The Disappeared (Joe Pickett Book 18) Page 10

  Right to the point, Joe thought with a smile.

  “Did you know Steve Pollock?” Joe asked, deflecting.

  “I avoided him the best I could,” the man said. “But yeah, I knew him. Everybody knows everybody around here, even if you don’t want to.”

  “Got it. Do you have any idea what happened to him?”

  “You don’t?”

  “No.”

  The old man raised his beer and drank it until it was gone. He ordered another over his shoulder.

  “One more before rush hour hits,” he said.

  Kim Miller rolled her eyes for Joe’s benefit while she dug out another bottle from the cooler.

  “I got an idea, but I ain’t sayin’,” the old man growled as he reached behind him for the fresh bottle.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I ain’t sayin’.”

  “What’s your name? I’m Joe Pickett.”

  The old man froze for a moment and turned his head to the side without taking his eyes off Joe.

  “I’ve heard of you.”

  “Only good things, I hope.”

  “Some of ’em were. Are you the one that got involved with the Cates clan up north?”

  “Afraid so.”

  The extended Cates family in Twelve Sleep County, including rodeo champion Dallas Cates, had declared Joe their mortal enemy and they’d gone after his family. That had resulted in a slew of innocent and not-so-innocent deaths and with both Dallas and his mother, Brenda, in prison for what likely would be the rest of their lives. Joe still had nightmares about it.

  “Dallas was a full-on asshat,” the old man said as he slipped forward off his stool. “I had the displeasure of meeting him once. You done good on that one.”

  He extended his hand to Joe. His grip was still cold from cradling the bottle.

  “Jeb Pryor,” he said. “I own the lumber mill up in Encampment.”

  “Nice to meet you. Now, about Steve Pollock?”

  Joe noted that Kim Miller was listening closely to the exchange while pretending not to do so.

  “I got a theory, is all.”

  “Let’s hear it. I haven’t heard a reason why he’s gone.”

  “He’s got a lot of theories,” Miller said. “Just don’t ask him about 9/11 or the moon landing. Or the last election!”

  Pryor ignored her. “I’ll have to catch up with you later. I need to get to the mill before rush hour.”

  With that, he drained the bottle and placed it on the bar behind him, along with a wad of cash.

  “See you tomorrow,” Miller said to him.

  Pryor pulled on a heavy parka and grunted that he’d be back.

  When Pryor left, Miller pointed toward Joe’s empty pint glass and said, “Another one?”

  “Sure. What was that about?”

  Miller shook her head and said, “We have a lot of characters around here. You just met one of ’em.”

  Again, a more compact version of Saddlestring, he thought. And he made a note to himself to interview Jeb Pryor when he got the chance.

  *

  RUSH HOUR WASN’T, despite what Jeb Pryor said.

  Joe noted that there were a few more vehicles on the streets outside after five, and some locals parked out front and came in through the front door.

  Winter darkness had come suddenly and the streetlights came on. He found that he’d inadvertently selected the catbird seat in the bar, where he could not only view all of the bar customers coming in but people going to the dining room as well for an early dinner. He could smell steak broiling from the kitchen. Kim Miller got suddenly very busy walking from the main bar to a service bar in an adjacent meeting room to take care of the dual crowds.

  The bat-wing doors opened tentatively and Sheridan stuck her head through the opening. When she spotted Joe, she grinned. He felt his heart swell at the sight of his oldest daughter and he motioned her over and hugged her when she joined him.

  Sheridan looked slim, fit, windburned, and lovely, he thought. She wore faded jeans, Bogs boots, a cowboy hat that looked surprisingly good on her, and a down coat emblazoned with SILVER CREEK RANCH on the front. Her blond hair was shorter than the last time he’d seen her. She smelled of hay and horses.

  “I got here as soon as I could,” she said. “My truck was due for an oil change and it’s in the shop, so I had to hitch a ride into town.”

  “I’ll be happy to buy you dinner,” Joe said. “We can sit in the bar or go get a table.”

