Murder Gone Cold Page 2

  “It’s all right.” He took a step toward the porch stairs. After all these years in the rodeo game, he’d learned to cut his losses. This one felt like a win. He swore on his lucky boots that he was going to change his wild ways.

  From inside the house, he could hear Gladys laughing with someone. He caught the smell of permanent solution.

  “Mama’s doing the neighbor’s hair,” Melody said. He nodded and took a step off the porch. “Any idea where you’re going to go?”

  Until that moment, he hadn’t really thought about it. It wasn’t like he didn’t have options. He had friends he could bunk with until he either bought another trailer to put on the property or built something more substantial. He and his brothers, also on the rodeo circuit, used the trailer only to stay in the few times they came home to crash for a while—usually to heal up.

  Not that he was planning on staying that long. Once he was all healed up from his last rodeo ride, he’d be going back. He’d left his horse trailer, horse and gear at a friend’s.

  “I’m going to stay at the office,” he said, nodding to himself. It seemed the perfect solution under the circumstances.

  “Uptown?” she asked, sounding surprised. The word hardly described downtown Lonesome, Montana. But the office was at the heart of town—right on a corner of Main Street.

  “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “You just take care of yourself and give my regards to Tyler.” He tipped his hat and headed to his pickup.

  As he drove away, he realized his heart was still pounding. He’d dodged a bullet. So why couldn’t he get that image of him holding his baby daughter out of his head? Worse was how that image made him feel—happy.

  The emotion surprised him. For just that split second, he’d had to deal with the thought of settling down, of having a family, of being a father. He’d felt it to his soul and now he missed it.

  James shook his head, telling himself that he was just tired, injured and emotionally drained after his homecoming. All that together would make any man have strange thoughts.

  Chapter Two

  James reached high on the edge of the transom over the door for the key, half-surprised it was still there. He blew the dust off and, opening the door, hit the light switch and froze. The smell alone reminded him of his father and the hours he’d spent in this office as a child after his mother had died.

  Later he’d hung around, earning money by helping any way he could at the office. He’d liked hanging out here with his old man. He chuckled, remembering how he’d thought he might grow up and he and Del would work together. Father and son detective agency. Unfortunately, his father’s death had changed all that.

  He hadn’t been here since the funeral, he realized as he took in his father’s large oak desk and high-backed leather office chair. More emotions assaulted him, ones he’d kept at bay for the past nine years.

  This was a bad idea. He wasn’t ready to face it. He might never be ready, he thought. He missed his father and nine years hadn’t changed that. Everything about this room brought back the pain from the Native American rugs on the floor and the two leather club chairs that faced his dad’s desk and seat.

  He realized he wasn’t strong enough for this—maybe especially after being hurt during his last ride and then coming home to find his home was gone. He took one final look and started to close the door. He’d get a motel room for the night rather than show up at a friend’s house.

  But before he could close the door, his gaze fell on an old Hollywood movie poster on the wall across the room. He felt himself smile, drawn into the office by the cowboy on the horse with a face so much like his own.

  He hadn’t known his great-grandfather Ransom Del Colt. But he’d grown up on the stories. Ransom had been a famous movie star back in the forties and early fifties when Westerns had been so popular. His grandfather RD Colt Jr. had followed in Ransom’s footprints for a while before starting his own Wild West show. RD had traveled the world ropin’ and ridin’ until late in life.

  He moved around the room, looking at all the photographs and posters as if seeing them for the first time. The Colts had a rich history, one to be proud of, his father said. Del Colt, James’s father, had broken the mold after being a rodeo cowboy until he was injured so badly that he had to quit.

  Del, who’d loved Westerns and mystery movies, had gotten his PI license and opened Colt Investigations. He’d taught his sons to ride before they could walk. He’d never stopped loving rodeo and he’d passed that love on to his sons as if it was embedded deep in their genes.

  James limped around the room looking at all the other posters and framed photographs of his rodeo family. He felt a sense of pride in the men who’d gone before him. And a sense of failure on his own part. He was pushing thirty-six and he had little to show for it except for a lot of broken bones.

  Right now, he hurt all over. The bronc he’d ridden two days ago had put him into the fence, reinjuring his leg and cracking some of his ribs. But he’d stayed on the eight seconds and taken home the purse.

  Right now he wondered if it was worth it. Still, as he stood in this room, he rebelled at the thought of quitting. He’d made a living doing what he loved. He would heal and go back. Just as he’d always done.

  In the meantime, he was dog tired. Too tired to go look for a motel room for the night. At the back of the office he found the bunk where his father would stay on those nights he worked late. There were clean sheets and quilts and a bathroom with a shower and towels. This would work at least for tonight. Tomorrow he’d look for something else.

  * * *

  LORELEI WILKINS PULLED into her space in the alley behind her sandwich shop and stared at the pickup parked in the space next to it. It had been years since she’d seen anyone in the building adjoining hers. She’d almost forgotten why she’d driven down here tonight. Often, she came down and worked late to get things ready for the next day.

