Death in Cedar Canyon

By Bernie Ziegner

A plane crash, a drug operation, murder: All play a part in leading Jim Neven nto danger. His relationship with police officer Sandy Collins doesn't stop him from investigating on his own, despite Sandy's admonition to stay out of it. 

As a result, Jim sticks his neck out, gets shot, and must survive when Sandy s also shot. 

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Bernie Ziegner
• Release date: Apr 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869314468

Bernie Ziegner

Bernie Ziegner grew up in Philadelphia. His career involved work as an electronic engineer for major defense contractors. He lived in Arizona for over two decades and now resides in Massachusetts. He can often be found in western Montana where he enjoys nature, horses, cattle and the local people.

Book preview

Prologue

Where the hell this snow storm come from?

Chuck Donovan heard the fear in Rocky Pacheco’s voice. The white swirl coming over Hershey Ridge and obscuring the Tillman Valley below hadn’t been forecast when he checked the NOAA National Weather Service in Missoula. But, the weather in early March was still winter in the mountains. Donovan banked the single-engine Cessna-182, turned 180 degrees, and dropped to 500 feet above the valley floor.

Keep your eyes peeled for the damn ranch, said Chuck.

Yeah, I’m lookin’

Chuck dismissed the idea of calling Missoula for an update on the weather. He’d just as soon no one knew about them or their payload.

What’re we gonna do? said Rocky staring fixedly out the side window. Can’t see the ground. We can’t make a drop in this shit.

I’m making a pass down the valley at 500 feet. Look for the damn buildings.

Shit.

Give Eduardo a call, said Donovan. Tell ‘im we’re getting outa here if we can’t see the ground.

Rocky fumbled for the microphone without taking his eyes from staring toward the ground.

Groundhog, this is Birdman. You copy?

Yeah. Been waitin’ for ya, said Eduardo. Where are ya?

Just turned down the valley. Making a pass at 500, but we can’t see anything.

I need that load, insisted Eduardo. You gotta drop it here.

If we can’t see your buildings at 500 feet, we’re outa here.

Goddamn it! I need that load. Get down lower, yelled Eduardo.

Chuck grabbed the microphone from Rocky’s hand. Listen asshole, we can’t see a damn thing and we’re not going any lower. This shit is getting worse and we’re outa here. He tossed the microphone to Rocky, pulled back on the wheel and gave the engine full throttle.

They heard Eduardo cursing them, but was drowned out by the roar of the engine as Chuck tried to gain altitude.

We’re starting to ice up.

How’re we gonna know where the end of the ridge is? Rocky kept staring toward the ground.

If I can get above 6,000 feet we’ll be okay, said Chuck. Most of the ridge is at 5,000, even less at the far end.

With this snow we won’t be able to see the road at the end of the ridge, won’t be able to get a bearing, said Rocky glancing at the altimeter. Christ we ain’t climbing very fast.

We’re picking up ice. Its gonna be a tough ride.

We gonna make it past the ridge?

I’m gonna turn toward Missoula in another minute, said Chuck. We should be past the ridge then.

Shit, we’re only at 5000. Where’s the end of the ridge?

No way to tell for sure. Donovan glanced at the altimeter, then the compass. Okay we’re turning.

God save us.

Chapter 1

Mystery on Hershey Peak

Snow still lay on the shady slopes of Hershey Ridge in late spring when Jim Neven saddled Rusty and headed toward the mountain. The end of April and temperatures reached into the 40s, but only for a couple of hours. He wanted to enjoy the spring day on the ridge at a favorite scenic lookout, he’d discovered in his youth.

The horse climbed steadily through the tall timber of the National Forest, crossing numerous snow-fed brooks and treading on beds of tiny spring flowers. Jim breathed deeply of the cold clean air and pleasant forest odors.

Rusty, a six year old gelding, picked his way carefully over the rocky ground with stones loosened by melting snow and countless rivulets of runoff. Jim trusted the horse’s judgment, never forcing it to go where he resisted.

As he neared the ridge top, Jim angled Rusty more to the right, aiming for his favorite lookout near Hershey Peak. Rusty stopped suddenly. His ears and posture told Jim that something unexpected was in the trees. Jim let his gaze sweep the forest around him, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He reached down and petted Rusty’s neck and shoulder.

