Issuu

Mystery

Fresh out of prison, Merry McCoy wants nothing more than to stay out of trouble.

Until trouble finds her.

erry McCoy has served her time. Convicted of killing the man who raped her four years earlier, Merry returns to the family ranch in Hazel, Montana, where she plans to steer clear of the law. But when her cousin Lauri is accused of murdering an ex-boyfriend, Merry can’t let her be railroaded the same way she was. Setting out to prove Lauri’s innocence, Merry gets close to her former flame, Officer Jamie Gutierrez, the one cop in town she can trust. With Jamie and a noholds-barred parole officer backing her up, Merry discovers the town’s good old boys—and girls—still like to play rough. $14.99 US / $17.50 CAN ISBN 978-0-7387-3684-6

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SHOTGUN Moon

SHOTGUN Moon K.C. McRAE

Midnight Ink

woodbury, minnesota

Shotgun Moon © 2013 by K.C. McRae. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Midnight Ink, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Edition First Printing, 2013 Book design and format by Donna Burch Cover design by Lisa Novak Cover images: iStockphoto.com/1105240/Chris Downie, 20071989/Kenneth Schulze, 7629203/Christian Sawicki, 4733111/Daniel Cardiff, 14474933/Murat Giray Kaya Editing by Connie Hill Midnight Ink, an imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data McRae, K.C. Shotgun moon / K.C. McRae. — First edition. pages cm ISBN 978-0-7387-3684-6 1. Rape victims—Fiction. 2. Retribution—Fiction. 3. Cousins—Fiction. 4. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. I. Title. PS3613.C5877S56 2013 813'.6dc23 2013012988 Midnight Ink Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd. 2143 Wooddale Drive Woodbury, MN 55125-2989 www.midnightinkbooks.com Printed in the United States of America

dedication For Bob and Mark

acknowledgments It truly takes an amazing number of people to get a book into print, and I’m so very grateful to everyone who was involved with this one. The hardworking team at Midnight Ink includes Terri Bischoff, Courtney Colton, Bethany Onsgard, Connie Hill, and Lisa Novak. Without them this would just be a pile of paper on the corner of my desk. My writing buddies Mark Figlozzi and Bob Trott provided advice, detailed feedback, and unstinting support, especially for this book—thanks, guys! The ladies of the Old Town Writing Group—Janet Freeman, Dana Masden, Laura Pritchett, Laura Resau, and Carrie Visintainer—keep me on the straight and narrow, make me laugh, and ask the tough questions. Bizango.net is responsible for my awesome website. And thank heavens Kevin Brookfield is my forever cheerleader, inspiration, and moral support when I’m pretty sure I have no freaking idea how to write a book. Additional thanks go to Debbie Main and Joe Werner for name suggestions. Maurice Robkin gave me loads of information about guns (pardon the pun), and Leslie Budewitz answered my legal questions early on. The folks at Washington Outdoor Women taught me to tie flies and cast, and Caitlin Hartford taught me how to ride western. Anything I got wrong is my own fault, not theirs. Then there are the people who read the book—or parts thereof—that contained the seeds for this one. They include Tom Martin, Jeff Weaver, Ed Cattrell, Rod and Nita Lindsay, Margot Ayer, Kevin Fansler, Stacey Kollman, Jody Ivy, Mindy Ireland, Tamera Manzanares, Marjorie Reynolds, Stasa Fritz, and Aimee Jolie. Finally, let’s not forget the real McCoys—my cousins Gary and Marsha, from whom I borrowed the name, and my great-grandmother, Essie McCoy.

one

Daylight beckoned from the far end of the dark, cementwalled corridor. It seared her pupils, blinded her to what lay beyond. But she strode forward. Eager. Seeking the light’s promise. Then the great metal gate clanged open, and Merry McCoy stepped through to the dusty asphalt outside for the first time in four years. Her eyes adjusted. A yellow, placarded cab waited fifty feet away, the driver craning his neck to look at her. Ignoring him, she tipped her face to the relentless Texas sun as if the exact same light didn’t shine down on the prison compound behind her. “You got a place to stay?” The guard accompanying her wasn’t a bad sort. Not as bad as most of the others. But Merry wouldn’t be adding the woman to her Christmas card list. Or anyone else from inside those high walls, for that matter. Merry nodded. “Where?”

“None of your goddamn business.” That felt good. Really good. Merry allowed a smile to curl her lips and turned to face her former keeper. The guard scowled. Too bad, Merry thought. Nothing she could do about No. 26492’s bad attitude this time. The woman made a noise in her throat and went back inside. As the gate slid closed between them, their eyes met. The smile on Merry’s face hardened, then dropped. She turned back to the road. The cloying, muggy heat pressed against her cheeks. Soon she’d be home in the dry clime of western Montana, on the family ranch outside the little town of Hazel. Some things might be bigger in Texas, but they didn’t call where she came from Big Sky Country for nothing. The Last Best Place. The only place she ever wanted to be again. If only Mama could have been there to welcome her back. Anger flared again at the thought that cancer took her while Merry had been locked away. She hadn’t been there to help her mother during the long illness, to be there during her final days, to properly say goodbye. The funeral had been well-attended, but Elsa McCoy’s only daughter hadn’t been there for that either. But now, just after turning thirty-two, she was out. Mama’s sister, Shirlene Danner, would be waiting for her at the airport in Missoula tomorrow. That would do. That would most certainly do. It had to. Plucking at the shoulder of her T-shirt where her cellmate had soaked it with goodbye tears, she straightened her shoulders and strode toward the taxi. She’d leave behind the wasted years in the huge concrete institution. She’d eat whatever she wanted. Get up

