Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

S TUART READ THROUGH the information that Bailey had texted him on each of the four ranchers before he checked in with the state crime team and the coroner. Ronald had little more to tell him after completing his autopsy and turning in the report. Willow had been sexually assaulted, choked repeatedly and finally branded before being dumped in the river, where she had drowned.

So where had the killer attacked and kept the victim? It couldn’t have been too far from where he’d dumped her in the river, right? He sent two deputies to search the area near the drop site for any nearby abandoned buildings where the assault could have taken place.

In the meantime, he planned to talk to each rancher left on Bailey’s list—beginning with the one closest to the drop site, Earl Hall. The sheriff felt a little more confident this morning as he picked up his Stetson and, settling it on his head, headed down the Powder River toward the Wyoming border.

All four of the men on Bailey’s list were born and raised in the area, attended country schools and inherited ranches from their families. The Hall Ranch, like many of those in the Powder River Basin, had been land claimed under the Homestead Act in 1905.

Stuart didn’t call ahead. He took his chances that he’d find Earl Hall at home. Twelve years ago, Earl would have been thirty-six. He and his father, EW, had been invited to Holden McKenna’s barbecue that day. If father and son had ridden to the barbecue together, Earl couldn’t be Bailey’s attacker. She had injured him badly enough that he would have had to leave at once.

But it was possible EW hadn’t gone. Or that he’d taken his own pickup. Or that he’d helped his son. Now suffering from dementia, Earl’s father lived in a rest home in Miles City. Bailey had crossed Earl’s father off the list, the sheriff noted, because of a ranch injury to the man’s right leg that had left it half the diameter of the other. But he could have been a co-conspirator, as horrible as that sounded.

Pulling into the ranch yard, Stuart parked in front of a two-story house that had fallen into disrepair over the years. Bailey’s notes said that Earl and Iris Hall had three daughters. All three now married and living elsewhere. None of the three women’s husbands were under suspicion, apparently.

As he climbed out of his patrol SUV in Earl’s front yard, he glanced around. The ranch was a good sixteen miles from where Willow’s body had been found. Still, he found himself looking around for any outbuildings that could have been used for the assault. None looked viable.

Also, the small house Willow Branson rented was on the other side of town, miles from here. But Earl could have picked her up at the hotel after her shift and brought her out here. Stuart had learned never try to make sense out of a psychopath’s actions.

“Can I help you?”

He turned to see Earl Hall standing stocking-footed on the front porch of the house, squinting in his direction. Hall was a big man who’d gone to seed. His belly hung over his belt. From what Stuart could tell, little ranching was still done on the place. Just short of fifty, Earl looked at least ten years older than that. He hadn’t shaved, his beard in disarray, and from the looks of his clothing, he hadn’t changed in a while.

“Earl,” the sheriff said as he walked toward him. “Just stopping by. Iris around?”

“At her sister’s in Fargo.”

Stuart suspected she’d been there for a while. “Suppose you heard about the murder,” he said as he reached the man. Earl shook his head, appearing surprised. “The young woman who worked at the hotel? Found in the river?”

“Hadn’t heard,” the rancher said. “Haven’t been to town.”

The sheriff glanced toward Earl’s pickup parked in front of the house a few feet away. The windshield was covered with dust, bird droppings and leaves. The truck didn’t appear to have been moved for a while.

He took a few steps closer and glanced inside the cab. It was cluttered with junk on the passenger side floorboard, and the seat covers were torn and filthy. Nothing out of the ordinary. Same with the truck bed, which contained only a large toolbox, an assortment of rusty tractor parts and some trash. It looked like most of the old ranch pickups in the area.

His gaze returned to Earl as he stepped back to the foot of the porch steps. “Haven’t seen anything suspicious down this way, have you?” Another head shake. “No more traffic headed for Wyoming than usual?”

“Nope.” He shifted on his feet. “Not that I would have noticed. Been under the weather lately.”

Stuart surveyed the man and his clothing. The sleeves of his dirty shirt were rolled up. No injuries showing on his arms or his hands, but then again, Bailey’s attacker would have had marks on his left shoulder, side, and left thigh.

He would have liked to have seen the man’s dress boots. But from the look of the once-white socks on Earl’s feet, he’d been wearing them for a while and not dress boots. Not that the killer might have been wearing similar attire when he killed Willow, he reminded himself. But if the man had a pattern he was trying to duplicate, as Bailey suspected...

It was clear that Earl wasn’t going to invite him in. Which was fine with Stuart. The smell that wafted out of the Hall house indicated a sink full of dirty dishes, last night’s meal probably still sitting on the stove. He wondered if Iris would ever be coming back.

“Well, I’m just stopping by a few ranches to see if anyone noticed anything suspicious,” the sheriff said, noting that Earl hadn’t asked about Willow or where on the river she’d been found. “If you think of anything, give me a call.” With that, he turned and walked to his rig. When he looked back at the house, Earl was still standing on the small porch, watching him go.

Past him, a curtain inside the house flapped open a little and closed. Either Earl hadn’t been alone, or the breeze had made the worn fabric flutter.

C HARLOTTE S TAFFORD HADN ’ T known how badly she would miss the ranch when she’d walked away from it. The pain had started like a dull ache in her chest. But it had gotten worse as the days and weeks had gone by. She’d yearned for the sight and scents of it, for the feel of the creek on her bare feet, for the sound of the birds high in the cottonwoods. She missed home desperately, but she’d promised herself she wouldn’t look back, nor would she have any contact. She feared that if she knew what was happening back there, she wouldn’t be able to stay away.

She missed her grown children, but she’d raised them to take care of themselves. Brand and Ryder would run the ranch. CJ...well, he was where he belonged. Tilly was married, and Oakley had been dating Pickett Hanson. By now they too could be married. Before she’d left, she’d heard rumors through the Powder River grapevine that Tilly was pregnant. Her first grandchild was on the way.

