Odd Man Out. B.J. Daniels
pushed out a chair for her at the table and pulled down some towels from a roll. He handed them to her and joined her at the table.
Denver took a deep breath, wiped her eyes with a towel and looked at the man before her. She remembered Max talking about his buddies from the army, but she’d never met this one before. Taylor Reynolds was a powerful-looking man much like Max had been. Only unlike Max, Taylor was soft-spoken and shy. He’d shown up right after Max’s murder.
“Max saved my life in the army—I owe him,” Taylor had said, standing with his hat in his hands on Maggie’s porch. “I’ll be staying at the Three Bears if you need anything.”
Denver had taken to him immediately, and so had Maggie. Denver knew it was because he and Max had been so close; in Taylor a small part of Max still lived.
“It’s tough, but we’re all going to get through this,” Taylor said now. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his big hands. He took a toothpick and spun it between two fingers.
“Who do you think killed him?”
Taylor’s face clouded. “A damned fool.”
“Do you think it was the hitchhiker Deputy Cline’s looking for?” She had a sudden flash of Max, the flicker of sunlight on the water behind him, the gentle lap of water against the side of the boat, the sound of his laugh floating across the lake. When she looked up, she realized Taylor had been talking to her.
“Denver?” He studied her, his eyes dark with concern. “You’re having a rough time with this, aren’t you, kid? Be careful. Don’t let Max’s death become more important than living.”
Denver looked away. The noise of the party seemed at odds with the silence of the darkness outside.
Taylor reached across the table and patted her hand, then quickly pulled back, obviously embarrassed by the gesture. He got to his feet. “I think that Cal fellow has had enough to drink. Why don’t I see he gets home where he won’t be bothering you anymore tonight.”
“Thank you.”
“We’re all going to miss Max, kid,” he said as he left.
For a few moments, Denver stood in the quiet kitchen, thinking about what Taylor had said. She knew he was right; Max would have wanted her to get on with her life. And he would have liked her to marry Pete.
“I want to know there’s going to be someone around for you when I’m gone,” he’d said the last time they’d talked.
Denver closed her eyes. And now Max was gone. Had he known there was a chance he might be killed?
The kitchen suddenly felt as if it were closing in on her. Denver took her coat and hat and slipped out through the side door into the night. A chilly wind spun a weathered wind sock on the end of the eaves. She ducked her head against the cold and pulled her coat more tightly around her. The snow had stopped; now it was melting, dripping from warm roofs and dark pine boughs along the street.
Cal had told the truth, she realized with a shock. Pete’s pickup was gone. “Men,” she groaned as she started the four-block walk to her car.
For days she’d told herself that it was all a mistake, that Max wasn’t really dead. Now as she walked the familiar streets, she acknowledged that he was gone. The truth came like a swift kick to the stomach. All the values she’d believed in, Max had taught her. She owed him her very life.
Her Jeep was parked in front of Pete’s apartment, where she’d left it earlier before the service. Pete’s pickup was nowhere to be seen. As she drove down Firehole Avenue, she realized how tired she was. All she wanted to do was go to the lake cabin and get some sleep. But as she looked down the dark street to Max’s office, she wondered again about what cases Max might have been working on, something Cline wouldn’t have recognized as a clue since he was so busy looking for a hitchhiker. Finding Max’s killer couldn’t wait, she realized. And nothing was going to stop her. Nothing. And nobody.
Chapter Three
Pete stood in the snowy shadows of the old log building at the edge of town listening to the night. Normally he loved this hour, when darkness settled in, cloaking secrets and regrets. Tonight, though, he felt vulnerable and afraid. Softly he knocked at the rear door. It opened a crack, then fell open. A hand grabbed his jacket and jerked him inside.
“I’ve told you not to come here. It’s too risky.”
Pete stumbled into the dimly lit room; the door slammed behind him. He followed the man to the front of the cabin. “I want to talk to the boss.” The man swaggered into the living room. Pete followed, realizing he’d been drinking. “Let me talk to him. Now. Or I’m walking.”
The man scowled. “So walk. You’re the one who wanted in on this operation.”
“If I walk, I walk to the feds,” Pete said.
“That would be real smart.” The man slumped into a chair before the fire roaring in the small fireplace. He picked up a whiskey bottle from the floor and took a long swig. “But that would be one way to meet the boss. He’d kill you.”
Pete looked into the fire. What little he knew about their boss reminded him of hell and the devil himself. “You going to call him?”
“You’re signing your death warrant if you mess with him.” But he got to his feet and went into the kitchen to the phone. Pete listened to him dial. A long-distance number. It took a moment and Pete knew the call was being forwarded somewhere else. Then he heard the man in the kitchen talking in a hushed tone, apologizing, explaining. Finally, he called Pete in and handed him the receiver. The look on his face warned Pete he’d stepped over the line.
“You have a problem?” the synthesized voice asked on the other end of the line.
“Look, Midnight, I’m tired of putting up with this bozo,” Pete said of the man standing next to him. “I want a number where I can call you. And I want to know why you had someone try to run me off the road this afternoon.”
Midnight laughed, the synthesizer turning it into a midway sideshow. “You certainly want a lot, don’t you?”
Midnight. How perfectly the code name described a man both dark and dangerous. “I’ve proven myself in your little organization, haven’t I?”
Silence. He could tell Midnight didn’t like the “little” part. “So you have.”
“I don’t like being threatened. You could have killed us both!”
Midnight’s voice turned deadly serious. “Yes, I could have. But I didn’t. Did it convince you how important it is to keep Denver from looking into Max McCallahan’s death?”
“I was always convinced.” Pete decided honesty might be the best policy, even with a man like Midnight. “But Denver’s determined to find Max’s killer.”
Midnight let out another carnival laugh. “Well, she doesn’t have to look too far, does she?”
Pete glared into the fire. The flames licked at the logs with hot fury.
“You said you could control her,” Midnight continued. “I don’t like problems.”
“I’ll take care of Denver. That was the arrangement.”
Midnight’s voice turned raspy with anger. “Arrangements can be changed.”
Pete knew if anyone would renege on a bargain it was this man. Hadn’t the truck episode proved that today? Denver had no idea what she was getting herself into if she persisted in searching for Max’s murderer.
“You’re sure the case file I’m looking for wasn’t at Max’s office?” Midnight asked.
“Yes.”
“Then that leaves the cabin.