  Tonight, she had brought down a basketful of freshly washed aprons. She could have waited until morning, but she’d been restless and it was a nice night. Who was she kidding? She never put things off for tomorrow.

  Getting out, she started to unload the basket when she recognized the truck and felt a start. There were rodeo stickers plastered all over the back window of the cab, but the dead giveaway was the LETRBUCK personalized license plate.

  Jimmy D was back in town? But why would he... She recalled hearing something about a fire out on his land. Surely, he wasn’t planning to stay here in his father’s old office. The narrow two-story building, almost identical to her own, had been empty since Del Colt’s death nine years ago. Before that the structure had housed Colt Investigations on the top floor with the ground floor office rented to a party shop that went broke, the owners skipping town.

  Lorelei had made an offer on the property, thinking she would try to get a small business in there or expand her sandwich shop. Anything was better than having an empty building next door. Worse, the owners of the party-planning store had left in a hurry, not even bothering to clean up the place, so it was an eyesore.

  But the family lawyer had said no one in the family was interested in selling.

  As she hauled out her basket of aprons, she could see a light in the second-story window and a shadow moving around up there. Whatever James was doing back in town, he wouldn’t be staying long—he never did. Not that she ever saw him. She’d just heard the stories.

  Shaking her head, she tucked the basket under one arm, unlocked the door and stepped in. It didn’t take long to put the aprons away properly. Basket in hand, she locked up and headed for her SUV.

  She couldn’t help herself. She glanced up. Was she hoping to see the infamous Jimmy D? Their paths hadn’t crossed in years.

  The upstairs light was out. She shook her head at her own foolishness.

  “Some women always go for the bad boy,” her stepmother had joked years ago when they’d been uptown shopping for her senior year of high school. They’d passed Jimmy D in the small mall at the edge of town. He’d winked at Lorelei, making her blush to the roots of her hair. She’d felt Karen’s frowning gaze on her. “I just never took you for one of those.”

  Lorelei had still been protesting on the way home. “I can’t stand the sight of Jimmy D,” she’d said, only to have her stepmother laugh. “He’s arrogant and thinks he’s much cuter than he is.”

  “Don’t feel bad. We’ve all fallen for the wrong man. And he is cute and he likes you.”

  Lorelei had choked on that. “He doesn’t like me. He just enjoys making me uncomfortable. He’s just plain awful.”

  “Then I guess it’s a good thing you aren’t going to the prom with him,” Karen said. “Your friend Alfred is obviously the better choice.”

  Alfred was her geek friend who she competed with for grades.

  “Jimmy D isn’t going to the prom,” she said. “He’s too cool for proms. Not that I would go with him if he asked me.”

  Lorelei still cringed at the memory. Protest too much? Her stepmother had seen right through it. She told herself that all that aside, this might be the perfect opportunity to get him to sell the building to her. But it would mean approaching Jimmy D with an offer knowing he would probably turn her down flat. She groaned. From what she’d heard, he hadn’t changed since high school. The only thing the man took seriously was rodeo. And chasing women.

  * * *

  FORMER SHERIFF OTIS OSTERMAN pulled his pickup to the side of the street to stare up at the building. Lorelei Wilkins wasn’t the only one surprised to see a light on in the old Colt Investigations building.

  For just a moment, he’d thought t
hat Del was still alive, working late as he often did. While making his rounds, Otis had seen him moving around up there working on one of his cases.

  The light in that office gave him an eerie feeling as if he’d been transported back in time. That he could rewrite history. But Otis knew that wasn’t possible. One look in the rearview mirror at his white hair and wrinkled face and he could see that there was no going back, no changing anything. But it was only when he looked deep into his own eyes—eyes that had seen too much—that he felt the weight of those years and the questionable actions he’d taken.

  But like Del Colt, they were buried. He just wanted them to stay that way. Blessedly, he hadn’t been reminded of Del for some time now. He’d gone to the funeral nine years ago, stood in the hot sun and watched as the gravedigger covered the man’s casket and laid sod on top. He told himself that had been the end of a rivalry he and Del had fought since middle school.

  He watched the movement up there in Del’s office. It had to be one of Del’s sons back from the rodeo. Small towns, he thought. Everyone didn’t just know each other. Half the damned town was related.

  Otis drove down the block, turning into the alley and cruising slowly past the pickup parked behind Del’s narrow two-story office building.

  He recognized the truck and swore softly under his breath. Del Colt had left behind a passel of sons who all resembled him, but Jimmy D was the most like Del. Apparently, he was back for a while.

  The former sheriff told himself that it didn’t necessarily spell trouble as he shifted his truck into gear. As he drove home though, he couldn’t shake the bad feeling that the past had been reawakened and it was coming for him.

  Chapter Three

  James woke to the sun. It streamed in the window of his father’s office as he rose and headed for the shower. Being here reminded him of the mornings on his way to school that he would stop by. He often found his father at his desk, already up and working. Del Colt’s cases weren’t the kind that should have kept his father from sleep, he thought as he got dressed.

