The Tanner Trilogy Boxed Set

Chapter 6

6

A fire burned in the fireplace and effectively warmed the lobby of the lodge. Rocks, the smallest the size of a man’s head, covered the hearth, which extended three feet from the wall, five feet to either side of the fireplace, and around the grate from floor to ceiling. A metal screen in front of the fire prevented sparks from flying out to land on the bearskin rug and kept people and objects from falling in. The mounted heads of several beasts were displayed around the Great Room. Elk, deer, antelope, moose, big horn sheep, and mountain goat shared the wall space with preserved fowl and fish. There was a map of the Preserve, efficiently marking trailheads, game trails, and points of interest, such as rivers, ridges, canyons, peaks, and even a waterfall. Beside it was a map of the grounds with symbols indicating the lodge, parking areas, cabins, barn, and two outbuildings.

Ethan moved from the front door to the small area sectioned off from the Great Room by a counter that had its own roof, much like a cabana. The rest of the lobby was set up with leather-covered chairs and couches arranged to instigate conversation. A few chairs were placed under the windows, along with low tables, if one chose to be alone. Scattered rugs sporadically covered the wood floor, and spotlights, which were dimmed and recessed into the ceiling, completed the feel of an exclusive, yet welcoming, vacation destination.

He smiled slightly as he approached the young man behind the counter. “Hi. Reservation for Ethan Brooks?”

“Hello, Mr. Brooks. I’m Zach,” he said and stretched out his hand. Bear always emphasized being friendly with the clients.

“Ethan,” he answered, holding the younger man’s hand and gaze. There was an open friendliness and innocence. Zach was the first to be removed from Ethan’s suspect list.

Zach released the client’s hand and glanced at the computer screen. Alyssa had booked cabin 4 for the next week. There was no notation indicating what had brought Ethan to Wyoming, all the way from Baltimore. Raising his gaze to the man on the other side of the counter, he tried to pair what he saw with what was available and wondered if Bear could have discovered this man’s game of choice.

“Alyssa didn’t make a note of why you’re visiting. Most hiking trails are open, and if you’re interested in trout, there’s an expedition to Little Shy River tomorrow that leaves at seven in the morning.” He paused, waiting to see excitement light the man’s eyes.

Ethan lifted his carryon, which housed the file Shaun had given him. “I’ve got some other… game I’m after. But I’ll definitely be needing a guide to take me around the area.”

“Just let us know when and where you would like to go, and we’ll get you there.”

“Thanks. Did I miss dinner?”

“Just barely. I would be glad to bring something to your cabin. Elk stew, cornbread, and salad, if you’re into the green stuff.”

Ethan smiled. “Sounds great. Is there a coffee machine in the room?”

“Yes,” Zach nodded. “Also a mini-fridge. I can bring you a pot. You can save the packaged stuff for backup.” He set a smaller version of the map of the complex that hung by the door on the counter, drawing with a red marker a path from the lodge to cabin 4. Turning it around so Ethan could read it, Zach explained how to find his accommodations.

“Breakfast is served from six to eight, and tomorrow Alyssa is making blueberry pancakes. Don’t know what she does to them, but they’re something special.”

The light in Zach’s eyes told Ethan that Zach thought Alyssa was the “something special.”

“Don’t remember the last time I had blueberry pancakes,” Ethan acknowledged, surprising himself that the prospect of breakfast food could elicit any kind of interest.

“I’ll make up a dinner tray for you and bring it by in about fifteen minutes.”

Ethan smiled and nodded his thanks, took his map and key, hefted his case, and left the lodge. On his way down the veranda steps, he passed an older man who was headed inside. Out of habit, he made eye contact and categorized what he saw. Clean-shaven face, piercing blue eyes, skin wrinkled and weathered from a lifetime of exposure to the elements. A jacket over a buttoned-down shirt that was tucked inside his jeans, and a straw cowboy hat and work boots completed the look of the outdoorsman. A smile graced the man’s lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Ethan nodded a silent greeting, and when he reached the ground, glanced back at the older man as he made his way to the door of the lodge. A slight hitch in the man’s right hip was noticed, then dismissed as a likely product of the man’s time on earth.

