Mesozoic Murder Page 10

  “Thanks, Jessie. You want to hear something really spooky?”

  “Probably not.”

  “I lost my Iniskim before I found Nick’s body. I still haven’t found it.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “I honestly don’t know. The stone disappeared after the cord fell off. A bad omen.”

  “Maybe you just needed to lose it for some reason. A good reason.”

  She’d never considered the loss of the fossil as a good thing. “Why do you think that?”

  Jessie shrugged. “Maybe you’re supposed to lose it, so you can grow in some way. Could be your mother wanted it to happen. Could be a message from her. When you get it back, you’ll know the answer.”

  Remembering the crow gut, Ansel pulled a signed check from her pack. “Thank Lucy for me. She’s a lifesaver. If you can deliver the crow gut by eleven on Saturday morning, that would be perfect.”

  Jessie nodded. “I’ll keep in touch. See you at the buffet.”

  “You bet.” Ansel waved as Jessie departed. The cell phone in her fanny pack trilled. “Hello?”

  “Ansel, he’s on his way. Just tore through the main gate.”

  “Thanks, Seth.”

  The Arrowhead covered fifteen thousand deeded acres, plus another twelve thousand Bureau of Land Management lease parcels. From nose to tail, the cattle ranch was ten miles long and six miles wide. Asking the ranch foreman, Seth Bartle, to scout the main entrance while on horseback checking range fencing had been a stroke of brilliance. Thank God for cowboys with Nokia phones in their saddlebags.

  She took one last look at her mother’s grave. Are you trying to tell me something, Momma? She couldn’t worry about that now. Dorbandt had agreed to come to the ranch.

  Time to dance with the devil.

  Chapter 12

  “Friendship is the severest test of character.”

  Ohiyesa, Santee Sioux

  Dust swirled over Dorbandt’s car as he drove through an enormous log beam archway above the east entrance of the Arrowhead Ranch. Winds whipped the pasture land spreading toward infinity on every side and an eight-foot-wide, weathered wood sign knocked viciously at the upper cross post. Creaking corner chains barely tethered it against the elements.

  Dorbandt recognized the terrain as true Missouri Breaks country. Once a villainous no-man’s-land for rustlers like the infamous Hole-In-The-Wall Gang led by Kid Curry, the open spaces made him edgy.

  Born and raised in Billings, he was a citified Montanan proud of growing up in the largest metropolitan area between Spokane and Minneapolis. Nestled within the Yellowstone Valley and ringed by high sandstone rimrocks, the state capital’s skyscraper buildings, asphalt arteries, and urban sprawl were his favorite stomping grounds.

  At the moment, the only other person around was a grizzled old cowhand riding a buckskin horse. The cowboy gave him a friendly smile and a hearty wave as if he were kin returning home.

  At least the ranch hands weren’t firing shotgun pellets at him. He drove an unmarked car, but everyone on the ranch had to know he was coming. Given the history between Chase Phoenix and McKenzie, it was a wonder that a lynching posse wasn’t thundering down on him. The sooner he got this talk over with the better, though he was anxious to see the rest of the Phoenix clan for himself. Cops didn’t rely on hearsay.

  Dorbandt gunned the engine. The well-maintained gravel road took him between herds of corpulent black Angus trundling across the grassland. Smaller dirt roads forked off as he drove past an array of ranch structures—feed lot pens, water towers, grain bins and elevators, wood sheds, and pole barns.

  “Shit.”

  Dorbandt slammed on his brakes. Something large and brown flew into his left windshield. The car fishtailed to the right, front wheels locking while the rear tires slid. He watched as a sage grouse thumped against the glass, flapped, and kept on moving, disappearing into the pasture.

  A blood smear trickled down the glass. Wedged in the wiper blade, a downy brown feather flapped crazily. He released his breath and thought of the Capos crime scene feather. He wished the DNA results would come back, especially since the forensics results on Capos’ car had been disappointing. So far, that feather was all he had in the way of potential evidence.

  Dorbandt shifted into park, grabbed a napkin, and stepped onto the road. Warm gusts snatched at his suit, billowing his sleeves and pants and twisting his tie and hair. He reached across the hood and plucked the plume off the blade with one hand and scrubbed away the crimson blotch with the other. He released the feather into the wind. It was gone in an instant.

