“Yes, even though Liv is tough and fully capable of handling herself.”
“But not Kestrel.”
Sheridan’s silence was an indication that she had to agree with her father.
“Not that I wouldn’t appreciate your company,” Joe said. “We’d make a pretty good team, I think.”
“I think so, too,” she said. “I learned a lot of things when I used to go on ride-alongs with you back in the day.”
Joe’s phone burred and he checked the screen. Deputy Bass.
Bass told Joe he was making the rounds at all of the lodging facilities in Saddlestring, looking for the SUV with Colorado plates that Joe had seen the night before. He hadn’t found a vehicle matching the description yet, but he’d put the word out county-wide and said he’d keep looking. If the vehicle couldn’t be found, he said, he’d do the same at the three motels and two bed-and-breakfast outfits in Winchester.
Joe thanked him for the update and punched off.
* * *
—
As it got darker outside and more still, Joe could hear the volume increase inside his house. His daughters had broken out board games and opened more bottles of wine, and there were whoops and shouts. He continued to watch the tree line and catch occasional flashes of wigwag lights from the crime scene.
Marybeth came outside and stopped abruptly as she looked around.
“Look at that,” she said, pointing over the roofline of the house. Joe turned in his chair to follow her gesture.
Blue and pink northern lights shimmered and pulsated across the big sky. This was a rare occurrence in Wyoming, but not unprecedented.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “The sky is on fire.”
“From both directions,” Joe said. “Wigwags to the east and northern lights at the same time. It’s like living on the Vegas Strip.”
She sat in the chair Sheridan had left.
“They’re having so much fun in there I don’t want to break it up,” she said.
“Why break things up at all?”
“Do you think it’s safe for everyone to stay here tonight?” she asked. “That intruder spooked me. There was a reason he came to our house. I just don’t know what it was.”
“I’m ready for him next time,” Joe said, patting the receiver of his shotgun.
“I think I’d rather have everyone here under our roof than scattered in the wind where we can’t keep an eye on them,” she said.
“I agree.”
“I’ve got a question for you,” she said. “When you were in Lola’s trailer, did you see the tote bag full of books I brought her from the library? I left it on the floor on the side of her couch.”
Joe looked over, not understanding.
“It had our logo on the outside. It’s like the ones I always bring home.”
He shook his head. “I don’t remember seeing it.”
“Do you think you could go back there and look? I see that they’re still investigating Lola’s place.”
Instead, Joe called Gary Norwood’s cell phone. Norwood sounded weary and out of sorts.
“Gary, are you still at the scene?”
“I am, but I’m about to put a lid on it for the night. I’ll be back tomorrow. Joe, I left a half-eaten turkey leg on my plate for this.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know. It isn’t your fault—but try telling Tibbs that.”
“Did you determine what killed her?” Joe asked.
“Not definitively, but, like I said, it wasn’t a gunshot wound. I’d describe the injury as almost like a very large ice pick. It must have been sharpened and delivered with a lot of force because it really penetrated her skull. My guess is she died instantly, which is probably the only good thing about this situation.”
“Does the sheriff have any leads?” Joe asked.
“Other than your mystery SUV, I don’t think so,” Norwood said. “Whoever did it got in through the floor. And he either wore gloves or cleaned up—just like the scene at Kizer’s. Like Bert’s place, there’s no sign of forced entry. I haven’t found anything of note yet, and as far as I know there aren’t any suspects.”
Joe noticed that Marybeth had leaned closer to him so she could overhear Norwood.
“I’ve got a quick question for you and then I’ll let you go,” Joe said. “Do you see a Twelve Sleep County Library tote bag anywhere inside the trailer? Filled with . . .”
“Romance novels,” Marybeth whispered.