Well, the saga of the Montana Hamilton's continues. B.J. Daniels once again forges ahead with a family mystery that will keep you page turning as you try to ferret out the truth. In LUCKY SHOT, which is once again a terrific title that has a double entendre, this third entry has morphed into quite a drama. Daniels has let her imagination fly and create a vision of a time not long passed. Social unrest is an animal that seems to have a life of its own. People keep it alive, and at times it becomes so dramatically tragic and dangerous that it goes underground. I don't know about you but the thought of these fanatics running around causing chaos is enough to give me bad dreams. LUCKY SHOT brings to light activities that mimic events that actually happened and therefore hedges the bet between real or imagined.
The lucky shot was Max Malone's. Max is a photographer, often grouped together and considered no better than the paparazzo that buzz around anyone in the public eye. But the more we learn about Max we realize he is levels above those considered scavengers. Max is an award-winning photojournalist and luck has nothing to do with it. If you ask Max he will tell you he makes his own luck. Sure, you have to be fortunate to have the opportunity to get an important shot, but he isn't using those shots for sensationalism. He has a bigger picture in mind -- no pun intended.
The opportunity to take a photo of Senator Buck Hamilton and his recently returned from the dead wife Sarah was quite the feat. But with that one shot Max begins to realize this is a much bigger story than what appears on the surface. And believe me, on the surface this story is quite crazy.
Sarah returns after more than twenty years -- actually parachutes -- to Beartooth Montana with no knowledge of where she has spent all those years. She also has no idea why she drove her car into a ravine seemingly to commit suicide. In short, very scant, almost random memories.
Sarah's return is met with angst by her daughters and the husband she left behind, along with Buck's new wife. Life had continued on after losing Sarah. Perhaps it wasn't picture perfect but they managed. Sarah's return definitely ruffles some feathers, but more importantly it seems no coincidence that Buck is now starting a campaign for the presidency. One he appears to be a likely contender.
Trouble is following Sarah's return. People are missing, some are turning up dead. The town sheriff just can't file these events away even though he is sorely lacking evidence to support his suspicions.
Buck and Sarah's daughter, Kat, winds up spending quite a bit of time with Max who she can't seem to shake. At first Kat is sure he is an opportunist, using their shared interest of photography to worm his way closer to her family. But the tables turn very quickly. Max is deftly uncovering facts and photos that disturb Kat, but at the same time seem to answer some of her own questions.
Talk about family skeletons -- the Hamilton family has no equal. LUCKY SHOT is a mesmerizing family drama with too many twists and turns to mention. Suffice it to say with each page LUCKY SHOT imagery starts out fuzzy, but BJ Daniels masterfully sharpens the focus and zooms into her target. I am hoping this series will be around for quite a while. Although several quandaries are answered during this third of the series, LUCKY SHOT doesn't come close to closing the book on this family drama.
Chapter One
Max Malone scratched his dark head of hair and squinted
at the sunrise as light cast the Crazy Mountains in a
pale pink glow. Heβd camped just outside of the Hamilton
Ranch, sleeping in the back of his pickup and hoping it
wouldnβt rain.
Thereβd been more news vans parked at the gate three
months ago. Now only two remained along with a few
reporters who drove out some morning. They were always
hoping to get something on the days theyβd heard the
senator would be leaving the ranch for some political
event.
Max had met the other reporters and photographers the
first day heβd showed up here. They would have looked
down their noses at him even if he hadnβt been driving an
old pickup and sleeping in the back of it. He was a print
journalist, one of a dying breed.
The only one of the bunch waiting at the gate whoβd given
him more than a nod was an old former journalist named
Harvey Duncan. It was Harvey he stood with this morning
at the fence.
βIs it true there are no photographs at all of Sarah
Hamilton?β Max asked.
βThey say sheβs camera shy,β Harvey said and took a gulp
of his coffee from a cup that said Java Depot on the
side.
Just the smell of the coffee was enough for Max to head
into Big Timber. He could go without food for several
days. But coffee, that was another story.
βStill it seems strange,β he said.
