The Coyote's Cry Page 12

  Since Bram hadn’t yet had breakfast, he decided to eat it at the Crossroads Café and told the duty officer where he would be for the next hour or so. Then he drove to the café and went inside. He waited a moment before choosing a booth to make sure he sat in Sheila’s station.

  She walked up with a big smile. “Morning, Sheriff. What can I get you?”

  “Coffee, scrambled eggs well done and whole-wheat toast.” Bram looked up at Sheila. “And when you have a minute, I’d like to talk to you about the ‘classy guy’ asking questions about the Coltons.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll get your coffee.” Sheila whisked away and was back with a large mug of coffee in seconds. “Your breakfast will be ready in about five minutes.”

  “Thanks, Sheila.” Bram sipped coffee and stared out the window on his right. The café was busy and numerous cars were parked outside. He thought of staking out the place, putting a deputy in regular clothes and having him watch for that “classy” guy. With so much traffic in and out of the café, a stakeout was feasible.

  Sheila delivered his breakfast, refilled his coffee mug, then sat across from Bram in the booth, with a mug of coffee for herself. “I have a ten-minute break. This place has been crazy all morning.” She took a sip of coffee. “I told Fred all about the guy, Bram, but I don’t mind repeating the story to you. Anything in particular you’d like to ask?”

  Bram had started eating and he lowered his fork. “Does he come here regularly?”

  “You mean like some of these guys who are in and out of here almost every day? No, I only saw him that one time. I just thought his questions were odd, which was the reason I told Fred about him.”

  “Well, I appreciate your concern. Sheila, do you remember the gist of his questions, what exactly he was trying to find out?”

  “Well, let me see. He sat at the counter, which I was working that day, and only ordered coffee. He was real friendly and made a remark every time I walked past him. Finally I had a slow minute and so I talked to him. I said something about his being a stranger to Black Arrow, or at least I hadn’t seen him before, and he said yes, he was a stranger to the area, but it sure was a nice little town. We chatted about that for a bit, then he asked if I knew any of the Coltons. I said, ‘Heavens, yes, the county’s full of Coltons,’ or something like that. Just a wisecrack, you know. He’s a good-looking guy and, well, I’m not exactly tied down, if you know what I mean.”

  Bram smiled. “Go on. What else did he say?”

  “He asked for some names. No, wait, first he asked if I knew Gloria Jones. I said, ‘Who in the heck is Gloria Jones?’ and he said, ‘Apparently you don’t know her by that name. How about Gloria WhiteBear, or Gloria Colton?’ Well, of course I said yes, and I was about to tell him she wasn’t well and was staying at your ranch, when he asked if I knew Thomas. I couldn’t say yes. Although I certainly know who Thomas Colton is, I’ve never met him.”

  “Did he say why he was grilling you?”

  Sheila looked surprised. “Was that what he was doing?”

  “What would you call it?”

  “I…don’t know. Should I be worried? I mean, he seemed really nice, but so do some serial killers, I’ve heard.”

  Bram rushed to reassure her. “I don’t think the guy was asking about Coltons just to put you off guard, Sheila. And you’re not the only person he’s talked to about my family.”

  “I’m not? Well, that might not be good news for you, but I’m relieved. Gosh, you just never know who might come walking in when you’re working in a public place. Guess I shouldn’t be quite so friendly to people I don’t know.”

  “Don’t be unfriendly, Sheila. Your personality is what earns you the good tips.”

  “Yeah, right, like I’m rolling in big tips.” Sheila got up. “If I think of anything else he said, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks, Sheila. Oh, one other thing. Did you happen to see what he was driving?”

  Her eyes widened. “Yes! Bram, he got into a gorgeous pale gray Lincoln. I remember thinking that not only was he good-looking and charming, he must have money.” She grinned rather feebly. “A girl alone thinks that way a lot of the time.”

  “Don’t apologize for being yourself, Sheila, and thanks for the information.”

