Snow Blind-J Collins 4 (16 page)

I crawled in my truck and brooded. This was a perfect example of what happened when I ditched my lone wolf persona and started to rely on people; invariably they’d let me down. Usually when I needed them.

Kevin. Martinez. Kim. Maybe I oughta call Jimmer and make it a four-bagger of disappointment.

The Circle S wouldn’t let me down. I’d find plenty of chocolate solace in the candy aisle. I dumped my purse on the seat, searching for loose change. A white business card tumbled to the floor mat next to a crumpled cigarette package. Probably a dental appointment reminder. How could I look Murray in the eye again and not see him wearing ruffles?

I picked the card up, flipped it over, and read: Luella Spotted Tail. Ooh, looky, it even listed her home address. Which was only six blocks away. Maybe I should cruise by, make sure everything was A-OK with the A-Number-One senior volunteer—who got paid.

Or to confirm one of those fucking boneheads from Prairie Gardens actually deigned to check on her after the morning’s fiasco.

Don’t do it.

156

Enough shit had gone wrong today. I didn’t need to add to it.

Did I?

Then again, what else could possibly go wrong?

I heard a chorus of mental groans from both Kevin and Martinez as I whipped a U-turn.

157

I shivered on the stoop to Luella’s house and rang the doorbell. Twice. Be my luck if she answered the door in a full-out vinyl dominatrix outfit, complete with a ball gag in one hand and a leather flogger in the other.

The interior door opened. “Yes?”

Surely this stoop-shouldered woman wasn’t Luella.

“I’m looking for Luella Spotted Tail.”

“I’m Luella.”

Holy shit. And I thought I looked bad in the morning.

She squinted at me through the glass window of the storm door. “Who are you?”

“I don’t know if you remember me. We met a couple of days ago?”

“Oh. Kate, right?”

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“Ah. No. My name’s not really Kate.”

Luella frowned. “I don’t have my glasses on, but you sure look like—”

“Maybe I could come in so I can explain who I am?”

“Why should I let you in when you just told me you’re not who you said you were?”

Smart. “Do you want to see my ID?”

“No. But I’ll warn you. If you come in it’ll be at your own risk. I’ve been sick as a dog with the flu the last three days.”

The glass and germ-killing cold separating us didn’t seem like such a bad thing. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll get right to the point. Did anyone from Prairie Gardens contact you today? Either by phone or in person?”

“I don’t know. My phone’s been out since the storm hit, and I’ve felt too lousy to care. You’re the first person I’ve seen in days.”

It finally dawned on her how weird it was that I was standing on her steps.

“If you’re not Kate, who are you?”

“I’m Julie Collins with Wells/Collins Investigations. I was hired to check out a few concerns at Prairie Gardens for a client.”

She considered me, and her back snapped straight.

“I should’ve known.”

“What?”

“Your eagerness to wiggle your way into checking 159

my routine and the facility. About needing care for your elderly aunt and praising Prime Time Friends.

Everything you said was a lie, wasn’t it?”

My face flushed.

“What about when you chewed out those workers?
Shee
. Was the story about your dead half-Indian brother just a way to get my sympathy so I’d talk to you because I’m Indian? We all stick together, right? Did you think I’d be so grateful that a white girl sees my worth I’d spill my guts about company secrets?”

“No. My brother was Sioux. What I said to those douche bags was how I really feel because they were wrong disrespecting you and you deserve better.”

She snorted. “But you running into me at the medical center wasn’t a coincidence?”

“No.”

“It was a con? A way for you to sneak in, in plain sight? A way for you to get my trust?”

“I can explain—”

“Save it.” Luella started to shut the door.

“Please. Listen. I know Vernon Sloane was your client—”

“
Was?
” She went motionless. “Dear God, what happened to him?”

“He’s been missing for the last couple of days. We found him this morning.”

“Where?”

I hated being the bearer of bad news.

“Tell me.”

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“Outside the complex on the east side.”

Shock caused her to slump against the door frame.

“Outside?”

“Yes. Evidently no one noticed he was missing.

When someone did, a staff member from Prairie Gardens finally reached his granddaughter, who was out of town. We met with the manager and the police this morning on her behalf.”

“Police? Was there a search party?”

“No.”

“Then how did you find him?”

Karmic bad luck
. “That’s not important. What is important is that you help us determine how this happened.”

“I have nothing else to say.”

Luella slammed the door in my face. And locked it.

I’ll admit I was a bit stunned by her rude behavior.

Why? You tricked her. You expect her to confide in you
now? To trust you?

As I returned to my truck, I questioned for about the millionth time what the hell I was doing. Scarcely six hours ago I’d been snuggled up in my bed, hopeful about a new day.

The lesson in this? Optimism doesn’t pay. Ever.

Halfway home my cell phone rang. Annoying fucking 161

thing. Caller ID read:
Brittney
.

I exhaled another lungful of Marlboro goodness.

“This better be about the gift you brought me back from Denver.”

“Hey, sis! I did bring you a souvenir.”

“It better not be a butt-ugly Broncos jersey.”

She giggled. “It’s not. Much cooler, because it’s useful and you’re gonna love it. So when can you come out here and pick it up?”

Never.

Brittney hadn’t noticed my hesitation. She blithely continued on. Her constant exuberance grated on my nerves. And I didn’t analyze why it did, which was unusual for me.

“—Mom said I could.”

“Said you could what?”

“You weren’t listening.” She sighed dramatically.

“Mom said I could surprise Dad and load up some hay from haystacks out by the road. By myself.”

“With what?”

“With the tractor.”

“Which tractor? The garden tractor?”

“No. The big one. The old one.”

“You think you’re old enough to run the tractor by yourself?”

“DJ did it when
he
was eleven.”

“Then why isn’t he doing it today?”

“He’s at a rodeo club meeting.”

“Why isn’t Dad doing it?”

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“His hand got infected because he was out doin’

chores when he shouldna been.”

Stubborn fool. “Don’t you guys have a hired man to do shit jobs like that? Isn’t he back by now?”

Brittney got quiet. Real quiet.

“Britt? What’s wrong?”

“Nuthin’.”

“Come on, kiddo, I know something’s up when the chatterbox stops running.”

“Are you changing the subject because you don’t want to see me?”

Guilt, go away.

Stony silence.

The kid wasn’t a teenager yet and she already had sullen silences down to an art. “What?”

“Why are you always like this?”

“Like what?” Half the time the kid was a serious brat, alternating blame and guilt. Part of me knew all kids had a thoughtless, selfish streak, but she attempted to disguise hers with saccharine words that burned like vinegar in the aftermath.

“Like, I thought
you
of all people would be happy I’m getting to do something only the guys get to do, driving the tractor.”

The feminist in me cheered; the pragmatist remained skeptical. “I am. But why does it have to be today? Why can’t you wreak havoc with the tractor when it’s warm and the fields aren’t full of snow?”

“Because I want to help out.” Her voice turned 163

snotty and snappish. “Not that
you
would understand the hard work and what it’s like to help out around here on the ranch. I heard Mom and Dad talking last night about the hay that needs to be hauled. With no hired man around, and Mom doin’ everything else, they’re shorthanded and I want to pitch in.”

Brittney was nice, but not I-wanna-do-extra-chores nice. There was something else to it.
Bingo
.

“You want to pitch in before DJ comes home, takes over, and gets all the credit.”

“Exactly!”

Sneaky. I sort of admired her. I caught, “—but it’s not as hard as DJ said.”

I ground out my cigarette. “Speaking of butts, where’s Dad?”

She snickered. “Mom took him in to the clinic in Sturgis to get his hand checked out. He had to pull another calf last night and now it’s really swollen. He can barely use it.”

I put the pieces together and found everyone missing except one. “Are you home alone?”

No reply.

“Tell me you weren’t gonna get on that tractor when no one is home.”

“It’s not a big deal. I’ve driven the tractor with Dad lots of times and that haystack isn’t very far away.

It’s not like you know anything about driving a tractor anyway.”

“Jesus Christ, Brittney! You know better than 164

that. You’d better not be—”

Click
.

The little shit hung up on me.

“Goddammit!” I threw the phone in the seat and sped up. I was gonna wring her scrawny neck if she didn’t kill herself first.

The driveway to the house was cleared. I raced up the steps. Didn’t bother to knock before I stormed inside.

“Brittney? You’d better be in here.”

No sound but the drone of the humidifier.

Back outside I heard machinery running out behind the barn.

I threw my truck in gear, then had to get out again to open the gate. Once I’d driven through and closed the gate, I heard the unsteady growl of machinery off in the distance. As I passed the far corner of the barn, I noticed a pile of hay strewn about. Had she been at it a while, way before she’d called me?

I fumed.

Even with my truck in four-wheel drive the path was treacherous. I caught sight of John Deere green against the backdrop of the pearly gray sky and white ground. In the corner of the field, close to the intersecting gravel roads, two fences made a “V” and a blue 165

plastic tarp covered part of the misshapen haystack.

Looked like a loaf of golden bread with a huge bite chomped out of the center.

I’d made a mistake driving out here, but with her head start and my smoker’s lungs I’d never catch her if I hoofed it. I couldn’t abandon my pickup in the middle of the pathway and chance Brittney nailing it with the tractor on the return trip. No place to turn around.

No choice but to keep going.

I gunned it. Watching the tractor’s back end skid out, not paying attention to my driving, I plowed into a thick ridge of snow. My seat belt jerked me back. The truck came to a complete stop. I dropped the drive shaft into the lowest gear. Hit the gas. The engine whined and mixed with the sound of rubber spinning on ice. High-centered.

“Fuck.” No reason to sit and spin. I grabbed my phone, scrambled out, and slogged through the snowdrifts until I stood in front of my truck. Brittney had to have seen me. Avoiding me was making it worse for her.

She kept zipping along. In fact, she was going fast. Way too fast. Way, way too fast for the treacherous conditions. Out of control fast.

Her arms flailed inside the cab.

Oh shit. Oh no. Oh fuck no.

I ran.

The frigid air seemed to sear the airway to my lungs shut. I couldn’t breathe. As my legs pumped, my 166

heart threatened to explode from the sudden exertion.

I slipped and slid on the ice but kept going. Somehow, some way, I had to stop that fucking machine.

The bucket on the front end bounced. Pieces of hay flew off the spiked tines like countrified confetti.