Nana had bought her Trail Blazer in the last year, and Hardy wouldn’t recognize the SUV from the dozens like it in town. Still, she had stayed sufficiently distant, ready to turn into a ranch entrance or a driveway if he slowed. Besides, what could he do if he did see her? Stop and tell her to go home. She had no reason to be afraid of Hardy. She was sure of that.
Or Garrett Birch, she had decided. Maybe he had killed Lowell Austin. But she suspected that if he had, years of grief, not homicidal rage, had been the reason. One look into his eyes had told her that.
What she didn’t know was if Hardy had stolen that plane, had Garrett hired him to help kill Austin? That didn’t make sense either. She believed Hardy when he said he hadn’t killed anybody. His connection with Garrett was somehow unexpected, Hardy in the wrong place at the wrong time, even if he didn’t realize it. And she didn’t believe Kathy wasn’t involved either. Even if she did invite Austin to Butte, she said she hadn’t known her brother was on his way to town.
She felt sure that if Garrett turned himself in, he had a chance in court. A good lawyer could convince a Montana jury of mitigating circumstances. Garrett might serve time, but the sentence would reflect prevailing sympathies in his favor as the son of a murdered man. At least, that was the argument she was going to use.
Chapter 21
Hardy lifted the backpack from the bed of the pickup and walked with a deliberate pace up the steep steps to the concrete slab of porch as if he were used to being on the run. The warm sun accented the smell of pine and sage in the yard. Someone had done a good job fixing up the cabin. It even had a deck attached with a hot tub. Flowerpots overflowed with annuals everywhere, along with half a dozen different feeders for birds. In another set of circumstances, he might have been glad to visit.
Tree opened the door. He didn’t smile but simply said, “Did you get everything?” He was all business now.
Hardy nodded and raised the pack, careful to bring what was requested. In the past three days, he had learned plenty about the ex-con Tree had killed, from the newspaper, from Chance and now Mesa. He still wasn’t sure how it all connected to Garrett Birch, but that didn’t stop him from being a desperate man. Hardy entered the cabin with that in mind.
Inside, the temperature was cool, the cabin small, and cozy. A gust of wind came down the stone chimney in the middle of the main room and the smell of pine ash filled the air. He could see a kitchen had been added onto the right side of the cabin and a couple of bedrooms on the left. It might be a decent place to hole up in if it weren’t so close to town.
A computer and printer sat on a desk between the front door and the kitchen. Garrett was printing out several sections of a topo map. “Tessa called me,” he said and sat on the chair in front of the computer. “Your pal, Chance, is that his name? He’s been asking questions.”
Hardy nodded and sighed. He wondered what Chance thought he could accomplish. With both him and his sister asking questions, Hardy began to feel even more anxious about getting on the road. He didn’t think either of them would go to the police, but that wouldn’t stop them from trying to find out what was up.
“He came to see Tessa,” Tree said. He didn’t seem angry or likely to fly off the handle again, just cautious. “He was asking her questions when she doesn’t know what’s happened. She doesn’t even get the newspaper. But he’s made her suspicious. I put her off by saying I was leaving today. I think she’s worried about me being here. We need to rethink our plan. Our head start may be evaporating.”
Hardy cracked his knuckles. He liked the plan the way it was. Garrett would write a letter explaining that Hardy had nothing to do with the death of Lowell Austin. He would also describe how Hardy, Garrett, and Simian had met in a bar in Moab and that Simian had agreed to lend Hardy the plane.
Hardy was counting on Simian’s injury to leave him confused about what he had done. After all, it was true they had all met at McStiff’s. He knew the bartender there, who would vouch for his story.
Hardy might still be liable for what happened to the plane, but at least maybe there would be less chance that he would actually go to jail for grand larceny. To get the letter, all Hardy had to do was help Garrett get out of town. That was the plan, and Hardy wanted to stick to it.
“What’s to rethink?” Hardy asked. “Let’s get on the road.”
“I think we may need a little leverage. Your friend, Chance, is liable to get the FBI to listen to him sooner than later.”
