C. Box: The Highway

“He says he might fly to Helena for Thanksgiving to be with us,” Danielle said. “So will that make you happy?”

“Not really,” Gracie said. “He’s such a wimp at times.”

Danielle told Gracie Dad seemed to enjoy being in on the deception because it was something he could share with his girls.

“He can be such a limp weenie.” Danielle laughed.

Gracie didn’t like to think of their dad like that. She wanted him to be brave, tough, admirable, and stoic. But Danielle was right.

* * *

After an hour of angry silence, Gracie pointed at the red CHECK ENGINE light.

“Hey, what’s with this little engine thing that’s lit up?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Danielle said.

“Shouldn’t we get it checked?”

“By who? We’re in the middle of friggin’ nowhere if you haven’t noticed,” Danielle said, gesturing outside toward the darkening mountains in the distance. They’d just entered Montana. The last sign they’d passed said they were entering the Crow Indian Reservation. “Just don’t worry about it. It’s been on for hours.”

“Danielle!”

“We’ll ask Justin to check it out when we get there. He knows something about cars, I think. Just quit worrying about everything all the time.” Her sister noted the time on her phone and changed the subject. “It’s four. Time to text Mom and tell her we can see Omaha from here. There’s no reason to make her worry.”

Gracie winced. “You mean, other than you’re lying to her.”

“Better that than spending her whole holiday worrying. And I promise to call her when we get to Helena. I’ll take all the blame, don’t worry.”

Danielle sent the text and threw back her head and laughed. “I can talk anybody into anything,” she said, looking over and batting her eyes, letting her voice take on the syrupy tone she’d used on their dad. “It’s just this thing I have. This gift. This wonderful skill.”

Gracie clamped her jaws tight and fumed. But it was true, and it was unfair. Her beautiful and oh-so-popular older sister had the ability to manipulate people in amazing ways and she had no qualms about doing so.

* * *

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Gracie said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I’m letting you.”

“It’s because you love me,” Danielle said. “And who can blame you?”

“God!”

“Justin loves me, too,” Danielle sang. “He said I’m the best thing that has ever happened to him. And you know what? I am. He might have forgotten it a little or gotten, you know, distracted. But once he sees me again, and remembers what it’s like to be on Planet Danielle…” she saw no need to finish her thought.

“You can be such a-”

“Wonderful sister,” Danielle interjected. “That was the word you were looking for. We’re here because of love. You love me and you want to support me in my relationship with Justin, even though you are a little jealous because he’s so hot and sweet and sexy.”

“I’m worried about this engine light,” Gracie said.

“Forget about it.”

“I can’t forget about it. What if the car breaks down? Then what do we do?”

“It won’t break down,” Danielle said, petting the dash with both hands, “it loves me, too. My car would never let me down.”

Danielle interrupted her monologue long enough to hand Gracie’s phone back to her and open her own. Gracie watched her sister speed dial a number.

“He won’t pick up,” Danielle said to her in a stage whisper. Then, on Justin’s voice mail, she said, “Guess who is driving right now to Helena to spend Thanksgiving with her boyfriend? Call me.”

Danielle closed her phone and beamed.

5:23 P.M., Tuesday, November 20

Cassie Dewell sat in a hard chair across the desk from Sheriff Tubman in the Law Enforcement Center and became proportionately more alarmed as his mounting glee became apparent. She found herself squirming in the chair, trying to find a comfortable position. She wasn’t even aware at first that her hands ached because she was squeezing them together between her thighs.

Tubman slowly studied each of the printed photographs she’d brought him, his eyes dancing across every inch of every one, the set of his mouth pulling back into a smile of satisfaction. After he studied a photo, he placed it faceup and side by side on his desk in chronological order as they’d been taken. Soon, the photos stretched across the desk from corner to corner in three neat rows.

She had no desire to look again at the photos. After all, she’d taken them the night before. She was sick about what she’d set in motion. What Tubman had forced her to do.

* * *

The large envelope containing the prints had been locked inside her briefcase under her desk the entire day. They were there when she and Cody met to start assembling the murder book on Roger Tokely. Cody was patient with her and walked her through the process of methodically assembling the crime scene reports and photographs, the preliminary coroner’s report, the case file time line, the written recap of their initial investigation.

They were there when the crime scene techs, twenty-year veteran Tex McIntire and Alexa Manning, his new twenty-seven-year-old lesbian assistant (further proof of Tubman’s diversity program at work), burst into the investigator’s office to announce their find in Tokely’s garbage can. Not only did they locate a credit card receipt signed by Brantley Meyers, aka “B. G.”, but they’d also bagged fragments of food that might determine B. G.’s presence, via DNA, inside the Tokely residence on the night of the murder.

She’d watched Cody closely when they heard the news. He seemed genuinely pleased.

* * *

Cassie knew what she had. And she dreaded showing the photos to the sheriff. He’d been out all day on a campaign swing to Lincoln and other small communities in northern Lewis and Clark County. With each hour, her tension increased. She’d passed on lunch when Cody asked, and said she was trying to diet. He nodded back knowingly, practically telegraphing his approval to try and lose a few pounds, but reminded her of the maxim he’d always lived by: “Take every possible opportunity you can to eat and take a shit, because this county is 3,500 square miles, a third of it roadless.”

As soon as he was gone she drove to Taco Bell and ate herself through half the menu, it seemed. Stress did that to her. So did boredom. So did everything , she thought ruefully.

Sheriff Tubman had returned to the Law Enforcement Center at four thirty and looked in on Cody and Cassie. When she looked up and met Tubman’s eyes he knew immediately.

“Got a minute?” the sheriff asked her.

“Yes.”

“My office, please,” he said, and shut the door behind him.

Cody had asked her what the meeting was about.

“How should I know?” she lied.

“Tell him he’s a prick,” Cody had said. “Tell him I’ve seen better leaders on the end of my fly line.”

“I’m sure I’ll do that,” she responded, and grabbed the handle of her briefcase on the way out.

* * *

It was more than two weeks since daylight savings time had ended and she hated how early it got dark. As she sat across from the sheriff she looked over his shoulder through the window. White-blue lights were strobing to life in the parking lot. She could see clerical staff trundling out to their cars in heavy coats, condensation puffs revealing their conversation. After five, the LEC cleared out. She wished she was one of them. And given what was about to happen, she wondered for the first time since accepting the job if she was really cut out for it.