Kieran York - Royce Madison Mystery 2 - Crystal Mountain Veils

Kieran York

Third Side Press (1995)

As if finding out who really killed tabloid gossip monger Sandra Holt weren't challenge enough, Timber County's acting sheriff Royce Madison also has to deal with a drifter stalking her girlfriend and an election opponent who's ready to fight dirty.

With the Family Morals Coalition pumping big bucks into her opponent's campaign and everybody in town anxious for her to make an arrest, Royce has to dig deep. As for the columnist's death: everybody has a motive, and (almost) everybody has an alibi. Only another murder could make the case more complex.

Crystal Mountain Veils

Kieran York

Prologue

The calculated, quick steps were those of an experienced hunter. The man stayed in the shadow. Thick evergreen boughs concealed him. Like wisps of electricity, he advanced his position nearer, scarcely being noticed.

In the stranger's eyes was an evil intent. His face overflowed with anger. Hatred raged each time he saw the lovely young Native American veterinarian. When he'd entered the animal clinic the first time, Doctor Hertha White had been formal. The second time, she was fearful when he demanded she become his woman. He enjoyed the emotional static produced by inducing fear. The sensation was one of being fed on energy. Within the week, he hungered for her—and her quiet dread.

His deepest acrimony was reserved for the object of the woman's affection. Her face lit up each time Timber City's acting sheriff approached. Hertha and Sheriff Royce Madison were far too intimate. They were lovers. Two women! They were going against nature. Against God and God's ways.

They must be stopped.

1

Royce couldn't explain the fear in the corner of her mind.

The tranquility of Timber County, Colorado, seemed perishable today. Royce watched a stranger lurking behind the barber shop. He'd been there all morning.

His presence was unnerving; threatening. But it was more personal than that. He glared toward the High Country Animal Clinic where Royce's lover was the veterinarian. And Hertha White, D.V.M., would be alone most of the day.

Although the High Country Animal Clinic was located on the corner directly across the street from Timber County's courthouse, where Royce worked, time didn't permit Royce to keep a constant lookout over her lover. Royce made mental note to ask her mother to watch from her small bakery located across the street on the opposite side. The vantage point from Molly's Pantry was unobstructed, but again, Molly was often busy serving her clientele. Royce would ask their family friends at Timber City Times if they would assist in keeping a watch out for Hertha's safety. The local newspaper was catty-cornered from the clinic. Gwen Ives and Nadine Atwell could observe anyone entering High Country Animal Clinic.

Royce was not sure why she felt so protective of her lover. Part Anglo and part Native American, Hertha had been raised on a Ute reservation and later attended a 'white' school. She certainly had the physical ability and psychological acuity to stave off uninvited advances. But this one might be different. Royce glanced back over her shoulder at the menacing glower of the stranger.

Timber City was normally a friendly mountain community. But this drifter had transgressed. He'd barged into the clinic and arrogantly told Hertha that she would one day become his woman. Hertha reached for the telephone and started to dial the Sheriff's Department. The drifter went to the door. He turned and jeered that she would be his before they died. His threat had frightened Hertha. When Royce answered the phone, Hertha told her lover there was something very off-kilter about the stranger. Royce knew that Hertha's instincts about people were excellent. If the vet was concerned about the incident, her anxiety was justified.

Royce straightened her back, and her shoulders lifted. She was wearing her tan summer uniform, and her badge and sunglasses reflected the late August sunshine. Behind those sunglasses were Royce's weary eyes. She was feeling the strain of recent weeks. With her first election campaign gearing up, she was coming to terms with the fact that her opponent was more formidable than she had thought. Dillon Granger supporters were determined to see Royce lose her badge, and he had the backing of major contributors.

Pressure was mounting, she conceded as a squint formed. Her own campaigners were amateurs. They were ordinary townspeople able to contribute only small amounts to her campaign. The opponent seemed to have an unlimited supply of money and was staging a very slick campaign, even though the man himself was anything but slick.

Royce also felt the pressure of the two upcoming debates. Shy by nature, she dreaded the thought of public speaking. She didn't see how it could possibly benefit her cause. Her quiet, sensitive, good-humored style was no match for her boisterous opponent. He was loud, combative, and lacked Royce's code of ethics.

Royce's slender face, with square set jaw and softly cleft chin, was becoming haggard from stress. At twenty-eight, she was already feeling the wear of age. Her slim, tall frame was beginning to lose its usual proud stance. Her stride was no longer easy-going. Her pouty lips were tight; her short cornstalk hair seemed limp; and her throat was parched by summer's dryness.

She couldn't be sure the election was responsible for the tension between her and her lover. Or possibly, she guessed, it might be working the other way and their newly-formed relationship was impacting the campaign. Both were uncharted ground for the acting sheriff. And both were important; vital to Royce's happiness.

What should be the best time of her career, her life, seemed to be disintegrating. Moment by century, she thought, as she entered the clinic and smiled for the first time that day. She smiled at Hertha White. And perhaps for Hertha. It was a wide, honest smile that brought out her dimples.

Hertha returned the smile as her limber body leaned against the counter. "How's my county Mountie?" Hertha asked.

Royce wanted to hold her. She gazed into Hertha's bright ebony eyes surrounded by thick lashes. She wanted to reach over and touch Hertha's soft hair, to anoint her lover's cheeks and lush lips with a veil of kisses. Instead Royce removed her Stetson and carefully placed it on the counter. "Hertha, I'm sorry I was so brisk with you this morning."

"This is all new to both of us. Getting anything right takes practice. Royce, I love you." Hertha's lips dipped as her eyes looked to the window. "I know the campaign has you worried, and I'm anxious too."

"I don't want to keep rehashing the past. We don't need to discuss our differences. Can't we live in the present and appreciate our compatibility?"

"Royce, we're from different cultures."

"Mom says that we may not all have the same roots, but we're all part of the same orchard."

"Your parents didn't teach you prejudice, so I'm not sure you know what it's about."

"I'm a lesbian. I know something about prejudice/'

"It's part of the same orchard, but the roots are different," Hertha commented with a slight smile. "I know that Native Americans don't have an exclusive on feeling the bigotry and cruelty of the world." She leaned away and her arms folded. She stood erect, and though she was two inches shorter than Royce's five-foot-nine and was only twenty-five, she seemed taller and older than Royce at this moment. "I can't expect you to understand."

"All I'm trying to say is that I can't change bigotry and hatred. What I can do is concentrate on making my part of the world more tolerant."

There was no need to continue her thought. If she didn't win the election in November, the Timber County Sheriff's Department would be headed by a good ole boy backed by the Colorado Family Morals Coalition. The Coalition had been pouring money into the election. A woman should not be the sheriff, in their opinion, and certainly not a woman like Royce. They stopped short of calling her lesbian, but the inference was there.

Hertha's smile seemed forced, as if she needed to reassure Royce. "And after you're elected sheriff, you will make it better."

"If I'm elected."

"You'll win," Hertha's gentle, well-modulated voice stressed.

"I'm not so sure." Royce heard the bark of her schnauzer, Smoky.

"Smoky, girl, you got to sleep in this morning." Smoky rushed to her, and as Royce knelt to one knee, the eight-month-old pup jumped against Royce's shoulders and tightened her front legs around the sheriff's neck. "Good hug, Smoky. But you missed your morning rounds, so no commendation from the K-9 corps."

Smoky's hug routine was part of her newly learned series of tricks. She would shake hands, dance in circles on her back legs, and do an assortment of other tricks. When Royce leaned down, patted her shoulders and Smoky dove against her for a hug, it entertained Timber City's children. For the occasionally lost or injured child, Smoky's antics could help even an abused child smile.

Hertha's hands went into the pockets of her forest-green smock. Her eyes dimmed. "I know things are difficult for you right now, Royce. I'm sorry I'm contributing to your troubles. I should be more understanding and patient."

"It isn't that. Maybe we're both frustrated by our need to be discrete. Maybe the need to keep our relationship secret is getting to us. With all my heart, I wish we would live together, openly. Right now, with the Family Morals Coalition just waiting to get me, it wouldn't be a good time."

"No. Between the Coalition and the resistance of the deputies, you've got your share of problems. I shouldn't be adding to them."

"I'm having trouble keeping all the corners tacked down at the same time. But Hertha, I want you to understand how important our relationship is to me." Royce wished she could display her heart. So often she felt as if she had known Hertha from the beginning of time, yet when she wanted to express herself and reinforce her emotional ties to Hertha, she was often speechless. "One way or the other, after the election, we'll live together."

Hertha reached across the counter and touched Royce's hand. "We'll make it work." Hertha's face reflected her gentle spirit. Her eyes reflected past wrongs against her and her people. But they also reveled an optimism for life's bounty.

Royce gave Hertha a loving squeeze and then put on her Stetson. The Sheriff's Department gold insignia was centered on the hat. Royce had polished it to reflect the high country sun. "Yes, somehow we'll work it out." She paused at the door. "Why don't you keep Smoky with you this afternoon?"

"Sure," Hertha agreed with a frown. "But why?"

"You two can guard each other." Royce issued a shy grin. Before leaving, she turned back and said, "Take care." She would add only a brief caution. Maybe the stranger would disappear after seeing a law officer enter the clinic. "I spotted the drifter who hassled you this morning. Probably no problem, but I'd rather Smoky stay with you."

"You really think I need an attack schnauzer?" Hertha asked with a laugh. "Ninja schnauzer."

Royce glanced into Hertha's face. She recognized the staggering love she felt for this woman. "We can all use a Smoky in our lives. I'll see you this evening."

The young acting sheriff made her way across the street. For a moment, the man was out of her line of vision. And then she saw him again. He appeared to exude danger. Although criminals come in a variety of packagings, many strangers passed through Timber County and Royce had seen dangerous people before. She recognized the ominous intent in their faces. Some strangers loitered in Timber City, a small mountain community of about 3000 people; others went on to find work at the Crystal Mountain ski resort, a few miles outside of Timber City. Although it was in the jurisdiction of Timber County, Crystal Mountain was considered Dillon Granger's turf. Deputy Granger was Royce's election opponent. And Crystal Mountain's prestige among the rich and famous was growing.

Surveying the stranger, Royce guessed he was in his mid-thirties. Six-foot, wiry build. His shoulder-length beige hair was unkempt. A quarter-inch stubble of unshaven beard shadowed his sallow sunken cheeks. As she neared him, she noticed two of his front teeth were missing. She looked for scars and other markings, and she believed she saw treachery in his dark brown eyes, as his glance strung with her own.

"I'm Sheriff Madison," Royce said. "We have a loitering law here in Timber City."

"I ain't loitering." His voice was gravely and haunting. A malicious grin covered his face. He spoke with icy calm.

"Are you a transient, or do you live around here?"

"I'm here to find a job."

"Where are you staying?"

"Isn't nightfall yet."

He'd been advised of his rights before, Royce assessed. "And what are you finding so interesting to look at across the street?"

"That squaw doc is a looker."

Royce's suddenly realized that she might be dealing with a stalker. Carefully, she moved closer to him. "I don't want to tell you this more than once. You stay away from her." There was an inside dull ache as she added, "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"No law against a man lookin' at a woman."

"I don't want you watching her or any other woman in this county. Do I make myself clear?" Her words were sledgehammer blows.

His lip curled when he smiled. "I'll just betcha you don't." He turned and walked away toward a battered gray truck with a small camper shell. Royce memorized the Florida license plate numbers. She was on her way back to the courthouse and would run it through the DMV to find out if there were any outstanding warrants on vehicle or owner.

Royce enjoyed most phases of her work, even endless paperwork and these license chases that usually yielded little in the way of clues. She relished delving toward answers, solving crime. The one thing Royce hated about being a law enforcer was seeing so much evil in a human face.

*****

"Phone calls have been pouring in. Seems the citizens are concerned about the upcoming visit of Godiva. She might taint our purity," laughed Deputy Nick Hogan when Royce entered the Sheriff's Department office.

"The Family Morals Coalition is outraged again," Royce uttered with a trace of bitterness. "Wish Godiva was going to Aspen or Vail. I don't need this now."

Nick Hogan slumped back in his desk chair and sighed. He was aware of his handsomeness. Appearing even more youthful than his twenty-three years, he prided himself on his athletic build. Brown, curly hair framed his classic face, and his dark blue eyes nearly always appeared to be joking. Royce had seen the young deputy somber only a few times, when the situation's grimness allowed no other expression.

"I'd like to see her in person," Nick disclosed, "but she'll be tucked in seclusion up in Crystal for her entire visit. Imagine the famous rock star sashaying down Timber City's main drag in her fancy underwear." He laughed. "And can you imagine if she performed anywhere around here?"

Royce chuckled as she sat at her desk. "I hear she has a pretty ribald act. The Family Morals Coalition is after me for being a female sheriff. Just imagine what they'd do if she grabbed her crotch in front of them."

"One of these calls was a threat."

"A threat?" Royce felt her back stiffen.

"Some goof calls in, says he's going to kill her in the name of our creator." Nick handed the note to Royce.

"Plenty amazing," Royce muttered with irritation in her voice.

"Call came in a few minutes ago. I'll check with dispatch and have a tape of the call sent in for our weekly meeting."

"Nick, we're going to have our hands full when Godiva and her entourage arrives."

She jotted information on the meeting agenda list so she would remember to inform the deputies at the gathering. She had begun the ritual of assembling when she became acting sheriff. It had not been appreciated by the deputies. It was now becoming more an hour of complaining than of instruction. And Royce's usual easygoing manner was becoming tense.

Royce considered that usually when there is one threatening call, there will be many. The superstar Godiva had her own bodyguards, and Crystal Lodge had agreed to boost security. But with a threat against Godiva's life, the Timber County Sheriff's Department would need to become involved.

"Dillon Granger will love it," Nick chatted. "He'll be in his glory up there on his own turf protecting one of the most famous stars in the world. Think of the free publicity for his campaign."

Royce knew Nick was right. Naturally, Granger would take advantage of every opportunity he could. And he wouldn't miss this media event. Royce had no political instincts. And wanted none. Her father, Grady Madison, had been sheriff of Timber County for years, and he did it without playing politics. But he'd been gunned down. Ten years later Royce had brought the guilty party to justice, and the city council had voted to make her acting sheriff until the November election.

"Nick, I don't doubt for an instant that he will get all the mileage he can with it. He might even acknowledge the benefit of our training programs. But probably not," Royce added with a jab. "I know you all resent the training." Royce had been trained in Denver when she was at the police academy. And then she spent three years on the city's force before returning to Timber City. She had missed her hometown and its small city flavor.

"We just don't understand why all this new order cop crap is pertinent to us. We're stuck up here in the mountains, and all that riot patrol junk is useless. We don't have riots up here."

"But you all think police training is a riot," she chaffed. "And you never can tell, the Young Methodists Committee might act up sometime, and Timber County deputies should know what to do."

"Deputies here have gotten along fine for years without martial arts training."

"There's more to it than that," Royce disputed. "I'm a woman. They resent everything I tell them. It isn't new order cop. It's treating people like human beings. No more good ole boy club. We need to treat minorities with respect. No more bias. Bigots are no longer acceptable representatives of Timber's law enforcement. I require that our performance be exemplary. We live up to the pride of our badges. No more questionable interrogation technique. No more acting like storm troopers. No more bent cops. No more jocks shooting it out and endangering the lives of bystanders. No more running hot. Speed chases are a thing of the past unless we're pursuing the suspect of a very serious crime. I fail to see why the deputies are objecting."

"You said it. You're a woman. That's not all of it, but it's a big part of the resistance, and sometimes it seems like you're throwing your weight around."

"And if I were less demanding about it, you'd see me as the proverbial weak sister."

"We know you aren't weak." Nick twisted around to his desk. His face became grim and he was uncomfortable. "Royce, these meetings and training procedures are useless. What do we need with combat training? Is that going to improve the way we throw old Laramie into the slammer when he gets hammered?"

Royce thought about the town's derelict. "I realize that Laramie is one of our star boarders and he doesn't offer much resistance. But I want us to be prepared for anything. The police academy in Denver based our training on working mean streets. But there's no guarantee that Timber County will stay as sweet as it is now." She bristled, "And I'm sorry if you think a woman can't handle this job. But I have every intention of trying to keep my sheriff's badge. And of eventually gaining your respect."

"Well, if any woman could make a good sheriff, it's you."

"Just not in this century? Or the one after that?"

Nick glanced away. There was an impregnable silence before he responded, "Maybe not. Maybe we don't have the confidence in a woman. We're trained to think of you as the weaker sex."

"Gran says that women are spun of a feather exterior and our interiors are woven of steel."

"You ought to make Mrs. Madison your campaign manager," Nick snickered.

Royce gave a jaunty grin. "Nick, having my grandmother as a campaign manager is the best idea I've ever heard you come up with. I'm going to think about that!" She swirled around back to her desk and her peered down at the message that threatened the life of Godiva. "But for the record, Nick, I still think you have the personality of a cactus."

*****

Laramie was Timber City's eyes and ears. He knew the town's history and happenings. He watched; he listened.

He'd been in Timber City since Royce could remember. He had done nothing to improve his lot in life. He'd arrived a drifter when Royce's father was the newly elected young sheriff. He held odd jobs with sole purpose of making enough money to buy whiskey. A man gnarled by time, he drank himself into oblivion. Often he collapsed on the board walkway that decorated Timber City's main street.

Laramie's body was propped against the outer wall of the Bell Ringer Saloon. Wearing a ragged lightweight jacket and baggy pants, he slumped like a sack of feed. His face was ravaged by excessive drink. His nose was a beak, and his matted hair strayed beneath a rumpled Western hat. His craggy face was leathery and worn, with short gray stubbles of beard on his sunken cheeks. His eyes were dark and shadowy, his teeth snaggy and nicotine stained.

He leaned back, like the great phantom of Timber City, and crossed his arms. He nodded when Royce approached. She had just concluded a meeting with the deputies, and it was the first opportunity she'd had that afternoon to make her rounds with the Timber City locals.

"Laramie, how's it going?" Royce knew there were secrets about Laramie that she would probably never know. She also knew that he was a self-contained person, not unlike herself. But there was a difference. He allowed no one in his inner sanctum. He had closed his heart to humanity. His usual response with strangers was a monosyllabic wall of exclusion.

"Election's gettin' hot. Everybody with their hackles up for a good dogfight. Kid, you got my vote. But that Granger fella is chompin' at the bit to take your badge."

"I'm hearing the growls, and the nips are snapping at me," Royce acknowledged. "And I appreciate your vote."

"Visiting dignitaries comin' to Crystal I hear."

"I don't know that we can call a rock star a dignitary. But it's official. Godiva will be here later this week."

"That'll be keepin' you mighty busy, I reckon."

"You don't miss a thing, Laramie." Royce glanced away a moment.

Across the street behind the alley was the stranger's van. Royce twisted back, inspecting the area. The stranger was standing near Laird's Country General Store. Again, Royce noted, his eyes were stationed across the street on the High Country Animal Clinic.

Laramie pushed away from the building. "Gonna be pissin' down rain any time now. Drinkin' weather." He squinted up at the pewter clouds.

Royce pointed in the direction of the stranger. "You ever see him around here before today?"

"Nope. He ain't been in these parts."

Royce saw the crafty glint in Laramie's eyes. The wily old man bent into his secret. "That fella's up to no good."

"Think I should arrest him?" Royce quipped.

"Naw." Laramie's face wrinkled into a laugh. "Think you oughta hang him. Then use 'im for target practice."

Royce laughed. "Well, keep your eyes open. Let me know if there's anything else you see." Royce's hands rested on her belt. "Now then, are you going to be needing an escort home tonight?"

"Got a hankering for a cowpoke's measure of whiskey."

"That answers my question. I'll have one of the deputies keep an eye out for you. Come on, I'll buy you a cup of coffee. I wanted to stop by the Bell Ringer anyway."

Laramie followed Royce inside and took his usual seat at the bar. Royce motioned to Faye Arnall. "A couple cups of coffee."

Faye's cheer beamed from her round, freckled face that was surrounded by rusty-colored curls. Bright red lips sucked on a cigarette, and her kiwi green eyes flashed. Faye Arnall was approaching forty and had been the Bell Ringer's owner for nearly two decades. Her only child, Jade, had left for college in Boulder a week ago. Faye was relieved that her daughter would finally be away. She kidded that Jade was as wild as she had been as a wayward teen.

With a booming laugh, Faye greeted Royce. "Not going to contribute to the delinquency of a senior with a snort of whiskey?" Faye poured his coffee.

Laramie dug in his pocket and unrolled a dollar. "Make it Irish," he said with a growl. "Need to get my engine started."

Faye nodded and poured a drink for him. She watched as he drained it. "Is the coffee better with a lacing of booze?" she teased.

He looked down at his dirt-edged fingernails. "Top 'er up for me, will ya?"

"Don't you be getting too legless," Royce cautioned.

Laramie held up the shot glass and toasted, "Can't do me no more harm than its already done."

Faye's teeth were large, her smile expansive, and when she laughed it was hearty and contagious. "That's right," Faye agreed. "Hell, my booze has no additives or artificial coloring."

Royce shook her head and followed Faye to the coffee brewer. Faye poured a mug of coffee and placed it on the booth table where Royce sat. Royce motioned for her to have a seat. "Laramie is planning a toot tonight. So give a call, and one of the deputies will pick him up."

"Shit, he falls down drunk and claims it's the mountain's gravity." Faye pulled out her pack of cigarettes. The blue wisps of her burning match sparked as she lit up. With a cough, she sputtered, "Looks like the mountain gravity got to you too."

"A tough week with everything that's happening." Royce quickly inquired, "So how's Jade doing?"

"Called last night. She's getting settled in. That's why she wanted to go a couple weeks early. Get settled. I doubt if Colorado University teaches the courses she wants to learn. But I never been to college, so they may teach how to drive your mother nuts. Not that Jade needs instruction for that. Kids are at it like rabbits nowadays. But then I could tell 'em that sin takes practice."

"Jade isn't a bad kid. Just a little restless. Maybe this is what she needs."

"I know it's what I need," Faye snickered. "Raising a kid in this day and age!" She took a deep drag from her cigarette. Then she sighed. "Royce, I don't know if it's got back to you or not," she began, but stepped on the tail of her words.

"What?" Royce looked down at the ring on the pine tabletop that her coffee cup had made. "Well?"

"I thought maybe you're upset because of what you've heard out on the street. Shit, the Family Morals Coalition has been trying to pick your bones clean with this election thing."

"Meaning?"

"They want you out of office. And out of town. You know most of them are frustrated wives. That Elizabeth McDermott is at the helm of it."

"Judge McDermott's wife?" Royce frowned. "I knew she was into being proper, but I've never done anything to alienate her."

"She's a real Bible thumper. I heard that the Coalition is going to bring up sexual orientation when the election gets closer."

"Sexual orientation?" Royce questioned grimly.

"Not that it matters to me. Hell, I always say that sex is like chili. Better for a bit of spice. I just thought you should know that some of these housewives and God-botherers are on a town morals cleanup campaign. They have this plan for winning the election. They're gonna wait until the right moment and make an allegation about your preferences."

"I don't understand what I've ever done to any of these people." Royce paused. She gulped her coffee. It had become bitter and cool, but it burned her stomach. "Why would these women come after me?"

"Because they're a bunch of beige vaginas, and they want to make every woman as miserable and subservient as they are."

"Beige vaginas?" Royce questioned with an escaping grin.

"Your buddy Gwen's term for boring women who want to tell the rest of us to live as they do and as they say."

Royce figured it sounded like something her family friend, Gwen Ives, would say. And as outspoken as the publisher of the Timber City Times was, Royce was amazed that Gwen hadn't included it in one of her editorials. "Gwen has never mentioned it to me."

Faye's full bosom spread on the table top as she leaned to whisper, "She said it to me once when I was being ostracized by a batch of old biddies. Beige vaginas. Normally Gwen and I don't agree on much of anything. I've told her more than once to put her editorial where the sun doesn't shine. But we agree on beige vaginas."

"And these women dislike me?"

Faye noticed the bar beginning to fill. She stood. "Royce, you know I don't give a damn about anyone's preferences. But some around here do."

Royce looked into the dark coffee at the base of the mug. "I just wish life made us all colorblind as to beige and lavender." Faye walked away and Royce remained seated for many minutes. She felt her jaw twitch and her eyes water. The cloud of smoke was starting to annoy her.

Timber County's season of hate was beginning.

2

"Come on in, Royce. It's about to air." Gwen Ives pointed to the empty office chair. "Make yourself comfy," she instructed as she poured Royce a glass of iced tea.

Royce took a sip. "Great. Your house spouse must have made it."

"Correct." Gwen turned up the sound on the small television on the antique lawyer's bookcase. "Nadine puts her special spin on iced tea. Now, this is important, so listen. Watch the goggle box and you'll see what I mean." Gwen gave her short, neatly clipped, salt and pepper hair a ruffle. She rearranged her eyeglasses and her bronze eyes peered at the TV screen.

Waiting through a commercial, Royce contemplated what could be so important about a national newscast. She gazed around the Timber City Times office. It was homey. Gwen's large rolltop desk was stationed right behind Nadine's. Nadine Atwell and Gwen had been lovers for twenty-four years. They were both approaching fifty and had run the newspaper for as long as Royce could remember. They were family friends of the Madisons. Both the Times and the women's historical old Timber City home had been Royce's respite.

"What's this all about?" Royce inquired with amusement.

"You'll see." Gwen leaned near the TV set. "Just listen."

On the screen Royce saw one of the network correspondents. It was Marjorie Lovett. She'd seen the attractive woman deliver various news reports over the years. The reporter, in her late forties, began her resonant intro, "It was announced today by Elliot Studios that singing star Godiva will be headlining their latest motion picture production. The production will also star newcomer Tyler McDermott."

Marjorie Lovett's creamy complexion, pale blue eyes, and strawberry blond hair gave her a cameo look. Her hair was cut short and stylishly swept back over her ears. Her smile gleamed and her eyes were expressive. With an air of authority to her tall, willowy frame, she stood firm and extracted answers from interview subjects. Her confidence was polished, and viewers trusted her intellect. Her toughness was not without compassion.

"Local boy makes good," Royce said.

Gwen hushed her, "Listen. It gets better."

Marjorie Lovett continued her report. "McDermott has been romantically linked with Godiva in the past several weeks. Godiva is quoted as being thrilled about the production. Elliot Studios representatives also announced that part of the film will be shot on location in Crystal, Colorado, home of the Crystal Mountain ski trails and resort. McDermott fans will note that he hails from Crystal. The couple will be leaving for Crystal to spend a week's vacation before filming begins. Security has been increased because of threats Godiva has recently received."

Gwen snapped off the TV. "Well?"

"A movie production right in our own backyard," Royce uttered in disbelief. "Plenty amazing! But how did you know?"

"Funny you should ask," Gwen's eyebrows lifted and she smirked. "Remember I told you about the woman I was in love with before I met Nadine? From Texas?"

"Sure I remember. A woman you met after college. You lived together in Texas. She was a reporter. Worked her way through college as a cocktail waitress. Made that drink," Royce trawled her memory, "called a Longhorn Kick. Customers would ask for a 'kick.' I used to think that was hilarious when I was a kid."

"Remember her name?"

"Jordy?" Royce guessed.

"Jorie." Gwen pointed to the blank TV screen. "Jorie. Marjorie."

Royce swallowed. "You and Marjorie Lovett!"

"That's right. She called this morning and told me that they were planning a piece on Crystal. Says that because of the threats, it's considered a legitimate news story. She'll be part of the press corps coming to town."

"Why didn't you ever tell me about it?"

"Because of who she is, it's imperative that it be kept in confidence. When she called this morning, I asked if she minded if I told you. She said no. I would never 'out' anyone. She's had a rough time making it up the ladder. She's been with a woman for nearly twenty years and they've felt the need to keep it clandestine. The people around them who know are protective of their privacy. That's why I felt the need to clear it with her before telling you."

"You have my word. I'll never mention it to anyone."

"You can tell Hertha. Never keep secrets from your lover. And Molly already knows. I told her years ago."

"My mother knows and never told me?"

"You've never told your mother that you're lesbian."

Royce unwrapped a circle of butterscotch and placed it between her lips. The candy soothed her dry throat. "Feel like a butterscotch?"

"Change of subject? No, you know I hate mixing the taste of tea with your candy. Exactly how many rolls of butterscotch a day do you consume?" Gwen teased.

"Depends. Something tells me there may not be enough butterscotch in Colorado to get me through this year." Royce slumped in the chair. "Do I get to probe about Jorie and you?"

"A surface probe, maybe. We shared the same egalitarian ideals of youth. There was newborn passion, and that's always powerful. It's never safe and never forgotten. And always crushing when it ends. And although the damage is repaired with a new relationship, some things are never put out of memory. I can never forget Jorie. She was rascal wicked. Even then she had that savoir-faire." Gwen picked up her pen and scribbled. "Looks like we have our headline for the week. The nice part of publishing a weekly is that you have a full six days to procrastinate. But with the influx of the famed and shamed, our front page should write itself."

"Godiva, Tyler McDermott, and Marjorie Lovett. A star-studded cast. All in Timber County."

"The network is probably sending Jorie for an additional reason. She's related to Tyler McDermott."

"Aren't you related to him too?"

"That's how we met. Elizabeth McDermott is my first cousin. My mother's sister is her mother. Jorie's father is Elizabeth's father's brother. So Jorie and Elizabeth are cousins on the other side. It's truly a confusing tangle."

"Tyler is Elizabeth's and Judge Jake McDermott's son. Which makes you and Jorie second cousins of Hollywood's newest stud." Royce shook her head. "You're right, it is confusing. But at least it gives you both an in to get an interview with Godiva. How did you meet Jorie?"

"When I was a small child, I would visit my aunt, Elizabeth's mother. They thought since Elizabeth and I were the same ages, we could play together. Well, Elizabeth was exactly the way she is now. She would slap anyone who called her 'Liz' instead of Elizabeth."

"A boring little creature. Prim and hoity-toity. Even as a child. She was no damn fun to play with, so I would explore her family's attic. There was this large chest filled with ancient black and white photos. It was my first inkling that I was lesbian. I fell in love with a photo of a woman with these incredible light-colored eyes. Later, after college, Jorie visited her aunt in Timber City. They had a party, and I spotted Jorie. It was the woman with the light eyes. Only it had been her grandmother in the photo. I introduced myself to Jorie. I couldn't seduce her fast enough."

"Whew," Royce exclaimed. "What happened? Why did you break up?"

"After a couple years, I realized that those roguish, light, gypsy eyes belonged to a gypsy heart. She wanted to wander. See the world. Investigate. I wanted to live quietly nestled in my Colorado Rockies. I wanted to be home." Gwen rubbed her temple. "She understood the dark age's homophobia. Knew the obstacles. She understood that progress crawls incrementally. One pain at a time. I believed that we clarify ourselves by being an example. If our numbers are hidden, our power is hidden. She had all the expectations of two and a half decades ago. The generic lesbian's life didn't appeal to her. The sexual mores of that day had their impact. Still do," she said with disgust.

"And you really loved her?"

"Yes. But I didn't love her enough to chase around the world. She didn't love me enough to return to Timber City with me. It worked out for the best. At least most days I think it was for the best."

"Most days?"

"You know how mellow Nadine usually is. Lately she's been impossible."

Royce gave a deep sigh. "Maybe she's got too much on her plate. Working here and being my campaign manager."

Gwen glanced away. "You asked her and she accepted. She knew it would be demanding."

"Suppose she's worried about Jorie coming to town?"

"Hell's bells, after all this time! She knows I love her with all my heart. She knows we're bedrock. And she's been snapping at me for weeks. So it isn't Jorie."

"Have you tried talking with her?"

"She tells me nothing's wrong. But there is. Speaking of trouble in paradise, what's going on with you and Hertha?"

"The stress of a new relationship. Getting to know one another."

"Trial and error love. I remember when Nadine and I first got together. She wanted to plant a vegetable garden. I knew nothing about it, but I got out there and began directing the project. We got into our first major battle over how to plant the rows. She stood her ground and I trounced off like a wounded buffalo. Every year she plants a garden, and I've never once even been back there to look at it."

Royce laughed. "No wonder she's ticked. Get out the hoe and help her weed those squash."