“Look,” Hardy said. “We don’t have time to find any leverage.”
Garrett stood up and looked out the window above the computer desk. He reached into a backpack next to the computer and pulled out a pistol, a 44 magnum.
“Where’d you get that?” Hardy swallowed hard, wondering what Birch had in mind.
“It’s Tessa’s. She keeps it to ward off varmints,” Garrett said, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.
Birch turned to look out the window and Hardy followed after him. A Trail Blazer SUV he didn’t recognize pulled into the driveway. For a long moment, they waited for the driver to step out of the car.
“Maybe our leverage has found us,” Birch said quietly and put the gun back into the pack.
“She just won’t give it up,” Hardy muttered and shook his head as he watched Mesa approach the front door of the cabin.
* * *
Chance snapped the cell phone closed so violently he thought he might have cracked its tiny inner screen. He had clenched his teeth to avoid yelling at Rollie Solheim during the phone conversation. He was still the sheriff, even if the FBI had him hamstrung.
Solheim had confirmed that Kathy DiNunzio had talked to Detective Hennessey, who had accompanied her from the courthouse to meet with Agents Perryman and whatever his name was. The sheriff had sat in on the initial interview. But the FBI was disinclined, that was the word Solheim had used, to act on Chance’s theory about DiNunzio’s brother or the ‘off the record’ insinuations possibly implicating Hardy.
“Bear in mind before you make any accusations,” Solheim had said, “that, at the moment, we have no fingerprints and no murder weapon. I will take it upon myself to speak to Hardy. And remember, Chance, the FBI are handling this case,” Solheim said, “and when they are through interviewing Ms. DiNunzio, to whom they are giving their undivided attention at the moment, I will have them call you.
“If the brother’s in the military, they can run his fingerprints with a tap of the keyboard of one of their higher-than-high-speed laptops. For all I know, they already have. If there’s a match with the fingerprints in his military file and any prints they pulled from that Cessna, I’m sure they’ll be all over Mr. Birch.”
“He could be long gone by then,” Chance had said, which was when he had raised his voice.
“If he’s smart, he’d be long gone already. For all you know, he’s halfway to Canada.”
Chance shook his head in disbelief as Solheim’s words resonated in his ears. The situation at the Messenger office was no less frustrating. Irita had just gone to Kathy’s house to watch her kids when they returned from school at 2:30. Erin and Micah were frantically trying to finish articles for Mesa to review later in the afternoon. Delilah was interviewing some visiting diva who would be performing at the Mother Lode Theater this evening. Meanwhile, the hotshot editor was nowhere to be found.
Chance pulled a cold French fry from his Pork Chop John’s lunch and tried Mesa’s cell for at least the tenth time. If she was shacked up in the middle of the afternoon with Hardy, he sure hoped Sheriff Solheim didn’t find them together.
The phone rang, and Chance jumped on it. It was Tyler calling to say he had heard from Murph, who was back home at his trailer behind the Copper Baron, sleeping off the painkillers the hospital had given him. He was in no mood to talk to anyone, especially since he had nothing to say.
Whether Murph’s reticence was drug-induced or the result of a heightened sense of self-preservation, there was nothing Chance coul
d do, and so he decided to move on. “Something else I wanted to check,” he said. “Remember you looked at the fuel register the other day to see who else had flown in?”
“Yeah,” Tyler said.
Chance could tell by Tyler’s tone of voice that he was more curious about this whole fiasco now that his main mechanic was out of commission.
“Is there any unaccounted fuel usage?”
“You know we don’t do that accounting until the end of the month.”
“I know, but you could check the fuel records for the days of the month so far.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Well, if there’s fuel that hasn’t been paid for, who would you look to? Somebody local, right?”
“Every once in a while somebody forgets to pay up, and we give them a gentle kick in the butt. Sometimes Kevin or one of the substitute linemen forgets to write down a payment in the register.”
“But if no one ‘fesses up, it could be that someone who knows where the keys to the truck and the tank are, also filled up that plane.”
“What are you getting at, Chance?”