What do you hear, Rusty? Something out there? Smell something? He kept his voice calm and petted him again. A light tap of Jim’s heels and Rusty took a few steps forward and stopped. Then Jim heard it; a whining sound, not very loud.

Okay boy, we’ll check it out.

Jim dismounted and led Rusty through a stand of Douglas fir, coming upon a small utility trailer painted in camouflage black and green. He went closer, curious of the whining noise, and found it to be an exhaust fan which, when he put his hand to it, vented a small amount of heat. On the roof, he saw two rows of solar panels and assumed it was to charge batteries. A telescoping antenna tower, attached to the corner of the trailer, rose about 20 feet in the air. There was also a small whip antenna mounted on the trailer roof.

What the heck is this thing?

Jim saw that Rusty had lost interest and was tugging on the lead rope, bending his head to nibble on grass. He walked around the trailer, saw that it had been raised to take the tires off the ground. Jim turned to Rusty. What do you make of this? There’s no identification on it at all. Some kind of National Forest thing? Rusty kept at the grass.

Jim examined the two heavy duty padlocks. Some serious locks.

He turned to Rusty and pulled his head up from the grass. Let’s go, boy. I’ll have to ask around about this thing, maybe check with a ranger. Sure looks suspicious.

Jim climbed into the saddle and headed for his favorite spot as a youngster, just below the crest of Hershey Ridge on the east side, looking out over Tillman Creek Valley and Tillman Ridge beyond. He put a hobble on Rusty and removed the bridle, letting the horse look for choice morsels of spring grass. He sat down at the lookout with his lunch and canteen. The breeze up the slope was steady and cold, but the warm sun made it an enjoyable repast.

The two shots were close together. Jim came alert, listened, but there were no others.

What the hell was that? he mumbled.

The shots seemed to have a reverberation to them, maybe echoing from the canyon below, he surmised. He was sure they had been pistol shots; not the sharp crack of a hunting rifle. Someone target practicing, he wondered? But there hadn’t been any more shots. Had it come from Cedar Canyon? Sure sounded like it.

Jim leaned back against the tree enjoying the warm sun. The view from the ridge top had always pleased him. A bald eagle rode the thermals just below his elevation, the white head easily seen against the dark forest below. Jim’s eyelids seemed to get heavier, his head drooped. Thoughts of the gun shots and of the strange trailer drifted out of his mind. He dozed with the warm sunlight on his face.

Jim heard Rusty whinnying. His eyes popped open. Another horse was approaching.

chapter 2

Death in Cedar Canyon

Steve Sullivan turned off County Road onto an old narrow track ending at the mouth of Cedar Canyon. This was his third yearly trip to the canyon to conduct the annual survey of the stand of western red cedar. It was more than just a job toward earning his PhD, he felt, for walking among these giants was a spiritual experience to which he looked forward. In the canyon, he would make a photographic survey of cedar and fir trees and riparian conditions along Cold Springs Creek for Old Growth Survey (OGS), a conservation group in Bozeman.

Steve knew the western red cedar well, an evergreen conifer in the cypress family, and not actually a cedar. He marveled at these giants growing to more than 190 feet and living up to 800 years. He was anxious to again be in the solitude of the canyon among these giants.

The ocean climate along the northwest coast suited it well. Yet, strangely enough, he thought, these trees could also be found in dry, but highly acidic, soils. Thus, groves of these majestic giants can be found in a few places along the western slopes of the northern Rocky Mountains, seldom growing in pure stands, and usually mixed with other species such as Douglas fir, Sitka spruce and western hemlock. One of these rare inland groves was in Cedar Canyon, at the southern end of Hershey Ridge in the Bitterroot National Forest.

Steve stopped his SUV and got out, stretched and took a deep breath, exhilarated by the smells and cold clean air. He hefted the backpack onto his shoulders and started hiking up hill. Around him were stands of fir, hemlock and some aspen. The backpack was uncomfortably stuffed with instruments for the measurement of ground moisture and acidity, as well as with sandwiches and water.

Cold Springs Creek formed from a trickle of frigid snow melt seeping through the stratified layers of ancient rock and deposits. This year-round brook was augmented by rain clouds that hung over the southern tip of Hershey Ridge during much of the year. Steve walked along the south side of the creek, steadily gaining elevation. The giant cedars were all around him. He felt in good company.

He stopped and stared across the creek, blinking a few times. The splash of white didn’t belong among these trees. Something didn’t look right.

