Day Two — Wednesday

WEDNESDAY

I stopped atthe Sherman Supermarket on the way to the station.

It wasn't precisely on the way and I wouldn't get anything perishable, but my favorite store-bought cookies — Pepperidge Farm Double Dark Chocolate Milano — never went bad before being consumed. Besides, I mostly stopped for unperishable information.

That came from head checker Penny Cyzlinski.

The information rarely came directly and only when I was in her checkout line, which sometimes required finesse to maximize. The most important factor was having no one behind me, waiting to check out.

On my way to the cookie aisle, I eyed her line — no one behind the person currently being rung up, a woman named Hannah Trusett, a ranch wife and mother of three, who had two heaping carts.

Hoping that would discourage anyone else from getting in Penny's line, I grabbed five packages of cookies and swooped back to checkout.

Penny had completed the first cart.

As excavation of the second cart started, I waited patiently — semi-patiently — during her free-ranging soliloquy that touched on sparse resources for rural mental health. Either that or migrating bird populations were down. It was a little hard to tell.

Her customer was a robust woman in her mid-fifties, who clearly had her own system and high standing in Penny's eyes. Because the woman reorganized some of the bags Penny packed and Penny didn't — excuse the pun — send her packing.

I kept a wary eye out for anyone coming up behind me, but one customer went to the line of the young cashier farther down the row and the rest were still in the belly of the store.

Finally, after Hannah Trusett paid a throat-lumping bill, the longed-for words came from Penny.

"Bye now. Well, hi there, Elizabeth. Out to Elk Rock yesterday. Sad—"

"Yes. And any background you can—"

"—business. Poor soul. Special. Always been—"

"Keefer? How?"

"—that way. Spaces between him and people. Open—"

"But he lived with two women for—"

"—spaces best. Saw things there others didn't. Always. She was wise enough to accept, give what needed. Did dance close to the edge, but couldn't know he'd pick up the interest later and—"

The interest?"Keefe's interest in the treasure?"

"—all those years. Sort of a triangle, could say. But—"

"Brenda and Wendy?" I asked a little wildly. "With Keefer?"

"—not what you'd expect. They—"

Not what I'd expect? Well, I couldn't say I exactly expected a romantic triangle among Keefer, Brenda, and Wendy, but what else—?

"—already working there when she came from back east."

Ack. I missed something. That's what I got for trying to think, much less speak, while Penny was talking. And now she'd segued to Brenda and Wendy. Had I missed something vital?

"Couple real rocky summers and she told him he was making it worse, but if he'd listened to her, things would have been different—"

"Chester?" I doubted she'd confirm, but it was worth a try to attach proper names, especially with no idea of which she was telling him he was making things worse.

"—giving her all sorts of privileges. Then she got the whole thing as his nearest relation. Cut her to the quick."

Left the ranch to Wendy. So that had to be Brenda cut to the quick, didn't it? But how had Keefer felt?

"Might not know it now, but had flaming red hair and temper to match. My, oh my, the—"

A redhead's complexion could have contributed to those wrinkles. Brenda for sure.

"—things she said. A lot of things said. Both sides. Can't unhear those things. Ah—"

"Involving Keefer or—"

"Bye, now, Elizabeth. Well, hi there, Geneva."

The salutations didn't sound nearly as good on this side. Another customer had slid up behind me.

I did not fight the inevitable.

The frustration, however, left me primed for a fight when I walked outside and spotted the compact figure of Sergeant Wayne Shelton standing by the driver's door of my SUV.

Apparently he wasn't in the mood for pleasantries, either, because he said, "Stay out of this, Danniher."

I didn't pretend not to know what he meant. "Not a chance, Shelton."

"Sergeant Shelton."

"E.M. Danniher," I countered.

He dropped that pissing match. I'd take that. I hadn't won it, but I hadn't lost, either.

"This is sheriff's department business."

"It's KWMT-TV's business to report on crimes and on the activities of the Cottonwood County Sheriff's Department. Not to mention the business — the obligation — of every citizen to further the cause of justice."

"Further it? You obstruct it. You're forever in the way."

"Shall we list the instances when we brought you information to further your investigations or County Attorney Abbott's prosecutions? Not to mention the times we brought you the culprit on a downright platter?"

"You? You—"

He clamped his mouth closed. I hadn't said anything but the truth. We did further the cause of justice. At this moment, however, we — okay, I — might not be furthering the cause of keeping Wayne Shelton's blood pressure out of the stratosphere. I didn't mind elevating it now and then, but not to the point that he blew a gasket. But how to ease up without backing down?

"Never thought I'd miss Thurston Fine," he rumbled.

"Never thought I'd miss Sheriff Widcuff."

That exchange of insults — him saying he'd prefer our former anchor to me, me saying I'd prefer his former boss to him, with neither one of those individuals overly blessed with brains or ethics — put us back on our normal footing. If he blew a gasket now, it would be the result of decades of gasket-pressure-building. Not my doing.

