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  I kept moving, each step bringing me closer to the flashlight beam traveling in my direction, sweeping back and forth, as I’d done. I heard his boots crunch and even his heavy breathing, as I’m sure he heard me.

  He started talking before he reached me. “Come on back and warm up. The trainmen are here, and the officials are on the way. They’ll figure out what malfunctioned on the unit or the tracks and get their reports together.”

  I stopped and waited for him. “The NTSB isn’t here?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll call Ben Wolford in Broken Butte. He’s the coroner for Grand County, right?”

  I nodded. “It’s more than an hour’s drive, so we should notify him immediately.”

  Trey, a substantial presence at least six feet tall and bulky beneath his thick coat, shifted his weight and took a step backward, readying to return to the headend of the train. “Usually, unless we suspect foul play, he’ll have us act as coroner and fill out the reports. He won’t want to get out in this hellacious cold.”

  I didn’t follow Trey. “We’d better get him out here.”

  He rocked between his feet, as if impatient to get me moving. “I appreciate you wanting to do everything by the book on your first major incident, but really, forcing an old man to drive sixty miles in this weather might cause a heart attack.”

  I held my ground. “I’ll call Ben.”

  His shoulders dropped, and his head tilted slightly in his snuggly ski mask, as if in reluctant indulgence. “Seriously, the railroad investigators will figure out what broke and create a safety report to fix the issue and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  I sniffed at what felt like a runny nose, but since snot would freeze, was probably just the sensation of my relatively warm breath. “It’s not a safety issue.”

  “What is it then?” This time, there was no patience in his voice. It was plain irritated.

  “Murder.”

  4

  After the slightest pause, Trey’s voice betrayed amusement. “Murder, huh? In my experience in fifteen years of law enforcement, accidents are far more likely than murder.”

  “I understand that.” I turned around and started walking away. A quick glance down assured me I actually had feet, not solid blocks of ice.

  After a moment, he fell in with me. “Then what makes you think this is murder and not an accident?” Trey didn’t need to check out his feet. He wore Sorels, probably lined with Thinsulate and maybe even boot warmers. Sure, I was reaching on that, but I couldn’t stop the fantasy of warm feet.

  I didn’t answer until we’d made it back to the overpass. I pointed Big Dick to the underside of the bridge. Two wires dangled in the air, like no. 9 wire used for fencing. They were attached to a metal shaft bolted along the braces of the overpass. “That.”

  Trey stepped closer to me and trained his flashlight on the same area. He studied it. “What am I seeing here?”

  “That’s where a railroad tie was hanging. See how the wires are positioned exactly to the side where the engineer would sit?” I sniffed again. I couldn’t feel my nose, and enunciating my words was complicated by my frozen cheeks and mouth.

  A huff of disbelief escaped from his nice lips. “That’s some wild imagination you’ve got. I know you want to solve big cases and have all this excitement as sheriff. But the truth is, the crime-fighting world out here is routine. Dull stuff for the most part. You’d be better off not wasting your time looking for the obscure murders and whatnot.”

  If I were Sarah, I’d have a sharp retort to his patronizing tone. But I’d learned to swallow the quick jab, since it rarely helped my situation.

  He sounded like he held back a chuckle. “Why would you even think about a railroad tie? Why not a steel rail or a tree branch?”

  I lowered the beam to shine thirty yards down the tracks and out toward the barbed wire fence defining the right of way.

  Trey followed the light. His neck jutted slightly, and I imagined he squinted behind his toasty mask. “What’s that?”

  “The railroad tie that went through the windshield.”

  A second ticked by and one of the coyotes howled. Trey’s response came out slow and quiet. “The … um … those lumps out there. They’re…?”

  I clicked off Big Dick, letting the blue of the moonlight settle. “Not sure, but my guess is that’s what’s left of Chad’s brain.”

  5

  Trey didn’t have much to say while we double-timed it back to the front of the train. He finally spoke. “I’ll drive back and take pictures.”

