was random—that she’d either come here or been brought here because it was small and remote. If there wasn’t a connection between Wildwood and her or her killer, it would make the case significantly harder. Difficult, but not impossible to solve.
After all, I’d done it before.
But with any luck, there would be some connection here, something to tug at until the pieces fell into place and I had figured out what happened.
Despite being the easier option, it presented a different set of difficulties. In small towns, when the victim was an outsider and the killer was local, people sometimes protected their own—no matter how horrific the crime.
When I reached the entrance to the Sage County Sheriff’s Office, I pulled off my sunglasses and stuck them into the pocket of my jacket, then headed into the building. A woman with frizzy brown hair pulled back into a ponytail was manning the front desk.
“Can I help you?” she asked, looking over the rims of her gold-framed glasses. Her smile was friendly but guarded.
“Special Agent Vance Weston here for Sheriff McGrath.”
Her eyes flicked over me. Then she rose, smoothing her pink sweater. “Of course. I’m Andrea. I’ll take you back to see the sheriff.”
“Thank you.”
Apparently, Andrea wasn’t one for small talk. She was completely silent as she led me down the hallway to Sheriff McGrath’s office. When she poked her head inside, she gave him a much warmer smile than she had given me. “Sheriff? Agent Weston is here.”
He rose, beckoning me inside. “Good deal. Thanks again for coming, Agent Weston. Andrea, close the door on your way out, won’t you?”
Her smile wavered, but she did, leaving us alone.
“Have a seat.” He gestured at the two wooden chairs in front of his desk.
I sat, taking a quick glance around the office.
It wasn’t an inviting place. Wood paneling, wood furniture.
Old-school metal filing cabinets. A complete absence of decoration.
The windows were small, with plastic blinds blocking most of the natural sunlight.
The whole room seemed to be dark and dull. Depressing.
The only bit of life in the room was a single photograph of Sheriff McGrath and a lovely woman who I assumed must be his wife.
I glanced at it quickly, committing the details to memory.
She had shiny blonde hair that looked to be artificially straightened, a thousand-watt smile, and her hand propped on her hip like a cheerleader. She was beautiful.
She also looked at least ten years too young for the sheriff.
“First things first,” he said, drawing my attention back to him. “We set up a private office for you so you don’t have to be in the bullpen with the others. It’s not much, but it has a door.” He retrieved a key and a business card from the top drawer of his desk.
“I appreciate it.”
He slid the key and the card my way. “And here’s Judge Barrington’s personal number. He told me to tell you to call day or night. He’ll sign warrants as quick as you need them. If this turns out to be a homicide.”
“You’re hoping it’s not,” I stated as I pocketed the items.
“Of course I am. Wildwood has always been a safe town, and I’d like to stay optimistic.”
“Understood.”
“I hope we’re jumping the gun here,” he said, sighing.
“But considering Wendy’s concern about the bracelet found on scene, I had Laramie send over the file on Katelyn Brown’s missing persons case.
” He tossed a file my way. “Looks like they were at a dead end there. I’m not sure whether to hope we found her or not. It’s a terrible thing either way.”
“It is,” I agreed, taking the file.
He took off his hat and brushed his graying hair back, then sank back in his chair like he was exhausted. “If it is her, we’ll have to hold a press conference, break the news. We’ll probably be overrun with reporters.”
“Probably,” I agreed. “Her case didn’t spark a lot of interest when she went missing, but murder draws attention.”
He held up his hands. “Let’s not use the word murder this early. Even if it’s Katelyn, it could have been an accident. A fall, maybe, while she was hiking. Lots of things can go wrong in the wilderness. We’re sticking with an accidental death unless the ME tells us otherwise.”
I shrugged. “If it’s Katelyn Brown, it doesn’t matter—at least as far as the press is concerned.
You’ve got a pretty young girl who went missing and whose body was found in a remote area months later.
That’s sensational. Regardless of where our investigation leads, it will be reported as suspicious.
And you won’t just have reporters here—you’re probably going to get an influx of true crime podcasters, bloggers, and more. ”
He paled and let out a long sigh. “You’re kidding. This town hasn’t dealt with anything like this before.”
“Consider yourself lucky.”
Sheriff McGrath drummed his fingers on his desk, thinking. “If it is her, I expect I’m going to be pretty tied up. I’m hoping I can pair you with one of my deputies and let you take point on this while I try to keep things running smoothly.”
My brow rose for a fraction of a second before I smoothed out my expression.
Most sheriffs I worked with resented giving up any power, even if they’d called me in because they knew they were in over their heads.
They usually wanted to keep their hands in it, to give the appearance to their townspeople that they were in charge and capable of handling anything the job demanded.
“That’s fine,” I agreed.
More than fine. It was ideal from my perspective.
Beyond that, it made me respect the sheriff.
He’d called me in right away and didn’t seem like the type to play games.
He’d only made a perfunctory appearance at the crime scene yesterday before leaving the rest of us to process it, but that didn’t bother me, either—I preferred working without someone looking over my shoulder, and I understood the many daily responsibilities of a local sheriff.
“Alright then.” He smacked his hands down on his desk and stood. “Let’s get you set up in an office and find you a partner.”