Thunder at Dawn Read online

  “Well, I don’t think Keene was buying it,” Patti muttered. “It sounds to me like he has Owen in his sights. And one of the waitresses at the Tumbleweed told me they only questioned Elam once—and nowhere near as long as they questioned Owen.”

  “Owen was with Candy most of that night, and he’s probably one of the last people to see her alive,” Faith pointed out quietly. “Keene may not consider him a suspect at all. He might just be hoping Owen will remember something Candy said or did that night that might be significant in finding the killer.”

  “Hmmm, I guess you could be right,” Bessie said, looking hopeful.

  Faith took a sip of coffee, grimaced, and set the cup down. It tasted not only cold, but bitter. Even the pie, one of her favorites, didn’t look appealing. Not today, when the topic of conversation was Candy’s death. Not when she could still remember the brutal shock of tripping over her body . . .

  “Faith, honey, I’m sorry.” Reaching across the table, Patti touched her hand. “You’re going a bit green on us,” she murmured. “We’ll talk about something else. I can’t even imagine what it felt like to find the . . . the . . . um, Candy.”

  Bessie peered at Faith with ready sympathy. “It’s going to take awhile to get over that shock, honey. You just take it easy.”

  “I’ll be okay.” Faith mustered a smile. “I work in a prosecutor’s office. I’m tough, remember?”

  “Tough enough to get the job done.” Bessie looked her square in the eye. “But underneath you’re only a human being, like everyone else. And I’ll bet that with all the cases you’ve prosecuted and all those corpses you’ve viewed in the morgue and in photos, it’s a whole lot different when you actually discover the body.”

  That’s for sure. Faith took a breath. “I’m all for that change of subject.” She looked at Patti. “For example, what time do we need to get to the Crystal Horseshoe on Saturday to set up for the auction?”

  It was a relief to discuss the details of the benefit, but it wasn’t long before the subject turned to the dance itself.

  “Do you . . . have a date?” Patti asked, trying so hard to sound casual that Faith’s radar went off.

  “No. No date. Unless you want to loan Bob to me,” she replied with a grin.

  “Sorry, you hussy, he’s taken. But I thought by now you’d have snagged an escort.”

  “If you mean Owen or Rusty—” Faith began, but Bessie interrupted her impatiently.

  “No, not them. Out with it, girl. We heard all about your date with Zach McCallum. He took you all the way to Casper. To a steakhouse.” Bessie was smiling. “Sounds to me like you two have mended your fences.”

  Patti was grinning too. Faith stared back and forth between the two of them, her stomach sinking. “Does this entire town remember that Zach and I went out a few times when we were teenagers?” she asked in disbelief.

  Patti patted her hand as if she were a foolish child unschooled in the ways of the world. “You’ve been away too long. You don’t remember what small towns are like, do you? Especially Thunder Creek. Of course the entire town knew what happened back then. Everyone knew you two were crazy about each other—and that Zach ran out on you the night he put Pete Harrison in a coma.”

  “And,” Bessie added, “everyone’s been wondering what would happen when you met up again. Especially after that run-in between Rusty Gallagher and Zach at the Tumbleweed.”

  Faith closed her eyes. “Oh, no.”

  “And now we heard you went on this date—all the way out of town, presumably so no one would see you together, and . . .” Patti waited until Faith opened her eyes before continuing with a mischievous grin.

  “Don’t you want to tell us what that was all about?”

  She gaped at them as warm color rushed into her cheeks.

  “Can’t two people have dinner together without everyone thinking they’re . . . they’re . . .”

  “Involved,” Patti supplied helpfully. “And the answer is no.”

  Faith leaned back against the booth. “It was nothing,” she said. “We talked about the benefit. That’s it. He wants to make a donation, quite a large one.”

  “Oh, I know all about that.” Patti waved her hand airily. “He called Tammie the other day and made a pledge. It’s supposed to be a secret. She’s over the moon. But he didn’t ask her to go out to dinner with him. He just told her on the phone. Don’t tell me you really believed that was the reason for the date.”

