Sinister Page 9

  “Naw. Highway patrol is more focused on the highway. Right now I’m coordinating the multistate search, but if we don’t find her the FBI is probably going to get involved.”

  “Coordinating a multistate search and passing out flyers yourself?”

  “As I said, right now, we’re short staffed.”

  Ricki glanced again at the flyer. “She lives in California?”

  He nodded. “She was visiting her boyfriend’s parents for Thanksgiving, just outside Billings. Apparently things didn’t go so well, so she drove back on her own. Headed out of there Saturday morning.” Generally Sam didn’t go over the details of a case with folks in town, but Ricki was different. A former NYPD cop, she knew law enforcement, and she was into it, but then she was Ricki.

  As they ate, they discussed possible scenarios for Amber Barstow. Sam wasn’t buying the theory that she’d hooked up with a friend—or the cowboy in the black hat—and left her car abandoned for nearly a week. “She left a suitcase in the trunk of her car, stuffed with clothes and makeup. And birth control pills. Would you go off for a week without your birth control pills?”

  Ricki put her Diet Coke back on the counter. “Nope. And most women don’t part with their makeup bag.” She raked reddish curls from her forehead, a gesture he’d seen a thousand times but never tired of. “This is bad, Sam.”

  He nodded and told her about his phone interviews with Amber’s parents, her fiancé, and Bill Russell, the Sacramento cop who had interviewed Amber’s employer and searched the missing woman’s apartment for clues. “I’ve got a Skype interview set up with Amber Barstow’s boyfriend.” He checked his watch. “In about an hour.”

  “Wow.” Her green eyes were hopeful. “You’ve pulled together a lot of information in twenty-four hours.”

  The praise felt good, but he only said, “It’s not enough. Not until we find her.”

  Sabrina’s afternoon had been chock-full. She’d handled a collie with a broken leg and an injured hawk found by a farmer’s boy, two phone consultations with vets in neighboring towns and a sheaf of paperwork. It was after seven when she was able to hang up her lab coat for the day. Of course she wasn’t finished working; there were always calls to the surrounding ranches, and tonight she was scheduled to visit the Dillinger ranch.

  Traffic moved slowly through the small town. Friday night brought people in for dinner or a movie, and pedestrians bundled in thick jackets or coats hurried along the sidewalks. Breath fogging as they talked, people passed lampposts and bony trees strung with sparkling white lights lining Main Street.

  Caught behind a flatbed as it lumbered through the two stoplights in the heart of the town, Sabrina told herself the delay didn’t matter. She was late already, but she’d called ahead and explained that she’d been hung up at the clinic. Davis Featherstone, foreman at the Dillinger ranch, had said he’d wait for her. So her workday had stretched from eight hours to ten, or maybe more.

  Silver garlands had been strung over Main Street with decorative bells and stars in the center, and she smiled up at one as she passed under it. There was nothing like Prairie Creek at Christmastime.

  Sabrina had thought about leaving this part of Wyoming. She had for a while, during college and veterinary school, but she’d come back when her father had his first heart attack. He’d survived it, then had another that had taken his life. Her mother had wandered around in a fog for six months before she’d packed up the house and moved down to Cheyenne to live with her sister. Now, even though she was the only Delaney left around these parts, Sabrina had stayed in this little town of hundred-year-old buildings, most with western facades. Maybe she was just a nostalgic ninny, but Prairie Creek seemed to be indelibly etched in her heart. The fact that she and Antonia were able to partner up and buy out Doc Storey, the man who had been the town veterinarian for as long as Sabrina could remember, had made staying all the more appealing.

  Now, she drove past the winking neon lights of Big Bart’s Buffalo Lounge, a local watering hole located just outside town, and thought about the Dillingers. She’d worked for them for a lot of years and had a decent relationship with Ira, and she didn’t want to mess that up. It was just as well Colton wasn’t coming to the wedding. Or was he? Even though Pilar had confirmed that detail, Sabrina wasn’t convinced. She understood that Ira Dillinger wanted all of his kids at his wedding and Ira usually got his way.