  “I’ll be happy to eat it. I’m starved. It’s good to see you, Dad.”

  “It’s great to see you. You look like a ranch hand.”

  “I’m a wrangler,” she corrected him. “Who would have thought, right?”

  “I think your mother has wrangler envy.”

  Sheridan laughed and said, “I know she does.”

  His daughter shed her coat and took a stool to the right of him at the end of the table. Sheridan, like Joe, didn’t like to sit with her back to the entrance.

  “Let’s eat here,” she said as Kim Miller arrived and slid a glass of red wine to her.

  “Thank you, Kim,” Sheridan said.

  Miller nodded and went back behind the bar.

  Joe took a moment before he said, “She didn’t even ask for your order.”

  Sheridan nodded and smiled. “I’m not exactly a stranger here, Dad. Kim knows I like shiraz. I usually come here on Friday nights.”

  Just like her mother, Joe thought. He had forgotten it was Friday, which, like in most towns in Wyoming, was a bigger night for socializing and going out than Saturday.

  “I think she wonders how long you’ll be a wrangler.”

  “You mean before I move on to a real job?” she asked with a sideways glance.

  “Yup, I guess.”

  “You can tell her I don’t know. Because I don’t.”

  “That’s what I’ll tell her.”

  “I’m making good money and they give me a place to live on the ranch,” she said. “I’m doing better than most of the kids I went to college with, in fact.”

  “You don’t need to defend yourself,” Joe said.

  “I feel like I do. I grew up with Mom always wanting me to help her with the horses and asking me to go riding with her. When I showed up at the ranch, I had a skill set they really appreciated. So blame her.”

  “I’m not blaming anyone,” Joe said. “So let’s move on.”

  “Cheers to that,” Sheridan said, and clinked Joe’s beer with her wineglass and drank.

  “This is a good place,” Sheridan said, meaning the Hotel Wolf. “Especially on Friday night. Kim told me once that if you sit in here long enough, you’ll meet everyone in Saratoga and everyone who comes through town. I thought she was kidding, but she wasn’t. It’s kind of like the heart of this valley.”

  Joe was used to having daughters—he’d never regretted not having any sons—but he was not yet used to having adult daughters. He looked at Sheridan sipping her glass of wine and saw her at seven years old hiding Miller’s weasels from him in the woodpile.

  She was obviously no longer that little girl, but her grit and determination were still hardwired. Marybeth and Sheridan were both strong-willed, and clashes between them were inevitable.

  As Sheridan told Joe about her duties at Silver Creek Ranch and how happy she was there, more customers filtered in from the outside.

  Sheridan seemed to know them all—or know of them—and she kept up a low-running commentary for Joe’s benefit.

  Of the three men in Carhartt coveralls who’d taken seats at the bar, she said, “They’re construction workers on the Buckbrush—the Buckbrush Wind Energy Project going up north of town. It’s the biggest wind farm in the country from what I hear. Those guys are semipermanent around here because they’re building so many turbines.”

  Of the three ranch hands—two men and a woman—who clomped in and took a table near the back, she said, “Working cowboys just like we have back home. The wom
an with them used to be at Silver Creek Ranch for a while, but she got drunk one night and tried to run her boyfriend over with an ATV. She missed him and wrecked the four-wheeler in the trees. I think her name is Nelda.”

  Of the older man who sported a white mane of hair and who appeared to be arriving for dinner with his wife and older daughter, she said, “Ever heard of Klobasch Aeronautics? That’s Dan Klobasch. He’s a multimillionaire who owns a mega-house up on the hill and flies here in his Gulfstream jet. One of the women he’s with is his wife and the other one is his mistress. Apparently, Mrs. Klobasch is okay with that.”

  Of the gruff man in winter outdoor gear who escorted a second man wearing a blazer into the bar, Sheridan said, “He’s a hunting outfitter working on his client, trying to get the guy to commit to a hunt. There’s a bunch of hunting guides and fishing guides in the area and they all compete for rich out-of-state clients. Tom there is one of the most successful guides around here because he knows how to wine and dine potential customers. Some of those other outfitters just have no interpersonal skills at all, you know?”