He stepped aside. I got in my SUV and headed for KWMT-TV.

****

Nothing like alittle sparring to get the blood moving.

After checking in that it worked with Audrey's plans for Nala Choi, I also gave the young reporter the outlines of what Brenda had told me about her cousin's experiences after hearing tips from one of my Helping Out! segments.

"Consider it a good news feature, but also see what the guy was wanted for in Montana in case he wasn't just a small fry."

"Potential news story," she murmured as she took notes.

"Exactly. If it was anything big, we should have heard about it when it happened, but..."

At the time this story would have happened, a lot of things were falling through the crack known as Thurston Fine, our former anchor. Especially when he turned off the police scanner so as not to disturb his naps. "Be sure to check where in Montana. We broadcast into areas up there."

"Like the follow-up about the Montana deputy's investigating that I did before Christmas."

"Right. We want to keep in touch up there, build loyalty among viewers and contacts among potential sources."

"Got it."

****

After preliminary research,I took a stab at getting Keefer Dobey's DNA test results from the company HelixKin.

I examined a mental list of paths and started with a cold call, not identifying myself or the station. I told the customer service person that an uncle had received a DNA test as a gift, but he'd lost the results. I didn't muddy the waters with the possibility the results hadn't arrived yet. Let them tell me if that was the case.

She told me to have him log in online with his account number.

Oh, forgetful uncle couldn't remember that, either.

She'd mail him a copy if I gave her his complete name.

Fat lot of good that did me. All Keefe's mail would go to Shelton.

I blithered about him being a snowbird preparing to move north for spring and we'd wait until he'd settled to get back to them, and got off the phone before she noted my number as suspicious.

I debated which tack to try next and decided on media relations.

Some media relations people truly are about being a bridge between their company and the media. They communicate, facilitate, translate.

Too many are human roadblocks. If someone called to tell them they'd won a lottery ticket, they'd spend ten minutes saying it was impossible for the caller to talk to them — even though they were already talking to them.

This time I did identify myself, delivered the sad news that one of their customers had died, with oblique references to foul play, and intimated the death could connect to his recent receipt of the results of his DNA test from them.

"To clear this up and find answers for justice and his family—"

"We cannot give a third party the results. Not even under these circumstances."

I pushed a bit more, but she wasn't yielding.

She wasted both our time by apologizing over and over. That always strikes me as passive-aggressive, meant to manipulate the person being apologized to into saying it was okay.

It wasn't.

She could have spared me that.

As soon as we disconnected, and leaving no time for the woman to put out a talk-to-no-one about Keefer Dobey advisory, I called the VP I'd previously selected from the list of HelixKin executives — making sure there was no mention of a law degree in his background. What was in his background was a stint at a company that had imploded from fraud. I'd covered that story.

If he'd been one of the principals, I'd have steered clear. But someone who escaped might just view me in a positive light. Even if he didn't, there was a good chance he was gun-shy about certain topics.

I got past the assistant by using my name and the words murder investigation.

He answered quickly, which was promising.

I told him the background — not mentioning his former employer, because why rub it in?

Right off the bat, he tried, "That's not—"

I didn't need or want him to tell me what it wasn't. I could have guessed that from the start, even if the media relations person hadn't droned on about it.

"Your opportunity to establish your company as cooperating with the pursuit of justice—"

"We do. By following the law—"

"—rather than living down to the image of a self-serving, even cold-hearted corporation that—"

"Our lawyers—"

"And lawyering up."

I should have skipped that last line. It probably reminded him of experiences at his former employer.

With him being quiet, I figured the best thing I could do right now was let him work through the benefits and drawbacks.

"As much as we would like to assist in finding justice for our customer — or anyone — we cannot abandon our obligation to preserve the privacy of our customers."

"Your customer is dead." Perhaps not technically true, if Brenda was right that the Kenyons gave it to him. But this wasn't the time to get bogged down in technicalities. "Murdered. And you have the power—"

"I don't." The two flat words closed the door. If you don't learn to recognize closed doors as a journalist, you spend a lot of time hitting your head against them. I have the battle scars to prove it. "I can relay your request and contact information to the appropriate department."

"Please do." It was a ‘t' to cross that wouldn't get anywhere, but necessary. "I'll let you know when our report runs, detailing your response."

The last line wasn't necessary. But it felt good to deliver it. Who among us is always above petty?

But, having disconnected, my petty faded and the fact remained that I didn't have the information.

Darn.

I could set Jennifer on the trail... But how many times had I told her not to hack? And each time because I didn't want her to get in trouble.

Nothing had changed there. Not to mention the other demands on her time now.

I wasn't asking Jennifer to try to crack this information.

But there might be another way....

Before I could consider whether this was the time to try to deploy that other way, my phone rang.

It was Audrey, sitting just a few feet away. I looked over. She gestured for me to pick up.

