Chapter Ten

Sheriff Givon Halloran pulled his truck up along the side of the squad car belonging to one of his deputies and shut the engine off. The office had received a phone call from a hiker who had reported a burned-up car shell located along some high boulders near the trail.

He walked around where he could stare down the hill. Needing a better look, he carefully maneuvered down the gravel path into the shade of the tall maple and ash trees then around to the boulders where yellow crime scene tape roped off the area. Behind it, a car still smoldered.

His deputy snapped photos of the charred husk, latex gloves already on his hands. The kid was fresh out of the academy but he was a hard worker and seemed to be a stickler for protocol.

“What do we have, Jack?” Givon asked.

“The license plate is gone, probably taken off to hinder identification. But the good news is the VIN number hasn’t melted, so we can trace the car,” Jack told him. “Unfortunately, everything else is ash.”

“At least there isn’t a body.” Givon walked around the car then turned to where the ass end pointed toward the road. “So the car was pushed off the road then set on fire. What evidence do you think the person was trying to conceal?”

Jack shrugged. “At least the person stayed around to make sure the whole forest didn’t catch on fire.”

“There is that.”

Givon leaned over what used to be the windshield. He asked to borrow Jack’s notebook and pen then proceeded to write down the vehicle identification number. He tore out the paper and handed it and the pen back.

“I’m going to run this,” he said, holding up the paper. “Will you handle cleaning this up?”

“Sure,” Jack said.

Givon decided to walk up the hill, following the path the car must have taken to see if there were any clues, but he didn’t spot anything. In his truck, he booted up his dashboard computer and typed in the VIN. A name and face immediately popped up from the motor vehicle database and he stared at it in shock.

Merrie Christmas Walden.

It wasn’t so much that her name was funny as it was the fact he’d seen the same girl on the screen the other day coming out of Wal-Mart. The look of terror on her face had stayed with him for some time. He’d thought about calling Leo Cloud Dancer to see if she was okay, but decided not to freak her out any more than she already seemed to be. Now, it looked like he’d have to make a trip over to Leo’s and Braden’s place after all.

He stepped out of his truck and called down to Jack. “Hey, I know the owner. I’m going to go interview her.”

“Who is she?”

“A woman by the name of Merrie Walden.”

“And she’s around here? Want me to go?”

Givon shook his head. “I’ll see you later.”

He got back in his truck and rumbled off.

* * * *

About half an hour later, he pulled up in front of Braden’s and Leo’s farmhouse. The house was old, having been in the McClintock family for several generations. It held a type of old world charm, painted crisp white with black shutters. A large willow tree helped shade the two stories. He walked up the porch steps to the front door and knocked.

Leo opened it and gave him a perplexed look. “Hello, Sheriff. What can I do for you?”

“Hi, Leo. The other day at Wal-Mart, you called out to a woman who bumped into me,” he said easily. “Merrie Walden. Do you know where she is?”

Leo shuffled his feet and Givon’s senses sharpened. Braden appeared behind him.

“What do you want with Merrie?” Braden asked.

The hackles rose on the back of his neck. He rested his hand on the butt of his gun.

“Her car was found about half an hour from here off a hiker’s trail,” Givon said, moving his gaze back and forth between both men. “I’d like to ask her some questions.”

“If we see her again, I’ll be sure to pass along the information,” Braden answered.

Givon’s bullshit meter went haywire. He narrowed his eyes. “Is she in trouble?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Look, her car was torched, she had a cast on her wrist, and she was terrified of me.”

The two men gave each other a measured look. Annoyance sluiced through him and he put his hands on his hips.

“Is she here?” he demanded.

“Listen, Givon—”

“Oh, now it’s Givon? Come on, guys. We’ve known each other our whole lives. What the hell is going on?”

Braden reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. He handed it to Givon. Givon frowned as he read the name.

“If you have any questions, talk to that detective,” Braden said.

“Cheyenne PD? Braden—”

Braden shook his head. “I can’t talk about it, Givon. Just give that man a call. Okay?”

He shut the door, leaving him frustrated and staring at a little rectangular card. A lot of what the fucks? rolled through his head.