River of No Return : A Jake Trent Novel (9781451698053) (19 page)

37

JACKSON, WYOMING. OCTOBER 25.

1:15 P.M. MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME.

Jake, Noelle, and Layle were stuffed into a little corner booth at the Bunnery. They had ordered lunch, but no one was eating much.

“What did the feds tell you?” Jake asked when the waitress was out of earshot.

“Nothing, really,” Layle explained. “They said they were on it. That they would turn it over to their international department, jump through the hoops, and get back to me. It was a short call. They told me to keep quiet.”

“How short?”

“I don't know—a few minutes.”

“Doesn't that seem strange?” Noelle piped up. “You report an international kidnapping and they don't have much to say?”

“She said she'd be back in touch.”

“But she didn't call back?”

“We didn't talk until just now, no.”

“What did she say now?”

“That . . . she said that Terrell had been shot and killed by his captors. That a team was on the way, and that since this may be an issue of national security, we have to stay quiet.”

“How did this happen?” Jake was asking rhetorically.

“I should have tried harder to find her,” Layle mumbled.

“What?” Jake asked, intrigued now. “Find who?”

“To hell with it, I figure I'm getting canned after this anyway. The kidnapper called me—made the chief call me—and told me I had to find out where some woman's house was in Jackson.”

“An Asian woman?” Jake asked.

Layle nodded. “The daughter.”

“Jesus.”

“What is it?” Noelle was playing catch-up.

“The woman who called you. She wants me to look for the same person.”

“So put out an APB.” Noelle had turned to the deputy.

“Hold on. Did the FBI contact mention any daughter? Any woman?” Jake asked.

“No.”

“I need to make a call.” Jake stood up. “Your FBI agent, the woman who called Noelle, my . . . acquaintance. They're all the same person.”

Jake headed out the swinging doors, took a quick look around, and headed to the back alley. Voice mail again. “Jesus Christ, Divya. If you don't call me and let me know what's going on . . . someone is dead, for God's sake.” He hung up.

Check that. Two people are dead
. Jake hurried back into the café. Layle was gone, on the phone.

“Noelle. The car. Did you find the car from last night?”

“The Tercel? No trace of it.”

“We need to find that car.”

Jake left a fifty-dollar bill on the table, and they rushed out.

Noelle motioned to Layle that they were leaving; he was leaning against the bannister of a wooden boardwalk. He hung up, put his cell in his pocket, and followed them back toward the Game and Fish warehouse, just two hundred yards north.

“What is it?”

Jake turned. “Until we hear something, the only thing we can do is try to find that Tercel.”

“Agent V-v . . . whoever she is . . . said we should keep our eyes open for the girl. She said they were looking too.”

“Right,” Noelle said. “And the only lead we have in any direction is the murder last night.”

“I'm not sure you should believe anything that agent says,” Jake added.

At the Yukon, Jake paused for a second. It was still cold out. “Can I bring Chayote?” he asked. The heeler was scratching at the passenger window of the 4Runner and whining. “I can't leave him to freeze.”

“Fine.”

Jake jogged over and opened the door. Chayote bolted to the back door Noelle was holding open.

“I'll follow in my cruiser,” Layle shouted across the lot.

Noelle switched her light bar on, but left the siren off. The traffic headed north on Cache yielded, and she punched it toward Moose Junction, Layle in tow.

“Where did you see the Tercel?”

“Between Moose and Moran. Crest of the hill above Deadman's
Bar.” Noelle checked her speed. She didn't want Fran Yowlitz to catch word that she was up to something.

“Everyone speeds there,” Jake said.

Noelle laughed. “That's our most productive trap.”

“How often do you stop someone?”

“I'd say ninety percent don't slow down to forty-five by the sign, but we let most slide.”

“And the Tercel was doing the speed limit at the sign?”

“Right under.”

“Being cautious at a known speed trap,” Jake guessed.

“A
local
being cautious. Tourists, if there are any around, wouldn't know it's a speed trap.”

