Page 55 of Calder Country

Blake had just opened the door when a transport wagon, its side bearing the painted symbol of the Miles City Sheriff’s Department, pulled up to the house. A big-bellied man with a star on his vest climbed out of the van and strode up the walk.

“Where’s the doctor?” he demanded.

“Right here.” Kristin stepped forward. “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

“We’ve got an accident victim—a young woman, some cuts and bruises, maybe a concussion and some cracked ribs. Your place was the closest medical help. Can you take a look at her?”

“Of course. Bring her in. I’ll see her in my surgery.”

“Thanks. She’s on a stretcher, probably in shock. I’ll have my deputies carry her in.” The sheriff signaled the vehicle with his hand, then turned back to the doctor. “I understand Sheriff Calhoun is here. Is he up to talking?”

“If you don’t keep him too long. He’s alert, but still weak. Joseph, would you show the sheriff back to the recovery room?”

“Sure.” Joseph led the big man down the hall to the room where Jake was resting. After ushering the sheriff inside, he lingered in the hall to listen. Eavesdropping might not be polite, but if there was any news, he wanted to hear it.

“Dammit, Jake, you look like hell!” The big man swore.

“I feel like hell, too,” Jake said. “But that can’t be helped. Pull up a chair and tell me what’s going on.”

The spindly wooden chair groaned as the big man sat down. “We found your fugitives this morning,” he said. “From the look of things, they doused their headlamps and steered into the woods to hide from the folks that were chasing them. It might have worked, but about twenty yards in, they crashed into a tree. The man was killed. The woman was hurt and trapped in the wreck. We found them this morning. That’s her my deputies just brought in.”

Joseph’s breath caught in his throat. From the front room, he could hear the tread of sturdy boots as the stretcher was carried inside to the surgery.

Lucy would be on that stretcher. Lucy, who had lied to him, charmed him into stealing money, and fled with her lover. Now the man was dead, and Lucy was injured. Joseph tried to tell himself that she’d gotten what was coming to her—and that he was justified in hating her. But he didn’t hate her. He didn’t love her or even pity her. What he felt for Lucy was nothing at all.

“How badly was she hurt?” Jake asked.

“Mostly glass cuts and bruises. Maybe a mild concussion and cracked ribs. Once the doc patches her up, we’ll be taking her to jail. I recognized her from a poster. She and her husband are wanted for extortion in Colorado. He’s an English type, pretends to be rich. She passes as his daughter, but she’s over twenty-one. She’ll be charged as an adult.”

“So the fellow who died wasn’t her husband?” Jake asked.

“It appears she was running off with another man. The husband’s still at large.”

The sheriff’s words jolted Joseph. He’d assumed Lucy was an innocent girl, fifteen or sixteen at the most. Instead, she was a married woman and an accomplished con artist. What a fool he’d been.

“Did she have any cash on her?” He spoke from the doorway. “I gave her two hundred dollars. The money belonged to my father.”

“She did have some money on her.” The sheriff frowned and shifted in his chair. “If it’s your father’s and he wants it back, he’ll have to come in, present some identification, and sign a claim form. Since that money is evidence, the process may take some time.”

Joseph heard Blake’s voice calling him from the front room. Returning down the hallway, he passed the closed door of the surgery, where Kristin was treating the woman who’d played him for a lovesick schoolboy. For a moment he was tempted to open the door and let her know that he saw her for what she was. But his father was waiting. And why should he bother with Lucy? She had no more power over him.

At least Blake would be getting his stolen money back. But Joseph knew better than to think his punishment was over. He would serve every day of his sentence in the hated sawmill. But nothing, not a hundred times that, could undo the terrible damage he’d done.

* * *

Mason waited until his mother had drunk her tea and toddled off to bed before he placed his call to Deer Lodge. Phoning the prison was always chancy. The phones could be busy or out of order. Taviani might be occupied with business or simply not in the mood to talk. Or there might be something going on at the prison, some kind of trouble like a fight or a lockdown.

But tonight, luck was in Mason’s favor. After a few minutes’ wait, he heard the old man’s voice on the phone.

“Dollarhide! I’ve been thinking about you, pal. How are things going?”

“They could be better,” Mason said. “That’s why I’m calling.”

“Something wrong?”

“I hate to complain, but it’s Colucci. I’m doing everything to grow my business. I’ve got the setup and all the customers I can handle. But I’m not getting the goods. You probably know about the crash of that De Havilland and the loss of the pilot. I buried the boy myself. Colucci’s down to one plane and one pilot, and he’s not coming through with anything. Either he needs more support, or I need a new supplier.”

Taviani sighed. “That doesn’t surprise me. But your needs are going to have to wait. There are other things in the wind. I might even need your help. Can I count on your silence?”

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