  Dorbandt balled up the napkin, pushed it into a pocket of his flapping coat, and walked onto the dirt shoulder. No grouse. He saw only a huge Angus cow. It stood by the barbed-wire fence, mouth grinding side to side. Thick ears twitched while huge brown eyes languidly observed him. A black punch tag in the left ear bore the number 954.

  Dorbandt’s gaze was drawn toward the sound of an engine. A white double-cab pickup cruised down the road. He hustled to his idling car just as the truck stopped behind it.

  An elderly woman with short gray-blonde hair stuck her head out the window. “Hey, you want to buy that cow?” she asked with a laugh. “She’s for sale, you know. Her momma’s a nice dam from the Black Licorice herd in Red Lodge.”

  Dorbandt liked her smile. Wide and genuine. No hostility here, he assessed, walking toward the truck. “I’m Lieutenant Reid Dorbandt with the Lacrosse County Sheriff’s Department. I’ve come to see Miss Anselette Phoenix.”

  “Oh, hello, detective.” She pushed her hand out the opening. “I’m Ansel’s stepmother, Pearl.” Her blue eyes sparkled, made even more compelling by blue-green paisleys on her long-sleeved shirt.

  Dorbandt shook her hand, which was warm and surprisingly strong. “Hello, Pearl. Sorry I blocked the road.”

  “Never mind that. Ansel’s waiting for you at the house. Too bad you didn’t want to buy Maisey though.” Pearl shook her head and withdrew her hand. “She’s a rustler’s steal for what we’re asking.”

  “I wouldn’t think selling her would be a problem. She looks like prime cut.”

  Pearl blinked, then started laughing. “Lord, you’re a hoot, detective. You don’t eat our cows. Didn’t Ansel tell you? The Arrowhead is a breed ranch. We sell top quality genetic stock to beef ranches all over the country. Maisey’s produced up to sixty-nine embryos from three intrauterine egg donor flushes alone. Most of our bulls produce semen at twenty-five dollars a straw. And we’ll artificially inseminate anything that stands on four legs around here, too,” Pearl announced proudly.

  Dorbandt’s face burned. It didn’t seem right talking about male and female innards with the wife of a man he didn’t know.

  A mischievous grin dimpled Pearl’s rosy cheeks. “You’re turning red, Lieutenant. Sorry to embarrass you. Let me pass, and I’ll lead the way.”

  Dorbandt nodded. He maneuvered the car so Pearl’s truck could pull by and followed for another quarter mile.

  Even before Pearl took another left, he saw the looming, multi-level log home topped by a pale blue, tin roof. The house was built on a nicely landscaped knoll ringed by a wall of Ponderosa pines, alders, Oregon grapes, and serviceberries. Dorbandt whistled as the gravel road turned into a long, brown paver-stone driveway. Pearl stopped the Ford and hopped out.

  As Dorbandt exited his car, he noted a red Ford pickup and a blue Saturn parked on the west side of the house. The driveway led around to a detached garage. He took in the rest of the Phoenix homestead: milled spruce log exterior, peaked A-frame ceiling, tempered glass windows. The place had to be four thousand square feet under air.

  “Come in and meet my husband.” Pearl went up stairs and onto a ten-foot-wide deck that ran the front length of the home. “Then you and Ansel can talk business. Terrible thing about Nick’s murder. Unbelievable.”

  Dorbandt followed up the stairway with thick, hand-carved ornamental posts and railings. Several high-back chair
s faced the road. Dusty leather riding chaps were draped over some. Four pairs of dirty cowboy boots in different sizes and colors stood beside the door.

  “Pearl, did you know Nicholas Capos?”

  “I met him once. I liked him.”

  Before Dorbandt could ask another question, Pearl opened the door and hustled through. Smiling, she waved the detective forward, then called out, “Chase? Ansel? We have company.”

  Inside the tangy smell of cayenne spices wafted toward him. Pearl led the way into a great room made entirely of huge spruce timbers. The space was bathed in a warm glow. Sunshine flowing through tall, clad-wood windows bounced off the honey-colored logs. Intermittent columns of spruce supported a cathedral ceiling.

  “They should be down any moment. Sit down. Can I get you a drink?

