“Not a thing. She’s vague, obviously worried someone would read what she wrote. Probably me. She knew I’d sneaked a peek at her diaries before.”
“Sisters, right?” Ford asked.
“I thought I knew everything about Beth. I clearly didn’t.”
He tutted sympathetically. “Don’t be hard on yourself. You were a kid.”
As much as I appreciated his kindness, guilt clung to me. If only I’d known what was truly going on, maybe I could have prevented her murder. “Will you bring Thea in? She might tell you what she did that she thinks helped get Beth killed.”
“I plan on it. Don’t you worry. If she knows anything, I’ll get it out of her.”
I thanked him. “There’s one other thing. A couple of nights ago, there was a man in Cole’s yard. He’d left the gate open and the guy came in. Cole couldn’t see him.”
“How come you didn’t tell me this when it happened?”
“I don’t know. There wasn’t much anyone could do. Cole didn’t get a good look at him or his vehicle.”
“Listen here. I understand you want answers, but you’re not a detective.” His voice had hardened with obvious worry. “You can’t be running around town asking questions. I don’t want you hurt, do you understand?”
“Yes, I know you’re right. I told myself that very thing just now, which is why I came by.”
“Promise me from now on, you tell me everything.”
“Yes, I will. I promise.”
“Good girl.” He stood and came around his desk. “Come on, I’ll walk you out. You tell Paisley to keep his darn gate locked.”
14
Cole
I sat in the passenger seat of Joseph’s truck as we bounced down a dirt road, dust swirling behind us. What a day. Wildflowers grew in bunches on the sides of the road. Natural grasses swayed in the slight breeze. A few puffy, lazy clouds drifted across an otherwise blue sky.
“Mountains look blue this time of day,” Joseph said. “You can see how the mountain got its name.”
A true statement. “For sure.”
“This here’s my secret spot,” Joseph said as he parked his truck under the shade of a tall oak. “I don’t want a bunch of tourists showing up, so I keep it to myself.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was familiar with the North Fork of the Blue River. I’d fished here dozens of times. However, I preferred a spot on my own property where the waters were thick with rainbows and cutthroats, and no one fished there without my permission. If today went well, I’d invite him over to the house.
“You have good luck here?” I asked.
“Every time.” He chuckled. “I should have blindfolded you so you couldn’t find your way back.”
“I’m honored.” I grabbed my cowboy hat from the seat and tugged it onto my head.
He killed the engine and shot me a boyish grin. “This here is a good day, am I right?”
“Can’t argue with that,” I said.
We got our gear and a small cooler out of the back of the truck. I’d worn my hiking boots and was glad of it as we walked over uneven and rocky ground to the river’s edge.
When we reached the water, I set the cooler and my fly box under a shrub. Several ducks bobbed in the currents but paid us no mind. Gentle rapids gurgled over rocks. I tugged my hat lower and put my sunglasses on to protect my eyes from the glare.
“You good?” Joseph asked.
“Right as rain.”
“I’m going to wade out to the middle. It’s shallow enough.”
I nodded and reached into my bag for my waders. “Me too.” I sat on a rock to tie a black woolly bugger onto my line before pulling the waders on over my boots. Despite the warmth of the afternoon, these waters ran cold if you stood in them for too long. Before I set out, I clipped my net to the back of my cargo shorts and grabbed my pole.
I traipsed out over the slippery and uneven rocks until I found a level spot.
“Mostly brownies here,” Joseph said from a few feet away. “But we might get a rainbow or two if we’re lucky.”
For the next few minutes, we cast our lines in the arc of the fly fisherman. I had to admit that Joseph knew what he was doing. I’d expected him to be a city guy who thought he knew the ways of the Idaho river. However, his casting skills were artful and beautiful to watch.
A few minutes later, I pulled in a twelve-inch brownie. A fighter, he yanked my line into a C shape before I managed to get him close enough to capture him in the net. I held him gently as I tugged the fly from where it had caught in his lip. “He’s a beauty.”
“You got that right, young man.” Joseph’s eyes were bright under his Rangers cap.
I set the fish back into the water and watched as it swam away. “Have a good life, fighter,” I said under my breath.
By the time we decided to take a break, Joseph had caught and released a rainbow and a cutthroat. I’d added another two brownies to my list.
“You hungry?” Joseph asked. “I got us some fat ol’ sandwiches from that deli in town.”
“Starved.”
We set aside our poles and waders. I pointed out a nice spot in the shade of a maple and hauled the cooler over while Joseph went to get some folding chairs from the truck. I grabbed us both a sandwich and a beer.
The camping chairs were comfortable. We ate in compatible silence for a few minutes. The sandwiches were made on crusty rolls that melted in my mouth. The fish jumped at the bugs that flew near the surface, causing ripples in the water.
“Who taught you to fish?” I asked.
“My old man. We came to Idaho every summer from the time I was big enough to hold a pole.”
“All the way from Oklahoma?”
“That’s right. We drove here, too. Boy howdy, those were some good times. We had a
