Bitter End

Author

Author’s Note

There are fifty-six counties in the great state of Montana. None of them is Bitterroot, the fictional county where this story takes place. In creating this setting I’ve taken some liberties with space and distance, placing my new county in a very isolated and sparsely-populated area somewhere between the real towns of Hamilton and Sula. Though there is a real ski hill named Lost Trail, the town in my stories is as fictional as the county in which it is set.

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Special thanks to Sergeant George Simpson with the Polson Police Department for so generously answering my questions regarding law enforcement and crime investigations in the state of Montana. Forgive me the creative license I have taken with those answers.

Chapter One

Monday Night, December 3

A week before the murder trial Zak Waller was still at his desk in the sheriff’s office. The size of said office—a large bullpen and reception area with one closed office for the sheriff—reflected the population of Bitterroot County, which hovered around two thousand souls, most of whom lived in or close to the town of Lost Trail.

This Montana town had been Zak’s home for all his life and though he was young, in his early thirties, he had no wish to leave. The wild Bitterroot Mountains, the hectares of unspoiled forests, and the undulating ranchlands constituted, to him, as to John Steinbeck, the last, best place.

Yet even here, where cattle outnumbered humans, and problems of organized crime and drug trafficking were nonexistent, evil could be found. Usually it hid in dark corners, buried deep in the secret hearts of the afflicted few. But this past year evil had bubbled to the surface in alarming ways.

He knew he’d arrested the right person last February. Yet some undefined worry niggled in the back of his mind.

He poured what he hoped would be his last coffee of the day, then went back to reviewing the evidence. He’d been through it all today, several times. But he decided to read the transcripts again, the ones he’d made shortly after the arrest last February. He reached for the stack of papers. As he read the words, in his mind he heard the killer’s voice:

I never intended to shoot anyone. I just had to set things right. There was a skiff of snow on the ground. I followed the footprints, very careful not to step outside the tracks. When I finally caught up, we argued. And then I guess I pulled the trigger, though I can’t remember that part. All I recall is watching the red blood bloom as I reached down to take what I wanted…

Zak paused, reread the paragraph.

There was something not quite right…

Chapter Two

Earlier That Year

Saturday, February 10

Zak Waller leaned against the corral fence, watching as Deputy Nadine Black ran her new horse, Making Magic, through her paces. He knew little about horses or rodeo, but it seemed to him Nadine’s new horse was living up to her name.

Looking good! he called out as they circled by him.

Nadine smiled, but kept her focus on the track. She’d set up a barrel-racing course in the corral next to the barn and was taking her time getting her new quarter horse used to the pattern.

Zak stamped his feet and blew warm air onto his gloved hands. He’d gone on a fifteen-mile run that morning and hadn’t been bothered by the February cold. Now that he was standing still though, the frigid air cut straight through his light down jacket and thin gloves.

Going to be much longer? he asked, the next time Nadine was close enough to hear him.

She pulled up alongside him. Making Magic gave an impatient snort and Nadine had to correct the mare to keep her in place. Half an hour or so. You look cold. Want to go inside and get dinner started?

I’m on it. He wasn’t much of a cook, but at least it was warm in the house.

The two-bedroom ranch house was still in a state of moving chaos. Nadine had taken possession of her acreage only ten days ago. He walked past a box marked Boots and down the short hall into the kitchen. Two stacks of boxes were on either side of the stove. One was empties, waiting to be collapsed and deposited in recycling; the other stack was waiting to be unpacked.

Stir-fry was on the menu tonight. He’d bought the ingredients this morning after his run. After finding a cutting board and a decent knife he sliced onions, carrots and bok choy, then cut the raw chicken into slivers.

Once that chore was done he washed his hands and then collapsed the empty boxes and took them out to his truck.

On his way home tonight he’d drive by the recycling depot and drop them off. Unless, of course, Nadine invited him to stay the night.

It hadn’t happened yet, but Zak figured it would eventually. He was a patient man.

