The Sisters Graves

By Margaux Sky

In the gripping pages of The Sisters Graves, a shocking murder rocks the tranquil property of Coo Blackstone. The victim, a beautiful woman, is discovered in a grotesque state, sending shockwaves through the community. All eyes turn to Angus, her lover and Coo’s own brother, as a prime suspect in this heinous crime.

However, as the layers of the victim’s life are peeled back, it becomes evident that she was not innocent. In fact, she led a covert existence, manipulating and blackmailing the townspeople. The list of disgruntled individuals with motives to see her silenced grows longer, each unaware of the others’ entanglements with the captivating but treacherous country girl. Money, sex, and revenge emerge as the compelling motives that entwine the dead woman and the town’s residents, leaving a web of secrets and a trail of potential killers.

Determined to defend her brother’s honor, Coo takes it upon herself to unravel the perplexing clues that emerge during her investigation. Yet, the more she digs, the more bewildering and uncertain the truth becomes. Clues begin to implicate not just Angus, but several other individuals, leaving Coo at a loss, torn between her loyalty to her family and her relentless pursuit of justice.

As the local Sheriff, Clyde Buck, steps into the investigation, tensions rise. With the victim found on Coo’s property, suspicion falls upon her, straining their relationship. Clyde is committed to solving the crime, but his growing feelings for Coo make it increasingly challenging to separate personal desires from the demands of upholding the law. Even if the unthinkable truth implicates Angus or even Coo herself, Clyde must navigate the treacherous waters of love and justice to bring the murderer to light.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Nov 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886930313

Book preview

Chapter One

It was late in the gray day. The rain that had been thrashing down thick and hard since the previous night had mildly let up.

Coo slid to a stop from a high gallop, dismounted Rowdy and quickly guided the horse into her neighbor’s barn. She pulled rain gear from her head as she ran to Jake, concern on her face.

It happened again. How many this time?

Seventy. This is the second time in a year and pouring rain just like last time. Jake was bitter. Seems to me we got a thief that’s a meteorologist in the making.

A hundred head of cattle stolen last time between you, Roscoe and Jerry. I can’t believe this happened again.

Paige Hervey too, don’t forget. And the thieves are upping their game. Like I said, seventy of my mine this time. Last time it was forty.

Did you report it to Sheriff Buck?

What the hell good’ll that do?

Point taken.

Get back on your horse there and let’s ride to the river break. Roscoe’s checking his herd. I ain’t checked with Jerry yet. Paige neither. Roscoe’ll see to ’em.

They rode to the rim of Jake’s pastures where cattle typically grazed the river break, a break dividing Roscoe’s, Jerry’s and Jake’s ranches. Paige’s property was across the seldom traveled road about half a mile down.

They’re marked, but if they’re stolen – and they are – that ain’t gonna make no difference to whoever nabbed ’em. The tracks look to belong to a few eighteen-wheelers. A couple of ’em, that I can tell. I’ll show ’em to you. Don’t know anybody that would bring an eighteen-wheeler way out to these parts, do you?

No.

Well off the main roads. An’ I reckon whoever’s taking ’em figures these storms give ’em the bulge. Frankly, I feel a fool this being the second time. Hell, I feel like I need to tent here nights so I don’t come first thing in the morning and find my cattle gone again.

They eased into a canter and headed around the bend to the crime scene.

See these tracks here? Last time there wasn’t much to go on, but this time they got sloppy. I reckon they were hurrying. They fetched the truck right over the damn fence. Most likely some vaqueros done steered the cattle right up into the belly of the hauler. I went to the road to check out the tracks. Just red, slushy mud. Guess that’s the shoot, thievin’ in the rain in the middle of the night. Tracks done washed out. Can’t make heads or tails out of the road tracks, but these here tracks are deep. Rutted enough to get a pattern.

Coo studied the muddy tracks. This far out, nobody would see or hear a truck that huge unless you were spottin’ for it. And who would spot for it in the middle of the night in the middle of a storm? All this big land. She took photos of the tracks with her cell.

I did that too. They weren’t as washed out when I took ’em. Getting to be puddles now.

We won’t find much in this rain, Coo said frustrated. This lightnin’ is intense, Jake. We best get inside.