  Sheila went back to work, and Bram finished his breakfast. He had a solid lead on one of the strangers nosing around town about the Colton family, and he felt considerably better when he left the café than when he’d gone into it.

  Before returning to the sheriff’s station, he drove past several of the motels. The driver of that Lincoln had to be staying somewhere, and his car would be easy to spot in any parking lot in Black Arrow.

  But Bram had other things to do, and after an hour or so he put his search on hold for the time being and went back to his desk and the much more serious crime of homicide awaiting his attention.

  Jenna smiled a lot that morning while caring for her patient, even though she wasn’t altogether floating on air from overwhelming happiness. But even with a noticeable helping of fear tainting the joy that seemed to have taken up residence in the vicinity of her heart, Jenna couldn’t help smiling. Yes, she was torn. One second she was positive Bram loved her, and the next she was wracked with confusion and indecisiveness. But weren’t actions stronger than words? And hadn’t he proved his feelings for her with his passion last night?

  Right after lunch, Willow arrived. As always, she brought something good to eat with her, and today it was a homemade chocolate cake with fudge frosting for Jenna and Bram, and tapioca pudding for Gran.

  “She always loved tapioca pudding, Jenna. Do you think she can eat it without too much trouble?”

  “I’m sure she can…if she wants it,” Jenna replied quietly.

  “She—she’s still not showing signs of improvement then?” Willow looked downcast.

  “I’m so sorry, Willow.” Jenna wondered if Jared or Bram or someone else in the family had told Willow about her great-grandfather’s prediction, but decided not to mention it unless she did. Jenna’s heart went out to her childhood friend, and she said in as cheerful a voice as she could manage, “I’d love to try that cake. How about some tea? I’ll make it while you see your grandma.”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  “But don’t hurry, Willow. We can drink tea together anytime. Spend as much time with Gloria as you’d like.”

  “I will.”

  In the kitchen Jenna wiped away a tear and put the teakettle on the stove. She had always liked Willow so much, and she knew how her friend had to be suffering over this terrible blow to the Colton family. It was much too reminiscent of those awful months prior to Jenna’s mother’s death, unquestionably the worst period of Jenna’s life.

  And yet something good had come from that heartbreaking tragedy—her decision to become a nurse. She loved her profession and was extremely relieved that she hadn’t pursued the art history career that had once seemed perfect for her. Jenna sighed. If only her dad would realize how much caring for people who so desperately needed professional nursing meant to her.

  But he never would, she thought sadly. Nor would he ever give an inch on his biased attitude toward Native Americans. Why he believed he was so much better than people who weren’t a hundred percent white truly eluded Jenna. It was so unreasonable, especially when she thought of the fortune he had made—and was still making—from the very people to whom he felt so superior.

  The teakettle whistled and Jenna prepared a pot of tea. She wouldn’t cut the cake now, but a cup of tea wouldn’t hurt. She sat at the table and sipped hot tea, and immediately became dreamily immersed in memories of last night with Bram. Gazing into space, she wondered exactly when she had fallen in love with him. She had been profoundly attracted to him since her teen years—she knew that—but physical attraction wasn’t necessarily love.

  “Oh, well,” she said under her breath.

  Willow walked in and Jenna jumped to her feet. “I’ll get you a cup of t
ea,” she said. “Go ahead and sit down.”

  “Thanks,” Willow said wearily, and gladly took a chair at the table. “She doesn’t even seem to care anymore that I come to see her. Why has she given up? And what’s maybe more frightening, why did she give up so quickly? Jenna, Gran was always a fighter, stronger than all the rest of us put together.”

  “It’s possible that’s the very reason she can’t accept being an invalid,” Jenna said gently. “I’ve explained to her at least a dozen times that she could regain strength and mobility and even her ability to speak legibly if she would just cooperate and try. She doesn’t want to hear it.” Jenna set a cup of tea on the table in front of Willow. “Be careful. It’s very hot.”

