Dark Signal Read online

  Was Chad the target, or would any train, any engineer, do?

  I climbed back into the cruiser and started her up. While the heat blasted, I dialed Trey. He picked up after a couple of rings.

  After his mumbled greeting I started in. “Whoever did this is smart or has construction experience. It took some doing to rig this up and precise measuring to get it just right.”

  He hesitated. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at the underpass. The rigging looks old, like maybe it’s used.” The winter blue sky faded to a colorless ceiling, not so much clouds as a dead sky.

  “Right.” He grunted, as if sitting up. “I’m not really awake. By the time the BNSF investigators left and I drove back home, the sun was coming up.”

  I hadn’t been in bed much longer than that and had been up a while. My eyes burned, and the need for sleep pressed in the middle of my forehead. “I thought maybe I’d head over to Meredith Mills’s this afternoon. Maybe get some idea if Chad had any enemies.”

  He sounded alert now. “Wait. No. You … you are assisting in this, not … I’ll do that.”

  “I’m sheriff.” I pushed it out with authority.

  “Yes. But you only took office—”

  I didn’t let him finish. “When will you be here?”

  It sounded like he was moving around. “I’m going to talk to NTSB and the BNSF guys in North Platte at noon. I’m sure they’re going to sign off that it’s a criminal issue and turn the investigation over. Then I planned on going to Broken Butte to the depot and talking to the trainmaster.”

  I put the car in drive and headed back toward the highway. “Clete won’t—”

  He didn’t wait to hear the rest. “I’ll swing back through Hodgekiss on my way home and brief you on what I find out.”

  I idled before turning onto the highway. “Meantime, I’ll go talk to Meredith.”

  “No.” He gave me a firm order. “You’ve never interviewed a suspect. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “Suspect?”

  “The spouse is always under suspicion. Don’t get overexcited on your first investigation. I’ll be there later on, and I’ll let you know the plan.” He hung up.

  His order rankled, but my thoughts shifted before I could work up a froth.

  What was Josh doing at Meredith’s in the middle of the night when her husband wasn’t home? They’d explained his presence, but if I’d been worried about Ted, would I have called another man to hold my hand? That comparison didn’t work because, for the first thing, I wasn’t given to worry. The second thing is that if I’d been concerned about Ted, I’d have gone to find him. And the third thing, if I had to stay at home and wring my hands, I’d call a sister or brother to come over and annoy me so much I’d be distracted.

  A gust tossed a handful of ice crystals scuttling across the highway. The milky sky showed no signs of sun or even a hint of blue. Black cows bunched at the base of hills, staying close to the hay that ranchers had strung along the colorless prairie.

  My phone rang, and I dreaded some curious citizen quizzing me about Chad’s death. I eased the gear shift into park and pulled my phone out. When I saw the ID, my heart jumped.

  I shot out, “What’s the news?”

  Impatience tapped at my forehead while I waited for Glenn Baxter to cough softly and wheeze in a long breath. “My investigator caught a whiff of Carly in Chicago. She’s tracking all of our Kilner brothers.”

  Glenn Baxter might be my unlikeliest partner. When I met the cable news mogul last spring, I accused him of murdering Carly’s granddad. Thankfully, he’d forgiven me and, because he was a steadfast friend of my late brother-in-law in military school, was helping me to find my niece Carly, who was on a mission to discover the cause of a heap of cash her father acquired before he died. The world may see Baxter as a mysterious billionaire, but I knew him as a friend.

  My heart dropped. “Just a whiff?”

  Baxter’s breath whistled before he answered. “I’m afraid the investigator was several days behind Carly.”

  “Still, it’s proof she’s okay.” Keeping the faith, as Dad would say.

  A pause. “She’d talked to Marshall Dugan’s administrative assistant.”

  I searched for the name, brushed away a few clouds and came up with nothing.

  Baxter hadn’t been expecting a response, he’d been getting breath to continue. “He’s CEO of First American Credit Union. The assistant thought Carly seemed interested in offshore accounts.”

  “Offshore is pretty broad.” I waited for him to speak.

  “Yes. But it’s something.”