What the heck is that? he mumbled and stared.

He took a few steps closer to the creek.

Is that a plane? He tried to comprehend what he was seeing. It’s gotta be. Holy cow!

The view of the plane was partially blocked by the big tree trunks, but in a few seconds he recognized the shape of a small airplane nose-down among the big trees.

Christ. How long’s it been here? Gotta get over there.

Picking his way over the slippery rocks, he crossed the creek and started toward the downed plane.

Single engine Cessna.

He took a few more steps toward the plane, seeing that it’s nose was buried in the ground.

Can’t be anybody in it. I wonder...?

Still some yards from the plane, he heard a voice behind him.

Hold it. That’s far enough.

He heard a gun being cocked. A chill went up his back.

Steve turned and saw a denim clad man holding a pistol about twenty feet away. Speechless for a few seconds, he then recovered.

What...what do you want? Steve stared at the black pistol and then at the unshaven and grizzled face of the man walking toward him.

Stand over facing that tree. Spread your arms out.

Steve did as he was told. He felt the man pat down his pockets. I haven’t got anything on me, just some instruments. I left my wallet in the SUV.

Let’s head back. Go on, don’t give me trouble.

Steve turned around. The man motioned with the pistol for Steve to cross back over the creek.

But the airplane...someone may be in it, exclaimed Steve glancing back toward the crash site.

The stranger spat a stream of tobacco juice in front of him. Steve shuddered when he met his gaze from the cold vacuous stare. Fear gripped his thoughts.

I...I don’t have much money, just credit cards. I’m here for the OGS...doing some survey work.

Yeah, yeah. Get goin’. Don’t give me any trouble. We’ll head back to your car.

Steve walked ahead of the gunman and crossed the creek. He looked around him, but saw no avenue of escape.

What do you want with me? Want my SUV? Take it.

Shut up. Move faster.

Got something to do with the plane? I wasn’t near it. Steve realized he was grasping at straws, but he feared for his life.

Move it and shut up, growled the gunman.

Why rob someone way up in the canyon? A feeling of dread came over him. His questions were not responded to, instead the gunman urged Steve to pick up the pace. Near the entrance to the canyon, they stopped.

Steve turned to face the stranger. What do you want with me? He barely got the words out. He tried to swallow.

Turn around.

What...?

The gunman grabbed Steve by the arm turning him to face the SUV. He raised his pistol. Two quick shots to the head and Steve, mortally wounded, crumbled to the ground.

▬

The shooter calmly picked up the spent shells and pocketed them, and then hurried back to the airplane, walking through the flowing creek in various places. He avoided looking at the remains of the dead pilot and copilot sandwiched in the cockpit. When he opened the cockpit door he hesitated, allowing some of the nauseating odor to dissipate. Then trying not to breath, he hurriedly loaded his backpack with ten one-kilo packs of cocaine and walked up-canyon into the forest, leaving many more packs still in the fuselage. Thirty minutes later he returned and loaded up the remaining packages into his backpack, and again headed into the forest.

He came out of the forest onto a long abandoned and overgrown logging road and spotted his old red pickup. He hurried toward it and heaved the backpack into the truck bed, happy to be relieved of its weight. He pulled a stained kerchief from his back pocket and wiped his brow. The suddenly alert, he stood still and listened to the forest noises for a minute before stuffing the kerchief back in his pocket.

Gotta get outa here. Lew ‘ll be waiting, he mumbled.

Climbing into the back of the pickup, he went to the bales of hay that were pushed toward the cab. The bale toward the front was the one he was interested in. Grabbing it by the top edge, he pulled it toward him. The top several inches swung upward to expose a box-like cavity in the bale. Moving quickly, he emptied his backpack of the kilo-packs, stacking them neatly with the others inside the hay bale. Finished, he pressed the top back down, making it look like any other bale of hay as he twisted two strands of baling wire around it. Before entering the cab, he shook out the backpack thoroughly, and checked it for any sign of the illicit powder.

He wondered if anyone had paid attention to the earlier shots. Caution suggested to him that the pistol be thrown away, buried somewhere. But then, he liked the gun. It had never failed him. Maybe he’d get a new barrel for it. He drove slowly down the side of the mountain, not wanting to disturb the hay bales. He’d meet up with Lew at the campground below and let him know that there had been a problem. If anyone found the plane now, there wasn’t much they could conclude except that someone had been there. So what?

chapter 3

Surprise Encounter

Jim turned and stared at a gray horse approaching through the trees. A woman, walking and partly shielded by the horse, hailed a greeting.