  “Thank you.” Listlessly, Willow picked up the cup and took a sip.

  Jenna resumed her chair and picked up her own cup. “You’re looking a little peaked yourself, Willow. Haven’t you been feeling well?”

  Willow heaved a sigh. “I…I’m not sure how to answer that. I’m not physically ill, but I’ve really been down in the dumps, Jenna. Gran’s part of it, of course, but I…” She hesitated, then blurted, “I’m tired of my brothers watching every move I make! They’re not my keepers and I’m hardly a kid. Why can’t they live their own lives and leave mine to me?”

  Jenna was stunned. “I had no idea you felt that way. Actually, I had no idea your brothers made such demands on you. Bram does it, too?”

  “Lately he’s been too busy to harangue me, but he used to all the time.”

  “What does he expect from you?” Jenna hated hearing anything negative about Bram, even something as normal as big-brother overprotectiveness for his baby sister, and she felt a strong urge to tell Willow just how wonderful Bram really was. In fact, she would like nothing better than to tell Willow everything going on between her and Bram. She took a big swallow of tea instead.

  “That’s a darned good question,” Willow said. “What do any of them expect from me?”

  So filled with her own wild and wonderful emotions for a man, Jenna couldn’t help thinking that Willow needed the same thing—a man that gave her goose bumps and more physical pleasure than she’d even known existed.

  “I think you should get out of town for a few days and let your hair down,” Jenna said.

  Willow’s cheeks got pink. “I…I already did that, Jenna. Now I’m worried about…”

  “About what?”

  “Oh, forget it. It’s probably nothing. Let’s have some of that cake now.”

  It was after Willow had gone that Jenna realized no one had told her about George WhiteBear’s dire prediction of an impending death in the Colton family. Then something occurred to Jenna that gave her a chill. Why was everyone so positive the prediction was about Gloria? There were a lot of other Coltons, and accidents happened all the time.

  However, worse than everyday accidents was what Bram did for a living. “My God,” Jenna whispered, shaken to her soul. Law enforcement officers worked every day in the line of fire. What if Gloria wasn’t the endangered Colton, and Bram was?

  It was almost four that afternoon when the medical examiner, John Burnam, surprised everyone working in the sheriff’s station by delivering his autopsy report in person.

  John laid the report on Bram’s desk, then sat down. “That’s a surprise package,” John said. “I’ll wait while you read it.”

  Bram read quickly, then sat back, stunned. “Powder burns on his right hand?”

  “Bram, all things considered, it looks like that man shot himself.”

  Bram got up for a cup of stale coffee. “Want some?” he asked Burnam.

  “No, thanks. I’ve got some battery acid in the car.”

  John’s droll sense of humor usually brightened Bram’s day, but at the moment he was in a state of shock over the autopsy results and barely heard the man.

  Resuming his chair, coffee cup in hand, Bram went over the report again. Then he sat back and regarded John somberly. “Your conclusion isn’t the only possibility, John. He could have had a gun of his own and shot at the person who killed him.”

  “That would make a fine plot for a movie, but it’s a bit far out for Black Arrow. Suicide makes the most sense.”

  “Since when has a homicide made sense?”

  John shrugged. “I’ve given you my opinion—based on scientific fact, of course, and my many years of experience with violent death. But you interpret that report any way you wish.”

  “You know damned well I respect your opinions.”

  John grinned. “Of course you do. We all do.”

  Bram shook his head. “Burnam, you’re a case all by yourself.” Then his face took on a faraway, thoughtful expression and he murmured, “Suicide. If that’s what happened, then the gun and his valuables were stolen after his death. And I’ve run the department ragged looking for an unclaimed car parked anywhere near the old depot. How in heck did he get down there?”

  “You have nothing conclusive on his identity?”

  “Not yet. His fingerprint data—hopefully there is some—should be coming in at any time. I’ve been waiting for it most of the day.”

  “You need direct access to that kind of information.”

