Tough Enough

  Cline met her gaze. “You witnessed an unfortunate accident.” His tone softened. “Look, it’s probably only natural that you’d start seeing attempted murders at every turn after what happened to your uncle.”

  “I am not a hysterical woman,” she said, trying to control her anger. “It was four in the morning. Don’t you think it odd that another vehicle was even up there, let alone that it used the shortcut road and took off again the same way?”

  Cline shook his head. “You both grew up here. I don’t have to tell you about the keggers at the old fire tower.”

  “A kegger this time of year?” J.D. demanded. “And if it was an accident, why didn’t the other car stop?”

  Cline made a face. “Probably another kid like Davey who wasn’t supposed to be up there at that hour and got scared.”

  Denver stared at him. “Maybe we should contact the sheriff in Bozeman and see what he thinks.”

  Cline leaned back, folded his hands over his stomach and let out a long sigh. Then his face tightened with anger. “Let’s not blow this out of proportion. You were sitting in the dark on top of a mountain with your … friend here.” His eyes narrowed. “Maybe you weren’t paying a lot of attention at the time, you know what I mean, missy?”

  She felt heat radiating from her anger. “It’s Denver. Or Ms. McCallahan. Not missy. And I’m sick of your chauvinistic, simpleminded—” She felt J.D.’s hand on her arm.

  “Cline, I’d like to talk to you in private,” J.D. said.

  Cline had his mouth open about to say something to Denver. He looked from Denver to J.D. and back again. “I’d watch my step, Ms. McCallahan.” He turned to J.D. “And it’s Deputy Cline to you, Mr. Garrison.”

  J.D. tipped his hat and followed the deputy into a small room at the back of the sheriff’s office.

  “You got a problem?” he asked.

  J.D. closed the door. “Several. But the only one that concerns you is what I saw at the fire tower last night.”

  Cline rubbed his jaw. “I already heard this story.”

  “No, you haven’t.” J.D. hesitated, wondering if Cline was just a fool or if he could be trusted. “When I saw the lights coming out of the cutoff road, I ran to the edge of the mountainside. I recognized the rig.”

  Cline chewed at his cheek, his eyes bright with interest. “Why didn’t you mention this before?”

  “It was Pete Williams’s black Chevy pickup. The same one I saw him drive away in from Max’s burial service yesterday.”

  Cline’s mouth sagged and he swore loudly. “You don’t expect me to believe that?” The deputy pushed past him, started to open the door, then stopped. “I know there’s bad blood between the two of you and I know why.” He shot a look into the outer office at Denver. “But you aren’t going to use me to settle any old scores, Garrison. There are a lot of black Chevy pickups around.”

  J.D. shook his head. “This one had the fancy running lights Pete had put on. And the matching camper shell.”

  Cline swore again. “There are probably other trucks like that around. I know Pete Williams. And his family.”

  “You knew my family,” J.D. said, anger building in him like one of the geysers in the park. “Aren’t you going to look into what I’ve told you?”

  “I don’t have to,” Cline said, reaching for the doorknob again. “I know for a fact where Pete Williams was last night. Miss McCallahan is his alibi.” Cline grinned. “She said she left him sleeping at her cabin.”

  “For how long? You’d defend him no matter what. You’re his second cousin by marriage and everyone knows that blood always runs thicker than the truth.”

  Cline turned, eyes blazing. “Watch yourself, Garrison. You’re no famous country and western star here. You’re just some punk who happened to grow up here.” The deputy stormed out, heading straight for Denny. He handed her a stack of forms, tossed another pile on the opposite desk and looked back at J.D. “Be sure you just put down the facts.”

  J.D. met Denny’s gaze as he took a seat.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered.

  “We have to talk, but not here,” he said to her. When he thought about the pickup he’d seen at Horse Butte, he realized he should have warned her about Pete last night. Pete Williams was a dangerous man.

  DENVER HAD ALMOST finished her paperwork when Pete rushed into the sheriff’s office. He came straight to her and pulled her into his arms. “You scared the hell out of me,” he declared. “When I heard what happened … What were you doing on Horse Butte?”