  I pulled off my glove, immediately feeling the burn of the frigid air, and found Ben Wolford’s number stored in the sheriff’s favorites. Even after I explained the details, he happily signed over authority to me as acting coroner. I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to venture out on a night like this, but damn, that meant I’d have to inspect what was left of Chad’s body, smell that awful slaughterhouse odor again.

  Even an emergency C-section on an old cow during a blizzard would be better than this. With each step toward the engine and the bustling road crew, I reminded myself of my job. Grandma Ardith always said, “You do what you have to do.”

  As trainmaster for the Broken Butte subdivision, as well as county commissioner, Clete Rasmussen didn’t get to enjoy a cozy night tucked in at home. He’d probably just kicked his boots off from the swearing in when he got the call to head out here. Since he lived in Hodgekiss, it hadn’t taken him long to get here. He stood in insulated coveralls, cell phone pressed against his head, issuing orders. He motioned us over, and I rocked back and forth while we waited for him to hang up. “Lead engine’s trashed. We need a new unit.”

  He lowered the phone, looking wrecked. He covered his face with a thick-gloved hand and paused, dropping his head for a second. He blinked and found his normal scowl. “We’ve got a crew ordered. It’ll take some time to switch out engines. But there’s a siding up a ways and we’ll drop it there and tie it down.”

  Trey nodded. “NTSB will need to look it over.”

  “What about Ch-Ch-Ch-…” It was like the words stopped up in his throat. He coughed. “The body?”

  My jaw tightened. “I need to process the scene. Once I finish that I’ll release him to Eunice and Harold when they’re back from Broken Butte.”

  Clete stared at the engine, the blue and red lights mingling with the workers’ flashlights and headlamps. He cleared his throat and managed to say, “Right. Okay.”

  Trey and I headed to his cruiser and climbed in. He started it up and punched the heat, let out a breath and pulled off the ski mask, blonde hair sparking and standing on end.

  I slid my hands from my gloves but kept my cap on to conserve maximum body heat. I reached into my pocket for my phone, relieved the battery hadn’t dwindled in the frosty air. I ignored the herd of missed calls from my brothers and sisters and called the rescue unit. Eunice assured me they were on their way back.

  After disconnecting, I held my hands to the heating vents, gritting my teeth as they thawed. I kept my toes wiggling to encourage circulation, but I really wanted to cry and moan and bang the dash to wait for the pain to work its way out.

  “Damn, it’s colder than a witch’s tit.” Trey lodged his hands under his armpits like heat-seeking missiles. “Sorry.”

  He insulted my intelligence, discounted my observations, and the only thing he apologized for was using colorful language. “What’s the next step?”

  Trey seemed younger than I’d suspected, maybe inching toward forty. Fair haired, his skin flushed from the cold. Without his ski mask, his chin had a strong set. If that was an indicator of character, this man was a regular George Washington. “We need to work the scene so they can clear the track as soon as they get the new crew and engine.”

  I hoped Ted hadn’t moved the camera from the trunk of the sheriff car. “I’ll need to inspect the cab so I can release the body.”

  Trey pursed his lips. “I’ll do that.”

>   “Dead body would be a county issue.” I sounded more certain than I felt. Heck, I didn’t want to take one more look at the pile of flesh that used to be a man. I’m sure Trey didn’t crave the sight any more than I did.

  Trey pulled his hands free and flexed them. “The investigators won’t get here for a couple of hours. I’ll brief them and walk them over the scene. It’ll take at least that long to get all the pictures and secure the engine. The general protocol on murders, unless it’s something cut and dried, is for local sheriffs to let the state patrol handle the investigation.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that, but I welcomed his experience. “I’ll be glad for your help.”

  I don’t think he liked my response. Didn’t matter. We fought the cold for the next few hours. The railroad crew had bright shop lights so Trey and I were able to get the photos we needed. We inspected the busted windshield and even got some relatively good pictures of the apparatus under the bridge, though we’d have to get better photos in daylight.