when she wanted. Go to bed when she wanted. And only be nice to people she actually liked. She got in and told the driver to take her to the nearest Motel 6. As the car began to roll, sudden fear stabbed Merry’s chest. What did the people she’d known her whole life think of her now? She’d heard her ex-husband had lived in Hazel for a while after she’d been sentenced. Who had he talked to? What had he told them? It didn’t matter. Hazel was her home. Merry stared at the seat in front of her and focused on good memories. The tart-sweet flavor of chokecherry jam on white bread. Green tomato mincemeat pie. Cottonwood fluff floating through warm air, gathering next to curbs and swirling behind passing cars. The perfume of the dry, packed forest floor in the Bitterroot Mountains. The calls of bold camp robbers, tiny striped chipmunks and querulous Stellar’s jays. The sound of wind blowing through pine needles and yellow grass. Soon. She’d be home soon. ——— Aunt Shirlene drove her old pickup down the gravel ranch road and stopped in front of the house. Merry gave her a quick hug and grabbed her duffel from the bed of the truck. Angles plied her aunt’s face, which was striking if not conventionally attractive. The nose provided a hawkish air, laugh lines graced her gray eyes, and fine wrinkles from smoking all of her adult life radiated from her lips. Her hair shone the same bottled Titian blonde it always had, only now it was cut quite short. She’d kept her birdlike figure over the years.

Shirlene leaned her head out of the open window. “You’re coming for dinner on Sunday.” It wasn’t a question. “I promise,” Merry said. “But for the next few days I’m probably going to stick around here. Get acclimated.” She wanted a few days to settle in by herself before braving the rest of the world. “Of course, hon. You call if you need anything.” She put the truck into gear and waved as she pulled away. Merry watched her aunt leave, eventually turning west onto the county blacktop. Then she turned and climbed the porch steps, opened the door with the key Shirlene had given her, and walked into the living room. During the whole drive to Hazel, her anxious anticipation to see the house where she’d grown up had increased with each mile marker flashing past. But now she stopped, swamped by the juxtaposition of the familiar irrevocably changed. They were all dead now. First Daddy. Then Drew. And now Mama. The furniture was all the same, from the dark green velveteen couch with the crocheted cream-and-rose afghan draped across the back, to the regal sideboard that sat against the opposite wall, handed down from her mother’s grandmother. Four well-worn bookshelves filled the remaining wall space. Silky fringes ringed the bottom of the lampshade. But her knowledge of these things was a hollow intimacy. This house no longer had a soul. Absence rode the air. Daddy had died of a heart attack when Merry was seventeen. Her older brother Drew had been long gone from home by the time he died, working on a freighter that ran up and down the eastern seaboard. It caught fire and went under, taking Drew and several other crewmembers with it. There was no burial, for there was no body. Her mother had arranged a memorial service in the highest 4

meadow on the family ranch, and then life had disconcertingly picked up its usual rhythm. Merry had expected death to have more impact on the living. And now, in this empty house, she realized it had more impact than she could have ever imagined. ——— Lauri Danner looked up the address in the phone book: Barbie Barnes, 511 E. 8th Street. She waited until after sunset—well after nine o’clock so far north in late June—before she drove by. A white picket fence surrounded the small white house. A tidy porch looked out on a postage-stamp lawn. Unbearably traditional. Barbie doll wasn’t home. No one was home, but the door was unlocked. How convenient. The perfect opportunity to further her campaign to get Clay back. Fingering the knife in her pocket, she slipped inside and closed the door quickly behind herself. ——— Later, back home, Lauri couldn’t sleep. She lay awake, anxious and angry, watching the fitful dance of light and shadow cast by the two candles burning on her bedside stand. Had Barbie returned home to find what Lauri had done? Or was she spending the night over at Clay’s? It would be easy enough to find out. A few peeks in the windows. Just to see. And if Barbie doll wasn’t there? Well then, Lauri could go ahead with the other part of her plan. Clay had always been a night owl, staying up late unless he had to work the early shift. Her spirits rose at the thought.

Passing her mother’s bedroom, she heard light snoring. A heavy sleeper, Shirlene wouldn’t hear the Honda start. Not that it mattered. Lauri was old enough to stay out late, or not come home at all. But she found it easier to avoid the questions. Mom didn’t really nag that much, but she kept trying to talk to her. Like Daddy had before he died. But it wasn’t the same with Mom. She didn’t understand like Daddy had. And now she kept talking about her cousin being back. Merry’s coming to dinner. Be nice to Merry. Screw Merry and her bad luck. Lauri had a life to live. Almost midnight. Empty streets and parking lots, except for the gamblers and drinkers making the most of a Friday night. Lauri guided her little Honda down the street where Clay lived, parking two blocks away. She’d dressed in black. Black stretch pants, ankle boots, a silky long-sleeved T-shirt, and a cute little baseball cap with “Girl Power” stenciled in pink across the front. She slid her keys inside her sock to prevent them from jingling and kept to the shadows as she worked her way toward the duplex. Little moonlight reached the neighborhood, but streetlights shone down at regular intervals, and bright fixtures illuminated some of the doorways. Their reflections littered the wet streets. A dog barked behind a fence. Adrenaline surged through her extremities as she hurried past. She heard the pop of bottle rockets, and from the next street over came the crackle of a much larger firework. Kids practicing for the Fourth. She’d better be careful; some tight ass would soon call the cops. At the edge of the driveway running along the right side of the duplex, she paused. His pickup was parked next to the house, and behind it sat an older primer-gray van. She squinted at the dented