  She tensed in his arms at the clear reprimand. “Trying to find Max’s murderer.”

  “Smart move.” Pete pulled back slowly, anger making his movements tense. “Are you all right?”

  “How did you hear about it?” she asked.

  “I had my dispatcher call him,” Cline said from behind her.

  “Hello, Pete,” J.D. said. Denver saw something pass between the two of them; she didn’t like the look on J.D.’s face.

  “Can I speak to you for a moment, Pete?” Cline said. They went into the small room where Cline had taken J.D., and the deputy closed the door. It looked like Cline was doing most of the talking, and not in his usual loud voice, either.

  “Remember that phone call you got as you were leaving last night?” J.D. asked. Denver looked up from the form she had just completed. “Could that have awakened Pete?”

  “I suppose so,” she said cautiously.

  “Is there any chance he would have known where you went?”

  “I left him a note. Why?”

  J.D. ran his fingers through his beard. “Denny, I think I know who may have been driving the vehicle that ran Davey off the road last night.”

  His words didn’t have time to sink in before Cline and Pete came out of the office. Pete closed the door a little harder than necessary, Denver noticed.

  “Don’t say anything right now,” J.D. added in a whisper as Cline and Pete started toward them.

  Denver wondered why he wouldn’t want Cline to know, but kept silent. Maybe he didn’t trust Cline any more than she did. Cline took the forms from her and reached for J.D.’s, not looking all that pleased about doing it.

  “If I have any more questions, I’ll call you,” the deputy said, steering the three of them toward the door. “In the meantime, I’ll be keeping my eye on you, Ms. McCallahan, and on your friend.”

  As Denver walked by the dispatcher, she asked, “Have you heard any word on Davey Matthews’s condition?”

  Before the woman could answer, Cline came up behind her. “I hope you don’t plan to interfere in police business the way your uncle did.”

  “All I want to know is if Davey’s all right,” she said evenly.

  “You and your friend—” Cline threw a dark look at J.D. “—are treading on thin ice, young lady. Don’t get involved. I’m warning you.”

  “It sounds more like you’re threatening her,” J.D. said.

  Denver could feel tears at the back of her eyes. She was too tired and too emotionally drained to take Cline on, but she was also fed up with his attitude. “The next thing you’re going to tell me is that Max wasn’t murdered. Maybe he stabbed himself. Suicide.” She took a breath, fighting tears. “I would think you’d want to solve this murder as fast as possible. That is unless there’s some reason you can’t—or don’t want to.”

  “Hold it right there!” Cline took her arm and steered her toward the door, away from the attentive ears of the dispatcher. “I’m warning you about making any wild accusations,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “You stay out of my damned investigation or I’ll put your little butt behind bars. Is that understood?”

  “Let her go,” J.D. said, his voice hard and cold as he laid a hand on Cline’s arm.

  Cline looked down at J.D.’s hand, then carefully removed it. He smiled. “Did your old friend here tell you what he thinks he saw up at Horse Butte?”

  A muscle twitched along J.D.’s jawline. “Cline—”
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  “He says he recognized that vehicle you say purposely ran Davey Matthews off the road,” Cline continued, a wide grin stretching his lined face. “He says it was Pete Williams’s.”

  Denver shot a surprised look at J.D. Then at Pete. Pete looked shocked. “How can you be sure?” she pleaded with J.D. “It was so dark and it happened so fast.”

  “I’m sure,” J.D. said softly.

  “You’re wrong,” Pete cried. “I wasn’t near Horse Butte last night and Denver knows it. I was asleep at her place.”

  Denver looked from J.D. to Pete and back again. “There must be another explanation.”

  “This isn’t the time or place to get into this,” J.D. said, lowering his voice.

  “You’re right,” Pete agreed. “Denver needs rest.”

  Denver looked into J.D.’s gray eyes. “Why didn’t you mention this last night?”

  His gaze caressed her face. “You were already so upset… .” He grazed her hand with his fingers. “Denny, there are some things I need to tell you.”

  “Can’t you see how exhausted she is?” Pete demanded. “She needs food and sleep. We can talk about your crazy allegations later.” He opened the door and started to usher Denver out into the spring morning.