  They were often small personal problems that people hoped he could help with. But his father treated each as if it was more important than world peace. James had once questioned him about it.

  They may seem trivial to you, but believe me, they aren’t to the people who are suffering and need answers, Del had said.

  Now, showered and dressed, James stepped from the small room at the back and into his father’s office. He hesitated for a moment before he pulled out his father’s chair and sat down. Leaning back, he surveyed the room and the dusty window that overlooked Main Street.

  He found himself smiling, recalling sitting in this chair and wanting to be just like his dad. He felt such a sense of pride for the man Del had been. His father had raised them all after their mother’s death. James knew that a lot of people would have said that Del had let them run wild.

  Laughing, he thought that had been somewhat true. His father gave them free rein to learn by their mistakes. So, they made a lot of them.

  Everything was just as his father had left it, he realized as he looked around. A file from the case his father had been working on was still lying open on his desk. Next to it were his pen and a yellow lined notepad with Del’s neat printing. A coffee cup, the inside stained dark brown, sat next to the notepad.

  A name jumped out at him. Billy Sherman. That kid who’d been killed in a hit-and-run nine years ago. That was the case his father had been working on.

  He felt a chill. The hit-and-run had never been solved.

  A knock at the door startled him. He quickly closed the case file, feeling as if he’d been caught getting into things that were none of his business. Private things.

  He quickly rose, sending the chair scooting backward. “Yes?”

  “Jimmy D?” A woman’s voice. Not one he recognized. He hadn’t told anyone he was coming back to town. He’d returned unannounced and under the cover of darkness. But clearly someone knew he wasn’t just back—but that he was here in Del’s office.

  He moved to the door and opened it, still feeling as if he were trespassing. The light in the hallway was dim. He’d noticed last night that the bulb had burned out sometime during the past nine years. But enough sunlight streamed in through the dusty window at the end of the hall to cast a little light on the pretty young woman standing before him.

  “I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time,” she said, glancing past him before settling her gaze on him again. Her eyes were honey brown with dark lashes. Her long chestnut brown hair had been pulled up into a no-nonsense knot that went with the serious expression on her face. She wore slacks, a modest blouse and sensible shoes. She had a briefcase in one hand, her purse in the other. She looked like a woman on a mission and he feared he was the assignment.

  * * *

  LORELEI LOOKED FOR recognition in the cowboy’s eyes and seeing none quickly said, “I’m sorry, you probably don’t remember me. I’m Lorelei Wilkins. I own the sandwich shop next door.” When he still hadn’t spoken, she added, “We went to school together?” She realized this was a mistake.

  He was still staring at her unnervingly. When he finally spoke, the soft timber of his low voice surprised her. She remembered the unruly classmate who’d sat next to her in English, always cracking jokes and acting up when he wasn’t winking at her in the hall between classes. She realized that she’d been expecting the teenaged boy—not the man standing before her.

  “Oh, I remember you, Lori,” he drawled. “Hall monitor, teacher’s assistant, senior class president, valedictorian.” He grinned. “Didn’t you also read the lunch menu over the intercom?”

  She felt her cheeks warm. Yes, she’d done all of that—not that she’d have thought he’d noticed. “It’s Lorelei,” she said, her voice coming out thin. She knew her reputation as the most uptight, serious, not-fun girl in the class.

  “I remember that too,” he said, his grin broadening.

  She cleared her throat and quickly pressed on. “Look, Jimmy D. I saw your light on last night and I—”

  “It’s James.”

  “James...?” she repeated. She suddenly felt tongue-tied here facing this rodeo cowboy. Why had she thought talking directly to him was a good idea? She wished she’d tried his family lawyer again instead. Not that that approach had done her any good.

  She took a breath and let it out, watching him wince as he shifted his weight onto his obviously injured leg. Seeing that he wasn’t in any shape to be making real estate deals, she chickened out. “I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

  “I’m not staying, in case that’s what you’re worrying about. I mean, not living here, exactly. It’s just temporary.”

  She suspected that most everything about his life was temporary from what she’d heard. She was angry at herself for not saying what she’d really come to say. But from the look on his bruised face and the way he’d winced when he’d shifted weight on his left leg, she’d realized that this wasn’t the right time to make an offer on the building. He looked as if he would say no to her without even giving it a second thought.

  From her briefcase, she awkwardly withdrew a ten percent off coupon for her sandwich shop.

  He took it without looking at it. Instead, his intense scrutiny was on her, making her squirm.

  “It’s a coupon for ten percent off a sandwich at my shop,” she said.

  He raised a brow. “Who makes the sandwiches?”

  The question was so unexpected that it took her a moment to respond. “I do.”

  “Huh,” he said and folded the coupon in half to stuff it into the pocket of his Western shirt.

  What had made her think she could have a professional conversation with this...cowboy? She snapped her briefcase closed and turned to leave.

  “Thanks,” he called after her.

  Just like in high school she could feel his gaze boring into her backside. She ground her teeth as her face flushed hot. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe some things never changed no matter how much time had gone by.