passenger door. She hadn’t realized Clay and Denny knew each other. That couldn’t be good. She slipped between the vehicles, sidled along the front of the house. Blue light from the television flickered against the drawn living room curtains. Standing on tiptoe she could see over the sill, but not through the heavy fabric. A brighter sliver gaped at one end of the window. Craning her neck rewarded her with the view of a shoulder and the corner of the television screen through the gap. She recognized the shampoo commercial playing. Was the shoulder Clay’s? He leaned forward, and she saw it was Denny. A woman sitting next to him got up and walked toward the bathroom, long black hair swinging behind her. Barbie doll had much shorter hair. Lauri had been worried that she’d moved in with Clay but now knew she hadn’t because Lauri had been right there in Barbie’s own little white house earlier. She’d read the mushy birthday card from Clay. Seen the waterbed in her bedroom. A smile crossed her face as she thought about what she’d done. She didn’t bother looking in the unlit kitchen window. She moved around to the back of the house, to Clay’s bedroom. Lower to the ground, this window had easier access. Open to the night, only a screen separated her from the dark interior. Moving close, she peered inside. The red digital glow of the clock on the nightstand revealed the faint outline of a form on the bed. A single form. Good. She kept her breath shallow, silent. He was right there. He was sleeping right there on the other side of that window. Sleeping. If only she’d come earlier. He couldn’t deny their chemistry. He couldn’t deny the way she’d make him feel. She wanted to do things to him that would make him forget that Barbie doll. 7

Completely, totally forget her. It would only take one more time. That was all she needed. ——— The first night Merry slept on the porch. Then for four days she’d spent as much time as she could outside. The freedom to do so was one reason, but she was also reacquainting herself with the land. With the sense of her old, yet new, home. Maybe if she could touch the past firmly enough she’d be able to figure out how to make a future. Outbuildings marched in a clockwise arc northeast of the ranch house, which faced almost due north. Farthest out, the hay barnturned-shop rose into the clear blue above. One step nearer, the big red horse barn towered almost as large. Then the defunct chicken coop, and closest to the house, the garage constructed of unpainted wood so weathered it glinted silver in the late morning sun. Prairie grass turning from green to yellow ran out toward the blue-gray Sapphire Mountains to the east and to the foothills of the Bitterroot Range to the west. With her eyes fixed on that vista, breathing the sweet dry air felt like inhaling the sky. The insistent trilling of the phone pulled Merry back inside. The screen door banged shut behind her as she grabbed the telephone off the kitchen counter. Aunt Shirlene’s cigarette-etched voice rasped down the line. “Hey, it’s me. I’m down at the police station with Lauri.” A tiny icicle of fear slid up Merry’s spine. “Why? What happened?”

“She … oh, God, you’re not going to believe this. She found Clay Lamente dead this morning. Sergeant Hawkins is getting ready to take her statement.” “Jesus. Is she okay?” “She’s a mess.” A pause. “I don’t know—there’s probably nothing you can do. I just thought …” “Do you want me to come down there?” Pleasepleaseplease don’t ask me to go into the police station. “Well, it’s not like she did it, or anything.” Merry’s temples throbbed. “Did what?” “Clay was shot.” Shit. “Call a lawyer. Right now.” “What?” “You can’t let her talk to the police without a lawyer.” “You make it sound like they’re accusing her of something. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong—” “So was I, Shirlene. Wrong place, wrong time. Right side of the law. Look what happened to me.” Not that she’d been thinking about anything except survival. Zeke had wanted to kill her. Several long seconds passed in silence. “I’m sorry, honey,” Shirlene said. “I wasn’t thinking. You just never mind about all this, and I’ll call you when we get home.” “Call a lawyer. I mean it.” “The only lawyer I know is Eric Morris, and he only does wills and probate. It’ll be fine. This isn’t Texas.” Like Texas had the monopoly on wrongful convictions. “Shirlene—”

“I’ll call when we get home.” She hung up. Merry cradled the phone. She closed her eyes, leaned her forehead against the cool side of the refrigerator. Through the open window the liquid call of a red-winged blackbird beckoned from a fencepost. She turned so her cheek lay against the smooth freezer door. “Shit.” She swept her keys off the counter and into her fist. By the time the screen door slammed behind her, she was behind the wheel of Mama’s old K5 Blazer.

two

Following the retreating shimmer of early summer swelter rising from the highway pavement, Merry broke the speed limit all the way to town. But when she reached the end of Main Street and pulled to the curb in front of the Hazel Police Station, she switched off the engine and sat unmoving in the heat. Sweat trickled between her breasts. Lauri really wasnâ€™t her problem. She opened the door and her boots touched asphalt. She walked with slow steps toward the two-story brick building. As her fingers curled around the old wrought-iron stair railing, she looked up at the ancient bars over the windows that had once been part of the original jail. Their Old West grimness now screened wide-open, double-paned inserts that allowed light and air into the main station. The jail proper was now in the basement. A shriek from inside lacerated the air and she was up the short stairway and through the door.

The sudden dimness slowed her steps, and the clammy, airconditioned atmosphere smelled of scorched coffee and Pine Sol. Shirlene’s angry voice and then another, shorter cry of frustration and fright drew her past the unmanned reception counter and four cluttered desks to an open doorway. A long wooden table surrounded by chairs dominated a glorified conference room. Lauri sat sideways at the table, black streaks of mascara dribbling down to her jaw line. She didn’t look much older than when Merry had last seen her so much as … harder. Harsher. She wore too much makeup, heat and tears melting and mingling it like a box of crayons left too close to a radiator. In her teens, Lauri’s long brown hair had glinted with streaks of gold, but now the chunky layers around her face were dyed a flat, whitish yellow. Shirlene glowered at the man who stood on the other side of the table. He matched her glare for glare. His pendulous gut hung over the tightly cinched belt of his uniform, and his large flat face radiated a dangerous crimson. He clenched and unclenched his spatulate fingers into meaty fists by his sides. At one end of the table a skinny woman with large breasts and wide eyes held a pen poised over her notebook. A tape recorder rested on the table in front of her. “What’s going on here?” Merry asked from the doorway. The beefy man’s head jerked around. She became aware of what she must look like: holes in her jeans, dried mud on her battered boots, dark hair a tangle of uncombed curls, no makeup. “I heard a scream.” His eyes narrowed. “Really.”

