High Stakes, page 16
“Wow. That’s a lofty undertaking,” I comment. “And using rescued horses is almost poetic. I love the idea.”
“I want to help,” Pippa announces with more excitement than I’ve seen from her in a while.
It’s on my lips to remind her she’s still recovering, but I swallow it down. My sister’s not stupid and who knows, maybe it’ll do her good.
“As soon as your doctor gives you the all-clear,” Lucy says, earning a grateful smile from me.
“I’m already going stir-crazy,” Pippa complains.
She never could sit still for long.
“We could hit up that Walmart in Ponderay,” I suggest. “If you’re sure you’re up for it.”
Half an hour later we’re on our way.
I’m less concerned about the drive than Pippa’s ability to roam the store for any length of time, but I assume they’ll have a wheelchair I can push around. The reason I suggested the Idaho store over the one in Kalispell is that Ponderay is not far from where I found a motorhome similar to Pippa’s for sale. We’ll see how she does shopping first, but if she has enough left in the tank maybe we can go have a look.
“After we hit up Walmart, I want to make one more stop if you feel up to it.”
“Sure. Where are we stopping?”
“I found a few ads for motorhomes similar to yours a couple of days ago. One of the addresses is half an hour south of Ponderay. I wouldn’t mind checking it out.”
She shifts in her seat to look at me.
“You think it’s mine?”
Even though some of her memories have come back, most of those are from years ago. I’m the one who told her she owned a motorhome that was missing. I also told her under what circumstances we found her, hoping that might trigger something, but so far the past few years still seem to be a blur.
“I don’t know. Like I said, this is only one ad I found, there’s another one near Eureka I’d love to check out.”
“Shouldn’t the police be looking into that?”
“The sheriff’s office, yes, but they have their hands full.”
In addition, someone selling used—possibly stolen—RVs may not be so willing to help out law enforcement, but they might be a little more relaxed with a potential buyer. Who knows, I may be able to find some useful information I can pass on to the authorities. I’m sure Sheriff Ewing won’t be too pleased, but I can’t sit still.
Anything that provides a distraction from my churning thoughts. I’ve been going around in mental circles since Fletch’s visit the other night. Some of what he said really resonated with me. His comment that he and I aren’t that different struck me hard and gave me a better understanding of his motivations. He was protecting himself, which is something I recognize. I’m doing the same thing myself, which is why I’ve been hesitant to let him in again.
I’m not holding a grudge—he’s already forgiven—but that doesn’t mean I’m eager to put my heart on the line again. I wasn’t lying when I told him with my entire life on shaky ground I didn’t think I could risk incurring another blow. Hell, I don’t even know where I’ll be or what I’ll be doing tomorrow. I need to get a bit of a foothold on what is left of my life first, and if he’s as serious about me as he says he is, he’ll wait.
I hope.
“I just realized, I don’t have money,” Pippa says when we finally pull into the Walmart parking lot.
“Don’t worry about that. We can sort all that out this week. We should make a list of things to do anyway, and that includes calling your bank.” I unclip my seat belt and open my door. “Hang tight, I’m just going to grab a wheelchair.”
An elderly Walmart greeter points me in the right direction and a few minutes later I’m helping a grumbling Pippa in the seat.
Her mood is quickly lifted when I wheel her over to the clothing department. She always was more of a shopper than me. In no time she has clothes piled on her lap, both for herself and some she picked for me. We spend some time in the dressing room where she has me try things on I never would’ve chosen for myself. Yet somehow the clothes fit this new version of me.
I’m grateful for the space my van offers when I load our bags in the back. It didn’t take long to make a dent in my budget, but I’m not going to worry about that now. Sorting out my finances is something I need to sit down for this coming week as well.
Pippa has her head leaned back against the seat, her eyes closed. Maybe this was too much, too soon for her.
“Ready to go home?”
“Didn’t you have another stop?”
“That can wait.”
It really can’t. In fact, the motorhome may already be gone. Those chances go up the longer we wait, but I’m not about to put that kind of pressure on Pippa.
“We’re out here anyway. Let’s go have a look.”
The address is a weird exit off the highway for an auto repair shop. The road starts off paved but when it leads into the woods it turns into packed dirt. I’m starting to wonder if this was a good idea.
I have half an eye open for a good place to turn around, when the trees thin out on the right side of the road, revealing what looks like a junkyard.
“Yikes. That doesn’t look too promising,” Pippa remarks.
It sure doesn’t, but my fleeting hopes come back to life when I spot about half a dozen tent trailers and a couple of motorhomes parked outside a building. I focus on one that looks very much like the Jayco Redhawk my sister owned.
I pull the van up behind it when an older man walks out of the building, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Can I help you?”
The question is friendly enough, despite the squinted look he shoots our way when we get out of the vehicle.
“I called about the Jayco a few days ago? Is this it?”
“That’s it. You’re lucky it’s still here. I’ve had a lot of interest. A couple of folks are coming to have a look tomorrow.”
That could be true, although it’s a common ploy to try and push a sale. Still, I’ll try and use it to my advantage.