  “It wasn’t a date.”

  Bessie reached out and laid a small, blue-veined hand on Faith’s arm. “It’s none of our business, Faith, and you have every right to tell us so.”

  An impish grin curved the corners of Patti’s mouth. “But we haven’t had a wedding in Thunder Creek for nearly a year—”

  “That’s it. If you’re going to talk about weddings, I’m out of here.” Faith stood up, grabbing her purse, but Bessie waved her back into her seat.

  “You stay right there,” she ordered. “Have another cup of coffee. We won’t torment you anymore. I have to get back to work, anyway.”

  “Actually,” Patti sighed, “I have to leave too. I need to get home and start supper.”

  “Don’t let me keep you,” Faith grumbled, but couldn’t help a chuckle as Patti hugged her good-bye.

  When they had both gone, Faith sat alone for a few more moments, trying to concentrate on her to-do list before the benefit Saturday night. She had to pick up nearly a dozen items being donated, tag and catalogue them, meet with Tammie one last time . . .

  But her mind kept shifting back to the conversation—actually, the inquisition—about Zach.

  She didn’t care about what other people thought, not really. But she wondered what he was thinking. There was a time when she understood him almost better than she understood herself.

  But not anymore. Too much time had passed. Too many turns in their lives, turns that had taken them in opposite directions.

  She hadn’t even heard from him since the morning after the murder. He’d barely spoken to her after she woke up, and had left as soon as the sun came up. At Candy’s funeral he’d made an appearance, extended his sympathies to Ned Merck, and left with barely a nod to anyone else—including her.

  But he didn’t owe her any explanations, Faith told herself. And she had better things to do than think about Zach kissing her, taking her to dinner, and holding her so close when she’d fallen apart after the murder.

  Enough already. Sitting in the diner, thinking about Zach, her stomach was churning. Amazing that before she came back to Thunder Creek, she’d actually toyed with the idea of staying here awhile, perhaps indefinitely. It had been nothing but a stupid fantasy—the idea of extending her vacation, of leaving the pressure and politics of the DA’s office behind. Of opening a small law practice in Thunder Creek—spending the winter curled up in the cabin, warm and cozy, the summer outdoors, hiking, riding, maybe even buying a horse of her own . . .

  But reality had slapped her in the face. Some vacation this had turned out to be. A reunion with the guy who broke her heart and a murder.

  She should have gone to Hawaii.

  When she left the diner and walked outside beneath a breezy cloudy sky, her mind turned to the one piece of information Ty had shared with her when he’d called her from New York after hearing about Candy’s murder. According to what Rick Keene had told him, all of the preliminary evidence pointed to Candy being killed right where her body was found. The killer had brought her there, right to the cabin on Blue Moon Mesa, and then killed her.

  Which led to a whole new set of questions that had kept her up last night.

  Why had the killer picked that particular spot—a spot almost within spitting distance of the cabin, where it would easily be discovered?

  Had it been circumstance or a deliberate choice? Faith wanted to believe it was coincidence, but her gut and common sense were whispering something else.

  What if Candy’s murder really was linked to the
man Zach had seen skulking around the cabin? Rick Keene had seemed to pay scant attention to that information, but what if there really was a connection?

  And what if that man was Hank Bayman—trying to frighten her or send her a message? What if he’d lost it, gone over the edge . . .

  She hadn’t heard from him since Candy’s murder. He’d either given up after she’d threatened him, or he’d gone underground.

  He might actually be here in Thunder Creek.

  As this thought sent a tingle of alarm through her, she rounded the corner at Main and Third and collided with a man coming fast from the other direction.

  The impact slammed her backward and she cried out, nearly falling, but strong arms shot out and steadied her.

  “Sorry.” Rusty Gallagher gazed down at her through those somber, deep-set eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” Faith started to move past him, but Rusty quickly blocked her path, to the surprise of the group of three young men he’d been walking with.