Hello! Okay if I join you?

Sure. Did you see my horse anywhere? asked Jim.

He’s in a little clearing, not far.

The young woman moved from behind her horse to stand a few yards from Jim, holding the reins loosely at her side. The horse immediately tried to find some browse.

Jim was struck by her classic good looks. Realizing he was staring, he blushed, and stood up, nervously brushing the dirt from his jeans.

I didn’t expect any company up here, said Jim, still a little flustered from giving himself away so easily.

I didn’t either. She smiled. I’m Sandy Collins.

She extended her hand and Jim reached for it. It was then, when her jacket parted, that he glimpsed the badge at her waist and the pistol on her hip.

Jim Neven. Then nervously added, I’ve been living in Missoula, but I’m here looking after my parents’ estate. It’s the old cabin down below on County Road.

Oh, yes. I’ve seen the place. She held his gaze. It’s rather cute. They passed away recently?

Jim nodded. Yes. I’m there for a while taking care of things. I took a leave from work at Neven Electrical Contracting. Her eyes never left him. He felt a warmth seep through him. His heart beat faster.

What brings you up here on the ridge? he asked.

Business actually, she said, as she started to pull equipment from her large saddle bags. She walked by him with a telescope and tripod, giving him a curious smile as she walked closer to the edge of the cliff. A camera was slung around her neck.

You’re a photographer? asked Jim.

Today I am. She turned and gave him a playful smile, as she opened the tripod. But as you’ve already surmised, I’m a law officer. I’m with DCI.

What...what’s a DCI agent?

She rolled her eyes and stepped back. Department of Criminal Investigation. I work out of Missoula.

Embarrassed, Jim didn’t say anything for a minute, just watched her set up the telescope, as she aimed it down towards the floor of Tillman Creek Valley. He couldn’t help looking at how she filled her jeans. Her shoulder length sandy hair was in a ponytail that whisked back and forth as she worked on the telescope. She fitted an adapter to the camera, and tested it on the telescope eyepiece.

She hadn’t said anything and Jim finally blurted, Don’t mean to be nosy, but…

She cut him off. Then don’t be. Then she turned and gave him a warm smile. I’m sorry. I’ll be taking pictures of features on the valley floor. Let’s leave it at that. Okay?

He nodded, Sure. Didn’t mean to pry.

She stood up and walked to him, standing in front of him, looking into his eyes. I’m a DCI agent, just gathering some background info on the area. A smile played at the corners of her mouth.

He felt warmth spread to his face. Okay. I won’t ask anymore.

Good. Sandy walked back to the telescope, bent over and peered into it.

Come here and I’ll show you what I’m doing.

He glanced at her bent-over figure, but then forced his eyes aside.

Here, look through the ‘scope. See the ranch buildings? She stepped aside to let him peer into the eyepiece.

It’s really clear. What place is that? Jim stood up.

Macmillan Ranch. It’s the headquarters of a big property management organization. I guess they board some horses down there, too.

I won’t ask, he grinned, raising his hands in mock surrender.

She smiled. Thank you.

After some additional adjustments of the telescope, Jim watched as Sandy attached the camera and took a series of pictures. Repositioning the telescope several times, she took another set of pictures before standing up and looking at him. She placed her hands on her hips and smiled. Jim hoped that this savvy woman couldn’t detect how flustered he felt.

I’m going to pack it up, she said.

Jim nodded, Okay.

I saw your truck and trailer parked at the campground when I pulled in. I figured someone was up on the ridge.

Yeah, I used to ride from my folk’s cabin up here when I got a chance.

You grew up in Missoula? she asked.

No. I lived in Troy and then here at the cabin and later went to school in Missoula.

University?

I went to the Tech School and then to the University for a Business degree. How about you?

I grew up in Missoula. My dad is a retired police captain. I went to UM for a degree in Criminology. Then I went through the Academy in Helena. Now I’m with DCI.

He was glad that she had felt comfortable to tell him this. He was attracted to her not just by her beauty and svelte profile, but by a personality that kept him on the edge, teasing, pulling back, and then smiling. How to figure her, he wondered; chiding one minute, teasing and smiling the next. Might be hard to do, he mused, but he hoped they would be friends.