They rode at a fast pace to Jake’s home, put the horses in the barn. Thunder cracked. Lightning shot through the skies. The rain picked up again into a pour so heavy, it was hard to see through it. They sped to the house from the barn; rushed in through the door. The dry felt good. Jake took Coo’s rain gear, shook it out and hung it to dry. He did the same with his and threw his cow hat onto a hook.

The ones gone ain’t just gonna leave the herd. They just don’t do that, he said rubbing his hands while heading into the living room.

No.

I’m taking whiskey. You want that or something warm. Coffee?

Whiskey’s warm enough.

I know you ain’t in the cattle business, Coo, but you got a keen nose and eagle eye for shit like this, big as your land is. It ain’t gonna be pretty for the people that done this when I catch ’em. I’m right burning up inside with a hell of an anger. If I catch anybody unknown on my fields, their brains’ll be balls of lead.

He handed her a drink, then threw some logs into the fireplace. The wood crackled, the flames soared, as the dark, cold manic rain pounded against the massive log home. The visual contrast of the dark fury outside to the glowing warmth inside was stunning. The fire smelled of home and felt wonderful on so cold a day.

Don’t get trigger happy, Jake. You wouldn’t wanna shoot somebody innocent.

I ain’t dim-witted, Coo.

No, but you’re angry. Rightly so.

That I am. I am right angry.

I know he comes across as unsympathetic most of the time, Jake, but report it to Sheriff Buck. He’s got cattle, too. Maybe he’ll get a burr in his butt and move on it.

Probably him that took ’em.

She chuckled. Stealin’ cattle won’t sit well with him. You say you checked with Roscoe?

Only talked with him on the phone. I reckon he told Jerry and Paige by now and they’re sitting perched like I am, angry enough to make a bloody fight with the devil look like a prayer meeting. And widow Hervey’s got a brood of kids. She doesn’t need worrying like this, her husband just dead. Whoever’s doing this is gonna get busted right soon. Smoky Gorge might be a small potatoes town but ain’t nobody here this stupid. Ain’t no outsiders trusted by me now.

Smoky Gorge is a tourist attraction, Jake. Keep that in mind if any stragglers happen onto your pastures. Don’t go random shootin’. Anyway…tourists wouldn’t come this far out. I don’t think it’s an outsider.

No?

No. It’s someone that knows these properties. They know the layout, the river break, and like you said, they know the weather. They wouldn’t attempt this in daylight. Or, apparently, on a sunny day.

Your place is situated pretty much central to everybody else’s and Lord knows people can ride miles and miles across your property and never be seen. Your house is set back, but it might be you’ll see something, or maybe my cows’ll come trampling on your fields and this fret’ll be for nothing. I hope. Keep an eye out for ’em, will you?

You betcha, Jake.

I done guess Smoky Gorge is gone to the future a right bit faster than we’d like, but I thought these new-fangled technologies would help keep our cattle safe. I plumb spent tens of thousands of dollars on upkeep equipment and a lot of good it ain’t done me. I’m right pissed off.

What about puttin’ cameras out there?

I done put ’em up all over the damn place excepting way out there, Coo, Jake said angrily. I done got my herds chipped and what a logistical nightmare that was, not to mention practically costing me the ranch. A lot of good it ain’t done me. I barely got the money to function what I got going here now. Cameras that far out on the range ain’t in the near future. They’re easily blown to smithereens by a well-aimed rifle a few hundred feet out, anyhow. He downed his drink and poured another. Held up the bottle.

I’m good.

Help yourself if you want another.

Glad I stuck with crops over cattle. I’m really sorry about this, Jake, but we’ll get ’em. We can figure what kind of tires these are in the photos. And what about we hire someone to watch nights out there?

Jake shook his head in frustration. Don’t matter the tires now. My cattle been taken. And I already seen to a night-watcher. I’m leaving town for the holidays, so I hired an army of security to keep watch here. Another damn expense I don’t need.

It matters. We’ll get ’em. We’ll get ’em.

Jake was right. Smoky Gorge had become a world far different than when her relatives first came upon it.

*

In the mid-1800s, when cow ranching was burgeoning across the country, Smoky Gorge, Montana was a flourishing town in western America rife with cattle, gunslingers, rambunctious saloons and undying hope of fishing gold nuggets from the bountiful rivers of western America. It lay a couple of hours north of Missoula and a trifle south of Bad Rock Canyon, east of Columbia Falls; Smoky Gorge and Bad Rock Canyon split by the flow of the Flathead River.