"Not this week. It's been hot enough to blister paint. No, not ever. I'm not beginning some discount store chivalry at my age. It's her territory." Gwen sipped her tea and then with a knowing glance back at Royce, asked, "So what brings you here, anyway?"

"I'd like you to keep an eye on the clinic. There's been a man watching Hertha. He paid her a visit this morning and she declined his demand that she be his woman. He's been hanging around all day."

"Sinister guy? Creeping around the alleys?"

"That's the one. He drives a battered gray truck with a little shell camper. It may be nothing, but I don't want to take a chance. He's bothered Hertha, so I'm concerned. I'd rather be safe and keep watch."

"Good idea. I'll mention it to Nadine. She sits at the front desk most of the day."

Royce stood. "I'm going to drop over and see Mom and then head out to the cabin. I want to see if Gran's okay. Pick up some things. I'll be spending the night in town with Hertha."

"Does your Gran ever ask about why you spend so many nights here in town with the vet?"

"Never. I just tell her I'm staying over with Hertha. Mom said she's glad that I spend so much time here in town. She gets to see more of me."

"When are you going to tell them?"

"According to Faye, the Family Morals Coalition is planning to tell everyone. I hear your cousin Elizabeth McDermott is at the helm of it."

"Faye told you that?" Gwen let out a whoop. "Who on the Family Morals Coalition would take that tramp into their confidence?" Gwen's friendly jousting with Faye had been an ongoing event in Timber City for a decade.

Royce chuckled, "You and Faye will never get your scores settled. And speaking of the Coalition, we aren't likely to get taken into their confidence either. Faye told me that you once called those women 'beige vaginas.' Any truth to that?"

"For once the tart across the street got my quote exact." Gwen shrugged. "At least Faye is honest about boinking cowboys. I give her high marks for that."

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said about Faye."

"I won't let it happen again," Gwen joked. "Royce, just don't let them get to you. The beiges. Their basic philosophy is using their sexuality as a commodity. They resent women of substance. They're out to make the world as boring as they are. You aren't too worried, are you?"

"Is that a trick question?"

"You shouldn't be worried. Hell's bells, you brought your father's killer to justice. People around here like you."

"But do they trust me with their county? That's the big question."

"I can't deny that it's a basic human condition to want to see our heroes cry."

"Is that supposed to make me feel comfort?"

"You ask too many questions," Gwen said with a chuckle. "Reminds me of Gertrude Stein's death statement. Two questions. First she asked 'What's the answer?' and followed it up by saying 'But then what's the question?' Interesting stuff, huh?" Gwen muttered, "Since you don't indulge in much fiction, I've got to wonder if you even know who Stein is?"

Royce allowed a slight grin. "What was the question?" Before she reached the door, she swung around. "Please keep an eye on Hertha for me."

"We'll watch."

Out on the street again Royce cast her glance toward the clinic. Everything appeared normal.

*****

Royce entered Molly's Pantry. A mixture of enticing scents wafted from the back of the bakery. Royce walked past the counter and the display cases back to Molly's work area. A bright halo of light illuminated the shiny marble table. Freshly scrubbed linoleum gleamed.

Molly Madison looked up from the sheet cake she was decorating. She gave a twist to the pastry bag and continued making swirls. "Hoped you'd be stopping in, honey," Molly greeted her daughter. A long, clean apron covered her short, stocky body. Her brown and gray, lightly-streaked hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. From her round face came a dimpled smile and flickering blue eyes. Her hands adroitly directed apricot-colored lettering. "Been rushed off my feet today."

Royce gave her mother a quick hug. "People know where to get the best cakes in town."

"For a fact, my cake doesn't taste all chalky and sugary." She examined Royce's drawn face. "And you look like a wet weekend, girl. Between this election business, and now with this threat on Godiva."

"I'm also worried about Hertha," Royce interrupted. "Mom, there's a stranger around, and he's been watching and threatening Hertha. I'm concerned. He's been out there all day."

"I saw a man hanging around. I figured he might have a sick animal." Molly put down the pastry bag and crossed her arms. "Did you tell him to be moving on?"

"Within the limits of the law."

"You got enough on your plate right now without this. Crystal was even mentioned on the news. Too bad about that business with this Godiva being threatened. You think there's any connection?"

"Not really. I listened to a recording of the call that came in this morning to the department. It wasn't the same voice. And the call was long distance. New York. When we traced it, it turned out to be made from a phone booth. The man watching Hertha has a slight Southern accent. His vehicle license is from Florida. I checked it out. It's registered to Rick Brown of Miami. No outstanding warrants. Nothing."

"So you've got two women to be watching," Molly said with a sigh. "I hear tell this Godiva is a bit on the wild side. Newspapers say she's lewd. But that's no reason to be threatening her."

"No. I'm amazed that Elizabeth McDermott and the judge don't have problems with their son dating Godiva."

"According to one of the women at church, Mrs. McDermott says that it's all been cooked up for Hollywood. You know, just for those fan magazines. Their movie needs promoting, I 'spose."

Royce smiled. Molly kept things proper, but she was never judgmental. She believed that Tyler McDermott was with the sex goddess as an ego prop. He was Godiva's side order for publicity. "I'll bet she had that message sent to everyone connected with the Family Morals Coalition. As if they aren't busy enough trying to see that a woman doesn't become sheriff of Timber County," Royce said with an edge to her voice.

"Those people are filled with hate. There's all kinds of bigotry. It's like those Family Morals people have some awful virus."

"I wish I understood why some people need to keep other folks down. Gwen says it's like an oppression soup and, now it's being stirred."

"I'd like to think people in Timber City won't have any of that. Not when the final vote is cast. I know they won't be listening to foolishness. So those Family Morals folks might just as well save their breath to cool their porridge."

"I hope so," Royce commented. She glanced through the doorway and out a large multi-paned window. A brass rod divided it into halves. "I wish I understood people like the McDermotts. Pillars of the county. Why would they be against having a woman sheriff?"

"Mrs. McDermott is nothing at all like her cousin Gwen. Our Gwen is common and comfortable as an old boot. Not one to overdo. But Elizabeth was always a prissy one. She was doted on. She married the judge, even though was ten years older than she was, when she thought he might even become a Supreme Court judge. I believe he was in Denver when they met. Fie swept her off her feet. But he never made it good in Denver, and they ended up building a home in Crystal. And he ended up a'plain old, mountain county judge."

"I remember Tyler. I always felt sorry for him," Royce disclosed. "He was three grades behind me. He must be about twenty-five now. When they moved back here, he had a rough go of it. Never fit in."

"Elizabeth does put on airs. She pushed the boy. Guess we all want the best for our children." Molly paused. "You know, Royce, you're young. If this election doesn't work out, you've got plenty of time to do whatever you want in life. Being a deputy made you happy."

"I know, Mom." Part of Royce was resigned to a close election. And perhaps a loss.

"I just wish I'd see more of your smile. You could make planters out of those dimples when you smile, girl. And that election will be in a wink of time. I love you no matter how it turns out. We all do."

Royce remembered the reason for her visit. "Everything will work out because it has to. I talked with Faye and Gwen about watching the clinic. Will you keep an eye in that direction too? If you see anything, just call the department."

"You care very much for Hertha, don't you?"

"Yes. Very much."

"Loving a good friend is special. Friends are our heart's nearest neighbors."

"Yes." Royce stopped short of adding that love is like learning a great and wondrous secret. She wasn't quite ready to tell Molly that she was in love with Hertha.

*****

Headlight beams from Royce's metallic navy Blazer were long gold fingers reaching down the gravel road. Royce was glad when the light struck Dora Madison's small, rustic cabin. Royce pressed the brake pedal and then sat in the Blazer for a few moments. She was remembering the reason she had moved out to live with her grandmother a year before. With the thought of watching after the spry, seventy-five-year old, Royce had hoped to be able to make things easier for Dora. But, she admitted to herself, she also moved away from Molly, and her mother's objection to Royce's being a deputy. Molly had lost her beloved husband, Grady, and feared losing her only child. Royce had proved she could survive, but Molly still worried. When Royce moved out of her mother's home, above the bakery, it was with the understanding that Royce would be there for Dora.

Now Royce felt that she was abandoning her grandmother each time she left to spend the night with Hertha. Hertha understood the occasions when Royce stayed to help her Gran with a project. Even though Dora Madison was fit, and certainly independent, Royce sincerely harbored concern for her.

Dora Madison's family had been part of the great trickle of immigrants that moved across the wilderness and settled in mountain communities. Many, like Royce's early relatives, arrived with only a few items and their will to survive. They learned to build cabins, like the one Dora Madison lived in, from halved logs, hand-rived boarded roofs, and put up great rock chimneys. Pine saplings seeded beside the homes and became tall citadels. Royce inhaled the sharp pungent fragrance of those pines. Each summer brought crowds of swaying grasses and wild daisies around the cabin wall's edges.

Royce felt at home with the soothing ambiance of Gran's cabin. Here there was love, there was safety, there was an abundance of common wisdom. These seemed her requirements. And they were never more needed than now, she thought as she passed by the pock-marked tree that woodpeckers had inhabited.

Royce glanced up on the way to the door. Evening clouds were a roof drifting over the mountainside.

A cast iron kettle of steaming stew rested on the old, four-eyed cook stove. Another familiar aroma permeated the kitchen. Royce smiled when she saw the pan of peanut brittle cooling. Beside the pan, on the gateleg table, were chaste pots of parsley and chives; a pottery rooster with sprigs of mint; and an old blue crock pitcher. Along the window ledge were fire-engine red blooms of geraniums. Royce never tired of the air thick with the smells of herbs, flowers, and scorched caramel.

Royce could hear her grandmother singing, out on the enclosed porch Royce had built. Royce dished up a plate of simmering stew and hot corn cakes, and she poured a glass of iced tea. She loved her Gran's mountain cookery and would devour each morsel. With hands filled, she went out into the coolness of the porch. "Gran, this looks scrumptious." Royce leaned and kissed Dora Madison's forehead.

"Roycie, I made your favorite meal. Molly called this afternoon and said you were dragging. And surely enough," Gran examined her granddaughter, "those eyes of yours are rimmed with the shadow of weariness." Stretched out on her patio chaise lounge, she sighed. "Don't imagine it will do much good to tell you that it's all gonna turn out fine and dandy." She lifted Elsa, her ten-year-old tabby, onto her lap. After a stretch, the cat circled into her lap. "Where's Smoky girl?"

"With Hertha." Royce swabbed the plate with a corn cake. "This is delicious, Gran."

"Your mama's right. You got a face like a wet weekend."

Royce studied her grandmother. Dora Madison's diminutive frame was clad in a comfortable house dress. Her light gray hair was pulled back. It was as fine as spun sugar, Royce thought. Gran's face was ivory, with great opalescent blue eyes. They beamed with mischievousness. Her brows were tented, lifting at the center. Time's markings were mostly laugh lines. Though Dora had lost her son while he was in his prime, she remained optimistic about human nature. Her words were lyrical remnants from her British ancestry. And they were words of wisdom. Life is to be celebrated, but her granddaughter was not celebrating.

When Royce failed to respond to her comment, Gran continued. "The folks of Timber County aren't gonna be letting you down on this election business. Why I figured nobody would even consider opposing you. Now it's like dogs fighting over a bone. I know of Dillon Granger and his ways. He was a sheriff in a county in southwestern Colorado. Your daddy said he was no kinda lawman. Your daddy didn't abide by thumping prisoners and the like. There was talk that Granger nearly killed a fella with a tire iron."

"Sometimes the bad guys win, Gran. Law enforcement has brought that home. Granger could win."

"Not with all of us backing you. Why there's Bonnie and the women from my club making calls and stuffing envelopes. Your mother and her church group are busy campaigning. To say nothing of all the shop owners Faye has rounded up to support you. And our Nadine is doing you proud. With her as your campaign manager, you can't lose. Everyone loves her."

"I really appreciate all the help. But Granger has people in his camp too."

"Not as devoted and dedicated as we are," Dora said with a staunch confirmation. "You just keep doing the job like you always have, and we'll be the best election committee a sheriff ever had."

3

Morning's sunlight seeped in across the bed and cast its pale brightness against Royce and Hertha. Love added radiance, Royce noted as she felt Hertha's warmth. She could never express the awe of awakening with her lover. From the moment Hertha first held Royce, Royce was enchanted.

Hertha's cottage was directly behind the High Country Animal Clinic. A cobblestone footpath connected clinic and cottage. Though small, the two-bedroom stone cottage was bright and airy. Hertha's bedroom housed a four-post double bed, dresser, wardrobe, and bookcase. Robin-egg blue tied the bright assortment of colors together. Lush wild herbs grew in small pottery bowls that lined the window sill. Each ceramic vessel, Hertha explained, was representative of patterns used to symbolize the Ute nation's kinship with nature. The variety of herbs gave off a scent of freshness, but Hertha also used them medicinally.

Royce loved the fragrance of the bedroom. Each part of the room, and of the cottage, was familiar to Royce. It reflected the woman she loved.

Hertha's onyx evening eyes gave her the appearance of being a mythical Indian princess. Within each glance was a revelation of love. The morning after lovemaking left Royce safe in the nearness of her. Royce felt her lover stir, and their bodies rearranged the tuck of love. Hertha's arms wound around Royce's neck. Her chin lifted and they kissed good morning. Royce experienced a tug of restless desire. Her hand reached to touch Hertha's long, glistening dark hair. Her fingers caressed Hertha's soft neck. Hertha's dark eyes shone golden when her lids bobbed open.

There were no words, nor need for them. Each woman could read the other's passion with a glance, a smile, a tender touch. They enjoyed the pleasure of waking to love. Royce's lips traveled across Hertha's cheek to her lush mouth. Their kiss was intimate and powerful. Their nude bodies laced together, and Royce's kiss trailed to Hertha's neck.

Hertha's body was warm and inviting. Their bodies clenched, and their legs roped them against one another in pulsating motions of love.

Royce rested tranquilly in her lover's arms.

It was many minutes before Hertha spoke. With a laugh in her voice, she remarked, "I don't believe Smoky has even moved."

"Guess she's getting used to us." The pewter-colored pup had often thought their lovemaking was a game. She would pull their covers from them, snarl playfully at them, and attempt to join in by nipping busily for attention. She would press her beard into their faces and yap. But after Royce sent Smoky to another room a few times, Smoky resigned herself to a corner of the bed.

Royce glanced up at the ceiling. Hanging above them was a dream catcher. The decorated hoop had been made by Hertha's grandmother. Strips of leather were carefully wrapped around the hoop. Magenta, teal, rust, and charcoal beads streamed down from strands of leather. Attached to them were long, dangling feathers. Although Royce liked the symbolism of the dream catcher, she felt uneasy with the abundance of Native American artifacts. She had never mentioned her feelings to Hertha. She didn't understand her discomfort enough to discuss it.

"Nadine brought Cinnamon in yesterday with an ear infection," Hertha reported. Cinnamon was Gwen and Nadine's eight-year-old Irish setter. They also had a buff-colored Persian mix named Ginger and a Siamese, Moz. "I treated her, and asked Nadine to bring her back tomorrow."

"Maybe you can get a fix on what's troubling Nadine," Royce said as she sat up and slipped into her short terrycloth robe. "Gwen says Nadine's been irritable lately."

"Nadine mentioned that Gwen has been edgy. She wonders if it's because she's spending so much time out of the office working on the campaign. But Nadine says she's thriving on it. She's caught up in all the campaign strategy."

"I feel guilty about all the work she's been doing. Trying to get campaign funds in a small community is difficult. And I know for a fact that she's worried about the Coalition's major funding. We can't match that. Slick ads. Radio spots. I know how conscientious Nadine is. She might be feeling beleaguered by the opposition."

"Royce, I know Nadine has a personal interest in the campaign. But I'm sure she knows that you're not putting any pressure on her. We all realize that she's doing the best she can."

"If I had known Granger would have the national backing of a group like the Coalition, I'm not sure I'd have even run. Much less asked Nadine to be my campaign manager."

"Nothing can stop you from trying. Nadine too."

"Then what's upsetting her?"

"Maybe it's because Gwen's ex is coming to town."

"Nadine's more secure than to worry about that," Royce defended. "At least Gwen thinks she should be."

"I sometimes think about your beautiful, erotic ex-lover and wonder why you chose me."

Royce eased Hertha to her. "I think you're the most remarkable, lovely woman I've ever known. You've got to know that." She began massaging Hertha's back as she spoke. "I've never loved anyone the way I love you." Royce felt limited by language. To fully express the emotion seemed impossible. She wondered if words existed. There was a sense of entirety about romance with Hertha. "I only think of you."

"Sometimes my inferiority complex surfaces."

"How can you feel inferior? You're an admired veterinarian. You're well-read, bright. You're beautiful, and you know I'd do anything in the world for your love."

"Perhaps it's the way I was brought up." Hertha's thoughts turned back to her past. Her mother had been raped by three white men. She was conceived of mixed blood. "I've always been looked down on by the Native American community. I wasn't even allowed to have an Indian name. My mother gave me one anyway."

"You've never told me that before."

"Royce, we've only known one another a few months. One can't speed-read relationships. There's so much more we'll both learn about one another."

"What's your name?"

"My mother called me Evening Flower. It was her vision when I was born."

"Evening Flower is lovely."

"But it can never be legitimatized by the Ute nation, any more than I can be. But at least my mother had the courage to give me a chosen name. At one time an Indian mother giving birth to a half-breed was put to death. Along with the child."

Royce winced. She turned her head and considered the treachery that harms the innocent parties. Tradition, she knew, passed down nobility with virtue in mind. But unfortunately, she conceded, evil is often integrated into customs and charged off as being the will of a supreme being. Royce had been raised by a man in law enforcement. She was taught to see people in terms of good and evil, rather than culture and race. She rested her head against Hertha's neck. "Putting a mother and child to death is an evil act. The Indian heritage has its weakness, just as the Anglo heritage."

Hertha's body tensed. "Not all past customs were perfect. But at least my people didn't commit systematic genocide to eradicate an entire race."

"That was wrong. All acts of cruelty are wrong."

"But you still don't understand its basis."

Royce sighed. "I wish our conversation wouldn't end back at the same place." She closed her eyes a moment. "Hertha, I'm sorry for whatever I said that offended you."

Hertha pulled away and stood. "I'm sorry that you aren't aware of what you said that might have offended me."

*****

Royce had promised Gran that she would stop off at Laird's Country General Store. Bonnie and Orson Laird had owned and operated the store for nearly four decades. In addition to having a two-pump filling station in front, the little general store served as a post office branch.

"Bonnie," Royce greeted Bonnie Laird, "how's it going?"

"I'm movin' slower than a three-legged mule goin' up Pikes Peak. And you know how busy we get weekends, so I'll be lucky to keep up."

"At least it's great weather today."

"Fine Sunday morning. And you're wearin' your Levis and fancy shirt, so I guess you got today off." Bonnie was the mother of Amy Laird, the Sheriff's Department dispatcher. Amy was a carbon copy of her mother. They shared circular faces with inset dark brown eyes. Their frames were both stout, and they both wore shirtdresses. Amy's short dove-gray hair had turned prematurely, just as Bonnie's had when she was in her early thirties.

Both women wore their hair in tight curls that surrounded jovial faces. Even their voices sounded so much alike that Orson always teased that when he phoned home he always had to check whether he was talking to his wife or his daughter. Amy had lived at home her entire thirty-five years and saw no reason to leave before she found a man to marry. Bonnie and Orson enjoyed her company, and getting firsthand news of happenings at the Sheriff's Department.

"I finally got a Sunday off. Gwen and Nadine are having a little brunch this morning. I wanted to get my errands done."

Bonnie sorted through some letters she had behind the counter. "Held these out for you. Two for your Gran, and one for you. From a travel consultant, I see."

Royce smiled, and nodded. "Yes. I'll tell you a secret, Bonnie. But not a word to Gran. Gran's always been wanting to go to England with her sister Blanch. Well, Blanch's family has got the money together for her ticket, and I'm surprising Gran with a round-trip ticket for her birthday. She'll be spending four weeks in England. Part of September and into October. She and Blanch can search out their heritage like they dreamed about doing."

"Well, isn't that the sweetest surprise! So she'll be coming back in time to help you campaign in October?"

"I'll need her at my side."

"It's gonna be a mighty busy autumn, with all this business about the filming in Crystal."

"It will bring business to the area." Royce was certain that Amy had given her parents a full rundown on the department's involvement with Godiva's visit. "Hard to believe that Tyler is going to be co-starring in a major film."

"Elizabeth McDermott is too full of herself, if you know what I mean. But Tyler always seemed to be a nice young fella. He didn't take after either of his parents." Bonnie's eyebrows raised.

"I know. Judge McDermott can be pretty overbearing in court. A couple of times when I've been a witness he's threatened to cite me for contempt." Royce chuckled, "But then he's threatened everyone with that."

"He's very above himself too," Bonnie said with a conspiratorial expression. "If I ever have to go to court, I hope that nice judge alternate, Meg Carter, is on the bench." Her lips pursed and she leaned over the counter. "I hear Judge McDermott was in a spot of trouble in Denver. When you were there, did you hear anything of it?" she pried.

"No. But I wasn't there when he was. Before I forget, how's Orson coming with Hertha's van?"

"Getting the booster for the electrical system in the morning," Bonnie reported proudly. "That old man of mine can fix nearly anything. Doc White's van will surely be ready for any emergency after he gets finished with it."

Royce nodded. She was happy that Hertha's van was being renovated with updated medical equipment. So much of her practice took her to nearby ranches to treat large ailing animals. With a trauma van, she could arrive quickly, perform her tests, evaluate, diagnose, and give treatment. "Hertha can't wait to see the finished product."

"She's lookin' out for a puppy for us. After we lost old Wolfe last year, Orson said no more dogs. Well, we got a friend of Amy's stayin' with us, Norma Donovan, and she's got a nine-year-old daughter, so we decided to try and find us another dog. How's that cute little Smoky doing?"

"Fine. She stayed with Hertha. I just wanted to get the mail and fill up the Blazer. Oh, and I can use another couple rolls of butterscotch."

Bonnie placed the rolls on the glass counter. "I figured you'd be needin' some. I'll need to get a pretty good shipment going come election time."

Royce put down the correct change and murmured, "No doubt in the world about that."

*****

Royce arrived at the appointed time and walked around to the back patio area. Gwen and Nadine had lived in the elegant old home since they first started living together. It had been the home Gwen was born and raised in. On the street directly behind the Times office, the refurbished Victorian home was part of the picture postcard charm that decorated the community. Many of the homes were over a century old, and most cantilevered out from the mountains. Others, in the heart of Timber City, were on level ground. Each home, with gabled roofs and hanging wooden lacework, reflected individuality and quaintness. Colors had been selected carefully to authentically blend with the city's old West flavor. Over the years, Gwen and Nadine had been part of the movement to restore the old houses to their turn-of-the-century finery, and their home was a leading example of the historical society's effort.

Surrounding the large, flagstone patio was a wooden privacy fence. Floral sprays streamed from numerous hanging planters. Halved barrels displayed scarlet, vermilion, and white geraniums and petunias. At one side of the patio was a rock grill with smoke billowing. Royce could smell the spiced shrimp and vegetable kabobs. A huge, clear bowl was filled with melon balls, grapes, and berries.

"Looks like you've been busy," Royce said, hugging Nadine.

Nadine flashed her warm smile. "Gwen helped with the croissants. She purchased them from your mom." Nadine's face had the soothing look of a negotiator, with a quiet gentleness, humor, and complete trustworthiness. Thick, charcoal gray hair surrounded a pale, sensitive face. Her slightly aquiline nose and crowded-toothed smile added to her character. Deep topaz eyes searched faces with total interest in what others were saying.

"Hell's bells," Gwen muttered, "I sweep the patio, start the charcoal, and play ball with the dogs, and this woman wants me to prepare the food too."

"Cinnamon and Smoky played ball with you," Hertha corrected with a laugh. She stood to kiss Royce. "Glad you made it on time." She wore a striped overblouse, lime-colored shorts, and sandals. Her hair was pulled back and tied at the nape of her neck.

"You look nice, hon," Royce complimented. "Umm, and smell nice."

"Now, no newlywed talk," Gwen teased. She draped her arm around Nadine's shoulder. "My house spouse hasn't been that accommodating lately."

Nadine pulled away. "I'll get the table set."

Gwen shrugged. "The rule of the day is to avoid affection."

When Nadine returned from the kitchen, she put the plates down with a clatter. "Gwen, if you aren't too busy, why don't you bring out the lemonade."

"I guess that scowl has my name on it," Gwen attempted humor.

Hertha jumped in, "Nadine, you've fixed everything. Let Gwen and me get things set up. Why don't you show Royce your garden?"

Gwen had no idea how to remedy her lover's agitation, and Royce could tell. "Great idea," Royce responded. "How about it?"

Nadine led the way back to her prized vegetable garden. "It's not very elaborate this year."

Royce surveyed the patch with rows of vegetables. Nadine's garden was always sculptured, always lush. "Looks great to me." Royce reached and touched Nadine's arm. "Nadine, is the campaign taking too much of your time away from the Times, your garden, and Gwen?"

"No." Nadine moved away from Royce. She bent down to pull a stray weed. "I'm fine. If anything the campaign is affording me an excuse to stay away from Gwen's crankiness."

Royce knelt on one knee. "Nadine, I asked you to be my campaign manager because it was easier for you to keep away from a conflict of interest with the newspaper than it would be for Gwen. You mostly write feature stories anyway, so that didn't need to change. And Gwen is city council president. It would have been impossible for her to run my campaign. But the last thing in the world I wanted was for your helping me to cause a rift between you two."

"It hasn't. And won't." Her fingers tilled the peppercorn-brown loam. She lifted a clump of soil and grated it with her clasp. "It isn't the time I've spent on the campaign. It's just that things are tense now. And I have no idea why."

"When I was small, I could go to Gwen and she would commiserate with me. But when I hurt, I always came to you. You would patch my wound and wash away the tears. Won't you let me be there for you?"

"It's just that sometimes I feel I exist as half of another person. And she's the person who matters."

"Everyone knows you're the one who gives Gwen her stability. And the Times its famous middle-of-the-road approach to news. We couldn't do without you, Nadine." Royce squinted into the sun. "Please talk to me."

"Sometimes it's as though I live in two different countries. One is loving and one isn't. Maybe it is me. Maybe I want to do a winning job for you. Royce, to be honest, I had no idea how much money the Coalition has. I'm afraid with our meager funds it's going to be a difficult time. I know there have been plenty of radio commercials."

"They signed a contract with the paper for full page ads. Royce, we don't even have the funds to spend on liners."

"They're getting their money from around the country. A national pool of hate money. We're getting ours locally. But don't forget that it's the locals who do the voting." Royce tried to put confidence in her voice. "And you're doing the very best job anyone could."

"I don't want to fail." Nadine's chin lifted. She glanced across the garden. "Up here in the mountains the growing season is so short."

4

The mountain clearing was a velvet sheet of wheat-colored meadow. Off to one side were silver ribbon rails that carried trains through the pass. Above, a scarf of the cloud system streamed. Royce had selected the spot for a training session with the deputies because of its accessibility and its beauty. It was between Timber City and Crystal, the small, exclusive resort that rested in the basin of Crystal Mountain.

Royce and Nick were scheduled to meet that afternoon with the security team at Crystal Lodge, where Godiva would be staying. They would go into Crystal when the session with a dozen deputies was over. Royce had included Dillon Granger and the other deputy from Crystal in the training session. She suspected she would regret Dillon's participation.

Dillon, in his mid-fifties, was a large, boisterous man. His ginger-gray crew cut was thinning. His black eyes snapped and were set widely apart, giving him the look of bovine stupidity. His lantern-bulb jaw was set into a mood-reflecting grimace. Royce objected not only to his arrogance but also to his lack of concern about how he appeared while on duty. His uniform was sloppy; his mouth, and more often than not his handlebar mustache, was filled with chewing tobacco; and he refused to wear standard Roper boots. His scuffed Western boots curled up at the toes and were stomping toward Royce. He eyed her like a baseball pitcher sizing up a batter.

Nick broke the tension. "Everyone remember to wear those flak vests?"

Royce chuckled. "Come on, fellas. No 'sissy' accusations."

The other deputies laughed, but Dillon gave a bullfrog cough. "Let's get on with this shit."

"Deputy," Royce said with restraint, "we're here to work on procedures as enforcers. We might need to take protective measures while dealing with Godiva's visit. We can all do with brushing up our protocol so we do our county proud."

"All this procedures crap oughtta strike terror in the hearts of villains," he muttered sarcastically.

"This training is not a waste of time. It's vital that we know how to properly detain, arrest, and incarcerate."

"The sheriff means how to punch heads and pitch ass in the slammer," Dillon chided.

"I mean precisely what I said. We're going to be dealing with fans, press, and goofs. We've got to know how to safeguard a VIP and do it without a lawsuit for infractions."

"I know how the hell to take care criminals," he disputed.

"Let's not waste time arguing. It's important that we be the best force we can. We owe that to the people of Timber County."

Royce pointed at two of the rookie deputies, "Sammy and Tim. Let's play out a scene. Tim, you've got a hostage. Let's call her Godiva. You've got a gun to her head. Sammy, you've got your gun trained on Tim. No backup; none on the way. So play it out."

Tim pretended to have his gun at his hostage's head. He barked, "Drop your gun or I'll shoot her."

"I'll drop my gun, if you drop yours. And let her loose."

Royce stepped in. "Never relinquish your gun, Sammy. The only reason for dropping your gun is if Tim had his gun to your head and your gun was aimed at space. As long as there is anything to bargain, don't drop that gun."

"But if I drop it, and he drops his, I can overpower him," he said confidently.

"He won't drop his weapon. What will happen is that we'll have two murders. In any hostage situation, you try for the least amount of damage. Standoff all day long." Royce turned. "Now, another scenario. This time it's Tim and Sammy, but there is backup. Each of you pick a place and surround them."

After the deputies had made a semicircle around the pair, Royce examined each line of fire. She motioned to Jim. "Always be conscious of surroundings. Jim, if you fire and the bullet ricochets, you may injure Paul. Move up the line about three feet and you'll have a clear shot."

Royce walked behind Dillon. "Deputy, you're going to throw lead in Aaron's face."

Dillon's voice rose, "I'm a good enough goddamn shot that I would have a direct hit on the dirtball." His eyes glared, and his jowls were purple. "I never miss a target."

"I don't want anyone's life in jeopardy to prove that you're an expert shot. Those are needless chances we should never take with the life of anyone. It doesn't have a thing to do with how accurate you are with your weapon." Royce thought about her own gun. Often the responsibility of it felt like a .357-caliber Smith and Wesson crucifix. "Now let's trade positions. Paul, Aaron, you switch off with Sammy and Tim. Everybody move."

After an hour or so of various role-playing scenarios, Royce stretched and announced, "I think we've had enough of a session for today."

Walking across the dry streambed on her way to the Blazer, Royce noted that the soil was cracked open with miniature chasms. She stopped and examined the criss-crossed, pencil-thin designs in the ravine. When she turned, she saw Nick following her. "Royce, you want me to drive to Crystal?" he asked.

She threw him the keys. "Not a bad idea. It will give me a chance to get Dillon Granger out of my mind."

"He loves to make you twist in the wind." Nick turned the Blazer's ignition key. With a laugh, he added, "You were on him like a lioness today though."

"My daddy taught me to duck when the fuse is lit. And come out well-armed after the explosion."

"The way you and Dillon mix it up, you might be doing plenty of ducking when the election gets nearer." Nick directed the vehicle up the winding mountain highway.

"I hate arguing. It's as though we're waiting to see who will step on the first land mine." Royce paused. "Nick, I'm reassigning you to Crystal while Godiva and her entourage are here."

"Dillon won't like it."

"And with that creep still watching Hertha, I don't like having you out of Timber City. But Dillon will get over it, and so will I. We'll just let Dillon bluster. Words provide life with brawls, and actions put down the brawls." Royce glanced out at Crystal coming into view. "Come on, Adonis, you wanted to get to know Godiva up close and personal. Here's your chance."

Nick pulled the department Blazer into a parking space and turned to look at Royce.

"Don't tell me she intimidates you?" Royce laughed at his silence. "Well?"