Hey thanks for doing all that. Nadine pulled the elastic out of her blond hair and gave her head a shake. Help yourself to a beer. I’ve got to shower. My hair smells like horse.

There are worse smells.

Nadine jutted out her hip. You angling to hop in the shower with me?

Wouldn’t say no.

She laughed and left the room.

What would she say if he followed? But he didn’t. They worked together so he had to be careful. When they hooked up, he intended it would be for keeps.

He took his beer to the living room and looked out the windows to the west. He’d been here on a clear day when the view stretched out to the jagged snow-covered peaks of the Bitterroot range. But today only the nearest hill, covered in old-growth pine, was visible under the heavy clouds.

It was a sweet piece of land. One he’d been thinking of buying for himself before he’d learned Nadine was also interested in it.

He pressed his hand against the pocket of his flannel shirt and felt the hard metal of his brand-new badge. Thanks to pressure from the influential Stillmans of the Lazy S—who were grateful to Zak for figuring out who had murdered their mother, Lacy—Sheriff Ford had promoted him at the beginning of January.

The promotion to deputy hadn’t come with a bump in salary or any other benefit though. Zak was still expected to handle all his dispatching duties. The badge simply gave him the authority to do other work as well, when required.

That feels better. Nadine came into the room with her wet hair pulled up in a messy bun. Her faded jeans were torn at the knees, and her form-fitting, long-sleeved T-shirt had three buttons at the top. They were all undone.

Smells better too.

She came to stand beside him. Took his beer and had a long drink. Sweet view, huh?

He glanced from the window to her. Nadine was tall for a woman, muscular too. Her strength was one of the qualities he admired most. She had both kinds, physical and mental. Yup. Very sweet view.

She didn’t acknowledge the compliment. I still can’t believe all that land is mine.

Well, ten acres of it.

She laughed. That’s enough for me. Gotta say, life is pretty good right now. She took another drink of his beer.

He watched, admiring the way her skin seemed to glow. Fresh air and exercise. A hot shower. The combination suited her.

By the way, the results came in from the coroner course you took. Congratulations, you aced it. Just before Christmas, Dr. Pittman had retired from the position of county coroner. He’d been the one to suggest Nadine apply for the position.

In Montana, the duties of the county coroner—the person who was responsible for investigating human death and determining whether an autopsy by a medical examiner was required—were often carried out by a specially trained deputy, in addition to all her regular duties.

The prerequisites for coroner, unlike those for a medical examiner, were surprisingly simple. You needed to be a high school graduate of voting age, and a citizen of the county where you intended to serve. And you had to be willing to take a basic one-week course on specific death investigation training, which Nadine had done in January.

Yeah? Nadine’s smile was pleased, and a little shy.

We should open a bottle of wine. Celebrate.

I’m not opposed. We should celebrate your promotion too.

Again he felt the presence of his new badge. He carried it always now, wondering when he’d have the opportunity to wear it. Ford only gave me the badge because he felt pressured. We’ll celebrate when he actually coughs up some money for a raise.

When will that happen?

Not for years, I’m afraid. Not only does Ford have to find room in the budget to bump my salary, but he’d also have to hire another dispatcher. The real problem is Sheriff Ford and Butterfield. Their combined salaries eat up most of our budget, while you and I handle the majority of the work.

Butterfield is such a loser. He’s always on patrol and all he ever has to show for it are a few citations a month. I bet he fudges his reports and spends most of his day parked in the forest somewhere, napping. Do you think Ford would ever fire him?

Not likely. If, or should I say when, Ford gets elected again this fall, first thing he’ll do is approve both himself and Butterfield a salary increase. Zak went to the kitchen to find the Zinfandel he’d bought to go with the stir-fry. Nadine trailed behind him, then sat up on the counter to watch as he opened the bottle.

I have a confession, she said.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Yeah?

I filed papers with the county to have my name go on the ballot for sheriff.

He froze. Slowly turned to stare at her. You didn’t.