Most having taken up residence in days of the early west were dirt poor, but even a scraping town like Smoky Gorge had their wealthy citizens. That wealth was masterfully minded through contemporary centuries by those wise with mounting cash and the knowledge on how to keep it escalating.

The Blackstone family owned most of the wealth back then and into the twenty-first century they remained the wealthiest family in the area. They owned and worked thousands upon thousands of acres from Missoula to beyond Granite Peak, the highest natural point in Montana. Granite Peak is part and parcel of the Absaroka-Beartooth wilderness in Park County, but there was a time when it was no man’s land and many tried for its purchase, including young entrepreneur Elijah Blackstone.

This was as Montana was admitted to Union becoming the 41st state in America.

In 1864, the year Elijah Blackstone was born, President Abraham Lincoln signed into existence Montana Territory, differentiating Montana terrain from Idaho. Montanans wanted their own province, so after much lobbying of Congress in Washington D.C., spearheaded by Sidney Edgerton, Montana finally made its debut as its own territory. This was fantastic, but Montanans further sought their terrain to be part of America by becoming an individual state, one run by its own legislators and elected officials. Much work had to be accomplished. Effective laws created for mining camps, as well as laws protecting Montana citizens, were fundamental necessities in obtaining self-sufficiency as a state.

Montanans worked hard to create a state constitution that would be acceptable to the U.S. Congress. Their efforts were met with great success. In 1889, the U.S. Congress decisively authorized the Enabling Act which welcomed Montana, along with Washington and North and South Dakotas, into the Union of the United States. Montana was now its own state.

Young Elijah Blackstone watched and learned with big eyes and big ears in his growing years and, along with his father, participated in every political and business event possible, as he grew from a young boy to a young man.

It was that very year, 1889, that twenty-five-year-old Elijah Blackstone tried with every available resource to purchase Granite Peak. He didn’t want it for selfish reasons, but to preserve its natural glory.

Granite Peak was, and still is, a spectacular wonder that lives up to its name. It’s a massive jutting chunk of crystalline granite prodigiously making diminutive everything beneath. It stretches to an approximate 12,800 feet above sea level and is one of the ten highest mounts in America. It is second to Alaska’s Denali in life-threatening climbs and, like Denali, its unpredictable weather is nothing the weak of mind or body should consider tackling.

Elijah feared destruction of the peak by rapacious enterprises seeking corporate gain, so he fought tooth and nail for its purchase. No good luck in that. But he was able to monitor and block attempts in others’ acquisitions and misuse of the land. He’d purchased thousands upon thousands of Montana real estate to protect its natural deific allure. Big land and big sky. The naturalist dream. In addition to his naturalist accomplishments, Elijah flourished as an astute businessman.

Move on to twentieth century Gregory Blackstone, heir apparent down the line to the Blackstone fortune. He refused the comforts of privileged wealth and lollygagging the days away on champagne and beautiful gold diggers. He invested an impressive percentage of his inherited wealth into new businesses, leaving the rest in a trust fund. Gregory followed Elijah into the tough but rewarding quests of preserving nature and wildlife.

In his youth, green to money-making, as he had not needed to labor, Gregory eschewed laziness and opted for hard work. He concentrated on building personal fortune. He was interested in the mechanisms in the process of building wealth.

Of the acreage designated to family, Gregory purchased a bit over twenty thousand, refusing to take the land for free. He’d worked hand over fist to buy the land that was, in reality, inherently his. He didn’t want it for nothing. Wouldn’t take it for free. The money used to purchase the land was put into another trust devoted to preserving nature and animals.

He’d recognized the value of working hard for what one wanted and relished in doing so to build his worth. Both financial and self-worth. He’d seen too many wealthy slide into the black hole of misfortune through entitlement to funds that they hadn’t worked for, but expected through birthright. Many lost enormous riches through lethargy and self-entitlement, never suspecting the money would or could ever be gone. Work ethics were nonexistent to them. Employment was a puzzlement.

Gregory selected acreage that most appealed to him, that he considered most likely to be profitable. When its value was assessed, he challenged himself to make the money to pay for it and to quadruple its value, which he did.