"Your Gran says I'm like a ferret down a rabbit hole after women," Nick disclosed with an embarrassed side-glance.

"Well, good luck with Godiva," Royce murmured. "We're invited to attend a big press party for her arrival tonight. I guess you'll be on her like ugly on an ape," Royce teased.

"I'll have to knock Dillon Granger out of the way. He needs the publicity."

"I know. This campaigning business is part of the ole boy's club that I'll never get on to." Royce gave a sigh of resignation. "We both know that Dillon doesn't measure up. But we also both know that I don't have the support of the other deputies."

"Sounds like you want to throw in the towel."

"No. Ever read Machiavelli's The Prince}"

"If it's recommended reading, I won't touch it," Nick joked. "Why?"

"It's a book that has been called a primer for dictators. Its premise is whatever it takes to become and stay powerful is justified."

"And?"

"Machiavelli claims that the Prince should be feared and loved. But if there is to be only one option, the Prince should elect to be feared. Because it's the subject's decision to give love, but the Prince decides if he is to be feared."

Nick's eyebrows bobbed. "So what does the princess decide, and why?"

"Ask her tonight when you get her autograph."

*****

Royce hoped that the small mountain community ahead stayed as peaceful as it looked. Crystal was being developed for the leisure play of the wealthy and famous. It had once been a mining camp filled with canvas tents and saloons. The rich ore brought out of the mountains had made it a boom town. After the silver market declined, the town had nearly became extinct. Then the crystal white, craggy snow peaks brought skiers. And their money. Trails of powdery rooster tails weaved through the timberline spruce. And the city grew within the pocket of slopes. First, there was a ski complex that included a lodge. Then there were bistros, ski shops, boutiques, and they were flanked by swank restaurants. A hamlet of alpine chalets rested within the basin. Glamour began luring more and more celebrities. But until now, Royce considered, they had almost gone unnoticed.

Crystal Lodge was designed to accommodate the glamour and glitz of its clientele. Plush, the mammoth two-story lodge had an alpine flavor. Godiva's entourage took the Mother Lode suites. Palatial, the party room held four dozen reporters, special guests, and representatives from Elliot Studios. After a brief news conference, Godiva had retired to her quarters to freshen up. Guests remained behind in the vanilla, teal, and country rose accented party room. They were offered champagne and elegant hors d'oeuvre platters.

"Sorry, I'm on duty," Royce declined the champagne.

Gwen took a chilled glass and held it up. "Since the press conference is over, I'm off duty." She wore a tailored Western suit and matching boots.

"You're looking dapper, on or off duty," Royce complimented. "Nadine watching the office?"

"Nadine declined the invitation. She hates these doings as much as I." Gwen motioned to Marjorie Lovett. "Jorie, this is the friend I told you about. Sheriff Royce Madison."

"I've seen you on television," Royce acknowledged, extending her hand.

"I'm not sure why I'm here covering this fiasco," said Jorie. "My camera team couldn't get out of here fast enough. They headed for the Crystal Bistro. Godiva only wanted cameras at the actual press conference and wouldn't allow them in attendance at the party." Off-camera, Jorie's Texas accent crept back into her speech.

"Maybe she wanted to put on some clothes," Gwen chuckled. "That was a pretty scanty outfit she had on. And she's on the arm of the son of the Family Morals Coalition's chief advocate. Hell's bells, Elizabeth must not be looking at Godiva's lushly blooming cleavage."

"If Godiva plans on getting in good with my cloyingly sweet cousin Elizabeth, she'd better give her knees a party and invite her skirt on down," Jorie said with a chuckle. "But beneath that mirthless, sewer-brain exterior, I've got to say Godiva's one hell of a businesswoman. That appeals to Elizabeth. Commerce is considered the high road with both women." In a whisper Jorie added, "Elizabeth is so straight you could rule lines by her. Unlike her cousins. Gwen rescued me from straight life."

"So I hear," Royce remarked.

"We dissolved the relationship amicably," Jorie stressed. "I insisted we stay pals. I couldn't handle it if Gwen turned her acid wit on me."

Gwen bantered, "Some people are intrigued by my poison pen."

"Gwen, here's your big chance to use that venom." Jorie pointed to the intoxicated, loud woman staggering toward them.

"Sandra Holt, gossip columnist," she whispered. "She's loaded, so she won't even understand your barbs."

Gwen shrugged. "I like it better when they think I'm speaking pig Latin."

"That she would understand," Jorie jabbed.

After introductions, Jorie asked, "Sandra, who is the recipient of your latest razzies?"

"I dispense them equally, dear," came the woman's tight, nasal, swinging-jaw accent that had been developed at an Eastern girl's college. Her eyes were glazed with liquor, yet naked malice reflected from the grape-green color. Her long, frizzy hair was dyed jet black and framed her thin, well-painted face. Smoke oozed from her bright kewpie-red mouth. "No one with a secret is safe, Marjorie, dear."

"Point your cigarette in another direction, please," Jorie requested, fanning the air. "I guess when you dredge up the garbage, you've got to chain smoke to get rid of the stink."

With a husky voice, Sandra countered, "We all have our little bad habits, sweetheart." She took another gulp from her Scotch and soda. "I'm going over by the door. The star should be having yet another grand entrance. And who wants to miss the little sex machine's performance."

"Haven't you slammed her enough in your rag?" Jorie asked.

"I said her mother came from a pet shop," Sandra said with a shrill laugh. "She drew her own conclusions. And, Marjorie, you draw your conclusions."

"Her mother died when she was a kid," Jorie censured. "The woman deserves some compassion."

"What the hell does she want, a retraction? Nobody reads them. I'm not about to apologize to Godiva. Screw her," Sandra issued a plastic laugh and then settled back into her sardonic grin.

"You're right about that. Retractions are useless. You can't un-ring a bell. Down deep you know you love a good tangle. But with you, it can never be fair. Only malicious."

Sandra turned, stumbling against Judge Jakob McDermott and his wife, Elizabeth. She made an awkward attempt at brushing the spilled drink from the judge's lapel. "Foolish woman," he blustered. He examined his prized stein for damage. "This was given me by the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, I'll have you know."

Sandra stumbled back. "And you're never without it."

The judge glared and then addressed his wife. "Elizabeth, I wish you wouldn't have given the likes of her an interview," he scolded. "No telling how she'll mangle the truth."

Sandra whirled around. "Listen you old shyster, your wife just told me all about her little Tyler's idyllic childhood. She'll get a syrupy story for her time. So nail your nuts somewhere else, buster."

"You can't talk to me like that," he challenged.

"Yank his leash, Liz." Sandra said to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth quickly interceded. "Jake, just leave it."

"That's right, Liz, you tell him to back away." Sandra turned. Over her shoulder she spat, "Some judge. Timber County, Colorado. Jesus!"

Jorie's eyes opened wide. "Well, Elizabeth, that was some exit your little pal made."

"I think it's wise to develop good relations with the press." Elizabeth defended. "After all, her scandal sheet has ruined careers."

"That vulgar woman is scum. And her newspaper is trash. I'd like to see them both go up in flames. I don't want you talking to her." Jake McDermott was still fuming. The redness of his face clashed with his gray hair, goatee, and carefully trimmed mustache. His stocky build was tense and his blue eyes narrowed. His hands squeezed the brim of his white, stiffbrim straw hat. Then, as his temper cooled, his overtly courteous personality returned. "I'm sorry for the outburst. So, how are my wife's two cousins doing?"

"The newspaper keeps on ticking," Gwen reported. "I guess I'm taking some heat from your Family Morals Coalition for backing Sheriff Madison."

Elizabeth's hazel eyes steamed. Her fingers ran nervously through her stylish, ash-gray streaked, brown hair. She dressed conservatively in a copen blue dress, with matching hat, handbag, shoes, and gloves. A print scarf wound around her neck. Her attractive face was fastidiously made up, and her body trim and well-exercised. "Gwen, I don't think this is the place for a discussion on politics," she chastised. "Particularly in view of the fact that your paper should at least give equal space to your young friend's opponent. And we all know that you two are friends," she accused.

"Yes. We are," Gwen acknowledged.

"And we all know what that means," Jake said with treacherous amusement. "Don't we?"

Gwen blasted, "And for the record, you two and your cockamamie coalition don't need to accept my ways. Just don't expect me to accept your hate."

Jorie interjected, "Look, here comes the happy couple." With obvious irony, she added, "The smoochy-face stars deserve their salaam." She gave a deep mock bow that delighted Godiva. Godiva held up her hand, which was strung to Tyler McDermott's.

"We wanted to wait until that soak, Sandra Holt, moved her act along," Godiva said with her whispery voice. "The little insect is waiting to trash me again." In her mid-thirties, Godiva was tanned and toned. Her curvy, chorus-line body was aerobically trained. She wore a running suit and jogging shoes. A matching sweatband circled her bleached blond sprays of hair. Makeup had been recently scrubbed from her olive complexion. Large, luminous golden eyes shone from a face with heavy features. Her smile was playful, and her mouth formed words with irreverence. "Sandra's tongue needs to be pruned."

"You'd chop out her heart too," Tyler added.

"If she had one," she giggled. "I'd like to push her off of one of these enormous Colorado cliffs. But she'd only damage the environment." Godiva glanced back at her. "I'll get her yet." Her face did not reflect a sex siren's nonchalant ease. When talking about the gossip columnist, she showed the tension of a clock wound too tightly.

Tyler's laugh was as pleasant as his voice. "Sandra has defamed Godiva in print. And claims it's good press."

Tyler was a perfect protege for Godiva. He was twenty-five, a decade her junior. He had star-quality handsomeness with a bright smile; blue, bedroom eyes that drooped at the corners; and light brown hair that was pulled back and tied, European style, into a short tail at the base of his neck. With a medium build and height, Tyler had taken the Hollywood community by storm. He was voted most sexy new star by many major women's magazines. And admittedly, his bond with superstar Godiva had not hurt his career.

"Some party," Godiva complained. "Think we'd better check everyone's pulse to make sure they haven't all croaked. Ciao."

"Ciao?" Royce repeated with a bemused grin. "Does she have any idea she's in the mountains of Colorado?"

Gwen sighed, "Makes you wonder who these people are."

By the time Godiva was across the room and out of sight, Royce turned and saw that Jorie had resumed a conversation with Sandra. The rest of the room was also becoming aware of the two women. Jorie lashed, "You aren't a journalist, you're a damned gossip monger. Someone ought to shut your vicious little mouth."

"You think you can do it?" Sandra screamed. "I warn you, I've got a juicy story that's going to light up the tabloids. And you do know what I'm talking about, sweetheart. You know. I have something on everyone. So don't push me, Marjorie."

"Push you? I'd like to strangle you."

"We all have our little secrets, and when I get proof ..."

"Getting proof never stopped you from cranking out trash," Jorie yelled. "You realize it's tantamount to blackmail."

"In the movies, they say that blackmail is such an ugly word," Sandra's shrill laugh was evil and threatening. "Now, I'm going to bed. You've given me a headache. Just remember what I said."

Jorie's eyes held the kind of anger that produces tearing.

Her hands became fists. "You'll die before you ruin any more lives."

Gwen glanced back at Royce. "I've never seen Jorie this upset."

Royce shrugged. "If this is how the other half lives, I sure hope I never win the lottery."

"You never play the lottery," Gwen teased, "so your chances are pretty remote."

Royce inspected the room; she mingled for about half an hour and then became ensconced in her own little corner. She studied the behavior of the guests and wondered about each of their lives. Then she heard the voice of one of Godiva's bodyguards. An urgency in his clamoring words shot through the room. "Godiva's missing!"

*****

Word came quickly when Godiva had been located. Her bodyguard announced that she'd gone out to jog around the lodge's bike path.

Royce stood at attention. Although they were in one of the main halls of the lodge, it was silent. Royce leaned toward Godiva. "Well?"

"I gave my bodyguards the slip for a few minutes. That's no big deal." Her face was sheened with sweat. "I had a little run. No reason to become alarmed."

"It is when I put the Timber County Sheriff's Department on alert because you're missing. There have been threats on your life. We take that seriously, even if you don't." Royce's voice was stern, but she resisted showing her anger. "I ought to bring charges."

"I needed some space. I needed ten minutes to myself."

"You should have let someone know where you were going. You could have been mobbed."

"No one even recognized me. I just wanted to run." Before Royce could issue additional warnings, she heard a scream, followed by a commotion at the other end of the hall.

The press corps had their block of rooms at that end, Royce recalled. She rushed with the others to the room where they'd heard the scream. Royce pressed past the onlookers.

Jorie was bent over the body of Sandra Holt and holding a bloody fireplace poker in her right hand. Dropping it as she stood, she stepped away from the gossip columnist's lifeless body.

"Everyone move back," Royce directed. She carefully made her way to Jorie. "What happened?"

"I saw the door was ajar and the lights were all on. I couldn't imagine," she broke. "I came in, saw Sandra, and thought she'd passed out from drinking. I leaned down and picked up the poker so I wouldn't trip over it. Then I saw the blood on it. And the pool of blood on the floor."

"Go back to the hall and wait. We'll need to question you," Royce said.

"I didn't kill her," Jorie declared. "She was dead when I got here." She appealed to Gwen. "Tell her, Gwen. I couldn't kill anyone." Her face was ashen and immobile as if frozen.

"We'll talk about it later," Royce said.

"Royce," Gwen disputed, "she wouldn't kill anyone."

Royce knelt. "Nick, get the coroner and forensics. Tell them to expedite. And we'll need to seal the room. Pull in a couple more deputies and begin taking statements. I want you to get statements from Miss Lovett, Godiva, and Tyler. Make sure no one touches the door."

"Right." He turned and began radioing for assistance. Royce surveyed the room. Sandra's right temple had been brutally bludgeoned. The blood had splattered, but the only sign of smearing had been made by the victim herself. She had smeared two letters on the parquet floor. The grisly message began with a capital L, and the victim had started to write what looked like an O but was only partially completed when the circular motion stopped. She had attempted to identify her killer. Royce gulped. LO. Lovett.

The room was emptied and sealed. Deputies began herding the guests into the main room in order to take their statements.

Royce scanned the room. She moved to the desk where Sandra's datebook was open. The columnist had written, 'A new twist to checkbook journalism!' There was also an empty envelope. Royce looked back at the body.

When the coroner and forensic team arrived, Royce felt relief. Bags were placed over the dead woman's hand, to protect crucial genetic samplings of DNA, in case Sandra had been able to scratch her assailant. The team had taken photos; sprayed for prints; and gathered relevant evidence. There had been no forced entry. There had been no struggle.

Royce turned, and Godiva was storming past the deputies. She was tailed by a group of reporters, including Jorie. Godiva questioned, "Is she really dead?"

"Yes."

Godiva pulled the 'do not disturb' sign from the doorknob. With a vengeance, she pitched it on top of the body. "Ciao, bitch!" she said with a fiery growl.

Royce grabbed her arm. "Hold it right there. I ought to arrest you for that." She turned and saw the other party members and media gathered outside the room. "You may have tainted some important evidence."

"Evidence!" Godiva hooted. "This is the first time Sandra Holt has ever been connected with evidence."

"Step outside," Royce ordered. "We'll need to question you."

"Submit the questions, and I'll have my New York attorneys answer them immediately."

"You'll answer our questions now, or the Timber County deputies will handcuff you and haul you to jail for obstruction and evidence tampering. Do I have your attention?"

"I don't need to answer your questions without an attorney."

"You've got to cooperate and give a statement. If your statement is incriminating, you'll need to be Mirandized. Then you have a right to an attorney present during questioning."

Godiva's scowl became a grin. "Well, sheriff, you're a real steamroller. And you're adorable when you're angry."

"Nick, get her out of here. And don't let anyone else through the line until we've finished."

Godiva's large eyes flirted with Nick. "You don't want to see me arrested, do you, handsome?" she cooed.

"Let's go," he instructed.

Godiva added, "I just wanted to make sure she was dead."

Royce's back stiffened. "Did you kill her?"

Godiva laughed. "No, but I think whoever did ought to be decorated. I'm talking a full chest of medals." She passed by Jorie, "Congratulations. Nice work."

"I didn't kill her," Jorie denied.

"I didn't either," Godiva chanted. "So, if neither one of us of fed her, could it have been a suicide?"

5

It had been a long seven days since the slaying of Sandra Holt. Royce had compressed as much work as she could into each day. She hadn't even taken time for lunch most days, opting for take-outs and snacks. This day she vowed to make time to visit her mother and grab a bit of lunch.

The noon rush at Molly's Pantry was over. Molly was clearing away plates when Royce entered and took a stool at the small counter. "Royce, honey, how's the morning been?" Molly asked as she wiped the pine countertop.

"Fine, Mom." Royce watched as her mother poured a glass of herbal iced tea. Royce took a sip and felt the coolness douse her fiery throat. "Hits the spot."

"Hertha does come up with some great ideas," Molly remarked. "I have to admit, I had my doubts about how much folks around here would go for herbal tea. I do believe I'm selling almost as much of it now as my regular tea. Anything new on the investigation?"

"Sandra Holt had a multitude of detractors. Everyone despised her. A short list of suspects would take the week to name. And they all had the opportunity. After a week of investigation, we don't have any single suspect. We've got them by the bushel load."

"But Jorie Lovett is your number one?" Molly pried.

"I can't say that. That's what Granger believes, and he's pressing hard to have a statement made. But I did some checking on the stranger who's been hanging around watching Hertha. I ran his car tags, and motor vehicles reported his name is Rick Brown. Nothing on him, but I did find out he's employed as a handyman up at Crystal Lodge. He was there at the time of the murder and has no alibi. I've got a gut feeling that he could be implicated in some way. But the list also includes everyone at the party."

"Any fingerprints in the room?" Molly inquired.

"We didn't bother running Brown's prints since he'd already admitted being in the room. He'd worked on the outlets in Sandra Holt's room that morning. Everyone left fresh prints. Jorie. Godiva and Tyler. An assortment of other reporters, all of whom she'd had altercations with at one time or another. And even Judge McDermott left a set of prints."

"The judge? Why was he in the Holt woman's room? Surely he's not involved."

"He had picked Elizabeth up after she'd given an interview to Sandra."

"You think it might have been that Rick Brown fella?"

"We're looking into it. I can't get a read on his history. He's been in trouble before; I can tell because he knows his rights. And I don't think he knows them from pursuing a law degree. But he hasn't given me cause to drag him in and put him through the hopper." Royce issued a heavy sigh. "I was looking through the statements and my eyes snagged on his name. Although his implication in the Holt death seems out of kilter, maybe I want it to be him. I hate to admit it, but maybe I want any excuse to get him off the streets and away from Hertha. But I'm committed never to work with made-to-measure evidence. But he sure tempts me."

"He's still hanging around Hertha?"

"He went into the clinic yesterday and asked her for a date. When she refused, he charged that she ought to be happy a white man would ask her out. You can see the stink coming off him. He scares me, but Hertha seems to be taking it all in stride."

"Did she tell him to leave?"

"Laramie ran in, asking if she was okay. Brown made a hasty retreat. Laramie's been watching the clinic for me."

Royce's mind wandered. Chronology is the first element of deduction. They had a woman with her head crushed in. Her head wound had bled profusely, and her last act had been to scratch a letter and a half using her own blood for ink. Forensic evidence showed little. The collected trace evidence disclosed little. There was a wide spate of conjecture regarding suspects. The smoking gun. Jorie was there, over the dead woman, with the murder weapon in her hand. "I really need to crack this case," Royce sighed.

"Don't be worrying, Roycie, you'll get on to it."

Royce smiled at her mother's confidence. Hearing the clink of cutlery as Molly cleared the counter reminded her. "I forgot to eat breakfast."

"Well, you came to the right place." Molly reached across the counter and patted Royce's hand. "What are you hungry for?"

"Any specials left?" Royce asked. The Pantry special was Molly's handed-down recipe of English pasties. The art of pastie-making was part of Molly's tradition. They were made from a small circle of light, flaky pastry dough. Inside, meat, potatoes, and often vegetables, were mixed with thick gravy. The dough was folded in half, crimped on the edges, and then baked. The delicacy had once been a hand-held stew for miners to take into the mines. It had become Molly's trademark.

"Saved some pasties for you and Hertha. She dropped in about half an hour ago. Said she'd get back over here when she saw you, if she wasn't busy." Molly peered across the street at the filled parking spaces reserved for Hertha's patients. "Looks like she's a mite too busy." Molly placed a platter of steaming pasties in front of Royce. "You eat these. They'll give you energy to solve the crime."

Royce carefully poured a trickle of tomato juice over the pasties. Her father had always liked his pasties that way too. Her fork pressed down and crushed the edge of the small meat pie. Flakes sprayed across the plate. As hungry as she was, and as delicious as the meal was, she had to force herself to eat. When she finished, she took a final sip of the tea.

"How about some of my strawberry pie?"

"Maybe later, Mom. I'd better leg it on back to the courthouse."

"You haven't been over to see Gwen for a couple days. Any reason?"

Royce stood and her face tensed. "Only the obvious. She cares very much for Jorie, and Jorie is our prime suspect. I'm being pressed to make an arrest. Gwen can't be my disinterested sounding board."

"What else is going on?"

"Too much. With this threat on Godiva, I've got to send deputies to protect her. And some voice inside is telling me that this Brown character is dangerous. But there hasn't been any actual threat against Hertha, so I can't have the animal clinic placed under surveillance. Even if I had enough deputies."

"Between Smoky and Laramie, seems like she's got at least some protection. And we're all keeping an eye out."

"Let's hope that's enough."

*****

Royce nudged Laramie's arm when they came to his boarding house. "Laramie, take a quick right and you're home," she teased.

He stumbled up one wooden step and then turned. "You gonna win the election, kid?" His body slumped as he sat.

Royce looked away. Laramie had known her since she was a child. He would know if her confidence was forged. "I'm not sure." Her arms crossed. "To be honest, I'm going against a very well-tuned political machine. The Family Morals Coalition has unlimited funding. That buys lots of flyers, air time, and newspaper space. The Granger campaign has money to hire people to deliver flyers, to call voters. I'm depending on volunteer time. At best, time is at a premium up here. I'm fortunate to have Nadine running the campaign. But the opposition can out-spend us a hundred to one."

"Maybe you'll get you some contributors along the way."

"Maybe. But the election is closing in and our war chest is coasting on empty."

Laramie frowned. He dug in his top pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. There was a moment's silence when he lit up. "Things were mighty simple when your pa ran for sheriff. They put up a couple of posters and that was that. Most of the time nobody ever even ran against him. Knew better."

"I'm a woman and ..." Royce stumbled on the words, "And some don't believe a woman can run the department. Some people object to me."

"You're the best danged sheriff in Colorado."

Royce smiled. "You're just sweet-talking me because I see that you get home every night."

"Naw. More 'n that. You treat me like a human being. Lotsa folks don't treat me like a fella ought to be treated. Maybe I drink too much. Maybe I'm not like they are. But you always treat me with respect. Like your daddy did."

"I learned from his example."

Laramie reached for the banister and with Royce's assistance, made it to his feet. "Yep." His eyes watered. "And Grady Madison wouldn't want his little girl to lose this danged election."

*****

It was after eleven that night when Royce returned to the Sheriff's Department office. Nick had just come on duty and was perusing his notes. "Sheriff Madison, you're too late to inspect the troops and too early for coffee and danish."

"Delivered Laramie back to his boarding house." Royce stretched. "It's been a long, long day, but I wanted to look over the reports once more."

"A little quality time with Laramie," Nick chided.

Royce wouldn't mention that Laramie was the best source of information in Timber City. "I wanted to thank him for watching Hertha. Rick Brown paid her a visit, and Laramie interceded."

"That Brown is a creep." Nick wrinkled his face. "I think he's big time trouble. Wish we could get him out of town."

"So do I, but remember my credo. No strong arming. No barbwire and searchlights in Timber County."

"But I wouldn't mind using a little excessive force on him if he were acting like that around my . . . my woman friend." Nick looked away. "You know what I mean."

"I know what you mean."

"I bet anything he's connected with the threat on Godiva. Funny he shows up in town when she's visiting. Works at the same place. Could be he actually is a career stalker. Came here after Godiva. Then he sees Hertha and there's an attraction. He decides to make Hertha a reserve victim. Sort of the backup in case he can't get near Godiva. Yeah, maybe he is a crazed fan."

"Whatever the case, he's dangerous. A stalker thinks he has a stake in his victim. It can go on for years." Royce felt a shiver as she recited what she knew about the stalker profile. "They're twisted. I'm not sure how Brown will respond to the lack of interest on Hertha's part. That's what the stalker is after. Power and control. Because of his own low self-esteem, he tries to take another person's power. And our stalking laws are toothless at best," she noted.

"Too bad he doesn't threaten her so we can shadow him. Laramie and Smoky, with all due respects to Smoky, might not be able to overtake him." Nick put his Stetson securely on his head and tipped it forward. "I could patrol nights if I didn't need to be up in Crystal."

"How's that going?"

"Dillon Granger is a horse's ass."

"You probably say that about me too." Royce grinned. "One of us will be your boss. But just remember, Adonis, I sent you up there and gave you the opportunity to see Godiva up close and personal."

"She's hot. A conquest."

"Let me guess the male perspective. She's fluorescent in a field of gray?"

"Yeah. I guess that's about it. Your gran said that Godiva doesn't believe in hiding her light under a barrel."

"By the way, what was the joke you and the other deputies were laughing at when I came in yesterday?"

"You don't want to hear."

"No. I want to hear. You don't want to tell me." Royce opened the autopsy file. She knew Nick well enough to know he would tell the joke. She glanced up, "Well? Are you leaving for Crystal or not?"

He sat opposite her desk. "We were talking about Godiva. One of the deputies said he wouldn't mind giving her a mustache ride. Another deputy said that you couldn't give Godiva a mustache ride, but maybe a lipstick ride." When his comment met with silence, he added, "You know they say Godiva swings both ways. She's bi-coastal and bi everything else."

"I couldn't care less about a bisexual rock star."

"She has been asking questions about you."

Royce looked up from the file. "What kind of questions?"

"She asked me if you had a lover."

"And what did you tell her?"

"I told her your badge was your life," he chuckled.

"Close enough," said Royce, looking back down at the autopsy report. "And right now that badge requires that I put everything I've got into solving a murder." She shuffled through the papers until she got to the 8x10 photos. "Anything else on your mind?"

"I'm not pretending to be your informant. But Royce, there are also beginning to be some rumblings."

"About?"

"We all know that you're tight with Gwen Ives. And that Marjorie Lovett knew her down in Texas. Well, Marjorie really isn't being treated like a prime suspect. Favoritism?"

"She's been interviewed over and over. We don't have a case against her. Not a case you could take into a courtroom. That's not showing any concessions. It's police work within the letter and the intent of the law. Nothing more; nothing less. The D.A. agrees."

"So what was she fighting with the victim about?"

"She said it was about a confidential story."

"And why was she hovering over the body?"

"She still maintains that she happened into the room. And we can't prove that wasn't the case."

"Royce, she had the murder weapon in her hand."

"That's circumstantial, Nick. If she'd had blood splattered on her, I might be more convinced. But with the victim's long, curly hair, there wasn't even much splattering of blood. Although there was some on the poker's handle, plus blood was sprayed on the victim's collar." It had looked like a house painter's rag. The blow had been delivered with force and with fury. "For the record, I agree that Jorie's version is not the most credible in the world. But we can't prove it didn't happen the way she said."

"She threatened Sandra."

"Godiva threatened her too, and even the McDermotts had a brief altercation with her. With all the suspects, our investigation might be more of a marathon than a sprint. But we're not going to lock an innocent person in jail to appease the public. Yancy pulled that kind of crap, but I won't. That was part of Timber County's last regime."

"And maybe the next regime."

"Perhaps," Royce conceded. "I know that Dillon Granger wants to see Marjorie Lovett swing. But even you think maybe this stalker is involved. I don't know who killed Sandra Holt or why. But I'm going to find out."

"You don't mind me challenging you, do you?"

"No, Nick. Actually, it's like having someone to role play with. You ask all the questions the press asks. I practice my answers on you. I sharpen my question and answer skills on you."

"You're the first woman who has ever sharpened her skills on me." With a dejected look, he quizzed, "You really don't mind it when I have a go at you?"

"Nick, my only compensation if I lose this election would be knowing that Dillon Granger would have six years of having to put up with you."

Nick tipped his hat. "Well, that's more like it. All is not lost. I'm still getting to you." He got to the door and turned. "Royce, I'd sort of hate to have to break in a new sheriff."

"Are you saying that you're going to vote for me?"

"I'm still undecided," he said with a chuckle.

"Have a good shift in Crystal, Deputy." Royce watched him swagger down the hall. Then she took another look at the file. The photos were as gruesome as the actual murder scene had been, but they were magnified. Royce hadn't seen the crimson slivers of shattered bone. She hadn't stared into the opaque reflection of the dead woman's placid eyes. Nor had she noticed the threading trickle of saliva running from Sandra Holt's painted mouth. The photographs made it more real and more ugly.

At the police academy, many had grumbled about how boring the pathologist's reports were. Royce always thought of them as being painful. She sat for ten more minutes in stony silence and then locked the file away. She also locked away another eighteen-hour day.

*****

The great torch of a moon cast its light through Hertha's bedroom window. Moonlight diffused into luxuriously bright violet shadows. Royce had just arrived at the cottage and kicked off her boots. She leaned down and kissed Hertha's neck. "I love you so," she whispered. She softly massaged Hertha's back.

"Umm, feels good, Sheriff." She turned over and embraced Royce. Smoky stuck her muzzle against Royce's shoulder.

"I think Smoky wants some attention," Hertha said with a laugh. Her body shifted as they both gave Smoky a tickle. Then Hertha's eyes invited. "Now, I would like some attention."

"Yes," Royce pledged, "I'll be very attentive." Her lips pressed against Hertha's and they exchanged warmth. "Gran always says that love is the prayer within us and kindness is the prayer being said. You're my prayer come true. Each day I savor what we have more and more."

"I know."

"One day soon, I hope we can settle in together. Share our living together." Royce caressed Hertha's hair. It gently fell into the folds of the sheet that surrounded Hertha. The sheet was a waterfall of fabric around the lovely woman. Overcome with love, Royce murmured, "Please be careful. I worry about you, Hertha."

"With everyone around, I'm not concerned."

"I feel so helpless. I want to protect you."

"He's probably harmless."

"Maybe. But please don't take any chances." Royce leaned to kiss Hertha again.

They heard a thump as Smoky made a leap off the bed and bounded against the windowpane. Smoky's snarls converted to a series of loud, vicious barks. Royce rotated around and looked out the window. She saw a figure scurrying away. She realized the man who had been peeking in the window had a good lead, but she bolted, put on her running shoes, and grabbed her holstered gun. "Hertha, lock the door after me."

As Royce rushed through the back of Hertha's yard, she buckled her gun belt. She then pulled the gun from its holster. The muzzle was cool. The man ahead of her was running furiously. She could hear the crackling of twigs. He had gone down another street by the time she reached her stride. She tried desperately to catch him. She made up some time by vaulting a picket fence and cutting across between two houses. It would not be enough to catch him before his form melted into the brush on the fringe of town.

There was too much cover. She glanced up at the jagged shadows through the conifers. They laced the forest and would only place her in the center of darkness, should she continue.

She stood back, shivering. She remembered a chase when she was on the police department in Denver. When she overtook the suspect, the suspect had turned and pointed a gun at her. Her own gun was aimed directly at his head. Her stance was planted with determination. She told him to lower his gun. The suspect had slowly allowed his revolver to tumble from his trembling hand. Then he grunted that he would be executed. He should have shot her. She asked why he hadn't. He said that she didn't look like she was ready to die. He said that life is not much more than hanging on the side of a cliff. Death is the fall.

Whenever she pursued a suspect, she did it with that statement in mind. Life is only one fall away from death, she thought with admonition. Each chase was a dangerous chance. She reholstered her Smith and Wesson.

Royce knew it was Rick Brown. And she knew he was dangerous. Now she was also aware that he was playing a game. He was leading her on a cat-and-mouse chase. Royce's breath steadied, and her heart ceased hammering and began to resume its normal beat. Her long, thin legs felt thick as tree stumps as they retraced her steps. On the walk back to the cottage, she considered the possibility that the snooper might have been someone from the Family Morals Coalition. Someone poking around for proof of their allegations about her lesbianism. But she was sure she had recognized the man's frame. Even in the dark, she was absolutely certain that it was Rick Brown.

