“They won’t let me in,” he said to the sheriff. “They said he’s dead?”
“I’m sorry, Luke. Buzz shot himself. He left a suicide note along with a confession to the killing of Trace Winchester.”
LUKE DROVE MCCALL back to her cabin, too stunned and distraught to talk and thankful she didn’t question him.
“I need to be the one to tell Eugene,” he said as he pulled up next to her cabin. He leaned in, kissed her and said, “I’m sorry about your dad. You tried to warn me.”
“I’m sorry, too,” she said and, touching his cheek, told him to be careful before she got out of the truck.
“I need some time,” he said. “I might go out to my place at least to check things tonight. But I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
She smiled in understanding. “Don’t worry about me. Take all the time you need. I know you’ll be back.” She closed the door and walked toward her cabin.
He waited until she was inside before he turned around and drove through the darkness, feeling as if he’d been hit by a train.
His mind was racing. He’d found what could constitute evidence in Buzz’s logbook. Had the sheriff shown it to Buzz? Is that why his uncle had decided to write the confession and kill himself?
Luke drove toward town, turning it all over in his head. The night was black. No stars, no moon, the clouds so low now it was like driving through cotton. He had his side window down letting the cold night air blow in.
He didn’t feel the chill, only the intense sense of loss and regret. He kept rehashing his last conversation with Buzz over in his head and blaming himself that he hadn’t seen this coming.
Didn’t everyone say there were signs? Buzz had been acting strangely, but Luke had thought he was just bored with retirement and worried about Eugene.
Luke had never believed that a man like Buzz would ever do something like this. Murder? Then suicide? He had a bad feeling that the ones least likely to commit either were the ones who would surprise you.
For Buzz it might have been a case of the perfect storm: the arrest, his disappointment in Eugene. Suspecting, as Luke did, that Eugene had been using his pickup to poach could have been the last straw.
A thought crossed his mind. He scoffed at the idea but couldn’t shake a nagging feeling that the thought hadn’t been as crazy as he wanted to believe.
Luke slowed the pickup on the edge of Whitehorse and headed for the sheriff’s department—and the county jail where his cousin was still locked up the last he’d heard.
MCCALL FELT NUMB as she stopped on the deck to pick up the blanket she’d left there. The darkness seemed to close in along with the shock.
Buzz was dead.
She wrapped the blanket around herself and stood staring down at the river through the deep black of cottonwoods. No starlight filtered past the bare branches. No moon shone in Montana’s big sky.
The only light was a ghostly glaze that shimmered on the surface of the water as it snaked past.
McCall shivered and pulled the blanket tighter as a gust of wind moaned through the trees.
It was over.
Buzz had killed her father, and while she would never know why, at least she should be thankful that Trace Winchester had gotten justice.
So why did she feel so empty, she wondered as she leaned against the railing and breathed in the rich scents from the river bottom. It was over.
Over for some, she thought. Not for Luke, though.
Suddenly she felt as if icy fingers had brushed across the back of her neck. Her stomach contracted with a feeling she was no longer alone, and that what was waiting for her in the dark wasn’t just dangerous—it was deadly.
She stared hard into the black cottonwoods, listening for any hint that there was someone out there watching her at this very moment. Eugene? Had he gotten out of jail? The wind moaned through the branches, the limbs moving restlessly against the dark sky.
Taking a step back, she edged toward the front door of the house, trying to remember if she’d locked it, suddenly filled with a sense of dread.
She’d only taken a few steps when she remembered the gun Luke had given her. She’d had it earlier on the deck...
She stopped, her gaze scanning the dark shadows of the deck. She couldn’t see it. Maybe Luke had picked it up. Or maybe they had knocked it off the deck earlier.
As badly as she wished she could find it, she wasn’t about to take the time to look for it. Turning, she lunged for her front door, that feeling of danger too intense to ignore.
The knob turned in her hand. She hadn’t locked it. Damn.
She stepped in, fumbling for the light as she slammed the door behind her, breathing hard.
There’s no one out there. You’re just spooked over everything that has happened. You’re running scared and it’s not like you.
McCall reached for the lock but froze. Had it been the soft scuff of a shoe? Or a breath exhaled? Or had she just sensed it as she had on the deck?
Whatever the reason, even before McCall hit the light switch and spun around, she knew. Someone was behind her.
“WHAT ARE YOU doing here?” Eugene said from his cell bunk when Luke walked in. “You’d better be here to get me out. Because if you’ve come to give me a lecture...”
Luke gripped the bars. Obviously no one had told him about Buzz yet. “I need to know something, Eugene. I told Buzz that someone was using his pickup to poach deer along the river.”
His cousin leaned back on his bunk. “When did you tell him that?”
Luke swallowed back his guilt. “Right before he was released from jail.”
“And let me guess. You suspect I was using the pickup. What was I doing with the deer?”
“Selling them to a client
