Chapter Two

Monday, October 14 th .

Wild Stallion Ranch.

Travis seemed a little better at breakfast. He made pancakes for us and gave us a talk about helping Billy while he was gone, and not letting the reports get behind for Molly…and shit like that.

"Me and Harlan want to go to the mountains with you, Dad," said Virgie. "I don't have a good feeling about you going up there alone. Bears and wolves and too much fuckin snow." He made a face. "Remember how you hated all the fuckin snow when we were in Canada? Be better if we went with you and did the hardship thing...like all together."

Billy smiled.

"Appreciate the offer, boys, but I wouldn't be able to go at all if it wasn't for Billy and you boys running the station and protecting the county while I'm gone."

"We've got it covered," said Billy. "No open cases at the moment. Should be easy peasy until you get back."

"How long you figure to be up there, Dad?" Virge was dreading being without Travis. He'd told me more than once he wasn't feeling good about it.

Travis shrugged. "Can't say what the weather conditions are going to be like in the mountains. If there's a lot of snow, it will slow me down and take longer to get to the spot where I'm going to toss the ashes."

"How do you know the right spot if you've never been to that cabin before, Dad?" asked Virge.

"I'll pick the right spot, Virgie. I'll know it when I see it. Like that."

Virge didn't look convinced, but he used all the rest of the syrup and didn't ask anything else.

As soon as he said goodbye to Billy and the boys and they left for the station, Travis loaded the truck with everything he thought he'd need, put the dogs in the back seat and took off for the funeral home to pick up the ashes.

Coyote Creek Funeral Home.

Doing his best to keep it together, Travis parked behind the funeral home next to the small crematorium and went inside.

"You're here early, Sheriff Frost."

"I told you I'd be early. Are the ashes ready?"

"Yes. Those are Olivia Best's ashes right there in the marked container. Were you thinking of purchasing an urn, Sheriff?"

"Nope. This will be fine. Thanks."

Back in the truck, Travis lit up a smoke, drove up Main Street and passed the station without giving it a glance.

"Stay focused and don't fuckin lose it." He said out loud to ground himself.

He passed the Inn and turned his head the opposite way. Same thing when he whizzed by the roadhouse. Nothing mattered except getting to the mountains and making things right with Olivia.

Northbound on I-15, Travis took the ramp for route two and headed west. He hadn't been outside his own county going straight west before, so he might see new country and was looking forward to the experience.

I can't lose focus.

Sheriff's Office. Coyote Creek.

Molly was sad about Travis's trip to the mountains with the ashes, and even more depressed because he took Max and Sarge with him. She had no dogs under her desk while she worked, and she said it felt wrong.

"Did he mention how long he'd be gone?"

"I asked him that," said Virge. "Said it depended on the weather conditions, how much snow and an armload of shit like that."

"Perhaps he's unsure himself," said Molly. "That might be it. He couldn't give you a ballpark estimate."

Billy nodded.

The landline rang on Molly's desk, and she answered, then picked up her pen and started writing on her yellow pad. That meant somebody wanted a sheriff. Molly hung up the phone and read from her pad, "Go to this address in Ethridge. Krystal Daniels. That's her new married name. She owns the strip club in Ethridge."

"What's her problem?" asked Billy. He knew Krystal slightly from an old case.

"She says a bunch of Ethridge housewives are ganging up on her and they set fire to the dumpster behind her building and tried to burn the Krystal Palace down."

"Huh," said Ted with a smirk on his face. "Sounds interesting. I'll go do the interview, Billy."

"Go for it, Ted. See if you can sort Krystal out."

"I want to go," said Virge. "What else are me and Harlan gonna do? I wanna forget about Dad being gone and eyeball me some strippers."

"The peelers ain't at her house," said Ted.

Molly giggled. "You're going to Krystal's house, Virgil, not to her so-called palace ."

He shrugged. "We might have to go to the palace later and check something out."

"Okay," said Billy. "Ted, take the boys with you, but don't lose them at the strip club."

"I'll keep them on tight leashes, boss."

Billy laughed and headed for his office. The boys were already down in the dumps and if Travis didn't come back for a while, they were gonna get worse every fuckin day. He had to watch them close so they didn't run to the Rockies looking for their father. Because for sure they would. Billy would put money on it.

Houma. Louisiana.

Mason Swift locked up his house on the river and tossed his duffel in the back of his truck. He held the door open on the passenger side for his bloodhound, Clyde to jump in.

He hooked up his Jon boat, made sure he had three Jerrycans for extra gas and the picture of the girl he was getting paid to find. Waiting for a couple of articles of her clothing to arrive by courier had held him up a couple of days.

Now he had the clothes and the girl's scent for Clyde. "I think we're ready, Clyde. You ready to get to work?"

