and she knew him.
By now the canyon grapevine would be humming with the news about the body in the well. After all, Jordan had heard all the way back in New York City.
She’d just have to weather the blizzard—the storm outside as well as the arrival of her brother tomorrow from New York.
She groaned at the thought as she took her coat from a hook by the door. It was a good ten miles down theroad to the bar and the roads would be slick, the visibility poor. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to get any sleep until she talked to her father.
She just hoped it was early enough for him to be halfway sober, but she wasn’t counting on it.
A S H UD DROVE AWAY from the ranch, he kept saying the words over and over in her head.
She isn’t engaged. She isn’t engaged.
He smiled to himself. Admittedly, it was a small victory. But he’d been right. She wasn’t engaged to Lanny.
Maybe even after all this time, he knew Dana better than she’d thought.
As snow continued to fall, he drove across the narrow bridge that spanned the Gallatin River and turned onto Highway 191 headed south down the Gallatin Canyon, feeling better than he had in years.
The “canyon,” as it was known, ran from the mouth just south of Gallatin Gateway almost to West Yellowstone, ninety miles of winding road that trailed the river in a deep cut through the steep mountains on each side.
It had changed a lot since Hud was a boy. Luxury houses had sprouted up all around the resort. Fortunately some of the original cabins still remained and the majority of the canyon was National Forest so it would always remain undeveloped.
The drive along the river had always been breathtaking, a winding strip of highway that followed the river up over the Continental Divide and down the other side to West Yellowstone.
Hud had rented a cabin a few miles up the canyon from Big Sky. But as he started up the highway, his headlights doing little to cut through the thick falling snow, his radio squawked.
He pulled over into one of the wide spots along the river. “Savage here.”
The dispatcher in Bozeman, an elderly woman named Lorraine, announced she was patching through a call.
“Marshal Savage?” asked a voice he didn’t recognize. “This is Dr. Gerald Cross with the crime lab in Missoula.”
“Yes.” Hud wondered why it wasn’t Rupert calling.
“I have information on the evidence you sent us that I thought you’d want to hear about right away.” There was the fluttering sound of papers, then the doctor’s voice again. “We got lucky. Normally something like this takes weeks if not months, but your coroner was so insistent that we run the tests ASAP…The bullet lodged in the skull of the victim matches a bullet used in a shooting in your area.”
Hud blinked in confusion. “What shooting?”
Another shuffle of papers. “A Judge Raymond Randolph. He was murdered in his home. An apparent robbery?”
Hud felt the air rush from his lungs. Judge Randolph. And the night Hud had been trying to forget for the past five years.
He cleared his throat. “You’re saying the same gun that killed the Jane Doe from the well was used in the Randolph case?”
“The striations match. No doubt about it. Same gun used for both murders,” the doctor said.
“The Randolph case was only five years ago. Hasn’t this body been down in the well longer than that? The coroner estimated about fifteen years.”
“Our preliminary findings support that time period,” Dr. Cross said.
Hud tried to take it in: two murders, years apart, but the same gun was used for both?
“We found further evidence in the dirt that was recovered around the body,” the doctor was saying. “An emerald ring. The good news is that it was custom-made by a jeweler in your area. Should be easy to track.”
Hud felt hopeful. “Can you fax me the information on the ring along with digital photos?”
“I’ll have that done right away,” the doctor said. “Also, three
By now the canyon grapevine would be humming with the news about the body in the well. After all, Jordan had heard all the way back in New York City.
She’d just have to weather the blizzard—the storm outside as well as the arrival of her brother tomorrow from New York.
She groaned at the thought as she took her coat from a hook by the door. It was a good ten miles down theroad to the bar and the roads would be slick, the visibility poor. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to get any sleep until she talked to her father.
She just hoped it was early enough for him to be halfway sober, but she wasn’t counting on it.
A S H UD DROVE AWAY from the ranch, he kept saying the words over and over in her head.
She isn’t engaged. She isn’t engaged.
He smiled to himself. Admittedly, it was a small victory. But he’d been right. She wasn’t engaged to Lanny.
Maybe even after all this time, he knew Dana better than she’d thought.
As snow continued to fall, he drove across the narrow bridge that spanned the Gallatin River and turned onto Highway 191 headed south down the Gallatin Canyon, feeling better than he had in years.
The “canyon,” as it was known, ran from the mouth just south of Gallatin Gateway almost to West Yellowstone, ninety miles of winding road that trailed the river in a deep cut through the steep mountains on each side.
It had changed a lot since Hud was a boy. Luxury houses had sprouted up all around the resort. Fortunately some of the original cabins still remained and the majority of the canyon was National Forest so it would always remain undeveloped.
The drive along the river had always been breathtaking, a winding strip of highway that followed the river up over the Continental Divide and down the other side to West Yellowstone.
Hud had rented a cabin a few miles up the canyon from Big Sky. But as he started up the highway, his headlights doing little to cut through the thick falling snow, his radio squawked.
He pulled over into one of the wide spots along the river. “Savage here.”
The dispatcher in Bozeman, an elderly woman named Lorraine, announced she was patching through a call.
“Marshal Savage?” asked a voice he didn’t recognize. “This is Dr. Gerald Cross with the crime lab in Missoula.”
“Yes.” Hud wondered why it wasn’t Rupert calling.
“I have information on the evidence you sent us that I thought you’d want to hear about right away.” There was the fluttering sound of papers, then the doctor’s voice again. “We got lucky. Normally something like this takes weeks if not months, but your coroner was so insistent that we run the tests ASAP…The bullet lodged in the skull of the victim matches a bullet used in a shooting in your area.”
Hud blinked in confusion. “What shooting?”
Another shuffle of papers. “A Judge Raymond Randolph. He was murdered in his home. An apparent robbery?”
Hud felt the air rush from his lungs. Judge Randolph. And the night Hud had been trying to forget for the past five years.
He cleared his throat. “You’re saying the same gun that killed the Jane Doe from the well was used in the Randolph case?”
“The striations match. No doubt about it. Same gun used for both murders,” the doctor said.
“The Randolph case was only five years ago. Hasn’t this body been down in the well longer than that? The coroner estimated about fifteen years.”
“Our preliminary findings support that time period,” Dr. Cross said.
Hud tried to take it in: two murders, years apart, but the same gun was used for both?
“We found further evidence in the dirt that was recovered around the body,” the doctor was saying. “An emerald ring. The good news is that it was custom-made by a jeweler in your area. Should be easy to track.”
Hud felt hopeful. “Can you fax me the information on the ring along with digital photos?”
“I’ll have that done right away,” the doctor said. “Also, three
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