  Not much of anything, really. “You don’t sound so great.” Subtlety didn’t come naturally to me, and with Baxter, we never bothered trying for the polite.

  He sucked in a shallow inhale. “I had a treatment this morning. It usually makes it worse before it gets better.”

  Baxter kept the particulars of his lung ailment to himself. I hoped with all his money and power he’d find someone to cure whatever plagued him. Not only because he was helping me find Carly.

  “Thanks for the update,” I said. We waited. I didn’t know what trotted through his mind, but for me, I liked our connection. Probably because he was the one person in my life I hadn’t known forever, who couldn’t list all eight of my siblings or the color of the dog we had when I was six. Except Baxter probably did know all that about me and more. He had investigators on his payroll, after all.

  “You were sworn in yesterday.” That’s what I meant about knowing things. “How is it going?”

  Aside from a murder? “Fine.”

  Wheeze in, huff out. “Good.”

  Riveting conversation, and yet we didn’t ring off. The blip of an incoming call made me blink and sit up. “Call coming in.”

  Baxter sounded as startled as I was. “Oh, sure. I’ll let you know if I hear anything about Carly.”

  I punched the new call to hear Marybeth’s dispatch. “Auto accident reported CR 67, seven miles north of Highway 2. No serious injuries indicated. Two vehicles remain at the scene. Called in by local citizen, who names the parties involved as Newt and Earl Johnson.”

  Great. The Johnson brothers went to school with dad. Bachelors, they lived on their family’s homestead in the same house. When they got along, which was about two-thirds of the time, they were the best of friends. When they were on the outs, no telling what might happen. One of their altercations in the Long Branch resulted in the bullet holes still decorating the ceiling.

  Marybeth laughed. “Best get used to these guys. I swear I sent Ted after Newt and Earl about once a week.”

  Huh. Ted never said much about the Johnson brothers. I thought I knew most everything he did as sheriff.

  I probably didn’t need to check it out since there weren’t injuries, but it was close, only seven miles from where I sat in my cruiser.

  White, cold sky spewed shards of snow into my windshield. Not enough to amount to anything but reminding me how damned cold January in the Sandhills could be. I shed my gloves. Sometimes, the winter produces a stunning landscape. The morning sky dazzles with blue to rival any sapphire. Hoarfrost shimmers on branches, and the air is so crisp it crackles. With no light pollution to distract, the night sky sings with the brilliance of millions of stars.

  That’s all true, but it also feels like January nights fall in the middle of the day. The sun slips low at four o’clock, and by five, it’s full-on night. Maybe, if you lived in Antarctica, the cold around here wouldn’t faze you, but for me, someone who loves the ninety-degree summers, the winters last much too long.

  It didn’t take long to find them. I slowed down and pulled over to Earl Johnson’s gold Monte Carlo, manufactured about the time my parents were thrilling to Charlie’s Angels on TV, half on, half off the pavement. Facing it, at the same whacky angle to the road, was Newt Johnson’s aqua Monte Carlo, same model and year.

  It looked like the cars had swiveled on the road and
careened partially into the barrow ditch, as if they’d hit a patch of black ice, though the road remained dry. Since neither car looked any more wrecked than normal, I figured the auto ballet was harmless and would have been fun to watch.

  Newt and Earl stared at me where they stood between the two cars.

  I pulled on my gloves, zipped up the coat and snatched a ski cap. Damn, it was covered in that Irish Spring Ted scent.

  I pushed myself into the icy air and crunched across the frozen grass, my feet immediately chilled in my ropers. I approached the boys.

  Since they’d gone to school with Dad, I placed Earl and Newt somewhere around sixty years old. The camo shirts they wore hung loose and nearly to their knees. The pants, also camo, looked like they housed sticks for legs. Thick-soled work boots completed their matching ensembles, and I wondered if they bothered keeping track of whose was whose on the rare occasions when they did laundry.

  “Howdy, Newt. Hi, Earl.” I waved at them both. “What’s going on?”

