Cardwell Christmas Crime Scene

Roger shook his head. “I’ll be leaving shortly.”

“You can turn in,” Marietta told the housekeeper.

“Just ring.” The sixty-seven-year-old woman turned to leave. “Sleep well.” She’d said the same thing every night for the past fifty years.

As Ester closed the door behind her, Marietta focused again on her own reflection. Nothing had changed except now her brows were knit into a deep frown. Ester hadn’t been herself lately.

The thought caused Marietta a moment of alarm. Was the woman sick? Marietta was too old to train another housekeeper. Not that Ester kept house anymore. A housecleaning crew came in once a week, and she employed a full-time cook, as well. Ester’s only job now was to see to her mistress.

Of course, Ester didn’t see it that way. She resented the housekeeping crew and the cook and often sent the cook home early so she could take over the kitchen. She would then make Marietta’s favorite meals, just as her mother had done.

The thought that Ester might leave her for any reason was more than she could stand. Ester was the only person in the world Marietta trusted—other than her granddaughter Bianca. She tried to put her worries aside, assuring herself that she’d be dead before Ester went anywhere.

Still, it nagged at her. Not that Ester had said anything. It was more of a...feeling that something was wrong. Unfortunately she knew nothing about the woman’s personal life—or if she even had one. Ester had married some worthless man years ago, but she’d had the good sense to get rid of him early on. Since then, as far as Marietta knew, there was no one else in her life. Ester had doted on her and Carlotta and thought that the sun rose and set with Bianca.

When Carlotta had died a few months ago, Ester had taken it harder than Marietta. The housekeeper had loved that child as if she were her own. She’d helped raise her and was the first to make excuses when Carlotta got into trouble, which was often.

But the one Ester loved even more than life itself was Bianca.

It was her thirty-four-year-old granddaughter Marietta worried about now because of Carlotta’s deathbed confession.

She clenched her gnarled hands into fists at the memory. The stupid, stupid girl. The secret she’d kept from them all could destroy the legacy Marietta had preserved for so many years—not to mention what it could do to the family fortune.

That was why the mess her daughter had left behind had to be cleaned up. For the family’s sake. For Bianca’s sake and the generations to come.

“I should go,” Roger said.

She’d forgotten he was even still in the room. A slight man with an unmemorable face, he practically disappeared into the wallpaper. “You’re sure you can handle this properly?” she asked as she looked past her own image to his.

He sighed. “Yes.”

“I don’t want Bianca ever to know. If that means paying this woman to keep quiet—”

“I told you I would take care of it. But it is going to cost you. Your daughter left us little choice unless you want to see your family’s reputation destroyed by a complete stranger.”

A complete stranger. That was what Dee Anna Justice was to her. Marietta had never laid eyes on this...granddaughter, hadn’t even known she existed until her daughter’s deathbed confession. “Just see that it’s done and spare me the sordid details.”

“Don’t I always?” As he started to leave, she heard a rustling sound and looked up in time to see Ester skittering away.

* * *

DANA WAS TELLING her about the “canyon,” as the locals called the Gallatin Canyon. It ran from just south of Gallatin Gateway almost to West Yellowstone, some fifty miles of twisting road that cut through the mountains. Sheer rock cliffs overlooked the highway and the Gallatin River.

The drive was breathtaking, especially for DJ, who’d never been in the mountains before—let alone in winter. The winding highway followed the river, a blue-ribbon trout stream, up over the Continental Divide.

“There used to be just a few places in the canyon, mostly ranches or dude ranches, a few summer cabins, but that was before Big Sky,” Dana was saying.

DJ could see that luxury houses had sprouted up along the highway as they got closer to the ski resort and community that had grown around it.

“Our ranch was one of the first,” her cousin said with obvious pride. “It is home. The only one I’ve known. And I have no intention of ever leaving it.”

DJ couldn’t imagine what it must have been like living her whole life in one place.

