PJ and the Vegas Showgirl

By C Meadows

Abby Chase wants to be a successful jewelry artist, but when her dog, PJ, gets carsick at a Wyoming mountain pullout and leads Abby to the body of a dying woman, Abby finds herself involved in another murder case. The woman’s family accuses Abby of stealing a valuable diamond ring. Abby must solve the murder to prove her innocence.

At an auction held on the deceased lady’s ranch, Abby purchases antique cast iron pots, boxes of old sheet music, and a worn book of poetry for use in her resin jewelry designs. As Abby sifts through the pages from the boxes, she learns more about the lady and her life. Abby’s search leads her into danger, and it is only her artistic eye that helps her solve the case in time. Abby’s job on the ranch keeps her busy cooking, and with the help of Colt, the owner’s son, she cares for the former wrangler’s big black horse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C Meadows
• Release date: Aug 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463963241

C Meadows

Christy Meadows has a lifelong love of nature and has spent almost every day of her life walking in the woods, fields, and mountains with her dogs. She has trekked in rain, sun, fog and snow, including the bitter cold of Alaska. While in Alaska she went skijoring and sledding with her huskies. Her dogs have alerted her to moose hiding in the brush and the possibility of bears sharing nearby blueberry bushes. In Wyoming, where she lives with her husband, her dogs have warned her away from snakes and mountain lions. Her love of jewelry making and dogs inspired this book. In her spare time she paints watercolor landscapes, animal portraits, plays with metal, often making earrings or necklaces with a nature theme and dreams up mysteries. While writing, her cow-dog Saratoga keeps Christy company and sleeps on her dog bed dreaming of running through the prairie grass chasing after her ball.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The winter storm had arrived earlier than forecast. As my dog PJ and I drove the two-lane winding highway, the wind rocked the car, and snow blew in sheets across the road in front of us. My car fishtailed on the icy road. I gasped, eased off the accelerator, and slowed to thirty miles per hour. I couldn’t find the white fog line through the blowing snow, and it was difficult to see more than twenty feet ahead. I wanted to drive slower, but the speed limit was seventy-five, and I knew truckers drove fast no matter what the weather conditions were. I was afraid of being rear-ended.

My eyes strained to see the road as I glanced in my rearview mirror in case headlights approached me too quickly. Each passing minute drew us deeper into the storm and closer to the crest of the pass between Colorado and Laramie Wyoming.

Earlier in the day, when the sun was shining, I was happy, and my life finally felt under control. I'd spent the morning down in Ft. Collins, Colorado in a jewelry making class learning the art of soldering. It was my fourth class, and I loved learning to use a torch while working with sterling silver.

PJ began to whine and circle in the front seat beside me. PJ, you can’t get sick now. Please calm down. I had to find a place to pull over soon. I slowed my SUV and peered through the snow looking for somewhere safe to stop. I'd seen very little traffic traveling the other way and suspected the Wyoming Highway Patrol had closed the highway.

Oh, a pullout. Hang on, PJ. We’ll stop here. I steered into a small parking area and opened my door. Rats! The wind yanked at the door, and I groaned with the effort to hold on to it. It was all I could do to keep the wind from tearing the door out of my hands. It was a rookie mistake to park with the wind at our backs. I braced my feet on the floorboards and held on. During a lull in the gusts, I jumped out of the car and let PJ out, grabbing her leash as she dashed past me.

I pulled my knit hat lower over my ears and fought the wind to wrap my scarf around my neck. PJ wandered around sniffing the ground and licking snow. Bitter frozen fingers of cold snaked down my neck and inside my parka. I shivered and clicked my tongue to get her to focus. I know you’re sick, but hurry up! I’m freezing! PJ ignored me and charged toward the snow berm a plow had pushed up along the far side of the pullout. The wind gusted to at least 65 mph now. I leaned into the gale and walked with my legs spread apart to maintain my balance. Snow crystals stung my face. I squinted my eyes against the steady blasts and wished I’d worn sunglasses to protect my eyes.

PJ kept her nose to the ground, leading me in a circle around the area as if she were tracking something. I was losing patience with her because she didn’t act sick anymore. Instead, she pranced as if we were on a spring stroll. I tugged my sleeves over my hands and almost lost my balance when PJ lunged toward a large boulder-sized chunk of snow. She veered around it, dragged me with her and nimbly scrambled over the snow bank. Squinting into the storm, I noticed she’d led us toward a dark object that looked like a discarded bag of trash.