Clyde gave one sharp little yelp that meant he was ready.

"Let's go find her, boy."

Daniels Residence. Ethridge. Montana.

Ted knocked on the door of the house where the strip club owner lived, and she smiled when she let us in. "Aw, three deputies, and all so handsome in their uniforms. How did I get so lucky?"

"Sheriff's guys are here, Shay," she called over her shoulder.

A big bruiser of a guy strode into the room with a dish towel over his shoulder. Long dark hair and a mustache, he looked a lot younger than his wife.

Krystal had been a hot-looking stripper in her day. She saved her tips and opened her own place. The rest was history. Krystal's Palace was a landmark in the town of Ethridge. Some of the residents liked it and others not so much.

"Nice to meet y'all." He shook hands with all of them and sat down next to his wife on the sofa.

"Why don't you go ahead and tell us what's going on, Miss Krystal," said Ted.

"It's stupid really," said Krystal, "but there are six women in town who have decided since they can't keep their men out of my club, they're going to come at me from another angle."

"And what angle is that ma'am?" Ted used his polite voice.

"Like I told your dispatcher, those women set fire to the dumpster out back of my club hoping it would catch on to the building and burn my place down."

"You know the names of these women?" asked Ted.

Virge pulled out his notebook ready to write.

"Glenna Pitts, Sue Rayford, Alice Cummings, Brenda Paige, Lila Gordon, and Grace Blintz. They call themselves ‘Wives Against Strip Clubs' and some nights on the weekend, the WASC group or club or whatever they call themselves, stand out front with signs trying to turn my customers away."

"Are they on your property when they hold up the signs, ma'am?" asked Ted.

Krystal's husband answered. "No. They stand in the street or on the sidewalk when they're yelling and picketing with the signs."

Ted nodded. "Was the fire department called for the dumpster fire, ma'am?"

"Yes. We called the fire department and they put out the blaze but only after it caught onto the framing around one of the windows at the back of the building."

"So the blaze actually caught onto the main building," Ted confirmed it.

"Yes," said Shay. "The women were standing back watching the blaze."

"The fact that the framing around the window was on fire is actually a good thing," said Ted, "if this goes to court."

Shay nodded. "I see what you mean. Shows intent for the arson charges."

"Exactly," said Ted. "We'll get addresses and talk to each of the women," said Ted.

"And you're going to lay charges, right?" asked Shay.

"Yes, sir. Charges will be laid," said Ted. "Attempted arson, at the least. See what the women admit to. Sometimes these little hate groups have no trouble incriminating themselves. In fact, some of them are proud of what they've done. Crazy, but true."

"Good," said Shay. "I want them stopped before they do any more damage. Krystal has been upset by these women picketing the club, and when my bride is unhappy, so am I."

Krystal smiled and patted her husband's thigh.

They left with the list of names of the six women in the strip club hater's group and headed back to the station.

"We'll go back and have Molly run a check on each of the women in the WASC before we talk to them," said Ted. "That way we will know if any of them have done this inciting riot shit before and pinpoint the leader."

"Good plan, Ted," said Virge. "There's always a leader in every gang or group. Dad told me that."

The Blackmore Agency. Austin.

Blaine held a meeting in his office before sending Casey and Ardal after Bobby Prescott. Fletcher Bowden was there as a consultant on the case.

Shot in the leg and a graze on his wrist courtesy of Tammy Traynor, Fletcher had Bobby in custody when Tammy turned her gun on him and kidnapped Prescott for the second time.

They'd been so close to capturing the Interstate Rage Killer and Blaine wasn't letting it go. He was more determined than ever to bring Prescott to justice.

"Y'all will fly to Montgomery, Alabama, rent a vehicle and follow the trail," said Blaine. "We had one sighting of the black Freightliner and that was on I-65 heading northeast to Montgomery, Alabama."

"Nothing else to go on?" asked Ardal.

"Nope," said Blaine. "He may be alone, or out of necessity, he may have picked up someone who could drive the truck for him. His stomach wound is severe, and Bobby can't manage alone."

In order to help them with their quest, Fletcher had already given Casey and Ardal a written copy of everything he could think of about Bobby Prescott's case and the ensuing hunt for him.

"We know for sure that Tammy Traynor isn't with him any longer," said Fletch. "She went south into the bayou by boat when Prescott headed northeast."

"Annie hired a bayou retrieval expert to bring her in," said Blaine. "Through her actions to hang onto Prescott at all costs, Tammy has racked up a mountain of charges against herself. She's a wanted fugitive considered armed and dangerous."

"How old is she?" asked Ardal.

"Barely nineteen."

"I think we have everything we need to start," said Casey.

