Redemption

“Your mother gave me something to give to you, but I also have something I want you to have. Consider it your inheritance.”

She studied him through the open door of the truck. “If you’re going to try to tell me that you’re my father or some—”

“Just get in and listen to what I have to say. I own a café in Beartooth....”

She didn’t remember sliding into the pickup seat. She did remember telling him to go to hell.

* * *

NETTIE’S NEW RENTER was an enigma. While she looked sweet and innocent, there was an edge to her that told a different story. When Nettie had shown her the apartment, the girl had gone straight to the window that overlooked the paved street running through town. To the southeast, the highway went to Big Timber. To the north, it turned to gravel just out of town before breaking off into dirt roads that turned to 4x4 trails as they headed up into the Crazies.

Beartooth was the end of the road, so to speak. Not the kind of place a young girl would want to hang out.

But that wasn’t the only thing about the girl that bothered Nettie. There was something that seemed almost familiar.

I must be getting old. The other day, I was thinking that Kate LaFond reminded me of someone, she thought now.

She shook her head. Good thing Bob wasn’t here. If she had voiced these suspicions around him, he would have shaken his head and told her she was losing her mind.

“So, what do you think of the apartment?” Nettie had asked the girl when she showed it to her.

She hadn’t even turned from the window as she’d answered. “It’s exactly what I was looking for.”

Nettie had tried not to let the girl’s lack of enthusiasm hurt her feelings. She had decorated the apartment and felt she’d done a remarkable job in making it homey and nice. But apparently her efforts had been wasted on the girl, who cared more about the view.

Curious again about what was so interesting outside, Nettie had moved up behind her to look out. The girl’s gaze had seemed riveted on the Branding Iron. Or maybe it was the large table of local ranchers who met there every morning.

Nettie had tried to make out who was gathered there, but someone inside the café had been blocking her view. With a start, she’d recognized that broad back.

Sheriff Frank Curry had stood with his back to the window, talking to the group of men. A moment later he’d stepped out of view.

The girl had turned then, clearly startled to find Nettie right behind her. “I’ll take the apartment. That is, if you’ll rent it to me. I hope you will.” There had been that desperation in her tone again.

Nettie had told herself that it didn’t matter why the girl was so set on renting the place. It wasn’t as if anyone else had been around offering to rent it. Let the girl have it. She’d planned to require references but figured this was the girl’s first apartment, so what was the point? Anyway, it would be her parents who would be footing the bill.

“I’ll need your name, address and a phone number in case of an emergency,” Nettie had said, handing the girl a piece of paper and a pen. She’d watched her quickly jot down the information, then pull out a wad of hundred-dollar bills.

“You did say you would take cash for first and last month’s rent, plus six months’ rent deposit, right?” the girl had asked, looking worried.

It must have been because of Nettie’s surprised expression. “Sure, cash is great,” she’d said as the girl had counted out bills and handed them over, along with her information.

“You sure you didn’t rob a bank?” Nettie had asked in jest as she took the money.

“I cashed in one of my stocks.”

One of her stocks? “Well, I hope you enjoy the apartment....” Nettie looked down at the sheet of paper the girl had handed her and read the name. “Tiffany Chandler.”

“I will. It’s perfect,” the girl had said again before returning to the front window.

Nettie’d had a sneaking suspicion even then that it wasn’t art—but someone in the café across the street—that had made the apartment so perfect.

* * *

AFTER HIS TALK with Kate, Frank stood for a few moments on the broken sidewalk. The spring sun felt warm and smelled of pine and water from the nearby creek.

He turned his face up to the warmth and closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar scents and enjoying the feel of the sun on his face. His mind, though, mulled over what he’d learned.

According to Tucker, the man had described Kate and known she was running the café. No mistaken identity. But the man apparently hadn’t asked for her by name, so maybe he did have the wrong woman. Maybe.

As Frank opened his eyes, he was startled to see a face framed in the upstairs window of the general store. He felt a jolt, not used to seeing anyone up there, let alone a waif of a girl.

She looked ghostly, so pale, with straight blond hair that appeared almost white in the morning light. She was wearing a pale colored top that seemed to shimmer in the breeze from the open window. As if she’d spotted him watching her, she faded back from the window—gone in the blink of an eye, almost as if she’d never been there at all.

“Nettie’s new renter,” he said under his breath, surprised by the turn the girl had given him. Nettie had certainly rented the place quickly. It had only been the other day that he’d noticed the sign in the store window.

He thought about walking across the street to the store, but he didn’t want Nettie thinking he was worried about her—or her new renter.

Also, he was anxious to talk to Jack French. He’d called out to the W Bar G and learned that Jack had the day off but had been out to the ranch and was on his way back into Beartooth.

He thought about when he’d questioned Jack about the horsehair hitched rope from the murder scene. Of course there was no reason Jack would connect the man he’d chased off down the alley the night before—with the murder weapon, right?

* * *

JACK HAD JUST driven up in front of his cabin when he saw the sheriff sitting in the shade of his porch.

He felt that old sinking feeling he always did at the sight of a lawman. Maybe that too was genetic.

While in prison he’d learned that crime and violence ran in some families. He knew he should feel lucky that it was only trouble that coursed through his DNA. But then maybe trouble was like a gateway drug, and violence was only one misstep away.

Either way, he had a sheriff sitting on his porch waiting for him.

He shut off the engine and climbed out of his pickup. “Howdy, Sheriff,” he said. “Glad to see you made yourself comfortable.”

“I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Nope, sure don’t,” Jack said as he climbed the steps. Too late, he thought about the note in his pocket, the one he’d sneaked out of Kate’s discarded apron. If it was found on him— “Can I get you a cold one?”

He wasn’t surprised when the sheriff shook his head. “Just need a few minutes of your time. The fair opens today. I would imagine that like everyone else in the county, you’re headed there.”

Jack nodded and leaned against the porch rail. He was too antsy to sit. He hadn’t forgotten being hauled off to jail by the sheriff in the wee hours of the morning two years ago for something he hadn’t done. He didn’t need to remind himself that it could happen again. Innocent men really did get arrested sometimes and sent to prison.

“You want to take this inside?” he asked the sheriff.

“Out here is fine. It’s such a beautiful day.”

Wasn’t it, though? Jack wanted to say, “Get on with it,” but he held his tongue. The old Jack French wouldn’t have been able to.

“I don’t know if you’ve seen today’s newspaper or not,” the sheriff said and reached into his jacket pocket.