I wasn’t out of the building before a firm grasp on my arm spun me around. Sheriff de Lude’s eyes, now the color of burnt brisket, drilled into me.

“Pierce, you’re coming along,” he said. “Back to the crime scene.”

“I need to talk to my sister.”

The fiery gleam of his stare made it clear that I didn’t have an option. “You’re a witness. Come along.”

He let me drive my own vehicle. Doctor Myrtle Gibbons climbed into the passenger seat of de Lude’s Official Lincoln County Bronco. We drove to the site single file. 

The winding weave of the roads gave me time to think. But I didn’t use it. My eyes stayed fixed on the Bronco’s taillights. They kept me from getting lost, in the mountains, as well as in the vast expanse of guilt and shame within my mind.

Tony gave me a nod when we arrived, but saved his words for the business at hand. Sheriff de Lude, Deputy Spiesz and Doc Myrtle had gathered around my friend, who now stood next to the body.

The stink of shit emanated from the corpse. A man’s last act of defiance against a world that didn’t understand him. Most of us twitched our noses at the rebellion, apart from Tony and Doc Myrtle. The good doctor managed to look as stylish and sophisticated squatted beside a cadaver as she had in the diner.

Tony told the group who he was and showed his credentials around. Then he had to explain what brought him first, to Eureka, and second, to this particular crime scene.

This prompted a glare in my direction from the Sheriff.

Tony described the scene as we’d found it and shared ideas about the stabbing. He included my recognition of the tiny footsteps leading to the greenhouse where I’d discovered Kayla hiding.

Sheriff de Lude’s scrutinizing gaze swung toward Spiesz. The bushy mustache squirmed on his lip. “You see the problem with forgetting the camera, Deputy, is that we can’t take pictures of the scene.”

“Why don’t you use your phone?” I asked.

Spiesz’s eyes lit up at the suggestion, relief softening his squint as he leapt at this social life preserver. “Would that work? Will they be official?”

He wasn’t making progress on relieving de Lude’s frustration. The sheriff’s scowl pushed that caterpillar mustache up until it nearly buried his nose, and his bristly eyebrows gathered into a formidable Eastern Montana windbreak.

“That is a problem,” de Lude said. “You’ll have to drive back and get it, Deputy.”

“Aye, Captain,” Spiesz replied. Oddly, it didn’t sound sarcastic or insubordinate.

The Sheriff let it ride.

Deputy Spiesz tromped off.

Sheriff grumbled as he eyed Spiesz leaving the crime scene. “You know, half the time I feel like I’m just picking up his crumbs,” he muttered, frustration with his partner’s forgetfulness and lack of attention to detail sharpening the edge in his already cranky tone. 

Doc Myrtle piped in with a voice as hard and uncompromising as worn leather. “You hire a man with Spiesz’s limitations and then use those limits to excuse your own missteps, Bernie? That’s a hell of a thing.”

De Lude’s nostrils flared. “He came with quality references from back East.”

“Spiesz isn’t local?” Tony queried, eyebrows raised in surprise. 

Doc Myrtle kept after the Sheriff. “Why not do your own vetting? The rest of your deputies refuse to leave Libby to avoid the man’s bumbling methods.”

“Probably gives him more freedom to screw up when only one man is watching,” I said before thinking it through.

A growl rumbled deep in the Sheriff’s throat, low and dangerous like an animal preparing to attack. Words came out in a deep, rough tone, filled with anger. “This comes back to you, Pierce. You poking around in other people’s lives like they don’t matter.” His hand twitched as if he wanted to grab ahold of my neck, but he clenched it into a fist instead.

“What the hell, Sheriff! How is someone sticking a pitchfork in a local lunatic my fault?” The taste of my own hot breath muddied my mouth as I spoke, the heat in my head  like a raging inferno, ready to singe my hair into ashes, as indignation and confusion mingled in a combustible mix. 

“You know how,” de Lude said. “You get folks stirred up and up, work on the crazy bits, confuse the whole damn lot until they blow.”

“What is that?” I exclaimed. “You blame my sister outright on a hunch. Point a finger at any outsider that gets too close. Hell, she’s already hanged before the body’s even tepid. I thought the law required a judge and jury for that.”

Sheriff de Lude turned away from me.

Tony said, “Maybe we hold off on who did what, until we can sort through the evidence, fellas.”

My tongue got away from me. “That’s a good idea, Sheriff. Until the evidence indicates otherwise.”

“It does seem premature to arrest her,” Tony said.