“Merry?” Lauri sounded like a little girl. “Make him stop?” She met her cousin’s eyes and saw fear and vulnerability beneath the dregs of makeup. When she looked back at the policeman, his eyes narrowed in recognition. “Merry McCoy.” He grated out her name. She felt the blood drain from her face, then return in a sudden flash. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked around the doorjamb at her aunt. “What happened?” Shirlene spluttered. “He badgered her. He threatened her!” “Sarge?” Merry jumped at the word, the speaker so close behind her that his breath moved against her neck. Her lips parted in surprise as she turned her head, though in that split second she’d already recognized the voice: Jamie Gutierrez. The muscles across her back eased a fraction, and she found herself able to take a deep breath. “The girl’s hysterical. The mother’s not helping, either.” The fat guy, who Merry assumed was Sergeant Hawkins, shot a surly look at Shirlene. “She’s gotta go so I can finish questioning the daughter.” Jaime took a step to stand next to Merry. He smelled like sage and leather. She took a deep breath as the sudden image of the last time they’d been together flashed across her mental movie screen. “Mind if I sit in?” he asked, giving her arm a surreptitious squeeze. “Yeah, I mind,” Hawkins said. “How ’bout you make yourself useful and get your friend out of here instead.” He jutted his chin toward Merry. Jamie’s face reddened. Merry looked at the floor and swallowed the retort that rose to her lips.

“Sergeant Hawkins, if I could speak with you for a moment?” The voice came from somewhere behind them, beyond the cluster of desks. Merry looked over her shoulder, saw a tall figure standing silhouetted in an office doorway. The voice and bearing suggested power. Hawkins scowled. He lumbered out of the conference room, hitching up his pants and pooching his lips. Merry moved aside to allow his passage, trying not to wince at his sour breath. She turned to Jamie in the doorway. “Lauri needs a lawyer.” “She’s just a witness.” “Bullshit.” “Merry …” “Don’t ‘Merry’ me. She doesn’t have to tell you anything.” Jamie’s look held so much sympathy she wanted to smack it off his face. Either that or cry. She set her jaw. “Officer Gutierrez?” The same voice that had summoned the sergeant. Jamie turned and walked to the other side of the room. She had to stop herself from reaching out and grabbing his arm as he left, his presence a comfort in this unfortunately familiar and unpleasant environment of law enforcement. In the conference room, Lauri snuffled. Shirlene hushed her in a maternal tone, raising her eyes to meet Merry’s. Merry leaned in. “You guys okay?” Mother and daughter both nodded. Lauri’s lip quivered, and she snuffled again. Merry looked at the female officer at the end of the table, and she nodded, too, her eyes showing a lot of white. 14

“Who’s the bossy one?” Merry gestured toward the men with her chin. “That’s the chief,” the policewoman whispered. Hawkins raised his voice and Merry looked back at them. He jabbed a stubby forefinger in her direction several times, punctuating what was no doubt a delightful tale about her past. Then he pointed at Jamie, who responded with a threatening step forward. The police chief shook his head and said something to both of them. Hawkins stomped off. Jamie threaded his way through the gray metal desks, stopping in front of her. “I’ll handle this. But you have to go.” She shook her head. “No.” “Merry. Stop it. You need to leave.” Across the room she saw the tall man watching their exchange. His unapologetic stare never wavered. “Trust me,” Jamie said in a low voice. “Please.” Well, shit. When he put it like that … Sergeant Hawkins reappeared. He didn’t smile so much as bare his teeth at her. “Checked in with your parole officer yet?” She looked at Shirlene, whose face was creased with worry. With the slightest movement, her aunt shook her head. Merry shoved her shaking hands in her pockets and walked to the door. Hawkins’s voice followed her. “I’ll be checking in with you, McCoy. Count on it.” She exited the station without looking back at him. And continued around to the side of the brick building until she was just under the open window of the conference room.

The rough wall scratched the back of her bare arms as she flattened against it, but at least she was out of the hot midday sun. And from the street, no one could see her listening. Jamie’s clear voice came through the screen above Merry’s head. “Don’t be frightened, Lauri. I know you’ve had a shock. But we really need your help. Do you think you could help us?” Silence. “If you could just tell us about this morning, then we can get on with doing our job, and your mom can take you home. How does that sound?” Merry thought she heard Lauri hiccup. “Can’t I do it later? I want to go home now. Please don’t make me think about …” A soft sob. “I’m sorry,” Jamie said. “I understand how you feel, but we have to know what happened. The faster you tell us, the faster you can get out of here.” “Just tell him, hon.” Shirlene’s voice echoed Jamie’s firm tone. “Okay. Jeez.” A pause. “I wasn’t due at work until one. So I went over to Clay’s this morning to talk to him …” “What time?” Jamie asked. “About ten. Do you want to hear this or not?” “Go on.” Lauri sighed. “No one answered. So I got the key and opened the door.” “You have a key to his place?” “I said I ‘got the key.’ Why would I say that if I already had one? I knew he kept an extra key under a rock by the side of the house. I got it and went in.” “Okay, you went in. What then?” 16

