C Box - In Plain Sight

As Robey talked, Joe felt his anger rise.

“How about if we try to enforce the law,” Joe said. “You know, on a lark?”

“Joe…”

“Enforcing Game and Fish regulations is what I do, Robey. I take it seriously, because I’ve learned if a man will do something illegal or unethical out in the field when no one is looking, he’s capable of anything, no matter who he claims to be, or how big a man he is in the county.”

Robey sighed, reached out, and put his hand on Joe’s shoulder to calm him. “Joe, sometimes I think you take things a little too far, you know? It seems like you think bad character is a crime. Again, we’re talking about some game animals that might have been poached.”

“No,” Joe said. “We’re talking about looking the other way because we don’t want to appear to take sides in a conflict. Well, I’m not taking sides, and I’m not looking away. I’m doing my job.”

Robey shook his head. The silence grew uncomfortable.

“I’ll run it by Tucker Fagan in Park County,” Robey finally said, sighing, referring to the new judge there. “Thunderhead is so big it’s in Park also, right?”

“Right.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you, Robey.”

“Good night, Joe. Sometimes you piss me off.”

JOE AND MARYBETH lay in bed facing each other. They talked softly so the girls wouldn’t hear them. Marybeth’s reading lamp was on low and the light cast a buttery glow on the side of her face and softly illuminated her blond hair. As they talked she stroked his forearm, rubbing it with her thumb.

She had broached the subject about moving the girls to the ranch. Joe had grunted at the idea.

“I know you don’t like it,” Marybeth said. “Frankly, neither do I. But if this continues…”

Joe started to argue, but caught himself. There was no reason to think it wouldn’t continue. And get worse. The sheriff’s department had done nothing he was aware of to investigate the incidents. His hands were tied by Pope to investigate himself. But enough was enough. This was his family, and his wife was talking about moving.

SHE HAD TURNED off her light and shifted to his side of the bed in the dark, her hands moving over him under the covers, her lips brushing his neck and ear. Joe liked it. He smiled in the dark.

They both froze when they heard the sounds.

A two-beat noise, a sharp snap, then a tinkle of glass downstairs.

“What was that?” Marybeth whispered.

Then the roar of a vehicle racing away on Bighorn Road.

Joe shot out of bed, naked, and cast back the curtain on the window. There were no lights outside, and no moon. The starlight was shut out by cloud cover.

He looked right on the road, the way to town. Nothing. Then left, nothing. But he could hear the motor, so how could it be?

Then he saw a flash of brake lights in the distance. Whoever had been outside was fleeing without his lights on, and revealed himself when he had to tap on his brakes at the turn that led to the foothills and the mountains beyond.

But aside from the brief flash of brake lights, he could see nothing about the vehicle itself, whether it was a car or pickup or SUV.

He cursed for two reasons: he could never catch who had been out there, and whoever had been out there had destroyed the mood in bed.

“What do you think that sound was?” Marybeth asked.

“I’ll go check.”

“Put some clothes on…”

JOE SNAPPED ON the lights in the living room. He had pulled on his robe, and he carried his.40 Glock loosely in his hand. He could see nothing amiss. He might have to get Marybeth to come down, he thought. It was one of those male/female things, like his inability to notice a new couch or when his daughters got a haircut unless it was pointed out to him. Conversely, he could see a moose in a faraway meadow on Wolf Mountain when it was a speck and Marybeth wouldn’t see it unless it charged her and knocked her down.

But when he walked near the front window, he felt slivers of glass dig into his bare feet and yelped in pain.

Then he saw the hole in the glass, like a tiny star. Someone had shot into their home.

He turned, visualizing the trajectory. The shot originated on the road and passed through the glass into the family portrait. Marybeth had arranged for it the previous summer. They had stood smiling against the corral fence rails so the mountains framed them in the background. In the photo, Joe thought they all looked a little uncomfortable, as if they were dressed for a funeral, and the smiles were forced. Except for Lucy, who always looked good. The portrait was slightly askew.

Joe limped across the living room, his feet stinging, and stared at the photo. The bullet had taken off most of his face and lodged into the wall behind the frame. Beneath the hole, his mouth smiled.

A chill rolled through him. Followed by a burst of rage.

Again, whoever was doing this had come right to his house and this time, in his way, he had entered it. The bullet hole in his face in the portrait was no coincidence. Joe thought, if Nate were around he’d ask for help now. But Nate wasn’t around, and Joe was officially prevented from investigating.

Screw that.

Marybeth came down the stairs looking at the bloody footprints on the floor. She followed them to where Joe stood.

Joe said, “You’re right. Let’s get the kids. We’re moving to the ranch.”

“Joe…”

“I’m going to get this guy.”

IT WAS ALMOST dawn when he felt her stir beside him. He was entangled, spooning, skin against skin, his leg thrust between hers, pulling her so tightly into him that he could feel her heart beat from where his hand cupped her right breast. His feet were bandaged. She was wide awake, as he was.

“It’s so personal,” she said in a whisper, “it scares me to death.”

“I’ll find him, Marybeth.”

She didn’t speak for a long time. As the minutes lapsed, he started to fear what she would say. He thought she might mention Nate Romanowski. That she wished Nate were there to protect them, instead of him. If she said Nate’s name, Joe wondered if he could go on, because he would feel that he had lost everything. Their tight little family was the only thing that anchored him to earth, the only constant. A breach could tear them apart and unmoor him to a degree he didn’t even want to imagine.

The sun slowly rose and backlit Wolf Mountain and fused the blinds with soft, cold gray light.

He was deep into melancholy when Marybeth said, “I love you, Joe Pickett. I know you’ll protect us.”

Despite the situation, Joe was suddenly filled with joy and purpose. He rolled over and kissed her, surprising her.

“What was that about?” she asked.

He tried to answer. The only thing he could come up with was “It’s about everything.”

But as he rose, the thought that they were running away came rushing back at him. And he hated to run.

SATURDAY BROUGHT THE GRAND OPENING OF THE SCARLETT Wing of the Twelve Sleep County Historical Society. The day was fresh with early summer, aching with sunlight, character provided by the new wildflower smells and the first bursts of pine pollen drifting down from the mountains.

Joe sat next to Marybeth on metal folding chairs set up in the parking lot of the museum. It seemed as if most of official Saddlestring and the county was there, including Missy and Bud Longbrake, who sat in the row in front of them and had saved seats for the girls. Although no usher greeted each arrival with an extended hand and whispered “Arlen or Hank’s side?” the effect was the same, with Hank’s backers on the right facing the podium and Arlen’s on the left.