  We kept watch while the EMTs gathered up what was left of Chad. I managed not to puke again when Eunice Fleenor and Harold Graham pried the frozen bits of the body from the walls and floor.

  We eventually retreated to Trey’s car while the relief crew switched out engines and the train chugged away. The heater blasted and still I shivered. Clete and the road foreman took their leave.

  Trey leaned back and closed his eyes. “I’ll wait here for the inspectors. You might as well head out.”

  I stared out at the black prairie. The moon had retreated long ago, leaving the night dark and cold. “Someone went to a lot of trouble to rig that up. Do you think it was set for any train or this one specifically?”

  Trey didn’t open his eyes. “No one could know what the tie would do or who would get hurt. It’s got to be some sicko’s idea of a prank.”

  Maybe. “But why would he hang the tie so it hit the engineer’s side? Why not center it, maybe take out both the crew at one time?”

  Trey let out an irritated exhale. “Let’s just wait until daylight before we round up suspects.”

  I tapped the dash. “It was dark so a black creosote tie hanging on the underpass would be hard to see, but if the engineer wasn’t even looking down the track, it would be impossible.”

  Trey opened his eyes and sat up. “You’ve got an excess of energy, and I know what you can do. We need to notify next of kin. Probably ought to do that a.s.a.p. before the conductor—”

  “Bobby Jenkins.”

  “Right. Before he gets on the phone and spreads it around. These railroaders are worse than a gaggle of hens when it comes to gossip. I swear they’ve got everyone on speed dial, like my mother’s prayer tree at church.”

  He might not have the best delivery, but he was right. Dad fielded calls and texts from his fellow conductors and engineers almost constantly. He also watched the train lineups on his phone and computer and knew who crewed which trains. Gossip circulated with the speed of lightning and sometimes the accuracy of a ten-day weather forecast.

  Ted had occasion to inform family of deaths, mostly from car accidents or farm implement catastrophes. It hung heavy on him for days, and he wasn’t a particularly empathetic soul. Before I ran for sheriff, I considered that sad aspect of the job and knew I’d be called on to perform it. I just didn’t think it would be on the first day.

  It would only take a few minutes to drive to Chad’s house. He lived a half mile north of the County Road 67 junction. Meredith, now his widow, could probably see the flash of the emergency vehicles blinking between the rail cars.

  After nearly freezing all my parts earlier, I didn’t welcome the nervous sweat breaking out under my coat on the drive to the Mills’s ranch house. I practiced my opening phrase out loud, trying for the right mix to show sympathy and strength. If someone knocked at my door to tell me about my husband’s death, how would I need them to act?

  An old, dented Ford pickup was parked under the yard light as I pulled up. Snow had been spitting for the last hour or so, but not enough to stick. I stepped out, my boots crunching on the dirt drive. The coyote’s call didn’t offer any advice.

  As much as I didn’t want to tell Meredith about Chad’s death, she’d want to hear it even less. I wove through the white vinyl front gate that separated a carpet of thick, dead lawn from the drive. Flagstones sunk deep and nearly buried led me to the processed wood porch.

  Though not large, their house was only a few years old. A two-story arts and crafts like you’d find in the newer suburbs. It didn’t look too bad out here on the prairie, just not authentically old and run down like most houses. I made it up the first step when the front door flew open.

  Meredith rushed onto the porch. She wore black yoga pants and a fleece tunic, her feet burrowed into down slippers. “What’s happened? Is Chad okay? Should we go to the hospital?”

  A tall figure appeared behind her in the doorway, silhouetted by muted light from the living room. He stepped onto the porch and rested a hand lightly on Meredith’s upper arm. He had a voice like hot chocolate, comforting and gentle. “Let her get inside.”

  She backed up, her eyes never leaving my face. She stopped in the middle of a small living room, tasteful in decor. A riveted leather couch and loveseat faced a fireplace with a crackling flame. The aroma of burning pine filled the room. Western art hung on the walls, cowboys and Indians, from my brief glance. The hardwood floors reflected the fire’s glow. A cozy nest for the childless couple that, if Bobby Jenkins was right, were devoted to each other.

