Hard Evidence (8 page)

Still, guilt nipped at the edge of her conscience. Had she turned on that water, then totally forgotten about it? And what about the other times, when her mind went completely blank?

At the edge of the porch she looked down at the hard, cold objects in her hand, panic turning her palms damp and sending her heart tripping into overdrive.

A wisp of a thought drifted through her brain. Dissipated. Then finally took form.

Keys. I was going someplace…but where?

Two useless husbands who’d died young, leaving her with a family to raise on her own and a struggling ranch had taught her harsh lessons. She’d learned long ago that believing in anyone except herself was a waste of time.

Raw fear hit her with the force of a stallion’s kick to her stomach, and from some forgotten recess of her memory, bits and pieces of a rusty prayer filtered to the surface, though most of the words were too elusive to catch.

Now a new litany began to run through her head.
Please, God…please…help me….

C
laire had been gone for hours, Janna realized.

She’d been a capable driver all her life. Too fast, too impatient, but she’d negotiated the local mountain roads with the absolute focus of a race driver, and she’d never had an accident. She’d also spent her entire life in this area.

But now she was forgetful. A tad confused at times. And despite her grudging promise, she’d driven off without Tessa or Janna along. So where on earth was she?

A dozen old headlines marched through Janna’s thoughts—the ones about addled grandfathers leaving home for milk and ending up in Orlando or Denver, and elderly women ending up at a mission in some distant city, with no memory of their own names or how they’d gotten there.

Claire certainly wasn’t at that stage yet…or was she?

Worry knotted Janna’s stomach as she hauled crumbling, mildewed furniture out of Cabin One. She ran up to the lodge to ask Rylie if anyone had called, then hurried back again to add more things to the growing pile of refuse in front of the cabin, though every few minutes she listened for the sound of an old pickup rattling up the lane.
Mom is probably fine…just running some errands. Talking to someone she saw in town. She’s made that trip a million times.

It was a forty-mile drive on winding, two-lane asphalt, and the round-trip itself took a couple hours; errands and chitchat with neighbors could add another hour or more.

But Claire wasn’t a talker.

What could possibly take this long in a town of twelve hundred people? Unless she’d had a doctor or dental appointment that she hadn’t bothered to mention…or had run out of gas along the way.

At two in the afternoon, Janna called the grocery store in town to casually ask if Claire had been there yet, as “there were some extra groceries she needed to pick up.” After that, Janna had called the feed store, gas station and even a park ranger to the north, all on the pretext of needing to give Claire a message, in an effort to save her mother’s fierce pride.

No one had seen her.

At three Janna gave up trying to scrub away decades of dirt in Cabin One and called Michael’s cell phone. He didn’t answer, but she left a message asking him to keep an eye out for Claire’s truck. Then she went back to the lodge, where Rylie was happily ensconced on a cushy leather chair by the massive stone fireplace in the lodge, watching a Disney movie. Her fractured right ankle was in a cast and propped up on a matching ottoman.

“We need to go for a ride, honey. I’m a little worried about your grandma being gone so long.”

Rylie’s cheerful smile faded. “I don’t want to go. My ankle hurts.”

“I know, but I can’t just leave you here.” Smiling, Janna jingled her keys. “We could get a sundae at the drugstore.”

Rylie’s mouth formed a mutinous pout. “What about Ian? Maybe he could stay with me.”

“I’m not sure he’d want to babysit, sweetie. He’s here as a paying guest.” And, given the boy’s bristly attitude at times, Janna wasn’t sure she’d even want to ask.

Yet another reason Janna was thankful that Tessa’s friend Lauren was coming for an interview tomorrow morning. Having an extra adult at the lodge—even if just part-time—would be a blessing in many ways.

After helping Rylie maneuver her cast and crutches into their car, Janna started down the long ranch road. “Keep an eye out for Grandma, okay?”

Rylie slouched lower in her seat. “Why doesn’t she like me?”

Old emotions welled up in Janna’s throat as bits of her own childhood came back to her. The hurt. The anger. The feeling of being unlovable, and of never measuring up.

It took her a while to find the right words.

“Your grandmother is an amazing woman, honey. She had to be tough and smart to run a ranch and raise her children alone. So, she…she never really had time to be a chocolate-chip-cookies-and-warm-hugs kind of mom. I guess that’s still her way.”

