Page 43 of River Wild

Jones held what appeared to be a heavy-looking piece of machinery, the rancher’s arms bulging with the weight of it. He watched Jones carry it over to the workbench, put it down, then wipe his hands on the coveralls he wore. “What brings you out here, Sheriff?” he said as if realizing this was an official visit.

Stuart reminded himself that Ralph was the one who had found Willow’s body. “I need to ask why you followed Bailey out of town on the road to Billings.” Even from a distance, he saw the man start before picking up a hammer. He seemed to weigh it in his hand for a moment before putting it back on a hook on the wall behind the workbench.

With a sigh, he moved, empty-handed, toward Stuart. “I was worried about her.” The sheriff raised a brow but said nothing before Jones rushed on. “After finding Willow Branson in the river like that...” His voice broke. “They just look so much like each other. I got to thinking. What if the killer came after her next?”

“So you followed her. Had you planned to follow her all the way to Billings or stop her somewhere along the way?”

“That’s just it,” the rancher said, sounding flustered. “I didn’t have a plan. It was just impulsive. I saw her leaving town, alone, and I... It sounds bad, but it’s the truth.”

“It doesn’t sound impulsive since you followed her twice.”

Behind Stuart, a screen door slammed, and a woman’s voice called, “Ralph?”

“I’d appreciate it if we could keep this between the two of us,” the rancher said quickly, clearly nervous as the sound of footfalls on the hard-packed earth grew closer. “Norma’s worried about me. I haven’t been the same since...since I found that girl in the river.”

He would imagine it had been a shock, especially when Ralph had thought the body was Bailey’s. Stuart realized now why Ralph had mentioned that to him. Because everyone in the Powder River Basin probably knew about the two of them—at least, what they thought was going on when they saw Bailey’s rig parked outside Stuart’s house at all hours.

“Sheriff?” Norma Jones said directly behind him. Turning, he smiled, tipping his Stetson to her.

“Good to see you, Norma,” he said, still surprised that he hadn’t realized people knew about him and Bailey. “I wanted to see if you had any of your peanut butter fudge.”

A small, demure woman, she put on a scolding expression. “Now, Stuart, you know darned well that I only make that for the county fair and at Christmas.” She had for years. Hers always took the blue ribbon, angering a lot of the other wives. Her recipe was a secret and her fudge her pride and joy.

“I missed buying any at the fair this year. I thought you might still have some,” the sheriff said. There was no way she’d remember who all bought it from her stand on the last day of the fair. “Was it wrapped in silver foiled paper as usual?”

“You know it was,” she said, chuckling. “It’s my trademark.” She dropped her voice conspiratorially. “Martha Warren’s taken to wrapping hers like mine. But don’t be fooled. It’s not anywhere near as good as mine,” she finished proudly.

He laughed. “I don’t doubt it.” He suddenly had a craving for peanut butter fudge. It had been one of his favorites as a boy. His father used to buy him a piece even though his mother said it would rot his teeth and would hide it from him if he tried to save some of it for later.

“You didn’t drive all the way out here for fudge, I hope,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously.

“No,” he said. “I wanted to talk to Ralph, make sure there weren’t any more problems with your neighbor.”

“That darned Jay Erickson,” she said, shaking her head. “That man’s like a mean dog that can’t wait to get off his chain and bite someone.”

“He hasn’t been around lately,” the rancher said from deep in the shed. “If he bothers us again, I’ll handle it.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Stuart said almost in unison with Norma. They smiled at each other. “Call me, Ralph, if there’s a problem. Let me handle it.”

The rancher nodded from the shadows, knowing that Jay Erickson wasn’t the only thing Stuart was talking about. “You got it, Sheriff.”

BACKINTOWN, Bailey parked in front of the Belle Creek Hotel. The yellow-and-white wood structure was a historic landmark with a wide front porch and peaked roof. Inside was an old-fashioned lobby complete with leather chairs and a fireplace. A wide wooden staircase rose to the second floor, this side of the ancient elevator.

The hotel dining room wasn’t used except for weddings, holidays and other local events. The lounge though with its long mahogany bar and mirror on the back of the bar highlighting all the different bottle of alcohol was a popular place.

Bailey headed toward the back of the hotel, knowing that the housekeepers were probably still at work. She could hear the murmur of voices over the rhythmic hum of the washing machines in the hotel laundry. An older woman named Sylvia Day was busy pulling towels from a large clothes dryer as her younger companion, Nicky Browning, folded them onto their carts for the next day.

They both turned, looking surprised but not concerned as Bailey stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. “I’m trying to find out who killed Willow,” she said. Neither woman questioned why the daughter of a wealthy local rancher would be looking into the murder. “I was hoping you could help me.” When they said nothing, she continued, “Do you know if she had a date the night she was killed?”

Sylvia finished dragging out the last of the towels and closed the dryer door. “What makes you think we’d know anything?”

“You’re women. You notice things men do,” Bailey said simply. “Has anyone questioned you about Willow?” They both shook their heads. Just as she’d thought. They didn’t work in the same area, weren’t the same pay grade. But Powder Crossing was a small town, and there wasn’t a lot to do but speculate on other people and what they were up to. It was why she’d been able to get information so easily about everyonebutthe man she was looking for. People out here in the middle of nowhere made butting into other people’s business an Olympic sport. Every house had binoculars and usually at least one nosy occupant.

“She always wore this one perfume when she had a date after work,” Nicky said as she kept folding towels. “She had this look,” she said with a shrug. “Kinda smug.”

“Like it was an important date?” Bailey asked, and got a nod from Nicky. “Like the look of a woman in love?” Another shrug. “Any idea who he was?” There was a general shaking of heads. “Did some of her dates pick her up at the hotel?”

“Not this one,” Sylvia said, lips pursing. “She kept looking at her watch like she was going to be late meeting him. No idea where. But I got the impression he was older.”

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