“Do you think we could have a look inside?”
He gestures to the camper. “Be my guest. Door is open.”
I follow Pippa up the steps and into the motorhome. To my relief, the guy stays outside.
The interior looks fairly clean and smells like bleach. I’ve only been inside Pippa’s place once, but I’m assuming they all look the same. Generic flooring, cabinetry, window coverings, I can’t see anything personalized.
“Do you recognize anything?” I whisper at my sister.
“Not really.”
She opens the small kitchen cabinets and peers inside. I start opening doors and drawers as well, but everything looks to have been cleaned out. I turn to the truck cab and check in the center console, cupholders, and behind the sun visors without any luck, when I notice something sticking out from under the floor mat on the driver’s side.
“Everything all right in here?”
The man’s voice startles me just as I close my fingers on the corner of a white piece of paper and pull.
“Yup,” I chirp, a little too high-pitched. “Just checking the odometer.”
It looks to be a receipt and I promptly shove it in my pocket before I back out of the cab.
The guy is standing in the door opening and is watching Pippa step into the small bathroom.
“What year is it again?”
He turns my way. “Just four years old. Well-maintained, as you can see. Only reason you’d be getting a deal on this beauty is because it’s got close to forty thousand miles on the clock.”
We both turn to Pippa, who is backing out of the bathroom. When she turns I notice her face is pale.
“Everything okay?”
Her eyes snap to me.
“Yeah. Fine.”
I’m not buying it. She looks like she’s seen a ghost, but I’m not going to push it. She’s darting nervous glances at the man.
“Your price is as listed in the ad?” I ask, trying to divert his attention from Pippa.
“Firm. Like I said, it’s a steal.”
It’s a steal all right. One of the reasons a red flag went up when I spotted this listing in the first place was the low price. The average asking price for this year and model is mid-to-high seventies.
“Do you provide financing?”
I already know the answer to that but I want to get out of here.
“Cash, money order, or bank check only,” is his curt answer before he backs away from the door.
“Fair enough. Let me think on this.”
Grabbing Pippa’s hand I exit the motorhome, eager to get to my van.
“Better think fast. At this price it won’t last.”
“I understand. Appreciate your time.”
It’s not until we turn back onto the highway that I finally relax a little.
“What happened back there?” I ask Pippa who hasn’t said a word yet. “You looked like you saw a ghost.”
“Smell this,” she says, sticking her hand under my nose.
The faintly familiar scent of hand lotion wafts up.
“That smells like that stuff you always used.”
“Khiel’s aloe and green tea hand cream,” she confirms. “My favorite.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
I recall a disagreement she and I had once. She swore by Khiel’s, whereas I felt the thirty or forty dollars for a bit of hand lotion was outrageous when simple bag balm would do the trick.
“I found a tube in the medicine cabinet back there. I think…” She turns to look at me. “I think that may have been my rig.”
Fletch
* * *
“Why the sudden interest in Esther Grimshaw’s place?”
I guide King around a couple of trees before sidling up to James again.
We’re out this morning to search for a couple of hunters who haven’t been seen or heard from for four days. They were staying at a local motel and hadn’t been back to their room either. Having hunters reported missing happens all the time, and is often simply a matter of poor communication. These guys are out in the mountains, cell reception is bad or nonexistent, and half the time they turn the sound off so they don’t alert wildlife. In this case, however, the father of one of the guys had a massive stroke and is not expected to live. The family is desperately trying to get word to his son, hoping he’ll have a chance to say his goodbyes, and hired us to find him.
I noticed the for sale sign when we drove by Esther’s place this morning.
“Just curious, that’s all. I thought it was sold already.”
A neighbor as long as I’ve been here, Esther was getting up there in age and decided a couple of months ago to sell her property. I suspect it was getting to be a bit much for her to handle. The ten or so acres of land had been left to lie fallow since her husband passed away years ago, but even just the upkeep of the house and the yard would be a challenge for someone well into their seventies. Besides, she’s a fair distance from town and emergency services if anything were to happen.
“I hear the deal fell through. For sale sign went back up last week.”
“That’s too bad.”
“It sure is. She’s supposed to close on a small single level a block from the hospital in three weeks. She’s in a hurry to sell.”
I grunt and process the information.
The property is halfway between High Meadow and the horse rescue. Great location, house is in decent condition, and I believe it has a good-sized barn as well.
Never really felt the urge to buy a place of my own—the cabin at the ranch worked just fine—but maybe it’s time to consider a change. Hell, it’s not like I can’t afford it, all I do is sock away money. It wouldn’t take much to free up the funds. It would also be conveniently close to the ranch. I bet I could find some trails back there and ride an ATV to work.
“Are you looking?” James prompts.
I shrug. I wasn’t, or at least I didn’t realize I was, but for some reason this feels like an opportunity I need to jump on for a multitude of reasons. Some of which I don’t feel like examining too closely, not yet anyway.
“I’m interested,” I admit a bit reluctantly.
“Anything in particular bring this on?”