Did you hear the shots earlier? asked Jim.

Sandy furrowed her brow, shook her head. What time was that?

Just before noon. Two quick pistol shots.

Pistol? From where?

I made it to be in Cedar Canyon, the way it echoed.

Pistol? she asked again.

Jim nodded. I know a hunting rifle when I hear it. These were closely spaced shots, and sounded just like a pistol.

Sandy pulled a small notebook out of her saddlebag, looked at her watch and made some notes.

Are you heading back down? she asked. A note of seriousness now shaded her voice.

Yes. By the way, I came across an odd thing on the way up here. It’s a small trailer, an equipment trailer, setting in the woods over a short way. It’s right on the ridge line.

She looked at him curiously, he felt like she was studying him. Something someone left behind?

Jim shook his head. No. It has what I think is operating radio gear. There are antenna and solar panels on it. I couldn’t get into it.

Sandy swung into the saddle in a smooth form, her well fitting jeans didn’t pass Jim’s notice. Okay. Get your horse, she said.

Jim walked to where his horse had drifted in the search for grass. There he put on the bridle, removed the hobble, and tightened the cinch. He then moved out the way he had come.

In a few minutes they came to the camouflaged trailer. They dismounted and approached for a closer look.

Sandy stared at the antenna mast and frowned. What the heck? This is federal land, National Forest.

You think this is a federal thing? asked Jim.

Can’t imagine. Could be some private setup, likely illegal, she mused.

It’s certainly strange, huh?

I have no idea what it could be, said Sandy.

Jim pulled out his cell phone. Why don’t I call a friend in Missoula? Got to be good coverage from up here. He might be able to tell me what this is.

Sandy shrugged, still engrossed in looking at details of the trailer.

Jim punched in the number for Fred Harrison, who worked at Northwoods Communications.

Fred? Yeah, Jim here.

Hey, where the heck are you?

Up on a mountain towards Camden. I’m looking at a small trailer that has electronic equipment in it. It’s sitting here in the National Forest all by itself. I can’t get into it. I thought that maybe you could give me an idea what it could be if I described it.

I’ll give it a try. It’s a small trailer, like what, a U-Haul? asked Fred.

It’s a single axle trailer, could have been a U-Haul in its prior life. It’s painted camouflage green and black. There are photoelectric panels on the roof, a small whip antenna, and an array of antennas on a mast.

Describe the antennas.

There are three, what looks like long-range TV antennas, mounted on a metal pole. The antennas are separated by maybe a couple feet, and they are all pointing the same direction.

Okay. I understand you to be describing a multi-element antenna where the narrow elements are at the front of the antenna and the wider ones in the back. Is that what you have there?

Uh, yeah. Each antenna has ten elements.

Interesting. What do you think is the dimension across the driven element of the antennas?

Huh? asked Jim.

Okay. From the back of the antenna, look at the second element and tell me about how long it is end-to-end. That’d be the next to the biggest element. It should have a cable attached to it, feeding it.

Looks like maybe forty inches. It’s definitely bigger than a yard. Jim craned his neck staring upward.

Okay. That’s most likely in the VHF amateur or aircraft band.

There’s a shorter whip antenna on the roof, maybe two feet long, added Jim.

Yeah, that’d be VHF, too. Fred added, This could be an amateur radio repeater. But on federal land, I doubt it. Also, I’m just looking through my amateur repeater listing and I don’t see anything for that area.

So, what are you saying? It’s an aircraft radio setup of some kind? asked Jim.

Sure sounds like it to me.

Jim held his compass away from the metal of the trailer. Near as I can tell from my compass, the antenna is pointing toward Butte.

Well, what sort of signal is coming from it? I have a hand-held scanner you can borrow. Come by here when you’re in town.

Jim finished his conversation and turned to Sandy. Fred seems to think it’s an aircraft radio something or other. He’s going to loan me a scanner, see if I can pick up any signal coming from it.

Sandy stared at the trailer shaking her head. Well, there’s no license plate and any identifying plaques have been removed. I copied a number cast into the axle. I doubt if it’ll lead anywhere, but who knows. She smiled at Jim. Coming back here with a scanner?

He shrugged. I’ll first try listening for something down below, on the Tillman Creek road.