“I didn’t see anyone. So I went back to Clay’s bedroom …” “You went straight to his room?” “Well …” “Yes?” he said. “I might have gone into the kitchen.” “How about the living room. Did you stay there very long?” “Does it matter?” “I’m trying to determine how long you were there. And I want to know where to expect your fingerprints in the house.” Shirlene said, “Come on, Lauri. Just tell him. What did you do, shake the place down?” Lauri hesitated. “Well, no. I might have looked around a little bit. But I didn’t take anything, if that’s what you mean.” “What? Lauri—” Jamie interrupted. “Please, Mrs. Danner. If you’re going to be in here, you need to be quiet and let your daughter tell her story.” Then apparently to Lauri: “So you looked around a bit.” A sniffle. “Yeah.” “Maybe opened a drawer or two, looked in a closet …” “Um. Yeah.” Merry closed her eyes and shook her head. Not good. “Nadine? Would it be easier to transcribe from tape?” Jaime asked. Merry heard the policewoman say, “It sure would. I’m having a hard time keeping up.” “You don’t mind, do you, Lauri? Make life a little easier for Nadine? You were saying you looked around Clay’s place once you let yourself in …” “Yeah.”

“Please continue.” His voice became formal, and Merry guessed the tape recorder had been turned on. “I … I looked around in the kitchen, opened some cupboards, and looked to see what was in the refrigerator. Just beer and some leftover spaghetti. He really needs …” A long pause. “… needed … someone to take care of him. She sure didn’t do a very good job.” “She?” “That woman he hooked up with. Barbie Barnes. Anyway, I checked out the living room. I, um, opened the desk drawer, or maybe more than one. I was looking for a pen and paper so I could leave a note.” Lauri sounded defiant despite the tears in her voice. “That’s why I looked in the entertainment center, too. Just in case that’s where he kept them. I had to go to the bathroom, so I went in there. And I opened the other bedroom door.” “The other bedroom door?” “Yeah. His roommate’s, I guess.” “Who’s that?” “Um, I’m not sure.” “Then what?” “Then I went into Clay’s bedroom.” A long pause. “At first I thought he was asleep.” “He was on the bed?” “Yeah. I thought it was kind of weird that it was so late and he had all his clothes on. It was like he’d passed out or something.” “Did Clay drink much?” “He didn’t drink at all.” “Drugs?” “He hated all that stuff. Something to do with how his mom died.” “Okay, what did you do then?” 18

“I turned on the light. To wake him up.” Lauri’s voice quavered. Everyone waited. Merry picked at a cuticle and watched a beetle circumvent the edge of a puddle near her foot, tensing for what was coming next. “He was all bloody. There was blood all over the bed. It was so dark! His eyes were open, and …” Lauri’s voice faded as she spoke. The last few words came out little more than a whisper. “It was awful.” Merry’s hand crept to her throat as she tried to pushed away the memory of Zeke’s blood when she’d pushed him off of her—dark, yes, but also weirdly bright as it soaked into her clothing and smeared across her skin. “I know this is hard,” Jamie said. “There’s only a little further to go. Let’s just get through it so you can go home.” Lauri took a deep breath. “So I called Mom. I didn’t know what to do. I mean, I know to call 911, but for some reason I didn’t think of it. I just thought that since Mom volunteers at the clinic and everything she would know what to do about Clay. She told me to stay put and …” The rest disappeared into choking sobs. A click. Probably the tape recorder being switched off. Jamie said, “That’s fine. I think we’ve got what we need. Nadine, will you take Lauri to the restroom so she can recover a little? Then I’d like you to take her fingerprints before she goes.” Shirlene said something Merry couldn’t hear. Jamie said in a gentle tone, “It’s standard procedure, Mrs. Danner. Oh, and Lauri? Thanks for your help.” She responded with a fresh bout of weeping. The sound receded, then a door clicked shut and cut it off altogether. “I need to hurry, Jamie,” Shirlene said. “She’s a mess, and I want to get her home.” 19

“Just a few questions. When did she call you?” “At ten fifteen.” “Are you sure?” “I had my eye on the clock because I was watching for the UPS man. I’m out of solvent and couldn’t get started on the dry cleaning until it came.” “And what did you do?” “Like Lauri said. I told her to go outside and wait for the police. Then I called 911. I shut down the machinery and closed the shop, which takes about ten minutes, and headed over there. The paramedics had already arrived when I got there. Then that dickhead sergeant showed up and told us to follow him here.” “What happened when you got to the station?” “He put us in here. We waited for a while. I went out front and called Merry. Then he came in and started asking Lauri where she was last night, and what she and Clay had fought about.” Merry swore under her breath. Hawkins obviously disliked her, but that didn’t make him a bad cop. Still, she didn’t trust him one iota. “He didn’t even give her a chance to answer before he was asking her something else, or yelling at her,” Shirlene said. “What the hell is his problem?” Jamie sighed. “It’s just the way he operates. I’m sorry.” “Well, thank God you took over. You need anything else from me?” “No. As soon as we have her prints, you can take her home. We’ll let you know if anything else comes up.” Merry heard them leave the room, but stayed where she was on the off chance she’d overhear Jamie or Hawkins say something 20

about Lauri. All she heard were indistinct voices. Tilting her head, she strained to discern the words. She tried standing on tiptoe and closing her eyes. “Don’t let Rory Hawkins catch you out here.” She whirled at Jamie’s words. He stood two feet away from her.

three

Jamie gave her a lopsided grin. “You’re a sneaky one, aren’t you?” Merry said, trying to ignore the spurt of adrenaline whipping through her vitals. And more than adrenaline. The tiny kernel of desire shocked her. It had been so long since she’d felt anything like it that she almost didn’t recognize the feeling. “How’d you know I was here?” she asked. “Where else would you be?” She began to retort, but he held his finger to his lips and led her toward the back of the building. His usual bouncy step was uncharacteristically devoid of bounce. He paused next to a mud-brown dumpster in the alley. “Eavesdropping can go both ways,” he said. The hot odor of decomposition boiled out of the garbage bin. They moved farther down the alley and stopped behind the Rexall Drugstore. Merry finally allowed herself to smile. “It’s good to see you.”