“I checked with Solheim this morning to take a look at what had been left in the Cessna. It was littered with junk including an Oberto beef jerky wrapper. And there was a Mountain Dew bottle left too. Who’s that make you think of?”
“Damn,” Tyler said. There was a pause in their conversation. Chance suspected Tyler and he were thinking similar thoughts.
On the afternoon that Hardy had soloed, the last of them to do so, Chance and Tyler had sat in the pilot’s lounge waiting for their pal to return so the three of them could celebrate.
They had overheard Tyler’s dad, their flight instructor, in the office talking to a Forest Service pilot about how the wind had picked up. The Forest Service pilot asked about the solo flight. That’s when they heard Fitz say that Hardy Jacobs had the best instincts in the air of anyone he had ever taught. Chance had felt so jealous, and so had Tyler. But they both knew they couldn’t argue.
Finally, Tyler spoke. “Well, I guess we both knew Hardy could have landed that plane. We just didn’t want to say it out loud.”
“I know,” Chance said, his heart heavy with his growing concern and frustration for Hardy—the stupid, self-centered bastard—and for his sister if she was with him. “He been around to see you lately?”
“Nope,” Tyler said. “I’m beginning to think he doesn’t want to be associated with the place.”
“Maybe more than we know. Will you check those fuel gauges for me?” Chance asked and held up a finger to Anna Takkinen, who stood at the office door.
“It’ll have to be later this afternoon,” Tyler said. “Since Kev’s gone, I’m handling the lineman chores. The SkyWest flight is due in shortly.”
Chance hung up and turned his attention to Anna whose voice was filled with excitement. “There’s a fellow from the Canadian Ski Association on the phone up in Calgary. He wants to talk to someone about doing a statewide insert to attract skiers to Alberta, 75,000 copies.”
“Holy Shit.” Chance couldn’t help but smile. A job like that could fill the Messenger’s coffers for several months. It was the kind of cushion they needed right now.
“Irita usually handles anything like this,” Anna was whispering with anticipation. “She’s not here, and neither is your sister. I hate to let the guy go.”
Small papers like theirs made the budget by putting together one-time direct-mail jobs to showcase local events, but this was statewide. “How in the hell did he get our name?” Chance asked.
“The usual—he’s got relatives here. Line two,” Anna said and pointed to the phone on the desk.
Chance looked at his watch. It was past three. He wanted to find Hardy, and then Birch. But he knew golden opportunities didn’t come around often, and a “Can you call back” response would be the kiss of death. And it was his “at bat.” He picked up the phone and found his usual cheerful voice.
* * *
Mesa could tell a woman lived in the cabin as soon as she walked through the door. Lush green plants filled every corner. Hand-crocheted pillows and colorful knitted Afghans covered the sofa and chairs. The presence of two men hadn’t changed the atmosphere.
She looked at Garrett and remembered the face of a small boy standing next to his mother in the family photo at his sister’s house. “How’s the weather?” she said with a slight smile, hoping he would remember their conversation from the park. Then she turned to Hardy and apologized for following him. “You have to know I wouldn’t give up on you, Hardy. I’m not leaving until the three of us talk about turning yourselves in,” she said quietly.
The two men looked at each other. Garrett nodded his head to one side as if to say he might consider it. Then he said, “Come into the kitchen where we can sit and talk.”
Mesa followed him past a desk where she saw an envelope addressed to “Tessa” on the computer’s keyboard. So this was where she lived, Mesa thought. The place felt homey and peaceful. She could see why Garrett might want to stay here, although he still had that same weary look on his face. He would need a lot more rest before that changed.
Hardy and Mesa sat at the round dining table in the corner while Garrett stood with his foot on a dining table chair, leaning on his knee and looking out the window periodically. From there, anyone approaching would be easy to spot.
Mesa felt oddly at ease. The kitchen had lots of light, with a large window in the corner and French doors out to the deck along the far wall. On the outside of the window hung a red hummingbird feeder, though the tiny birds had migrated south since the mornings had turned cool. And she knew too much about either of her companions to feel afraid.