“You think she lives somewhere up there? Somewhere she would encounter the trap on the way to or from work?”

“Possible, yeah.”

Jake let his gaze on Noelle linger a second too long. Behind her perfect profile was the cloud-hazed outline of the Tetons. The two most beautiful things Jake had ever seen, all wrapped up into one convenient package.

“What?” she said. She brushed her hair behind her ear so she could keep an eye on him.

“Nothing.”

He continued with his postulation. “Not many places to live up here. One of the dude ranches, or up by Moran.”

Noelle nodded. She slowed down slightly at Moose so as not to attract attention from the park service.

At Circle Y Ranch, a few miles past Deadman's Bar, Noelle slowed and turned right. “Good a place as any. They've got quite a few employees living here. Maybe one drives a Tercel.”

She put the Yukon into four-wheel drive to climb the wind
ing hill toward the main lodge. Chayote was anxiously hopping between rear windows, looking for cows to bark at.

“I need to get one of these.” Jake pointed to the Plexiglas divider between the front and back seats. “He always has to be up front, causing trouble.”

“I haven't forgotten,” Noelle said.

Jake thought he detected a slight upturn in her lips.

Noelle turned off the light bar before the lodge so she didn't alarm anyone. A rusty Dodge Ram was parked outside, turquoise and tan with longhorns bolted to the front grill.

An old man came out. He wore old Ariat boots and a heavy wool sweater.

Before Noelle could talk, he burst into a rant. “If you're here to bother me about that culvert there at the road, I told ya I'd be on it when I can afford it.”

She disarmed him when she took off her hat.

“I'll do it, is all I'm saying.” He spit tobacco onto the fresh snow.

“We're not here for that, but if you keep flooding the shoulder of the park road there, I'm coming back with handcuffs.” She shot him a smile.

Good police work
,
Jake thought.
Keep 'em on your side as
long as you can.

“Reckon I'll keep flooding it, then. C'mon in.”

Chayote sniffed at a few bull-elk heads wrapped up on the porch waiting for the taxidermist. “Tags for all those, I'm sure?”

“'Course. Y'all gotta start checking the wolves for permits. Twelve of 'em back here chasing mules around this morning.”

Noelle knew better than to go there.

The mudroom was littered with dirty cowboy boots and horse
blankets. The rancher kicked them out of the way. “We're just packing up for winter.”

Layle opened the door and entered the already crowded entryway, drawing a glare from the old man.

“Howdy,” Layle said.

“Cavalry's here, I see.” The rancher rolled his eyes.

“Anyway.” Noelle got to the point. “We're wondering if any of your hands might drive an old white Toyota Tercel that could have been involved in a crime last night.”

“I don't think any of those weenies are capable of committing a crime.” He wasn't protecting his employees, which was good. “'Sides, they're all gone.”

“Done for the season?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Do you know of any cars like that?”

“Never seen one around.”

Jake took a look around as Noelle finished up with the rancher. Nothing suspicious, as far as he could tell.

“Do you mind if we take a look in the barn?” Noelle asked. Jake figured it unnecessary; there was nothing in the old man's tone suggesting a lie.

“Do what you want. I gotta go get these horses ready for transport.”

“I'll leave a card here on your desk in case you see that Tercel around.”

He shrugged at Noelle.

Layle laid his card on top of Noelle's.

“Doubt it's here,” Jake said as they walked behind the lodge toward the rickety prairie barn.

“Agreed.” Noelle didn't look up. “But the Ram had a flat tire.
Been sitting there a while, looks like. Gotta wonder how he gets around.”

“Nice.” Layle was impressed.

As was Jake. “Didn't notice” was all he said.

Jake held the door to the barn open. Layle entered first, then Noelle. Jake swept the landscape for the rancher, just to keep the man within sight. He was a few hundred feet down the driveway, putting a head collar on a calico mare.

“Well, shit.” Jake heard Noelle from inside. “It's a Toyota, all right.”

Jake's eyes adjusted to the darkness as he walked in. By the high door sat a brand new pearl-white Prius.

