At least he hoped so. For the first time in days, he didn’t have a dull pain in his stomach.
He wished he could have been there when Melinda Strickland, Dick Munker, and Tony Portenson heard that the likely motive for the killing of Lamar Gardiner and the ambush of Birch Wardell was not crazed, organized, antigovernment hate, but anger at unpaid bills from federal agencies. Joe couldn’t help but shake his head at that. He wondered if Munker and Portenson would simply sneak out of town now, and if Melinda Strickland would follow.
Then he could concentrate on something that mattered: April.
“Joe, there’s someone out front,” Missy said from his office doorway. There was concern in her voice.
Joe had dozed off in his chair with his feet on his desk and his hat pulled down over his eyes. The week had worn him out.
He stood up and rubbed his face awake with his hands and looked at his mother-in-law through his fingers. Her face and hair were . . . perfect, the result of at least two hours under construction, he guessed. She wore an oversized camel-colored cashmere sweater, pearls, shiny black tight pants, and shoes with straps and stiletto heels. She was obviously not dressed for dinner at their house.
Then he remembered why he was suddenly awake. She stepped aside for him and he parted the curtains in the living room.
“Who is that man?” she asked. “He didn’t knock on the door or anything. He’s just sitting out there.”
A battered and ancient snub-nosed Willys Jeep was outside, its grille and mesh-covered headlights leering over the top of the picket fence like a voyeur. Canvas from the shredded top hung in shreds inside the vehicle from a bent-up frame. Sitting on the hood of the Jeep, with his heavy boots resting on the front bumper, was Nate Romanowski. The setting sun, now dropping into a notch between two mountain peaks, backlit the visitor in a warm and otherworldly glow. The red-tailed hawk sat hooded on Romanowski’s shoulder, making him look like a pirate with a parrot. The peregrine gripped Romanowski’s fist, flaring his wings for balance.
“I don’t know how long he’s been out there,” Missy said, fretting. “Marybeth and Sheridan will have to pass right by him to get to the house.”
“His name is Nate Romanowski,” Joe said.
Missy gasped and raised her hand to her mouth. “He’s the one who . . .”
“He didn’t do it,” Joe said bluntly.
Joe let go of the curtain and went to find his coat. Although the sun had warmed up the afternoon nicely, it would be much different when the sun dropped behind the mountains.
As he pulled his coat on, he noticed that Lucy had emerged from her bedroom and was standing next to Missy. It was a jarring sight, and he realized he’d done a double-take. Lucy was a miniature version of Missy Vankueren. The sweater, pants, pearls, and shoes she wore were identical to her grandmother’s, except that the sweater was cotton and the pearls were fake. Even her swept-up hairstyle was the same.
Joe looked up for an explanation, and found Missy beaming.
“Isn’t she adorable?” Missy gushed. “The outfit is a late Christmas present from me. We’re going out to dinner tonight, my little granddaughter and me.”
“Going out? Like that?” Joe asked, incredulous.
“Show him,” Missy commanded.
Lucy swung her little hips and did a slow turn with her arms raised above her head. She looked and moved so much like Missy that Joe cringed.
“What did you do that for?” he asked, refraining from saying
Missy looked back, hurt.
“Come on, honey,” she said, turning on her heel. “Your daddy doesn’t appreciate style.” Lucy turned as well, following Missy stride for stride toward the bathroom. Unlike Missy, though, Lucy looked over her shoulder as she entered the bathroom and winked at Joe. Lucy knew it was a joke, even if Missy didn’t.
Joe didn’t know whether to laugh or run from the house.
“I owe you,” Nate said, as Joe approached.
“No, you don’t.”
Nate fixed his sharp eyes on Joe. “I asked you for two things and you did both of them. I knew I could trust you.”
Joe stuffed his hands in his pockets and kicked uncomfortably at the snow. “Forget it. I’m just real glad we found the guys.”
“Is Spud Cargill still out there?” Nate asked.
“As far as I know.”
Nate nodded and seemed to be thinking about that.
“Why? Do you know something?” Joe asked.
There was a hint of a smile. “I know just enough to be dangerous. I overheard a lot of things in that jail— snippets between Barnum and his deputies and between Melinda Strickland and Barnum. And I could tell what they were thinking by what they questioned me about. Things are in motion to get those Sovereigns out of here. The sheriff and Strickland were convinced I was one of them, you know. Dick Munker even tried to get me to admit I was a soldier for the militia types. That whole sick crowd is real disappointed to find out that all the Sovereigns are guilty of at this point is hating the federal government—which isn’t a crime—and staying too many nights in a campground. They’re trying like hell to pin something on those people up there.”
