“Maybe not, but boy, did she.”
“Screw her.” He kissed Rowan’s forehead, then her lips. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to go get dinner. You can listen to the rest of the unit express their pithy and colorful opinions over the fed asking you for an alibi.”
“Pithy.” That nearly got a smirk out of her. “I guess that would feel good.”
“Nothing like solidarity. Then, we’re going to come back here so I can give you an alibi for tonight.”
Now the smirk formed, quick and cocky. “Maybe I’ll be the one giving you an alibi.”
“Either way works. Let’s go before those hogs suck down all the lasagna.” He gave her ass a light pat as they started out. “And, Ro? Don’t worry. If they arrest you, I’ll make your bail.”
The laugh surprised her. And smoothed out some of the jitters in her belly.
15
A
fter her morning PT, Rowan made a point of going to the cookhouse kitchen. If there was one person who knew something about everything, and most everything about something, it was Marg.
“Lynn’s reloading the buffet now,” Marg told her. “Or are you looking for a handout?”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
With silver hoops dancing at the sides of her do-rag—yellow smiley faces over bright blue today—Marg reached for a pitcher. “You don’t want to have breakfast with your boyfriend?”
Rowan answered Marg’s smirk with an eye roll. “I don’t have boyfriends, I have lovers. And I take them and cast them off at my will.”
“Ha.” Marg poured a glass of juice. “That one won’t cast off so easy. Drink this.”
Obliging, Rowan pursed her lips. “Your carrot base, some cranberry, and . . .” She sipped again. “It’s not really orange. Tangerine?”
“Blood orange. Gotcha.”
“Sounds disgusting, and yet it’s not. Any word on Dolly?”
Marg shook her head as she whisked eggs. Not a negative gesture, Rowan recognized, but a pitying one.
“They found her car, down one of the service roads in the woods off of Twelve, with a flat tire.”
“Just her car?”
“What I heard is her keys were still in it, but not her purse. Like maybe she had some car trouble, pulled off.”
“Why would she pull off the main highway if she had a flat?”
“I’m just saying what I heard.” After pouring the eggs into an omelet pan, Marg added chunks of ham, cheese, tomatoes, some spinach. “Some of the thinking is maybe she walked on back to the highway, or somebody followed her onto the service road. And they took her.”
“They still don’t know if the remains in the fire . . . they can’t know that for sure.”
“Then there’s no point in worrying about it.”
Marg tried for brisk, but Rowan heard the hitch in her voice that told her Marg worried plenty.
“I wanted to hurt her, and seriously regretted not getting my fist in her face at least once. Now, knowing somebody might’ve hurt her, or worse? I don’t want to feel guilty about Dolly. I hate feeling guilty about anything, but I
hate
feeling guilty about Dolly.”
“I’ve never known anybody better at bringing trouble and drama onto herself than Dolly Brakeman. And if L.B. hadn’t fired her, I’d have told him flat he’d have to choose between her and me. I don’t feel guilty about that. I can be sorry if something’s happened to her without feeling guilty I wanted to give her the back of my hand more than once.”
Marg set the omelet and the wheat toast with plum preserves she’d prepared in front of Rowan. “Eat. You’ve shed a few pounds, and it’s too early in the season for that.”
“It’s the first season I’ve needed an alibi for a murder investigation.”
“I wouldn’t mind having an alibi like yours.”
Rowan dug into the omelet. “Do you want him when I’m done with him? Ow.” Rowan laughed when Marg cuffed the side of her head. “And after I offer you such a studly guy.” She smiled, shooting for winsome.
“When do you think you’ll be done with him? In case I’m in the market for a stud.”
“Can’t say. So far he’s playing my tune, but I’ll let you know.”
When Marg set a Coke down by her plate, Rowan leaned into her just a little. “Thanks, Marg. Really.”
In acknowledgment, Marg gave her a hard one-armed hug. “Clean your plate,” she ordered.
After breakfast, she tracked down L.B. in the gym where he’d worked up a sweat with bench presses.
“I’m on the bottom of the jump list,” she said without preamble.
He sat up, wiped his face with his towel. His long braid trailed down his sweaty, sleeveless workout shirt. “That’s right.” He picked up a twenty-pound free weight and started smooth, two-count bicep curls.
“Why?”
“Because that’s where I put you. I’d have taken you off completely for a day or two, but they’ve caught one down in Payette, and Idaho might need some Zulies in there.”
“I’m fit and I’m fine. Move me up. Christ, L.B., you’ve got Stovic ahead of me, and he’s still limping a little.”
“You’ve been on nearly every jump we’ve had this month. You need a breather.”
“I don’t—”
“I say you do,” he interrupted, and switched the weight to his other arm while he studied her face. “It’s my job to decide that.”
“This is about what happened yesterday, and that’s not right. I need the work, I need the pay. I’m not injured, I’m not sick.”
“You need a breather,” he repeated. “Put some time in the loft. We’re still catching up there. I’ll take a look at the list tomorrow.”
“I find remains, which I dutifully report, and I get grounded.”
“You’re still on the list,” he reminded her. “And you know jumping fire’s not all we do here.”
She also knew that when Michael Little Bear used that mild, reasonable tone, she’d have better luck arguing with smoke. She could sulk, she could steam, but she wouldn’t change his mind.
“Maybe I’ll go down and see my father for a bit.”
“That’s a good idea. Let me know if you decide you want to go farther off base.”
“I know the drill,” she grumbled. She started to shove her hands in her pockets, then went stiff when Lieutenant Quinniock walked in. “Cops are here,” she said quietly.
