HAVING YOUR DOG present you with a human skull was a hell
of a way to start a day.
Daniel Barnard had thought it was going to be a good
morning. He'd awakened with the rooster, whose crow rang
just the right note as far as he was concerned. And the
weather was perfect, he saw as soon as he stepped out onto
the front porch with a steaming mug of coffee in one hand.
He sat down, as he always did, on the rustic Adirondack
chair that faced due east.
The back porch was for evenings, when the sun set like
liquid gold over the Sisters, a trio of mountains as sharp
and cantankerous as the elderly Robb sisters in town. But
the front porch was for morning, when the sun poured
glorious colors over Oregon's high desert country as if
trying to make it the most beautiful place on God's earth.
And maybe succeeding.
The coffee warmed him from inside until the sun's rays
touched his face like a gentle hand. He set down the mug
and thought about the morning's chores. These days, Daniel
had enough help on the ranch. He no longer felt as if
twelve hours weren't half long enough. He didn't shovel
much you-know-what in the barn anymore; that was the job
of hired hands. He concentrated on tenderly caring for the
mamas waiting to foal and training the stock that had made
the Triple B famous for world-class cutting horses. Back
right after Granddad disappeared his father died, and
times had been tougher. A hell of a lot tougher.
But no reason to remember that right now. The day was too
full of promise for dark memories.
Daniel stood and saw Lotto trotting across the scrap of
lawn he watered and mowed just to please his mother, who
said a house wasn't a home without grass. The big yellow
Lab had something in his mouth half the time; he liked
tennis balls or branches so big he couldn't get through
doorways. At the creek, he'd dip his head all the way
under to pick up rocks that would probably wear his teeth
down. Lately, he'd even taken to fetching home some
weathered bones. A long-dead deer or elk, Daniel figured.
But todayโฆwhat in tarnation did he have? If it was a rock,
it was a damned big one. And grayish-brown, not red like
the dirt around here. Something about the perfect curve of
the top made Daniel uneasy.
He whistled. "Lotto, here, boy."
The dog came obligingly. He didn't mind showing off his
treasure. Daniel's uneasiness grew as the Lab neared, that
oval, dirtyโฆsomething clutched awkwardly in his broad jaws.
By the time Lotto galumphed up the porch steps, Daniel
knew. Even with soil clinging to it, he knew. He crouched
and held out his hands.
"Let go, boy."
The dog whimpered, his brown eyes anxious, and held on
tight.
"Lotto," Daniel said sharply.
The yellow Lab reluctantly released his prize, and with a
sigh sank onto his belly on the painted porch floor.
Daniel was left with the skull in his hands.
He turned it to face him โ truer words had never been
spoken, he thought with sick humor. Empty eye sockets
stared at him. The lower jaw was missing, but the upper
teeth were pretty much intact, and when he tilted the
skull he saw something that made his stomach turn. Metal
in one of those teeth. This was no ancient Indian burial.
And that hole in the top suggested things he didn't like
to contemplate. Especially since he guessed he knew who
this was.
"Granddad," he whispered. "It's you, isn't it?"
RENEE PATTON strolled into the office that still felt like
her father's but now belonged to the acting police chief,
Jack Murray. She'd known Jack most of her life, though he
was two years older, her sister's contemporary rather than
hers. He and Meg had been high school sweethearts, but
he'd never come calling after Meg had run away from home.
To this day, Renee had no idea whether Jack had known Meg
was going, or whether they'd broken up before she'd left.
He'd never mentioned Meg to Renee, never asked if she
heard from her sister, and Renee sure as heck hadn't
brought up Meg's name.
What she did know was that he'd also dated Abby, Renee's
younger sister, a few times about a year ago. Apparently
Jack had a thing for Patton women. Just not for Renee, the
plain sister.
Oh, yeah. It stung.
He glanced up now, one dark brow lifted. "Catch the punks?"
She snorted. "You kidding? Long gone."
They got calls like this twice a week on average.
Vandalizing mailboxes was a favorite recreation for local
teenagers. The county deputies faced the same thing. Not
much could be done; even within the Elk Springs city
limits, country roads abounded. Houses stood far apart,
traffic was sparse. But lately one particular neighborhood
had been victimized every few days. Some folks had given
up and had canceled mail delivery. A few put out portable
mailboxes and took them back in come late afternoon.
Others had fortified theirs with concrete and metal pipes,
which functioned as a red flag waving does for a bull. The
vandals had done some creative work on those boxes. Post
office security had asked for help, and she was darned if
she was going to admit failure.
"I'm thinking about setting up a video camera," she said,
perching on the edge of Jack's desk.
He grinned, softening a face rough-hewn enough to be
called homely. Not that any woman in her right mind would
think such a thing.
"Go for it," he said.
Her heart rate accelerated, but she ignored what had
become an automatic response. Aside from the fact that
Jack wasn't interested in her โ never had been, never
would be โ he was too much like her father. He'd become
more so since he'd moved into this office. She knew he was
campaigning to keep it, which was fine with her. Becoming
police chief was something of a dream of hers, but she
wasn't ready yet. She knew the city council wasn't ready
to hire a woman, either. But Jack would move on; he liked
the power that went with the job, and soon he'd be chafing
at the limitations of the Elk Springs Police Department
compared to the bigger county sheriff's force that
patrolled the area outside the various city limits. Heck,
for all she knew, he lay awake nights lusting after an FBI
badge.
