A hopeless rodeo, p.17
A Hopeless Rodeo, page 17
I watched the steer wrestling while I listened to JB Trautman give his typical amazing performance and had to hand it to the guy. Just moments earlier, the man had been as raw and vulnerable as a cowboy like him probably ever gets, and I believed every word he said.
In fact, I’d believed Pierce and Lizzy as well. Maybe I was losing my edge. Maybe the near-death experience with Alex had reduced my investigative powers. Maybe . . . but I didn’t think so, which led me to a singular conclusion. Bump was our man. He acted alone. And it was up to Deputy Kraft to hunt him down and bring him in. Then and only then would we start to understand the why. All that was left to do right now was sit back and enjoy the show, then go home to my favorite patient in the world and nurse him back to health.
And what a show the bulldoggers put on—by far their best performances of the whole week. Even the steers were cooperating, as if everyone, the stock animals included, understood the unique opportunity. For once, steer wrestling was at the center of attention, and cowboy after cowboy delivered until there were only two. Austin Dix, current standings leader of the circuit, was up first.
JB Trautman put some extra juice into the introduction, a few fireworks shot off, the crowd went nuts, and “How Do You Like Me Now?” blared out of the speakers. Then the steer was off, followed by the horses and their cowboys. Like a bolt of lightning, Austin was off his horse, onto that steer, and had wrestled the animal down to the ground. He popped up with his hands in the air, the crowd went crazy, and JB Trautman announced that Austin Dix had just posted the fastest time of the week.
Which meant, it was all set up for Trevor Dawes to complete his comeback with the kind of finish drawn up in a movie script. JB Trautman’s introduction included a litany of all Trevor’s very impressive accomplishments over the years, more fireworks went off, and there wasn’t a soul sitting down in that entire place. The energy was off the charts, the grandstands shook back and forth, and as “Welcome to the Jungle” rang out through the sound system, the last competitor of the night was ready to go. That’s when a brand-new thought entered my head. A thought I really hadn’t considered. A thought I should have considered. A thought that made my whole body tense up. Oh, my God. Why hadn’t I considered it?
What if?
What if Bump Kreisel wasn’t the real shooter?
CHAPTER 32
Iknew what I was seeing was happening fast, but it all felt like slow motion. I’d missed something. Something important. And it was about to get a man killed.
And then, just like that, it was over.
The worst hadn’t happened, thank God. Instead, Trevor Dawes wrestled that steer, then popped up to his feet with his hands in the air as he looked at the scoreboard along with the rest of the crowd to see if his time was good enough for the win.
It was not.
Trevor noticed it half a second before the rest of us, and his shoulders slumped and his head hung down in defeat. The two-time world champion had put up quite the fight, and maybe this would build some momentum for the rest of the season. Maybe he’d even have an outside shot of making it the National Finals Rodeo in Vegas. But for now, that normally cocky cowboy looked deflated as he walked out of the arena.
At the same time, Austin Dix jumped over the fence and landed on the dirt with his arms raised in triumphant victory. The crowd roared their admiration, and as the rodeo circuit’s newest star soaked it all in, JB Trautman’s golden voice boomed through the speaker one last time. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why the sport of rodeo truly is the greatest show on dirt. What a finish that was. Well, folks, that’s a wrap for us. We’ve had ourselves a whale of a time here in Hopeless, and you all have supported some of the finest cowboys, cowgirls, and stock animals in all the land. So, until next year, all I can say is this. My name is JB Trautman, and I’m the luckiest son of a gun who has ever lived. Goodnight, take care, and until I see you again, God bless America!”
When Trevor Dawes walked out of the arena, I was the only one there to greet him. It seemed rodeo folks, as good and decent as they appeared to be, were just as fickle as the rest of us when it came to moving away from yesterday’s news and on to the next big thing. The next big thing was, of course, Austin Dix, and I’m sure he was enjoying every moment of the limelight. But yesterday’s news stood before me, disappointed, despondent, with the body language more reminiscent of an awkward junior high boy than the cocksure world champion I had met just a few days earlier.