  He walked over white throw rugs that dotted the slatted oak flooring and sat on a brown leather sofa facing the soapstone fireplace. “No, thank you. I had coffee earlier.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Dorbandt smiled. “Absolutely sure.”

  He drank in the walls which were decorated with Indian baskets, pottery, native design blankets, and framed Amerindian art prints. No wonder Captain McKenzie hated Chase, Dorbandt thought. Besides the fact that the cattleman had married an Indian woman, it must really stick in his supervisor’s craw that Phoenix lived such a luxurious lifestyle.

  McKenzie’s father had been an open pit miner in Butte for almost thirty years before the Anaconda Company sold out its copper holdings in the 1980s. When the Berkeley Pit closed, Lee McKenzie had died angry and broke, blaming greedy rich men for his slide into depression and alcoholism. Well, Ed McKenzie’s an asshole, Dorbandt mused. Just like his father.

  A tall, broad-chested man clad in the usual cowboy attire descended an oak staircase. Except for the long white hair pulled back in a ponytail, he bore a startling resemblance to the actor Gary Cooper, who had been born in Helena.

  Dorbandt held his breath, wondering how Chase Phoenix would react to having a Lacrosse County detective in his house.

  “There you are,” Pearl chimed. “This is Lieutenant Reid Dorbandt. He followed me up. I think he was staking out one of our cows. Detective, this is my husband, Chase.”

  A broad smile was etched across Chase’s long, thin face, creating deep, leathery creases along his cheeks and nose. He moved quickly, crossed the distance between them, and stretched a large open palm in Dorbandt’s direction. Dorbandt went with the flow.

  “Good day to you, sir.” Chase clasped Dorbandt’s hand, pumping it with gusto. “Welcome to the Arrowhead.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Mister Phoenix. I’ve come to talk to Anselette. She called me,” he added.

  “So she tells me.” Chase stared the officer in the eye with undisguised appraisal. His grip on Dorbandt’s hand never slackened. “Have a seat for a minute. Ansel knows you’re here, and I won’t hold you up very long.” Chase released his grip and folded himself into a brown suede wingback chair.

  “If you two bulls are going to kick up dirt, I’ll just leave you to it,” Pearl said with a knowing smile. “A pleasure meeting you. Don’t be a stranger. Come over to the Beastly Buffet this weekend. We’d love to have you.”

  “Thank you for the invitation.”

  Pearl gave Chase one last glance and left the room.

  Dorbandt felt his insides twist. He knew Chase’s informal chat and his daughter’s noticeable absence had been pre-arranged. This was it. Chase was going to let fly and tell him what he thought of the department. Things might get ugly, but that wouldn’t stop him from doing police business.

  Dorbandt looked expectantly at the rancher. Chase leaned back in his chair and met his gaze. The seconds crawled by as both men silently waited for Pearl’s footsteps to become inaudible. Chase leaned forward and cleared his throat. Dorbandt’s hands tightened into fists.

  “Somebody tried to kill Ansel last night,” the rancher declared, his voice steely. “I’d like you to see to it that nothing more happens to her in the future.”

  Dorbandt’s anxiety melted. Despite his surprise, he switched gears and went into cop mode. “Was she harmed?”

  “No, thank God. I happened to stop by her place right after it happened. She spent the night here.”

  “Tell me what you know.”

  “Just the basics. A big, nasty cowboy, carrying a gun, ambushed her inside the trailer and roughed her up. He was looking for money. Money Capos had. He thought Ansel knew about it. She didn’t, and things got ugly. The bastard insinuated he was going to rape her. She poured acid on him, and he ran out smoking skin.”

  Dorbandt reached into his coat pocket for his pad and pen. “I don’t want to miss anything relevant.”

  “I don’t want you to miss anything either,” Chase echoed. “I wouldn’t be truthful if I didn’t say that I’m not fond of the sheriff’s department, Detective Dorbandt, but I blame that on certain people, not the whole shop. I’m approaching you with this request because Ansel’s first impression of you is favorable. I trust my daughter’s intuition. I don’t want you to bush-tail if she gets herself into trouble. This Capos hoopla has nothing to do with her.”

  Dorbandt wasn’t so sure. If this thug thought Ansel knew about money, he had his reasons.

