Had Sandy told him? Somehow McCall doubted that. But he must have wondered what McCall had been doing at his house that day.
“When I saw you headed out this direction this morning, I just had a feeling...” he said now. “I thought it had to do with the Winchesters but I never imagined...”
“My father didn’t leave town,” McCall said, her voice breaking. “Someone killed him and buried him out there.” She pointed at the cloud-cloaked ridge. “For twenty-seven years, he was there and someone knew he was there.”
“Anything else you’ve withheld from me?” Grant asked.
She shook her head and watched as he folded the report and put it into the breast pocket of his coat before looking over at her again.
“You have already compromised this investigation. If you care about your job, you’ll take your two-week suspension and do nothing else to jeopardize your position with my department. In the meantime, this is a crime scene and you’re officially suspended and off the case. Is that understood?”
“Yes.” She opened her door and stepped out into the rain. The sheriff did the same, bringing with him a large roll of yellow tape and a handful of wooden stakes.
He didn’t look at her as he began to cordon off the crime scene twenty-seven years too late.
BUZZ CLEARLY HAD something on his mind when he finally answered his cell phone. “What’s up?” he asked, sounding impatient.
“Did I catch you in the middle of something?” Luke asked.
“No, I’m just on my way to Billings so I might lose cell phone service at any time. What’s going on?”
“Billings?” Luke said, forgetting for a moment his real reason for calling his uncle.
“Eugene and I are going down to talk to the guy he owes the money to, see if we can work something out.”
So Eugene was with him. “You sure that’s a good idea?” Luke regretted the words the moment they were out. None of your business. He mentally kicked himself as he heard the anger in Buzz’s voice.
“Compared to the alternative?” his uncle demanded. “Or we could just let him get what’s coming to him. Is that your plan?”
Luke didn’t have a plan. Nor did he think he should be expected to. He held his tongue, trying not to let Buzz tick him off any more than he just had.
“I was calling to ask you about that old pickup you keep in your barn,” he said, anxious to find out what he wanted and get off the line.
“What about it?”
“I guess I’m surprised you still have it.”
“It’s not worth getting rid of. Why do you care?”
“Does it still run?”
“It did last time I drove it.” His uncle’s irritation wasn’t lost even though the line was filling with static. “Is there something you wanted?”
“We can talk when you get back. When is that?”
“Tomorrow. Listen, I’m losing you. I gotta go.” And with that his uncle was gone.
Luke snapped his phone shut, worried about Buzz and Eugene going to Billings given the people they would be meeting with. Even more worried about Buzz’s old pickup that should have been in the barn last night when McCall was being run off the road.
As dusk settled over the Missouri River Breaks, Luke thought about going to Billings, telling himself he needed to know the truth and it couldn’t wait until Buzz and Eugene got back.
He tried his uncle’s cell again to find out where they would be staying only to get voice mail. He’d have to wait until they returned to Whitehorse.
He’d spent most of the day checking fishing licenses and tags down on the Missouri. Now, headed home, Highway 191 rose up out of the river bottom to trail along the high ridges. From here he could see how the land had eroded into deep gullies and ravines as it fell to the river.
Climbing out of the Breaks, the highway skirted the Little Rockies, the pines shimmering in the sunlight. As the land opened up into rolling prairie dotted with sage and antelope, Luke usually felt a sense of peace.
Today though, he couldn’t shake the bad feeling that seemed to follow him like a threatening thunderhead. He didn’t know if this sense of foreboding had to do with his cousin’s gambling or the poaching and pickup.
He drove past the turnoff to his place and through Whitehorse on out to Nelson Reservoir. This time he didn’t need to sneak so he drove right up to his uncle’s barn.
A wall of hot air hit him as he got out of his pickup, surprised at how hot the day must have gotten up here compared to down on the Missouri River.
This time, the moment he stepped into the barn, he cut his flashlight beam to the spot where the pickup should have been.
And was.
The rusted red truck sat in the spot Luke remembered it residing for years. He felt the hood. Cold. When had it been returned? he wondered as he opened the driver’s side door and glanced inside.
The keys were in the ignition—just as they always were. He shone his flashlight across the bench seat, then onto the floorboards.
Mud. A large piece not quite dry. He looked closer, hoping to find a boot print he could use. No such luck.
He searched the rest of the pickup, finding nothing unusual, then closed the door and turned the flashlight beam on the tires. By now he knew the tread of his poachers’ rig by heart. They had matched the tread in the dust where this truck had been parked before it was returned. All he needed was—
Luke frowned. To his surprise, the treads on these tires didn’t match those taken at the poaching sites. Someone had changed the tires.
He moved along the side to the truck bed. It had recently been washed out. A red flag since the rest of the pickup hadn’t been washed.
Had Buzz used the truck for something? The bad feeling he’d had earlier intensified as he ran a