Still, as much as she ached to return, she couldn’t. Not yet. Everyone was fine without her, she kept telling herself. Everyone but her. The ache in her chest was like a drum that woke her in the dead of night with a death march of a beat. Go home. Go home. Go home before it’s too late.

She’d almost picked up her phone and called her only true friend back there, Elaine. But she knew what Holden’s housekeeper would say. “Stop wasting time. You need to come back and settle things with Holden once and for all.”

She’d always considered herself to be a strong, determined woman, but when it came to Holden—the man she’d loved her entire life—she fell short. She’d loved him and hated him in equal measure for breaking her heart. She’d never thought she could forgive him, yet she had before she’d left. But he’d made it clear how he felt about her after all the years she’d pushed him away, after she’d lied to him, betrayed him in a way worse than he had her.

She couldn’t face him.

Even as she thought it, the pain almost doubled her over. Her heart ached to go back home. If there was even a chance for her and Holden, how could she not take it? They might not have that many years left.

S TUART WAS DETERMINED to check out all four ranchers as quickly as possible while he waited for the crime lab’s findings. The coroner had warned him not to get his hopes up. The river had washed away any obvious evidence.

Still, he hoped the state crime lab found something that would help. Every item, no matter how small, that had been retrieved along the edge of the river had also been sent to the lab.

He could feel the clock ticking as he drove out to AJ Plummer’s ranch. If Willow’s murder had been a message to Bailey, then the man might act quickly now. He would know that law enforcement was looking for him. But if he was as arrogant as Bailey seemed to think he was, he might enjoy watching the law miss finding him, confident he wouldn’t be caught.

The sheriff found AJ saddling up his horse near the barn. The man’s size fit Bailey’s description of her attacker. Stuart was six-two, broad in the shoulders and slim at the hips. AJ was a good three inches taller and built like a brick outhouse, Stuart’s father would have said. The rancher stood next to a horse that had to be at least seventeen hands tall, yet it looked average next to AJ.

As the sheriff approached, the rancher turned but didn’t seem surprised to see him. Stuart noticed how the guy was dressed. He looked like a man going into town for a meeting with his banker, rather than one about to go for a ride. The sheriff couldn’t help but think about what Bailey had said about the confidence the man who assaulted her had exuded. AJ wasn’t just good-looking. He’d excelled at everything he’d done, from high school and college football to raising prize-winning quarter horses.

“Have I caught you at a bad time?” the sheriff asked as he glanced down at AJ’s boots. Not black crocodile, but definitely expensive boots. Not buckaroo-style either, he noted. Not that it proved anything.

“Just going for a ride,” the rancher said cordially. “Want to join me? I could saddle up a horse for you.” Strikingly handsome, AJ’s smile transformed his face. It was no wonder he was considered a charmer—and the Powder River Basin’s most eligible bachelor at the moment. He and his wife, Faith, were separated, so he was considered available.

Twelve years ago, AJ would have been twenty-six, younger than Bailey was now. His father had died in a small plane accident when AJ was nine. He’d been raised by his grandfather, who was now in his early eighties.

“Thanks, but I don’t want to keep you,” Stuart said. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the murder.”

The smile disappeared in a heartbeat. AJ looked apologetic. “Of course. Hell of a thing. I don’t understand it. It had to be someone passing through town.”

That’s what everyone always wanted to believe. Couldn’t be anyone local. Couldn’t be one of us. “I’m asking ranchers along this stretch of county road if they have seen anyone or anything suspicious.”

AJ shook his head. “Truth is, I’ve been down in Wyoming for the past week. I just heard when I got back. Beautiful young woman. Damned shame.”

“You knew Willow?” he had to ask, even though it appeared AJ had an alibi for the time when she was assaulted and killed. “Date her?”

The rancher laughed. “She was too young for me, Sheriff.” He raked his left hand through his hair.

Stuart noticed he was wearing his wedding ring again. A few months ago, he’d seen him in town and noticed he wasn’t wearing it. The pale skin where it had been wasn’t quite as tanned as the rest of his finger. At the time, the sheriff had heard that AJ and Faith were separated and had been for a while.

“I just knew Willow to say hello on the street,” the rancher was saying. “I’d seen her a few times in the bar at the hotel.”

“With anyone in particular?”

AJ frowned. “Usually she was with a female friend, but there was one time... Only reason I remember was because I was surprised to see her with him.” He looked up, appearing to hate to tell on the dead woman. “She was with Treyton McKenna.” He nodded at Stuart’s surprise. “Surprised me too. Even more so because they seemed...” The sheriff waited, not wanting to put words into the man’s mouth. “Close.”

“Intimate?”

The rancher mugged a face. “Not exactly. But Treyton was definitely coming on to her, and she wasn’t shutting him down.”

“Thanks. I appreciate this.”

“I just want to see whoever did this caught and behind bars.”

As Stuart drove away, he thought about Bailey’s brother. Treyton wasn’t the man who’d attacked Bailey, but he might know something that could help find Willow’s killer if he’d been hanging around the hotel, flirting with her. The problem was that the sheriff didn’t have a good relationship with the obnoxious oldest son of Holden McKenna.

Still, he was anxious to talk to Treyton. Especially since he’d been wanting to see the property the man had bought recently out in the badlands away from town, away from the family ranch.

He’d been suspicious of Treyton for a long time, especially after discovering there had been a meth lab at one of the old homesteads that involved human trafficking. The lab was destroyed before Stuart could get any evidence against CJ Stafford. But the sheriff suspected he wasn’t the only local ranch offspring involved, and Treyton McKenna definitely fit the criminal profile.