His grin crinkled the corners of his eyes first, then exposed his straight white teeth, bright against summer-dark skin. “You look great, Mer.” Just in time, she stopped her hand from moving up to her hair, an instinct she’d thought long forgotten. Jamie’s grin dropped away, and he let out an exasperated whoosh of air. “Rory Hawkins could be a real problem.” “Why’s he got such an issue with me? I’ve never even met him before.” “He’s a friend of Rand’s.” “Oh.” She felt an odd weakness in her legs, and locked her knees so they wouldn’t buckle. “Oh,” she said again. “I thought Rand left town.” “He did. He’s in Wyoming from what I hear.” She nodded slowly in relief. “Still conning landowners for his father.” Her ex-husband worked for his family’s oil company, convincing ranchers and farmers to part with their mineral rights so Daddy could come in and pump out the crude. “But Hawkins and he got to be pretty good buddies before he left,” Jamie said. “So naturally, Rand’s side of Zeke’s death is the only one he knows.” “Sergeant Hawkins is a misogynistic prick. Rand’s side’s the only one he could understand.” “Maybe.” “Believe me,” Merry said. “I know the type.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Just be careful, okay?” The platinum band on his left hand flashed in the sunlight. A sudden arrow of jealousy surprised her. “Yeah. Okay.” She tore her gaze from his wedding ring. Reaching out, she touched his forearm with her fingertips. His skin was hot from the sun. “What kind of trouble is Lauri really in?” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Her behavior is suspect—letting herself in, searching the place like that.” “If that’s what she was doing. Maybe it happened just like she said. If you know Lauri, that’s pretty normal behavior for her.” “You heard all of it?” She nodded. “Well, she is kind of a pill,” Jamie said. “But hinky behavior’s still hinky, whether someone acts that way all the time or not.” Merry was silent. Lauri was a lot of things, but she was also family. He went on. “We still don’t know enough. I’m going over to Lamente’s place now.” “Can I come with you?” Brow wrinkled, he quirked up one side of his mouth. “No.” “But maybe you could call me later and let me know what’s going on?” He hesitated. Then, “I’ll try. But we have to play this thing by ear.” She nodded. Between their friendship and his job, Jamie was wedged firmly between the proverbial rock and hard place. ———

Jamie turned and walked back through the alley to the police station while Merry, unwilling to encounter Rory Hawkins again so soon, circled around the drugstore to Main Street. Shirlene’s Dry Cleaning was next to the Suds ’n’ Fluff Laundromat. Weathered cracks in the blue exterior paint exposed dark red brick underneath. Her aunt’s business, funded five years before by Uncle Al’s life insurance, provided steady income, made more so when Shirlene began taking in laundry from local roughnecks and ranch hands. The story was that her career twist began when a young man toted in one of the ranker piles of clothing she’d come across, placed them gingerly on the front counter, and asked in a polite voice if she could see her way clear to helping him out. The laundromat next door wouldn’t let him use their machines for his work clothes, and the trailer he was staying in didn’t have a washer. She told him he could have them the next day, naming what she thought was an outrageous price. He kept smiling, nodded, touched the bill of his cap, and left. If he had been dismayed, she might have lowered her price, but he hadn’t. That night, she ran the clothes through the washing machine in the laundry room off her kitchen. Twice, with an extra dose of Borax and very hot water, just as she had with her husband’s for so many years. When the roughneck returned the next day, he brought a couple of friends, each with their own garbage bag full of filthy clothes. Word got around. After six months she had enough extra money to buy an industrial washing machine and dryer, which she installed in the back of her shop next to the dry cleaning machinery. Down the street, Harlan’s Hardware, Garden, and Feed still sold a little bit of darn near everything. Further down, the Dairy Shack 25

hunkered in the middle of a large dusty lot, looking abandoned. The teenagers who collected there to eat hotdogs and ice cream wouldn’t show up until evening. Between these landmarks, many of the storefronts on Main now held trendy little shops and bric-a-brac dens to satisfy tourist tastes. The edge of town boasted evidence of new construction: a 7-Eleven, a tiny Kingdom Hall, a Chevron with a drive-through carwash. Ropes of neon tubing, pale in the midday sun, outlined the Lucky Lowdown Casino in flashing magenta. The parking lot behind backed up to a hay field that stretched toward the blue foothills of the Sapphires. But the changes mattered little to her visceral recognition. At the core Hazel, Montana was still her hometown. She hadn’t lived there for six years. During the first year as a less-than-blissful newlywed, she’d visited often, and she was able to come home twice during the year before her trial. The next four she spent in a privatized Texas prison after a jury of her supposed peers found her guilty of manslaughter. She’d moved to Dallas— flat, humid, drawling Dallas—when she married Rand, but it had never really been her home. She’d convinced the parole board of that, and now that they’d let her leave she’d never set foot in the state of Texas again. Hurrying to the Blazer, she glanced at her watch. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t met with her parole officer yet. She’d left a message for her but hadn’t received a call back. Merry had been delighted to learn she wouldn’t have to make a weekly trip to Missoula to check in. Though small, Hazel was the county seat and boasted a hundred-year-old courthouse, two judges, and one poor soul to baby-sit the various offenders on parole 26