Dana slowed and turned not far past the sign for Big Sky Resort. Across the river and a half mile back up a wide valley, the Cardwell Ranch house sat against a backdrop of granite cliffs, towering snow-filled pines and bare-limbed aspens. The house was a big, two-story rambling affair with a wide front porch and a brick red metal roof. Behind it stood a huge new barn and some older outbuildings and corrals.

“Hud, my husband, keeps saying we need to build a bigger house, since we have four children now. But...well...”

“It’s wonderful,” DJ said and tried to imagine herself growing up here.

“You’ll be staying in one of our guest cabins,” her cousin said and pointed to some log buildings up on the side of the mountain. “I think you’ll be comfortable there, and you’ll have your privacy.”

DJ was overwhelmed by all of it, so much so that she couldn’t speak. As Dana parked, a dark-haired woman came out on the porch to greet them.

“Stacy,” Dana called. “Come meet our cousin.”

Chapter Six (#u6b542621-f503-5a26-8cb4-879ea7d5f288)

DJ thought Stacy looked like an older version of her sister. She’d been prettier at one time, but her face told of a harder life than Dana had lived. Seeing how much she resembled both of her cousins gave DJ a strange feeling. For once, her father had told the truth. These people were her family.

Dana introduced them and then asked her sister, “How were the kids?”

“Dad came by and took them sledding,” Stacy said. “He called just before you drove up to say he’s decided to take them to Texas Boys Barbecue, since they say they’re too starved to wait for supper. The café is owned by our cousins from Texas,” she said to DJ. Turning back to her sister, she said, “I’m working this afternoon at the sewing shop, so I’d better get going, since I need to pick up a few things before then.”

“Go, and thanks.”

Stacy looked to DJ, who’d been taking in the ranch in a kind of awe. “It was great to meet you. I’ll see you later?”

“You’ll see her. DJ’s staying for a while,” Dana declared and climbed the porch steps to open the door and usher DJ in.

She stepped into the house and stopped. The decor was very Western, from the huge rock fireplace to the antler lamps and the Native American rugs on the hardwood floors. Even the Christmas decorations looked as if they’d been in the family for years.

There was also a feeling of déjà vu as if she’d been here before. Crazy, she thought, hurriedly wiping at her eyes.

“It’s so...beautiful,” DJ said, her voice breaking.

Dana laughed. “My Christmas tree? I know it’s hard to put into words,” she said, considering the misshaped evergreen in the corner, decorated with ornaments obviously made by children. “But I’ve always been a sucker for trees that would never have gotten to be Christmas trees if it wasn’t for me.”

DJ managed to laugh around the lump in her throat. “I meant your house,” she said, smiling at the sight of the ungainly tree, “but your Christmas tree is...lovely. An orphan tree that you brought home. It’s charming.”

Her cousin smiled at her. “Let’s have a late lunch, since I know you couldn’t have gotten much on the plane, and we can visit.”

She followed Dana into the large, cheery kitchen, wondering if she hadn’t been here before. It felt strangely...familiar. Had her father brought her here at some point? Why else was she feeling so emotional about this large, rambling old house?

“I can’t tell you how surprised I was when I found some letters from your father and realized that my mother had a brother I’d never known existed,” Dana said as she opened the refrigerator and pulled out a large bowl. “I hope you like shrimp macaroni salad.” DJ nodded and Dana continued. “It wasn’t like my mother, Mary Justice, to keep a secret like that. Then to find out that he hadn’t actually died...” Her cousin put the bowl on the table and got out plates, forks and what looked like homemade rolls. “Coffee, tea, milk?”

“Milk.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had milk, but it sounded so good, and it felt right in this kitchen. Everywhere she looked she saw family history in this house. One wall was covered with photos of the children, most atop horses.

“Sit, please.” Dana waved her into one of the mismatched multicolored wooden chairs in front of the long, scarred table.