she called to her husband. No answer. “Must have already gone home,” she muttered to herself. The two of them lived behind the store on the side of the mountain. Bob didn’t spend much time in the store his parents had turned over to them when they’d gotten married thirty years ago. He didn’t have to.
“Nettie loves minding the store—and everyone’s business,” he was fond of saying.
Nettie hurriedly grabbed the phone and began calling everyone she knew to tell them about Carson Grant.
“Nettie?” Bob called from the office in the back. “What’s all the commotion out there?”
Not only was Bob getting hard of hearing—at least hard of hearing her—he wouldn’t appreciate her news. Though he might have enjoyed seeing the bleached blonde with Carson.
“It’s Carson Grant,” she said as she stepped to the office doorway.
Bob didn’t look up from the bills he’d been sorting through. “What about him?” he asked distractedly.
“He’s back in Beartooth.”
Her husband’s head jerked up in surprise. “What?”
“I saw him drive past not thirty minutes ago.” She’d recognized Carson right off, even though it had been years since she’d laid eyes on him.
“Why would he come back now?” Bob asked, clearly upset. But then most of the county would be upset, as well.
“I would imagine it has something to do with the rumor circulating about new evidence in Ginny West’s murder.”
“What new evidence?”
“I heard it was some kind of fancy hair clip one of the kids found over at the old theater. Now they’re speculating that she might have actually been killed there and not out on the road.” She frowned. “Are you all right?”
Bob was holding his stomach as if something he ate hadn’t agreed with him. “You give me indigestion,” he said angrily as he shoved the bills away and pushed himself to his feet. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t making all of this up.”
“It was Carson Grant, sure as I’m standing here.”
“What I want to know is why he wasn’t arrested years ago?” Bob demanded. “Everyone knows he killed that poor girl. If your sheriff can’t figure that out, then there’s something wrong with him.”
Her sheriff? “Well, I, for one, am not convinced Carson did it,” she said as he pushed past her and headed for the back door and home.
“The fact that you’re the only one who believes that should tell you something, Nettie.” He didn’t give her a chance to respond as he slammed out the back door.
Surprised, since that was the most passion she’d seen in her husband in years, maybe ever, she wandered back to the front store window to entertain herself until she was forced to wait on a customer, should one come by.
The narrow two-lane paved road was empty—just as it was most days. The town of Beartooth was like a lot of small Montana towns. It had died down to a smattering of families and businesses. Not that it hadn’t been something in its heyday. With the discovery of gold in the Crazy Mountains back in the late 1800s, Beartooth had been a boomtown. Early residents had built substantial stone and log buildings in the shadow of the mountains where Big Timber Creek wound through the pines.
By the early 1900s, though, the gold was playing out and a drought had people leaving in droves. They left behind a dozen empty boarded-up buildings that still stood today. There was an old gas station with two pumps under a leaning tin roof at one end of town and a classic auto garage from a time when it didn’t take a computer to work on a car engine at the other.
In between stood the Range Rider bar, the post office, hotel and theater. There’d been talk of tearing down the old buildings to keep kids out of them. Nettie was glad they hadn’t. She thought fondly of the hidden room under the stage at the Royale theater where she’d lost her virginity. Unfortunately, that made her think of the sheriff, something she did her best not to do. Her sheriff, indeed.
Directly across the street from Nettie’s store was the Branding Iron Café where ranchers gathered each morning. Right now a handful of pickups were parked out front—and another half dozen down the street in front of the bar.
Nettie knew the topic of conversation among the ranchers must have Carson Grant’s ears burning. She wondered if the West family had heard yet and how long it would be before one of them either ran Carson out of town again—or strung him up for Ginny West’s murder.
But it was her husband’s reaction that had her scratching her head.
* * *
“WHERE’S YOUR SISTER?” WT asked Carson as he looked up from his meal and apparently realized for the first time that Destry wasn’t at the table.
“She got a call that some cattle had gotten out and were on the road,” Carson said.
His father grunted in answer, the sound echoing in the huge dining hall. Carson idly wondered how often this dining room was ever used. Not much, he’d bet, since everything looked brand-new, and it wasn’t as if WT had friends or family over. He’d never been good at making or keeping friends.
“Why didn’t she call one of the ranch hands to take care of it? Or our ranch foreman? This is what I pay Russell to do,” WT said irritably after a few bites.
Carson tamped down his own irritation. “I would imagine she didn’t want to bother them in the middle of their dinners, especially when she’s probably more than capable of taking care of it herself.” Knowing his sister, that would be exactly her reasoning.
“You see what I mean about your sister?” WT asked with a curse. “She doesn’t know her place.”
“This is her place,” Carson said defiantly in the hopes that an argument would end this meal faster. It couldn’t end soon enough for him.
WT continued to eat, refusing to rise to the bait. He hadn’t even acknowledged Cherry’s presence since she’d sat down. Did he really think that by ignoring her she would leave? Under other circumstances, Carson might have found all of this amusing.
He’d done his best to convince his father to give him enough money so he could leave the country. Coming back here only reminded him of everything he’d spent eleven years trying to forget.
But WT had been adamant. There would be no money, not even any inheritance, if he didn’t return.
“What about the sheriff?” he’d asked.
“He has a few questions, that’s all.”
A few questions about Ginny’s murder after all these years?
Clearly WT didn’t realize how dangerous it was for him being back here, he thought, recalling the look on Nettie Benton’s face when he’d driven by her store earlier today. There had been no reason to try to sneak back here. In a community this small, there were few secrets.
This was Montana where there was still a large