6

"You've been avoiding me," Gwen accused as she walked toward Royce's Blazer.

"It's been hectic. Why don't you and Nadine ride up to the cabin with me? No use taking two vehicles. Hertha's already there. She wanted to get everything ready for Gran's party, so she left early. Mom and Bonnie took Gran away for the afternoon."

"What a wonderful birthday surprise for Dora," Nadine said, joining the two women. All three wore dress Western boots and tailored pants and shirts. Nadine held a gift that had bows blossoming from its top. "A travel alarm," she divulged. "Molly said your gran would need one for her trip."

"She'll like that," Royce acknowledged and then repeated her offer. "I just suggested that we all drive up in the Blazer. Come on, Gwen, I haven't been neglecting you. You know I'm on a murder case. And you heard about what happened with the prowler."

Gwen's scowl eased. "I know you've got your hands full. I guess I'm used to searching for ulterior motives. Like maybe you feel badly about Jorie being accused."

"I do feel badly," Royce objected. They got into the Blazer and Royce switched the ignition. "Nadine, tell her that I'm just doing my job."

"I have."

"Nadine is on the side of anyone who opposes me these days," Gwen muttered.

"Gwen, I don't oppose you. I'm paid to collect evidence and sort out crime. That's all I'm doing. Jorie isn't the type to be involved in this kind of crime. But I can't strike her from the suspect list. Or anyone else for that matter. Not until the case is closed, tried, and the guilty party sentenced."

Gwen pouted. "Royce, we've been friends forever. I'm not asking you to swear to her innocence. Only to cut her some slack. Make some sort of statement that says she's only one suspect in a cast of thousands."

"We've made that statement." Royce felt trapped. Her friendship with Gwen was deep and devoted. But she didn't like being manipulated. Usually Gwen had an automatic sensor when it came to Royce's mood. But she seemed to want to trespass, regardless, when it came to protecting Jorie.

Nadine tried to change the subject. "Little Smoky was your alarm system the other night. Hertha told us Smoky wanted to tear the prowler limb from limb."

"She's got her paws full guarding, that's for sure," Royce agreed.

"Jorie's been placed on suspension," Gwen disclosed. "The network thinks it's too controversial. So she's up there alone, hiding out from the media. What reason would she have to kill that woman?"

"Off the record, there's evidence that whoever killed Sandra Holt was being blackmailed." Royce's words were cautiously placed. "We heard the word blackmail being used when the two women fought. What if Sandra found out Jorie's lesbian?"

"What if Godiva killed her for calling her deceased mother a tramp?" Gwen's voice rose, "And what if I killed her?"

"Gwen, it is pertinent that Jorie had a motive to kill her."

"I'm begging you not to say anything about that. Royce, I told you in confidence about Jorie being lesbian. She's worked hard to make it. She's sacrificed. Even now, she told her lover not to come to Crystal. They know it could ruin both of their careers. Things shouldn't be that way, but they are. We want our sisters to excel. Then we criticize them for not admitting to being a part of the group."

"Gwen," Royce defended, "Jorie and Sandra had a fight, and everyone heard the threat. By the way," Royce questioned, "exactly what is 'checkbook journalism'?"

"It's when a journalist pays for a story. Pays a source."

"Reversing that, it would be someone paying not to print a story. Blackmail. I think that's the key to it. And no, I'm not going to mention Jorie's secret."

Gwen sighed. "It's just that it might be misconstrued as a motive. And it isn't. Speaking of one step closer to being out of the closet, Hertha told us the crack the deputy made about lipstick rides. As if you'd be interested in Godiva."

"I wouldn't," Royce confirmed. "She's not my type."

Nadine chuckled, "I heard that she's got a racy poster coming out. She's playing with a vibrator."

"In a poster?" Gwen clamored. "Hell's bells! We thought she wanted a night out with the boys. She wants a night out with the toys." Still sputtering, Gwen added, "She'll probably start a vibrator theme park. I still think she might be involved. She gave her bodyguards the brush for some reason."

"She's a suspect," Royce agreed. "She hated Sandra."

"Godiva objectifies women. She makes us all sex objects when she parades around like she does. And her loyal fans make her a role model." Gwen crossed her arms. "I just know Jorie couldn't have killed anyone. Even to keep her secret."

Nadine tried again to change the subject. "I'll bet this is one birthday Dora never forgets. A trip to England has been her dream for years and years," Nadine recalled. Nadine seemed lost in her statement for many moments and then she mused, "A great lesson of life. Putting the important things of life off until tomorrow. We shouldn't really do that."

Royce was silent and then said, "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mention the Peeping Tom incident to Gran. As you said, it's her dream vacation, and I don't want her worrying about Timber City."

Parking beside the string of other cars and trucks, Royce opened her door and got out. She stretched and then saw Hertha motioning for her to enter. "Hurry up, you three," Hertha instructed. The women entered and saw how festively Hertha had decorated the cabin. Most of the guests were out on the enclosed back porch.

A long table was filled with gifts. On the other side of the room was another table holding a multitude of foods; the centerpiece was huge sheet cake. Molly had decorated it with bunches of swirling wildflowers. A columbine took up the entire center. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DORA was scrolled in a semicircle around the top of the columbine.

"This is terrific," Royce exclaimed as she greeted Hertha. She wanted to greet her lover with a kiss, but even among these dear friends, that seemed impossible. Royce smiled and her eyes targeted Hertha. Hertha wore her hair up, fastened by a silver hair clip that was studded with native turquoise. She had selected a bright maize blouse and matching azure blue, mango red, and maize full skirt. Royce whispered, "And you look terrific."

"You too, Sheriff," Hertha murmured. "There's more iced tea in the kitchen, could you bring it?" she asked.

When Royce returned, she saw Gran, Molly, and Bonnie entering. The party had been the surprise they had hoped it would be. But everyone agreed that the biggest surprise was when Gran opened the envelope from Royce. Without looking at the tickets, she remarked that she couldn't wait to see her sister again.

Gwen teased, "Dora, aren't you going to eyeball those tickets?" Gran pulled them out and looked at them. Her face went from shock to complete joy. "My gracious me!" she squealed. "Heathrow Airport is my destination. But how can I ever make it? I'll be rushed off my feet," her words rolled quickly.

"Gran," Royce explained, "it's all set. It's been taken care of. Remember when Nadine took your photo and I had you sign those papers?"

"For a new senior citizen discount card?" she quizzed. Then her eyebrows peaked. "There is no such outfit."

"No," Royce confessed. "Passport photos and paperwork. All you need to do is pack, call your sister, Blanch, and tell her what you'll be wearing, so she can spot you when you meet at the airport in New York."

"I'll be wearin' a smile," Dora hooted. "A doggone big smile."

"Now, Dora, are you sure you can get ready in time?" Gwen quizzed with a chuckle.

"I'll be movin' faster than a rat up a rope." Gran's eyes teared. "Fancy that. Me in England."

Hertha patted Gran's hand, "Come on, let's dig into that birthday cake."

Gran squeezed Hertha's fingers. "I don't believe there's a thing in the world that equals my daughter-in-law's hand-beaten cake."

*****

Royce had switched duty shifts in order to attend her grandmother's party, so the later afternoon and evening shift was ahead of her. It was nearly six o'clock when Royce crossed Main Street. She automatically surveyed the areas where Rick Brown might be. When she didn't see him, she thought he must not be spying on Hertha. Royce had checked with Crystal Lodge, and he had been off-duty the night Royce chased the Peeping Tom into the forest. It had been Rick Brown. And he had taken tonight off too.

Royce decided to check behind the buildings. She turned and moved through the walkway between the Times and the barbershop. "Hey, stop that!" Royce commanded.

The little girl dropped the rock she'd held in her hand. She had already discharged one fist-sized rock at an alley cat. She pressed dark curls back from her forehead. Deep blue eyes squinted from a freckled, rosy face. The plump young girl was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, and on her feet were untied sneakers. "It's just an old alley cat," she grumbled.

"The cat's defenseless, and that's all the more reason for us to look after it." Royce put her hands on her hips. "What's your name and age?"

"I'm Carrie Donovan. Nine."

"Where are your parents?"

"My mom's at the bank, working."

"Donovan," Royce mulled. "Aren't you staying with the Lairds?"

"Yeah. I can't sit in there with those old biddies all day," she huffed. "I'm fed up with that crap. It's all bullshit. This hick town sucks."

"OK, you win. Your language has shocked me. Now why are you bothering this poor animal?"

"I hate you and your town. You're all hicks."

"You're not exactly flavor of the month with me either." Royce motioned. "Come on, I'm taking you back over to Bonnie's."

"You aren't going to arrest me?"

Royce contemplated her response. It was an idea. "Right. I'm taking you into custody. Let's go on over to the courthouse."

"Where Amy works?"

"Yes." They walked silently to the courthouse. When Royce reached the door, she opened it. "Haven't you met any kids your age to play with?"

"School just started. And they hate me. They call me blubber 'cause I'm fat."

Royce felt a stab inside. She could recalled how the kids had teased her about being thin. Stringbean. And she was taller than most of her classmates when they were growing up. She took her share of jokes. But she had positive reinforcement from her parents and grandparents.

"Carrie, it might not make sense now, but one day you'll understand that your differences make you unique. And it's uniqueness that can make you wonderful." Royce looked down at the girl's face. She isn't buying any of it, Royce thought.

"That's a load of shit," the girl snickered. "Gonna take me to Amy?"

"No. We're going to the judge first. For sentencing. It's a crime in these parts to throw stones at defenseless animals. Cruelty to animals is not only unkind, it's illegal."

Carrie followed the long strides of the sheriff. When they entered the office, she muttered, "If you let me go, I won't do it anymore."

"Maybe you can bargain with the judge," Royce answered. She asked the receptionist if Judge Meg Carter was in session. She was glad when told that Meg was in her chambers. Meg had become a 'transplanted' citizen of Timber City only a few years before. A leading attorney, she had become the judge alternate in Timber County a year ago. Meg was a no-nonsense feminist. Portly, her stylish, businesslike manner impressed people in Timber City. Meg was known to be fair, above all. She could be confident that she would become a full-time judge after the election in November. There were no other serious contenders.

She carefully inspected Royce's young prisoner. "Judge Carter, I apprehended this young woman, age nine, throwing rocks at a cat," Royce reported. "Her name is Carrie Donovan."

Meg peered over the rims of her glasses. Her silver hair had been stylishly swept upward. Her dress and demeanor were classic. Her large frame rose, and she pointed to the two empty chairs. "Be seated, Sheriff, and Ms. Donovan. Why were you committing such a cruel act?"

Carrie stammered, "I was bored. Nobody wants me around. The kids all hate me."

"Who is supposed to be caring for you?"

"My mom works at the bank. We're staying with the Lairds until we get our own apartment."

"Sheriff Madison," Meg quizzed, "what are your recommendations?"

"Maybe a work-release program. She could work for the town's vet a couple afternoons a week. Learn the value of patching animals up instead of harming them. Her paycheck could then be contributed to the animal rescue fund. That way she could make reparation."

"What do you say, Carrie?" Meg inquired.

Carrie frowned. "I've never worked before."

"No time like now to begin," Meg started her sentencing. "I sentence you to work at the animal clinic two afternoons a week for the next three months. And if I ever hear of you being cruel to animals again, I'm going to throw the book at you. Is that clear young lady? Case adjourned."

Carrie nodded and stood up. Royce eased out of her chair and placed her hand on Carrie's shoulder. "I'll take you over and introduce you to our vet, Hertha White, in a few minutes. Right now why don't you go downstairs and talk with Amy until I get there. I want to confer with Judge Carter." She watched as the youth made her plodding exit. Then Royce sat back down.

"You look troubled, Royce," Meg guessed. "Election?"

"That too," Royce confessed.

"Politics is a factory, and its business is producing lies."

Royce grinned. "Not far off the mark."

"And?"

"You might have heard about the stranger bothering Hertha. He spends all his free time watching the clinic. One evening we believe he was peeping in Hertha's window. It's beginning to look as if he's actually stalking her."

"I've seen him lingering. Give me one iota of a case, and I'll stitch him up," Meg offered.

"I wish it were that easy. Meg, I'm really worried. He knows his way around the law. What do you suggest?"

"A restraining order is pretty flimsy, but the one thing it does is keep the case documented. An injunction does very little as far as being a deterrent against mental thugs. But you need to have the evidence that he's got a history of bothering the victim. I'll issue a restraining order; you serve it. If he goes near her, we've got him. The probability is that he will just continue the vigil and stay out of the boundary. That's what they usually do."

"Until?"

"Until they strike." Meg recognized the concern on Royce's face. "That's why they're dangerous. Timing is their first and best weapon."

Royce stood. "Yeah. Speaking of timing, I'd better get back to the department. Thanks for your help with Carrie, Meg. I owe you a couple."

Royce returned to the Sheriff's Department office. She sat on the corner of Amy Laird's desk. "Well, Amy," Royce began, "our little offender got sentenced."

Amy looked across the room at where Carrie was seated. She whispered, "The girl is an incorrigible little delinquent. Mom will be glad to have a couple afternoons off."

"Latchkey kids. Well," Royce sighed, "now that she's here in Timber City, maybe we can do her some good. If we all pull together, maybe we can turn her around. I'll check with Mom, and maybe she'll take her an afternoon a week to help her at the bakery. And I'm sure Gwen and Nadine will be glad to help out."

"That would be great. I know Mom would appreciate the break. The kid hasn't had much supervision. Norma, her mother, is a good woman. But her scuzball husband hasn't sent a dime of support. Norma works hard over at the bank, but you know they don't pay tellers much. She does her best." Amy's monotone added, "I don't know what the answer is."

"Here in Timber City we've always sort of believed children belong to all of us. They're our future." Royce paused and then looked into Amy's moon face. "Amy, when I was growing up, my mother always worked, but I made my rounds. Between Gwen and Nadine, your folks, and the others, I always had a welcome place. Now I wonder if we aren't living up here with a false sense of security. Carrie shouldn't be roaming around on her own. We've all got to make a concerted effort to see that she's safe."

Amy agreed, "Maybe that's just what she needs. Funny, she's had a lack of supervision, and then there are people like Tyler McDermott. He's been smothered by Elizabeth McDermott." Amy leaned near, her secret hushed. "Norma tells me that Mrs. McDermott has even been financing Tyler's career. She comes in and withdraws money from her personal account every month."

"Guess that's Godiva's job now," Royce remarked.

"On the contrary," Amy murmured. "The day Godiva and Tyler arrived, Mrs. McDermott made a whopping big withdrawal. Tyler must be picking up the tabs. Like I say, Mrs. McDermott is an overprotective mother. Always has been. Doted on her boy. I don't suppose he's ever had a spanking in his life. My dad always says parents have two hands. One to give the child a slap on their backside, the other to give a hug."

"Orson never needed to give you many spankings, I'll bet."

"Never one." Amy's familiar laugh chimed. "But then, I was a sweet kid." She handed Royce a stack of messages. "I still am."

Royce grinned. "Well, let's see if we can't sweeten up that rotten kid Carrie. I'll walk her over to meet Hertha and get a hug from Smoky. Children like that. Then I'll take her and place her in the protective custody of your mother."

"Are you sure you can manage Timber County's littlest prisoner that long?" Amy joked. "Or shall I call for backup?"

"I'll use handcuffs and leg irons if she gets too unruly."

*****

Royce had barely slept the night before taking her grandmother to the airport for her flight to London. Her nights and days had been filled with concern for Hertha, the murder case, and the upcoming election.

"When I hear the squeal of those jet engines," Gran chatted, "I just go weak in the knees." She looked around at Denver's airport concourse and then back into her granddaughter's face. "Roycie, I just can't believe I'm going to England. It's all too grand. I'm so excited, I'm shaking like a thoroughbred Chihuahua."

Royce gave her grandmother's shoulder a squeeze of confidence. "Everything will be fine, Gran."

"You need your brain tested for spending all that money on sending me."

"It's my pleasure. And I don't think I've ever seen you looking so lovely. All dressed up in your new outfit." Dora Madison was wearing a new fawn-colored pantsuit Molly had bought for her. Molly insisted it would travel well.

"Well, this trip means the world to me, honey."

"You just have a wonderful time, and don't do any worrying about things in Timber. Everything's under control."

"You'll remember to replenish the birdseed?"

"Yes. And I talked with Hertha about going out to spend a few nights at the cabin. She said that when she didn't have any overnight patients, we should do that. It will be good to get out in the wilderness. And we'll just take Smoky, Patches, and Elsa with us. That way Elsa will be on her own turf for part of the time."

"I'm glad they all get along together. Patches is such a timid little calico."

"Good thing," Royce said with a laugh, "because Elsa is a bit of a bully."

Gran chuckled. "She would have a hissy fit if I didn't always give her her way." The loudspeaker announced the final call for boarding.

"Looks like you're on your way." Royce lifted Gran's carry-on travel bag. "Everything will be fine. And Elsa will have an on-site vet."

"That Hertha is a person of sterling worth," Gran acknowledged. As she reached the gate, she turned and her arms surrounded Royce. Tears shone in her eyes. "This is a fine kettle of fish. Goin' off on the trip of a lifetime, and I'm getting all sentimental."

"You'll wow 'em in London," Royce said. She kissed Gran's cheek. "Send our love to Blanch. And to Great Britain."

"Yes. And Royce, I want you to do one thing for me. You've got to promise to take a little time off. You and Hertha have a picnic in the mountains. Promise?"

"Yes. I promise."

After Dora Madison boarded, Royce stayed on, watching for the plane to debark. When it lifted, she scanned the skies. The sun was a great Cyclops eye brightly shinning.

Loneliness accompanied Royce back to her Blazer. She had dissuaded the others from making the Denver trip, so she could stop by the police department and renew old friendships. And she wanted to talk with the staff forensic psychologist. She knew that the stalker profile included paranoia, hostility, an impulsiveness, and a severe personality disorder. That was called hate in Timber City. And the psychos possessing this hatred were called nuts. But it was all so much more complicated, Royce mused. She wanted to reassure herself that she knew as much as possible about a man like Rick Brown.

She would stop by and talk with the captain. He would tell her that there was a badge in Denver for her, if she lost the election. He would tell her that she had a great future in law enforcement, and it was being wasted in a small mountain community. Royce would thank him. She hoped his offer wouldn't become her alternate future plan.

7

A flotilla of cumulus clouds sailed overhead. Royce and Hertha had made good on the promise to Gran and had taken Sunday afternoon off to picnic. Royce selected a favorite spot to place their blanket. The spectacular vista circled the women with granite citadels appearing to be a giant amphitheater. The mood of the mountains and of the women was serene. Even Smoky seemed content to rest quietly. Her head would lift when she heard the throaty lilt of birds; and then as quickly again rest on her front paws.

For many moments, Royce's gaze was transfixed to the pristine landscape. Rows of pines sheltered the picnic. Shaggy, goldenrod-colored lichen were attached to rocks and the thigh-deep roots of huge trees. Elk-scarred aspen groves quaked. Gamboling forest creatures could be heard rustling. Royce rested her head in Hertha's warm lap. She looked into the bright face of the woman she loved. Hertha smiled, and her toffee blush excited Royce. Hertha's smile seemed cryptic at times. In the remote solitude of the backcountry, it became a magnet for Royce's lips.

"I love you, Hertha," Royce whispered. She understood the sexual vanity of new love. But she also understood what set this love apart. The connection was so strong that Royce felt forever bound to Hertha.

"And I love you." Hertha's eyes twinkled. "A complete afternoon together is heaven. Particularly up here. This is my ancestral home."

"It's been my home since I can remember," Royce commented. "But not for the generations that Native Americans can claim."

"We're rooted to earth. The elders have taught that being aware of our ties to earth is part of the order of life. Blending with one's surroundings gives the spirits resilience to endure." Hertha's moisture-glistened upper lip lifted. She issued a full-throated laugh. "This is my heaven. And you are my ticket to heaven."

Royce laughed. "Making love is our own special admission price. I do know what you mean."

Smoky made a leap at a chipmunk. "My guard dog was being too quiet, but she's made a recovery."

Royce stood and held down her hand. "Come on, lover. I've got to show you some Colorado heaven."

"Where are we going?"

"A very special place. I've never taken anyone to see it." Hand in hand the women walked through a grass-covered meadow, with Smoky following closely behind them. Royce led the way through the lush old growth of the forest. She pointed down to a sheaf of bright flame flowers that jutted from the vapor-pearled tundra. Hertha squeezed Royce's hand gently.

When they had crossed a feeder stream, they approached a long-abandoned hiking trail. Through a cloud of gnats, they fanned the crisp air. They continued their rugged climb. Royce held branches from whipping back at Hertha. In one thicket, they paused long enough to share a kiss.

By the time they reached the rooftop of a mountain, they looked down through a pass. At the base was a glorious light-filled silver river. They could hear the flushing of glimmering water beneath them. Across the two ledges was a small swinging footbridge.

Royce reached and lifted Smoky into her arms. Then the women began crossing the fifty-foot-high wooden bridge. When they reached the center, they sat. Their legs dangled between the gray ropes. They viewed the surrounding spires, the wedging mountains, and the circling of eagles.

"Plenty amazing," Royce murmured. The swing bridge swayed slightly. "One of the largest swings on earth's playground. And today it's all ours."

"One of the most lovely sights I've ever seen. Breathtaking." Hertha's arm reached around Royce's shoulder and she softly kissed the young sheriff's face. "Thank you for sharing this with me."

"Hertha, I may not always be as enlightened as you'd like me to be. But it's important that you know how very much in love with you I am." She paused, searching for the words that read her heart. "This secret bridge. Well, let's make it our symbol for bridging our cultures. For bridging us."

"I'd like that." Hertha's eyes closed for several moments and her head rested on Royce's shoulder. "Yes. I'd like that."

*****

Royce entered the Times office with the scowl of a gargoyle. "I just served Rick Brown with a restraining order," she muttered.

Nadine glanced up from her stack of copy. "And?"

"He was expecting it. Cocky. He put it in his hip pocket. I warned him that mountain folks keep weapons handy. Anyone intruding onto a person's property might end up with a couple rounds of shotgun pellets. Didn't phase him. Then I told him to stop sheep-dogging Hertha. When I used her name, his eyes filmed over like a dirty window. Then he told me I should leave her alone and allow her to choose between us. I wish there was something I could do."

"I wish there was something you could do for Jorie," Gwen said with a sarcastic barb.

Nadine pitched the papers she was proofreading and stood. "I'm tired of hearing about Jorie," Nadine blasted. "Damn it!"

"I'm just trying to get Royce's attention," Gwen remarked.

"We've got a newspaper to run, and you're busy trying to think of ways to clear Jorie Lovett while I'm stuck with taking care of the house and business. I've had it." Nadine moved past Royce, giving the desk chair a shove.

"And working the campaign," Royce said glumly.

"Royce," Nadine insisted, "the campaign isn't the problem. Thinking about that is probably the one thing keeping me sane. Having all of the work of the paper dumped on me when it's really Gwen's job is the problem."

"Sorry," Gwen apologized. "I've just been preoccupied."

"Leave the murder investigation to Royce," Nadine yelled with anger. She went back into the pressroom.

Gwen peered over her eyeglasses. "I'd leave it to our esteemed county Sheriff's Department if I thought you were doing anything."

"I'm working on it," said Royce weakly. "Gwen, it takes time. You know that."

"And you're taking time!"

"I understand your defending her. ..."

"You understand nothing! Royce, I was obsessed with her the way you were with Valeria. You remember how that feels."

"Yes, I do, and I know Jorie's an important person in your life."

"She was my magical mystery tour. Love's baptismal. Hell's bells, she has a sweet magnolia kind of loveliness that took my heart away."

"If you talk like that around Nadine, no wonder she's upset."

"Our love life has the fizzle of a damp firecracker anyway," Gwen grumbled. "Don't change the subject. A murder has been committed and you're not solving it."

"You sound like the national press. They're convinced we're mountain hicks and can't solve the pine beetle problem, much less a homicide." Royce gave an impatient sigh. "But that's not the case. We're doing things properly."

"Answer this. If Jorie had given Sandra the damaging blow, why would she have waited for Sandra to write her name in blood? Why would she still be standing over her with the murder weapon when we all showed up at the door?"

"Suppose she smashed Sandra's skull and then went to look for incriminating blackmail evidence. There was an empty envelope on the nightstand. Maybe she took the contents, turned to see that Sandra had not bled to death yet, so she picked up the poker to give the final, fatal blow. Heard someone coming up the hall, so she screamed."

"Not logical. Why would she take the contents and leave the envelope?"

"I don't know, but it's a possible scenario."

"Your soft-spoken persona is part of your charm, Royce, but sometimes it's infuriating." Gwen picked up a black-and-white photo of Godiva. "At least she's giving us all the information we can use."

"A film being shot in our own backyard is news."

"Look at that hair of hers." Gwen said, finally laughing. "Did she have a bad hair day, or am I out of touch when comes to fashion statements?" She held the photo up for Royce to see.

Royce laughed. "Like Dolly Parton says, it takes lots of money to look so cheap."

"Well, Godiva works hard to be sleazy. She demeans women by pandering to the lowest common denominator. She manipulates the media. She has no taste."

"She's a marketing genius for pop culture."

"Pop culture," Gwen chuckled. "She's in her element up there in Crystal. All the in people. They grow marijuana in their planter boxes. Hell's bells. New-age green grocers."

"Gwen, I want this thing to work out for us. Maybe if some of the pressure were off, I could get it sorted. There's the election. Hertha's stalker. The Family Morals Coalition. Maybe I really can't handle the job."

Gwen reached over and patted Royce's hand. "Royce, I love you and I love Jorie. ..." She looked away. "Any more postcards from your Gran?"

"Yes." Royce stood and walked toward the door. "She sent one from Tintagel."

"What did she have to say?"

'"Wish you were here.' I wish I were there too."

*****

The copper-red edge of the sun dropped below the horizon as evening began. Royce's day off had been spent attempting to track information about Rick Brown's elusive past. After that, dressed in her civvies, she decided to pay an unofficial call on Jorie. She had not wanted to prejudice the case by getting too close to the network reporter. But now, Royce contemplated, clues were becoming as scant as solutions. The trail had become even weaker with a lack of solid forensic evidence. Only Sandra's prints were found on the date book and empty envelope. Only Jorie's prints were on the poker.

Royce checked Jorie's room and was told by another reporter that he had seen Jorie down at the Crystal Bistro. Cocktail hour, he joked. And he indicated that Jorie was living up to the hard-drinking reputation correspondents have.

Jorie was sitting alone at the bar, nursing a brandy. She gazed into Royce's eyes. "Here to arrest me?"

"No."

"Of course not. You'd be in full regalia and have the cameras flashing for a collar like this."

"I'm off duty. May I sit down?"

"Any pal of Gwen's is a friend of mine." Jorie took a quick sip of her drink. She had been there for some time, Royce gauged by the slur that was beginning in her speech. "You're here unofficially. Me too. Guess you've heard the network has put me on ice until this is resolved. If it ever is."

"I'm not about to bring a charge until I've got enough evidence to convict."

Royce ordered a beer and her eyes zeroed in on Jorie. She watched the woman's face as it turned toward her.

Jorie smiled, but the smile didn't reach her glum eyes. "This whole thing is like a bad dream. The legitimate media is being indulgent. I'm one of them. But the gutter press is in a feeding frenzy." Her head snapped back and she laughed. "They have an appetite for murder. And when it's someone everyone wanted to kill at one time or another, it's even more bittersweet."

"Jorie, I realize it's a difficult situation."

Her anger seemed feeble. "At least my own aren't avoiding me like a typhoid carrier. My exile is by choice."

"Gwen's worried about you."

"Yes." Jorie cast her mind backward and pulled up memories. "Did she ever tell you how we met?"

"Yes. At a family gathering."

"There was music playing. She came over and whispered in my ear that she liked the music, but that it was inappropriate to dance. If she could dance, she said, it would be with me. I was stunned, but captivated by her candor. By her." Jorie took a gulp and her pale eyes shut a moment. "She was my first."

"Jorie, we're all concerned about you," said Royce.

Tears appeared in the corners of Jorie's eyes. "Remarkable. One moment I'm complaining because I've got to travel to a small town in Colorado. I want to go to some war-torn city in the Middle East. Some place I can see action. The next thing I know, I'm a murder suspect swathed in angst."

"I'm sorry you're hurting. I don't think you're guilty. But I can't prove you're innocent until I find the person who murdered Sandra. Maybe you can help. I have a question. I've given my word to Gwen that I won't disclose your secret. But it's important I know if Sandra Holt might have found out about your sexual orientation. Could she have known?"

"Not likely. She thought I romped around with everyone she wanted to. No, I don't see how it's possible. I pretended to be a skirts-up kinda gal. I hid out. Maybe 'out' is the wrong word. I'd have no future if I were really out. Just being middle-aged and female jeopardizes my next contract."

"Sandra indicated she had something on you. A story you would rather not have out."

"It isn't relevant. Royce, I wasn't fighting with Sandra about my secret. Secret!" Jorie's eyes flashed. "We are the massive anonymous. And anonymity is our survival project. Our skill at disguise ensures our success. We veil our hearts."

"Yes." Royce's career was also balancing between her veil and the courage to lose. "Yes," she repeated to herself.

8

A curtain of discontent dropped over the Timber County Sheriff's office. Royce felt the mood shift when Dillon Granger entered the building. It was difficult enough to conduct an investigation without dissension. Nothing seemed to be happening on the case; and leads were drying up, along with memories.

Royce added in the equation of Graner's counterproductive harping, and the deputies' gathering seemed futile.

"We are going to qualify with both handguns and rifles annually. Anyone who hasn't qualified in the past year is required to do so immediately," Royce announced, gazing around the Sheriff's Department office at the deputies and their scowls.

"We got us a murder, and you're screwin' around with rules and regulations," Dillon Granger harassed.

The early morning meeting had deteriorated. Royce was becoming angry. The other deputies were concerned about their status if Granger won the election. They were silent. Things throughout the meeting had been tense as a tightrope.

Royce glared at Granger. "Maybe we'll never need those rules and regulations. But if we do, we'll be prepared. We've been over that, and it seems to be an area of contention with Deputy Granger. But it is the way things are going to be. And I want those vests worn. You're all complaining that they're hot. Well, a slab in the county morgue might cool you off. These precautions may never save a life. But then again, they might."

Granger argued, "I think we're lookin' like bozos up here. Murder takes place, a woman is standin' over the body with the damned weapon in her hand, and we're not arresting her. That's my point." His hostile eyes riveted Royce.

"And my point is that we have collected evidence, and when we have enough evidence to convict, we'll arrest. This is not a trial-by-popular-opinion investigation. I won't be pressed to arrest an innocent person."

'That's fine by me," Granger jeered. "'Cause the election's comin' up, and you haven't got anyone jailed. It don't look good for you, Sheriff. You might do more good tradin' off recipes with the local women. Leave solvin' murders up to men."

"As long as we're talking about the murder, I suggest we get busy with our investigation."

Royce instructed, "Sammy, give forensics a call and find out if they have any additional information. Tim, try to contact Sandra Holt's attorney again. There may be safety deposit boxes. I want every lead followed. No matter how obscure the lead might seem. The rest of you have your assignments, so take off, and be careful."

Royce watched the men file out. She looked over at Nick. "They don't want to know proper procedures. Or maybe they don't want me to tell them. I've got to be concerned for their safety and for the safety of those we've sworn to protect. Dillon's constant scoffing is out of line."

"He's trying to prove you're nut-cutting."

"This department is not going to be known as a group of loose cannons or barbarians." She wheeled around in her chair. "We've got to take pride in our job. I want each deputy to be worthy of their entrusted power. And I want you all safe." Royce felt as if her argument, and her election, were going to the wall. She gave a deep, anguished sigh. "Now, what do you have from Crystal?"

"Same stories. I went back over everyone's statements with them. No changes. No rearranges. Nothing."