“I appreciate your help on this, Deputy Ruiz,” the Sheriff said to Tony. “But this is Lincoln County, not Custer. And I ain’t inclined to share every bit of evidence with a close friend of the family.”

Deputy Spiesz reappeared, feet scuffing the ground. “Forgot the keys, Sheriff.” His voice stuttered with a familiar expectation of reprimand.

I stepped back, chewing my anger into little bits of resentment.

“Damn it, Stan!” de Lude barked, handing Spiesz the keys.

“Yep yep, Sheriff. I know,” the deputy said with characteristic dullness. “Sorry ‘bout that.” He passed close by me on his way out. “Offer still stands, Pierce,” he murmured. “Might be more important now.” He kept a steady pace into the dark.

His words hit me like a punch in the gut. The calculated and measured delivery, so at odds with his usual demeanor, stunned me. The guy was like a stealth fighter dropping Psy Op leaflets in the deserts of Afghanistan. I wondered if I should tell the Sheriff. But I didn’t know the person Spiesz was fronting. If they were an individual of power and influence, mentioning their interest might raise the threat or dirty the waters. No way to tell the nature of the mystery man. Or woman. And forming an alliance with Spiesz and his cohort might give me some control over the information I needed to free my sister. 

Or maybe I would just lose all control over the investigation. People in the shadows are impossible to read.

“Tony’s right,” I said, stepping back to the body. “Doc, what does the corpse tell you?”

She’d been ignoring our quarrel, all of her energy and expertise focused on examining the body.

“That’s my line, Pierce,” Sheriff de Lude said. “Keep your place or you’ll wind up in a cell with your sister.”

“Can’t be a hundred percent on time of death,” Doc Myrtle said. “There’s little doubt that the pitchfork killed him. It’s unusual in the absence of defensive wounds. His hands are away from the point of impact. Blood from penetration makes it difficult to be sure, but it looks like a single blow that pierced below the rib cage at an upward angle and stabbed into his left lung and through the pericardium into his left ventricle. He’d have bled out in minutes.”

“That kind of stick would take some force,” Tony said. “Could be looking for a man.”

“Or an enraged woman,” Doc said, with a glance my way. “Especially if she took a run at him.” She looked up at Tony and smiled. “I’ll give you odds on the man theory, though.”

He grinned and stroked the end of his Pancho Villa stash. “I’ll take the wager.”

“You two can make all the bets you want,” Sheriff de Lude said. “I want to know whose prints are on the damn fork handle.” He shot a glare at me.

I wondered how obvious it would be to grab the wood and slide my hands over it’s length to pull it free. Then again, that might push the poor lawman over the edge. 

Deputy Spiesz returned with the camera. He took pictures before they loaded Aidan Peale’s body into the ambulance for transport. 

I nudged my friend, hoping for a couple minutes lead on them. At the end of Aidan Peale’s lane, I steered the Tacoma away from town.

“Let’s double back,” I told Tony, with a peek in the rearview mirror.

His lips curled into a grimace. The skeptical glint in his eye fought against me— levelheaded caution at odds with my swashbuckling impulsivity. “Sounds like one of those foolhardy Pierce shenanigans I don’t need to be a part of. Just drop me off at the Nickelback and you can tell me about it later.” 

“Sometimes I wonder if you’ve earned that Pancho Villa mustache, partner.”

The thick facial accessory couldn’t hide his frustration. “That’s a bit lowdown, even for you, Connor.”

His words pierced my heart, bad memories of me pleading with him to follow into forbidden territory. Voice, pitched high by the absence of maturity,“It’s the old whorehouse, Tony. We have to check it out!” His parents forbid him to see me for six months afterwards.

“Look, I’m not buying that Aidan Peale had no other enemies willing to stab him to death.” I slapped my palm against the steering wheel. “Besides an expedient stranger from out of town who loved his little girl.” I clenched the wheel to regain control of my anger. “Really, Tony, no defensive wounds? That’s suspicious. The guy is faced off with a known attacker, supposedly one he hates, and he opens arms wide to let her stab him like a sacrificial lamb?” I shook my head. “Doesn’t add up.” 

He turned to look out the side window. “I get it,” he said. “But how does interfering with Sheriff de Lude’s investigation help?”

“If Renée charged Aidan with that divining pitchfork.” I gave the wheel another sharp thump. “Is he just going to stand there like a statue and let her stick him through the middle?”

He growled. “I get your point, friend. Now tell me how breaking into a dead man’s home solves the problem?”