I’m not sure I can survive working for Ford another four years. I’d definitely pull my name if you were on the ballot, though.

He didn’t say anything. Putting her name forward when she was so new to Lost Trail was a gutsy move and he admired her for it. But he also felt a bit ashamed, because he had filed his paperwork too. Only…he didn’t want to tell her yet.

He knew he had the support of some key people in the community. But was he really ready? He honestly wasn’t sure.

Don’t pull your name. He poured out the wine and handed her a glass.

Nadine scrunched her nose. That office is all messed up.

Yup.

Do you think I have a shot of beating Ford? We need a plan.

He touched his glass to hers. Besides drinking? Maybe if we solve another murder the citizens of this county will finally kick Ford out.

I like that. Except someone would have to die.

That would be unfortunate, he agreed. Maybe we should stick with the drinking.

*

Justin Pittman had cancer. Again. A few months ago the return of his lymphoma had felt like a death sentence. A brutal diagnosis for a man in his early thirties. But he worried more for his adopted four-year-old daughter, Geneva, than himself. She’d been unwanted baggage to her birth parents and he’d worked hard to make her feel safe, secure and loved here in Lost Trail with him. Only to get derailed by the cancer.

But fate worked in unpredictable ways. Thanks to a community drive to find a potential stem-cell donor, Justin had discovered he had a sister. And, this time, fate had been kind. Tiffany Masterson’s stem cells were a perfect match for his.

Since Tiff had agreed to be his donor, Justin’s odds of survival were now significantly higher.

It was the sort of story suited to the front page of a tabloid. Yet, this was his life.

He was still trying to come to terms with it.

Along with his sister, he’d acquired a mother. And the man he’d considered a father, was no longer that.

Only two things in his life gave him peace these days. His daughter, currently in her room playing with her friend Ashley, and Ashley’s mother Debbie-Ann, who ran the day care in town. He and Debbie-Ann weren’t romantically involved—for several, very good reasons—but she was someone he could talk to. Someone he could trust.

Though her daughter was a few years older than Geneva, the two girls played well together, which was convenient. Since Christmas they’d fallen into a pattern of getting together at least two nights of every week.

In fact, he was expecting Debbie-Ann any moment. She’d just run home to get some spices for the chili he was throwing together for dinner. He hadn’t realized his supply of cumin was so low, but fortunately her house was only a ten-minute walk away.

Of course, everything in Lost Trail was close. The entire county held less than two thousand people. Living in this remote area of Montana, tucked up against the wild Bitterroot Mountains, wasn’t for everyone.

When Justin was younger, he’d dreamed of moving to a big city like Seattle, or failing that, Missoula. But he’d opened his law practice here, for his father’s sake. If he’d known then what he knew now, he might have made a different choice.

The doorbell rang setting Geneva’s puppy Dora into an excited dash for the front door. Strange Debbie-Ann hadn’t come in from the back, the way she’d gone out. He turned the burner off and headed to the foyer.

He started talking as he opened the door. Did you find the cumin—

His body froze with shock.

Geneva’s mother. His wife. The woman who had left him and her own daughter over two months ago…stood bigger than life on his front porch.

Willow.

Even more gorgeous than he remembered. Her light-chocolate-colored skin darker than before—probably from her tropical travels. Her black hair gleamed, and expertly applied makeup outlined her round, brown eyes and her small, plump mouth.

She had a carry-on bag with her. Louis Vuitton.

Justin.

Hearing her voice helped bring him out of his shock. He stepped back so she could come inside.

Why—? What—? He couldn’t seem to get more than a one-word sentence out of his suddenly dry throat.

Why am I here? She set down her bag and looked around the house, to the living room on her left, then down the hall toward the kitchen.

Yeah. This is pretty out of the blue.

I didn’t trust myself to phone you first. I was too angry.

"You were angry with me?"

This autumn she’d left him without a word of explanation, deserting her daughter and their marriage so she could resume her jet-setting life with Paul Quinlan. He, Justin, was the one on high moral ground here.