When I did, I realized she'd added me to a call with Mike.

"...Hartville wrapping up all those isn't fair," he was saying. "They're down in the southeast corner of the state, so of course they've got all those firsts. That's the direction the wagon trains came from and then the railroads and all those other events that spawned town-building and bar-needing."

"Are you still lamenting that?" I asked him.

"Yeah. But then I heard about what you guys were saying yesterday and it got me thinking maybe something in the realm of murder and justice would work. Not current, but do we have any claim to fame by way of some of the old-time outlaws?"

"Like Earl Durand?" I'd learned a few months ago about the 1930s manhunt for him after he killed several men.

"Not old enough. We need a classic. Like Butch and Sundance."

"They mostly stayed south of us. The Hole in the Wall is much closer to Casper than us. They robbed trains running across the southern part of the state and I think a couple in Montana—"

"Skipping us," Mike grumbled.

"I bet no one minded back then," I said.

"Not very forward-thinking of them," Mike complained. "Red Lodge not only had part of the Hole-in-the-Wall Gang or the Wild Bunch or whatever name they were going by in their town to rob the bank, but they foiled the robbery and returned them to jail after they'd broken out in South Dakota."

"Wait, what's this?" I asked. "Butch and Sundance tried to rob a bank in Red Lodge?"

I'd been in the town just across the Montana border without seeing any mention of that. On the other hand, I'd been intent on meeting Tom's sister, Jean-Marie, who lived there. However, with my parents coming for the wedding this summer and always being on the hunt for interesting side trips to keep them occupied while I was working, my priorities shifted.

"Not Butch. That's probably why things went wrong. He was the planner in those gangs. There was a bank robbery in Belle Fourche, S.D., in 1897 that got less than $100 and was a comedy of errors. Was the Sundance Kid involved? Wasn't he? Some say it was a different person using that name. The records are a mess. Some broke out of jail. Then another group — supposedly with the Sundance Kid, again — showed up in Red Lodge, tried to rob the county bank there, but had to skedaddle before getting any money. The county sheriff chased them a good distance and captured them.

"They got sent back to South Dakota... and escaped."

"Wow. That's—"

"Great stuff, impossible to pin down, and no use to us at all," Mike complained. "Because they skipped over us even when they were botching robberies. And that's if it was even Sundance involved."

But it was of use to me. I saw a visit to Red Lodge in my father's near future.

"They probably rode through Cottonwood County," Audrey consoled him. "At least on the way to the robbery. Law enforcement would have taken a different route to return them to South Dakota authorities."

"Even worse. Come look at the spot where Butch—"

"Butch wasn't..." Audrey didn't finish reminding him Cassidy was never included in this group.

"—and Sundance's horses' hooves might have touched before they botched a robbery and got sent back to jail. That's not going to get us any hires." In an abrupt change of topic, he asked, "What are you working on, Elizabeth?"

"DNA test scams." It must have been conditioned after mostly hiding what I was really doing from our dear departed news director Les Haeburn — that's dear because he was departed. He'd been the furthest from dear possible while he was here.

"There's a scam going around about DNA tests?" Audrey asked.

"Yeah," I said.

But she must have picked up something in my tone. "I'm going to get off now and let you two talk."

As soon as she did, Mike said, "I know it's harder with the staff stretched, but we all want you doing investigations when they come up, Elizabeth. And we know they're not going to always pan out — at least I do. You need the freedom to explore and poke around to find the gems. A lot of water flows past when you're panning for gold."

Now I felt really bad.

"I do know that, Mike. I'm sorry. It just came out. Probably partly because there really are DNA test scams that I want to do for Helping Out! The scammers approach people on Medicare and say one of the benefits is a DNA test for genetic testing. All they have to do is hand over their Medicare information. And poof, the scammers are gone, with their identities."

"Uh-huh. Sounds like a good Helping Out! segment." Which we both knew were already abundant. "But what about Keefe?"

"Hey, are you saying you're no more interested in my official beat than Haeburn was?"

He was not going to be guilted into backing down. "Since your official beat now includes exploring stories of potential investigative interest, I'm very interested in it. And if you want to do the DNA-Medicare scam story, that's fine, too. But right now I want to hear about Keefe."

"You will. Promise. When I have something to tell. I'm basically picking up rocks — no, pebbles — and seeing if there's anything under them."

"I can help with that."

"I know you can. But is that the best use of your time, what with owning KWMT, not to mention your job there in Chicago?"

I wondered — worried — if he was pouring more of his money into running KWMT. I hoped not. He needed to take care of his own future. But if he was, he really needed that job in Chicago.

"I don't want to be shut out of the investigations." He made it both plaintive and stubborn.

"You won't be. Diana and I called you yesterday right away, remember. When — if — there's really something we'll update you."

"Not shutting out Jennifer, either. Because if I didn't make sure of that, she'd have my hide."

"Jennifer, either," I promised.