“You came close,” I said. “Real close.”
Trevor looked away and somewhere into the distance. “But I didn’t win, and he did. Again. And the difference between first-place money and second-place money at this rodeo was . . .” He sighed heavily. “Significant.”
“For what it’s worth, Trevor, I am sorry. But hopefully you’ve got some momentum, and maybe you’ll go on a run and still make it to Vegas.”
“It would take a miracle at this point.”
“Well, you are a two-time world champion, and Alex told me how talented you are. Determined, too. And look at the bright side—you’re still alive. The rodeo is over and you’re still standing. You got lucky the first two nights and nobody took a shot at you tonight, which means Bump is our guy. Speaking of, our deputy still hasn’t tracked him down.”
“I’m not sure he will. Bump’s nothing if not resourceful, and he’s probably drunk beer with just about every farmer and rancher within a five-hundred-mile radius of this place.”
“Meaning?”
“With that many friends in low places, he can probably stay hidden for a while.”
“You still can’t think of a reason why he’d want you dead?” I asked.
Trevor shook his head and kicked at the dirt. “Nah. How about you?”
“I spoke with our four suspects tonight, and nothing quite fits. Normally I get to the point in an investigation where all the puzzle pieces come together, but here we are, at the end of the rodeo, and nothing like that has happened.”
He shrugged. “Maybe this one’s not a puzzle.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged again. “Maybe it’s just one of those things.”
His phone buzzed, and he glanced at it. Concern washed over his face. “My wife, Emma.”
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Not sure. Listen, Hope, thanks for everything you tried to do this week. Be sure to say goodbye to Alex for me. By the way, how’s he getting along?”
“Much better since earlier today. I think he’s finally getting some sleep since I moved him into my granny’s house.”
“Huh,” he said with a funny look on his face as if maybe part of him wished he could be in Alex’s shoes, able just to lie down and sleep.
“You know, Trevor, he’d love to see you before you leave. You should really swing by in the morning and see him before you head home.”
He held up his cell phone. “That all depends on what’s going on with Emma. But yeah, if I’m still around in the morning, I’ll be sure to stop by. Where’s your granny’s house?”
He told me his phone number, and I texted him the address.
“Good luck, two-time world champion Trevor Dawes.”
“Thanks, Hope Walker. I’ll need it.”
And with that, Trevor walked away. As down as he was, I didn’t expect him to stop by to see Alex. I figured he would try to shake his boots free of the dust that had been the Hopeless Rodeo. He would make the three-hour drive home to Emma and soon he would become a father. Maybe fatherhood would finally settle him down and give him peace. At least, that’s what I hoped.
I meandered over to Mac and Tabitha’s barbecue stand to say my goodbyes to them as well. They weren’t nearly as busy as the previous night, and I moved to the front of the line as soon as I arrived.
“So, was it a successful rodeo for the two of you?” I asked.
Tabitha smiled while Mac started putting together a plate of food. “Actually, it was,” she said. “I made it through my first man cold all the while trying to hold down the fort with a bunch of rodeo folks who love alcohol and adore their barbecue. And you know what? I’m still crazy about the big lug.” She kissed Mac on the cheek as he handed me a delicious plate full of brisket, sausage, and baked beans.
“For me?”
“It’s the very least I could do,” he said, “considering you took my place there for a while. How’s the sheriff holding up?”
“Not bad,” I said. “Not bad at all. It was good seeing the two of you.”
“Likewise,” Tabitha said. “And remember what I told you—don’t be a stranger. Find your way down to Nashville one of these days, and we’ll show you what Southern hospitality is all about.”
Food had never tasted quite as good as Mac’s barbecue did at that moment. Of course, Mac’s barbecue was amazing—that was a given. But it had only now occurred to me that with everything that had happened since Gemima’s mouth had committed a fifteen-yard penalty on my boyfriend that morning, I had completely forgotten to eat. I was operating on nothing but a cup of coffee. Isn’t that something, I thought to myself as I appreciated the irony. My only source of nourishment that day had been Gemima’s Lips.