Willow went up on her toes to see over his shoulder. Where is she?

In her room. With a friend.

He blocked Willow’s effort to walk past him. I want an answer first. Why are you here?

I’m her mother. I have every right to be here.

"What you did? That was desertion. And guess what. You don’t have every right after you do something like that."

Willow folded her arms over her chest. Don’t be an ass, Justin. You need me just as much as Geneva does. She glanced away, then added in a softer tone, I heard about your cancer.

The unexpected answer had him regrouping. Who had told her? Her parents had been dead since his and Willow’s second year of college. Despite having grown up in this town, Willow hadn’t kept in touch with any of her old friends as far as he knew.

You should have told me about the cancer before we got married.

When you and Geneva arrived on my doorstep last spring, I thought I was cancer-free. Maybe I should have said something. But there was lots you didn’t tell me. Like your plan to dump your daughter with me so you could run back to Paul without any encumbrances.

She sighed, glanced down at the tips of her expensive-looking leather boots. That’s not fair.

I agree. It wasn’t fair. But it’s what you did. He checked down the hall to make sure Geneva’s door was still closed. For the record, if you’d asked me to take her, I would have. No need to go through the whole sham marriage thing.

Don’t act the martyr. You went into our marriage with your eyes wide open. It was never about love, for either of us. It was all Geneva. Keeping her safe. Giving her a home.

Justin folded his arms. You’re right. I wanted to be a father so badly I never asked the questions I should have. About your motives. And Paul’s abuse.

Willow lowered her eyes again.

Or was it only Paul who was abusive?

Watch it. Willow’s eyes shone with anger and a warning. I was a good mother.

How can you say that after you left her?

I had no choice!

That’s bullshit.

Again she looked away, but this time she pushed her lower lip out stubbornly. Despite what you think of me, I did try to forget about Paul. I hoped I could learn to live without him… She let out a long, shaky sigh. But you of all people know what he’s like.

Yeah, he did. The three of them had been inseparable in college. And Justin had felt Paul’s charismatic pull too.

Paul had reveled in his power over them and, at the time, Justin had been too naïve to see that he was being played. But after graduation, the threesome had split up. Justin had gone on to law school, while Paul and Willow set off to explore the world, compliments of Paul’s family trust fund.

I still don’t see how you can blame me for being sick. It’s not like I want to have cancer, dammit.

If I’d known, I never would have let you adopt Geneva. Jesus, Justin. Don’t you think she’s been through enough?

I do. But her rough childhood isn’t my doing.

What about the stuff that’s going to happen in her future? I’ve researched stem-cell transplants. You’re going to need to spend months in the hospital. Months! Geneva’s only four years old! Who’s going to look after her?

If Willow hadn’t left, the answer would have been her mother. But there was no point bringing that up again. Justin leaned his shoulder against the wall. The surge of adrenaline brought on by Willow’s unexpected arrival had worn off and now he felt weak and tired. It was during moments like this that his illness felt real to him.

Her grandfather is going to move in to our house while I’m in the hospital.

Your father is too busy to look after a little girl.

He’s retired now. The clinic closed right before Christmas. He could tell by the sudden gleam in Willow’s eyes that she’d known this. Whoever was feeding her town gossip could not have omitted Marsha Holmes’s baby switching scandal and the role his father had played—a role that had led to his early retirement as the town’s only GP.

Your father may not be a practicing doctor anymore, but he’s too old to look after a child full-time.

He won’t be. During the day Geneva will continue to go to the Little Cow Pokes Day Care. She loves it there. The owner, Debbie-Ann, is really good with her and her daughter, Ashley, is Geneva’s best friend.

That might be fine assuming you have a full recovery. But what if you don’t? What if you die from this cancer—what will happen to Geneva then?

Justin could not believe the brutality of her words. He’d always known Willow had a ruthless side. But God. Thanks for the vote of confidence. My odds are actually pretty good.

I’m sorry if I sound cruel. But I have to think about Geneva. Put her interests first.

Justin