“That suits you, too. Since it does, and so well, we’re changing your title to events director, and giving you a raise.”
“Well.” Jessica took off her sunglasses, narrowed her eyes against the bounce of light off the snow. “Wow. We were going to talk about that after I was here a year.”
“We moved it up. You earned it.”
“Thank you.” On a laugh, Jessica pulled Bodine in for a hug. “Thank you, all of you. I—” She broke off as her phone signaled an incoming text. “Chelsea,” she said, “right on time. They’re setting up the buffet in the Mill. You can announce that in fifteen minutes. I’m going to go make sure everything’s in order.”
“That’s why you’re director.”
At a burst of laughter, Bodine looked over at the paddock, saw Callen and Sundown doing an impromptu show. Currently Callen sat backward in the saddle while the horse hung his head, shook it sadly.
“You gotta turn around, mister!” one of the kids shouted.
“I gotta what?”
“Turn around,” several chorused.
“Maybe he should turn around.”
Obliging, Sundown reversed direction.
“That better?” Callen asked, and had the kids squealing with laughter as they shouted: No!
He listened, with apparent interest, as several kids explained he had to sit facing the front of the horse.
“All right, all right, I gotta figure out how to get from here to there.”
He twisted one way, twisted the other while Sundown let out a snort that spoke of derision. He half slid out of the saddle left, overcompensated right while the kids laughed or covered their eyes.
“Okay, all right, I think I’ve puzzled this out.”
He swung his legs over the side of the horse, sat facing three o’clock. Sundown turned his head, blew.
“I don’t wanna hear anything out of you. I almost got this.”
In answer the horse bucked his back legs—giving Bodine a little jolt. As if the movement had bounced him up, Callen swung into the saddle.
At the cheers, Sundown danced right, danced left, then took a bow.
Callen looked straight over at Bodine, and winked.
A good day, she thought as he rode Sundown in tight, fast circles. A good, fine day.
While people enjoyed barbecue, buffalo chili, and grilled beef, a photographer intent on getting shots of the pristine wilderness found what was left of Karyn Allison.
For her, all but stumbling over the mauled remains, it was anything but a good, fine day.
*
Twenty-four hours later, shortly after the sheriff sat in Karyn’s mother’s living room, telling her that her daughter wasn’t coming home again, Garrett Clintok pulled into the lot at the BAC.
The way he saw it, nobody was going to tell him how to do his job. Not the sheriff, who’d already taken a strip off him, and not anybody.
He saw it, clear as day.
He’d been a deputy long enough to know a bad egg when he smelled it. He’d seen his share of them as an Army MP. He’d seen his share of bad eggs all his damn life.
Most trouble around these parts ran to brawls, drunkenness, the occasional domestic dispute—where, in his opinion, the woman likely deserved a little pop—spoiled college kids fucking off, maybe some drugs here and there.
You had your women crying rape, and he didn’t believe half of them on that. Your accidents and so on.
But you sure as hell didn’t have two women murdered inside two months’ time.
Not until Callen Skinner came back.
In his book, you added two and two, you got four.
Maybe the sheriff would turn a blind eye given Skinner was tight with the Longbow clan.
He wouldn’t.
He walked over to where Callen was unloading horses from a trailer.
“You’re going to want your boy there to deal with the horses. You’re coming with me.”
Callen calmly led the horse he’d unloaded to the shelter. “Now, why would I do that?”
“Because I’m telling you.”
“Easy, go on and rub her down. I’ll get the other.”
Clintok expanded his chest. A peacock preening. A bull readying the charge. “I said you’re coming with me.”
“Nope. Not unless you’ve got a warrant in your pocket.” Callen guided the second horse down the ramp. “You got a warrant, Deputy?”
“I can get one.”
“Then go do that.” Callen glanced toward Easy, who stood wide-eyed and a little slack-jawed beside the mare. “Get her rubbed down, Easy.” Then with a hand hooked loosely in the other horse’s head collar, Callen turned back to Clintok.
“We’ve got things to do around here. If you want to book a ride, you do that inside.”
“You want to do this the hard way?”
“Sure looks like it.” When Callen smiled, no trace of humor showed. “I’m going to tell you up front, and in front of this boy, who’ll serve as a witness, you go at me without a warrant, I’ll be going right back at you. Is that hard enough to suit you?”
He could see fury blaze over Clintok’s face, like fire over sagebrush. And stood just as he was, eyes level, body deceptively relaxed.
“Where were you December twelve, starting at four in the afternoon, going to nine?”
“Well, let’s see.” With his free hand, Callen pulled out his phone, tapped open his calendar. “Looks like I started that day early. Took a before-school lesson. We had some sleigh rides. When I got here, Easy there took one, I took one myself, and Ben—he’s still down at the center right now—took the others. Had feed delivered that day, and I’ve got here the paint we call Cochise was favoring his left foreleg. We had—”
“I don’t want all that bullshit. Four o’clock.”
“I’d’ve been heading out about then.”
“Alone?”
Callen pocketed his phone. “It was more than a month ago, but since I don’t believe you’re showing a sudden interest in how I spend my time, I recall December twelfth is when that girl from college went missing. That being the case, I’d have been on my own, as Bodine was off in Missoula, and I came in too early for Rory and me to ride in together.”
“You don’t have the high-and-mighty Longbows lined up for your alibi?” Clintok took an exaggerated look around. “I don’t see Bodine rushing up here so you can hide behind her.”
“You’re going to want to be careful there,” Callen said softly.
“We’ll see who has to be careful. Money doesn’t buy sense, which the Longbows and Bodines proved by hiring you on. I wonder how they’ll spin it around when you’re behind bars where you belong.”
Even as temper clawed its way through his gut, Callen spoke evenly. “You and me, Clintok, we both know your problem’s not with the Longbows or Bodines, or not most of it. So why don’t we stick with you and me?”
“Since you don’t have them backing you this time around, did anybody see you December twelfth? Anybody who can verify where you were?”
Not a damn soul, Callen thought, as he’d loaded Sundown in a trailer, had taken him down to the center to work with him for a couple hours.