Abruptly, the wind changed directions and tore my treasured hand-knitted scarf from my neck. It sailed away and disappeared in the swirling snow. I didn’t have a chance to react. PJ had her head down, her muzzle nudging at the trash heap. PJ, no. Leave it alone. Now! The dark object looked more like a blanket. I moved closer. My eyes focused and my brain sharpened with recognition. Oh, God. No! Not another dead body.

The snow had sifted over half of the face, but PJ licked away the snow from the mouth. A pale smear of lipstick clung to the woman’s lips. The elderly woman’s eyes fluttered. A shapeless, dark, cloth coat covered much of her body. The foot nearest me had lost its shoe, but the other foot was clad in a fashionable, bright red, heeled pump. Her knee-high support hose pooled around her bird-thin ankles.

She was alive! The blizzard would finish her off if I didn’t get her shelter fast. I plunged my hands under her arms and dragged her toward my car. Her left hand slid out of her sleeve revealing long blood-red fingernails. Come on, PJ. The wind tore my words away as I yelled them. The blasts of wind and snow almost obscured my car.

I worried about dragging the woman’s unprotected feet across the frozen ground, but I was struggling against the wind, and the most important thing was to get her into the shelter of my car. PJ led the way, trailing her leash. As we neared the car, a blast of wind staggered me, and I had to stop to keep from falling.

PJ led me to my SUV, and I laid the woman down in the snow and fought the wind to open the door. I was afraid that if I opened the back hatch facing into the wind, the sheer force would wrench the hinges and then it wouldn’t close. I gasped for air in the near hurricane force wind, unsure I could lift the woman. It felt like the wind was pulling the air out of my lungs. I realized it was impossible to hold the door against the wind and to load the unconscious woman at the same time.

Then, there was a lull in the gusts, and I jerked the side door open, threw the woman’s torso into the SUV like a bag of dog food, and heaved her legs in at an awkward angle. PJ leaped over the woman and laid down next to her. The next gust hit, and I barely grabbed the door before the wind forced it too far backward.

I ran around the car, dove into the driver’s seat, and turned the heater to high. My cellphone was in my bag on the floor. I turned it on, checking for bars. The display showed a few, and I dialed 911. A woman answered and put me on hold, and then my call dropped. I tried again, and as soon as she answered, I yelled, Send an ambulance. The call dropped again. I tried again, and this time yelled, Ambulance, Highway 287, referring to the highway we were on. This call dropped too, so I tried once more, and it didn’t go through.

I kept an emergency sleeping bag in my car, prompted by Wyoming Highway Department ads encouraging people to carry emergency supplies in the winter. My back seats were folded down, creating a spacious cargo hold, and I crawled back there and unrolled the sleeping bag. PJ lay down next to the woman, and I tucked them both into the sleeping bag. The lady had a slight pulse, and I tried to think of what else I could do for her.

As I sat next to her, I tried 911 again. This time when the dispatcher answered I yelled, Top of the pass, pullout. All I heard was the roar of the wind and static. I gave up. On a good day, cell service was unreliable on this pass, and in this weather, it was surprising to have any reception at all. I’d no way of knowing how much of my distress call went through and if, or when, help might arrive. PJ gently licked the woman’s neck and nudged her.

Visibility was nonexistent, and I was shaking too much to drive. My stomach tightened into knots and my heartbeat hammered in my ears. The roads were slick with ice. No, I’d have to stay put and wait for help. If I slid off the road into the ditch, it might take hours for help to find us.

PJ, you have a knack for finding bodies. At least this one is still alive. What was she doing out in the snow? PJ thumped her tail. I hadn’t seen any other cars in the pullout when we arrived. Did that mean someone had left her there, alone in the storm? Who would do such a thing? I’d heard stories of people, who died from exposure after they were caught in a Wyoming blizzard. I let out a shaky breath. All I could do was wait and hope help arrived soon.

Chapter 2

A few minutes later, PJ began to pant because I had the car’s heater on full blast. She crawled out from under the sleeping bag. The wind rocked the car and whistled around us. I felt under the sleeping bag to see how wet the woman’s coat was, thinking I might need to get her out of it. The coat felt dry, so I checked her feet and hands. They were cold to the touch but weren’t frozen. She had landed in an awkward heap when I tossed her into the car. Cautiously, I straightened her body and tucked the bag tightly around her. She neither moaned nor gave any resistance.