"I wish you guys luck," said Fletcher. "From my experience, Prescott is hurt and weak and he'll be the easier of the two to bring in. The bounty hunter will have a much tougher time grabbing Tammy. She's a cop. Trained by Travis Bristol as a deputy sheriff and taught to shoot by Annie. The girl has skills."

"I hope Prescott is the easy one," said Blaine. "The Interstate Rage Killer file has been open on my desk for far too long."

Black Wolf Pass. Rocky Mountains. Montana.

A mile before he reached the Black Wolf Pass Road—the road that led to the property he owned a mile up the mountain —Travis stopped at a service center with a market and small restaurant attached.

He stopped for gas and for food. There would be no supplies in the cabin, and he'd be on his own for food, water and heat.

Not the ideal time of year to go to the cabin for the first time, but he had no choice. Olivia wanted to be on the mountain near the cabin she'd been to as a child with her parents and my Uncle Carson. Travis had no intention of letting her down. He'd already done that enough while she was alive.

He filled the grocery cart with cans of stew, chili and soup. Bought bread, butter and coffee. Eggs and bacon. Spaghetti and jars of sauce. Sandwich meat. He'd eat sandwiches until the bread ran out. Bottled water. Cokes. Beer. Tequila.

Dog food was in the truck. A large bag and plenty for a couple of weeks, maybe three, if he had to stay that long. Shouldn't have to unless he had problems.

With the truck loaded down, he pushed up the mountain following the directions Uncle Carson had written out in detail for him before he died.

The cabin wasn't easy to find. The higher up the mountain he climbed, roads diminished into trails and then two-tracks overgrown with summer vegetation, and then there were no roads at all.

High up the mountain the snow became deeper and there were many undisturbed drifts, but using four-wheel drive, the road was passable. The big Ford was heavy-duty and easily chugged through the drifts.

Headlights shone on the cabin and Travis smiled. There it was a couple of hundred feet in front of him. He parked as close as he could get, but it couldn't be considered close at all. It would be a long way to haul the full load he had in the truck.

Much of his gear was heavy and he'd have to make many trips. Not looking forward to it. The wound in his side continued to give him trouble if he did any heavy lifting. Gas cans to fuel the generator were heavy and gas wasn't the least of it.

Listed on the flip side of the paper giving the directions, his uncle had written a list of necessities. Travis was grateful to have it all spelled out for him, because most of the stuff on the list, he never would've thought of.

He stepped out of the warm truck and frigid mountain air tingled in his lungs. Opening the back door, he released the dogs, and they ran in wildly excited circles all around the property.

The paper with directions on it, also showed the shape of the property and the boundary lines. Twenty-five acres of virgin forest on the side of the mountain.

No idea of the elevation, but the air seemed thinner and icy-crisp.

He trudged a hundred feet through knee-high snow to reach the cabin, then had to take his gloves off to get the key into the lock. At first the lock wouldn't give. It took fiddling and a bit of trickery to make the key work.

Once I warm up, I'll make a new list.

The dogs charged inside the cabin and sniffed around. Not dark yet, but dim and shadowy in the shelter of the towering evergreens. Travis figured he had about two hours of daylight to sort everything out before he was plunged into total darkness.

Get wood chopped for the stove. Gas up the generator and get it humming for the lights. Haul in the food before it all froze solid in the truck.

No time to waste.

"Come on, doggies. We have to work as fast as we can. Let's go find the woodpile. Heat is first."

Under a lean-to at the back of the cabin he found the wood supply, neatly split and stacked. His uncle had been dead for close to two years, so the wood should be good and dry. It would burn like a charm.

Travis picked up an armload and carried it through the back door into the icy cold cabin. He called over his shoulder to the dogs, "Don't y'all scare up any bears. Hear me? My rifle is still in the truck."

Not taking any chances, he whistled for them, and they followed him inside.

Travis chopped kindling using the hatchet in the coal scuttle next to the stove. He laid a fire in the belly of the old cookstove and lit it. Smelled good and caught onto one of the logs right away, but it would be a while before the entire cabin warmed up.

Glancing around at the furniture, the tiny cabin looked comfortable enough. Double bed in the corner covered with quilts. A nightstand and a pine dresser. Sofa and a rocking chair. Bookshelves on one wall. Table and two chairs. Large cooler on the floor.

Tiny bathroom at the back with a chemical toilet. Not too primitive. Uncle Carson liked his creature comforts.

"Generator is next, doggies. Back to the truck to get the gas can. Y'all up for it?"

Max and Sarge ran to the front door in a frenzy. They were a little crazed for their mountain adventure.

Travis was dreading all the trips it would take to the truck to get him settled in. He had to lug all of it inside before he could lay his head down and sleep.

He rubbed his side—healed but still not an old scar—fresh enough to cause him a lot of pain if he over-exerted himself.

"Don't do anything crazy," he cautioned himself.