Page 56 of Rawhide and Ransom

“Oh, it gets worse.” Tucker reached across the tablet to pull up a new file folder. It contained a series of image files. “Here’s what was sent to the Clarendon County Sheriff’s Office by the eyewitness to your most recent hit-and-run accident. I’ve included two versions of the photo — the original one and the one where I used some editing software to de-pixilate the image of the driver.”

The first image was blurry, but Hawk could still make out the driver who’d purposely crashed into him and Annalee. It was Mirabelle Gilbert alright.

The second photo, however, made him rethink his first assumption. It was the cleaned-up version of the photo, adjusted for both crispness and brightness. The woman still resembled Annalee, but she looked older — a good fifteen to twenty years older.

The next several photos were even more disturbing. One depicted Rosamund from years ago, before her many cosmetic surgeries. The next several photos showed the changes to her appearance as she started having more and more surgeries. The most recent photo had only been taken a few weeks ago. It was a passport photo, and it was an identical match to the snapshot of the driver of the hit-and-run vehicle.

Hawk handed the electronic tablet back to Tucker. He’d seen enough. “You need to take this to the police.”

Tucker clenched his jaw. “Do you really think it would do any good? Think about it, Hawk. We’re talking about folks who’ve been getting away with murder for years. They’ve got a judge in their pocket. A judge, for crying out loud!”

“We’re not sitting on this and doing nothing.” There was no way Hawk was allowing that to happen.

“Thenyoutake it to the police,” Tucker groused.

“I’m not the detective assigned to the case,” Hawk reminded. “I couldn’t explain any of this half as well as you could.”

Tucker stubbornly shook his head. “If I thought we stood a chance against them, I would, but this is bigger than us.”

“Then send it to a couple of news stations.” Hawk wasn’t sure where that idea came from, but it wasn’t half bad. “Anonymously, of course, and let Rosamund at least be tried in the court of public opinion. Preferably before she leaves the country.” In some ways, public disgrace would be worse than jail time for a vengeful woman like her. It would shoot holes in her reputation and send her fellow conspirators scrambling. It would close doors to her socially and topple her from the throne of lies she’d spent so many years building for herself. Even if she never darkened the door of a courtroom, she’d still be in the hot seat. Permanently.

A wicked smile stole across Tucker’s face. “Diabolical. I like it.” He gave a mirthless chuckle. “It’ll be like tying her to a tree on top of a mound of fire ants.”

Hawk’s eyebrows rose. “You sure you don’t have any Comanche blood in you?”

“About ninety-five percent sure.” He didn’t say what the other five percent was, and Hawk didn’t ask.

Tucker gathered his things and sauntered out the door of the workshop just as Miley sauntered back in.

“I didn’t hear nothin’,” she assured him with her tongue in her cheek.

“You’re a brat.” Tucker kept walking. Now that he wasn’t going straight to the police with the information he’d uncovered, he seemed a lot less concerned about what Miley may or may not have overheard.

“Wow! He read you like a book,” Annalee chuckled.

Miley took a seat and started humming again, even louder than she had been earlier. “I was right about Aunt Mirabelle, wasn’t I?” She sounded smug. When no one answered, she added, “As they say on TV, I sort of busted this case wide open!” She gave a leisurely, self-glorifying stretch.

Annalee returned to her potting project. “You got your ten seconds of fame on the news. Now get back to work.” She sounded like she was trying not to laugh.

“Oh, I can work and talk at the same time. It’s no trouble,” Miley assured in a sugary sweet voice. “Which is a good thing, since I have another theory to pile on top of all the other ones floating around.”

“Do tell.” Annalee set the second urn on her potting table and went to work planting more geraniums.

Miley was silent for a moment. “Have you ever heard the termfall girl?”

“Isn’t that the name of a movie?” her mom mused.

Hawk jumped back into the conversation, very much liking how Miley’s mind worked. “You think that’s what happened to your Aunt Mirabelle, eh?”

“Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!” Miley pretended to ring a bell. “Here’s what I think. My dad’s evil stepmother did something really bad a long time ago. She thought she’d gotten away with it. Then along came my mom, reminding her of the little girl she’d done wrong, stirring up all the old guilt. Maybe she was afraid my mom would figure out what she’d done. Whatever the case, the evil stepmother decided to destroy everyone that had anything to do with the person she’d wrongfully framed for her son’s injuries. Unfortunately for her, my mom failed to die in the first hit-and-run accident, and I failed to burn inside our home. By then, the evil stepmother’s crimes were piling up, and she saw the writing on the wall. Somebody would eventually have to be held accountable for the mess she’d created. So, she chose a fall girl and had her own face surgically altered to resemble the fall girl so she could lead the police by their noses to the fall girl. What she didn’t count on was the would-be fall girl escaping her padded prison before she finished falling.”

Hawk watched Annalee’s face pale. “If you change your mind about leather carving, you might have a future in detective work, hon. The only thing I still don’t understand, and may never understand, is where your dad fit in all of this.”

“Me, either.” Miley morosely traced the outline of the leather coaster she was making. “Maybe his death was unrelated.”

“Maybe.” Annalee returned to planting flowers and grew silent.

Hawk wasn’t ready to give up that easily. Though they had no proof, he didn’t believe for one second that Chayton Dakota’s death had been the result of natural causes. Unfortunately, any evidence of foul play had been buried with him. Nothing short of a new autopsy would bring the truth to light, something a few old-timers on the tribal council were still stonewalling. That, or a confession from whoever had put him in the grave.

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