I’m not about to discuss my motivations, but as it turns out, I don’t need to when Bo decides to weigh in.
“He’s got a woman now,” he pipes up from behind us. “That is, if he ever gets his head dislodged from his ass.”
“You can fuck right off, Rivera,” I fire over my shoulder, which seems to amuse James.
“Hey, I’m just saying I get it,” Bo persists. “A woman like that deserves more than a one-bedroom shack in the woods.”
“A woman like what?” Sully asks, who took point when we set out but has let us catch up.
“Nella,” Bo answers. “Fletch is thinking of buying the Grimshaw place for her.”
“Jesus Christ, you guys are worse than a bunch of hens. I never said that.”
“Maybe not, but we all recognize the first signs of domestication,” James shares.
I’m about to deny when Jonas’s booming, disembodied voice comes from somewhere to my left.
“If you ladies are done with your bickering, you may wanna have a look at this.”
When we join him in the gully, he points out a strip of camouflage material tied to the branch of a young tree. Ten minutes later we find a second one. Close to two hours after that we find the slightly disoriented hunters near a small creek.
The two had been tracking a black bear and not only lost the bear, but their way back to the trail as well. Little did they know that the trail was a mere twenty feet from where they’d left their markers in the gully. They got wise after they found a source of water and stayed put, but they sure went into these mountains unprepared.
After a lecture from Jonas on proper gear and emergency equipment, we explained our reason for looking for them in the first place. The mood was quite subdued as we guided the men back to the trailhead where we’d found their truck.
Driving back home, we pass Hart’s Horse Rescue. It’s late afternoon and I can’t help wonder what Nella is doing now. I’m tempted to grab my truck when we get to the ranch and drive back here to check on her, but she asked for time and it hasn’t even been two days. Patience isn’t my strong suit.
The realtor’s sign is still on the front lawn when we pass the Grimshaw place.
Maybe I can swing by and check on Esther instead.
Twenty-One
Nella
* * *
“Ms. Freling…you are relentless.”
The sheriff sounds exhausted.
“Determined,” I counter.
“Reckless, you mean. What were you thinking? Never mind,” he adds immediately. “I don’t even want to know. Andrew’s Auto Repair is not only outside of my county, it’s in flipping Idaho.”
“Does that mean you’re doing nothing?”
I hear him sigh deeply.
“A tube of hand cream in a medicine cabinet is hardly a smoking gun, Ms. Freling. I can contact local law enforcement, ask them to go have a look at the vehicle, hope the VIN number is still legible but I can’t make any promises as to when that will be. That’ll be up to the locals.”
I glance inside where Pippa is pulling our purchases out of the bags to show Lucy.
“My sister remembers it. The hand cream is hers, as is the motorhome, what more do you need?”
“With all due respect, your sister couldn’t remember her own blood a few days ago. Her recollection seems at the very least unpredictable, if not outright unreliable. Look, I’m not saying I won’t follow up, but my department is spread thin as it is. I have to prioritize.”
I get it, I do, but that doesn’t make me any less annoyed.
“What about—” I start asking when Ewing cuts me off.
“Ms. Freling, I’m sorry but I really have to go. I will be in touch but in the meantime, I’ll ask you again; please don’t interfere with the investigation.”
I puff out a frustrated breath and lean back in the rocking chair, watching Hope chase Daisy the donkey away from the fresh pile of hay Lucy dumped in the paddock earlier.
Ewing may not want me involved, but if nothing is done, that motorhome will be gone and so will anything linking it to Andrew’s Auto Repair. I’m so stupid, I could’ve taken some pictures. I’m contemplating making the two-hour drive back there, but the sun’s already setting and I’m not comfortable sneaking onto private property in the dark.
“Are you coming in? Dinner’s ready.”
I twist my head to see Pippa standing in the open door.
“Be right there.”
She disappears inside and I get to my feet, tucking my phone in my back pocket, but it seems to catch on something. I shove my hand down and retrieve the piece of paper I found stuck under the floor mat in the motorhome. Almost forgot about that.
It’s a gas receipt for twenty-seven and a half gallons of unleaded and five gallons of propane. Cash payment. None of that would be particularly unusual, not with the gas station address listed as Chain Lakes Inn, Highway 2, Libby, Montana. I know it’s south of here. Pippa may well have come through there.
Not on September sixth, though—the date on the receipt—because by then my sister had already been missing for at least a week.
I hesitate for a minute, wondering if I should risk bothering Sheriff Ewing but the likelihood is he’ll just brush me off again. No, next time I contact him it’ll be with something he can’t ignore.
In the meantime, I’ll drive out to the gas station tomorrow, ask around and see if anyone remembers seeing Pippa’s rig.
“Those are the tiniest cinnamon buns I’ve ever seen.” Pippa’s critical eye scans the cooled display case with maybe half a dozen pastries. “Who does your baking?”
“We get them from Rosauers.”
Pippa was craving something sweet so I thought stopping in at Bean There would be a good idea. We just spent over two hours at the bank to get her finances sorted, and I for one could use a large latte and a pastry.