throughout the county. That same parole officer also contracted to the Montana Interstate Compact Unit, which supervised parolees from other states. The downside of having her minder so close at hand was that Hawkins would know the woman. But how well? Was he just pawing air, or could he really sabotage her parole? Dread gnawed below her sternum, but the urgent need to assess Hawkinsâ€™s threat potential overrode it. Merry needed to know if sheâ€™d be reporting to an active adversary or merely a weekly annoyance. She had no paperwork, no appointment, and looked like hell. But she remembered the address. Good enough. A block off Main she found the two-story brick home that had been converted into offices. On the lawn in front, a painted wooden slab advertised the Hazel Office Mall. Next to it, a chainsaw carving of a grizzly cub waved at passersby. Running nervous fingers through her hair, she stepped to the cement walkway that led from the sidewalk to the front door. A slight breeze whispered through the cottonwood leaves above, carrying the sharp scent of hot tar. A road crew was working somewhere nearby. Inside, a small foyer narrowed to a long hallway that led straight through to the alley in back. The heavy wet odor of carpet shampoo accounted for the vivid yellows and oranges of the ugly paisley carpet. She started toward the rear of the building, examining plaques on the doors as she went. She stopped and put one hand on the wall when she saw it. Unexpected and unwelcome, the name on the door halfway down the hall had nothing to do with finding her parole officer. 27

It had everything to do with the past. Kate O’Neil. Attorney. No doubt she was an excellent lawyer. Kate had excelled at everything she’d ever tried. Well, everything except keeping Rand faithful. But that was like trying to stop the universe from expanding. His peccadilloes were hardly her fault. At least she hadn’t blamed herself. She’d blamed Merry. What was Kate doing back in Hazel? She was smart enough and tough enough to make it in a larger pond. Plus, the money here had to suck. Merry balked at the thought that this might be the solution to Lauri’s problem. She’d wanted an attorney, one with a strong sense of justice and the brains to back it up, and here one had been dumped in her path. That Kate would probably toss her out on her ear for having the sheer nerve to ask for help didn’t mean it wasn’t worth the risk. Her hand crept toward the doorknob. A rustle from behind the door made her heart buck, and her hand jerked back. After she’d seen the parole officer. She’d come back then. Kate was probably busy right now, anyway. Sweating in the dim, humid heat, Merry located the office she wanted by the back door. Not knowing whether she was supposed to or not, she knocked lightly. “Come on in!” a voice sang out from the other side. Seated behind a desk piled with neat stacks of files and loose paperwork, a woman with tight iron-gray curls and deep lines radiating from the corners of her eyes peered at her over a pair of

half glasses. She stopped typing on the keyboard in front of her and beamed. “Merry McCoy. Good Lord, girl, what’d you get yourself into?” She finger-walked through several files until she located the one she wanted. “Well, get in here, take a load off. I’m not gonna bite.” Hesitant, Merry advanced into the room, combing her memory. “Mrs. Sonberg?” “Not anymore, I’m not. Yvette Trager, at your service. Well, so to speak. I finally gave that sonofabitch Sonberg the heave ho five years ago. Don’t know what took me so long. But you just call me Yvette, now, okay?” Merry eased into the chair across from the desk. No wonder she hadn’t recognized the name. Mrs. Sonberg had been the secretary at the high school for over two decades. Her hair had been darker then, but the blue eyes remained the same—able to penetrate your bullshit as if she possessed some specialized x-ray vision. “I called, but when I didn’t hear back, I thought I should drop by.” “Glad you did. I’ve been gone to a conference for the last four days, and I’ve just gotten behinder and behinder.” Yvette Trager opened the file and sat back in her chair. She wore matching polyester slacks and a long-sleeved tunic the same blue as her eyes. On the floor, a fan moved enough air in the room to make it tolerable without disturbing any of the paperwork. The shrieks of children at play drifted through the open window. “So what happened?” she asked. Merry looked out at the street. “I’m sure it’s all in there.” “Some of it is. The official stuff. But that’s not what I asked. How am I supposed to help you if I don’t know the whole story?” “I didn’t know you were supposed to help me at all.” 29

“Just keep an eye on you, huh. Make you toe the line. Watch your P’s and Q’s. Cross your T’s and—” Merry half-grinned and held up her hands. “Okay, okay.” “—dot your I’s.” “So there’s an alternative?” “Well, no. More like a bonus. Icing on the cake. Gravy … I’m starving. Let’s go get us some lunch over at the Moose.” “Right now?” Yvette cocked her head to one side. “Afraid to be seen with me?” “Of course not.” Silence. Just more of that look. “Okay, maybe a little.” “Too bad. ’Sides, there’s not a soul who gives a damn who doesn’t already know all about you. The rest don’t care. Might as well face up to that now.” Merry sighed. “Yes, ma’am.” Yvette snorted. “I encourage that kind a talk from most a the dumb shits I work with, but you can skip the formalities.” “That mean you’re buying?” “Dream on, honey.” ——— They walked the couple of blocks to the Hungry Moose Diner, where the lunch crowd filled most of the tables and booths. The owner’s daughter, Janelle Paysen, who waitressed or cooked as the need arose, stood with one denim-clad hip slung against the counter chatting with a handsome young man wearing a battered seed cap. When she saw Yvette, she waved them toward the back.

