Odd Man Out

That was when he recalled what had been so important. He’d spotted what looked like a wallet wedged behind the old radiator in Max’s apartment. He had started to work it out of the hole when he’d heard what he thought was the burglar returning. Later, when he’d looked up from the bathtub to find Denny standing there...well, he was just lucky he remembered his name.

He turned the pickup toward West Yellowstone and Max’s office, promising himself he’d be back within the hour to check on Denver. As he raced toward town, he realized he was humming the same tune over and over again as he drove. With a curse, he recognized the song—“Tea for Two.”

* * *

DENVER TURNED TO FIND Pete looking a little guilty as he set the pot on the coffee table by the two cups and saucers and the sugar bowl.

“So J.D.’s back, huh?” he asked. “Did he say how long he’s staying?”

Exhaustion pulled at her. All she really wanted was to go to bed and sleep.

“I know you said you wanted to be alone and I promise I won’t stay long.” He brightened. “I made tea.”

“Tea?” Max used to make her tea when she couldn’t sleep.

Pete sat down and proceeded to pour the tea. Denver had to stifle a smile as she took off her coat and hung it in the closet. The teapot appeared so small and fragile in his hands. She’d bet money this was the first tea he’d ever made.

“I mixed the spiced kind with some other one that sounded good,” Pete said, confirming her suspicions. It also explained the peppermint scent. He bent over, the spoon clicking against the china cup as he stirred.

“No sugar for me, please,” Denver said, feeling like the visitor. J.D. was right; Pete had certainly made himself at home. She could see that the laundry room door was ajar. She’d closed it before she left for the service, having souped some photos that morning to keep her mind off Max. What had Pete done? Searched every room to make sure Max’s killer wasn’t here waiting for her? It would have been funny, if he wasn’t so determined for her to stay out of Max’s murder investigation.

“Oh, a little sugar never hurt anyone,” he said, handing her the china cup and saucer, her treasured rose-patterned dishes Max had brought her back from Canada. “Anyway, I’m afraid I put sugar in them both. I hope you don’t mind.”

She didn’t have the heart not to drink the tea after he’d gone to so much trouble—sugar and all. Sitting down across from him, she said, “I looked for you at the party but you’d left.”

He grinned sheepishly. “I thought I’d come on out and surprise you. I remembered where Max hid his spare key so...here I am.”

Yes, here he was, even though she’d told him she wanted to be alone, she thought resentfully as she got a whiff of the strange brew. The last thing she wanted to do was drink it.

“Do you like it?” Pete asked, sounding hopeful.

The truth was she hadn’t even tried it. “It’s good.” She took a sip; it was too hot to taste, fortunately. The warmth seemed to take away some of the day’s pain. Max was gone. She’d have to learn to accept that. If only she could throw off the memory of J.D. in Max’s office. Max’s ransacked office. And J.D. grinning at her.

Realizing Pete was waiting for her to drink her tea before he left, she took another sip and burned her tongue. Exhaustion had numbed her muscles and made her feel as if she were sinking into the chair. All she really wanted to do was put this day behind her.

“So J.D. followed you home?” Pete asked.

She saw his jaw tense and remembered the animosity she’d felt between the two of them earlier. “He’s like you, worried I might be in some sort of danger.”

“Oh, really?”

The phone rang. Pete offered to get it, but Denver was only too anxious to have an excuse not to finish her tea. She put her cup down and went to answer it.

It was Taylor. “Denver?”

She smiled. He always sounded a little embarrassed.

“I was thinking about that trouble you had earlier with Cal. You’re all right out there, aren’t you?”

Another man worried about her. If only they’d just let her get some rest. “I’m fine,” she said, thinking how much Taylor reminded her of Max.

“I gave Cal a ride home but I was afraid he might decide to show up at your cabin. No trouble?”

Denver thought about Max’s ransacked office. And J.D. “What kind of trouble could I get in?” She laughed guiltily but didn’t want to mention either problem in front of Pete. “No trouble. Pete’s here with me.”

“Good.” He seemed to hesitate. “You know, if you need anything...”

“I know. I appreciate it.” She hung up the phone and returned to the coffee table but didn’t sit. Pete was in the kitchen washing the teapot. Denver thought of excusing herself, but decided it would be rude not to at least drink some of her tea.

Hurriedly she picked up the cup from the table and drank it down, trying not to gag. When she went to replace the cup in the saucer, though, she realized she’d finished Pete’s instead of her own. She was switching the cups when Pete came back into the room. Quickly she handed him the full cup.

“Who was that?” he asked.

“Taylor.”

He seemed annoyed that Max’s friend had interrupted their little tea party. “What did he want?”

“He was just checking on me.”

Pete frowned. “It seems I’m only one of a long line of men concerned about your welfare.”

She let that pass. “I think I’m going to call it a night,” she said with a wide yawn and a stretch.

Pete glanced at Denver’s empty cup on the coffee table and smiled. “I can take a hint.” He drank his; from the face he made, he didn’t like it any better than she had. “I’ll just throw a few more logs on the fire and make sure both doors are locked before I leave.”

Denver started up the spiral log stairs to her bedroom. “Good night, Mother Hen.”

Pete looked sad to see her go. “Good night, Denver. Sleep well.”

* * *

J.D. PARKED IN THE darkness of a lodgepole pine outside Max’s office. Denny had locked the front door, but thanks to the burglar, all he had to do was put his shoulder against the old door and it fell open. He took the stairs two at a time to Max’s apartment. Images of Denny in the middle of the mess made him smile. He rubbed the lump on his head in memory. Hadn’t he always known she’d grow into a beautiful, strong, determined woman with a helluva right-handed swing?

He went to the old radiator. Sure enough, there was something down there. He picked up a thin bent curtain rod and worked to pry what looked like a wallet from the radiator’s steel jaws.

The wallet tumbled out onto the floor. He picked it up and opened the worn leather. Max’s face looked up at him from a Montana driver’s license. J.D. thumbed through the rest of the contents. There was no doubt it was Max’s wallet. The question was: how did it get behind the radiator? J.D. shook his head, remembering what Max had been like. Absentminded about day-to-day things.

He took the wallet downstairs and dumped out the contents on Max’s desk. There wasn’t much—a few receipts, some business cards he’d picked up, Denny’s graduation photo, a yellowed, dog-eared photo of Denny and her parents, forty dollars in cash and a MasterCard.

J.D. stared at Denny’s photo for a moment, realizing how many years he’d missed by leaving. Then he looked at the picture of Denny and her parents. She couldn’t have been more than two at the time. Denny’s father, Timothy McCallahan wore his police uniform, and the threesome stood on the steps of the Billings Police Department. Timothy looked like Max, only younger. Denny had his grin. Her mother was the spitting image of Denny, the same auburn hair, same smattering of freckles and identical intense pale blue-green eyes.

J.D. stared at the happy family, unable to accept the fact that someone had killed Denver’s parents. Somehow Denny had escaped being hit in the gunfire. He hoped that same luck held for her now.

It took him a moment to realize what finding the wallet meant. Maggie’s strongest evidence against Pete was the photograph from Max’s wallet because she assumed Max had the wallet and the photo on him the day he was killed.

If the wallet was behind the radiator the day of the murder, then Pete didn’t get the photograph at the murder scene. But the fact that Pete even had the photo made him look suspicious. How had he gotten the photo and why had he taken it?

J.D. just hoped there might be a clue to Max’s murder among the receipts, scraps of paper and business cards as he stuck the wallet inside his jacket pocket. Maybe Denny could make some sense of it.