  She downshifted as she approached the Rocking D spread and drove across the cattle guard at the main gate. Another hundred yards down the lane, she passed the spur that led to the charred remains of the old homestead house.

  Suddenly cold inside, she shuddered through the memory of that night, about what she and Colton had been doing while fire roared just down the road. That had been the night she and Colton had first made love, but it had turned out to be the beginning of the end for their relationship.

  “Oh, God, stop it,” she said aloud, angry at herself. She wasn’t going to buy a one-way ticket down memory lane. At least not tonight. To clear her mind, she adjusted the heat in her old rig as the windows were beginning to fog over again.

  As she rounded the final bend, the Dillinger ranch house appeared in the darkness. Situated on a rise, festooned in Christmas lights, the interior lamps glowing warmly behind walls of glass that rose to a tall, peaked roof, Ira Dillinger’s home was as grand and modern as the old homestead house had been rustic and time-worn. Sabrina had always thought that the architect who had been commissioned to draw up the plans for the new place had attempted to mimic the mountain peaks surrounding this part of the valley.

  A ladder was propped against the side of the house and others were lined up by the driveway. No doubt getting ready for the impending nuptials. An older Explorer was parked near the garage.

  Sabrina’s heart nearly stopped as she pressed the brakes. Was that a Montana license plate?

  It was.

  “Crap!”

  Instantly her heart rate went into overdrive. So much for all those rumors that Colton Dillinger wasn’t returning.

  Ricki wasn’t one to sit around and mull things over. When an idea came to her, she acted on it, as evidenced by her defection to New York City and her wayward marriage to Ari. But tonight … tonight it seemed like she was getting a nudge from fate or kismet or one of those phenomena that shines on your face until you finally wake up and say, “Yeah, I get it.”

  Earlier, Sam Featherstone had sat down beside her at Molly’s. He’d mentioned that the department was understaffed. They’d even discussed the girl who had gone missing. If that wasn’t invitation enough to visit the sheriff and ask about a job, she didn’t know what was.

  She’d picked up three girls from the game, dropped them at the yogurt shop with twenty bucks, and driven the four blocks to the sheriff’s office. On a roll now, she pulled open the door of the sheriff’s office and was greeted by a blast of heat. “Wow. It’s warm in here.”

  “Thank the Lord, because earlier today we had no heat at all, and that is not acceptable.” Naomi Simmons folded a page to mark her spot in the fat paperback she was reading. “It’s hard enough working the late shift, but in a chilly office … ?” She hugged her sweater, handcrafted with a smiling Rudolph, and pretended to shiver. Rudolph’s nose, a red jingle bell sewn into place, actually gave a muffled jangle. “I just don’t have the tolerance for that anymore.”

  A transmission barked over the police band radio. “Excuse me,” Naomi said, turning away to answer.

  Ricki smiled. The smell of burnt coffee, the radio dispatch, the Christmas decorations strung haphazardly from the ceiling, the battered desk chairs and the path on the floor worn from the steady tread of boots past the front desk … God, she missed this. Hard to admit, but true.

  As Naomi handled the dispatch, she eased the zipper of her jacket down and paced past the big clock on the wall, which was next to a photo of Sam and his staff and a handful of plaques from civic organizations. There was a swear jar on Naomi’s desk, a t
in that probably contained sweets, and a photo of her with her husband and kids—two boys, who seemed to be college age. In the photo, Naomi wore a print dress with cabbage patch roses that made her look like a grandma. She was one of those people who had always seemed old for her age—even back in junior high.

  “So, Ricki,” Naomi said, finished with the call, “you got police business, or did you just come in to check the temperature?”

  “I need to talk to Sam.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. He’s back in his office, fretting.” Naomi pointed a finger down the hall.

  Ricki headed in that direction, thinking that the boss would rip you a new one if you walked into his office in NYPD, but here … here folks didn’t stand much on formality.

  She knocked on the office door marked SHERIFF and poked her head in.

  Sam looked up from his computer screen. “Hey, Ricki. Come on in.”

  “You still Skyping?” When he shook his head, she pushed the door and came right up to his desk. “I’ve been thinking about it, Sam, and the only solution for both of us is that you have to hire me. Make me a deputy. I need a job and you said yourself you’re understaffed.”