  Faith glanced at them—they didn’t look like ranch hands, more like kids right out of college, and one of them carried a laptop computer. No doubt employees of the Morgan Group.

  “I’ll catch up with you at the diner,” Rusty told them curtly. “Run that new spreadsheet, Boles. I want to study it before the meeting,” he told the young man with the laptop.

  “Faith.” He turned toward her, his tone changing from authoritative to persuasive. “I need to talk to you. Give me a minute, that’s all I ask.”

  The young men brushed past her, but Faith scarcely noticed them. She was eyeing Rusty with cold dislike.

  “You’re not drunk today. There’s no excuse for blocking my path. I suggest you get out of my way—now.”

  “Come on, Faith, just hear me out. I know I was way out of line at the Tumbleweed. I’m sorry about that. Give me a chance to make it up to you.”

  “There’s nothing to make up for. Forget it, clean slate.”

  “Then we can be friends?” He smiled broadly and a glint of relief showed in his eyes. “You’ll let me take you to dinner? As my way of apologizing, of course.”

  “I don’t go to dinner with men who grope me in bars, or who stop me in the street even when I ask them to let me by,” she said evenly, but there was a spark of fire in her pure blue eyes. “We’re not going to be friends, Rusty. And we’re not going to date. And we’re definitely not going to bed.”

  The smile faded from his face. “You’re quite a little bitch, aren’t you?”

  “When it’s called for.” She stepped past him quickly and walked away. She didn’t look back as she headed for her car.

  But suddenly as she pulled her keys from her purse, a strange quiver brushed down her spine. Like cold death breathing against her bones.

  She whirled around. Rusty was gone. The street was nearly empty, and she saw nothing—no one—unusual.

  She found herself scanning faces, looking for Hank Bayman. Her heart beat faster as she turned her head quickly, looking back and forth, up and down Main. But he wasn’t there. And in a moment, the sensation faded, evaporating like mountain mist into the crisp Wyoming air.

  Faith started the car and sat for a moment, letting the beating of her heart slow. You’re imagining things. Getting jumpy, spooked. Cut it out, she told herself.

  And that’s when her cell phone rang.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t called you in a few days.”

  When she heard Zach’s voice, she felt almost dizzy with relief. In the background there were sounds of a bulldozer roaring and some banging and shouts.

  He must be at his construction site, she realized.

  “I’ve been dealing with some business problems,” Zach shouted as the noise level swelled behind him.

  “You don’t owe me any explanations.”

  “That’s a lot of bull, Faith. We both know that isn’t true. Come over to the ranch and have dinner with me tonight. We need to talk.”

  She knew she should refuse. She wanted to refuse. She took a breath and started to do just that, but instead found herself saying, “What time?”

  “Six-thirty.” The crescendo behind him grew deafening. “See you tonight,” he shouted into the phone and hung up.

  She told herself it was only dinner. His son would probably be there, and even if they did manage to find a moment alone, it didn’t matter what he had to say. Talking about the past, getting it out in the open, wouldn’t fix or change anything.

  But as she drove through the winding beauty of the foothills even as the clouds began to darken over the mountains, and the smell of approaching rain circled in the air, she wondered what she was going to wear.

  Not that it matters, she told herself, trying not to wonder what the evening might hold. It doesn’t. Not to me. Not at all.

  Owen had watched Faith walk down Main from the checkout line at Lucy’s Grocery and Drugs. He’d heard about her and Zach going on that date together to Casper, and every time he thought about it, his stomach turned upside down. Were they getting back together?

  Or was the past still standing in their way?

  He needed to talk to her—to someone. He needed to tell the truth.

  Sweat trickled down his forehead as he stood with his basket of Wonder Bread and frozen pizza, steaks, and beer. Candy’s death had triggered a fresh surge of guilt in him, one that was nearly pushing him to the brink.