βNo one knows where she is. She couldnβt move back in
here, not with the senator and his current wife.β
βI heard the daughters have all scattered to the wind as
well,β Max said.
βSo it seems.β Harvey took another drink.
βIβve been struggling to get a bead on Sarah Hamilton. No
one seems to know anything about her.β
βWith a maiden name like Johnson, it makes it hard. Do
you know how many fifty-eight-year-old women there are
with that name?β
He did. Heβd gone online trying to find out something,
anything about her. He needed this story. Even better
would be a photograph. Right now a photo of Sarah
Hamilton would be worthβ¦hell, it would be priceless. He
could name his price.
At movement down at the ranch, the reporters and
photographers in the vans all hopped out and got ready.
βI think Iβm going into town for coffee,β Max announced
and walked back to his pickup. Heβd heard that the
Senator had a fundraiser coming up. Maybe that was why he
was getting into his car and headed toward the gate and
the hired security guard manning it.
Max started his pickup. Heβd tried to follow Senator
Buckmaster Hamilton before, but had lost him. The senator
drove like a bat out of hell and he had the luxury of
knowing the roads. Add to that the dust that boiled up
behind the senatorβs carβ¦Max had lost him the couple of
times he tried.
This morning, while he would have loved to really go into
town for coffee, he was determined to outfox the man.
He took off down the road that led to Beartooth. If he
was wrong and the senator was headed the other way, then
he still had nothing to lose. Heβd go into the small
former mining town and have breakfast at the Branding
Iron. Maybe heβd hear something he could use.
But the glanced in his mirror, he saw the senatorβs car
behind him. He drove slow, his window down. The smells of
summer blew in reminding him of his childhood growing up
down by West Yellowstone. He loved this time of year. He
also loved what he did for a living. As an investigative
reporter, he got to snoop into other peopleβs lives. It
was like digging through their garbage, which admittedly
heβd done a few times when the situation necessitated it.
He was going slow enough that he knew the senator would
eventually pass him to get out of his dust. Sure enough
he finally did, blowing past without giving him even a
sideways glance. Max was betting the man hadnβt noticed
him or his old truck parked down the road from where the
other reporters hung out.
A news van came flying up behind Max. He moved to the
middle of the road and ignored the driver blasting the
horn. He could see the senatorβs dust dissipating in the
distance. Just a little farther.
Heβd followed the man another time when heβd left about
this time of day and headed in this direction. Max was
betting the senator was going to the same place. What had
thrown him before was that thereβd been no ranches or
houses nearby the spot where heβd lost him.
This time he had another plan. He finally let the news
van pass him, knowing the van would never be able to
catch up to the senator. Slowing he turned at the next
dirt road. Sometimes at night, with nothing to do, he
would just drive back roads. Heβd found this one quite by
accident and had been surprised to end up on a tall rocky
outcropping. The view had been incredible.
He figured teenagers knew about the spot because heβd
seen a few rock fire pits and a lot of smashed empty beer
cans.
Driving up the road, he stopped short of the top of the
rock peak. Getting out, he grabbed his camera case and
closing the door quietly, headed up to the pinnacle. Heβd
almost reached the top when he heard the vehicle on the
narrow dirt road below him. He recognized the senatorβs
car as it came to a stop at the edge of the road.
The man got out and walked down to the creek,
disappearing into the pines.
A few minutes later a pickup truck came down the road
from the other direction and began to slow to a stop. Max
took a photo of the dust trail the truck had left across
the canyon and up into the pines of the foothills. He was
getting excited, positive he was on to something given
that the senator was meeting in such an isolated spot.
As the truck stopped, he had his camera ready. With the
telephoto lens, he snapped a shot of the driver behind
the wheel. But it was when the passenger side door opened
and the blonde stepped out, that he knew heβd hit
paydirt.
He snapped a half dozen photographs of the woman as she
headed down to the creek to meet the senator. He even
lucked out and got one of the two of them together. If he
was right and this woman was Sarah Hamilton, what he had
in his camera was like money in the bank.
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