I took a long and slow walk toward my car, feeling like my brain had finally awakened on account of the sudden introduction of food. My brain fixated on the cowboy with the handlebar mustache and the solid right hook. Bump Kreisel had tried to kill Trevor Dawes, and we still didn’t know why.
And the not knowing why bugged me more than I could explain. I liked puzzles. I was good at puzzles. And typically, if I just turned a problem over and over enough times, eventually something would click and the solution would be found. But then I had a sober thought, what some might call a mature thought. Maybe this wasn’t a puzzle—Trevor had even said as much. Not everything in life was a puzzle. Some things were messy. Hell, many things were messy. Maybe this crime was one of them. Maybe Bump wanted Trevor dead for a totally different reason.
Bump didn’t strike me as stupid. He knew that a dead Trevor Dawes couldn’t possibly pay off his gambling debt, but maybe Bump just didn’t care. And why? I don’t know. It was irrational. Maybe Trevor looked at him wrong. Maybe Bump didn’t like the man’s breath. Or maybe he just didn’t like the dude and thought the world would be a better place without him in it.
As I was having that thought, I heard a sound. A sound that may have seemed to some people like the backfiring of a car, but I knew that’s not what it was. This was a gunshot, and it wasn’t that far away. So, I did what a moment ago was unthinkable. I threw what was left of that delicious barbecue to the ground, spun in the direction of the gunshot, and ran like hell.
CHAPTER 33
Iwas the first one on the scene, the scene being the grass in front of a big trailer with the Stevens Rodeo Company logo across it. An older man was sprawled out on his back—Pierce Stevens. Blood oozed from his left shoulder. His eyes were closed, but he was breathing. Gasping for breath, really, but clearly breathing.
I knew a 911 call would be routed to Alex or Deputy Kraft, and I knew that would be pointless. I pulled up my contact info for Dr. Bridges and called him directly. And since I never called Dr. Bridges socially, especially not at ten p.m., he answered immediately, his voice serious and full of concern.
“Hope, what’s wrong? Is it Alex?”
“No, Doc. I’m at the rodeo, and a man’s been shot. I’m at the northwest corner of the grounds in front of a red Stevens Rodeo Company trailer. You need to get here now!”
Dr. Bridges said he was on his way, and someone else came upon the scene, a cowgirl I’d noticed from the team roping competition. She didn’t ask what was wrong. She just dropped to her knees, said she was a nurse, and asked what she could do to help.
“Dr. Bridges from the hospital is on his way. You stay with him until Doc gets here.”
“You’re leaving?” she asked.
“Somebody did this to him, and I need to figure out who before it’s too late.”
Pierce suddenly opened his eyes, and I leaned in closer. “Who did this, Pierce? Who did this to you?’
“Said . . . I was of no . . . use to him,” he said in a sort of throaty whisper. “Said he had to go . . . take care of something.”
Pierce shot his right hand up and grabbed me so fast, it scared the crap out of me. Then he pulled me closer. “Had to take care of . . . someone.” Pierce was shaking, his eyes full of fear.
“Who?” I pleaded. “Who did this?”
His eyes closed, and I thought maybe that was it, but they popped back open. “Trevor Dawes.” Then his eyes closed, and he fell back to the ground.
“No, Pierce,” I said in a panic. “Don’t you dare die on us.”
Ms. Cowgirl Nurse put two fingers to his neck near the carotid artery. “He’s still got a pulse,” she said with the confidence of someone who had obviously done this sort of thing before. “Like you said, you need to go catch whoever did this. I’ve got him.”
I ran the other direction back toward my car, trying to figure out what the hell was going on, running it through in my head. Trevor had to take care of something. Or rather, someone. He had just shot Pierce Stevens. Was the man I saw after the rodeo so despondent, dejected, and broken that he was also now desperate? Was he unhinged and out of control, willing to do almost anything to anybody?
