Clinton did the right thing, stepping forward to comfort her and hold her against his chest. His protective attitude made Aiden wonder if there was something Misty had left out of her story.
Clinton might have been the shooter. Misty could be claiming responsibility to keep her boyfriend from being a suspect. But that didn’t make sense. A self-defense plea worked just as well for Clinton as for Misty. Aiden doubted that either one of them would be charged with murder … except for one hitch. The victim appeared to be unarmed.
As Misty’s sobs abated, Aiden asked, “Why was your rifle in the clearing?”
“I ran back to get it, but the gun wasn’t where I left it.”
“Where was it?”
“Right about here.” She pointed to a clump of sagebrush that was about twenty yards from the clearing. “I could tell it had been fired.”
“Are you saying that the killer used your rifle?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you see him?” he asked.
“He must have run off.”
Or maybe he turned invisible. Aiden was getting more and more frustrated with her story. “How long between when you heard the shot and ran back to get the rifle?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think, Misty.”
Tears streaked down her cheeks. “Don’t be so mean to me.”
“I can help,” Tab said. “When I heard the first shot, I was on the other side of those hills. It took five or six minutes before I got to the crest and could see the Jeep. Clinton was unconscious in the backseat. I fired a warning shot in the air to scare off anybody who might be hanging around.”
“I shot back,” Misty said. “I didn’t aim at anything. I was just shooting in the air. Twice.”
Aiden fitted the pieces together. According to his sister, a mysterious shooter had killed David Welling using her rifle, and then disappeared within five minutes. He gauged the distance from where she found the rifle to the trees and shrubs that bordered the river. Though it was possible that the killer could make that dash, it was unlikely. Why use Misty’s rifle? Why choose this particular moment to kill David Welling? And what was Welling doing out here in the first place?
After patting his sister on the arm and offering reassurances that he hoped weren’t empty, Aiden pulled Tab to one side. His senses registered the clean fragrance of her shampoo and the warmth that emanated from her body, but he kept his mind trained on the problem at hand.
“You’re right,” he said to Tab. “This investigation is beyond the resources of the tribal police. But we still need to contact Joseph Lefthand.”
“I’m not sure of the procedure,” she said.
He explained. First, they needed to notify tribal police of a crime committed on their land. In most cases, the Crow were happy to pass on the problem and cede jurisdiction through an agent of the federal government, namely someone from the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Then the county sheriff would take over.
“I hope the sheriff can get started with his investigation before dark.” She looked toward the sun sinking in the west. “There might be footprints from the gunman. Or evidence of his vehicle.”
“If Misty’s story is accurate,” he said, “ballistics will show that the bullets came from her rifle.”
“There might be fingerprints.”
“In addition to Misty’s prints.” She’d already said that she fired the gun and would, therefore, have gunshot residue on her clothes.
He wished that his sister had come up with a more convincing story—something about how David Welling attacked her, and she was forced to defend herself. The idea of a murderer who could appear out of nowhere and vanish in the blink of an eye was improbable. It sounded like a lie. And lying made Misty look as if she had something to hide.
If this investigation went wrong, it was entirely possible that his sister would be delivering her baby in jail.
Chapter Three
While Aiden and Clinton messed around with the Jeep, trying to dig out the rear tires, Tab took a striped wool blanket from her saddlebags and handed it to Misty. “Spread this on the ground. Choose a spot that’s out of the wind.”
“Why?”
“You might as well get comfortable. It’s going to take a while for the authorities to get here.”
Definitely an understatement. When Aiden had put through calls to the tribal police, the BIA and the sheriff, she’d heard the growing frustration in his voice. Everybody promised to respond just as soon as they could, which meant they had other business to clean off their plates.
Though Tab thought that murder should take precedence, she was accustomed to bureaucracy. There was nothing to do but wait. She dug through her saddlebag, ignoring the medical equipment, and found a square plastic container packed with more practical supplies.
“All this waiting around sucks,” Misty said. She turned her gaze toward the clearing where the body lay covered by a tarp. “But I won’t leave. I owe it to David to talk to the sheriff. I’m the only witness.”
And the most obvious suspect. In spite of the giggles and the frequent flipping of her blond hair, Misty wasn’t a fool. The girl had to realize how implausible her story about the vanishing gunman sounded. She had to know that she could be charged with murder.
Tab followed her to a spot beside a low flat rock and helped her lay the blanket over the dried prairie grass. “Tell me about David.”
“We only went out on one date. There wasn’t any kissing or anything.” Misty gave her a conspiratorial grin. “Can I tell you a secret? You have to promise not to let Aiden know.”
As Tab felt herself being drawn more deeply into the situation, her defenses rose. The smart move would be to back off. She was a midwife, not a policewoman. A murder investigation wasn’t her problem. But her heart wouldn’t let her abandon Misty. “Does your secret have anything to do with David Welling’s death?”
“No way,” Misty said.
“Then I won’t tell anybody else. I promise. Wild horses won’t drag it out of me.”
“In sophomore year at Henley High, me and Lisa and Heather made a bet. Whoever was the first to date every guy in the junior and senior class was the winner.”
“Why juniors and seniors? You were sophomores.”
“The boys our age were dorks, and most of them didn’t have their driver’s licenses. That’s why we went for the older guys. Our bet wasn’t as wild as it sounds. There were only seventy-six guys total in both classes.”
Their bet sounded like a sure way to get into trouble. Tab imagined these three little heartbreakers sowing havoc at Henley High. “What counted as