  “I’ll be all right,” Denver said, surprised by the fear she saw in J.D.’s eyes. Surely he didn’t believe it had been Pete on that mountain last night.

  J.D. reached for her. “Denny, I can’t let you—”

  “It’s all right,” she repeated as Pete led her toward his pickup. “I need to talk to Pete. Alone.”

  “No, Denny.” J.D. tried to get past Cline.

  “Not so fast, Garrison,” Cline said, blocking his way. “You’re not going anywhere. I just thought of some more questions I need to ask you.”

  J.D. pushed past him and started after Denny.

  Cline’s hand closed over his arm. “Either we talk now, Garrison, or I can have you held over in jail for the next twenty-four hours for questioning. Which is it going to be?”

  J.D. looked down at the hand on his arm, then up at Denny. She’d walked out with Pete to his pickup. The two stood next to it talking but neither looked very happy. Twenty-four hours. J.D. glanced up into Cline’s grinning face. The deputy would have liked nothing better than to put him behind bars. “I think we’d better talk now, don’t you?” J.D. said.

  “GARRISON, I SUSPECT you planned to come in here like Rambo and save the damsel in distress,” Cline said, rocking back and forth in his large, worn office chair. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “If you’re asking if I plan to protect Denver in any way I can, the answer is damned right. And I know what you’re up to, Cline. You just detained me to keep me from leaving with Denver.”

  Cline studied him for a moment. “Let me set you straight on a couple of things. I can do whatever I want in this town. And I’m not going to have any trouble when it comes to you or this case. None. As soon as I find that hitchhiker, this case is going to be closed.”

  “Wanna bet?” J.D. said.

  Cline stopped rocking abruptly and leaned forward. “What did you say?”

  “Your killer isn’t making tracks down some highway with his thumb out.” J.D. got to his feet. “He hasn’t even left town. And if you don’t believe it, you’d better have a look at Max’s office. Someone tore it apart.”

  “How do you know that?”

  J.D. put his palms on Cline’s desk and leaned toward him. “You got a murderer loose in your town, Deputy. And you’d better find him soon before someone else gets killed.”

  “Stick to your guitar playing, son. I know what I’m doing, and if you get in my way—”

  J.D. turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

  PETE’S APARTMENT WAS on the top floor of a two-story log structure in the heart of the town. After he’d put some toast and a glass of cold milk Denver didn’t want in front of her, he sat down at the kitchen table. “You realize you could have gotten yourself killed last night. Dammit, Denver, you’ve got to quit playing Nancy Drew.”

  Denver broke off a piece of toast, crumbled it and dropped it back on the plate. “I don’t want to argue about this. I need to ask you about something else.”

  “What, that ridiculous claim of J.D.’s?” Pete got up angrily and poured himself a glass of water. His reaction made it even harder for her to ask him what she had to. But she couldn’t forget the worry in J.D.’s eyes.

  “Why would J.D. say you were at Horse Butte last night if you weren’t?” she asked carefully.

  “I don’t know.” Pete sounded hurt and confused. “I guess there’s just bad feelings between us I didn’t realize.”

  “But why?”

  Pete frowned as he sat back down. “That’s the part I can’t understand. Why would he purposely try to hurt me? He has everything he ever wanted.”

  Denver couldn’t argue that; she knew firsthand how much J.D.’s career meant to him. Nothing and no one could ever come before it. He’d made that clear years ago.

  “You must have really been tired last night,” she said.

  She could feel his gaze on her. “Dead to the world,” he said. “Why didn’t you wake me? Going to Horse Butte alone …” He paused and turned the water glass in his fingers. “But then, you weren’t alone, were you?”

  “I tried to wake you, but I couldn’t,” Denver said. “I left you a note. You probably saw it this morning when Cline called. That is where Cline reached you, wasn’t it?”

  Pete rubbed his temples as if he had a headache. Suddenly he grabbed her shoulders, knocking over his water as he turned her to face him. “Remember me, Denver?” His gaze searched her face, his eyes bright. “I’m your best friend, the guy you grew up with, the one who helped you with algebra, who taught you how to play a guitar, who took care of you when you got your heart broken by J. D. Garrison.”