Well, I’ve got a few pictures that I can pass around at the office, see if anyone has any ideas. Shall we head down?

An hour later they came out of the forest at Tillman Campground where their horse trailers and pickups were parked.

chapter 4

Odd Company

Coming out of the trees, Sandy and Jim saw a man standing next to a SUV, talking with another, seated in a faded red pickup. The man in the truck departed as Jim and Sandy dismounted.

Sandy spoke softly to Jim. The guy coming toward us is Lew Macmillan, owner of Macmillan Ranch and Macmillan Property Development. He’s the one that runs that place we were just looking at.

Sure. Okay.

Lew came toward them and effusing the glib approach of a salesman, introduced himself. Sandy introduced Jim and they shook hands.

Looking at Sandy, Lew rubbed his chin, Yeah, I remember now – saw you at the Beef ‘n Ale in Missoula a few weeks ago. I don’t forget a pretty lady.

Uh-huh, been a few weeks. We been riding on the ridge, real pretty in the spring, said Sandy without much enthusiasm.

Lew looked several times to where their horses were tied to the side of Sandy’s trailer.

You still chasing bad guys for DCI?

Sandy laughed. That’s what I do.

Lew nodded, his eyes now turned to Jim. Haven’t seen you in these parts. Live nearby?

My parents’ place is up the road. I’m at Neven Electric in Missoula.

Oh? He stared momentarily at Jim, then turned his attention to Sandy.

Sandy, what are you doing these days. You weren’t too talkative at the Beef ‘n Ale.

She shrugged, Nothing too glamorous, pushing paper mostly. So, what’s new in real estate development?

Lew smiled and puffed out his chest. All kinds of opportunities. I’m looking to expand my ranch toward Cedar Canyon, maybe develop it for high end ranchettes. He continued with hand-waving gestures, talking about new properties he had acquired, only stopping when it became obvious Sandy and Jim were not interested.

You have that big spread over on Tillman Creek. You running cattle on it this season? asked Sandy, a hint of a smile playing on her face.

Lew shook his head. No. I’m boarding horses for folks. They come and go. I think there are eleven horses there now. I don’t have the time to run cattle; maybe next year if I get a bigger crew. Well, gotta go, folks. Nice to see you again, Sandy. Good to meet you, Jack.

It’s Jim, said Sandy.

▬

Lew started his SUV, waved at Sandy, and departed. He glanced in the rear view, The bitch is lying. What’s she doing way up here – two hours from Missoula and a hike up the mountain? He had been curious and more than a little attracted to her when he had first seen her at the Beef ‘n Ale and had asked the bartender about her. The barkeep, hungry to pick up some easy cash, suggested that he had talked to her several times; said that she was a cold fish, and he had bought her drinks for nothing. Only when Lew laid a ten on the counter, and the barkeep had stuffed it into his pocket, did he reveal that he had overheard her talking with an agent from DCI on more than one occasion. The conversations had to do with drug busts and networks, but that he hadn’t been able to pick up more.

Fear and doubt pushed his lustful images aside as a hint of fear and doubt crept into his thoughts. He had been forced to kill a man recently, who had been turned by the Helena police. Is the DCI bitch running a drug sting? Does she have an informant in my organization, or had someone been careless? Two airplanes had been confiscated in Salt Lake recently. Was all this related, he wondered? Things weren’t going well. His backers were definitely unhappy. Stuff wasn’t moving fast enough.

Lew drove on towards his ranch, troubled by the recent turn of events. Yes, he wanted to get the woman in the sack, he mused, no two ways about it. But was her horseback trip on the ridge as innocent as she made out? What about the fat saddlebags he had seen? Sure as hell wasn’t their lunch leftovers. And, who was the dude with her? Neven Electric? Maybe FBI. He’d have to check into that. He’d have a talk with Schaefer; maybe he could tell him who this guy was. Schaefer, money hungry DCI bastard, had a couple bad habits to maintain - drugs and broads. He had been easy to turn. A few photos had done the trick.

This Sandy woman was different. It would be a shame to whack someone so beautiful, but then, what choice would I have. Can’t take the chance. I’d better talk to Schaefer first. Gotta be real careful killing a cop.

▬

Sandy got into her truck. Jim pushed her door closed and leaned on the window sill. Do you have time to stop at my parents’ old place? It’s just up the road.