  “Tell me.” Her voice leaked out as if she wished she didn’t have to ask. “Is Chad okay?”

  I didn’t remember what I’d planned to say. “I’m sorry.”

  She squeaked, her eyes wide and wet. A hand flew to her lips.

  “There was an accident on the train, and Chad was killed.” I could have told her I suspected someone murdered her husband, but there would be time for details later. Right now, she had to hear the news.

  Her knees melted, and in slow motion she started to sink.

  The tall man behind her moved gracefully to latch onto her arms and keep her from hitting the floor. He directed her to the leather sofa and folded her down. She wrapped her arms around her body and rocked. I didn’t think anyone could be that pale and not pass out, but she kept rocking while fat tears streaked down her face. “No. Oh no.” She threw back her head and screamed. The sound pierced my skin and vibrated to my bones.

  I stood helpless as the man knelt in front of her. “It’s going to be okay.” His words were meaningless, yet so true. Yes, in the grand scheme of Meredith’s life, it would eventually be okay if she let it.

  But for this moment and for many more to come, it would probably feel as though her life were over. She might even wish she’d been the one to die, feeling that maybe Chad was the lucky one not to have to fight through all this pain. Right now, “it’s going to be okay” might sound like the biggest lie ever told.

  She covered her face with shaking hands and doubled over. The deep sobs shook her whole body, and soon she howled, as forlorn as the coyotes in the hills.

  The man’s jaw tightened, and he winced as if Meredith’s wails stabbed him. He placed a long-fingered hand on her back and rubbed a small circle across her shoulders. This time, he didn’t say anything.

  I felt like a stupid lump in the middle of the room. I’d faced the death of my sister, Glenda, so I had some idea of her loss. I’d loved and depended on Glenda and knew the hole makes a deafening sucking noise as your world collapses.

  The man straightened and exhaled deeply. He backed away from Meredith and joined me. “I’m Josh Stevens.” He cast a sad gaze at Meredith. “She’s got family in Omaha. I’ll call them.”

  Josh Stevens. The name tickled some memory, but I didn’t bother to dredge it up. Including the shock of shaggy dark hair and his lanky build, he reminded me a bit of Abraham Lincoln. A much more handsome version, not quite so drawn, but with a quiet
dignity I’d imagined of the legend.

  “Thanks.” I might be a cynic, but something seemed strange. A married woman whose husband had just climbed on a train bound three hundred miles to Lincoln and wouldn’t be home for another twenty-four to thirty-six hours, late night, a man in the house. “What are you doing here?” I might have found a less confrontational way of asking, but I blurted it out.

  He blinked. He spared a look at Meredith then back to me. “Mere called me. She knew Chad was on a train heading east from the depot. She could see when the train stopped. She saw the flashing lights, probably the ambulance or you or whatever. She tried to call BNSF but couldn’t get through to anyone, and even if she had, they wouldn’t tell her anything. That’s when she called me.”

  The train had stopped a mile away. “Why didn’t she go check it out herself?”

  Meredith had resumed her rocking and brought her volume down to a sob.

  “She wanted to, but I told her to stay put. If there’s an accident, she couldn’t do anything but get in the way of people trying to help. If it was a train malfunction, she wouldn’t be able to help. It’s dangerously cold out there.”

  “So you came over after she called?”

  He shifted and his eyes flicked away. “I’ve known Meredith a long time. She can be…” He trailed off as if reluctant to talk about her. “My ranch is just a few minutes away down that road.” He pointed toward a south window, I supposed indicating the single-lane gravel road. “So I thought maybe I ought to drive over and calm her down.”

  I’d been at the scene for several hours. “You’ve been here since?”

  He nodded.

  “Was the yard light on when you got here?”

  Josh seemed taken aback by that. “As a matter of fact, no. Meredith seemed pretty upset about that, insisted I get the ladder and change that, even though it was dark and Chad’s train had already passed.”

  Interesting.

  Meredith dropped her hands to her lap. “Josh?”