Though even as Janna defended her, an old, small voice whispered that things could have been different. Should have been better. If Claire had been able to love her daughters more, maybe all three of them would be happier now.

From the hurt expression in her eyes, Rylie clearly wasn’t convinced. “She mostly just yells as me. She’s always mad.”

“Maybe she’s more impatient because she’s old, and a little scared because she can’t remember very well. But I know that deep inside she loves you very much. Maybe we should pray extra hard for her.”

“So she’ll be nice?”

Janna hid a smile. “To help her feel better. And to help her heart so she won’t be so unhappy.”

There was no sign of the ranch pickup along the lane or on the curving highway leading down into Wolf Creek. Janna talked with clerks in the grocery store, the feed store, the drugstore and the lone gas station on the edge of town—all to no avail. No one even remembered seeing a Snow Canyon Ranch pickup in town today.

And Tessa was out of reception range, high up in the mountains on another pack trip, according to the ranch hand who’d answered the phone in the barn at the home place. He hadn’t seen Claire, either.
Where on earth could she be?

Janna pulled to the side of the highway outside of town, her fears rising. She took a slow, calming breath and started another silent prayer.

Her cell phone jangled.

Rylie looked up from her hot-fudge sundae. “Maybe that’s Grandma, and she’s already home!”

But it wasn’t Claire’s voice on the other end of the line. It was Michael’s. “I got a call just minutes ago,” he said. “A truck driver on County 63 saw an elderly woman walking on the highway by the Wolf Creek Bridge and was concerned enough to report it. His description of her sounds like your mother, and she…told him to mind his own business when he offered her a ride. I’m on my way over there now.”

Thank you, Lord
. “I’ll meet you there—ten minutes or less.”

Janna did a quick three-point turn and headed back into town to the main intersection, then turned west on County 63. A couple miles out she came upon Michael’s white patrol car parked at the side of the road. He was leaning against the hood, one booted foot crossed casually over the other and his arms folded.

And sure enough, there was Claire—her face red with anger, her hands jammed on her bony hips.

The ranch truck wasn’t in sight.

“Wow,” Rylie breathed, leaning forward in her seat to peer out the front window. “I’ve never seen her that mad!”

“Stay in the car, sweetie,” Janna said, pulling to a stop in a shady spot behind the cruiser. She opened all of the electric windows. “This shouldn’t take long.”

Michael turned and smiled at Janna as she approached. “Your mother had some car trouble,” he said. “But she’s fine.”

He radiated such an air of calm, quiet strength that Janna felt her tension ease.

Claire snorted. “
Car trouble?
Having two flat tires in front is not happenstance. Someone vandalized my truck.”

Michael didn’t appear convinced. “It’s…possible though she did do a U-turn up the road a ways and might have run over some scrap metal.”

Claire glared at him. “I didn’t. It was
vandals
.”

Michael tipped his head in agreement, though Janna guessed he was trying to tactfully defuse the situation. “You mother changed one of the tires, but didn’t have a second spare. She was hiking back to town.”

“Someone hoped I’d lose control and die,” Claire added darkly. “This was no accident.”

Michael picked up a clipboard lying on the hood of his car. “One of the rims was damaged when she veered off the road, Janna. I called the garage in town, and they’ll be out shortly with a new tire and rim.”

Janna drew a sharp breath, thinking about how serious this could’ve been.

“I was just asking if she’d had words with someone in town,” Michael added. “Or knew of anyone else who might be angry at her. Or if she remembered running over anything.”

“Of course not,” Claire said coldly, her chin lifted at an imperious angle.

“Where have you been all this time?” Janna searched her mother’s sunburned face. “I’ve been worried, Mom.”

Claire’s eyes narrowed. “I went to check on my herd of Charolais, then stopped at the Lost Horse Café for coffee. I’m certainly not a child. I can go where I please.”

The café was a new one in town since Janna’s childhood, and she hadn’t thought to call there. The explanation sounded logical, except…“Where were you headed next?”

“Home, of course,” Claire snapped.

Yet after a lifetime of living in this county, she’d taken the wrong highway out of town.

Between the possible vandalism of her truck and the dangers that could arise from Claire’s confusion, things at Snow Canyon Lodge had just taken a turn for the worse.

Janna shielded her eyes against the rays of late-afternoon sunshine angling through the pines and watched Ian and Michael come down the lane from Cabin Five.

Since his long hike searching for Rylie, Ian had been limping noticeably more, and he’d seemed even more subdued than usual.

