As the rain passed, Luke rolled down his window and breathed in the smell of spring. The storm had left the land looking even greener, the sky washed a pale blue.
He wished McCall was with him right now, knowing she would appreciate this scene. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his head. But that was nothing new. Last night, though, had only made him want her more after wanting this woman most of his adult life. Now they had a chance. Or they had had one before his uncle called.
While Luke had made his choice when he’d decided to do this, he still felt disloyal as he entered the Glasgow FWP regional office.
It surprised him that McCall believed Buzz was a killer but that Buzz wouldn’t lie about where he’d been in his warden’s daily log. Was his uncle really that arrogant—and that foolish?
Twenty-seven years ago in the fall, Buzz would have probably been down in the Missouri Breaks at the far south of his jurisdiction for most of the day checking on bow elk hunters. He would be needed there more than out in the prairie looking for a possible antelope poacher.
Except, even if that’s what Buzz had done, he would still have had to drive right past the road to the ridge where Trace Winchester’s body had been buried. Right past the old Crawford place where Trace’s pickup had been sunk in the mud at the bottom of the stock pond.
Buzz could have killed Trace Winchester, buried him on the ridge and gotten rid of his pickup in the pond.
But Luke didn’t believe he had. Or maybe he just didn’t want to believe Buzz would commit murder.
“Mornin’ Helen,” Luke said as he recognized the older woman working the main desk.
“Hi, Luke. What brings you to the big city?” she joked. “I didn’t see a trial on the schedule.”
“Nope, not today. I’m on another errand. I need to know where I can find the game warden daily logs from twenty-seven years ago.” He knew they kept them in case a legal problem came up years down the road.
“Twenty-seven years ago? Those would be in our storage facility at the other end of town. I can give you the key. They’re all filed by month and year. Do you know what date you’re looking for?”
He nodded. “Shouldn’t take me long.”
“HOW IS YOUR LUNCH? Poison-free?” Pepper Winchester actually smiled, her dark eyes almost teasing.
“Fine,” McCall said, a lie. Enid was no cook. Still, that wasn’t the only reason she’d lost her appetite, she thought as she put down her fork. “Why did you really invite me out here? It wasn’t for lunch or photos.”
Her grandmother arched a brow as she put down her fork and pushed away her nearly untouched lunch. “Why did Buzz Crawford kill my son?”
“I beg your pardon?” McCall was taken aback by the abruptness of the question.
Pepper’s direct gaze bored into her. “There must have been a reason.”
McCall had asked herself the same question. “I don’t know. I suppose it will come out in the trial.”
Her grandmother looked skeptical. “Let’s hope so. If you hear anything, you’ll let me know?”
McCall nodded and was about to tell her grandmother that she’d been suspended and wouldn’t be hearing much.
But Pepper stood, signaling lunch and the visit were over. As she turned to leave, she said over her shoulder, “You know the way out?”
Before McCall could answer, her grandmother had disappeared back into the gloom and doom of the old lodge.
But from the shadows, McCall caught a glimpse of Enid before the housekeeper ducked out of sight.
THE DOOR TO the metal storage unit opened with a groan. A blast of musty hot air hit Luke in the face as he reached in to turn on the light.
The long narrow building was filled with shelves from floor to ceiling, the ones closest to the door, the most recent. He entered the maze of shelves and worked his way to those from twenty-seven years ago.
According to McCall, Buzz had caught Trace Winchester poaching an antelope before the opening of antelope season. That could have meant minutes before daylight. Or the night before.
Luke pulled down the logbook for October and, stepping under one of the bare bulb lights, flipped through the book.
The notes were all written in his uncle’s precise printing—until he got to the day in question. The first entry on October 20 was of Trace Winchester’s poaching violation. But what had Luke’s heart racing was that the entry was nearly illegible. The words ran together, looking hurriedly scrawled.
And not just that, Luke realized. The entry was written in black ink—while all the rest of the entries and those after that day were in blue.
It was a small thing and if he hadn’t known Buzz the way he did, he wouldn’t have thought anything of it. Buzz prided himself on doing everything neat and tidy and by the book.
Buzz had broken with routine, indicating he’d been upset and hurried.
According to his uncle’s notation, he’d gotten a call from dispatch asking him to check on a possible problem on the ridge where Trace Winchester’s remains had been found.
He’d responded, found Trace poaching an antelope, written him a ticket. He’d made no mention of Trace’s rifle.
Luke stared at the writing until it blurred before his eyes, feeling sick. Buzz had been there and might be the only person still alive who knew what happened on that ridge that day.
Chapter Fourteen
News that Buzz Crawford had been released from jail hit the streets at the speed of light. McCall heard it at the first stop she made once back in Whitehorse after her lunch with her grandmother.
She got the feeling that everyone had believed him guilty and if not guilty, then at least capable of murder.
The sheriff caught her as she was coming out of the post office.
“McCall?” Grant was standing beside her car, clearly waiting for her. She thought about seeing him parked down the street from his house