Merry inhaled the potpourri of grease, coffee, and toasted bread. Well-worn white tile, red Formica, and chrome gleamed in the bright daylight streaming through the large windows. At a table in the far corner, a disheveled man leaned over his plate, intent on shoveling the mountain of eggs, chicken-fried steak, and biscuits and gravy in as fast as he could. A crumpled pack of cigarettes sat next to his plate. Heads turned to watch as they made their way through the tables to the back corner. Merry walked quickly, studying the floor. Had people talked about her when she was gone? Did any of them already know that Clay Lamente had been killed? Or that her cousin had found him? Yvette slid into a booth. “Welcome to my second office.” Merry cleared her throat and sat down across from her. The idea of telling her parole officer about how she’d spent her morning crossed her mind, but she rejected it immediately. No need to volunteer information she didn’t have to. Janelle followed behind with coffee. Not bothering with menus, Yvette ordered the pork sandwich, and Merry asked for a tuna melt. The Moose’s tuna melt was on her list of freedom foods. After Janelle left, Yvette extracted the file she’d stuck in her capacious satchel. She pushed aside her coffee cup and silverware and handed Merry a pamphlet. “These are the rules. Follow them.” Merry glanced through the meager pages. “Looks simple enough.” She folded them and tucked them in her back pocket. Yvette leaned forward and impaled Merry with her gaze. “Well, you’re not exactly falling all over yourself trying to tell your side of the story. I’m guessing by now you know how that’s usually received 31

and pretty much don’t want to bother. But I can figure out some of it—there’s a fair amount between the lines in these reports, and I managed to get a hold of the trial transcript, so that tells me the rest, considering that I know a bit about your charming ex. And I know a bit about the company he finds himself drawn to. Got great taste in women, but he doesn’t understand them, and rotten taste in friends, and he doesn’t understand them either.” She paused and flipped through the file. “So what I think happened is this friend of Rand’s—what’s his name? Oh, here, Zeke. Anyway, this Zeke fellow was attacking you—” Her voice softened. “—raping you—and you made him stop. For good. Don’t know if you intended that or not, but that’s what happened. May’ve gotten a little out of hand, but I think it was self-defense to start with.” Yvette stopped and squinted at her, waiting. Merry clasped both hands around her cup to hide their slight trembling. She took a careful sip of coffee. Over time she’d woven a veil between the vivid memories and the present. Zeke’s contorted face hadn’t visited her dreams for more than a month now. Yvette continued. “But that wasn’t the end of it, was it? Well, it wouldn’t be. Someone was dead.” Janelle brought their lunch then, and Merry was grateful, both for the fast service and that Yvette had the good sense to shut up, even if it was only for a few moments. She hadn’t prepared for this onslaught, had thought checking in with her parole officer would be short and sweet—yes ma’am, no ma’am, I’ll see you next week, ma’am. Even the therapist at the penitentiary hadn’t made her feel like this. Of course, he couldn’t have found his way out of a paper bag with a flashlight and a map, so there was that.

When they were alone again, Yvette squirted mustard on her pork chop sandwich. “You ever see that bumper sticker, the one that says, ‘My wife ran off with my best friend, and I sure do miss him’?” Her first cellmate had made a similar comment, and Merry had managed to force a laugh. But she hadn’t intended to talk about what happened, and certainly not here in her hometown diner. But Yvette had created a hairline fracture in her practiced façade. Helpless to stop the widening crack, she struggled to remain silent, but the words tumbled out anyway, raw and awful. “Yeah. That’s about right. Rand was pissed because I killed Zeke, and he refused to believe I wasn’t fucking him for fun. ’Cause his best friend might do his wife, but he’d never be low enough to do it if she hadn’t seduced him first. That what you want to hear? Does it help you to supervise my parole to know that, Yvette? I got fucked, then I got fucked over, and now I’m fucked up. Does knowing that make your job easier?” Merry winced and looked away. The words hung heavy in the air. Too late to swallow them now. The elderly couple at the nearest table stared at her in horror. Yvette took a sip of iced tea, eyes on Merry’s face. “Yeah. It does.” She picked up a French fry. “And Merry? Don’t use those f-bombs around me. I don’t like it.” “That’s the Mrs. Sonberg I know.” Her laugh was bitter. Yvette pointed the fry at her. “And don’t ever, ever call me Mrs. Sonberg again.” Now her voice held real warning. Merry blinked. She popped the fry in her mouth and spoke around it. “You seeing anybody?”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Now you want to know about my love life?” “No. I want to know if you’re in therapy.” “Oh. No, I’m done with all that.” “You sure that’s a good idea?” “It’s not court ordered, so you can’t make me.” “Christ, you sound like a little kid.” She held up her hands. “Now, hold on. I’ve got almost enough from you for this week. You got a job?” After a few moments, Merry shook her head. “I’ve got the ranch and some money from Mama’s life insurance. It’s not like I’m living on the street.” “Are you actually working the ranch?” “No. Most of the land is leased to Frank Cain.” “Well, then look for something to do, something where you’re around people. Part-time is fine. Even volunteer work.” Yvette wiped her lips and tossed her paper napkin on the cold remains of her lunch, then scooped up her purse and Merry’s file. “I got to get back, get myself caught up so I’m only my usual day or two behind. Come see me next week.” Merry folded her arms. “When?” Yvette looked at the ceiling, consulting an internal calendar. “Tuesday’s pretty good. Drop by in the morning.” She stood. “And while you’re thinking about the job thing, I want you to think about what you’re going to do about that chip on your shoulder. I know you’ve been through a lot, but if you don’t do something about your attitude, you’re going to make more enemies than you can handle.” After she left, Merry poked at the uneaten tuna melt. She’d have to leave it on the list. The Moose’s tuna melt. Strawberry shortcake 34

with real whipped cream. Fried egg sandwich. Fresh-caught trout. McDonald’s French fries. Sun tea. Chips and onion dip. Moose Drool ale. Peanut butter and chokecherry jam sandwich. Chesterfried chicken. Double-fudge brownies. Freedom foods, all. Yvette Trager thought she knew what had happened, and she’d been right about a lot of it. But she didn’t know the whole story. Merry picked up the bill. And imagined the accusing eyes following her as she walked up to the register.

Shotgun Moon, by K.C. McRae