"I was hoping someone would recall something else. Or change a story significantly. Also, see if we can get all the photos and video copies taken by reporters that night. Before the conferences, and after the party broke up. Anything shot that night." Royce eyed the reports. "Maybe Granger is right. The trail is getting older and colder. Let's go back over it, suspect by suspect."

"Marjorie Lovett."

"Murder weapon in her hand. Over the body. Motive. We don't know. But there had been a fight. What else?"

"An 'L' was printed by the victim. And the beginning of an 'O' which spells Lovett."

"Some evidence. But not firm. How about Godiva and her vanishing act?"

"I talked with her head bodyguard and he says that it isn't unusual for her to bolt and run when she's bored. But she did fight with the victim. And she has some unaccountable time. And her bodyguard could be lying to save her. Saving her is his profession."

"Also," Royce recalled, "when she came into the room, she asked if Sandra was dead. That was before she had been made aware of the reason for the commotion."

"The way she felt about the gossip columnist, maybe it was just wishful thinking."

"Motive and opportunity," Royce mulled. "But not enough evidence one way or the other. And we can hardly get an arrest warrant based on that."

"And you're so finicky about probable cause, we'd really be shit out of luck. Unless I arrested her on indecent exposure," Nick offered with a chuckle. "I hear her latest series of posters would be admissible evidence."

Royce rolled her eyes. "Okay, let's keep going. There's Rick Brown. He's shady. He's a stalker profile. He was there. Maybe, beyond stalking quarry, he goes for crimes of opportunity. Maybe Sandra Holt was just a victim of his opportunity. And it wouldn't have been a problem for him to get a copy of the master key from one of the maintenance people."

"No getting around it. He's loony enough," Nick agreed. "Hell, all the people at the party left at one time or another. Our leading suspects who quarreled with Godiva are women. But I always thought women weren't usually vicious enough to do a hands-on brutal murder."

"According to the textbooks, usually when women kill it's in self-defense. Or protection of their young." Royce took another sip of coffee. "We got back Sandra Holt's bank statement. Some large entries, periodically, that I haven't accounted for with her publication, or personal appearances on television."

"If it was blackmail, maybe she's had a scam going for some time. Dig up dirt and get paid for burying it again."

Royce confirmed, "Looks possible. We'll continue working a search into the victimology. Might not net us anything, but we haven't got anything to lose. What about Godiva's main bodyguard and Tyler?"

"The bodyguard was searching for Godiva. Tyler was making the rounds in the party area. He did go to the men's room within the time frame. He claims he hadn't been in Sandra's room since earlier that afternoon after they arrived. The little mini cocktail party. Sandra was famous for them. One of the reports said she even sometimes hid a tape recorder and then left the room."

"Why doesn't that surprise me," Royce muttered dryly. "So any sign of her tape recorder or bugging devices yet?"

"Negative."

"Even if we found a recorder, she probably wouldn't have had it on because she had retired with a headache."

Nick roared, "Then she got a real headache."

Royce shook her head. "Cops are known for their gallows humor, but you go over the top sometimes, Nick."

"Add it to the list of my charms." He sat back.

"Well, leaving your list, let's return to our murder investigation. If we could find this elusive tape recorder, it might offer a motive for someone killing her. Maybe someone wanted to erase a tape badly enough to kill her. But if there were an incriminating tape, it wasn't among her belongings. So we can safely say it's buried or burned by now."

"Another dead end."

"And the bodyguard and Tyler didn't change their stories? Not even the slightest variation in their statements?"

"Like reading their lines. Nothing."

"I wonder if there was anything that Sandra could have had on Godiva?"

"Godiva's shown all, done all, and proudly," Nick snickered.

"The more scandal the better. But I'm wondering if there's anything at all in her past. You might want to do some probing next time you talk with her. And I want to interrogate her too."

"She'll enjoy hearing that," Nick teased. "She has still been asking questions about you."

"She'll have her chance to ask me personally."

Nick poured another cup of coffee and sat on the edge of her desk. "Royce, I think you'll find the killer."

Royce wished Nick's intonation was more talismanic and less patronizing. But she would settle for any vote of support at this time. "Thanks, Nick."

*****

Royce was becoming restless, even agitated. She was impatient for some break in the case. There had to be some clue that would advance the investigation.

One thing was certain: Marjorie Lovett remained the case's prime suspect. Royce wondered whether she was overlooking something about Jorie. She knew that there were times when Jorie seemed dispassionate when talking about the murder, but that could be attributed to her journalistic training in stoicism.

Royce decided to do her probing socially. Not only would a get-together help her get to know more about Jorie, it also promised the correspondent time away from Crystal. Gran's cabin, Royce considered, was the perfect place to entertain Jorie, Gwen, and Nadine.

So a late-afternoon barbecue had been planned. Royce and Hertha fixed iced tea, fish and beef kabobs, roasting ears, and salad. When Royce lit the grill, she heard the rasp of sulfur and saw the flame as it cracked and licked at the charcoal.

When she blew out the kitchen match, it only served as a reminder of the passage of time. The clock  was ticking and people were grumbling, just as Dillon Granger had predicted. They wanted the murder resolved. The locals were usually patient, but not now. With all the media attention, citizens of Timber County wanted the world to know that visitors were protected, that they were safe. And that Timber County would not tolerate crime.

Royce knew her badge was on the line. The premature arrest of her best friend's ex-lover could save that badge. It might be the price of the election, Royce mused. But it would be contrary to her belief system. Royce felt her spine quiver at the thought of leaving Timber County in Dillon Granger's hands.

But Royce appreciated the fact that the day was seeped in autumn sun. The flower-strewn meadow beside the cabin had always offered her a special respite. It was alive with marmots peering out of their rock homes. Chipmunks skittered out from their bush umbrellas and begged for peanuts. Mule deer, with their full racks of antlers, grazed, anticipating another winter. And elk bugled their mating ritual. Royce loved autumn. Travel agents called summer and winter Colorado's tourist seasons. But what was referred to as the shoulder seasons of spring and autumn were Royce's favorite. The aspen were beginning to blaze. Queen Anne's lace, black-eyed Susans, and various other flowers continued blooming late. Late.

Royce clamped her eyes shut as she thought about perhaps missing the changing of seasons here next year. She felt a pang. There would not be room for both her and Dillon Granger on the force should he become the sheriff. It was unthinkable. And what was more unthinkable was Royce leaving Timber County.

After eating, the five women hiked a remote trail and then returned to the cabin. Darkness was approaching, and they decided to sit out on the enclosed porch for a nightcap. Jorie offered to make her specialty drink, a Longhorn Kick. Hertha declined, opting for herbal tea. Nadine was the designated driver, so she decided on tea also.

"Come on, Royce," Gwen encouraged. "Try it."

"Not me," Royce chuckled. "A cool longneck beer is more my style."

"What a wonderful meal," Jorie complimented.

"Gran always says that hunger is the best spice. Seems like the altitude makes me hungrier," Royce said as she leaned back and sighed. "A Longhorn Kick, huh?"

Jorie poured liquor out in ample portions and then swirled the Longhorn Kicks vigorously. "And this setting is something out of a nature movie."

"Glad you're enjoying it," Royce said with a smile. "And Smoky and Cinnamon had a wonderful day of running." She always enjoyed seeing Cinnamon's long stride as she frolicked. Smoky's piston legs had trouble keeping up with the Irish setter, but she found every shortcut she could.

"Cinnamon loves the woods," Nadine spoke softly. Her expression was pinched, her words pensive. "We all do. I suppose that's why I'm in Timber City."

"I hoped I had something to do with your decision!" Gwen inserted.

"That too," Nadine answered. "Not too many of those Longhorn Kicks," she cautioned. "You'll have a sore head in the morning."

*****

Moments had a way of gathering into days and rapidly rolling onward, faster than Royce would have liked. Royce felt captive to time. Days were stacking themselves into weeks, and the investigation was gathering dust. The election was nearing. The mundane events of Timber City continued. Royce and Hertha continued sharing each episode with the relish and the strains of a newly-formed relationship. Royce returned to the cottage weary from a quick-paced day.

Royce had chased a lead on a criminal using the alias of Ricardo Brown. It ended in a literal dead end. The man had been shot and killed by authorities in Kansas City. She had worked her way through endless photographs of the Holt murder scene. And she had spent the remainder of the day, scraps of time between calls and sorting through problems with the deputies, on the mounds of ongoing paperwork.

After Royce and Hertha had finished dinner, Hertha had an emergency patient. A local family brought their cat in after it had been hit by a car. Hertha would need to perform a long and complicated surgery. She suggested that Royce go over to the Bell Ringer and wait there.

Faye Arnall had wanted to talk with the sheriff. Royce sat on the end bar stool and waited while Faye delivered a pitcher of beer to another customer. When Faye returned, she twisted open a bottle and placed it in front of Royce.

"Looks like this can do you some good."

"Thanks, Faye."

"People hereabouts remember your daddy," Faye declared loudly, over Patsy Cline on the jukebox. "Roycie, they'll end up voting for you instead of that 'wannabe sheriff Dillon. You're Grady Madison's little girl."

Royce ruffled, her comment was terse. "I want to win this election because I can handle the job better than anyone else in the county. That's the way my father won his elections. He gained the trust and respect of the people. That's the way I want to win. To earn it on my own."

Faye leaned over the bar and whispered, "Your daddy wasn't campaigning against the deep pockets and convictions of a mob like the Family Morals Coalition. Those McDermotts are comin' after you. And you know what I mean. Royce, they're saying that you're back-peddling on this murder. The prime suspect is an old pal of one of your best buddies. And Gwen is openly lesbian. You get my drift?"

"The siege continues," Royce muttered. She took a sip of beer. "You told me they would be after me. And now it's showdown time?"

"A wife of one of my customers is a strong Coalition member. He relays everything. You know Donny Evans, he relays everything. Comes in this morning and tells me the McDermotts and their pals are really stirring it up."

"Yes?"

"They're going to put out flyers accusing you of being a lesbian."

They can't do something like that."

"Sure they can. They'll distribute the flyers and the Coalition plans to deny having a hand in it."

"Their allegations are just that," Royce responded brusquely.

"You got cloth ears, or doesn't my voice carry. Royce, they are telling everyone you're a lesbian." Faye looked to the side, and then huddled nearer. "I think you better talk with Molly. Your mother has always treated me with respect. Even when most of the other women hereabouts were treating me like a river rat, tramp. I didn't hide the fact that I've been under the bleachers plenty. And I got drug through it. But Molly never looked down her nose at me. I don't want to see your mother hurt. I never have been one to believe in poking an open wound. These people piss me off. I thought you should know."

Royce had been expecting this conversation. But it still hit her with the thud of a brick. "I'll talk to Mom."

"I blew a cork when I first heard. Then I thought, well, Royce never hurt nobody. Maybe they'll pull back and do what's right. That's been my character flaw. I always expect people to do what's right. I even tried to give the benefit of the doubt to that weird guy that's been watching Hertha. Thought maybe he was a loon, and just hung up on her. But he just keeps watching. Day after day, like clockwork. Now I think he's more than a harmless nut."

"I've been diligently searching for something, anything, on him." Royce felt the knots in her stomach. "The criminal records network is enormous. I've had photos and histories of known stalkers faxed from all the areas where he might have been. There's a restraining order, and if he goes near her, I can nab him. Then I'll have more to go on. But the employment information given the lodge is scant. His I.D. could be falsified. There are so many places to hide and ways to be hidden." Royce allowed her discouragement to show. Her mouth was dry and she took a large, bubbly gulp of beer. "Damn it, Faye, I feel helpless."

"Maybe he's all talk."

"It's the 'maybe' that concerns me. Flip-side, maybe he's not."

Royce spotted Laramie entering the bar. She motioned to him. When he sat, she asked Faye to bring him some coffee.

"What's happening, Laramie?"

"I ain't legless yet, and it's nearly eight p.m."

"The night is young," Royce remarked with a partial smile. "Anything new in Timber City?"

"I seen that Godiva in a long ole car filled with movie folks. That's about the size of it."

Royce nodded affirmatively, and then took another swig of beer. "Did you get a good look at her?"

"She waves out the window like she knows me. Never met her. I reckon she waves to everyone."

Royce's grin broke into a chuckle. "Could be. So what did you think of her?"

"As one of them rock stars, she'll do. But she ain't much of a dance hall girl."

"Oh?"

"Naw. Them old-time women knew how to kick up their heels." He lifted a shot glass to his lips and pitched back his head. He then wiped his mouth with a frayed sleeve. "Naw. Shady ladies just ain't what they used to be."

9

"I've got to tell Mom," Royce muttered. "I can't put off talking with her."

Hertha reached across the High Country Animal Hospital's pine counter and caressed Royce's hand. "Yes. Royce, you know she loves you. And when Gwen came out to her years ago, Molly handled it beautifully."

"But I'm her daughter," Royce countered. "There's a difference." Her spirit was bedraggled. Royce marveled at her lover's ability to stay vibrant. Hertha's spirit was tranquil; she possessed an innate grace. Royce admired that quality. It was as if Hertha's Ute heritage allowed her to automatically participate with nature, as part of a partnership with earth and its wilderness and wonder.

"I think Gwen's right about Molly knowing."

"She might be. I've got to have the courage to come out to Mom. Regardless." Royce shrugged.

Hertha smiled. "I wish I could kiss you right now."

"Me too. There's always the examining room," Royce suggested.

"I'm expecting Carrie Donovan any second."

"Has she been helpful?"

"I just wish I could get through to her. The closest I've seen to joy on her face was when Smoky hugged her. Then she turned around and huffed off to her corner. When I mentioned that I was going to put an herb-and-root poultice on a cat's leg, she told me that Indian medicine stinks like 'crap.'"

"Kids don't always understand other people."

"Royce, some people will never understand. I hope she's not one of them. I hope you're not one of them."

"I know that we miss a note or two, but Hertha, we are on the same sheet of music, trying to play the same song. And Carrie isn't bad but she is mixed up."

Hertha glanced away. "I know it must seem strange to her. With all of our modern miracle drugs, I use ancient herbal formulas of sacred medicine. But it works, sometimes when all else fails. It does work."

"So how is the cat?"

Smiling, Hertha reported, "Recovering. I've done everything I can, and it's all in her paws now."

"I love you, Hertha."

"And I love you. Remember when we went to Goldville and saw the ghost town the first time?"

"Before we were together. Yes."

"We walked on the side of the creek and saw a columbine plant growing."

"And we promised to go back and see if it made it."

"And it had. It had survived."

*****

Nadine entered Laird's General Store. In her arms were three dozen placards with thin wooden stakes backing them. She propped them in the corner and greeted Royce and Bonnie Laird. "I just wanted to get here before the campaign workers. Deliver the placards." Nadine sat at the rectangle table in the back room. "Someone is destroying these as quickly as we put them up. "

"I don't care what Granger's committee to elect says," Bonnie huffed, "they're paying kids to do it."

"If we resort to the same methods," Nadine said, "it won't impact them at all. We've got to gather funds door to door to reprint our placards. And flyers. And they seem to go missing immediately."

Royce glanced down at her own folded hands. "I'm amazed that the radio station has enough time left over for news and music after running all Granger's spots."

"You ought to see the full-page ad going in tomorrow's paper," Nadine disclosed. "It makes him up to be a saint. And hints at Royce's inexperience."

"Roycie has better experience," Bonnie defended.

"That doesn't stop them from distorting the facts." Nadine sat back. "One good thing. We received a small check from the P-FLAG in Denver. And a promise that we'd get support from the GLF."

Royce recognized the organization's call letters. P-FLAG was Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays. GLF was the Gay and Lesbian Foundation. Bonnie had no inkling about the groups, Royce guessed.

Bonnie smiled. "Mighty nice of them. A flag company sending donations to help. That must mean they know you're a good American, Royce."

Royce agreed with a somber shrug. "Yes. I better be going now." She stood. "Please thank the workers for me. I wish I could stay, but I need to get over and see Mom before going up to Crystal."

"Well don't you worry about folks believing you're inexperienced," Bonnie walked Royce to the door. "You got more experience at your Daddy's side when you were a young 'un than most people get their entire lives."

Royce smiled. She recalled the days of trailing behind her father as he went on his calls around town. Those were good days. "Bonnie, if you need help, I can come in this evening and work."

"We'll get it all tied up before then."

Royce was aware that as limited as funds were, there would be minimal letter stuffing. And the campaign signs would probably disappear within a day. "Thanks, Bonnie. I appreciate your confidence in me. And all you're doing to help."

*****

Royce plodded across the street and into Molly's Pantry. She had waited until the last customer left, priming her courage to face Molly.

Molly appeared in the backroom doorway. "Hi, honey. Just pour yourself some coffee and I'll be there in a minute."

Royce poured coffee and then sat quietly. Her arms folded in across her chest. Her hands became bracelets around her upper arms. She squeezed her Sheriff's Department patch insignias. She wondered how she could have told her father, had he lived. Part of hiding, she considered, was an attempt not to hurt loved ones. But that, she mused, turned all the hurt inside.

Molly interrupted her isolation. "I hear you're goin' up to interrogate Godiva."

"Yes. The investigation is an endless log jam."

"Something will break."

"Mom, we need to talk. ..."

"Oh, before I forget. Gwen said to drop over when you have time. Guess she got another series of cards from your Gran. Wants to have a little get-together so Dora can show off her photos of England."

"Gran will love that. I can't wait to see her." Royce had felt better when she and Hertha stayed out at the cabin. At least Royce felt Hertha was out of danger from the stalker's possible harm. Since the night he peered into Hertha's bedroom, there was fear of Hertha being alone. Royce was satisfied that he could not have trailed them to the cabin without being noticed. "I enjoyed the postcards Gran's sent me."

"Nadine has even been brusque to me lately." Molly's hands were firmly planted on her hips. "Wish I knew what's going on with her. Something is mighty wrong. She sure is cantankerous with Gwen. You think there's been trouble between them?"

"I hope not."

"I'm as green as a leprechaun when it comes to that kind of relationship. But they always were so close. So secure."

"Mom, I've got something to talk with you about. It's important." Royce inhaled deeply. "There's talk out on the street about me. About my closeness with Hertha."

"I heard some rumblings, Roycie. I say that there will always be such talk when two women are best friends. And we know where it all started. It isn't just idle gossip. Those hate mongers are after you, and they're stooping to any treachery they can." There was a quick flash of rancor in Molly's face. Her expression then resumed its sweetness. "Don't pay any mind to stories. It's no one's concern."

"It's my concern. Your concern." Royce reached across and stopped Molly's hand as it swirled across the counter. She felt the coolness of the damp towel within Molly's clutch. "Mom, please come around here and sit down with me a minute."

Molly allowed the towel to ease from her fingers. "Sure, honey." Royce heard the familiar static on her radio as dispatch called her. Amy announced a disturbance at the Timber City Bank. Royce stood and hastened to the door. "I'll be back later, Mom." She rushed out onto the street and toward the bank.

Her mission to tell Molly would have to wait.

*****

From the time Royce left the bank after quieting an argument between two customers, she had been running late. Carrie's mother, Norma Donovan, had spotted Royce and wanted a word with the sheriff. She thanked Royce for helping with her headstrong daughter. She said she was beginning to see a change in the girl. Royce observed that Carrie had a mind of her own but hoped she would get turned around.

Royce then called dispatch and asked that Amy call and rearrange the appointment in Crystal. By the time Royce reached the outskirts of Crystal, Amy had radioed that Godiva would be able to make it in an hour. She was on set and would return to the lodge where they were scheduled to meet. Royce was glad for the interlude. It gave her the chance to re-examine the room where Sandra Holt had been murdered.

Alone in the room, Royce walked through the murder. She crossed the room, just as she suspected the murderer would have done. She picked up the poker and moved to where the body had dropped. She re-enacted the crime with the information she recalled from the Medical Examiner's report. The first blow; and then the second while the victim was on the floor. That blow had been an afterthought perhaps. It had hit near the initial blow. The report had also concluded that the blows could have been delivered by a woman of medium build. That, Royce determined, could have been any of the leading suspects.

She glanced down at her watch. It was nearly time to meet with Godiva, she thought. She quickly went through the probable actions of the killer. It was a rat's maze. It all was, she murmured. She then walked slowly to the door. She mulled the possibilities. She massaged her temple a moment and then reached for the doorknob.

It had been a clumsy murder at best.

*****

"The first Lady Godiva rode naked through Coventry," Godiva explained, "and men who looked at her were struck blind. So legend goes." Her curvaceous body had staged itself upon a tufted, champagne-colored daybed. Wearing a boudoir-pink caftan, matching slippers, and a rosette garland on her head, Godiva's recumbent frame lounged. She gave a laugh that sounded like chimes. "And I'm criticized for going naked! No one ever went blind because of these boobs."

Royce was seated on a settee across from the star. She fidgeted with her uniform collar. Finally, she said, "Your breasts may be harmless, but showing them around doesn't help all those women out there who are fighting to keep their breasts to themselves."

"I donate bushels of bucks to women's organizations. I couldn't do that if I didn't have a business sense for what people want. They do the buying. I'm the product. I'm the goddess. Not just when the cameras are rolling. I've got a dozen homes and three times that in luxury cars. Art, antiques, stock, and money. You know, I don't have my pedigree, but money is a terrific stand-in. Buy enough property and it makes up for ancestry. And that money is easy to make. Really. I sashay around a stage and sing. I'm not trying for a frigging halo. Look around." Her arm made a dramatic sweep of her suite. "I've stepped into this kind of living. Wherever I go, it's first class."

Royce surveyed the room with its clean lines of polished mahogany. Gray marble floors were covered with expensive oriental rugs. The antique furniture was elegant and costly. Everyone and everything seemed to be at her command. Godiva's retinue took care of her every need. A stanch, devoted trio of bodyguards accompanied and protected her as if she were the world's treasure.

Royce took a sip of cafe au lait from the delicate gold-edged demitasse. "And are you happy?" she questioned.

Godiva's head lifted. Her laugh was pressed with arrogance, but it trailed to a limp and hollow echo. "Of course. I'm a money magnet. Money does its own talking." She lifted her glass of mineral water and toasted. "L'chaim!"

"Would you be happy without money?"

"I'm a blowzy bleached blond with a sensual appetite, erotic timing, and a lust for excitement. I don't sing Amazing Grace. I am amazing grace." Godiva leaned toward Royce and her loose bodice exposed her breasts. "I was called a second-rater with an enormous self-interest. Of course I'd be happy without money. And it wouldn't take long for me to figure out how to get all the big bucks I needed to become happier."

Royce was seeing another side to the star. She'd seen her in jogging clothes, being an athlete. She'd seen her prancing around being sociable at a party. She'd seen film clips of Godiva dancing across a stage with the throb of a heated engine. Now, Royce was witnessing Godiva's seductress/goddess routine. Royce realized that getting additional information would be like gripping quicksilver.

"Godiva, I have a few questions concerning the murder." Royce leaned back, getting comfortable. She wanted to put Godiva at ease. "First, you knew about Sandra's accident when you entered the room that night."

"Just like I told that handsome deputy, I'd heard it in the hall. On my way to see what was wrong. It might have been Tyler. I'm not sure. But someone said that Sandra had been bludgeoned."

"And that indicated death?" Royce coaxed.

"Yes."

"You seemed to despise Sandra Holt."

"Who didn't? Her mouth was foul and it wasn't that far from her brain. She's used us all, and knifed our backs."

"Her mouth needed to be washed with antibacterial soap, but do you think she deserved to die?"

"Yes. I would have picked a slower, more painful death."

"Why the hatred?"

Godiva's eyes snapped. They were on fire. Suddenly, she looked away. Her face was like a red hood, tight with fury. There was raw, molten anger in her voice. "The bitch gave me a very difficult time of it when I was starting out. With her garbage tabloid, she made recalcitrant sinners out of us."

"Us?"

"Young stars. She played in and got our confidence. Then she tore us to pieces. In this business of fantasy, a person becomes reality's sojourner."

"And Sandra betrayed you?"

"All of us. She's trampled everyone."

"Did she ever try to extort money for burying a story?"

"It wasn't beneath her to feather her nest for that sort of thing." Godiva's fingers traced her eyebrow. "But she never asked me for money."

"Did she ever approach you about a story you didn't want known?" Royce carefully phrased her question.

"No. I was one of the stars she found more lucrative to tear apart. Me, fine. But my family was another thing. She dug up innocent things and lied about them. Misrepresented them. I'm fair game, but the miserable bitch went for my mother."

"That would be hurtful. I lost my father ten years ago, and I know it's painful."

Godiva's back tensed. "You just shared something human with me. What is this, good cop, bad cop? You come here with velvet gloves and then you're going to put on your iron knuckles?"

Royce's eyes tethered the star's. "I'm not playing games. I shared my life's greatest tragedy. I told you the truth. We do that around here."

"I'm used to sewer sludge like Sandra." Godiva gave a mock clucking sound. "Shame on me for accusing you. But you are doing an investigation. And you know that I was happy to see her dead. I was ebullient." With a quick, impulsive laugh, Godiva confessed, "Seeing her corpse rolled away on a coroner's stretcher was heaven to my eyes."

"Who do you believe killed Sandra Holt?"

"I don't know. But one hell of a friend."

Royce didn't contain her chuckle.

"Sheriff, you are even sexier when you laugh," Godiva flirted. "Sex rejuvenates me."

Royce stood. "Thank you for your time. For answering questions."

"Now would you answer a question I have for you?"

"Maybe."

"Would you like to stay?"

"I'm expected home," Royce murmured. "But you're safe with all your bodyguards. And our team. No more threats I take it?"

"Two more."

"Why weren't we notified?"

"Two threatening calls came in. The desk took the calls. They were made from a local phone."

"But we weren't informed."

"It was reported to the deputy who looks like a pissed off jack-o-lantern."

"That would be Deputy Dillon Granger?"

"Yes."

Royce was fuming before her next question even began. "Were these threats recent?"

"One was a couple weeks ago. After we began filming. The other was yesterday."

Royce nodded. "I see. Well, thanks again."

Godiva's large smile exploded. "Are you sure you won't stay?"

"No, thank you."

"Another time?"

"No."

"You have someone very special?"

"Yes. Very special."

10

"Terrific batch of ice cream," Royce complimented Gwen. She took another spoonful of the homemade pecan praline. "Yes, definitely one of your supreme efforts." Royce sat in the antique oak rocking chair across from Gwen's office desk. She was waiting for Nadine to finish feeding the cats and Cinnamon. Nadine had offered to accompany Royce to Denver to pick up Gran.

"So did Godiva want to show you her portfolio yesterday?"

Royce laughed. "Everyone's seen her portfolio. She's a true goddess of sexuality. She invited me to stay. But you know me. I wasn't interested."

"Up there in the Mother Lode suite, plush chateau, with the world-famous sex symbol. And you weren't even the slightest bit interested in doing the Waltz of the Lesbians with her?"

"To be honest, I left there feeling I was crawling out of the bottom of a cat litter box." Royce's fleeting smile shone with startling whiteness.

"She does fly her pennants. Bet that was a shocker. Small-town sheriff turns her down. She'd probably rather squeeze a handful of scorpions than be shunned."

"I'm a one-woman woman. Like you. I want a cohesive, true-blue relationship like you and Nadine have."

"It used to be emotional bedrock. And more. Torrid passion is a thing of the past. Nadine's frostbite is making me feel so damned alone. I'm trying to make sense of all this. I've been doing the lion's share of work around the house and office. Even that upsets her. I don't know how to get it back. Your gran always says that you can't sew a broken egg back together."

"Maybe Nadine is irritable because she's approaching menopause."

"Nadine's never been sensitive about her age. Nowadays I'm not allowed to say anything at all. She begins showing her teeth when I say good morning."

"I know what you mean about not always being able to communicate," Royce commiserated. "I admit, sometimes I find things difficult."

"Like?"

"All of Hertha's Native American decor. It's overwhelming. At times it makes me uncomfortable. "Royce's voice faltered, "I'm just not used to being surrounded by it."

"It's alien to you. But I think part of why Hertha has ancestral pride is because of her rich heritage."

"I understand that. Appreciate that. But why can't we look forward and seek the future?"

"Royce, it's the symbolism. Native American worldly possessions have been looted from tombs by relic collectors. Their sacred grave sites have been desecrated. She's reacting to the years of oppression that are also part of her heritage."

"I didn't rob graves," Royce disputed. "And lesbians are also oppressed. But I don't have a grotto to Sappho. My room isn't filled with posters of Gert and Alice."

"You don't understand," Gwen's acid reply was one of exasperation.

"Maybe I don't. But I'm trying."

"Well, try harder." Gwen glanced up and greeted Nadine. "You two tell Dora I'd have been on the welcoming home committee, but work calls."

Nadine's eyes flared. "Is that supposed to mean that I'm neglecting my duties?"

"No," Gwen defended. "I'm sorry I opened my mouth."

"Save it for your editorial," Nadine blasted.

Royce followed Nadine out to the Blazer. She took Nadine's arm. "Why did you just have a go at Gwen?"

Nadine pulled her arm away and turned her shoulder. "I'm tired of her verbal scattergun."

"Are you tired of Gwen too?"

Nadine's eyes filled with tears. "Let's go, or we'll be late." They got into the Blazer in silence.

By the time they had driven a few miles, Royce again inquired, "Are you tired of Gwen?"

"I suppose I am."

"Nadine, why are you upset?"

Nadine gazed out of the window. Then she murmured. "I'm not sure. I'm tired of Gwen's telling me that I'm responsible for your campaign. She makes innuendoes. Like she thinks maybe I bit off more than I can chew."

"Do you feel that the campaign is too much?"

"No. Sometimes it's overwhelming. The lack of contributions. It has become a vendetta for the conservative right. I'm feeling inadequate. How do I fight the lies? We don't have the national backing that Granger has."

"If it gets to be too much, will you promise to step down?"

"Gwen would love that."

"Nadine, maybe Gwen is concerned about you."

"She's concerned that I may be able to handle something on my own."

Royce had always realized that Gwen reveled in being the dominant force in Timber County politics. Also in her relationship with Nadine. Gwen was irrepressible. Nadine was her follower. Now, Nadine was at the helm.

"Nadine, I just don't want the election to create a rift in your relationship."

"There was a time I didn't think anything could come between, us."

"I don't want my campaign doing that. Being sheriff isn't worth seeing you and Gwen split up."

"The election is a surface problem."

"Problems can be worked out."

"Some can; some can't."

*****

When Hertha opened the door of the animal clinic, Smoky rushed to find Royce. It was to be Smoky's intermission. She had been standing guard with Hertha and not allowed to go on rounds with Royce for weeks. When Royce had planned today's trip to Crystal, Gran asked if Smoky could spend the afternoon with her. Royce agreed, and Smoky seemed to sense that she would be taking a little trip.

After picking up Smoky, Royce stopped by the courthouse briefly. Smoky knew her way around the courthouse and visited often. She was a favorite of the file clerks. They kept a box of dog treats for her visits.

Nick reached down and tickled her ears. "Smoky, how's the K-9 Corps of Timber County?" Nick quizzed. "Letting Smoky off her lead this afternoon?"

Royce glanced up from the stack of papers. "Yep. She's been up to her muzzle in work lately. She deserves a day off. I'm taking her out to visit Gran. I wanted to make sure Gran is settled in."

"Is Mrs. Madison glad to be back?"

"She told Mom that she felt at home in England, but she was borne in Timber City. I know we're glad to have her back. And Smoky will enjoy spending time with her."

Nick shook his finger at Smoky. "Wait until the National Affiliation of Schnauzers finds out you've deserted your post."

"Don't tease her," Royce kidded. "She's very sensitive about being focused."

"Well, Smoky," Nick spoke, "take a load off your paws and wait for the sheriff to clip the chain from her desk."

Royce closed the file. "I keep looking at the enlarged photo of Sandra Holt's message in blood." Royce had spent the morning going through reams of forensic evidence. How the injury had occurred, or could have occurred, puzzled her. There was no physical evidence that could be directly linked to the killer. No hair or skin under Sandra's fingernails. She hadn't been raped, so there were no DNA spermatic traces. Jorie's fingerprints were on the murder weapon. But Royce would go with her feelings. She would stake her reputation that Jorie Lovett had not killed the gossip columnist.

"Sandra must have been bleeding to death and knew it. She was probably too weak to scream," Nick guessed.

