Page 118 of The Killing Plains

“Remember where the key is?”

Colly nodded. As Niall answered the call, she walked back to the kitchen and exited through French doors into the bright morning light.

Chapter 32

The grassy lawn behind the house was still slick with dew, and Colly picked her way carefully along the path to the shed. Standing on tiptoes, she groped along the door’s upper casing until she found the key.

Inside, the air was chilly. A faint, dusty light filtered through a curtained window high on the north wall. Colly groped for a switch, and a bank of florescent work lamps hummed to life. She glanced around. Nothing in the shed appeared altered since she’d seen it last; but in the densely packed confusion of tackle, fly-rods, tools, and other equipment, she saw no sign of her phone.

Where had she left it? Colly crossed the room to the wall of metal shelves stacked with shoebox-sized plastic bins. She’d been standing here when Iris called. Presumably, the bins contained fly-tying materials, though the descriptions on their labels were cryptic: Foam Bodies, Grizzly Hackle, Eyes, Chenille. Familiar terms, though contextually unenlightening. Others—Dry-Fly Dubbing, Zonker Strips, Tippets—communicated nothing to her mind. She noted them automatically as she ran her hands over the tops of the bins and shifted them to check the gaps in between.

After five minutes of searching, she was getting frustrated when a soft buzzing noise drew her attention to a bin labeled “GooseBiots.” Her phone sat beside it, vibrating insistently. Relieved, she picked it up.

“Finally,” Brenda exclaimed when Colly answered. “I’ve been trying to reach you for ages.” There’d been a change of plans, she said. Thunderstorms were now forecast for the early afternoon, so Brenda, Alice, and Iris were going to take the kids to the Rattlesnake Rodeo now.

Colly could hear children chattering excitedly in the background. “Sounds like they’re over their fight.”

Brenda hesitated. “I think so. Chocolate-chip pancakes this morning helped.”

“It’s pretty sunny, at the moment.”

“Iris has Satchel’s EpiPen, and she’s buttering him with sunblock as we speak.”

Colly checked her watch. “I’ll try to meet you out there for lunch, if I can.”

“Oh.” A brief silence. “Are you sure? I figured you’ve had enough of snakes this week.”

“Satchel really wants me there. Don’t tell him, though—I don’t want to disappoint him if I can’t make it.”

They said goodbye, and Colly stuffed the phone in her pocket. As she turned towards the door, she caught sight of the last bin on the bottom shelf. She froze, then knelt for a closer look at the words printed on the label. An adjective and a noun. A thousand bees began to buzz inside her skull. She touched the words to make sure of what she was seeing. “Hares’ Masks.”

Standing up, she moved quickly to the door and peered cautiously towards the house. Through the windows, she caught sight of Niall pacing the kitchen, still on the phone. Closing the door again, she took out her own phone and snapped a few photos of the bin on its shelf before carrying it to the workbench.

Her heart thudded as she removed the plastic lid. The faces of a half-dozen flayed rabbits stared up at her with empty eyes. Colly reached for the masks, then stopped, struck suddenly by the vulnerability of her position. She took a picture and texted it to Avery—Need backup, Shaw’s place. NOW.

She loosened her gun in its holster. Had Shaw forgotten that the masks were here? Cocky bastard to label the things. Or was it a calculated move? Did he want her to find them? Was it some sort of confession—part of some sick game? Whatever the case, he might be off the phone any second. If there was more evidence, she needed to find it now.

Colly looked quickly around. From hooks behind the door hung two sets of waders. A pair of rubber boots stood on a mat beneath them. She checked them all. Each had a clearly legible “10” stamped on its instep.

Her phone vibrated. A text from Avery:ON MY WAY.

It’ll take her a while to get here,Colly thought.I was stupid to come alone.

Her eyes fell on the hard-sided equipment case near the workbench. Denny’s body had been moved to the stock pond by something with wheels—a dolly, the Rangers thought, though the tracks had been smooth, and most dolly-wheels had treads. Was this case large enough to hold a child? Satchel, yes. But Denny? Colly knelt for a closer look. Smooth casters. And muddy.

She tried the lid. Locked. Why keep it locked inside a padlocked shed? Maybe the key was hidden nearby. Colly felt along the edges of the workbench, then began to rifle through the numerous small containers on its surface. Dumping the contents of a battered metal Folgers can, she sorted quickly through them. No key. But among the empty thread spools, beads, and bits of colored foam, a small strip of iridescent pink ribbon fluttered out. Colly pickedit up. Was it the same as those Russ had shown her—the ribbons wrapped around the masks found on Adam and Denny?

She was hunched over the desk, oblivious to all but the scrap of ribbon on her palm, when she heard the shed door open quietly behind her. Colly froze. The door opened wider, and a bright blade of morning light fell across the workbench. On the wall in front of her loomed the silhouette of a man. He held something in his hand.

The shadow moved. “What are you doing?”

Almost without thinking, Colly turned and drew her sidearm in a single, smooth motion.

Niall stood just inside the shed, one hand on the doorknob. In the other, he clutched his phone. Seeing the gun, he took a half-step backwards. “What the hell?”

“Hands up. Turn around.”

“Colly, what’s going on?”

---