  “It all went to hell when the ladder flew off Newt’s rig.” That was from Earl. They weren’t twins, but they weren’t more than a year apart. Because their five-foot-seven frames were identical, and they always wore grease-stained caps they got for free from the feed store, and their faces were often covered in grime, the best way to tell them apart was to check the right earlobe. Earl, the older of the two, had bit off the end of Newt’s ear when they were toddlers. I doubt that was their first fight. I know it wasn’t the last.

  I needed a little more to go on. “You had the ladder tied to the roof? What made it come off?”

  Earl threw a thumb in Newt’s direction. “Noodle nuts can’t tie a knot to save his life. I was doin’ fine until the ladder flew off like a whirly bird. I hit my brakes.”

  “And you started to honk like a drunk goose,” Newt added. “That’s what scared me.”

  “It wasn’t my fault you ran off the road.” Earl grunted.

  Newt put his hands on his hips. “’Cause I had to turn around and see what your problem was.”

  Earl’s lips pursed like a snippy old lady. “I was tryin’ not to hit you.”

  They looked ready to tear into each other. “Anyone hurt?” I swung away from them to view the surrounding area.

  Newt answered. “Naw.”

  “You been to the sale in Gordon?” I asked.

  The Johnson brothers were known to collect trash. If you’d cleaned out that shed or barn where your grandparents, then parents, then you and your kids had been tossing items you didn’t want to throw away or maybe didn’t have time to drag to the dump, and you finally decided it all needed to go, you called up the Johnsons and they’d take it off your hands for a small fee. I never understood how they made a living collecting trash, unless they occasionally came across something valuable. But then, I never understood cigarette smoking or drug abuse or even Ted’s attraction to Roxy. Some addictions had no logic.

  “Nmge fungle sig,” Earl said.

  Newt wacked him on the arm. “She can’t understand you.” To me, he said, “Naw. We cleaned out some sheds today.”

  Earl stood up and stretched his back. “Out north Sunflower way. Rasmussen’s, Stevens’s, Kellers’.”

  “You boys can do a lot in one morning.”

  “Weren’t big jobs on any one place.” Earl smiled in a flirty way.

  I tested the rope on the ladder they’d reattached to Newt’s roof, wondering why anyone would paint a ladder black. It seemed secure enough now. “You gonna be good to get home?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Earl said.

  Newt looked me up and down. “You’re sheriff now?”

  Earl shoved at Newt’s arm. “Don’t be an igit.” To me, he said, “I don’t know what Ted was thinking. Most folks, when they trade in, they want something better. The man made a mistake if you ask me.”

  I can’t deny it was nice to hear, even coming from Earl Johnson. “I want you boys to be good, now. No more fighting.”

  They agreed. And like Mose and Zeke, my seven-year-old nephews, might even have meant it. But like my nephews, it was only a matter of time before they went at it again. I waited while they climbed into their Monte Carlos and drove toward the highway.

  I threw myself into the cruiser and leaned into the heat.

  Before I put the cruiser in gear my phone rang. I pulled it out to answer Milo Ferguson, Choker County sheriff.

  I pictured him leaning against his desk, his legs splayed and his belly hanging low. “Making sure you’re clear on the co-op traffic stop tomorrow.”

  Grand County sheriff joined the three adjoining county sheriffs every few weeks to conduct random traffic stops on Highway 2 or 61 or 97. Once or twice they’d intercepted drug runners. Mostly they caught speeders or issued fix-it tickets. I infused my words with gentle sarcasm. “Wouldn’t miss hanging with you boys for the world.”

  “Always a good time,” Milo said. He paused, then in a lower voice, like a kid whose mother makes him say something nice, he added, “Just want you to know I think a woman can do this job like any man. Welcome aboard.”

  I doubt he’d felt that way nine months ago, before I solved the murder Milo had been ready to pin on Ted. “Thanks.”

  I hung up and started down the county road. To the west, Chad and Meredith Mills’s house caught a slice of sunshine. Trey had told me to wait for him.

  My job. My county.

  I didn’t need Trey Ridnoir’s permission to do my job.

  I slapped on my blinker. Let’s see what Meredith Mills had to say.