  Joe turned his head to her and smiled.

  “I guess you know all about hunting guides,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I don’t know why I was going on and on about them.

  “But you see what I mean, don’t you? If you sit here long enough, you’ll get to understand what makes this whole valley tick. You’ve got your ranchers, your multimillionaires, your lumberjacks, and your hunting-and-fishing types. They all just seem to blend together and get along around here, which I find kind of fascinating.”

  Joe agreed.

  Kim Miller swooped over and asked them if they wanted to order food where they were in the bar or move into the dining room. Joe looked to Sheridan for guidance.

  “We’ll stay here,” she said. “The scenery’s better.”

  “What she said,” Joe agreed, tacitly enjoying how his daughter had taken charge.

  Joe ordered a steak sandwich and fries and Sheridan ordered a Kirsten’s Roast Beef sandwich.

  *

  WHILE THEY WAITED for their food and Sheridan continued to point out new arrivals and regale Joe with gossip and stories about them, two large young men slipped into the saloon who didn’t seem to fit any of Sheridan’s earlier categories.

  The men were big and raw-boned and they shambled across the floor in a loose-limbed way that sent off a signal that they were ready for anything, Joe thought. They had similar physical characteristics—heavy jaws, jug-ears, powerful arms that strained at the sleeves of their coats. One had jet-black hair and the other was a ginger. As they passed, the black-haired man assessed Joe coolly and shook his head with disapproval. The black-haired man led the other through the saloon into the meeting room and the two of them sprawled in chairs and waited for Kim Miller to take their order.

  “There goes a guy who doesn’t like game wardens,” Joe said.

  “Probably—but it’s not that entirely,” Sheridan said sotto voce. “We’re sitting in their place.”

  “How was I to know that?”

  “You weren’t, but I do,” she said with a sly smile. “And we aren’t moving.”

  “Who are they? They look like brothers.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “They’re the Youngbergs.”

  Joe had heard that name before, and before he could recall it, Sheridan said, “Brady is the dark-haired one. He’s the oldest by a couple of years. Ben is his little brother. They’re farriers.”

  He nodded. They’d also been mentioned by DCI agent Michael Williams as suspects in Kate’s disappearance.

  “With all of the horses we have on the ranch, we need farriers to come out nearly every day in the summer,” Sheridan said. “We’ve tried some other farriers from around the area, but there’s no doubt the Youngbergs are the fastest, cheapest, and best. I kind of wish they weren’t, because there’s something about them when they’re together that kind of makes me uncomfortable.”

  “In what way?” Joe asked.

  “They look me over like I’m a piece of meat,” she said. “And I’ve heard some things. Let’s just say we actively try to keep them away from our female guests.”

  Joe felt a rise of anger in his chest. There was no doubt Sheridan was attractive, just like her sisters and her mother. But he didn’t like the idea of two rough yahoos leering at her.

  The food arrived just in time.

  *

  AS THEY ATE AND TALKED, more people came into the hotel. Soon, every seat in the saloon was filled, as well as most of the chairs in the adjacent meeting room. Kim Miller was slammed, but she moved into a higher gear and managed to keep up with demand. Joe nearly bolted from his stool when he saw Brady Youngberg make a grab for her hand when she delivered a third round of beer-and-shots to their table. Miller turned and said something fierce to Brady that made both Youngbergs blanch for a moment and then laugh it off as she returned to the bar. She was too fast for them, Joe thought.

  His steak sandwich was perfect, and Sheridan ate her roast beef with determination.

  “When you work outside all day...” she said defensively, and he smiled.

  “So,” he asked Sheridan after the next round of drinks arrived, “did you ever meet the woman from England who disappeared? Kate Shelford-Longden?”

  “Oh yes, I met her. She was really nice and she loved to ride. And she wasn’t one of those types who pretended she was an expert when she wasn’t. I didn’t spend as much time with her as my boss did, but she rode every minute she could and...”