I stopped.
None of it made sense. What could possibly explain why Trevor Dawes would have done this? And then a thought occurred to me that I should have considered earlier in this whole investigation. Someone I should have talked to by now. Someone who knew Trevor well. His wife, Emma Dawes. Could she explain what was going on?
I pulled out my cell and brought up the subscription website I used to run reverse searches on people to find addresses and phone numbers. It’s a miraculous tool, but pretty standard fare for a serious investigative reporter. Within thirty seconds, I had the cell phone number for Emma Dawes of northern Utah and placed the call at once. A young woman answered.
“Hello,” she said cautiously. “Who is this?”
“Hi, Emma. My name is Hope Walker, and I know your husband. I’m here in Hopeless with him at the rodeo.”
“Oh, God,” she said, her voice suddenly filled with panic. “Did he get hurt? Is something wrong?”
“No, he’s not hurt. But yes, something is wrong. I think Trevor’s about to get himself into some trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
I wondered, with everything she had been through recently, if I should be springing this on her, but I didn’t know what else to do. Emma repeated herself, this time with an edge to her voice.
“What kind of trouble?”
“Emma, I don’t want to upset you. I know what you’ve been going through lately with the preterm labor. Are you still in the hospital, or are you back at home?”
Now it was her turn to pause. “What do you mean, my preterm labor?”
“Trevor told us about the other night when you went into preterm labor and that’s why he left the rodeo in such a hurry. Said he got all the way home before he found out it was just a scare.”
“Ma’am,” she said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about or what your angle is, but I did not go into preterm labor, nor have I recently been to the hospital. Now please, for the love of God because you’re really freaking me out, just tell me. What is going on?”
But I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t say a word. I was trying to process what she’d just said.
“Are you saying that you didn’t go the hospital the other night, and that you didn’t call your husband and tell him to come home?”
“No!” she shouted. “I did not! Very clearly, I did not. Now, what the hell is going on?”
I ended the call and tried to make sense of it all. Trevor didn’t have to go home, which meant there was no emergency. So, why did he pretend there was?
It took only a few moments for everything to hit me at once, for the puzzle pieces to start falling into place. And when they finally did, there was only one thing to say.
“Oh, my God!”
I knew what this was all about, and as I began to see the whole picture and reached the obvious conclusion, I was overcome by a feeling of white-hot terror I hadn’t experienced since that night so many years ago when Jimmy and I had been in that car accident because now I knew what Trevor had to take care of. Who he had to take care of. I certainly didn’t understand why, but I knew who.
I sprinted toward my car as I placed a frantic call to Alex, but there was no answer. I called again. Nothing. I called yet a third time, and still . . . crap. I was at my car now, fumbling for my keys. Shaking. Scared out of my mind. I dropped the keys on the ground, I was so overcome with fear. And when I stooped to grab the keys, I saw that my back left tire was flat.
I cursed in frustration. Think, Hope, I said to myself as I stared at my tire. You have to think. Okay, I could still drive on a flat tire. Granny’s wasn’t far, and I didn’t care about how badly I screwed up my car in the process. There was no time, and I would have to try. Then I noticed something else—the front driver’s side tire was also flat. I knelt down to inspect it and saw that this was no accident.
There was a gash in the sidewall, the kind that could only be caused by a knife. And then I remembered what Alex had told me about his bulldogging rival back in the old days. A guy so competitive that he’d been known to slash a competitor’s tires just so the poor guy couldn’t make it on time to the next rodeo. He’d even pulled that stunt on Alex one time. There was a name for it. The Trevor Dawes Special.
I screamed bloody murder into the night sky because I knew I would never make it. Trevor would succeed in what he’d hoped to accomplish from the beginning, and my life would be forever changed. Destroyed. For the second time. And I didn’t know if I could survive something like that again.
