Crime Scene at Cardwell Ranch. B.J. Daniels

The last thing she wanted to do was to go out tonight. But she’d made this birthday dinner date weeks ago.

      “Great, then I’ll see you at eight.” He seemed to hesitate, as if waiting for her to say something, then hung up.

      Why hadn’t she told him the truth? That she was exhausted, that there was a dead body in her well, that she just wanted to stay home and lick her wounds? Lanny would have understood.

      But she knew why she hadn’t. Because Lanny would think her canceling their date had something to do with Hud.

      ONCE THE TEAM of deputies on loan from the sheriff’s department in Bozeman arrived and began searching the old homestead, Hud drove back to his office at Big Sky.

      Big Sky didn’t really resemble a town. Condos had sprung up after construction on the famous resort began on the West Fork of the Gallatin River in the early 1970s. A few businesses had followed, along with other resort amenities such as a golf course in the lower meadow and ski area on the spectacular Lone Mountain peak.

      The marshal’s office was in the lower meadow in a nondescript small wooden building, manned with a marshal, two deputies and a dispatcher. After hours, all calls were routed to the sheriff’s office in Bozeman.

      Hud had inherited two green deputies and a dispatcher who was the cousin of the former sheriff and the worst gossip in the state. Not much to work with, especially now that he had a murder on his hands.

      He parked in the back and entered the rear door, so lost in thought that he didn’t hear them at first. He stopped just inside the door at the sound of his name being brandished about.

      “Well, you know darned well that he had some kind of pull to get this job, even temporarily.” Hud recognized Franklin Morgan’s voice. Franklin was the nephew of former marshal Scott “Scrappy” Morgan. Franklin was a sheriff’s deputy in Bozeman, some forty miles away.

      Hud had been warned that Franklin wasn’t happy about not getting the interim marshal job after his uncle left and that there might be some hard feelings. Hud smiled at that understatement as he heard Franklin continue.

      “At first I thought he must have bought the job, but hell, the Savages haven’t ever had any money.” This from Shirley Morgan, the dispatcher, and Franklin’s sister. Nepotism was alive and well in the canyon.

      “Didn’t his mother’s family have money?” Franklin asked.

      “Well, if they did, they didn’t leave it to their daughter after she married Brick Savage,” Shirley said. “But then, can you blame them?”

      “Hud seems like he knows what he’s doing,” countered Deputy Norm Turner. Norm was a tall, skinny, shy kid with little to no experience at life or law enforcement from what Hud could tell.

      “Maybe Brick pulled some strings to get Hud the job,” Franklin said.

      Hud scoffed. Brick wouldn’t pull on the end of a rope if his son was hanging off it from a cliff on the other end.

      “Not a chance,” Shirley said with a scornful laugh. “It was that damned Dana Cardwell.”

      Hud felt a jolt. Dana?

      “Everyone in the canyon does what she wants just like they did when her mother was alive. Hell, those Cardwell women have been running things in this canyon for years. Them and Kitty Randolph. You can bet Dana Cardwell got him the job.”

      Hud couldn’t help but smile just thinking how Dana would love to hear that she was responsible for getting him back to town.

      Franklin took a drink of his coffee and happened to look up and see Hud standing just inside the doorway. The deputy’s eyes went wide, coffee spewing from his mouth. Hud could see the wheels turning. Franklin was wondering how long Hud had been there and just what he’d overheard.

      Norm swung around and about choked on the doughnut he’d just shoved into his mouth.

      Shirley, who’d been caught before, didn’t even bother to look innocent. She just scooted her chair through the open doorway to the room that housed the switchboard, closing the door behind her.

      Hud watched with no small amount of amusement as the two deputies tried to regain their composure. “Any word from the crime lab?” Hud asked as he proceeded to his office.

      Both men answered at the same time.

      “Haven’t heard a word.”

      “Nothing from our end.” Franklin tossed his foam coffee cup in the trash as if he suddenly remembered something urgent he needed to do. He hightailed it out of the office.

      Deputy Turner didn’t have that luxury. “Marshal, about what was being said…”

      Hud could have bailed him out, could have pretended he hadn’t heard a word, but he didn’t. He’d been young once himself. He liked to think he’d learned from his mistakes, but coming back here might prove him wrong.

      “It’s just that I—I…wanted to say…” The young deputy looked as if he might break down.

      “Deputy Turner, don’t you think I know that everyone in the canyon is wondering how I got this job, even temporarily, after what happened five years ago? I’m as surprised as anyone that I’m the marshal for the time being. All I can do is prove that I deserve it. How about you?”

      “Yes, sir, that’s exactly how I feel,” he said, his face turning scarlet.

      “That’s what I thought,” Hud said, and continued on to his office.

      He was anxious to go through the missing person’s file from around fifteen years back. But he quickly saw that all but the last ten years of files had been moved to the Bozeman office.

      “We don’t have any records back beyond 1994,” the clerk told him when he called. “That’s when we had the fire. All the records were destroyed.”

      Twelve years ago. He’d completely forgotten about the fire. He hung up. All he could hope was that Rupert was wrong. That the woman hadn’t been in the well more than twelve years. Otherwise… He swore.

      Otherwise, he would be forced to talk to the former marshal. After all this time, the last thing Hud wanted was to see his father.

      “I’M TAKING THE FIRST flight out,” Jordan said without preamble when he called Dana back. “I’ll let you know what time I arrive so you can pick me up at the airport.”

      Dana bit down on her tongue, determined not to let him get to her. He seemed to just assume she wouldn’t have anything else to do but pick him up at Gallatin Field, a good fifty miles away. “Jordan, you must have forgotten. I have a job.”

      “You’re half owner of a…fabric shop. Don’t tell me you can’t get away.”

      She wasn’t going to chauffeur him around the whole time he was here, or worse, let him commandeer her vehicle. She took a breath. She would have loved to have lost her temper and told him just what she thought of him. He was in no position to be asking anything of her.

      She let out the breath. “You’ll have to rent a car, Jordan. I’ll be working.” A thought struck her like the back of a hand. “Where will you be staying in case I need to reach you?” Not with her. Please not with her at the ranch.

      She heard the knife edge in his voice. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to stay at that old rundown ranch house with you.”

      She almost slumped with relief. She’d suspected for some time that he was in financial trouble. Ever since two years ago when he’d married Jill, an out-of-work model, Jordan had seemed desperate for money.

      “I assume Jill is coming with you?” Dana said, assuming just the opposite.

      “Jill can’t make it this time.”

      “Oh?” Dana bit her tongue again, just not quick enough. Jill had set foot in Montana only once