The car became warm enough that I removed my hat and coat. I tried 911 again, but this time the call did not go through at all. My hands were still shaking, the visibility had not improved, my cell battery was low, and I didn’t have my charger with me.

My voice caught in my throat as I said, PJ, I’m not sure we can save this lady. She is so old and frail. I think she got too cold. PJ whined and thumped her tail, then laid her head on the lady’s shoulder. She nudged the woman occasionally. The woman’s breath was shallow, her skin was gray, and her lips were blue-tinged. Maybe no one was coming. I should have driven her through the storm myself I thought. I wished I had the courage needed to save the woman.

I nervously rechecked my cell again. Still, no bars and it had been forty-five minutes since my first call. My anxiety increased as I second-guessed my decision to wait for help. No vehicles had passed in the direction we were headed since we’d stopped, but I couldn’t see the opposite lanes. I suspected the snow gates were down and the highway patrol had closed the road. I hoped the Troopers conducted a sweep of the highway after they closed the road, perhaps then, someone would find us.

A dark shape emerged from the blowing snow, and a car crept up next to mine. A man opened my driver’s side door and scrunched himself into the seat. My eyes locked with his dark brown ones, and I recognized Deputy Delgado.

He reached around the seat, lifted the edge of the sleeping bag, and looked at the form under it. So, Abby. You find another body? Maybe you should join my team and give up cooking.

Hi, to you too. She is not dead yet, but she has been unconscious since PJ found her in the snow.

Deputy Delgado ruffled PJ’s neck. Maybe she is the one who should be on the payroll. An ambulance is on the way. Dispatch recognized your name from caller ID and notified me. I called up to the ranch, and Verna told me you should be on your way back from Ft. Collins, so I came up this way. I’ll radio in, and they can let Verna know you’re safe. He went back to his patrol car to make his calls, and by the time he returned the ambulance had arrived.

The EMTs battled the wind and doors of the ambulance to gather equipment. The gurney bumped over the drifting snow as the wind pushed it sideways. Deputy Delgado helped hold the doors while a late-arriving fire truck and firefighters all pitched in to help with the patient.

Deputy Delgado said, Follow the ambulance at a safe distance down the highway to the junction. They will take her to Laramie, but you need to come on into Cottonwood and drop by the station.

The firetruck, with flashing lights and sirens, led the way and disappeared into the storm. I was able to see the ambulance's flashing lights most of the time, depending on the wind gusts and drifting snow.

My hands were shaking, and my mouth was dry. My heartbeat throbbed in my temples and my chest hurt. The pain became sharp, and I realized I was holding my breath. My fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard they had lost all feeling. I took a deep breath and forced myself to breathe in and out slowly. It’s okay PJ, we can do this, I said to calm myself. The worst of the storm was at the crest of the pass, and by the time we neared the junction where the highway split, there was reasonable visibility and very little snow was falling.

Westward, the highway led to Laramie, and eastward it led to the small town of Cottonwood. The ambulance picked up speed and took the west fork to Laramie where I lost sight of it. I knew my way to the sheriff’s station in Cottonwood and drove straight there. On the way through Cottonwood, I passed the Victorian era two-story stone buildings that gave the town an old western feel. Heavy clouds obscured Raven Mountain, and the old Cottonwoods along the streets swayed in the wind.

At the sheriff’s department, I let PJ out briefly, and then put her back in the car. I hoped the deputy wouldn’t keep me long. I didn’t know the woman, and he knew where to find me if he had more questions later.

This was not my first time at the station answering questions. A few months earlier, in mid-September, PJ found a bone that turned out to be human. At the time, my snooping seemed harmless and kept my mind off my recent divorce, but the murderer attacked me with a knife, and I bore a large, angry scar on my arm as a result.

I told Deputy Delgado my story about PJ finding the woman in the snow. He asked a few questions, jotting my answers on a yellow legal pad.

Well, Abby, we will be in touch if we have any more questions. Can you make it back to the ranch on your own?

Yes. I’ll be all right. Will the lady live? Who was she?

You’ll learn more when we do. Drive safe.