She looked into his face, hesitated, then smiled. Sure. Love to. She started the truck. See you there.

She knew she was moving too fast. Her heart beat rapidly. Who was he, anyway? She hadn’t been alarmed by his presence on the mountain and had liked the way he looked at her.

After the last relationship had dissolved, she had thrown herself into her work to the exclusion of any real friendships. But the demanding, sometimes risky, and often tiring work at DCI had not replaced the emptiness that she had come to feel. And yet, she had resisted any involvement, limiting her social life to parents and after-work gatherings.

She glanced in the rear-view mirror. There was something about him that intrigued her. Was it his unassuming way? His gentle and kind eyes? Here she was, going to the house of someone she had met but only a few hours ago. She shook her head, then smiled.

▬

Jim turned into the hard packed driveway at the cabin, then drove slowly to the back and stopped alongside the corral. He waved Sandy to come forward and she parked her pickup and trailer next to his.

You can make a full turn from back here. You’d have to back into the road, otherwise. Jim said, as she turned off the engine.

Thanks. This’ll be a lot easier. She took a quick glance around. It’s a cute place.

The barn is in good shape. The corral has a shade overhang at the other end. I’ve kept Rusty here since I’ve had him, even though I’ve been living in Missoula.

I keep Buster over my dad’s place. He has a few acres, enough for him to graze.

They leaned on the corral fence, looking out onto the base of Hershey Ridge. The afternoon sun was waning, but the high timber glowed in the bright green of new growth. They fell into an easy conversation. When Jim mentioned Lew Macmillan, she told him of their meeting.

It was rather uncomfortable. I was in the Beef ‘n Ale by myself that night. Sitting at the bar, I was hoping to pick up some hints on drug movement. Anyhow, I was sitting there when Lew came up to me. I had seen him there before, but always with other people. Not this time.

Was he drunk?

Oh, yeah, she nodded. He was full of himself and pushy, difficult to control. I didn’t want to have to use my DCI credentials, not that the regulars didn’t know who I was. I just wanted to avoid a scene. I’m always armed, so I don’t worry too much. Anyway, he finally got distracted by some bimbo he knew.

He sure asked a lot of questions, and who was that guy with him? The guy in the red truck that drove off? asked Jim.

I’ve never seen him before. He looked like Native American or maybe Mexican. He probably works for Lew.

Maybe I’m imagining it, but it seemed to me Lew blocked my view of him, said Jim. Couldn’t get a good look.

She frowned. Wonder what that was about?

Sandy turned and looked into his face, a searching look that made his heart beat faster. Then she looked away.

What? said Jim.

She turned back to face him. My work is directed at finding links to drug distribution into western Montana. I’m part of a task force with other cities and agencies. She paused and looked back at him.

Surprised, Jim said, You don’t have to tell me anything.

Sandy nodded. I know, she said softly, then continued. There’s been some suspicion cast on the Macmillan operations.

How come?

The ranch has an extraordinary amount of pickup trucks and horse trailers parked there most of the time and not that much horse activity. A state patrol flies over it from time to time. Actually, it is just part of their regular flight path, but I asked them to take a photo the other week.

Lew said he’s making a horse boarding place.

She wrinkled her face, nodded. Yeah, that’s what he said.

Where did this Lew guy come from? asked Jim.

I took a look at his financial records, at least the ones I could find. He’s two different corporations, maybe more. He left LA a decade ago holding properties in the San Fernando Valley. Records show he’s still getting plenty of income from there.

They both turned as a loud whiny came from Rusty.

I guess I better let him out of there.

Chapter 5

Horses and Conversation

Jim backed his horse out of the trailer, removed the saddle and blanket, and then the halter. He turned Rusty loose in the corral.

Would you want to leave Buster here with Rusty? You can leave your trailer here, too, if you want.

Sandy looked at Jim in surprise, soon replaced by a smile. Could I? That would be so great. I never get to ride him at home anymore.

Rusty would like company, I’m sure.

I’d have to pay you - for the feed at least.

Jim shrugged. Okay. Something for the feed would be nice.

Thank you so much. Really nice of you.

You’re welcome. Here, I’ll help you get Buster.

Buster was anxious to be out of the trailer, nearly knocking Jim over as he opened the door.

I got him. Sandy grabbed his halter. He smells the grain and water.

She quickly removed the saddle and halter. As Buster turned