Page 26 of Rocky Ride

“Mama taught me how to shoot.”

“Uh huh. I’ll keep that in mind, girl.”

Sheriff’s Office. Coyote Creek.

“Listen to that asshole hollering in there,” said Virge. “How we gonna shut him up?”

“We can’t,” said Billy. “Let him yell and get it all out of his system.”

“If we don’t go deaf first,” I said.

Billy walked across the squad room and stood in front of Ted’s desk. “You’re up tonight, Ted. I want you on the Palace watchingfor the women in the haters club. You leave at noon and get a couple hours sleep before heading up to Ethridge at dark.”

“Copy that, boss.”

King’s Court. Coyote Creek.

Sandra Ellington cleared the breakfast table after her husband Bob went to work at his law office on Main Street.

She had an easy life being married to Bob Ellington. Boring, but easy. The past few months, she’d been seeing a couple of other men on the side and her boring life had spiced up considerably. Cheating was fun and exciting. An adrenaline rush but a little nerve wracking at times. She had to be careful not to get caught.

Bending down to put one of the little pods of soap in the dishwasher, she heard the front door open and then close.

She stood up and smiled. “Oh, it’s you.”

Sheriff’s Office. Coyote Creek.

Virge helped himself to a donut out of the box on Molly’s desk and chewed thoughtfully as he watched her take a call on the landline.

“Yes, sir.” Molly scribbled down an address and ripped the page off her pad. “Here, Virgil. Mister Ellington says he forgot his briefcase, drove back home to get it and in the time he was gone someone murdered his wife.”

“What?” asked Billy. “Say that again.”

King’s Court. Coyote Creek.

“I’m not sure I’ve been on this street before,” said Billy. “A few fancy houses.”

“Yep,” said Virge, “this has to be the fanciest street in Coyote Creek. Rich people must live here.”

“In this part of Montana,” said Billy, “the rich people live on ranches with thousands of acres. They don’t live in Coyote Creek.”

“What house is the dead woman in?” I asked.

“Thirteen,” said Virge. “Not lucky for her.”

I parked the Jeep in the double drive next to a silver-blue Mercedes and shut off the engine. “I hope the Jeep stays warm while we’re inside.”

“It won’t,” said Virge, “so don’t get your hopes up, bro.”

“Thanks, Virge.”

Billy knocked and then didn’t wait for an answer. The husband had called the office and was waiting for us. Billy walked into the foyer with me and Virge behind.

The victim’s husband—the lawyer—was slouched down on the sofa with his head in his hands. Billy gave Virge and me a signal to keep on going while he talked to the husband.

We could hear everything Billy said as we moved into the kitchen to view the scene.

Dishwasher door open. Blood on the door and sprayed all over the dishes inside. The victim, Sandra Ellington, lay sprawled across the dishwasher door, her head cranked to one side, throat slashed wide open.

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