Betrayal in the Badlands. Dana Mentink
to the truck. A sign on the building next door revealed it to be the office of Dr. Lunardi, the person who had examined Cassie and pronounced her dead. He’d also helped Isabel make long-distance burial arrangements.
Isabel walked gingerly to the small building. A white-haired receptionist looked up from her keyboard. “May I help you, honey? Did you need to see the doctor?”
She felt suddenly flustered. Why had she come in? Her face flushed and she fought the desire to run out the door again. “Er, yes. I think I sprained my ankle. Could Dr. Lunardi take a look?”
The lady consulted the computer screen. “He’s got a few minutes. Come on back.”
She led Isabel to an examining room and went to fetch the doctor. A short while later Dr. Lunardi appeared, a small man with the dome of his head shining and smooth and a fringe of neatly trimmed black hair in a semicircle around his scalp.
“Hello, Dr. Lunardi. I’m Cassie Reynolds’s sister. You were so kind to help me make arrangements for her.”
He dropped his pen and bent to pick it up. “Ms. Ling. I didn’t realize you were her sister, with the different last names.”
“I took my mother’s maiden name.”
He fiddled with some papers on a clipboard. “Should have seen the resemblance. I was happy to help you with your sister. I can point you to the right people to plan a memorial service, too, if you wish.”
“I would like that very much.”
“Wanda says you’ve had a tumble. May I take a look?” He busied himself prodding her ankle.
“Dr. Lunardi, I wondered if you could tell me about Cassie, when they brought her in. John Trigg found her, didn’t he?”
The doctor nodded, but didn’t look up. “Yes, John called the rescue squad and they transported her here because…” He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m sorry to say it, Ms. Ling, but there was no hope of resuscitation. I pronounced her dead.”
“From the head trauma?”
“Yes.”
Isabel turned the thought over in her mind. “Was there anything unusual about it? Anything that struck you as odd about my sister’s injuries?”
“What?” He blinked. “No, not unusual. Why would you ask such a thing?”
Isabel sighed. “I wondered if there was something that I don’t know about.”
He stiffened. “Your sister was thrown by a horse and died of head injuries sustained in that process. That’s all there is.” He pointed to her ankle. “It doesn’t appear to be broken or fractured. Continue to ice and keep the Ace bandage on to help you get along until the bruising heals. If it’s not better in a few days, come back. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other patients. No charge for the visit today. Welcome to town, Ms. Ling.”
He hurried out of the room.
She rewrapped her ankle with the bandage and left the exam room. Wanda was not at her station and there was no sign of the doctor. The heat enveloped her immediately as she left the air-conditioning behind. Across the street, a cool spot of wooded green beckoned her. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to face it, but she knew she had to try.
Heart pounding, she made her way to the cemetery.
Cassie was buried here, the arrangements made long-distance as Isabel had struggled to scrape up enough money to fly here to South Dakota. Somehow she would have to come up with the cash to pay the bills when her credit card came due and to plan a beautiful memorial service for her sister.
There would be flowers and sweet music and someone to sing the old hymns like their mother had done when they were children.
Tears pricked her eyes as she entered the cemetery. Trees shrouded it from the road and the quiet was broken only by the twitter of birds. The headstones were well tended, the grass trimmed and many were dotted with small tokens or flowers from loved ones. Isabel walked slowly until she found her sister’s grave.
Cassie Reynolds.
Child of God.
What things would she have had written on the stone if she had known her sister better? Lover of horses? Willing servant who cared for their abusive father? But maybe willing wasn’t the right word. Cassie took on the role because Isabel had run, abandoned her family and left it all behind for her sister to deal with after that final, awful confrontation with their father.
The tears left hot trails down her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry, Cassie. I was weak and selfish and I waited too long.” She ran a hand over the grass that surrounded the stone. “Why didn’t I reach out earlier?” It was a question she had asked God almost continually since she had gotten the phone call three weeks prior. The grief squeezed her heart so hard she thought it would stop beating. “I wasn’t there to help when you needed me. I wasn’t even there to bury you properly. I’m so sorry.”
Sitting under the trees, alone with her sister, she let the sadness flow.
It could have been a few seconds or many minutes before the sound sank into her consciousness. An eerie, familiar tune that took her a few moments to place.
“The dear old flag…”
It was the strange song she’d heard right before someone had pushed her into the ravine. She leaped to her feet, whirling around. The song continued in soft, low tones.
She backed up against a wide pine and scanned wildly for the singer.
Finally she spotted him, standing in the shadows, leaning against a headstone. He was thin, dressed in brown pants and a tunic, slouch hat over his long reddish-blond hair. His eyes were pale, icy and metallic, as he stared at her.
Her mouth went dry and she could not force out a word. Her gaze slid down to his feet. Cowboy boots.
With a graceful gesture, he tipped his hat and gave her a wicked smile. “Afternoon, Isabel.”
Logan didn’t see Isabel at the truck, so he stopped in the grocery store. He didn’t need anything in particular, just killing time, but he came out with a bag nonetheless. Tank got up from his spot in the shade and greeted his owner with typical canine enthusiasm. Logan gave him a scratch behind the ears and loaded the supplies into the truck.
Still no Isabel.
He scanned every inch of the sun-soaked street. If she was still in with the police, he decided, things must not be going well. It wouldn’t hurt to drop in and check. He was headed in back toward the station when he heard the scream.
He took off at a dead sprint for the direction of the cry; the cemetery. Tank raced along beside him, matching him stride for stride. His mind took note of certain facts as his body hurtled along. Unfenced area. Cover from trees and shrubs. Plenty of places to take a shot, hide an assailant, conceal a body.
He gritted his teeth and crouched as he ran through the entrance, staying low, his route zigzagging as he scanned for any sight of her, or signs that there had been a struggle. He stopped to listen, sweat beading on his face.
Tank gave him a questioning look.
He quieted his breathing and listened again. This time Tank took off on his own, darting from headstone to headstone, moving steadily up the slope.
Logan ran after the dog until he heard it. The tiniest of noises, a shuddering hiccup. He headed for the sound, body still low, feet soundless as he could make them. It took him only a moment to find her.
Isabel was crouched in a ball behind a gravestone, her face stricken with terror.
When Tank bounded up, Logan commanded him to sit.
“Isabel.” He reached out a hand to her and she jerked back violently, breath heaving, eyes unfocused.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed.