Refuge Cove (New Americana 2)

She drew the pistol and clicked off the safety, holding it with both hands the way John had taught her. “Don’t come a step closer,” she said. “The gun’s loaded and I know how to use it.”

For an instant he looked surprised. Then he smiled, that charming old Boone smile that didn’t work with her anymore. The burns on the side of his face were beginning to heal but he would never lose the scar.

“I’m not here to hurt you, honey,” he said. “I just want to talk.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said. “I’ve heard enough of your talk. If you want me to listen, you can give me back my money.” Emma’s hands were cramping around the pistol grip. Could she really shoot him?

He laughed. “That money was a wedding present, from you to me. It’s mine now.”

“That wasn’t even a real wedding. Neither was the last one, with that other woman, was it? What happened to her, Boone?”

He shrugged. “She got mad, packed her bags, and left. At least, since it wasn’t a real wedding, we didn’t have to get a divorce.”

r /> “You’re lying. John found her glasses and took the pictures to the police. But you already know that. And you know she’s dead. I think you killed her, Boone.”

What was she saying? Even if Boone hadn’t come here to kill her, he was probably thinking about it now. If he came at her, could she shoot him? What if she wasn’t fast enough? What if she missed?

Through the wall she could hear the sound of the machine that sprayed paint. It was loud enough to drown out a scream, but maybe not a gunshot.

His hands came up in a “calm down” gesture. “All right. I know she’s dead. But it wasn’t me who killed her. I swear to God. It was Ezra. He came by the trailer when I wasn’t there. He wanted to share his brother’s woman, and she wouldn’t cooperate. Ezra’s not all right in the head. That’s all it took.”

“Why did you come here, Boone?” She willed herself to hold the gun steady.

“To see you. To talk to you.”

Liar, she thought.

“You’ve seen me. You’ve talked to me. Now get out of here before I pull this trigger.” Summoning her courage she took a step toward him. “On the count of three,” she said. “One . . . two . . .”

He was out the door, striding down the long hallway toward the stairs. Shaking, Emma locked the door, laid the gun on the bed, and called the police—even though she knew it would be useless. By the time they got here, Boone would be gone.

* * *

At the sound of shots, Pete and Reuben came pounding through the trees with their pistols drawn. When they saw John standing with Ted’s pistol, and Ted crouched over the dog, they lowered their weapons.

Ted pulled back the vest to check Daisy for injuries. The gunshot, from a small-caliber weapon, had given her a nasty welt, but the vest had saved her life. She licked his hand, thumped her tail, and struggled to her feet, eager to finish the job she’d been trained for since puppyhood.

John returned the Glock to Ted’s holster and gave the others a quick rundown on what had happened. Pete responded with a nod and a few choice curses, a subtle sign that there’d likely be no inquiry into the gunplay. Right now they had more important concerns.

Daisy was straining toward the patch of open ground. Ted gave her the lead. Moving with some pain, she reached the patch of skunk cabbage, sat down on her haunches, and gave three sharp barks.

“Good girl.” Ted praised her and gave her a treat. “You heard the lady. She says there’s something here.”

John, Pete, and Reuben went back to the van and returned with a plastic tarp, picks and shovels, coveralls, gloves, boot covers, disposable filter masks, and a body bag, as well as Daisy’s crate and water bowl. Ted had removed Daisy’s vest to make her more comfortable. When the open crate was placed in the shade, she walked into it, drank some water, and lay down to rest.

John had done some digging in his time, but never like this. Every new cut of the pick or shovel was done with care, and every shovelful of earth was checked before being piled on the tarp. The fall weather was cool, but the direct sun on the open ground was hot. John’s clothes were soaked with sweat under the protective coveralls. The men dug in teams of two, one pair working, the other pair guzzling water and Gatorade as they helped check the growing pile of earth.

About an hour into the dig, Reuben said, “There’s something down here.”

The digging became more careful. The sickly odor of decomposition rose from the soil as they dug around the buried mass. Slowly they uncovered bones, hooves, and a hide.

“Oh, hell,” Pete swore. “It’s a damn deer!”

Amid curses, the digging paused. Had this whole outing been a waste of time?

“No! Hang on!” Ted said as Pete and Reuben started to climb out of the hole. “I’ve never known Daisy to be wrong. Besides, why would anybody bury a deer out here in the woods except to hide something else? We’ve got to keep digging.”

Pete nodded. Working together, they managed to lift the deer carcass out of the hole and lay it to one side. Under another two feet of earth, their probing shovels encountered a long, slender form bundled in a stained quilt.