He had worked to the bone as an iron welder and a blacksmith, trades that had fascinated him in his youth. Those trades took him into various facets of the business world, allowed him to meet people he otherwise would not have met. It provided him insight he would not have gained, offered him invaluable lessons of finance, as well as knowledge he could not have attained from free hand-outs. He had worked hard for and gained the respect of colleagues worldwide.

Most importantly, one day while contemplating the options to a job contract in his lawyer’s office, he’d met a beautiful young woman named Faith. He fell instantly in love with her. He’d talked her into lunch and over the meal, which neither ate as they couldn’t take their eyes off of one another, they’d both known they’d found lasting love.

Gregory and Faith Blackstone would go on to build a massive fortune while maintaining a humble existence. They’d maintained the iron works business, but also ventured into crops, flowers, walnuts and chestnuts, as well as several other investments.

Marriage suited Gregory and Faith. Though not in a hurry to build a family, they were blessed with the births of two children. They’d had their children late in life, so the graces bestowed them were especially appreciated. As the years progressed, Gregory and Faith recognized the greatest of everything they had was in their children. They took parenting seriously and made it priority over everything. Coo and Angus Blackstone were the pride and joy of Gregory and Faith Blackstone. They were as strong a family entity as one could hope for. Gregory and Faith nurtured their children into wonderful people and promising protégés of the family empire.

Unfortunately, tragedy struck when Coo was twenty-one and Angus twenty-four. While the family was on the range enjoying a morning ride – Coo and Angus laughing heartily at some foolish joke their father made – an awful grunting sound emerged from Gregory. He grasped his chest and fell from his horse with a hard thud. He’d died instantly.

It was only a year later when Faith also died. Coo was convinced her mother died of a broken heart. Though she carried on brilliantly, especially in public, it had been obvious to Angus and Coo that Faith’s life wasn’t quite as full, no longer jubilant, as it had been when Gregory was alive.

With only memories of their parents to bolster them, it was up to young Coo and Angus to carry and guide the Blackstone wealth into the twenty-first century. They’d had to quickly adapt to the business world and grow in knowledge and courage. Their parents no longer around to offer crucial advice from experience, Coo and Angus cemented their union as business partners and a solidified team as brother and sister. Devotion, especially to each other’s well-being, was the honor and focus.

Chapter Two

Nature readied for winter. Coo took advantage of the last days of autumn riding. What better season for an expansive ride than that of autumn. It was the best time of year to explore the land. Colors flourished on trees so picturesque that if one wasn’t part of its naturalness, it would have appeared pictorial, too beautiful to be real. Raw foliage responded to the increasing cooling of the weather in blooming autumnal hues, or by turning dry and crisp and retreating to hibernation until awakened again with spring rains and sunshine.

She guided her horse toward the rill. Rowdy nickered approvingly.

Nothing had evolved in nabbing the thieves of her neighbors’ cattle, but she, as well as everyone else, stayed alert. It had been a few weeks since the theft. Difficult as it was when the pursuit of the thieves hit a brick wall, there was little anyone could do but spread the word and keep watch. It was present on her mind. But some days, she didn’t want to think of such things. Some days, she wished only to enjoy the outdoors.

She stopped Rowdy in the shallow stream, stared at the willowy bedrock. Mesmerized. The rocks looked like smoky quartz gems under the gentle balletic waves. The autumn trees lining the graceful stream in colorful array were testimony to the grandness of creation, of its supreme majesty. Coo listened to the trickling of the water over the rocks. The most melodic music in the world, particularly when united with the songs of birds and the wind through trees.

The sun and moon set and rose simultaneously that late afternoon. Both gloriously removed from human condition.

If they belonged to humans and not to creation, they’d be roped in, fenced in, and sold for the highest price.

She imagined her parents would have laughed at the remark. Rowdy threw her head up and down as if to agree. Coo scanned the acres. Skimmed the land, river, the skies with sentimental eyes. She missed her parents. Their deaths were still relatively new. Four years her father gone, three years her mother.

Sounds. She looked west.

A dark wooded patch with golden tree tips lined plains that stretched for miles, plains awash in the warm glow of the dipping sun. Almost balmy, the weather. Soft rays fanned out over the round hills that escalated from the foothills of the plains, producing colors dreamy like the artwork of Monet. In the distance, in the high mountain range, amassed snow looked to drip down the mountains like whipped cream over chocolate ice cream.

Rowdy pawed the ground.

You gettin’ hungry, girl?

She stroked the horse’s neck and took her attention back to