  “Tell that to the county bigwigs at their next meeting,” Bram said dryly. “More powerful computers just don’t hit that group’s hot button. They immediately start talking about raising property taxes or something else that the voters would nix.”

  “And yet everyone expects fast action from county and city employees.” Burnam got to his feet. “Oh, well, such is life in the trenches.”

  Bram rose. “Thanks for the personal delivery of your report.”

  “Kind of you to say that, but I’m afraid it was strictly for my own benefit. I wanted to witness your reaction to it with my own eyes.” John grinned. “But I did make your life much easier, didn’t I? Instead of a homicide to solve, you now only have to ferret out and arrest a morbid thief. Good luck.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Bram drawled as John walked away. The medical examiner waved his hand in farewell without turning around, and Bram slowly sank back into his chair.

  He sat there thinking for a long time. What in the devil was happening to Black Arrow and Comanche County? Until a few months ago there’d been few crimes to solve, very few thieves to ferret out and arrest, few mysteries to puzzle over. Now they seemed to be popping up everywhere he looked.

  After muttering a curse under his breath, Bram shouted, “Lester, check on those fingerprint requests again! And don’t be nice about it!”

  Jenna dealt with one Colton after another all day. The family was in chaos, each member seeking confirmation that their beloved Gran was still alive. Obviously George WhiteBear’s prediction had been making the rounds.

  Jenna felt for each one of them, she truly did, but she also wanted to say, “Why are you all so certain the prediction is about Gloria? Haven’t you considered that it could be about one of you…or about Bram? My Lord, think of what he does day after day, night after night.”

  In truth she was worried sick, and though she did everything for her patient that she did each day, same as always, and spoke nicely to the arriving and departing Coltons, her thoughts were with Bram, wherever he was, whatever he was doing. Jenna looked out a window at every opportunity, praying to see his SUV or prowl car, whichever he was driving today.

  The dinner hour arrived and she made a tempting tray for Gloria, which, as usual, was returned to the kitchen virtually untouched. Jenna warmed some soup and made a sandwich for herself, and then realized that her own appetite wasn’t much better than her patient’s.

  By eight o’clock Jenna’s thoughts were almost too painful to bear. She was living and breathing for someone else, for a man who didn’t care enough about her to pick up the telephone and call her. She would have been overjoyed to receive a thirty-second phone call just to hear Bram’s voice saying, “Hi, how are you today?”

  If this awful heartache was love, did she wa
nt it?

  The fingerprint reports finally were faxed in late in the day, and Bram and several of the deputies read with great disappointment that the dead man’s fingerprints were not on file with any law enforcement agency.

  “He wasn’t a criminal,” Bram said. “So who is he?” If they didn’t find out his identity in a reasonable length of time he would be buried as a “John Doe,” which Bram always felt bad about. A person should be buried with his or her loved ones, or at least among friends.

  And there were so many other unanswered questions. Given the good quality of his clothing the man hadn’t been poverty stricken, so had he worked somewhere in the county right under Bram’s nose? Or owned a business? Inherited from his family?

  But if he’d been a county resident, wouldn’t someone have filed a missing person’s report by now?

  Bram sat down and placed a call to the local radio station. “This is Sheriff Colton. Would you do me a big favor and broadcast the description of an unidentified man who died in Black Arrow last night?”

  The station manager said that he would be happy to cooperate in any way. After thanking the man, Bram phoned the newspaper and made a similar request. “We have a John Doe in the morgue. Would you please publish his description?”

  “I’ll send a reporter by in the morning.”

  Bram stayed at his desk long after the shift change. He took the medallion from his shirt pocket and absently toyed with it while he thought about the many convolutions his life had taken in recent days. Would things ever get back to normal? Was there any connection, even a tiny one, between John Doe and the other events rocking Bram’s world of late?

  And then there was Jenna. Bram heaved a mighty sigh. What in God’s name was he going to do about Jenna? Fire her? Call Dr. Hall and request another nurse?