"Or her neck was twisted in a way that cut off her speech."

"Who are you going to grill up at Crystal today?"

"I'm going to talk with Tyler for sure. And maybe I'll poke around questioning the staff again."

"And?"

"No, not Godiva," Royce laughed. "I think I'll leave her to you."

"Not me," he responded quickly.

"Plenty amazing. You're turning her down?"

"She's got all those rent-a-jocks hanging around her pleasure pavilion." Nick frowned. "Hell, I even prefer being bossed around by that idiot Dillon."

"Nick," Royce said as she stood, "I need to talk with you in confidence." She hoisted her body onto the desk top. "You don't need to take orders from him. Not any longer. I'm putting you in charge of the operation in Crystal. I'll be talking with him this afternoon."

"He's going to be really mad." Nick looked up at the ceiling and he spoke with reservation. "Royce, you're not vindictive. Why are you doing this?"

"Again, confidentially. He held back on two additional threats against Godiva's life. Two calls came in. He didn't report them. He's trying to run his own investigation up there. Grandstanding. He's a loose cannon. That won't be tolerated on my watch. I expect this conversation to be between the two of us. The other deputies can believe what they want about me."

"But they'll think you're replacing Granger for your own personal reasons."

Royce shrugged. "Nick, would you keep an eye on Hertha this afternoon? I just saw Rick Brown slithering around."

"You got it. I'd love to take that rotten dung heap down. He hasn't gone near her again, has he?"

"No. He stays at his court-ordered distance. He gets lost when anyone is there. Carrie Donovan will be there later in the afternoon. So he'll hibernate while she's there. Or when clients come and go."

"You think he's waiting for the opportunity when she's alone?"

"I think it's possible." Royce glanced back at the volume of correspondence that she had sifted through since Rick Brown came to Timber County. "I wish there was a national stalker's registry."

*****

Huge clouds with ash-gray underbellies boiled along the tops of jagged peaks. Royce viewed the early autumn aspen as they began to turn. Even the soughing winds were cooler now, she thought. She resented the fact that Sandra Holt's murder case and the stalker had kept her from enjoying as much of the outdoors as she would have liked. She and Hertha had not been fishing for weeks, and it had even longer since they camped out.

The trip from Gran's to Crystal had been filled with thoughts of her duties in Crystal. She had called Tyler McDermott requesting that he meet her to go over his statement. He was pleasant about making the arrangements to fit her schedule. She had not wanted to talk with him in a crowd, but she knew early afternoon would be a good time to get a corner booth at the Crystal Bistro. She wanted to keep it as unofficial and relaxed as possible.

Royce arrived early, so she entered the dim-lit lounge area. Her eyes narrowed as she adjusted them to the lighting. Burgundy, vanilla, and salmon colors were made murkier by the darkness. Royce inspected the room and saw Judge Jakob McDermott at the bar. He motioned to her. "Come on over here, little lady," he blustered. "I'll buy you a drink."

"I'm on duty. But I'll have a soft drink." Royce sat on the stool next to his. "I'm here to go over Tyler's statement with him." She was aware that the drink in his hand was not his first of the afternoon. The judge was clearly tottering. "As long as you're here, I might as well ask you a question or two," she said coolly.

"Anything to be of assistance," he said with a husky laugh. "Just up here to see Tyler, but if I can help solve this murder, I'm willing to give a dozen statements."

"I'm trying to get an overview. When the murder occurred, you stated that you were making the rounds at the party. Did you leave the room?"

"I did walk out into the hallway for a few minutes. There's a fire escape. I thought maybe I could get some air, but there was an alarm on the door. Then I walked around to the terrace for a few minutes."

"Did you see anyone?"

"A few people from the party. And media people. They were going in and out of their rooms."

"Did you happen to see anyone enter or exit Sandra Holt's room?"

"Like I told Deputy Hogan, I didn't see a soul. She had retired. And with her, when the party's over, it's over."

Royce's eyes zeroed in. "You'd met her before?"

"I'd met many of the reporters. Elizabeth insisted we spend all of our vacation time in California. So yes, I'd met Miss Holt before. She'd wined and dined us at a cocktail party she threw when Godiva and Tyler became friends. I told Elizabeth not to waste her time on the woman."

"You knew that she befriended stars and then often extracted information and used it to advance her career?"

"I wouldn't put it past her." With defiance, he uttered, "I hope you're not driving at some theory about Tyler's involvement?"

"I'm investigating a murder. I'm asking questions. Nothing more." She allowed a moment silence. The judge took a large gulp of his drink. She wondered if he was aware of Sandra Holt's extortion game. Royce was glad that it had been confirmed by Godiva. But additional searches by the Timber County Sheriff's Department had found nothing. No tape recorder. No incriminating blackmail evidence. A search of the dead woman's home by Beverly Hills detectives had produced nothing. The wall safe held only jewelry, cash, and a trove of business papers. No safety deposit boxes in her name had been located.

The judge's eyes were lofty. His lips lifted into a haughty half smile. "Investigating a murder, huh! You wouldn't know that by looking at what you're doing—or not doing."

"You really think Marjorie Lovett is guilty of murder?"

"The court will decide that. If you ever gather enough evidence to meet your satisfaction and get a case to court. It doesn't look at all good for Cousin Marjorie." His hand made a sweep of his face, and his fingertips smoothed his mustache. "Cousin Marjorie makes a drink called the Longhorn Kick. It's the best drink I've ever had. Too bad if a talent like that spends time behind bars. Rather than a bar," he roared at his joke. "But I think there is some overwhelming evidence against her. Standing over a body, weapon in hand, is smoking-gun incriminating! It just doesn't look good."

"I don't suppose it does." Royce sipped her soft drink.

He straightened his shoulders when the Japanese female bartender approached. "Same again," he ordered. "Bourbon and a splash of water." When the bartender moved to the opposite side of the bar, the judge confided, "Sheriff, Oriental girls are how girls should be."

"What?"

"Over there, they know how to train their girls. If anything were to happen to my little woman, I'd marry a little Oriental girl."

"They say that racism and sexism go hand in hand." Royce felt her muscles stiffen with restrained contempt. Gwen had warned her that Judge Jakob McDermott was a bigot's bigot. Gwen had even mentioned that she was surprised the judge's vocabulary went past oink.

"I'm not a bigot," he disputed with needling charm. "I was the victim of discrimination in Denver. They let all the minorities move up because of their skin color. The darker the skin tone, the better the promotion. And talk about Jews! They were all in the same bed. Get one Jew in and they stuck together like glue. Same with women. Anything to get those minorities up the ladder. Make it look good. Don't talk to me about bigotry."

"No." Royce tossed down her money for the soft drink. "I don't think you're a mere bigot. I think you're something far worse."

"You can accuse me of being anything you want. But you are about to lose this election."

"It's an act of bigotry when your Coalition scrutinizes my private life. I'd rather lose than live being afraid of people like you."

"Citizens of Timber County deserve to know about your kind. Granger is our man," he haughtily confirmed. "You'll be out of office in January, Sheriff."

"Don't be too sure." Royce stood and then looked back down at him. "Sadly, the most costly scourge of bigotry is hatred. Hatred can't exist unless it's allowed to feed on ignorance. You are a man of intellect and advantage. But you're not elevating the concepts of justice you profess to serve. That makes it all sadder than sad."

"What's sad," he boomed with a glower, "is that we have perverts in the judicial system and in enforcement."

"I don't believe the folks up here are going to buy what you're selling."

"Tell me that when you're run out of office, missy."

Royce leaned down. "You can call me 'Sheriff,'" she lashed. "Have that much respect for the badge. And I'm a woman. Not a girl; and not a little lady; and not a missy. I am a woman."

"And you're going to be an unemployed woman come January."

"I'll meet with Tyler later. I need some air."

Royce walked out onto the street and then whirled back around. She looked at the outer wall and wanted to put her fist through it. She mentally went down her agenda. She would radio for Dillon Granger to meet with her in one of the lodge's conference rooms. She would then reset her appointment with Tyler. After that, she could talk with the desk clerks who took the phone calls threatening Godiva's life.

She quickly regained control when she saw Granger marching toward her. "We need to talk now, Deputy," she said with a commanding tone.

He followed her into the lodge, and when they were seated across from one another at a large oak table, he muttered, "Yeah? So the cavalry has arrived. I'm busy. What do you want?"

"Granger, you're no longer in charge of the operation here in Crystal. You'll be backing Deputy Nick Hogan for the remainder of this investigation."

"What?" he raged.

"Listen closely, because we're both too busy for me to keep repeating myself. You're no longer in charge. You don't measure up- I've given it careful consideration and I've concluded that you should not be in charge. We have disclosure regulations, and you've violated them. You didn't inform that me two additional threatening calls were received against Godiva. You've violated police procedure. I could bring you up on charges and have your badge. I'm not going to do that. But you step out of line just once more, and you're gone."

"You're doin' nothing. With the exception of protecting your dyke buddy's reporter friend. That's what's got you. You're miffed 'cause the county is findin' out what you are."

"Give me your undivided attention, Deputy Granger," Royce said curtly. "Your level of performance as a deputy leaves a great deal to be desired. Your resistance to procedure endangers the lives of the other deputies and the public. This little stunt proves that you aren't a team player. You're sneaky, and you're undisciplined. I want to keep this badge. But if I can't keep it, I'd rather see anyone but you wearing it."

"If?" he sputtered with an outburst. "I'd say your days are numbered. I can't wait for the first of our debates. The citizens of Timber County want to know why you're dragging your ass on a big murder case."

Royce leaned back in her chair. She stared him down. "The election results might amaze you. Yes, they might be plenty amazing."

11

Tenderly, Royce leaned down and kissed her sleeping lover. Hertha stretched and automatically reached for her. "It's early. Go back to sleep for awhile," Royce whispered. Her hands cupped Hertha's face. "I'll wake you before I leave."

When Hertha's eyelids dipped shut, Royce left the bedroom. She made coffee, showered, and then dressed quietly. After the first sip of morning coffee, Royce thought about how lovely Hertha looked when she woke. She also thought about the depth of love she felt for this woman. Sometimes, she admitted, it frightened her. It was unlike any other love she'd known. It had lacked candlelight, roses, and soft music, but their romance was its own kind of wonder. It had been from the beginning. There were fishing, hiking, careers, home, family, and friends. She had never even taken Hertha out to dine and dance. She had never surprised her lover with a rose. She silently wondered whether Hertha missed romance's frills and flourish. If Hertha felt deprived, she hadn't mentioned it.

Royce thought about her schedule. Fate seemed to block any attempts at a romantic night away. In both women's lives, there were so many variables. So many responsibilities. Royce looked back into the coffee cup and watched its surface steam. She was sure that even if they found a free evening, some emergency would come between plan and women.

"Good morning," Hertha murmured as she slid her arms around Royce's neck. She kissed Royce's cheek and her lips traveled over Royce's face. "Mmm, my county Mountie."

"Let me pour you some coffee."

"I've got it." Hertha poured coffee and then sat at the breakfast nook. "What crimes are you solving so early in the morning?"

"No crime. Just thinking about how to get you away alone. It would be nice to plan an evening of romance. Maybe we could go to Denver."

"You miss the glamour of love?"

"I miss sharing it with you."

"Royce, just being together is important to me."

Royce lifted Hertha's hand and kissed her palm. "I just wish I could take you out on one date. A night of pure holiday."

Hertha laughed. "We're practically living together. I think we somehow bypassed the courting rituals."

"Well," Royce pledged, "I have every intention of showing you some romance. Eventually."

"Last night was one of the most romantic I've ever had."

"Yes." Royce's growling laugh teased. "I do cherish you, Hertha."

"I don't need be courted. I'm yours. Your love is all I want. Your kindness is my romance."

"We're part of one another. And it happened overnight," Royce added. "I just don't want you to think I'm taking your love for granted. I'm thinking about Gwen and Nadine. It seems like all the fine things they have are being weighed down. I want to keep our love on the curl of the wave."

"We could get a waterbed," Hertha suggested.

Royce grinned. "Sounds like an adventure."

"Well, when all of the day's challenges have been seen to, we'll plan a date. Until then, this will have to do." Her fingers caressed Royce's hand.

Hertha's touch always excited Royce. Its warmth enveloped her. "If I didn't need to go on duty in fifteen minutes, I would . .

"I'm getting those feelings too," Hertha chuckled. "And I've got a full morning of surgery."

"The way it's been at the department, I usually feel as though I've had surgery performed on me."

"Royce, after the election, it will all settle down."

"I hope so." Royce didn't sound convinced or convincing.

"I know this is a difficult time for you. With the debates coming up. But you'll be fine."

"My knees will rattle like dice in a cup."

"I fell in love with your shyness. Your sense of quietude. People here appreciate your honesty and strength. They'll see through the veneer of Dillon Granger. He's a braggart, and people don't like that."

"Some people do like Granger's bigotry."

Bigotry is in every part of our lives. People still come into the clinic and ask me if they can see the vet. They can see that I'm a woman of color, and to them that means I couldn't possibly be the vet."

They ask me if the sheriff is in too." Royce reached in her pocket to pull out a roll of butterscotch. Unrolling one, she slipped the candy between Hertha's full lips. "But no one ever asks if Smoky heads the K-9 Corps," Royce joked.

Smoky's ears fluttered when she heard her name. Hertha smiled, and then her smile faded. "That's one part of Rick Brown's departure I'll miss. Smoky will go back to doing her rounds with you."

Royce tensed. "I won't miss anything about him." Royce gripped Hertha's hand. "Please be very careful. Just because he hasn't done anything yet doesn't mean he won't He could be playing with his prey."

"Royce, you're frightening me." Hertha's eyes flashed the first scrap of fear Royce had seen in them.

"Just anticipate danger. Think of how you would react."

Hertha's eyes filled. "You've chosen a life where danger is possible. I didn't."

"All things are possible in every life. Even danger," Royce cautioned.

*****

"Give me one reason to bust you, and you're locked," Royce's words sliced with all the pent-up anger she had.

Before driving to Crystal, Royce had attended to a serious auto crash. That always unnerved her, but she'd wanted to catch Rick Brown before he left for his day of loitering in Timber City. His small room was located on the lower level of Crystal Basin Ski Resort's offices. As Royce stepped inside, she noted that it was as filthy and unkempt as Rick Brown.

"I'm givin' you no reason. I stay my distance like the order says. You got no right here. I done nothing wrong."

"I'm here to make an inquiry in an ongoing murder case. I have additional questions to ask you about the night Sandra Holt was murdered. That gives me every right to be here."

His hawk-like fierceness eased and he pointed to a chair. "You wanna sit down?"

"I'll stand. You sit." When he had eased his body into the chair, he looked back up at her. "Rick Brown. Common name. So common that I'm having trouble coming up with much information about your past."

"I been all over. Here and there."

"Where might that be?"

His grin was tainted and malicious. "All the highways in the country."

"And they all lead to Timber County?"

"Naw. Just a stop-off point." He fidgeted in the chair.

"I've checked your name and information through the national computer to see if you have a criminal history. No information. But I don't believe that. So I'll keep up the search. Sooner or later I'll find your history."

His eyes narrowed. "I been rousted by the best cops and if they can't keep me in the slam, a hick-town sheriff like you hasn't got a chance." He leaned back, spreading his long legs. "Naw. I don't believe you got a chance."

"Believe it, pal." Royce wanted to grab him and throw him into the wall. When she realized the moment's silence was a test of wills, she allowed her vehemence to fade. "Tell me again about the night Sandra Holt was killed." She took out her notebook and pen and began writing.

"I was on duty. Tryin' to get everything on my list done. The only time I was upstairs was to work on a chimney flue."

"In the room down the hall from Miss Holt's room."

"Yeah. I didn't kill her."

"You were near. Tell me who you saw."

"I seen some reporters. Big shot actin' guy was around."

"Does he have a name?"

"Do I look like I hang out with a guy who has his goatee and mustache trimmed?"

"Give me more description."

"About sixty. Stocky. Nice suit. Straw hat. Natty dresser. Yeah, he was gray-haired. Runs into that actor and seems to know him. The one looking for Godiva."

"Tyler McDermott?"

"Yeah. So he seems to know Tyler McDermott. Anything else?"

"Not now."

"But you'll be back." He gave a snort. "You're just hassling me 'cause of her."

Royce glared. "You're stalking her."

"You got it wrong. She's just hanging around you 'cause of your badge. She's afraid of you. She really wants to be with me. But you can't keep us apart forever."

Ice went through Royce's heart. She leaned down. "You touch her and you'll find me on your doorstep. It won't be your finest hour. Do I make myself clear?"

With a malevolent, steady grin, he answered. "I got you. But you can't bust me for no reason."

"Don't give me a reason. And don't be hanging around Timber City after dark."

"I'm a nocturnal kinda guy."

"You're a flipping genetic throwback. You don't force your attention on women. That went out with cavemen. Stay away from Doctor White and every other woman in this county." She pitched her note pad on the table. She handed him her pen. "Look over the description of the man you saw. If it looks correct, just initial the margin." She watched as he made his mark along the side of her neatly printed, capital, block letters. She had purposely used two pages so that he would have to flip to continue. She put the pen and notebook back into her pocket carefully. "I'm watching you," she warned.

"So watch," he spat back. "I done nothin' wrong."

After she exited, Royce removed the pen and pad. She wasn't sure if it was a full set of prints, but she wouldn't hesitate to return as often as it took to get a set. If her search came up with anyone remotely similar to this man, she would be able to send the prints for a make without going through the paperwork. Asking the court for a 41-1 to obtain prints, handwriting, and blood samples took time. She felt urgency. Time was not tamping down suspicion. It was doing the opposite.

And Royce wondered why Judge McDermott had lied to her. He had been nearer the murder scene than he wanted her to know. There was no doubt in her mind that his was the description Rick Brown had just given.

*****

"It's a shitter deal," Gwen muttered, then quickly explained that she had come to Crystal for a story on the progress of the film. She had also stopped by to see Jorie. She seemed ill at ease when Royce arrived at the lodge to ask Jorie additional questions.

Gwen was dressed in a chambray blue knit vest that was detailed with Americana icons. A sheen glossed the finish of her hand-corded, black cherry, alligator dress boots. "Dolled up for Godiva?" Royce asked.

"No." Gwen's answer was sharp. "Jorie can use as much cheer as possible." Gwen glanced over at Jorie. "She's in a bit of a state, to say the least."

Gwen and Royce sat in stiff, padded chairs. Jorie resumed her sag on the bed. Jorie's bedclothes hung like laundry drying on a tree. She eased a glass of mahogany liquor up to her lips. "Just a little morning eye-opener," she mumbled.

"Hair of the dog," Gwen chided. She then muttered to Royce, "If she doesn't stay out of her bottle, she's going to end up looking old enough to have her rings counted."

"I've got reason to drink," Jorie said with a snap to her voice. "After all of this is over, I'm going to write a book about my ordeal. The network says I'm on assignment here. Watching the filming of a movie with Godiva is not exactly world-shattering news. Unless whoever's threatening Godiva carries through, there is no legitimate story here. Not that they'll air anything I do with this hanging over my head. I suppose you want to go over my statement?" There was rancor in her question.

Royce looked away. "I came here to make another pass at interrogating the scumbag, Rick Brown. He made statements that have me more concerned than ever."

Gwen reached over and took a gulp of Jorie's drink. "I've never heard of a stalking like this in Timber City. Once or twice there have been situations where an ex becomes a problem. But not like this. Glad Smoky's with Hertha." Gwen laughed, "Hell's bells, Smoky gets her face right in the middle of action. She's got more balls than all the tackles in the NFL put together."

"Gwen loves to change the subject. Royce, you want to grill me again, don't you?"

"I knew Gwen has been concerned about you. So I stopped by to see how you're doing."

"Such linear logic for a sheriff," Jorie grumbled. "I'm sure you've got another question or two. I've already answered your question about how I'm getting along. A living hell is about the size of it."

"There is the same question. Why are you so vague about the reason you were fighting with Sandra Holt?" Royce continued searching for a motive. That was the key. Surely, the slain woman died for a reason more substantial than her obnoxious behavior. More than her arrogance. Royce needed to know the reason. That would tell her the killer. "I've got to know what you know."

"Remarkable. You can hide behind your secrets with all kinds of excuses. The press can have confidential sources, but we're badgered unless we spill our guts to you. I'm not at liberty to discuss the reason I was feuding with Sandra."

"Was she going to print something about you being a lesbian?"

"We've gone over this before. I've been forced underground. We are censored by the decision to love our own. I know I'm taking the coward's path. But I've tried to explain about the veils. If I were to come out, there would be a media showdown. Yes, media would back me for a time. Then would come the cocktail parties and the whispered innuendo. The subtle snubs. Coming out is a package deal. There's the freedom, but there is also the stigma. From one side, where the jokes begin, to the other where political change could put pink or black triangles on our pockets and ultimately stamp us out. This century saw McCarthyism and Nazism. We see the haters finding their way through the courts. One Amendment at a time. We stay hidden for a reason. Many of us don't have what it takes to become visible. We need to look mainstream for acceptance. Our reclaimed sexuality is behind closed doors. We remain repressed and exploited by fear and by the lies we perpetuate." Her eyes misted.

"It can only get better if we're united," Gwen asserted.

"Can't I make you understand? I don't want to explain the influences of nature upon my ovaries. I don't want to advance the chronicle of lesbian endeavor. I don't want to explain the dictates of chromosomes on my genetic imprint. I don't want to make biological excuses and psychological apologies. It's a titanic struggle to get up in the morning. Beyond that, some imperious, negligent goddess is not hearing my prayers."

When Jorie began sobbing, Gwen went to her and wrapped her inside protective arms. "Royce wants to help you. I know she does."

"I've got to question that," Jorie said with a sob.

Royce walked to the door. "I do want to help. And I understand what you just said."

By the time Royce reached the elevator, Gwen was behind her. "Royce, I'm really worried about her. I've never seen her like this. She's a deluxe woman. I remember our past with warm feelings. And then some."

The elevator's bell bleated. "Is everything okay with you and Nadine?"

"I'm beginning to think she wants to leave me." Gwen stepped into the elevator. She looked away. "I couldn't handle that. She's my life. Her leaving wouldn't simply create a vacancy. It would make my life empty. Devoid of meaning." Gwen's eyes were moist. She blinked, skirmishing with tears. "I love that woman."

"Have you told her that?"

"She knows."

"Use the tools of your trade and tell her. Use the words, Gwen. Don't assume she knows." Royce reached and her clasp gathered in her friend. "Please, tell her one more time how much she means to you."

"I don't know what I've done to make her change like this."

"Maybe it isn't what you've done. Maybe it's circumstances. But whatever it is, tell her what you just told me."

"Think we can ever get back to normal around here? That Nadine will fall back in love with me?"

"I find it plenty amazing that a woman of Nadine's class and merit gave you a tumble in the first place."

Gwen gave Royce a playful shove. "You're in danger of losing my vote, Sheriff."

"The dozen remaining votes aren't going to elect me," Royce muttered with dejection.

"Timber County will galvanize behind you, Royce." Chuckling, she added, "Hell's bells, Dillon Granger is such an incompetent, he's the best competition anyone could have."

"But he can twirl his six-shooter."

"I've seen him do that trick," Gwen laughed. "He's going to shoot his pecker off one of these days."

12

It was the first Sunday Royce had been scheduled off in weeks. Yet for the very reason it was scheduled, it didn't feel like a day off. This was the day of the first debate she would be having with Dillon Granger. It was to be a late-afternoon event, and would be held at the home of Jakob and Elizabeth McDermott. They were the community leaders for their party. And they were ranking members in the Family Morals Coalition, as well. The second debate would be held at the home of leaders of the opposite party. Gwen and Nadine would sponsor that debate. Both debates would be held for candidates, sponsors, and media. They would be broadcast over the local radio station.

Royce's morning and early afternoon had been planned with two objectives in mind, to spend time with her family and to be in an area of tranquility. She welcomed the traditional family trek to witness the changing of aspen. It had been a late showing this year, and that meant that it probably would be a mild winter. She picked Molly up early, and they drove out to get Gran. Hertha stayed behind with an ailing terrier.

Royce's family went to a special area each autumn. The changing trees were pockets of gold. The Rockies became a blazing zenith of color. As Royce drove, she witnessed the mountains flanked with canyons. From tilted and folded rocks and their skinlike sheets of granite, to verdant valleys with their undulating terrain, Earth's mantle was magnificent.

When she reached a favorite spot along a serpentine stream, she drove her Blazer down a side road. The women walked through a coniferous forest to a spot overlooking a panorama of greens, golds, and rusts. Royce took Gran's hand and helped her up onto a rock, where they stood for many moments. Gran sat on the edge of the rock and motioned for Molly.

"You come on over here and have yourself a look at this," Gran said as she patted the rock. When Molly had eased onto the rock ledge, she sighed. "Now," Gran questioned, "is that the prettiest postcard scene in the world?"

"I do believe it is," Molly agreed.

Royce leaned back against a sturdy pine and breathed the heavy pine sap scent. The bark of a nearby quaking aspen tree trunk was gray-white like sun-bleached bones. Atop it was a flourish of rustling leaves. The still mountain quiet flushed upward with great orchestral ripples. Royce held her breath to listen. "This is magnificent."

"Hope this gets your spirit tranquil," Molly inserted. "You need to be fresh for that debate."

Royce glanced at the ground. She saw rose quartz flickering with the sunlight. Beside her was a gray slab of granite. A patina of velvet moss adhered to the rock. Green lichen was frosting on the rock's tip. Off to the side, an old stone wall stood with grace and symmetry. As a child, Royce had walked its ledge, balancing and hearing the encouragement of her father. She listened closely, trying to hear Grady Madison's words of belief in her ability to be just as capable and just as strong as any of the area's boys. "You can do it, Roycie," he would cheer her on. "Anything in this world you want, you can do." She shut her eyes before they clouded.

The sound of the bucolic, meandering stream that gurgled behind them broke her thoughts. When her eyes opened, she saw the gossamer web of a diligent spider. Silver threads strayed out in many directions.

"You feelin' poorly, girl?" Gran asked.

"No. Just thinking about the debate. I hope I can get through it."

"Hope is a flower or a weed," Gran said. She crossed her arms and her head went up. "You can do it. That Dillon Granger is a disgusting mess of a man. Why he's a couple mackerels short of a school of fish. It's a fine how-do-you-do when he's the kinda man we got running to be our sheriff. He and those so-called family morals folks get along like a house afire now. But he gets in office, and they'll see they got them a man worse than what they put behind bars. They got a fox in the chicken coop."

"He's whistling their tune now, though," Molly remarked. "And with outside money, they've got an organized grassroots campaign. An agenda of hate, they have."

Royce surveyed the azure blueness of the skies. She was glad that they had decided to spend a part of the day with the solitude of nature. She required this alcove of remoteness. "I can't give the citizens of Timber County an ole boys troop of renegade deputies. I can't make it easy on them. I can't pour my values into their plastic form. It wouldn't be doing anyone a favor. It would be endangering them. So without the support of the deputies, I may very well lose the election."

Gran reached and touched Royce's chin. "Girl, you got an old head on young shoulders. Stand your ground. Your daddy would have."

"I've just got to stick by the code of morality that you've both taught me. And Dad and Gramps." Royce realized the symbol by which a civilization is judged is its people's law. She believed in her heart, for all its shortcomings, it's the most decent, just framework of civility the world has known. She knew it could be refined where minority rights are concerned. "I was taught that we can't afford to allow hate to destroy personal rights. We can't allow fear to dissuade us from trying to attain justice."

"You just tell them that this afternoon," Molly prompted.

"I'll probably get all tongue-tied," Royce said with a slight smile. "This election means the world to me."

Gran shook her head. "We look at life through different entry points. You got all kinds of time left to win and to lose. But this time, you'll be winning."

Molly stood and began her walk toward the Blazer. She then turned when she reached the vehicle and looked back into her daughter's eyes. "You just tell this community how you believe."

* • *

Nadine had gone ahead to work out the last-minute details of the debate. She would make certain the lighting and audio didn't give an advantage to either candidate.

Gwen and Royce arrived in time to be shown around the sprawling chateau-style estate of the McDermott's. Located directly North of Crystal Basin Ski Resort, it offered an extraordinary panoramic view of downtown Crystal, as well as the ski slopes.

They entered a dramatic, marble-tiled foyer. Sunlight streamed through cathedral-ceiling windows onto the curved staircase. Wrap-around windows surrounded the elegant hall where the debate was to be held. On opposing sides of a small stage were lecterns. In front of each was a microphone.

Royce felt her knees tremble and her throat go dry. She sipped from the glass of water on her stand. When the live broadcast began, she barely heard the announcement of the date for their future forum. This one was sponsored by the Committee to Elect Dillon Granger. He, it was announced, was the candidate endorsed by the Family Morals Coalition.

Royce had been announced as having an excellent background and a keen analytic mind. Elizabeth McDermott was being sugary gracious. Royce knew that the woman and her followers were out to see Royce pilloried.

Dillon Granger entered with a rooster's strut. His face became coarse and his eyes narrowed as the debate began. His vocal inflection bounced from vituperative to taunting. "Now, then," he poked, "you know there's a public outcry to get the murder case of Sandra Holt solved."

With a steady, restrained timbre, Royce replied. "And we are working diligently to solve the case."

"Workin' and solvin' seem to be two different things. How many years you think this solvin' is gonna take? And you got evidence like a suspect standing over the victim with the murder weapon in hand. You're afraid to make an arrest in a simple case."

"Deputy Granger, there is no simple murder case. Nor can there be one, in accordance with our Constitutional rights."

"Seems like Sheriff Madison here is out of touch with her constituents. Folks in these parts want results. They don't want a suspect out running free. We got to question your reason and if maybe a little preferential treatment isn't part of it."

"I won't prejudice the case by discussing information pertaining to an ongoing investigation. When a suspect is charged with first-degree murder, I want that charge to hold up. We plan on getting a conviction when we make an arrest."

"You got all those goofball theories, and you got an empty jail cell. That's what you got." His voice was pugnacious and ridiculing.

Royce knew both of their tempers were on the edge. And she was feeling the sharp end of the charges. "We now have circumstantial evidence. We are still investigating. I assure you that I know the laws concerning arrest. This force is not going to use a vigilante mentality to disguise ineffectual police work. I have no intention of placing this community in jeopardy of a lawsuit for false arrest. Any arrest we make will be appropriate, and we'll convict on the evidence."

'Tough to gather evidence when you got the deputies out playin' war games," he charged.

Their glance was broken, like a curtain between them. Royce looked out into the rows of chairs and grim occupants. "We need to be properly trained. We've got to be able to execute maneuvers with precision. We may live in a small mountain community, but a highway can bring us enough Uzi firepower to kill a platoon. And that's only a couple hours away. The editor of our own Times states that we can no longer be a NIMBY community. Not in my back yard. We've got to be razor-sharp in case we need to deal with urban-sprawl and urban crime."

"You bring your highfalutin city ideas here and it's a waste of time," he challenged.

"Not if one life is saved because we made the effort to be as good as we must be."

"Maybe you ought to be a drill instructor with the Marines," he chided. But a bare malignancy of hate shone in his eyes and was heard in his voice.

"Are you saying that the people in this community deserve a less proficient, less professional law enforcement department because we have fewer people? No, Deputy Granger, I'll continue the training program. Because I believe that the people who pay me and who entrust me with their protection deserve the best we have to give. Now, I asked you if you think the citizens of Timber County deserve less than the best? Would you care to respond to that?"

Granger's voice shriveled, "That just ain't what I'm sayin'. We're a tough group of lawmen. We don't need this fancy city stuff. We know our mountains. We know our guns. Like I say, we're tough."

"I believe law enforcers need toughness, resolve, and brains." Royce was glad when she heard the timekeeper, and then the closing statements were made. The group had not allowed Granger to make the allegations about her sexual orientation. They were saving that for the knockout blow, Royce assumed.

Guests were ushered into the banquet room where antique buffets held rows of hors d'oeurves. Above the cream-colored walls were elaborate crystal chandeliers. Elegant polished gold fixtures beamed. "Let's talk fancy-dancy," Gwen whispered to Royce. "I think it went well," she muttered. "We knew the place would be well-stocked with Coalition questions. You handled them."