  His brows shot up and he rolled his desk chair back a couple of inches as if to get a better look at her around the computer. “Did I miss something … like a job application?”

  “I’ll fill one out, and you can check my record, but it’s good, you know that. I did twelve years with the NYPD, three years in mounted and four in the detective bureau, but I’m not going back. I’m here to stay. And as I said, since I need a job and you need a deputy, it’s a win-win situation all around.”

  Sam leaned back in his chair and frowned. “It’s never a good idea to mix business and friendship.”

  “Mix-schmix. I’m all business, Sam.”

  “Mix-schmix?”

  “NYPD’s got one of the best departments in the country—in the world, maybe—and I’m as good as it gets. Not to blow my own horn, but I’m it, Sam. I’m the best you’ll find for a hundred miles around here. Maybe the best in the whole state of Wyoming.”

  “Just the state, not everywhere west of the Mississippi?”

  “Well, I didn’t want to brag.”

  “Too much.” His gaze found hers and for the first time since seeing him again, she saw a spark of humor in his eyes. “Best in the state,” he repeated. “Can’t beat those credentials.”

  “No, you can’t,” she said, deciding to ignore his gently teasing tone.

  “There’s still the issue of friendship. I’ve known you since you were a kid, and I used to feel like we were family.”

  “I know. You and Colt were like brothers. But it’s not nepotism, Sam. We’re not related and that’s something. And … you know, it’s way too hot in here.” She pulled off her jacket and plunked it onto the chair. “Anyway, it’s hard to go a mile in this town and find someone you’re not related to.”

  “That’s one of the things I like about Prairie Creek,” he said, as if to divert the conversation from the hiring question.

  “Me, too. Lots of family.” And hers was getting bigger with her father taking on Pilar and Rourke. Rourke she could deal with, but Pilar … She just wished Dad would wait.

  “Stick Windham was on me to hire him a few months back, but I just don’t hire friends.”

  “Then you’re making a mistake. Besides, he’s your bud. Our friendship is different.”

  “We got some history between us,” Sam said.

  A shiver whispered over her skin. “But you have some kind of history with every staffer in that photo out front. You were born and raised here and so was I.” She tipped her face to the ceiling and let out a frustrated breath. “Come on. You know I’m a hard worker. I’ll run your investigation or assist stranded motorists who forget to chain up. I’ll even make coffee and fix your crooked garland if that’s what it takes. Hire me now, Sam.”

  He squinted at her. “Why so desperate? What’s the rush?”

  “I miss police work,” she admitted. “I need the money. Got a daughter to raise. And I need an excuse to get away from Dad … and Pilar …” She couldn’t stop herself from grimacing.

  Sam snorted, then he laughed. “You don’t hold back.”

  “So I’m hired?”

  He raised his hands. “Give me some time to think about it. A day or two.”

  Undeterred, she pointed to one of the Amber Barstow flyers on his desk. “You don’t have a minute to think right now, Sam. Not with that girl missing. Come on, you were even handing out flyers yourself. That’s how understaffed you are.” She turned and sat down in one of the visitor’s chairs, then took a different tack. “How’d it go with Amber’s boyfriend? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “Unfortunately the interview just confirmed my thinking.” He moved the mouse on his desk and clicked a few times. “Here. I’ve got this paused on the most revealing part. Two minutes of this, and you’ll get the gist.”

  Robert Petrocelli’s body language showed a young man beaten down and weary. His horn-rimmed, oversized glasses could not mask the dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders were hunched forward.

  “She wanted a ring, you know?” Robert admitted. “She wanted to get engaged and I was, like, ‘Why now?’ But I might have done it. For Christmas, you know.” He cleared his throat. “I can still do it. When she comes back. I can give it to her for Christmas … on Christmas Eve. I heard you sent out some search parties today. Can I help? What if I fly out there and help you look for her?”

  He sounded hopeful, but Ricki heard the desperation, the undercurrent of fear that he might never see his girlfriend again. “He seems like the real deal. Did anyone else see her drive off alone?”

