Winterkill

“These people throw money around like it isn’t even real, you know? Just look at this stupid ‘joint management’ area that cost three million dollars between them just to string some fence and put up some signs.”

“What did you say before about the Forest Service?”

Latham’s voice suddenly caught in his throat. “Nothing.”

“No, you said the Forest Service owed you money as well.”

“Fuckers.” Latham coughed. “They’re the worst of all. They owe us fifteen thousand from work we did last summer!”

“This would be Lamar Gardiner,” Joe said flatly.

“It was Lamar Gardiner,” Latham said, smiling wickedly. His teeth were pink from a cut in his mouth. “He wouldn’t even return our calls about it, and he told Spud that if he didn’t stop harassing him, we’d be off the government bid list for good and he’d press charges!”

“Move aside,” Joe ordered, and Latham slid along the truck away from the cab.

Reaching inside, Joe pulled the bench seat forward. A well-used compound bow was wedged between the seat and the cab wall. A narrow quiver of arrows lay next to it.

Joe slid one of the arrows out and held it up.

“Bonebuster,” Joe said.

Latham’s eyes bulged, and his face drained of color. At the same time, the cut on his forehead started to gush again.

Joe was stunned. “This was about some unpaid bills? You killed a man and tried to kill another because their agencies owed you money?”

Latham nodded, fear in his face because of Joe’s tone.

“I ought to shoot you right here and leave you for the coyotes,” Joe said icily. “Do you realize what you two idiots almost set in motion?”

Sheriff O. R. “Bud” Barnum sat shell-shocked as Joe Pickett dropped the bow and arrows with a clatter on his desk after he had turned Rope Latham over to Deputy Reed.

“I got one of ’em,” Joe said. “Spud Cargill is the other one and he got away. Rope shot the arrows and Spud cut Lamar’s throat.”

Barnum glared.

“Rope confessed everything on the way into town,” Joe said. “I’ve got it on tape.”

“Did you read him his rights?”

“That’s on the tape.”

“So where’s Spud?”

“I don’t know,” Joe said. “Why don’t you find him? You’re the sheriff.”

Barnum stared at Joe, his eyes darkening.

“I know you’re busy with the Sovereigns and Melinda Strickland and ‘Phase One’ and all, but Spud’s driving a tan pickup with a Bighorn Roofing logo on the door and Wyoming plates. It shouldn’t be all that hard to find,” Joe said. He put his hands on Barnum’s desk and leaned toward him.

“This had nothing to do with any antigovernment movement in the county. It had to do with roofers who didn’t get paid when they should have been paid.” Joe glared at Barnum. “And it had a lot to do with sloppy police work by the sheriff’s department.”

Veins in Barnum’s temples began to throb. But he said nothing.

“When you release Nate Romanowski, please tell him I’m looking forward to talking with him,” Joe said. “That is, if your deputy is through hitting him with a hot shot.”

Joe turned and walked out.

That night, in bed, Marybeth shook Joe awake. When he opened his eyes, he found her staring at him.

“I’m sorry about last night and this morning,” she said. “You didn’t deserve it.”

“Yes, I did. You were right,” he said, his mood suddenly lifting. “It’s okay. The tension level was pretty high around here.”

She smiled, but stayed silent.

“What?” he asked, finally.

“Joe, sometimes you amaze me. Two antelope fawns?”

He laughed.

Twenty-three

In the morning, Joe confirmed Rope Latham’s story with Carrie Gardiner. He found her standing in front of her house in a heavy coat, hugging herself with both arms. A big moving truck had backed up to her front door across the yard, and a crew was carrying furniture and boxes up a ramp from her house into the back of the trailer.

“I heard,” Joe said, tipping the brim of his hat toward the moving truck. “Where are you going?”

“My parents live in Nebraska.” She sighed. “Still on the farm. They’ve got room for all of us.”

“I’m sorry to see you leave.”