  Sheridan stopped talking and suddenly looked at Joe with suspicion in her eyes.

  “What?” he asked.

  “She’s the reason you’re here, isn’t she?”

  “I can’t lie to you. I’d just ask you to please keep it to yourself.”

  She nodded, but continued to appraise him.

  “Maybe I can help,” she said.

  “I was hoping you could. I have a lot of questions, but I don’t want to talk about it here tonight.”

  “I understand. Does Mom know?”

  “Yup. And she’s probably more interested in this case than anyone else. She knew all about Kate’s disappearance.”

  “I believe that,” Sheridan said. “I can see Mom going all in on finding the missing British executive. That’s right up her alley.”

  Joe agreed.

  “Maybe we can get together this weekend,” Sheridan said. “I need to work in the morning, but the afternoons are pretty open.”

  “Let’s do that,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  He watched her as she bent her head and finished her meal. Joe turned his plate so she could access his French fries, which she did.

  He could tell she was intrigued by the whole thing.

  “Do you remember when you used to ride along with me and we talked about working together to solve a mystery?” he asked her.

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” she said softly. Her eyes were moist when she said it.

  “I always said someday we might do that, but I wasn’t sure I believed it. But who knows?”

  “I’ll keep it to myself,” she said. “But I’m warning you now: nothing stays a secret for very long in this valley. I won’t say a word to anyone, but believe me when I tell you that everyone will know sooner rather than later that you’re looking into the Kate thing.”

  He nodded. Just like Saddlestring.

  *

  THEY STAYED FOR ANOTHER twenty minutes as the bar got more raucous. It was crowded enough that it was difficult to have a conversation without being overheard by someone.

  “I’d better get going pretty soon,” Sheridan said. “I don’t want to make my ride wait for me forever. And I know you’re getting antsy with the crowd.”

  “You know me well,” he said.

  “I do.”

  “Who is your ride?”

  Sheridan blushed. Then: “Let’s just say he seems insanely nervous that you’re here. He m
ight have heard a little about you from me.”

  “Ah,” Joe said.

  She excused herself to use the restroom, and Joe waited for Kim Miller to deliver the bar tab. He planned to leave her a very generous tip because she deserved it, and he thought she might be a very good person to talk to about Kate’s disappearance as well.

  *

  THE DENVER NUGGETS were hanging in there with the Golden State Warriors going into the half, when Joe heard a shout from the adjacent room and the crash of chairs being knocked to the hardwood floor. Through a gap in the crowd near the door, there was a flash of Sheridan’s blond hair as she jumped back from the incident.

  He leapt off his stool and slid through the onlookers while clamping on his hat. He cleared the people choking the doorway and guessed what had happened: Ben or Brady Youngberg had left their table and tried to intercept Sheridan as she returned from the restroom. She’d fought herself free and stood facing them both with her back to the service bar. Both brothers had risen from their table quickly enough that their chairs had fallen over backward. Brady, the black-haired brother, bent over slightly at the waist and grimaced with short breaths.

  A tall slim young man with a clean-shaven face and silver-belly cowboy hat stepped out from the tables in the room and stood in front of Sheridan. The cowboy was outnumbered and outweighed by two hundred pounds if you combined both brothers.

  “Get the fuck out of the way, Ramsey,” Ben growled at the cowboy. “This doesn’t have nothing to do with you. Brady just tried to talk to her and she kneed him in the nuts.”

  “I’ll do it again if he tries to touch me,” Sheridan said from behind the cowboy.

  Joe instinctively reached down to his hip for the weapon that wasn’t there and the movement caught Ben’s attention. Ben was obviously not aware what a poor pistol shot Joe was.

  “Everybody calm down,” Joe said. He could see no weapons on either of the Youngberg brothers, and Brady was temporarily out of order. “Let’s all just take a breath.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Brady asked through clenched teeth.

  “He’s the guy who sat at our table in the bar,” Ben said.