  8

  A gravel road wound from the paved County Road 67 a quarter mile to the house. The two-story house looked newer in daylight, all clean with no chips or wear. The sage green siding resembled wood slats but would never peel and buckle like my parents’ house. A broad porch opened to the yard with wide steps, the railing matching the vinyl fence surrounding the yard. A modern steel barn that probably housed their car and pickup and maybe a garden tractor to plow the way to the county road loomed about thirty yards to the south of the house.

  The cruiser’s tires crunched to a stop. A spiffy silver Audi A4 and a black Lexus LS without a scratch, both with Omaha plates, parked next to Meredith’s red Volvo. The metallic paint of Meredith’s SUV sparkled in the sun. I’d heard grumbling about this fancy rig, mostly that it was too sporty and not American made. I knew it was US manufactured, but since it wasn’t a Ford or Chevy, it made some people suspect Meredith might be a Democrat.

  The Smith and Wesson was a lump on my hip. I rested my hand on it, decided I wouldn’t need it in the house and unbuckled the belt. I left it in the car and locked the door.

  In the Sandhills’ way, I knew more about Chad than our lack of social contact would merit. People talk and facts accumulate, whether I thought about it or not. I knew that Meredith and Chad had bought a few acres from Enoch Stevens, Josh’s father. Chad’s parents taught at Danbury High School for a few years. That’s where Chad had graduated. But his parents had moved on shortly afterward, and he didn’t have any other family around here. I didn’t know what drove Meredith and Chad to settle here.

  But they weren’t ranchers, so they’d needed a plot of land only big enough for their house and barn.

  I hopped up the steps onto the wide porch. Not the weathered wood of most Sandhills porches; the Mills’s was manufactured wood. The kind they’d never need to paint. Material that couldn’t be purchased until twenty years ago. As a rule, we Sandhillers didn’t splurge on fancy porches. We put that kind of cash into barn improvements, a new tractor, or that snaffle bit we’d been eyeing for a couple of years.

  I knocked on the door, praying someone stood close enough to let me in before my lips turned blue. A younger version of Meredith opened the door and reached out to pull me inside. She was all blonde hair and graciousness. “Oh my. Come inside. The cold is killer.”

  She wore skinny jeans and a sleek black tunic—a get-up not common out here. The tunic fl
irted around her thin curves, the long sleeves soft against her arms. A delicate silver chain circled her neck with a glinting diamond adding to her elegance. She held out a pale, thin hand. “I’m Emily, Meredith’s sister.”

  Meredith’s house smelled of manufactured flowers, as if an army of fashionistas had showered and shampooed and all the scents mingled in a garden of cosmetics. A small entry area opened into the living room, where I’d told Meredith the bad news. From there, the flowing floor plan made room for an oak dining table at the far end, with windows along the south and west sides. A counter bar was visible to the right of the dining room, and the kitchen must be around the corner from the bar.

  Feeling dowdy in my jeans and flannel shirt, all covered with my classy barn coat, I introduced myself as a friend of Chad’s. “How is Meredith?”

  Emily held out her arm to take my coat. “She’s not in the best shape right now.”

  “I understand.” She’d probably be feeling surrounded by dense blackness, maybe shrouded in sweats and huddled in a blanket, unable to do anything but stare into space and wait for the worst of it to pass.

  A ruckus drew my attention to the stairs. Thump, thump, thump. Pristine running shoes, then leggings, then a stylish long-sleeved athletic shirt backed down the stairs pulling a heavy plastic container box that banged on each step. Meredith’s blonde hair was scrunched into a bun at the back of her head. She made it to the ground floor. “There’s four more boxes upstairs. I think they’ll all fit in the back of the Volvo.”

  “Mere.” Emily’s voice carried just enough emphasis to sound a warning.

  Meredith spun around. Her eyes flew open when she spotted me. “Oh. I didn’t know you were here.” She sounded breathless and startled. Despite her grief, she wore a full face of makeup, even lipstick. Her eyes weren’t red rimmed, though they held a frantic gleam.

  I eyed the container box, clearly labeled Summer Clothes in black Sharpie. “Moving?”

  Meredith’s gaze jumped from the box to me. “Oh. Well. Sitting around was making me crazy. I’d been planning on cleaning out my closets and sending clothes to the women’s shelter in Omaha. Emily can take them back with her.”