“
Nice
.” Layle said again, then laughed.

On the way back down the driveway, Noelle slowed down by the old man and lowered the window. “Get that culvert fixed.” He didn't look up from his work. “Cute truck you got in there.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved them away.

“Moran?” Jake asked as she put the window up.

“Think so. Not much between here and there.”

They rode in silence to Moran Junction. Noelle pretended to take interest in whatever chatter came over her radio—turning it up, then rolling her eyes or shrugging and turning it back down.

Bearing right at Moran Junction toward Togwotee Pass reminded Jake of a day hike he and Noelle had once taken to Heart Lake. He gave her a sideways glance, wondering if she was thinking the same thing. She didn't show her cards.

Noelle pulled onto Buffalo Valley Road on the left and stopped the Yukon. Layle pulled up alongside them and opened his passenger's-­side window. “What's the program?”

“I say we split up. Check as many driveways as possible before word gets around that we're here.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Layle pulled forward and sped down the country road. Jake and Noelle were only a few car lengths behind.

The deputy's cruiser was pulled over on the left where a large A-frame sat in a stand of pines. Jake and Noelle continued past to a small hunting camp on the right. The Buffalo Fork flowed through the shanty's backyard.

They slowed down. The driveway was empty—no Tercel. The yard was a cluttered mess of old farm equipment and vehicles, waiting in vain for repair. A large vegetable garden was starting to rot from fall moisture.

Along the Buffalo Fork, a bony, tall man was walking back toward the structure. He looked to be in his early forties, with tan, wrinkled skin. He wore the rags of a drifter.

“What's he carrying?” Noelle asked, stopping the car just past the driveway.

Jake squinted through a growing squall of blowing snow. “Looks like a rake or a shovel.”

“Gardening's done for the year.” Noelle put the Yukon in reverse.

“Yep.”

Chayote was going nuts again in the backseat, anticipating a chance to be free from his cell. He scratched at the window.

The man continued to walk home, looking more uneasy, or at least curious, now that he noticed the ranger's vehicle. He didn't wear a jacket, but the snow didn't seem to bother him. Jake and Noelle parked the Yukon a hundred feet from the cabin and got out, hollering a
hello there
through the building storm.

The scrawny man didn't react, neither coming nor going. He simply rested the shovel against the north wall of the camp and stood still, staring at them.

Before Jake could get far, Chayote started barking, so he went back and opened the rear passenger door. The dog bounded toward the river, stopping once to mark his new territory.

Noelle was identifying herself to the man as Jake walked up. He got a glare from the landowner.

“You can't just let him sniff around, can you? Not that I care.” The man had crossed his arms around his scarecrow body.

Noelle spoke up before Jake could explain. “He's not a police dog.”

“Still.”

“Planting?” Jake motioned at the shovel, enticing him to lie.

“No. It's October,” the man said flatly, but didn't bother to explain the shovel.

Fair enough.

“We're looking for a certain vehicle. Do you keep a car here?” Jake went on, figuring he was already the bad cop—he might as well push it.

“I don't have to answer that, do I?” It worked. The scarecrow turned to Noelle. “And how come he doesn't wear a uniform?”

She jumped in. “We're just curious. We're looking for an old Toyota Tercel hatchback that we think might be connected to a crime.”

Jake watched his face, but it remained emotionless.

“I don't have a car. I use the old Gator four-by back there when I need to go to the convenience store. Anything farther, I hitch.”

They gave him a second to see if he would offer anything else. No dice.

“Do you mind if we look in the garage?”

“Go ahead.”

Noelle and Jake peered through the tiny window. It was empty.

“I'll leave my card in case you see it around.” Noelle held it out, and the scarecrow took it hesitantly. “Thanks for your time.”

Jake gave the man a head nod, and they headed back toward the Yukon. The wind was up again, now in short gusts. Jake whistled for Chayote, then waited by the truck for him. He didn't come.

Another whistle and a loud shout. “Chayote! Come!” Nothing.