  Denver felt tears burn her eyes. “Pete, I—”

  He got up and returned with a towel to clean up the water he’d spilled. “Yes, Denver, that’s where Cline reached me this morning. He had his dispatcher call. And, no, I wasn’t on Horse Butte last night. You know where I was—asleep on your couch.” He turned to face her. “The question you should be asking yourself is what the hell J.D.’s doing back here after all these years? It can’t be because of Max. He didn’t even make the funeral.”

  “That’s something else,” she said, voicing her doubts. “J.D. seemed surprised you’d left a message for him about the funeral.”

  “Where are all these doubts about me coming from?” She watched him wipe up the water and toss the towel onto the kitchen counter. “From you? Or J.D.?”

  She stared into Pete’s handsome face, the ache in her chest growing. “Why would J.D. lie?”

  “Why would I lie?” Pete demanded. “Look, Denver, maybe J.D. just didn’t see what he thought he did. There’s probably a reasonable explanation for all of this.” Pete glanced at his watch and groaned. “I was supposed to meet the band to practice an hour ago. I have to go. Stay here, get some rest.” On his way to the door, he lifted his white Stetson from the hook on the wall and turned to look back at her.

  She brushed distractedly at a dirty spot on her jeans, avoiding his gaze.

  “If you care anything about me, Denver, you’ll stay away from J. D. Garrison.” He turned the hat brim in his fingers. “And if you don’t care, then do it for your own good. He hurt you once. He’ll do it again. And about Max’s murder …” She looked up at him; their gazes met and held. “Keep digging around in it and you’ll get yourself killed.”

  She stared at him, shocked by the threat she heard in his voice, saw in the cool blue of his eyes.

  “Get some sleep,” he said gruffly. “I’ll be back later to make you lunch.” He slammed the door on his way out.

  Denver pushed back the plate of toast and hurried to the window. As she watched Pete pull away, her stomach did a slow, sick spin. When had he washed his pickup? She remembered
it parked in front of the cabin last night; it had been dirty, but not that dirty. Pete had to have washed it early this morning before he came to Cline’s office. Why would he do that? She glanced down at her jeans and the spot she’d been brushing at. Mud. She gripped the windowsill as she remembered brushing against Pete’s pickup when she stood outside the sheriff’s office with him. Where would Pete get so much mud on his pickup this time of year? Enough to feel the need to get it washed. Denver felt herself turn to ice as she looked at her mud-covered Jeep. Horse Butte.

  “I DON’T LIKE any of this,” Maggie said when Denver called her from Pete’s. She could hear Maggie relating the story of Max’s ransacked office and the incident at Horse Butte to someone in the background, and stopped short of telling Maggie of J.D.’s accusations against Pete. Or her own doubts about his story since seeing the mud on her jeans and Pete’s washed pickup.

  “Tell me that’s not Cline you’re talking to,” Denver whispered.

  Maggie laughed. “No, Taylor’s here. He’s as worried about you and this mess as I am.”

  Taylor. Denver was surprised how much he’d been hanging around Maggie since Max’s death. She felt jealous for Max’s sake, then uncharitable for such thoughts. Of course Taylor was just there because he was Max’s friend and was trying to help Maggie get through this. But Maggie was also a nice-looking woman; Taylor would have to be blind not to notice. He’d even mentioned that he might hang around longer than he’d planned.

  “I hate to keep repeating myself,” Maggie was saying, “but maybe you should stay out of this. Taylor agrees.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m going to Bozeman this afternoon. With a little luck, Davey will be conscious. By this time tomorrow, the murderer could be behind bars.”

  “I hope so,” Maggie said thoughtfully. “In the meantime, please be careful. Max would have a fit if he knew what you were up to. And worse yet, that I’d let you.” Maggie seemed to hesitate. “Can you hold on just a second?” Denver could hear her telling Taylor goodbye. “I just wanted to let you know I’m going to Missoula sometime soon,” Maggie said. “I have a friend up there whose mother died and she could use some help getting the house ready to sell. Why don’t you take down the number where I’ll be staying in case you need to reach me.”