L.B. set down his weight, got to his feet.
“Mr. Little Bear, Ms. Tripp. I’ve got a few follow-up questions.”
“I’ll get out of your way,” Rowan began.
“Actually, I’d like to speak with you, too. Why don’t we step out. You can finish your workout,” he said to L.B., “then we could talk in your office.”
“I’ll be there in twenty.”
“That works. Miss?” Quinniock, in his polished shoes and stone-gray suit, gestured toward the gym doors.
“Don’t ‘Miss’ me. Make it Tripp,” she said as she shoved open the door ahead of him. “Or Rowan, or Ro, but don’t ‘Miss’ me unless you’re sad I’ve gone away.”
He smiled. “Rowan. Would you mind if we sat outside? This is a busy place.”
“Do you want me to go over my—what would you call it?—altercation with Dolly?”
“Do you have anything to add to what you’ve already told me?”
“No.”
“She got the pig’s blood from a ranch, if you’re interested. From one of the people who goes to her church.”
“Onward, Christian soldiers.” She dropped down on a bench outside the barracks.
“She acquired it the day before she came here to ask for work.” He nodded when Rowan turned to stare at him. “It leads me to conclude she meant to cause you trouble, even before you and she spoke the day she was hired back on.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered what I said or did.”
“Probably not. I understand you spoke with Special Agent DiCicco.”
“She’s a snappy dresser. You too.”
“I like a good suit. It complicated things for you, finding the remains.”
“Complicated because it was during a fire, or because Dolly’s missing?”
“Both. The missing person’s end is MPD’s case, at this time. We’re cooperating with the USFS while they work to identify the body. In that spirit, I’ve shared information with Agent DiCicco.”
“My history, as she called it, with Dolly.”
“That, and the fact Dolly told several people you were to blame for what happened to James Brayner. You, and everyone here. She’s been vocal about her resentment for some time, including the period of time she was away from Missoula.”
It didn’t surprise her, could no longer anger her. “I don’t know how she could work here, be involved with jumpers, and not understand what we do, how we do it, what we deal with.”
She looked at Quinniock then, the dramatic hair, the perfectly knotted tie. “And I’m not sure I understand why you’re telling me this.”
“It’s possible she planned to continue to cause trouble—for you, for the base. It’s possible she came back here for work so she had easier access. And it’s possible she had help. Someone she convinced to help her. Did you see her with anyone in particular after she came back?”
“No.”
“She and Matthew Brayner, the brother.”
Rowan’s back went up. “She blindsided Matt, the Brayner family, with the baby. I know they all took a natural interest in the baby and, being the kind of people they are, would do whatever they could for Dolly. It took guts for Matt to come back here, to work here after what happened to Jim. Any idea you may have that he’d help Dolly destroy my quarters or equipment is wrong and insulting.”
“Were they friendly while his brother was alive?”
“I don’t think Matt gave Dolly two thoughts, but he was, and is, friendly with everyone. And I’m not talking about another jumper behind his back.”
“I’m just trying to get a feel for the dynamics. I’m also told several of the men on base had relationships with Dolly, at least until she became involved with James Brayner.”
“Sex isn’t a relationship, especially blow-off-some-steam sex with a woman who was willing to pop the cork with pretty much anybody. She popped plenty of corks in town, too.”
“Until James Brayner.”
“She zeroed in on him last season, and as far as I know that was a first for her. Look, he was a cute guy, fun, charming. Maybe she fell for him, I don’t know. Dolly and I didn’t share our secrets, hopes and dreams.”
“You’re probably aware by now that we found her car.”
“Yeah, word travels.” She squeezed her eyes shut a moment. “It’s going to be her, when they finish the ID. I know that. You just have to triangulate the town, where you found the car, where I found the remains, and it’s heavy weight on it. I didn’t like her. I didn’t like her a whole bunch of a lot, but she didn’t deserve the way she ended up. Nobody deserves the way she ended up.”
“People are always getting what they don’t deserve. One way or the other. Thanks for the time.”
“When will they know?” she asked when he stood up. “When will they know for sure?”
“Her dentist is local. They’ll verify with her dental records, and should have confirmation later today. It’s not my case, but just out of curiosity, in your opinion, how long would it take to get from the trailhead to where you found the remains, adding in carrying about a hundred and ten pounds, in the dark.”
She got to her feet so they’d be eye to eye. “It depends. It could take an hour. But if you were fit, an experienced hiker, and you knew the area, you could do it in less than half that.”
“Interesting. Thanks again.”
She sat back down when he walked toward Operations, tried to work her mind around the conversation, the information.
And decided, as much as she hated to admit it, maybe L.B. was right. Maybe she did need a breather. So she’d walk down to see her father, touch base with the rest of his crew. The walk might clear her head, and God knew having a little time with her father never hurt.
She went back in for a bottle of water and a ball cap, then crossed paths with Gull as she came back out.
“I saw you with the cop. Do I need to post that bail?”
“Not so far. They found her car, Gull.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“And . . . there’s other stuff. I have to get my head around it. I’m going to walk down to the school, see my father.”
“Do you want company?”
“I need some solo time.”
He ran his knuckles down her cheek in a casually affectionate gesture that threw her off. “Look me up when you get back.”
“Sure. You’re second load,” she called back as she started the walk. “Idaho might need some Zulies. If you jump, jump good.”
She watched the show as she walked. Planes nosing up; skydivers drifting down. Clouds gathered in the west, hard and white over the mountains. Smaller, she noted, and puffier overhead and north, drifting east on a slow, leisurely sail.