  Why didn’t I go outside with her the other night? Why didn’t I follow her, make sure she was all right?

  If I had, Owen thought in despair, she’d probably be alive right now.

  It was bad enough, living with everything else he’d done, and knowing the ugly secret he’d been keeping all these years, but now he had Candy’s death on his conscience too.

  Owen’s head was pounding.

  Suddenly, all he could think about was Faith. He had to talk to her, tell her . . .

  As she reached her brother’s SUV and opened the door, he felt a surge of urgency so desperate he thought he was on fire. He glanced around, hoping no one could see the weakness inside him. He’d always been weak. And now even though he was old enough to be strong, to know better, to do what was right, the weakness still held him back.

  It always will, a mocking voice inside told him, but he tried not to listen to the voice. He hated that voice. Hated the guilt that ate at him. Now more than ever.

  He’d talk to Faith. She’d been his friend long ago. And she still was. He’d confess to her, and she’d help him.

  Wouldn’t she?

  No, the voice mocked. She serves the law. She deals in justice. She’ll hate you.

  But they said confession was good for the soul. He should just do it . . . confess—

  “Hurry up there, will you?” he snapped at the teenager at the cash register.

  He had to get outside before Faith left.

  The teenage boy ringing up groceries flushed the color of overripe tomatoes and threw him a resentful glance.

  Owen blew out his breath. He considered leaving his groceries, running after Faith before she could pull away . . . and then what?

  Tell her the truth? Just like that?

  There’s no need for drastic measures, the little voice whispered in his ear. Do you really want to tell her? You should just keep your mouth shut.

  He moved up in line as the woman in front of him set several brown paper bags into her basket and shuffled toward the door.

  At the same moment, Faith’s SUV pulled away from the curb. He caught one glimpse of her lovely, fine-boned profile as she drove away.

  Too late, the voice inside him murmured. Too late, too late, too late.

  Owen didn’t look at the checkout kid or anyone else as he paid for his groceries and left the store. He went out into the overcast grayness, drove himself home, put away his purchases. All except the six-pack.

  He sat down at the kitchen table and tipped back a beer.

  Coward. Weakling. Failure, the voice whispered in his hea
d.

  Why didn’t you stay with Candy the other night? Why can’t you do anything right?

  He finished the can and reached for another.

  “I’ll tell Faith tomorrow,” he mumbled to himself. He almost believed it. “I’m going to tell her everything.”

  He chugged the second Bud, but he could still taste the lie, bitter as a sucked lemon in his throat.

  He grabbed a third can and flipped the tab.

  By the time he swallowed the last drop in the six-pack, he didn’t taste a thing.

  Chapter 17

  ZACH GLANCED UP FROM HIS DESK AT THE sounds of boyish shouts and laughter wafting through his window. Dropping the contracts he’d been studying, he went around the desk to the window and grinned at what he saw going on near the corrals.

  Dillon and Brett Grayson were chasing each other around the yard with squirt guns, their shrieks and howls of laughter ringing above the breeze sweeping down from the Laramies. Then Batman came bounding from the trees, barking up a storm, and the noise level jolted up a good five notches. Even the quarter horses in the corral shook their manes and started to frolic.

  This is much better than video games and watching DVDs, Zach thought. His grin deepened. There was nothing better for a kid than some good old-fashioned fun. He and Jock had waged their share of squirt-gun fights, he recalled fondly. Not to mention wrestling matches, and horse races on the back roads behind the ranch. Boys loved to compete, to challenge themselves and each other. And Zach had won a good share of those competitions, despite the fact that Jock was older. But there was one contest he’d never won.

  The contest for their father’s affection.

  He’d come to terms with that a long time ago. It was all in the past. But after Dillon was born and became the light of his life, he’d vowed that if he ever had another child, a son or a daughter, he’d love her or him every bit as much as he loved Dillon. He couldn’t imagine raising a child any other way. Not when he knew what it was like to be on the outside looking in.