Directing his attention to locating cabin 4, Ethan unerringly followed the map to the small veranda at the front of his cabin. He unlocked the door and, feeling the heat inside, was grateful that it had been turned on prior to his arrival. Setting his carryon and case on the floor by the queen-sized bed, he checked out the closet, complete with built-in shelves, and the bathroom, which included a tub with jets. Ethan raised his brows at that and left the door open as he wandered back to the main room of the cabin.

He had just unpacked his clothes and removed his laptop and files from his case when there was a knock at the door. There was no peephole in the wooden door, and the curtains were already drawn over the window. His reaction was the same as if he were in a city—withdrawing his weapon and placing it next to his thigh. He peeked behind the material, then clicked the safety on his gun and placed it inside the back waistband of his jeans as he opened the door to Zach.

“You can leave the tray until morning. Just don’t put any of the dishes outside. We try not to encourage the critters that believe they can get a free meal here,” Zach said.

Ethan took the tray, thanked Zach, and watched briefly as the young man descended the steps and aimed in the direction of the lodge. He closed and locked the door, then took himself and his meal to the small table. With one hand on his utensil and the other turning the pages in the reports, he made quick work of both. Pushing the tray aside, he made notes regarding the files. The interviews were thorough, and there appeared to be nothing that connected any of the visitors to Bear at the time of his death, other than a client-proprietor relationship. Without a connection, there was no chance that a motive would be discovered. A hunting accident then, despite the Director’s assumption?

Ethan sighed and removed the folder that held the information the FBI had compiled. If clients and vacationers had no issues with Bear Tanner, the next logical group was employees. And he had yet to rule out family members. Perhaps the one who would know the most effective way to cover the evidence was Shaun Tanner. That name was at the top of the list he began on a clean page in a yellow, legal-size, writing tablet. At the bottom of the page, Zach Murphy. Looking at the open space between the names, he flipped the page, tilted the pad of paper, and with the pencil in his left hand, began rough strokes that soon revealed the raised-brow expression of Sheriff Tanner as he glanced up from his fax. Before he shut off the light, other views of Shaun’s face joined the first. Turning back a couple of pages, he looked again at the sketches of Shaun, Zach, the client who sat in front of the fire reading a book, Esther, and the man he passed on the steps of the lodge.

Closing and stowing the files in his briefcase, he shut down his laptop, but left it plugged in, and flicked off the lights. He stood a moment in the complete darkness. It was disconcerting to not have light streaming in the window from a lamppost or hearing traffic. The light from the computer cord was a beacon. The more he stared at it, the more anxious he felt. Flicking the light switch on, he moved to the bathroom, turned on that light, then closed the door, except for a c***k. This time, the darkness didn’t steal his breath. As he shucked his jeans and shirt, he wondered if seven days would be long enough to learn how to sleep in the quiet night of rural America.

“Good morning, Folks. We’ll be landing soon in clear skies and thirty-nine degrees. Local time is 7:48. You’ll be gathering your personal items at 8:30. Thanks for flying with Charter West Air. Welcome to Wyoming.”

Carli blinked and sat straighter in her seat. Looking up the aisle in front of her, then behind her, she guessed Tim must be in the lavatory. There were twenty passengers, maybe, on this charter flight. The plane’s interior was such that one seat was on the left side of the aisle and two seats on the right. She had shoved her backpack in the tiny overhead bin, and her camera case was tucked mostly under the seat in front of her. Yawning and stretching her long legs into the aisle, she glanced out the window and smiled at the familiar mountaintops.

“Morning, Sunshine,” Tim said, stepping around her feet and back into his seat across the aisle from her.

“You’re awfully chipper,” she commented, becoming suspicious.

“I get that way when I’m given a free hundred-dollar bill.” His broad grin alluded to what he believed was secret knowledge.

“I’ll need to double-check your math.”