  “I’ll do whatever I can to protect your daughter. That’s my job. Breaking into her trailer with a gun is an assault with a deadly weapon. The information Ansel can provide could be a turning point in the Capos case. Once she files a report, I can examine the trailer for fingerprints or trace evidence. With a description of this creep on file, I can get an APB out on him.”

  Chase sighed and leaned into the chair. “Ansel won’t file a report.”

  “She has to. I need it to proceed. Is she afraid or does she just dislike the department, too?”

  “You’ll have to ask her. I can tell you that Ansel’s afraid of very few things. She didn’t know anything about my problems until a few days ago.”

  “If she files a report, I can protect her much better.”

  “It’s her decision.” Chase sighed again, swiped a hand across his tanned brow, and bent forward. “She’s like her mother. Stubborn.”

  “Stubborn doesn’t catch the bad guys. Stubborn could be viewed as obstruction of justice.”

  “I understand, Lieutenant, and I agree with you. Ansel’s being muley. You can’t bully her. You’ve got to convince her to see things your way.”

  None of this made any sense to Dorbandt unless Ansel Phoenix knew more about Capos’ murder than she admitted. His antenna vibrated like a lightning rod into his gut. She was a well of information he needed to siphon. If he handled her right, he might get something solid. And maybe he could get McKenzie off his back. That newspaper article had sideswiped him.

  “I’d better talk to your daughter, Mister Phoenix.” He stood and straightened his suit jacket before slipping the pad and pen into his pocket.

  “Then we have a deal?”

  “Deal?”

  “You’ll keep a special eye on my girl.” Chase’s gaze was unwavering.

  “You bet I will, Mister Phoenix.”

  “I’ll take you at your word. Thank you.” Chase stood, relief smoothing his furrowed brow. “Ansel’s in the study. Follow me.”

  Chase paced across the great room and took a sharp right-hand turn into the east wing of the house. They walked down a small hallway and passed a dining room. Another right past a kitchen and they reached a heavy cedar door.

  “In here.” Chase stood aside.

  Dorbandt moved into the room, to be enveloped in the delicious smells of cayenne, mustard, and garlic. The study contained built-in, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, an antique redwood desk, and plenty of cushioned chairs. It looked empty.

  Ansel walked through an archway to his left which he hadn’t noticed. “There you are,” she proclaimed, a large silver platter of orange-red crustaceans resting on a garnished bed of Romaine lettuce in her hands. “I hop
e you’re hungry. You’re having homemade Crouching Crawdad Boil, baked potato, spinach strawberry salad with raspberry vinegar dressing, and sourdough bread. These raspberries came right from Kalispell. Dessert is pastry with chocolate mousse.”

  He walked a step further and saw a wooden table with four brown leather armchairs. The table faced a long row of partially opened casement windows. Formal table settings for two included a satin tablecloth, woven place mats, linen napkins, gold flatware, and china dishes.

  Dorbandt also noticed Ansel’s pretty smile and sparkling brown eyes as she gazed back at him. She was packaged in tight black jeans, a white short-sleeved shirt with a low zippered neckline, and black, spike-heeled boots. She looked damn good for a problem child.

  Chase caught Dorbandt’s gaze by leaning closer to his shoulder. “Whatever you do, buckaroo,” he whispered, “don’t mention the pond.”

  Before Dorbandt could ask what he meant, Chase retreated and firmly closed the door.

  Chapter 13

  “We are all children of one God. The sun, the darkness, the winds, are all listening to what we have to say.”

  Geronimo, Chiricahua Apache

  “These are great crawdads.” Dorbandt snapped off the tail, forked out the tender meat, and swallowed.

  The conversation had been formal but relaxed. Neither had jumped into a discussion about the real reason for Dorbandt’s visit.

  Ansel watched his movements with fascination. He opened and dissected the three-inch-long crustaceans with large, dexterous hands. Every muscle in his arms bulged from beneath a white short-sleeved cotton shirt. It had been a long time since she’d enjoyed such ordinary delights. Too bad Dorbandt was a cop.

  She gazed at the magnificent panorama visible through two corner windows. An east wall overlooked the Ponderosa pines and well-tended grounds. The south wall framed a pastoral view of a horse pasture, filled with beautiful pinto horses frolicking and grazing among wind-blown grasses. A large pond sparkled beneath the sun. Ansel quickly averted her eyes, vertigo spinning the room for a moment. She focused on Dorbandt.