Even so, the two of them had insisted on handling the move to their cabin alone. After the second trip with their pickup, they’d stayed up there—unpacking, probably, and settling in.

“So, what do you think?” she called out. “Cozy enough?”

“Great.” Michael stopped at the bottom of the porch steps and looked up at her, his eyes somber. “We have a proposition for you. Ian?”

The boy pulled to an ungainly stop next to him, his eyes fixed on the ground. The top curve of his ears turned pink. “I…we want to help you out. Because…it was sorta my fault that Rylie got lost.”

His voice had dropped to an almost indistinguishable mumble by the time he apologized, but Janna knew how much that admission had cost him. She came down the steps, wishing she dared hug him but not sure he would accept it.

The awkward machismo of teenage boys was out of her realm, and this one was emotionally wounded, to boot.

“Rylie shouldn’t have followed you, and I’m just thankful that you could help find her, Ian. Without you, we still might be looking.” She briefly clasped one of his hands. “I think we’re square, don’t you?”

“We, uh, figured we could maybe help fix up some of your cabins.” Ian toed at a tuft of wiry grass. “Since you need more time to take care of Rylie now.”

“I see.” Janna hid a smile at the boy’s obvious reluctance and nearly declined, then realized this was a lesson his father wanted to teach. “That’s very thoughtful.”

“We talked it over,” Michael said. “Ian and I could help with some carpentry projects in the evenings, when I get home from work.”

Ian met his dad’s gaze, and when Michael nodded, the boy turned and headed back toward their cabin.

“But you’re paying guests here. Surely you’d like to just kick back and relax after work.” She waved a hand toward the cabins that marched up the hill like tired old soldiers, all in need of significant rehab. “Believe me, this isn’t much fun.”

Michael shrugged. “Consider it a favor. Ian and I haven’t exactly had the best relationship, and a little manly bonding over a hammer and pliers could be a good thing.”

“Well…maybe just for a few evenings. No further obligations, in case Ian loathes that sort of bonding.” She grinned. “Deal?”

“Deal.” He thrust out a hand.

She accepted his warm, firm handshake and felt her heart skip.

He was a good man, solid and true, and she found herself wishing that their circumstances were different. What would it be like to love a man like him? A man who would be a steadfast husband and a good father to a child in all the ways that really counted?

Even after she withdrew her hand, she felt the reassuring warmth of Michael’s touch. “I…didn’t want to say anything earlier, with Ian or Rylie around, but thanks for your help with my mother this afternoon. I know she can be a little testy.”

“Frankly, I think she was scared, finding herself heading in the wrong direction, then having those flat tires.”

“A little frightened, but also still her obstinate self. About the flats—I don’t imagine they were a coincidence.”

“I doubt it. The guys at the garage said they found identical nails in those tires. I asked a few questions at the café, but no one saw anyone lurking around her truck. Your mom parked at the side of the building, though, so someone could’ve crept up without being seen. Or, it could’ve happened at your place. Nails can cause a slow leak.”

“But why would anyone do that? An old grudge against her, maybe? Surely this wasn’t just a random teenage prank.”

“Last week you told me about a guy who threatened you when you were in town. Have you seen him again?”

She shivered. “Nope. I tried describing him to the clerks in the grocery and drugstore, but he just sounded like a lot of other cowboys to them.”

“If you see him, call me.” Michael set his jaw, and his voice dropped a good ten degrees. “If there’s anyone else nearby, see if they can identify him, but don’t approach him.”

Janna nodded. “What about the cold murder case you’ve been checking—any luck?”

“It’s strange.” Michael’s brow furrowed. “This is a small town, a sparsely populated county. Missing persons and suspicions of murder should stir up a lot of speculation, yet I haven’t found a single pertinent article in the local newspaper archives. Nothing in the files at the sheriff’s office that fits the bill, either.”

Janna sighed. “So that’s it, then?”

“We might not have that DCI report for many months. Back ten, twenty years ago, few small jurisdictions were computerized, and the most rural ones might never get all of their old records logged in.” He rubbed his jaw. “So the DCI doesn’t have records of every last missing person—and might not be able to identify the remains found on your property.”

“But…”

“I still have a hunch we’re going to find something. Why else would someone be digging on your property? I went out early this morning and took another look. It’s clear that someone tried to camouflage their handiwork—and that it wasn’t done long ago, either. The needles on those pine branches were still soft.”