Nadine was pleased. She put her arm around Royce's shoulder and whispered, "Yes."

"I tried. This doesn't feel like neutral territory."

"That Granger has his brains in his trousers." Gwen shuddered. "Look out, here comes cousin Elizabeth. Let's pretend we don't know her," Gwen said as she turned her shoulder and continued filling her plate with appetizers.

"Gwen. Sheriff Madison," Elizabeth greeted them. "Hope you're finding everything. Punch on the center table."

"Everything looks delicious," Royce complimented.

"I try to make new and exciting tidbits," Elizabeth said. "I'm challenged by intricate culinary delights. The more complex, the better. I suppose I should have been a scientist or an inventor. I so enjoy discovering new ways of food preparation. When I hear of an exciting dish, I make it mine. If I don't know the ingredients, I go to the library and find it. I work with it until it's exactly what I want. There's no excuse for a woman not knowing how to cook. Not as long as there's a cookbook."

"Or a library," Gwen chided.

"And speaking of ill-informed," Elizabeth's eyes zeroed in. "How is your biased little gazette doing?"

"In the black. Whoops," Gwen pretended to slip. "I guess I shouldn't say 'black' in this house." Gwen took a tidbit from the tray an attractive red-headed woman was passing. "Thanks," she muttered and then gave a side-glance to Royce. "Not bad." She munched and then scoffed, "Elizabeth, it's difficult to speak without using any colorful language, but we know that's how you and your group like it."

"I'm not allowing you to start up again with this," Elizabeth stormed. To Royce, she explained, "The judge was very ambitious when he was young. But in Denver there was so much favoritism among the ethnic groups. Between token blacks and cut-throat Jewish lawyers gobbling up judgeships, Judge McDermott didn't have a chance. Even though he was eminently qualified."

"So the judge mentioned," Royce murmured.

"Excellent vegetable platter," Nadine commented, trying to wind the chat to a pleasant conversation.

"God's gift is the food given us." Elizabeth's head lifted. "Not that my cousin would recognize a deity."

Gwen grinned, "I just love it, Elizabeth. You extract your regulations from the Bible to advance theories of prejudice. And all those Bible quotes that you're so fond of come directly from a belief system that was predicated on what a group of Jewish men said two thousand years ago."

"Jesus was Christian."

"Jesus was born Jewish. He was the world's first convert, maybe. He was not derived from the same English blood as you."

Gwen continued, "But then the Coalition doesn't need fact. Any line from the Bible can be twisted to mean what you'd like it to."

"You're referring to the fact that we believe homosexuality is an abomination."

"I suppose that's right around the same parable as the one about black tokenism and Jewish nepotism."

"You know what I'm talking about." Elizabeth glared at the women. "Lesbianism is an abomination."

"Hatred is the abomination," Gwen refuted. She pressed a miniature cabbage roll into her mouth. "And, cousin, if I were you, I would hotfoot it down to the library first thing Monday morning. This crust is soggy."

13

Royce smiled as the moppy-headed young girl put Smoky through her paces. At the end of Smoky's tricks, Carrie Donovan gave her a dog biscuit. Smoky's body bucked upward, and she placed her arms around Carrie's shoulders for her hug. Carrie sputtered out a giggle. "You're doing great with her," Royce complimented. "The two of you are good enough to go on the road."

Hertha squeezed Carrie's shoulder. "She gave a command performance for some of her new friends."

"School's going better?" Royce inquired.

"Yeah, I've got some buddies now," Carrie reported. Her blue eyes shone and she smiled. "And Doctor White is watching for the next batch of kittens she hears about. Mom said we can have a kitten at the apartment we're moving into next week."

Royce winked at Hertha. "That Doc White is some kind of terrific lady," Royce declared.

"Yeah, she's teaching me all about medicine. And food too. Now I eat raw vegetables instead of junk food."

Hertha laughed. "Yes. And with all those celery sticks, you're developing the agility of a rhesus monkey."

"Guess I better get home now," Carrie said with regret. "I wanted to see the operation. I'm the only one at the school who has ever seen an operation before."

Hertha nodded, "And I think we've got the makings of an excellent veterinarian. She didn't faint when I removed a barb from the lab's paw. She did a wonderful job of comforting the poor pup."

Royce accompanied Carrie to the door and then watched her until she saw the door of Laird's General Store clamp shut.

"You are remarkable, Doctor White. I believe you've broken through and made a kind kid out of a little tearaway." Royce took Hertha in her arms. "And I do love you, Doc."

"And I love you, Sheriff. I haven't had an opportunity to tell you how proud I was of the broadcast yesterday. Everyone's been talking about it."

"I figured it would be better to stay over at Gran's last night. I got some of the logs split for her firewood before it turned dark. By that time I was too tired to do anything more than give you a call. But I worried about you. I hate being separated."

"I know there are things up there that need to be done before winter sets in."

"It takes a dozen cords of wood to get through even a mild winter. Thought I'd get a start. And maybe I needed to get some of the day's stress worked out. Anymore, I get so angry when I see Dillon Granger that it takes chopping a cord of wood to release the anger." Royce leaned against the counter. She inhaled the antiseptic scent. "The guy's mouth is bigger than his brain. But it was an interesting day. Gave me a chance to see how the other half lives. McDermotts have an enormous house. It seems so spacious for only the two of them living there."

"From what Gwen says, it's very cold."

"I wouldn't trade homes with them. If I had a home."

"You do, Royce. The cottage is our home."

Royce looked away. "If it weren't for this election, we could live together." Royce took out a butterscotch and slipped it into her mouth. "And the cottage is so warm and wonderful. There's love. The McDermott's luxury left me chilly. Especially when Gwen and Elizabeth began sniping at one another."

"Gwen told me they exchanged words."

Royce chuckled as she followed Hertha into the surgery. "It was more of an exchange of mortar fire. I felt like running for a bomb shelter."

Hertha slipped on her smock and tied the surgical mask around her neck. "Time for surgery," she said with a sigh. The six-month-old pup on the operating table was about to be neutered. Hertha gently lifted the pup's eyelid. "Ah ha, my knockout potion worked. Scalpel!"

"I'm out of here," Royce teased. "I'll just leave you to your holistic healing remedies. And your well-sharpened knife."

"I'll have this pup back on his paws in no time at all."

"I'm going to go over and check for calls at the office. Then change into my civvies. Maybe I'll go see Faye afterward. She left a message with Mom that she wanted to talk with me. Probably wants to tell me what's happening with the opposition. We know even though the Family Morals Coalition didn't bring up my sexuality this time, it's on the boards." Royce got to the doorway. "That means I've got to tell Mom. I'll be over at the Bell Ringer. Unless I have calls."

"Calls," Hertha repeated. She pulled her mask down and stepped toward Royce. "Maybe I'd better tell you. Because you've got so much on your mind now, I didn't want to say anything. But Gwen said if I didn't, she would."

"Tell me what?"

"I've started getting calls from Rick Brown. I know it's him. There's breathing. But no voice, so I couldn't identify him."

"We'll get a call ident put in right away."

"It won't help." Hertha's dejection was overwhelming for a moment and then she added, "You know he's too smart to call from a place where he could be traced."

Royce felt like an abysmal failure. She couldn't even protect the woman she was in love with. Her face tensed. Her blue eyes dulled. "Hertha, it's getting out of hand. I'm going to move in with you."

"No, Royce. We can't live together until after the election."

"I couldn't stand it if anything happened to you."

"It's a chance we've got to take."

"No, we don't," Royce negated. "And we won't."

"Think it over very carefully."

Royce nodded. She felt differently when she stepped out onto the street. She was fighting for her county. But she was also battling for her home.

*****

After Royce slipped into denims and a royal blue, fleece-lined sweatshirt, she strolled over to the Bell Ringer. Faye greeted her with her usual gregarious hamper of happenings. "Roycie, I'm still tryin' to round up horny cowpokes. Laramie is wandering around without a leg to his name. And you got that Dillon Granger poopin' like a goose."

Royce sat on a stool at the bar and grinned. "Well, guess I don't need to catch up on news in Timber City. Let's take it from the top. Any good prospects for the night?"

"Hell, Royce, I'm waiting for some handsome hunk to strut in here with a ten-gallon hat and a cast-iron cock," Faye laughed.

"Have you set your traps yet?"

"You bet, kid. Both of 'em." Faye jiggled her ample breasts. "I developed my talents early in life. They call me paradise. Hell, these beauties are goin' to waste. But I've got my search lights out for that ten-gallon hat with a cowboy under it."

With a sputter, Royce asked, "Any other requirements?"

"Naw. That'll do," Faye confessed. She wiped off a sweating bottle of beer and placed it in front of Royce. "On the house. Hell, I was so proud of you yesterday. The Coalition was out to pick your bones clean. Granger had a go at you, and you put him back in his place. You held on."

"Going for me seemed to be a group activity at the McDermott debate."

"Yeah. But you kicked Granger's ass into another zip code when you said that about the citizens of Timber County deserving as good as the cities. You really wrung his weenie on that one."

Royce smiled shyly. "Mom said you wanted to see me. Any problems?"

"That weirdo came in yesterday. He asked questions about Hertha."

"What kind of questions?"

"That's it, they were really strange questions. About what I thought people would say if they knew Hertha and he had a thing."

Royce leaned across the bar. "He's telling people that Hertha is interested in him?" There was incredulity in her voice. "I don't believe it."

"More than that. I got the willies. I mean, we know Hertha wouldn't piss on him if he was lit afire. But he said that they were going to run away together soon. He tells me that you're trying to break them up. He said you wanted to keep her for yourself. Said Hertha was just stringing you along until they could leave together."

Royce's face blanched. Her sigh was deep and troubled. "The guy is really disturbed."

"He's rubbish. He gets more and more bonkers." Faye's hand clasped the upper parts of her arms and she gave a shudder. "I was alone and got a little nervous about him. So I didn't say boo to him when he said it. He's so weird."

"And my inquiry is getting me nowhere. He's drifted to so many places, he says. Why couldn't he have stayed in one of those places?"

"He's here now," Faye confirmed. "And he's bad news. Speaking of bad news, here comes Laramie," she teased as Laramie sat beside Royce.

"I reckon I wouldn't say no to a drink," he hinted.

Royce laughed. "You never have. Pour him some coffee, on me," she said. "So what's happening?"

Laramie waited for his brew. "The guy watchin' Doc White has him a tattoo I seen."

"Yes?"

"Yep. Says '100% White Male' on his chest," Laramie proudly reported. He finished his drink rapidly and stood. "I got a hankering for a real drink, but I gotta make my rounds first."

Royce knew that meant he had to wander over to where Molly left pasties and pastry for him each day. He would eat and then return to spend as much of the night as he could afford at the bar.

"Thanks for keeping an eye out," said Royce.

"Yep. And there's somethin' else. On the side panel of that truck of his. There's been somethin' written. I'm tryin' to make it out. Ain't easy, cause he bolts when he sees me snoopin' around his truck. The fella must get up before a sparrow farts. But I know there's words been written on them door panels."

"An imprinted logo?" Royce inquired.

"Yep. I get real close and feel where the paint has ridges. I'm workin' on finding out what it says."

"It might provide the clue we need."

"Say, you been gettin' any contributions lately?" He asked.

"Trickling in," Royce answered.

"I'll let you know if I come up with anything on the truck paint." Laramie tipped his hat, and his bowed legs carried him out of the bar.

"Laramie may be lubricated," Faye divulged, "but he's workin' away on finding out about this Brown creep."

"I'm grateful to him. To all of you for keeping me informed." Royce glanced up at the doorway and saw Gwen entering. "Gwen, you in the wrong establishment?" Royce joked.

"This is open to the public," Gwen muttered as she sat. "A draw," she ordered. "Unless," she jabbed, "Faye is only serving cowboys."

Faye drew a frosty mug of beer and placed it in front of Gwen. "Anything else?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Gwen added. "A buffalo burger and an order of your hand-cut cottage fries."

Faye called the order back to the her short-order cook. Then she grinned at Gwen. "I thought you'd never eat over here. I believe it was in the Times I read that this is a roach shop. You called my buffalo burger special a toxin plate. How about your statement that this was a botulism bar?" Faye's sarcasm barbed.

"That was a decade ago," Royce interceded.

"That's correct," Gwen stipulated. "And you've pulled your act together."

"Thanks," Faye responded blithely. "Your editorials don't stink as badly as they used to either." Faye refilled Gwen's glass. "No dinner on the table?"

"I got back from Crystal late," Gwen confessed. "And I decided to throw caution to the wind and try your special. I did take out some extra life insurance."

Faye gave a rolling laugh. "Royce, the biting ole ferret from across the street is really pissin' and moanin'. Nadine must have cut her off."

Gwen's face flushed and she grumbled, "Don't start any of your malarkey with me."

"So why are you having a little moan? Did your cousin Elizabeth give you a bunch of shit yesterday?"

"She wouldn't dare," Gwen defended.

Faye laughed. "Who could blame her for taking cover when you're around?" Faye drew half a glass of beer and came around to the other side of the bar and sat. "One thing I can say, this election has put us in the same camp. That hasn't happened since Hector was a pup."

"Every rational person is against the Coalition and Elizabeth."

"Well, she's a shrew, and the judge is an old crock. Hell," Faye disclosed, "he could teach Laramie how to drink."

"All I know," Royce admitted, "is that winning the election seems like an uphill battle."

"Maybe," Faye offered, "you need you one of those fancy spin doctors."

Gwen's eyebrows bobbed and she grinned. "Or maybe Royce just needs a spin veterinarian."

Royce shook her head and chuckled. Standing, she murmured, "Reminds me, I better take off. See if you two can get along so I don't get called back here on a disturbance."

Royce had passed through the swinging doors and onto the street, and she still heard the two women laughing. "Spin veterinarian!" Royce mumbled.

*****

The hissing kerosene lamp reminded Royce that Colorado high country autumns were brisk. She was glad she had started the log splitting at Gran's. Wind lashed at the window, confirming her fears of an early cold snap. But Hertha's bedroom was warm. Clover scents mingled with the steam from two freshly brewed mugs of spiced tea. Dolphin-gray shadows made silhouettes parting night and day.

"Everything okay?" Royce questioned as Hertha entered and sat on the edge of the bed. She handed her lover a mug and took a sip from her own.

"All quiet on the western front. All patients are doing reasonably well. Now if I can convince the retriever not to fight with porcupines again, and the Siamese not to fight with retrievers, I'll be satisfied. And if we can get the little spaniel mix pulled out from his bout with pancreatic troubles."

"I'm glad they didn't wait any longer bringing the little guy in."

"They're having money problems. I told them not to worry. Royce, I'm not going to let an animal suffer because of money. I know they love that little fellow, but with five children. Well, there's no problem. I'm sure they'll bring the dog in sooner from now on."

"I love you for so many reasons." Royce took Hertha's hand and kissed her fingers. "Healing sick animals is only one of them."

Hertha's sleek hair draped around her face, and she leaned to kiss Royce's parting lips. Her skin against Royce's reminded the sheriff of the smoothness inside of a shell. Royce felt her warmth as Hertha slipped inside Royce's embrace.

"I want to love you," Royce whispered. "Tonight. All nights. I'm going to tell Mom in the morning that I'm moving in with you."

"Royce, the election isn't that far away. Let's wait until then."

"No. I need to be with you. Now more than ever. For both of us. And maybe if Rick Brown sees that I'm living here permanently he'll get the message."

"We both know better than that." Hertha's fingertips caressed Royce's cheek. "I can't allow you to risk your future because we fear something that may never happen."

"Your safety is more important to me than anything else."

"I don't want this to cause you unhappiness. It could ruin everything you've worked for." Hertha's eyes closed. "Royce, it's very courageous of you, but I don't want to feel responsible for your losing the election. Please, no."

Royce lifted the goose down comforter from her nude body and murmured, "It's getting warm in here." She reached for Hertha's gown and slowly slid the gown's sleeve away. Kissing her lover's shoulder, Royce's lips eased up Hertha's neck. She gently bit Hertha's ear and then whispered, "May I share love with you?"

"If you promise that you'll consider your future very carefully and not make any snap decisions."

Royce laughed. "You've got me in a compromising mood."

"I'd have guessed it to be another kind of mood," Hertha teased. "But do I have your word?"

"You have my word that I'll overwhelm your body with adoration and your mind and soul with love. Are those words poetic enough?"

"Those weren't the words I was looking for." Hertha's softness blended against Royce. Her arms wound around Royce's neck and her fingers gently ruffled Royce's hair. "Promise?"

"I promise that I'm going to move in this week. Unless my invitation was lost in the mail."

"You don't need an invite to move into our home."

"Then it's settled. Now, I've considered it, and that's my decision. Can we make love, or were you bargaining with the night of unending pleasure?"

Hertha chuckled. "Looks like your power of persuasion is still strong." Her tongue dipped against Royce's lips, sending shivers through them both.

"Mmm, yes," Royce murmured as their bodies pressed together and they began their moonlit tour of passion.

14

Golden spikes of sunlight filtered through morning's filmy clouds. It brightened another lovely autumn day.

Royce had driven out to the cabin early and told Gran that she planned to move in with Hertha. It seemed to be news that Gran had expected. And accepted. The trip back into Timber City was quiet. Royce was filled with resolve to tell Molly. She would not be derailed from coming out.

Royce entered the bakeshop kitchen where Molly clapped her hands free of flour. "Roycie, you look pallid as a ghost."

"A little beleaguered," Royce confirmed. She was sure that her mother saw the desolation on her face. Royce always internalized her pain, but her eyes reflected her emotions.

"I do believe it's going to be another gorgeous day. Can't recall when an autumn's been more lovely."

"Mom, I was just out to see Gran. I told her that I'm moving in with Hertha."

Molly washed her hands and twisted the towel until they were dried. Then she went to a long table with several cakes. She squeezed crystalline confectioner's frosting through the piping to write messages on the flat faces of cakes. The words had been memorized when Molly wrote out the work order. The script was automatic and precise.

Royce had followed her mother. She took a seat on the stool across from Molly. "Mom, did you hear what I said?"

"Said you were moving in with Hertha. Well, it's closer to your work."

"It's more than that."

"Yes?"

"I've fallen in love with her."

"I guess I knew in my heart, but my mind hadn't wrapped around the idea of it being so." Molly blinked. Her eyes smarted from tears, but none fell. "I don't want life to hurt you."

Royce began to reach for her mother's hand, but then stopped. She didn't want to interrupt Molly's script. "Are you disappointed in me?" Royce questioned.

"No. It's just that ..." Molly broke and looked away. She carefully put down the pastry bag. "Royce, I want what all parents want for their children. Is there anything I could have done along the way to have made it different?"

"No."

"Maybe I was too accepting of Gwen and Nadine. Of their way of living. Their lifestyle."

"No. It wouldn't have made any difference. What you did was make it easier for me to accept myself. And seeing their love gave me the courage to be me. Knowing that being lesbian is an option, well, it prevented me from making the mistake of trying to force myself into a life that I found alien."

"I tried not to make a fuss over it. Maybe I should have talked with you earlier."

"Mom, nothing anyone could have said or done would have made me different. It isn't something that's contagious or learned. I'm grateful that your love and acceptance of Gwen and Nadine showed me that my lifestyle isn't always scorned. And their courage to be out showed me that one's sexuality doesn't need to be hidden away."

"People still don't accept it."

"But what's important to me is that the people I love can accept me."

"I accept you. I love you, Royce. And you know how I've taken to Hertha. I was saying the other day that she's come to be like one of my own. I want your happiness. But I know that there are people out there who are going to be thinking less of you. They won't understand."

"No. And that's the other thing. You know that prejudice will be surfacing during the campaign. There have already been allegations under wraps. The veil will be lifted soon, and the Coalition will make charges."

"Then why are you moving in with Hertha? Can't you keep it how it was? At least until after the election?"

"No. No, I can't. I don't need to answer their charges. But I refuse to hide from them."

*****

Royce's plod back to the Times' pressroom was slow. Her face was sullen. Glinting printer's type blinked. Beneath the funnel lamp, Gwen was clicking letters together in a row for the week's headlines. She stopped working and placed the handset type beside a stack of woodblocks. "Well," she mumbled as if to herself, "you look as though you've had rather heavy weather of it."

"I just told Mom that I'm in love with Hertha. And that I'm moving in with her today."

"So you two are putting mutual brands on one another's fanny?"

"Yes. I made the decision."

"What did Molly say?"

"Hearing the words hurt her. I could tell. And she thought I should wait until after the election before making the move." Royce's blue eyes cast away from the light. Her lower lip bobbed for words that were pressing through her heart to be released. "I need to be with Hertha. I couldn't stand it if anything happened to her. I never knew I could love anyone like this."

"Maybe Molly thought it would be less stressful on you to wait. You're dealing with a murder case. Along with the election and those threatening phone calls to Godiva."

"Yes, we had another call. Nadine mentioned that she's going up to Crystal later this week to interview Godiva. I figured we could go together. I want to check and see how things are going."

"I have no intention of wasting my time with Godiva's antics. We have been getting requests for an in-depth interview. Godiva's press secretary set it up. On the film site, which will be a great photo opportunity. Our readers don't really give a flip about Godiva, but the movie being shot in Crystal does interest them."

"Well, we've beefed up security since day one. Not that we could prevent a real problem with such a small force, but we're doing our best."

"Funny that. Just as the Godiva's press begins to wane, another call comes in. Convenient, huh?"

"I've thought of that. It is convenient, but not for us. I could use the extra protection for Hertha."

"Moving in will help some." Gwen tipped her eyeglasses up onto the front of her head. She rubbed her eyes and added, "But it isn't going to help your campaign. It goes against the grain of social acceptability. Spending a few quiet nights isolated with a lover is one thing. Making a change of address is another." Gwen sighed a deep and troubled sigh. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes."

"There's going to be a backlash."

"You once told me that truth requires courage."

"Hell's bells," Gwen chuckled, "you listen to what I tell you?"

"As Gran would say, my ears are pinned back." Royce's lips curved slightly. "So, I've come out to my mother and I'm moving in with my lover. My timing may be bad, but it's about as courageous as I can get."

"So you tell the world the truth. With courage. And then what? Protecting that truth is an unending task." Gwen replaced her glasses and shook her head. "You took the first step."

"I'll deal with whatever needs to be dealt with."

"Some people will boycott the clinic. They'll take their animals to another community. And some people will cast their vote against you."

"But not all."

"No. I have hopes that it will one day turn around. When Nadine moved to Timber City and it became evident that we were lovers, we had bricks and stones thrown through the newspaper's front window. We had eggs thrown at the house. Advertising was canceled. People on the street looked at us as though we were lepers. Some looked as though they despised us. Others looked as though they might toss their cookies. They got used to the idea, but it's taken years. A good confrontation suits me down to the ground, but Nadine has always taken pride in being respectable. A few treated her with anything but respect. There are still people in this town I won't speak to. They hurt her, and that was unforgivable. They'll hurt Hertha. And some won't vote for you because you're lesbian."

"You're saying that there's no chance for me to be elected?"

"I've given up on taking a poll. I know the members of the Family Morals Coalition will oppose you. The hidden bigots won't tell me that they would sooner vote for a boisterous old toad like Dillon Granger for no other reason but that he puts his pants on with the zipper in the front." Her words were laced with cynicism. "The macho bigots would rather stick pins in their eyes than vote for a woman. Much less a woman sharing her bed with a woman they wish they had."

Royce smiled. "You do have a way with words."

"Looks like I'll need it. Judge McDermott is just striding in now. Wonder what he wants." Gwen stretched her body to hear. When his voice rose, she realized he was having words with Nadine. "He's fit to be tied about something," she muttered as they walked to the front office.

"Wouldn't you know it," he sputtered when he saw Royce and Gwen enter. "All the suffragettes in town gathering here. Well, that's fine because I wanted to talk with the sheriff too."

"Someone trod on your corns today?" Gwen asked, bemused at his outrage. "What have you been eating lately to make you so disagreeable?"

Nadine stood and began to intercede. Gwen waved her back. "Take the judge's hat, Nadine. Isn't often we're honored with such a dignified guest. Of course they say Judge McDermott was so crooked in Denver that he could stand behind a spiral staircase and not be seen."

"I'm in no mood for your humor," he spat.

"So what brings you to the Times}"

"We're getting tired of your biased articles about Sheriff Madison's past heroics." He waved the newspaper in her face. "Yet another mention that she solved the biggest murder case in the history of Timber County. Well, that's just not good enough. It's past tense. You keep bringing it up like clockwork. Let's look at now. Acting Sheriff Madison has got a murder case in front of her, and she's doing nothing about it. Sitting on the fence. She's got a smoking gun and she's sitting on her hands."

"You want her to arrest Jorie? Your wife's cousin?"

"We know Marjorie Lovett committed the crime," he blustered. "Now I'm not saying she's a murderer at heart. It was probably an accident. Certainly it wasn't premeditated. Perhaps in a fit of anger. But she needs to be charged. I'm getting pressure from above about this being a lawless community. I know if Marjorie confesses and tells the court it was an accident, the court will be lenient. Maybe she can claim self-defense. The Holt woman was drunk and enraged. We can cut deals if she'll just do the right thing and confess."

"Confess to a crime she didn't commit?" Royce grilled. "Why would she do that? And why would you suggest it?"

"We all know that Gwen and Marjorie are mercurial. Sandra Holt upset Marjorie. Marjorie struck out. Neither of my wife's cousins are blessed with the sweet disposition my little woman has." His chest puffed when he referenced the social dulcitude of his wife. Gwen's brows lifted and her eyes comedically rolled. "Be that as it may, I'm convinced the murder was accidental and that Marjorie is sorry for it." He snorted, "Sheriff, you'd best strike while the iron is hot. If you don't arrest Marjorie soon, she may never confess."

"Arresting an innocent person violates procedure," Royce said through her teeth. "And we retired the rubber hoses from service when I took office. Would you have me starve a confession out of her?"

He twirled the rim of his hat between his fingers. "You'll soon be hiring on as a security guard at minimum wage."

"I believe Jorie will be exonerated when I locate Sandra Holt's killer." Royce was steadfast.

"You women won't listen to reason," he huffed.

Gwen chided, "Unlike your little woman. Enthralling. My, my, you're so manly to have so much control over the little woman."

"She's my wife. The mother of my child!" His confrontational stance was tense. "How dare you talk about her like that in my presence."

"Marrying you was not all that bright, Judge," Gwen challenged. "And fertility does not equal sainthood. I fail to see why you'd expect Elizabeth's canonization for bearing your offspring."

"You can't understand. You've never given birth!"

"Neither have you." Gwen said in a teasing tone. "But credit to your little woman for her duties. Tyler turned out great, which must mean that snobbery and pretension skip a generation."

The judge's eyes narrowed and his face reddened. "The Coalition will see that this town has a new sheriff. And then we'll concentrate on ridding the town of trash like this." He threw the newspaper on the front counter. "Liberal nonsense! The power of the press should not be used to undermine the values of the people. You don't know the Bible's teachings. You're too busy bending over and kissing the asses of criminals and perverts to read the good book."

"Judge," Gwen clamored, her lips churning into a laugh, "as homophobic as you are, I wouldn't suggest you ever do any bending over. Much less kissing while bent."

His eyes were on fire. He whirled around and nearly tore his hat pulling it over his head. When the door slammed behind him, Royce, Nadine, and Gwen burst into laughter.

"Talking out the backside of his trousers," Nadine said through gasps of giggles. "Gwen, you've ruined his morning."

Gwen's smile beamed. She winked at Nadine. "Yes, but it made my week."

*****

When the last of the cardboard cartons was unloaded from Royce's Blazer, Royce gazed down the hall at her belongings. Stacked boxes lined the hallway. Royce sat on one of the taller cartons and rested.

"Here's some tea, hon," Hertha spoke as she handed a mug of herbal tea to Royce. "Now, come on in and sit by the fireplace with me for a few minutes. I'll help you unpack later."

Royce stood and her hand chained with her lover's. "Yes. It's been a long day."

The women sat on the sofa and watched the rags of flame slapping logs of pine and aspen. Royce had brought a load of wood from the cabin. She recommended burning a blend of aspen for the first many fires. Aspen burns hot, she said, and will help clean out the chimney. She noted that the blend also shed a warm glow.

Royce's arm looped Hertha's shoulder as the women sagged against one another. "Feels good," Hertha wistfully remarked.

"Yes." Royce gazed around at the Native American decor. It was overwhelming to her. There was a mandalas on the wall and next to that a war bonnet with a bright red brow-band. A large indigo-dyed homespun blanket made of natural wool was hung on the opposite wall. A wampum belt, moccasins, and necklace of turquoise and alabaster, were dangling on the blanket's ends. On the coffee table in front of them was a long, colorful peace pipe. Royce's glance remained centered on it. "At least we have a peace pipe."

"I know our tastes in decoration collide, Royce. I haven't had time to clear away some of my things so you have space for your things too. Anything you hate?" she asked.

"Take down the war bonnet and leave the peace pipe," Royce joked.

Hertha laughed. "At all costs, the pipe stays. Actually, the pipe is more symbolic than just peace. Tobacco was part of the curing ritual. Smoking tobacco and peyote either cured or made them think they were cured. To sanctify the body, tobacco was even included in the burial ceremony."

"No Surgeon General's warning?"

"Nope. But at least plants had minimal side effects. The tribal herbalist took care of the body, and the shaman cured the soul. That's where the true deep healing begins. At least that's how we believe. Keep the body, mind, and spirit in harmony with nature."

"Your ways are Native American, yet you've been living in a white world."

"But when I was small I was raised under tribal emblems. I've been tossed into a genealogical blender. Royce, I hold on to those relics of my people because it's where I find the most comfort."

"I don't understand that," Royce shifted until their glance locked. "There was so much poverty on the reservation. And you told me about the total sex discrimination. I don't understand your being drawn to that."

"It's the belief that I'm most drawn to. We believe that everything is connected by forces of life. From the first breath our quest is to discover wisdom. That can't be all wrong."

"No."

"I realize that you see people ranging only from kindness to evil. That's a reflection of your upbringing. And admittedly, I see the white as exploitative."

"I won't break any treaties," Royce chuckled. "If you don't stage any marauding night raids."

"That's a deal, paleface!" Hertha laughed. She gave a quick kiss and then added, "My people had to work their battles at night. The whites had too many tricks."

"The 'all's fair in love and war' message never reached the red warriors?"

"Actually, the whites would convince the Indians to count down before battle. They told the Indians they were going to count to three. Then they would begin firing on the count of two. That trick backfired. The Indians began attacking when they heard the first count. One. And it was all over."

"Who told you that?" Royce quizzed.

"My grandmother. Quckhim is the Ute word for grandmother."

Royce repeated, "Quckhim?"

"Close enough," Hertha teased. There was a moment's pause. Each woman looked back at the fireplace. Then Hertha spoke. "Royce, I want this to be your home. And it must feel like your home. Please, let's decorate it together. I don't want to exclude my heritage, but we can blend it with yours. We can join the cultures together."

"I'd like that. After all, the most oppressed group in history is women. Just ask any straight man of any race or color if he would change race or color, but the deal includes his becoming a woman in the process. Would he do it? Not one minority would change their race to become female. Also, ask any heterosexual male of poverty if he would become a woman and have all the world's riches. Nope. Not one of them would trade in their favorite toy. At least none I've asked. So that leaves women the most oppressed group in the world."

"What a depressing thought," Hertha said with a frown. "Maybe we should concentrate on praising the fact that we are both women."

"How about retiring to bed and I'll show you the Sapphic healing ceremony for sexual harmony and wisdom."

"No broken treaties." Hertha slipped her fingers under Royce's belt and began to unfasten the buckle.

"No marauding raids." Royce tenderly unbuttoned Hertha's blouse. "No countdowns."

"Just one."

15

After reviewing the roster, Royce had posted her address and phone number change. So at the morning meeting she wasn't sure whether the deputies were scowling because she insisted on their qualifying with firearms that morning, or because they disapproved of her new living arrangements.

Dillon Granger had made a point of sleeping throughout the meeting. One of the deputies shoved his shoulder. Dillon grumbled, "Was I snoring?"

Royce jabbed, "That's how we chose to interpret the barnyard noises coming from your corner."

When the deputies chuckled, Dillon retaliated quickly. "I don't need these namby pamby meetings to tell me how to be a sheriff. All this SWAT shit and game playing is for the movies."