He stood up and held my coat for me. While he helped me into it, he said, Now don’t let your curiosity get you in trouble again. Remember how you almost got yourself and PJ killed last time PJ found something. We don’t know anything yet. Get back to the ranch and drive carefully. The snow fell steadily, and I eyed the snowdrifts in the parking lot with dismay. The wind was stronger again, and the visibility had dropped. I eased my car out of the parking lot and ventured back into the swirling snow.

Chapter 3

The Rayford Ranch was more than an hour’s drive in this weather, and I was not looking forward to it. PJ, we missed most of my shift today. I hope Verna and Patty understand. I scratched her shoulder as we made our way past the ghost town of Jadeville and crossed the cattle guard marking the ranch boundary.

The Rayford Ranch was located in Jade County, not far from Cottonwood. The original Rayford clan came from England, in the 1800s, and settled in the valley, eventually homesteading and claiming large sections of land for the ranch. After the cattle guard, we had several miles left to drive, following Jade Creek. The creek was more of a river by Wyoming standards. Deep and wide, it wound through the lush fenced bottomland of the ranch. The Rayford cattle wintered on the rich grassland, drank the clear water from the creek, and sheltered under the weathered cottonwoods. The herd was a mix of Longhorns, Angus, and a few Scottish Highland cattle.

Usually, there wasn’t much traffic on this gravel road, and there weren’t any tire tracks in the three or four inches of fresh snow that had fallen since someone had plowed earlier, leaving rough berms along each side of the road. I guessed the snowstorm dumped over a foot of fresh snow. When I rounded the last bend, the two-story log lodge came into view. Welcoming wisps of smoke rose from the massive stone chimney that flanked the western dining room wall. A blanket of snow covered the brown metal roof, and soft yellow lights glowed in the windows. The tension in my shoulders began to ease at the sight of the lodge.

I pulled around back between the kitchen and stables and let PJ out. She trotted over to her pen, a former chicken coop, and I opened the wooden gate. This was our routine when it was time for me to go to work. A sturdy, two-room doghouse constructed from a colorful patchwork of scrap lumber and filled with straw waited for her. Seeing the doghouse made me think of Austin, the handsome former wrangler, who built it for her. I traded him a peach pie for his efforts. He was spending the winter on the rodeo circuit, and I missed his friendly manner.

My ex and I had signed our divorce papers, but I hadn’t received the final copy, when I’d moved to the ranch and taken a job as a cook, in the fall. Much had happened since that mid-September day, and now it was nearing Christmas. I was beginning to feel more hopeful about my future. I was proud of finding a home for myself and PJ and being self-supporting for the first time in my life. Still, I worried because my bills were piling up.

When I entered the back door to the kitchen of the lodge, Verna wrapped me in a warm hug. She wore an apron with snowflakes embroidered across the top that her daughter Dawn had made. Dear, we were so worried when Deputy Delgado said they’d received a 911 call from your cell. We were thankful when he called later and told us you were all right, but he didn’t tell us anything else.

You won’t believe it! PJ found another body! I exclaimed.

Verna’s son, Colt, sat at the table in the back of the kitchen. He choked on his coffee when he heard me. Verna raised her eyebrows and tilted her head. Do tell.

PJ was acting car sick, so I pulled over near the top of the pass. She wandered around and then leaped over the berm, dragging me behind her. When PJ licked the person’s face, I realized it was an old woman. She was elderly, sprawled in the snow and covered by a dark cloth coat. The snow-covered cloth made me think it was just trash. She never regained consciousness, even after I loaded her into my car. I don’t know who she is or how she got there. I poured myself a cup of coffee with a shaky hand and sat by Colt. His blue eyes were bloodshot, and he hadn’t shaved in several days.

I don’t know what to say. I’m sure it was a difficult experience. Verna returned to stirring the batch of cookies she was making. We have several lodgers tonight, so if you can stay and finish the rest of your shift, I would appreciate it. If not, Colt can give you a ride up to your cabin on the snow machine. With this weather, we won’t have anyone drive out from town for dinner tonight, but we could get some things made for tomorrow. Verna added carrots to the kettle of stew simmering on the large back burner.

Sure, I can stay. I didn’t have any trouble driving in. Turning to Colt, I said, You think I won’t be able to make it up to the cabin?

I plowed the main road earlier, but the road to the cabin is narrow and steep, and it is getting dark. I still have the stable chores to do. I will plow you out in a day or two. Colt spread jam on a sourdough biscuit and raised his coffee mug, polishing off the last swallow. His prairie-blond hair was the longest I’d ever