“Who are you?” the woman asks.
“Frankie—”
“No. Who are you?”
“Technically, I’m a professional bartender.”
“Why Ramsey?”
“Because I also look for missing persons, and I’m interested in the Timothy O’Day case.”
“You’re a reporter?”
“Nope. Just a person who looks for other people.” I shrug. “There’s more demand for someone like me than you might suspect.”
“That your gear?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s your pack? Hiking boots? Camping gear?”
I glance down at my roll-aboard suitcase, bruised from so many towns, miles, bus rides. The horsewoman raises a good point. No way I can take luggage on a hike into the mountains. So there might be a few flaws with my impulsive decision. That’s never stopped me before.
“I’ll figure it out.”
The woman leans against her truck, folding her arms across her chest. She eyes me up and down. She hasn’t said no, which in my world is as good as a yes, but requires more patience.
“How do I know you’re not some crazy serial killer?” she asks at last.
“Because what are the odds of there being two crazy serial killers in the same vehicle?”
It’s an old joke, but the punch line earns me a smile. Beneath the brim of the woman’s Stetson, the corners of her blue eyes crinkle. She wears the dust, flecks of straw, and faint odor of horse manure well.
What if I got a job as a ranch hand? I’m tempted till I take a closer look at the rippling muscles on her arms, compared to my own scrawny sticks. I’m a very resourceful person. I’ve talked myself out of a fair amount of trouble. But no, I’m not winning any arm-wrestling contests anytime soon.
“All right,” she says abruptly. “Name’s Lisa Rowell. I’ll take you to Ramsey. Climb on board.”
I don’t hesitate but scramble around the ancient truck and load up, luggage at my feet, leather satchel at my side.
“Nice to meet you, Lisa.”
Just like that, I’m on the road again.
* * *
—
“Do you live around here?” I ask her once we’ve headed out. The windows on both sides of the cab are rolled down, the wind streaming through my hair. I’m back to the happy side of my rash decision.
“Most of my life. Own a ranch near Ramsey.”
“Horses?”
“Horses, cattle, a few other strays.”
“Human or beast?”
I earn another flashing smile. “Bit of both, I suppose.”
“Were you involved in the search for Tim O’Day?”
She nods shortly. “When he and his friend first went missing. Most of the locals helped out. I provided some of the horses for the search party.”
“Do the locals have any theories?”
“Nature demands respect.”
“Sounds like Timothy was respectful. Experienced. Well equipped.”
She shrugs.
“Is it the booze?” I ask. “That he and his buddies hiked into a remote wilderness area, then pickled their brains with beer and whiskey?”
“What do you think the rest of us did during high school?”
Fair enough. “What do you think about wildlife? Grizzly bear? Mountain lion?”
“Possible.”
“But not probable?”
“I don’t head into the mountains without my rifle. There’s a reason for that. But in all my years . . . I’ve never actually seen a grizzly. Black bears, yes, but they’re not a problem. Besides, animals aren’t the neatest eaters.”
“In other words, if a grizzly or mountain lion had attacked Tim, there’d be more evidence. I thought the guys said they found blood, broken tree limbs, when they were looking for Scott.”
“Search party found an area of disturbance, but no blood. Also, Tim was around for that part, not to mention Scott was found safe and sound afterwards.”
“Maybe the disturbance was from an animal who’d wandered nearby, tempted by the scent of food. Maybe the fire kept it at bay, though.” I’m thinking out loud. Bullshitting, really. Another one of my superpowers. “But then, when Tim hiked out, away from the safety of the fire . . .”
Rowell snorts. “You sound like the Bigfoot hunter.”
“There’s a Bigfoot hunter?”
“I thought you were part of the search party.”
“I will be. Once I meet them and work my charm.”