He rattled off the day and time they left South America, their layover in L.A., then proceeded to assume that Denver was open by midnight and that they could have arrived by 3 AM, taken the prop plane to Laramie, and been at the lodge by now.

“You forgot daylight savings,” Carli reminded him.

His smile slipped slightly, but then he rallied. “So that puts us two hours instead of three ahead of our current itinerary.”

She raised a brow at Tim’s outstretched palm, but reached down and pulled the bill from a zippered pocket in her camera case.

“This is contingent on when Denver opened for business.”

He tsked, tucking the bill into his front pocket. “A woman your age—”

“My age?” she interrupted.

“With thirty years of experience on this earth—”

“Shhh!” she whispered before her lips moved to a grin.

“I think you would have learned some patience,” he finished as if she said nothing at all. “Waiting three hours—”

“Six. Six hours at the least.”

“Would afford a normal person a chance to catch up on some reading or business or people watching.”

“I was too restless to read, half my business had been packed in the crates,” she narrowed her gaze at Tim since he had thrown, helter-skelter, their belongings into crates and cases that they shipped ahead, “and I watch people for a living. Why would I want to do that to pass the time?”

He ignored her censure on his packing details. “Because the stories you create about the hordes of people that inhabit an airport are entertaining to those of us whose well of creativity is quite shallow.”

“Perhaps you should fill your ‘well’ with something besides techno music and fruity drinks at all the—” Carli was interrupted by the only flight attendant as he cleared his throat.

“Fascinating as this discussion is between you two, we’re approaching the airport, so I need you to buckle in and clear the aisle.”

“Of course. Sorry,” she said, moving her legs back under her as the flight attendant continued his short journey to the rear of the plane.

She turned her head to watch a moment, then refocused on Tim and lowered her voice. “At all the alternative nightclubs—”

“Gay bars.”

“I’m being politically correct.”

He rolled his eyes.

“It’s all about fun and games with you. So, why not make up your own scenario with someone tall, dark, and handsome in snug jeans and a pink boa—”

She stopped and looked up at the flight attendant. Leaning across the aisle, she had again blocked his path, and by the expression on his face, perhaps her voice wasn’t as quiet as she thought. Smiling sheepishly, she straightened in her seat, and the flight attendant continued to the front of the plane, but paused and turned at the next seat in front of them.

Bending over and whispering for Tim and Carli’s ears only, the flight attendant informed them, “I’ve witnessed fellatio in first class, and one woman who joined the Club four times on a trans-continental flight. There isn’t much that I haven’t seen or heard that shocks me after twelve years at an altitude between ten-thousand and thirty-thousand feet.” He tipped his head to the side and met Tim’s gaze. “Snug jeans and a pink boa? Hmm.” Then he straightened and made his way to the front and the retractable seat behind the cockpit.

Carli and Tim nearly bumped heads in the aisle as they both leaned out to watch the retreating backside of the flight attendant. Once they were on the ground and Carli descended the steps outside the plane, Tim hung back to chat with Charlie, the flight attendant.

“I’m in Laramie for a funeral,” Tim began.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Charlie said.

“Her father, and somewhat sketchy circumstances,” Tim paused as two other passengers squeezed past so they could get off the plane. “I’ll be in town for about a week. Would you be interested in grabbing a cup of coffee?”

After all this time, he was still a little nervous when asking to meet someone somewhere. There was always the possibility of rejection, then attempting to pretend it didn’t matter.

Charlie smiled. “As a matter of fact, I have one more return flight, then I’ll be laid over for two days—” he paused as he realized what he said. “Sorry. Poor choice of words.”

“Perhaps not,” Tim said with a smile. “Here’s my card. I’m hoping I have service where we’re going. Call me when you get back.”

Charlie took the card and placed it in his shirt pocket, returning Tim’s smile. “Sure. Sounds like fun.”

Tim disembarked the plane to find Carli with her phone to her ear arranging the delivery of their crates and the pickup from her brother.

She disconnected the call, gathered her two cases and asked, “So, you met a new friend?”