Hardy spoke first. “Look, Mesa, I know you mean well, but this is a situation you don’t want to get involved in.” Then he looked at Garrett for support.
Garrett looked at his watch. “Let her talk. But I have to tell you,” he said to Mesa, “we don’t have much time. So don’t waste your words.”
“I know all about your father, Garrett. Kathy told us everything. I can’t imagine how awful it must have been, and I can understand why you would want to kill Lowell Austin.” She looked up at him while she talked, but she could not hold his gaze. He was intent on watching the road.
“What about his father?” Hardy said.
Mesa looked at him, and began to believe poor Hardy really didn’t know what he had gotten into when he invited Garrett Birch to go up in that plane.
“Garrett’s father was one of the wardens that Austin shot.”
“Mesa, you can’t believe I had anything to do with this,” Hardy said, half laughing. “I thought all I was doing was giving a soldier a ride.”
Mesa turned her attention back to Garrett. “A jury would be sympathetic, especially if you turn yourself in and show some remorse.”
“My last experience with the jury system was far from satisfying,” Garrett said. His voice was matter-of-fact, as if he were making a consumer complaint. “The death of my father was unbearable, but having his killer escape the death penalty was a slap in the face. The older I got, the sicker it made me.” He shook his head and leaned with his hands on the table.
“My father was a decent man doing his job. The defense attorneys tried to blame him for everything. Meanwhile Lowell Austin became a folk hero.” Garrett’s voice trembled ever so slightly. “So you’ll forgive me if I don’t share your faith in the courts.”
He stood up and looked out the window where the sky was beginning to cloud up. “Besides, I’m not sorry for what I did.” Then he looked at Hardy. “The weather’s changing. We better get going.”
Hardy hesitated, and then stood while Garrett walked over to the kitchen counter where he picked up some sandwiches he had wrapped up and some of Hardy’s favorite jerky. “Pull your truck into the garage. We’ll take Mesa’s car.”
Hardy looked at Mesa. She could see the fear in his eyes. Then he said to Garrett, “Wh
at are you going to do?”
“Don’t worry,” Garrett said, his voice even again. “I’m not going to hurt her. She’s just a little temporary insurance.”
“That’s not a good idea,” Hardy said. “I don’t want to be driving across country worrying about what she might do.”
“We’re not driving,” Garrett said.
* * *
Garrett sat in the back seat of the Trail Blazer with Mesa. “As long as you do exactly what I say,” he said quietly, “everything will be fine.”
Mesa put on her seat belt and watched while Garrett did the same, holding a small blue daypack in his lap. He seemed resigned, she thought. She wasn’t sure what he had planned, but she could tell by the look in his eyes, that he didn’t expect to let anything get in his way.
Headed back into town, Hardy drove fast while he talked. “This is a lousy idea, Tree. I know a plane might seem like a quicker way out of town, but that’s if I can find one. We have no way of knowing what or who will be at the airport.”
Garrett shook his head and even smiled a little at Mesa as if he knew she would agree with his thinking. “Hardy, I’ve been watching you operate for several days now. You got more angles than the Pentagon. You’ll figure out something.”
Garrett’s expression became stern, and he looked into the rearview mirror and caught Hardy’s eye. “But we’ll have to move fast to stay ahead of the weather.”
Mesa turned to look out the window to the southwest, where the sky seemed to have darkened in no time. Chance was always talking about how the weather changed so fast coming across the valley that flying was always a “maybe” proposition. “You can still call this all off,” Mesa said, surprised by how calm she felt. “You can still turn yourselves in.”
Neither Garrett nor Hardy answered, and ten minutes later, they turned into Aviation Drive. They pulled into the nearly empty Silver Bow Aviation parking lot. Tyler’s red Ford pickup was parked at the end of the building. Mesa felt a twinge of anxiety about whether they would encounter Tyler inside. Hardy might be able to handle him, but there was no guarantee. Thank God, Murphy wasn’t around. The last thing she wanted was a confrontation.
Garrett held Mesa by the elbow while they followed Hardy inside. “Like they say on TV, just act normal,” he said.