  “Robert’s parents, and a neighbor.” Sam paused the screen again.

  Ricki considered. “That looks real, how distraught he is. I don’t believe he hurt his girlfriend.”

  “Right now Robert Petrocelli isn’t considered a suspect.”

  “Have you gotten a look at Amber’s phone records? Bank statements?”

  “Katrina got ahold of her bank and cell phone records today. Nothing unusual. The last call on her cell was to her parents, Saturday afternoon. She was upset that she’d missed Thanksgiving with them and was on her way home. Withdrew two hundred bucks back in Sacramento before her trip, then a few credit card purchases, mostly for gas and food. The last one was Big Bart’s Buffalo Lounge.”

  “So money is probably not the motivation.” Ricki plucked a flyer from his desk, and as she studied Amber’s brown eyes and shiny black hair, a dark feeling came over her. It wasn’t looking good for Amber Barstow. “Random abductions are rare, statistically speaking, but so far no red flags among her family or friends. We can check out the people she worked with, but it’s looking like a random strike. Someone local, maybe?” She nodded at the computer. “You have any sexual predators in your database that might fill the bill?”

  Sam cocked his head to one side. “I know what you’re doing, Ricki, and you’re a pro, all right. But while I appreciate your feedback on the case, I can’t go any further. Not tonight.”

  She tossed the flyer on his desk, stood up and stretched like a cat. “Am I taking advantage of you? Compromising your high standards?” She had meant it as a barb against his stubbornness, but somehow it sounded like a tease.

  His mouth, that sexy, wide Sam mouth, was set now. Way too grim for a man that handsome. It occurred to Ricki that she would have to stop thinking this way once they were officially working together. She would have to work on that.

  “Right now, I’m saying no. Besides, it’s late. Don’t you have to pick up your daughter from the game?”

  “Been there, done that. I just dumped Brook and her friends at the yogurt shop. But I guess I should go pick them up before they eat the shop out of crushed Snickers.” She snatched up her coat and turned to the door, then paused. “If it was random, we need to look at the last place she was seen.” She t
urned back to him. “Big Bart’s?”

  “We’ve been there. She left alone, apparently without her car, but the bartender saw her checking out some cowboy at the bar. Nobody he recognized. Black Stetson. Grady said he was a big guy, but that description matches half the men in town.”

  “Hmm. Yeah. Anyone else see Mr. Black Stetson?” Ricki asked.

  Sam shrugged. “I haven’t had a chance to track down other patrons who were there that night.”

  “Maybe one of them will know something.”

  “Maybe, but don’t even think about talking to Grady on your own. Right now, you need to skedaddle and I need to get back to work.”

  “Okay.” She backed out the door. “Not to state the obvious, but you have been working these past few minutes, talking with me.” He rolled his eyes, and she saw that it was time to retreat. “Just saying.”

  On the way out she wished Naomi a good night, then stepped into the cold air and restrained the urge to do a happy dance in the parking lot.

  She could read the situation. Sam would cave. He would hire her, and pay her to do the work she loved. And getting to work with someone she’d always had a thing for? A bonus.

  She smiled to herself. She just needed to get him to say yes.

  Chapter Nine

  A dark figure stood by the trough with a black mask of a face and an axe lifted against the inky night sky. Light from the round moon, laced by thin clouds, glinted on the blade of the axe.

  Folding his arms against the eerie cold that swept around the Dillinger barn, Davis Featherstone watched as she swung the axe down with a fury.

  “Yaaahh!” Her cry ended on the crack of impact.

  Davis stepped away from the building, his boots crunching on the snowpack as he approached her. She was using the axe blade to fish ice chunks out of the horse trough when she noticed him.

  Kit Dillinger pushed the ski mask up so that it bunched over her forehead. “Their drinking water was frozen, and I know a cold horse doesn’t need to be drinking ice water this time of year.”

  “Nothing makes an animal sick quicker than dehydration.” He stepped back, out of the way of flying ice. “Next time, you might want to use one of the plastic rakes to fish the ice out. That much water, it can make the axe blade rust.”