Elk Springs was all she wanted. Maybe this town hadn't
been good enough for Meg, but it was for Renee.
"Hey, Jack," called the dispatcher, whose desk sat just
outside his office. "Here's a good one. Daniel Barnard
says he has a human skull."
"The rancher?"
Renee swiveled to better hear the answer.
"Yup. Says his dog brought it home."
Jack grunted. "If it's human, it's bound to be from some
old Indian burial. Still, somebody better go see." His
gaze fell on Renee. "It's all yours."
She rose with alacrity. A human skull. Now, that sounded
more interesting than a mailbox bashed in with a baseball
bat. "Do I know Daniel Barnard?"
"His dad was Matthew Barnard. The Triple B?"
"Oh, yeah." She frowned. Seemed as if she remembered a
Barnard boy about Meg's age, too, but she couldn't seem to
picture him. "I can find the place. It's in the city
limits?"
"Yeah, Matt kicked and screamed because when they redrew
the line his taxes climbed, but the city wanted Butte Road
because they were talking about taking cinders from that
little lava cone past his place. Then they opened the
quarry at Ponderosa Butte instead, but they couldn't be
bothered to take back what they'd done, even for Matt."
Renee recalled hearing about that, too. "On my way," she
said cheerfully, sauntering out the office door.
The whole city police department โ all fifteen officers โ
drove Bronco 4x4s. Winters here in eastern Oregon were
long and cold. Heavy snowfalls at this elevation only came
two or three times a season, but the ice stayed.
Of course, that long cold winter was also bringing
prosperity to Elk Springs, in the form of a new ski area
on Juanita Butte. The influx of outsiders brought more
crime, which made life interesting for a cop, but also
changed the personality of a town where you used to be
able to leave your doors unlocked. Renee curled her lip as
she passed an espresso stand. Seemed as if one stood on
every corner. A steaming cup of coffee wasn't good enough
for folks anymore. At least, not the urbanites who came
from Seattle and Portland to ski.
She was glad to leave the central district, cross the
Deschutes River, low from summer and fall, and find
herself almost immediately on ranch land. Except, even
here big fancy houses were cropping up on every bare
ridge. More than 5,000 square feet, some of them, and they
were vacation places! Renee couldn't imagine that much
space echoing around her. She liked to feel enclosed,
snug. As it was, by herself in the house Daddy had left
jointly to her and her younger sister, Abby, Renee was
rattling around like a lone pea in a pod.
The Barnard spread was the last on Butte Road; if you went
on past their gate, you'd come to the foot of the area's
smallest cinder cone, red with scrubby ponderosa pine
clinging here and there. Target shooters came out now and
again, maybe a few teenagers who liked sliding around on
the steep slope of loose cinders near the bottom, but
otherwise the road was a dead end, in more ways than one.
At the turnoff, letters burned into a slab of wood
supported by two peeled poles announced the Triple B
Ranch. Renee didn't mind seeing that the road to the house
was packed firm with red cinders. Yesterday's rain had
left most unpaved roads shin-deep in rust-colored mud.
The ranch was picture-perfect: split-rail fences, gray-
blue barns and an old ranch house nestled among the grove
of cottonwood near the creek. A second house had been
added some distance away, on a spine of ancient crumbling
lava exposed to winds and driving snow. The small patch of
green lawn in front was incongruous, surrounded as it was
by the bare knuckles of lava and the gray-green sage.
Beyond the barns, broad green pastures were the product of
huge rolling irrigation sprinklers.
A shiny blue pickup sat outside the newer place; a modest
sedan down by the old one. At the Y, Renee turned toward
the modern house with its big porches and shingled,
natural cedar siding. A yellow Lab raced alongside the
Bronco, barking the whole while.
As she parked and turned off the engine, a sharp whistle
silenced the dog, who reluctantly went to the man who came
down the porch steps. Squirming, the Lab stayed behind his
master.
Renee never liked being dwarfed by a man. No mystery why
she felt that way, but insight didn't always help. She
tended to be her stiffest when she came up against
somebody like this rancher, a solid 6'4" if he was an
inch. Big shoulders, big chest, lean hips, strong legs.
Short dark hair. His face was saved from being
uninteresting by his eyes, an electric blue. It wasn't
just the color, either; they were intelligent, perceptive,
intense. She darn near squirmed just like the dog.
The man nodded. "Officer." His gaze touched on the name
plate pinned to her chest. She'd never been so glad not to
be buxom.
She didn't bother to introduce herself. "Daniel Barnard?"
"The same." His voice, slow and deep, went with his looks.
"I hear you found a skull."
He nodded toward the house. "Come on in."
She followed, appreciating the simplicity of the porch
railing and the front door, topped by a window shaped like
a fan. Inside, she knew right away no woman had had
anything to do with the decorating. The entry was half
mudroom; a rain slicker and a parka and an olive-green
duster buried a coat tree, and several pairs of boots
lined the wall. She caught a quick glimpse of the living
room to the right. Wood floors, plain white walls and
leather furniture weren't softened by pretty cushions or
knickknacks. Big windows, wood-framed, let in floods of
light that touched on the one spectacular painting above
the couch and some smaller, quieter ones โ pencil
sketches, she thought.
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