"Qualifying with firearms is real life, I assure you," Royce disputed. "And being proficient with sidearms and rifles is law. Not my law. It's Timber County law. I'm only enforcing that law. Which is what I'm paid to do."

"I'm only too happy to prove I can qualify on the shooting range. What I want to know is if you can qualify with them nut crackers you're trying to use on us deputies."

During the last episode, Royce had determined that it would do her cause more good if she would roll with the punches. She was aware that the others were awaiting her response. With a good-natured laugh, she chided, "I'm waiting on the results of your test scores to see if I'll need to worry about qualifying."

"Never know when we'll have us some kinda Desert Storm around these parts," he sniped. When the room was silent, he wheeled around and exited.

Nick whistled through his teeth. "He's pissed."

Royce grinned back at Nick. "He'd better cool his jets, or he won't be able to qualify. Then he'll be pissed big time."

Nick laughed. "He's saying that he ought to head the operation in Crystal because you're going to be a lame duck after the election. And he doesn't think you're doing anything anyway."

"He's a numskull." Royce went to the coffee machine and poured coffee into her cup. "I've been gasping for caffeine all morning, but I didn't want to turn my back to the opposition."

"I hear you. I feel like I'm caught in the crossfire. He's badmouthing me because I took over in Crystal. I wish you'd let me tell the others what he pulled."

"Hey, Adonis, it will all come out in time." Royce returned to her desk. She took out a thick file and began going through it. There were more than two hundred black-and-white photos taken at the party the night Sandra Holt was killed. And another hundred snapped after the murder had taken place. Royce scrutinized each frame. She took out her magnifying glass and meticulously examined them. "Next time you see the photographer who sent the contact sheet instead of the prints, tell him we need prints. I'll ruin my eyes on this stuff."

"What you looking for?"

"Nick, I'm not sure. Anything that's out of place. Anything that doesn't belong."

"You're coming to Crystal this afternoon?"

"Yes. In an unofficial capacity. It's my afternoon off. I'm going with Nadine. She's going up for an interview and to get some photos on the film's location. Still like Crystal?"

"Crystal itself isn't the worst assignment a guy could get."

Royce chuckled. "I can just imagine you up there reconnoitering with Crystal's pretty women. Yes. Timber County's Lothario with a badge."

"There's opportunities up there I could never have imagined."

"Oh? Now let's hear the truth about the Crystal filming and sorting out Dillon Granger."

"It's a viper's nest." Nick got to the doorway. "I'm heading up there now. Are you going to stop by and ask Granger if he qualified?"

"No. He's not socially acceptable even in small doses. Much less twice in one day."

*****

Godiva wore a pink crepe gown that skimmed the floor. The décolleté bodice was trimmed in gold embroidery. She tossed back her ringlet-circled head, and her laugh tinkled like wind chimes. Lights blazed against the opulently elegant set and against Godiva as she delivered her lines with fervor.

Nadine had busily assumed her role as paparazzi for the day. When the cameras were shut down, she snapped photos of the set and stars.

Royce strolled to where Tyler was seated on a huge trunk that transported studio lighting equipment. His knee stuck out of the mammoth hole in the worn denims. His t-shirt promoted a Los Angeles gym. Royce glanced down at her own Levis, primrose color-block print Western shirt, and stonewashed denim vest. She decided it looked bland in comparison to the film production crew's attire. "Mind if I sit down?" she asked. "Even if I haven't got holes in my denims?"

He patted the trunk. His handsome, boyish grin was filled with sparkling white teeth. "I'll lend you a scissors and we can cut you some style."

Royce sat. She winced as she muttered, "I remember how I hated having to wear old denims that were patched and re-patched. County lawmen made even less when my dad was sheriff."

"I remember your dad. He was a hero to all of us. I always thought you were lucky to have a dad like Grady."

"I was lucky. But your father was the influential, wealthy judge. Everyone always thought of your family as picture perfect."

Tyler's jaw clamped. "Don't believe in perfection and you won't be disappointed."

"Meaning?"

"My father used to force me to go hunting with him. I hated that time together. He wanted to make his son into a man in the likeness of Hemingway. He ridiculed my gentle nature."

"He must be proud of you now?"

"Only when I play he-man roles. That satiates his macho image." Tyler picked up the script that had fallen and flipped the pages. "I'm tired of these lusterless lines."

"I'm tired of campaigning."

"I don't understand why you'd want to make so many sacrifices." Tyler frowned. "You were making twice what you make here when you were a police officer in Denver."

"I may be again." She looked away. "How do you keep from tripping over all the wires and not bumping into the lights and microphones?"

"It is a collision course," he said with a laugh. "Working with Godiva is even more frightening."

"Oh?"

"It takes stamina to handle her mindset."

"I imagine so," Royce chided.

There was a pause. Royce glanced around the set and tried to recognize any of the people who might have attended the promotion party. With the exception of Tyler, Godiva, and her entourage, she recognized few faces. Most of the film crew had arrived later.

"Tyler, I need to ask you a question. You know about the threats. The phone calls Godiva's been getting. You aren't involved in any way, are you?" Royce delved.

"No. Not me. Maybe one of her apes. But not me."

"I ask because the voice is disguised. But we recognize that it is youthful. And the calls are being made locally."

"I take a back seat where publicity stunts are concerned. At least those kind."

They looked up when the scene closed. Godiva's voice lifted and she screamed at her bodyguard, "I don't know what came over me. I thought you worked for me. Let me explain the rules. You aren't making them up as I go along. I'm making the fucking rules. You're following them. Got that?" she snarled. When he leaned and whispered in her ear, Godiva suddenly made a leap in his direction. Her nails aimed for his cheeks, and she scratched deeply. He struggled against her attack with restraint. Crimson lines trickled as he shook the blood droplets from his face. Sparks flew from her eyes. "Don't get caught with your hands up an extra's gown and then come back around me. Fucker!"

"Stop!" he barked. His hands squeezed her upper arm with the compression of a tourniquet as he attempted to thwart her attack. "Godiva, enough!"

When he allowed her arms to drop, her powerful forearm swung out with a fury against his face. "You son of a bitch," she screamed. "Don't you ever do that again." She backed up and then began a panther's pacing with the air of an aristocrat. "I'll dump you back on the pavement, buster!"

"So you can move on with your poptarts?" he grumbled.

"Sex in the hands of amateurs is pathetic!" she charged. She then flung another fist at his chest. When the director pulled her away, Godiva smoothed her hair and then saw Royce. Her flash of temper ended. She glared back into her bodyguard's eyes with rage. In a threatening voice, she said, "You stay out of my face and remember that I write your paycheck." Godiva moved toward Royce and extended her hand. "Sheriff, are you here to see me?"

"No. Just came up with my friend from the Timber City Times."

"Oh, I almost forgot. I'm going to be late for the interview." She smiled coyly. "Unless you'd like to accompany back to my dressing room and question me?"

"I don't do interviews. Only interrogations," Royce corrected. "And the only thing I have to interrogate you about is these phone calls you keep getting. I don't suppose you know anything about them?"

"Only that they frighten me."

"You also need to be frightened of false reporting to a law enforcement officer. And obstruction of justice, which is wasting an officer's time."

"You're implying that I'm making the phone calls?"

"I'm stating that it is a criminal offense. And anyone committing a crime in this county will be prosecuted."

Godiva snickered. "We all believe that. You've got a murder that happened under your nose and you're doing precious little. I don't think a few crank calls, if I were responsible, would get me the electric chair." With grandeur and flourish, she twirled around. "Ciao, Sheriff."

"Ciao, yourself," Royce mumbled.

*****

"Fiddlesticks!" Dora Madison exclaimed when Royce and Nadine sat down to join her for dinner. "I just bet that Godiva is having those calls made herself." Dora motioned for her guests to begin passing the plates. "So pleasant out here on the porch this time of year." She looked at her granddaughter. "You think Godiva's got someone up to making those calls for her?"

"That seems to be the consensus," Royce impeached. "Tyler says he isn't making the calls, and I believe him."

"He's an actor," Nadine cautioned. "But he's not like his parents. I did manage to ask him if he would like to come for dinner Sunday. Of all things, Gwen wants to have a little family get-together because some of the family's aunts and uncles arrived in Crystal to see the film in progress. She's asking the McDermotts and Jorie. She said that she felt badly after the last encounter with the judge. She has a thing about families trying to work out differences. I doubt if Elizabeth and the judge will venture out, but at least we're making the effort."

"Plenty amazing! Gwen wants a family reunion after all the words they've been having," Royce remarked. She removed the lid from the blackened kettle that usually hung on the fireplace's hob. Steam lifted, and the scent of chicken broth clouded up. "Gwen believes in fair fights and then reconciliations."

"That she does," Nadine agreed. She smacked her lips. "Dora, this looks terrific. You didn't need to fuss over us stopping by like this. An elegant meal out on the porch in the middle of the woods. What a treat!"

"Yes," Royce concurred, "it's quite a spread."

"Knew you'd be heading back to Timber, and I needed to put supper on, so I just figured I'd throw together one of Royce's favorite meals."

Royce inhaled the celery scent that flavored the succulent chicken and dumplings. "And skillet cornbread!" Royce added. "I'm sure glad we stopped by." Her fork twisted a chunk of chicken from the bone. Gran's delicately spiced chicken melted in her mouth. "Excellent," she praised between bites. "Yes, I'm glad we didn't miss this."

"You probably stopped by to check on me," Gran accused. "I don't need looking after."

"But Royce does," Nadine kidded.

When the phone rang, Gran left for the kitchen. "You two keep on eating, I'll get that. Probably Molly calling to see if I need anything. I live for nearly fifteen years on my own, and folks hereabouts seem to think I can't manage."

Royce spread butter on her wedge of steaming cornbread. "Nadine, how's it going with you and Gwen?"

Nadine's eyes filled. "Royce, Gwen and I have been together for so many years it seems as though we're part of one another. She knows the campaign is important to me. How much I want to succeed. Although I know she wants you to win, it's as if she doesn't want me involved."

"That isn't true. You've always been supportive of one another."

"I've always been a part of her team. This is my first chance to perform on my own. I'm a campaign manager. And for whatever reason, I get the distinct impression that she doesn't approve."

"Maybe she doesn't want you to put too much emphasis on the election. Maybe she's realist enough to know the bundle of dollars being funneled into Granger's campaign."

"Speaking of contributors," Nadine said with bewilderment, "we received contributions from some Oklahoma oil companies last week. And from a couple of Wyoming mining companies yesterday. Oh, and a mineral testing corporation in Denver."

"We did?"

"Yes. It was enough to buy some air time. We're going to answer the Granger charges of inexperience because of age."

"I don't know why those companies would send contributions to a small-town sheriff's election committee." Royce was perplexed. "I can't do them any favors."

"Gwen said that it's normal for major companies to contribute to all campaigns. Cover all the bases. It's fueling some ads, but we're still not talking the same money as Granger's Family Morals Coalition. They're sending money by the truckload."

"Well, we'll get more mileage out of our funds."

"Royce, I'm trying to make every penny count. Trying to get the most out of every ad." She paused. "I just hope you aren't sorry you selected me to run your campaign."

"How could you possibly think that? I'm grateful to you."

"Gwen might have handled the job better."

"You're doing a superb job, Nadine." Royce put her fork down and reached to pat Nadine's hand. "The very best."

"I'm frightened of losing. I know how important it is to you. I don't want to let you down. At times I feel as though my life is behind the curtains. I'm living life in Gwen's shadow."

"You know how much we all love you. But Nadine, it hurts me to think that you and Gwen are having problems because of the election."

"It goes deeper than that. This problem has been buried inside our relationship since it began. I've always had the feeling of being Gwen's second fiddle."

"Funny thing," Royce said as she glanced up at the sky. The clouds that were rolling toward them forecast a storm. "I've always perceived it differently. Gwen's given me the impression that you inspired her to be her best. Second fiddle. No. I think she believes you're her entire string section."

"But she's the conductor."

The sky looked like hell's underside. Royce didn't want a day of storms. There were too many brewing in her life. "Nadine. She loves you. We all do."

"Maybe I don't feel her love. Maybe it's time to come to terms with that feeling. One way or the other."

"You'd never leave her."

"Royce, it might very well come to that."

16

Royce gazed out Crystal Lodge's long windows at the drifting, pearl gray clouds. A flash of needle lightning broke through distant afternoon mist. A crash of thunder was muffled by the surrounding mountains. Royce realized her thoughts were about Nadine and Gwen. Nadine had extracted a promise that Royce not tell Gwen about their conversation. Royce argued that it was only fair that Nadine tell Gwen. Nadine rejected that suggestion with vehemence. She didn't want anyone knowing. Not even Hertha. And certainly not Gwen.

"Glad we decided on neutral turf for this little family reunion," Gwen muttered. She glanced over at the other side of the party suite that had been rented for the occasion. There Tyler, Godiva, and her bodyguard stood in front of the large portable bar. Behind the bar, Jorie was busily mixing her specialty, Longhorn Kick. "Godiva insisted for security purposes that we get together up here instead of at our home. Then she apologized to me, saying she figured it was probably important to us to have her as a guest in our home, but because of the threats, it was wiser to stay up here. I told her that our old homestead had hosted an enormously long list of dignitaries and they had all kept their clothing on. She wouldn't be missed."

Royce smiled, but it was a somber smile. "I'm here because Nick needed a day off. His womanizing has really suffered since he took over Granger's duties. I'm just amazed that the McDermotts and Jorie agreed to attend."

"Nadine said that the judge thought it was a daft idea. He said the family was split and there could be no reconciliation. I guess Elizabeth encouraged him. She convinced him that Tyler shouldn't be pulled away from family. And since it's just a walk across the square from where they live, he agreed."

"I'm amazed that Elizabeth would attend, and encourage the judge."

"Royce, I was too." Gwen sipped her drink. "We can't patch our differences. They're too basic. But at least we can share a meal together. I'm hoping Jorie will begin to feel better. She was always crazy about Tyler when he was a boy. And she's always hated any form of ostracism. Her mental well-being needs the support of family. At least Tyler will offer that."

"He's had his arm around Godiva since they arrived," Royce commented. "For a while I thought she was playing with her bodyguard."

"Love's young dream. Tyler isn't the type to go on a floozy drive." Gwen grinned, then took a final swig of her drink. "Too bad you're on duty. These Kicks are terrific. I'd better not have too many refills, or Nadine will make me ride back to Timber on the car's fender. But, I think I'll go over and order just one more."

Royce sat back on a stool situated in the corner. She surveyed the group and then looked down onto the square below. She could view Elizabeth on the arm of the judge as they made their way to the lodge. He was walking jauntily, but it was apparent he had had a few drinks already. He swung his prized stein in the air as he walked.

Royce felt Godiva's hand on her shoulder and looked into the face reflected from the window. "Join the circus," Godiva whispered.

"I'm on duty, so I can't drink or relax too much just now," Royce replied.

"I've got so many hangers-on. It's unusual to meet someone as unimpressed as you seem to be." She tugged at her spandex exercise tights. "Like steel filings to a magnet. My fans love me. I just expect everyone to."

"I picked the short straw again," Royce mumbled. She turned around and looked into Godiva's face. "I didn't come to this event just to see you. I'm relieving my overworked deputy."

Her eyes flirted. "Too bad."

Royce watched the tipsy judge and Elizabeth make their entrance. "We're all present and accounted for," Royce uttered. "Now we can lock off the elevator and we're secure." While she radioed security, she watched the judge lifting his large stein in the air like a trophy. The McDermotts made their rounds, giving hugs to each family member. Royce overheard the McDermotts and Gwen and Jorie welcome one another with minimal pleasantries.

Jorie seemed pleased that there was a congenial atmosphere. She resumed her work behind the bar. She wore basic tan slacks with a safari jacket. The jacket's oversized pockets flapped out from the wear of her many assignments. It matched her style and her emotions. Neutral and businesslike, but Royce recognized the reporter's depression.

For that reason, Royce was glad that everyone appeared to be on good behavior. Clusters of guests were jovial, and family members mingled. Royce did notice that the judge had finally roosted by the bar and that his voice was beginning to sound argumentative.

Royce moved closer to the bar, where Jakob McDermott's immediate family was seated, and overheard the judge begin his admonition.

"Cousin Jorie, I think it's time you do yourself a favor. Elizabeth and I have been talking and we think it's time." With his intoxication came stern insistence in his words. They were beyond fatherly advice. They were intricately blended with the threat of what could happen. "We all know you had an altercation with the Holt woman. You struck out. Now all this is ignominious, but you can weather the storm. You take my advice," he ranted. "You confess and show remorse. It can only get worse for you unless you make a complete confession. It will go easier if you confess. I'll work with you."

"I refuse to confess to something I didn't do. And I'm damned if I came here to listen to your bullshit," Jorie spat.

"Just trying to help family," the judge bellowed.

"Leave it, Dad," Tyler intervened. His eyes were angry as he pulled his father to the side. "Have a Longhorn Kick and let's knock off the advice."

"May I take your order?" Jorie mocked. Her scowl ended when she took the judge's stein and went back to the bar. She began mixing his drink.

"Judge," Elizabeth cautioned, "you know that one of those drinks Cousin Marjorie concocts is your limit."

"My little woman is concerned about my health," he muttered. "Pampers me, she does."

"Marriage to the judge is my life," she stressed as she followed him. They were seated on the circular mauve couch. She patted his knee. "It's how the good lord intended."

"Fix me another while you're back there," Gwen said with a dry edge to her voice. "I can't stand much more of this honeymoon chatter."

Tyler laughed. "How I've missed the family get-togethers." He slid behind the bar with Jorie. "Don't pay any attention to him." Godiva joined Tyler as he poured a glass of wine for her. "Chilled enough?" he asked.

Godiva took the glass. She reached behind him. "I'll take a cherry too." She plucked fruit from the bar and dipped it in her wine. "I love sweets," she teased.

Jorie shook her head. "I'll bet." She moved to the other side of the room to take another bottle from the buffet. "I'll make Jake a double, and it might just put him to sleep so the rest of us can go on with the party." She placed the drink on the edge of the bar. "Tyler, you want to do the honors. Give this to your father?"

"My pleasure." Tyler dramatically flipped a towel over his arm and then lifted a bar tray. He placed the stein onto the tray and stiffly served the judge. "For you, father dearest."

"That's more like it," Gwen said, forcing a smile. "Now if we can crank up the music, and Godiva can keep her clothes on, we've got a pretty decent shot at a good time."

Godiva did a little sashay, to the delight of the group. She sang, "I can even be depraved fully clothed. But don't turn up the thermostat or I'll need to cast off my frock."

"Heaven forbid," Gwen commented dryly. "If anyone feels the temperature begin to rise, toss the blond on a block of ice."

The crowd laughed, and then cheered when Godiva gave her mock brooding expression. "Don't worry," she announced, "I only disrobe for money."

Gwen grinned over at Royce, "Sheriff, don't allow anyone to pass the hat, or we could violate the public nudity ordinance."

Royce's upper lip curled into a return smile. She shook her head in agreement. She wouldn't even consider passing her Stetson.

*****

"Oh my god!" Elizabeth exclaimed as she pressed her crumpled handkerchief to her face. Her expression was frozen with shock. "Do something. He's having a seizure. His heart. . ."

Royce moved rapidly to where the judge had collapsed. His body had stiffened and a sudden onset of convulsions began. Royce loosened his tie, while she called for medical assistance on her radio. The judge was sprawled on the floor, his stein had fallen a yard from his body. A second violent series of convulsions began before the emergency team entered. Royce had ordered the room sealed and told everyone not to touch anything. She recognized the signs of poisoning. The judge's face was blue, his mouth contorted into the fixed grin associated with some kinds of poison. His head had bent back with a tetanic spasm, arching as a snapping string.

A team of paramedics were the first to arrive. They began working rapidly as they tried to diagnose the disorder. Oxygen was administered and a saline drip begun.

Elizabeth knelt beside the judge as paramedics worked. Tyler's hand squeezed her shoulder. He looked at Royce. His eyes were panicky; they were not frightened, nor were they grieving.

Gwen whispered to Royce, "What the hell's going on?"

"I think this may be a poisoning."

"More like a stroke."

"I don't think so." Royce moved away from the medics. She inspected the faces of those shocked party members. Godiva's eyes were riveted to the scene with excitement. Nadine was horrified. Royce could see that she wanted to help in some way but was immobile. Gwen stared, disbelieving. Jorie was as stone-like as a statue. Her face reflected the realization that she was witnessing death.

When a trio of deputies arrived, Royce approached them. "I want you to take statements from everyone. Separate them and begin asking each witness to tell as much as they can remember about what transpired. Then trade off and cross-interview. I don't want to miss anything."

"You think it's attempted murder?" one asked.

"It's possible. I've called Colorado forensics. We could need the coroner. Medics are with him," Royce said. "Get on the statements. Don't allow anyone near that stein or the bar. I want the whole area secured," she directed the deputies. "And make sure no one contaminates anything."

"Poison?"

"Just speculation at this point. A toxicology report will give us the answer."

Royce knelt beside the stein and examined it. She leaned and sniffed. Her guess was strychnine. Strychnine is a quick-acting poison that becomes clear when mixed with alcohol. Certainly, she considered, the symptoms matched. Even to the final cessation of the judge's breath, and constriction of his chest, and death, it appeared to be a death by poisoning.

Elizabeth's whine of anguish folded into sobs. Then her nearly indistinguishable words were uttered. "I can't make it on my own." Tears flooded her eyes. She dabbed her kohl-rimmed eyes with the edge of her lace handkerchief. "I can't go on without him."

Gwen, Nadine, and Tyler were at Elizabeth's side. Jorie stood away, isolated and trance-like. "This can't be happening," she mumbled.

The county coroner arrived first and began his preliminary examination. Forensics had been immediately dispatched, but it would take longer. When they finally arrived, Royce was relieved. "No one's touched anything," she reported.

"Good. A fresh body," the medical examiner spoke brusquely.

"Fresh body?" Godiva repeated with question.

"Not decomposed. Recent," Royce interpreted. "Godiva, would you mind accompanying the deputy for a statement."

"You were right here. Why do we need to make statements?"

"You've been through this before. But please feel free to contact your fleet of New York lawyers if you have a problem," Royce replied curtly.

Godiva reached for Royce's arm. "I wasn't being a smartass. I just wanted to console Tyler. I'm not quite as hard-hearted as you think." Godiva blinked wildly. "And surely you can't believe that I'm a suspect or know any more than you do about this."

"I don't know who knows what. But I plan on knowing."

A glint beamed from Godiva's eyes and a smile rolled onto her face. "All I know is that the judge was served a Longhorn Kick made by the reporter. And," Godiva began sputtering, "Marjorie Lovett can rename her drink. Longhorn Kick Off."

"I don't think this is funny!" Royce's shoulder's stiffened. "And I doubt that Tyler would find anything humorous about it."

"Tyler despised his father."

"Your statement shouldn't take long."

The medical examiner looked up from the body. "No doubt in my mind. We've got a murder," he pronounced.

Royce shut her eyes for a moment. No doubt in my mind either, she thought.

"Someone was trying to pickle the old dude," the M.E. said.

"And succeeded."

Royce turned and walked toward Jorie. Their eyes linked and Royce barely noticed that Gwen was approaching them. "Jorie," Royce began, "I need to ask you to remove everything from your pockets."

"Royce," Gwen barked, "you can't believe Jorie would have poisoned him?"

"Please do as I requested," Royce insisted.

"I have nothing to hide." Jorie reached into her rumpled field jacket pocket and pulled out a small packet. As if she'd expected it to be a chewing gum wrapper, Jorie unfolded it. She sucked in deeply for breath when she realized it contained a powdery substance.

"Drop it on the bar," Royce instructed. She neared the wrapper that had been folded into a packet. After visually examining it and smelling the contents, Royce spoke. "Jorie, we'll need to Mirandize you now and take you into custody."

"Custody?" the reporter questioned.

"I'm placing you under arrest. With this evidence, I believe there's probably cause of arrest. An affidavit will go before the bench, and a determination made." Royce took a long breath. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry," Jorie's voice rose.

Royce turned and motioned to a member of the forensic team. "Would you please take the wrapper into evidence?"

"I've never seen that wrapper before," said Jorie. Her eyes darted from Gwen to Royce. "You've got to believe me."

No, I don't have to believe you, Royce thought to herself. "For the record, I would very much like to believe you."

*****

The cottage's backyard offered Royce the same safe haven as her gran's cabin always had. She sat on the swing and rocked, recounting the day's events of horror. A murder had been committed before her eyes. A suspect was being held in the county jail. The suspect was a sister. And a beloved ex-lover of one of Royce's best friends.

Hertha approached and Royce glanced into her face. The moonlight splashed against Hertha's gloomy expression. When she sat beside Royce, diamond-shaped bars from the nearby trellis covered her. "Hon, it's getting so cold out here, won't you come in?"

"In a while." Royce felt Hertha's fingers chain her own. "I feel so helpless. The way Gwen looked at me."

"You didn't have a choice."

"No, and the toxicology report confirmed a lethal dosage of strychnine. And it had to have been ingested at the party. Jorie was mixing the drinks. She had the evidence in her pocket. The lab report on the granules in the wrapper with those in the stein will take a few days. But there wasn't anything on anyone else in the party." Royce closed her eyes, and her long legs gave a slow shove to the swing.

"I thought I'd find you back here," Gwen said as she rounded the cottage's corner. "Royce, we need to talk. Do you mind, Hertha?"

"I'll be inside. Can I bring you anything to drink?" Hertha asked.

Both women declined. Gwen sat beside Royce. Silence was their referee. Finally Royce uttered, "I had to arrest her."

"I don't think so."

"Gwen, two murders have been committed. All the evidence links her. People in this county may think the judge was a horse's ass, but they won't tolerate murder. I had to place Jorie in custody. She's quick access out of the country, and a valid passport."

"She isn't a flight risk."

"The county can't take that chance. The DA made it clear. The county doesn't want to play the extradition game, nor pay the expenses for it."

"Royce, she didn't do it."

"The arrest affidavit will determine probable cause based on evidence. I don't make that ruling. It will only take a couple of days, and then she'll be free to make bond."

"You don't want to lose you the election, so you took the opportunity to jail my best friend."

"Gwen, the election is probably already lost. Now I'm doing my job."

"Hell's bell, your job!" Gwen spat.

"Let's face it, it doesn't look good. Jorie Lovett is at the very core of two murders. Even you have to admit that it gives us an awful lot of suspicious-looking evidence. First, she's standing over a body holding the murder weapon. Second, she mixes the drink for a man who is murdered by poison. The time frame excludes any combination other than the one. The judge consumes the poison at the party. He dies. Traces of the same poison are found in a wrapper in her pocket. Jorie fixed the drink that killed him. You tell me that there is no reason to suspect Jorie."

"I know her. She's not capable of murder."

"The world is filled with family and friends who believe their loved one innocent. Ask any mother if her son killed, and she'll tell you no. I'm not saying that you're the type to be taken in, but damn, Gwen, it doesn't look good."

"I know that. I do." Gwen's face turned and her eyes pinched shut. "But there are questions. Motive. Why would she set herself up like this? She's bright enough to get the job done without standing over a body and holding the weapon. And slipping poison into a drink at a party in front of everyone to see."

"Gwen, I've got strong reservations too. Yes, motive. Why? The judge made a weak inference that he expected more evidence to come to light. But if he had the information, I believe he would have had it out on the table. Again, it's inconceivable she'd have kept the packet in her pocket. The logical thing would have been to dump the poison in the stein, then exit. Make a trip to the bathroom to flush the evidence."

"It could have been planted on her."

"Yes. Not likely, but not impossible." Someone else could have put that packet of strychnine in her jacket pocket. Royce rubbed her temple. "Then there's the question of availability. Uncut strychnine is difficult to obtain. Where would she get the poison?"

Gwen shrunk back against the swing. Her foot jammed down on the ground stopping the rhythmic swinging. "Royce, that's what I wanted to tell you. Jorie didn't kill anyone. I know that. But I've never kept secrets from you. Not ever. And I'm not going to begin now. I know the evidence is overwhelming. And what I'm about to tell you won't help Jorie's cause. Recently she mentioned something. It was at the party when the Holt woman was killed. Jorie had been complaining about the story being too mild. Said she liked the danger of covering war zone stories. She said that she thrived on danger. She was even given poison when covering a story in Saudi Arabia. There was always a chance of  ' being taken prisoner. So someone gave her poison in case she would be captured. It was, she said, better than being tortured beyond her endurance. I recall she joked about it. But common sense says she would have destroyed it long ago. At any rate, there you have it. Availability."

"Thanks for telling me."

"Because of our friendship, I felt required to mention it."

Gwen's eyes misted. "I'm sure Jorie is innocent. But you need all the facts to prove that."

"Yes." Royce felt the word snag in her throat. "Sometimes I think the world would be better if it spun us all off. Forget gravity for one day and rid itself of the burden of humanity and its betrayal. We were born of broth, time, and mystery. The human species has always battled to survive. Yet there's energy left for nefarious acts of hatred, revenge, and treachery."

They continued to swing for many minutes. Then Gwen stood and trudged away. Royce was heartsick. Smoky had jumped up on the swing. She crawled beside Royce. Her head rested on Royce's leg. Royce's hand automatically lowered and petted the dog. She had stopped swinging. Her thoughts seemed to halt. Royce pressed her face down onto Smoky's head. "Betrayal is a murder weapon," she whispered to Smoky. "It's a lot like poison. With the exception of not killing the body. Betrayal does kill the corner of the soul where friendship should be secured by trust."

17

Royce was uncomfortable questioning Jorie about Gwen's disclosure, but it needed to be done.

"Gwen told you that I'd been given a suicide 'dose' of poison while working on an assignment in the Middle East?"

"Yes."

"I knew she would. She told me that there were never any secrets between the two of you."

Royce blinked and her eyes cast downward. "Can you tell me if the poison was strychnine?"

"I've no earthly idea what it was. They said it was quick."

"Tell me about what you do know. Did you keep it? Did you bring it back into the United States when you returned?"

Royce sat on the jail cell cot across from Jorie Lovett. She looked into eyes as mysterious as an opal. Jorie swallowed her grief and answered slowly, meditatively. "Royce, I had poison and to be honest, I did keep it after it was given to me. But when I arrived home, I destroyed it. Well, I didn't destroy it. One of the other correspondents took it to make sure it wouldn't get into the water supply or food chain. He was concerned that it be properly destroyed."

"Before I leave, if you'd give me his name, I'll check it out."

"Yes. I wouldn't keep it. My lover and I have a cat. That is one reason I'd never have brought poison into the house. Our kitten gives new meaning to curiosity."

"You didn't like the judge?"

"Not much. I don't know why I even went to the little party. Gwen talked me into it. She can do that. I hope she convinced my lover to stay put. Gwen called her about making bail."

"I'm sorry that we had to charge you." Royce crossed her ankles and her frame sagged as she leaned back. "Most of the evidence is circumstantial, but all of it points in your direction."

"That sounds as though you've got additional evidence."

Royce thought about the forensic toxicology reports. She could still see the pinprick lines of various tests. "The tests indicate that the poison could have been cut from the same batch. I was hoping that they would conclusively show it couldn't be. But the properties are in the right amounts." Royce watched as Jorie's face blanched. "And the only prints on the wrapper were yours. That would stand to reason. You unwrapped the packet in front of me. But those pieces of evidence are admissible. And they'll go against you."

"Defeated by forensic science."

"It's gotten pretty sophisticated. Yes, technology in crime-solving is amazing. But to the contrary, technology can also work for your defense. Jorie, you aren't defeated."

"Are you going to play the good cop now?"

"I'm not playing anything." Royce crossed her arms. "This is no game."

"Fine," Jorie seethed like a lit fuse. Then her anger detonated. "But you must be giving me the prize for ignorance. Why would I have slipped poison in his drink? The one I prepared. It would have been easier to slip it into the food. I was one of the first ones to arrive, and I had the opportunity to have placed poison in a tidbit. Then I could have prepared his plate from the buffet that none of us got to sample. There would have been a myriad of ways to poison him without implicating myself. Hell, I've always kept the ingredients of the Longhorn Kick a secret. But I can tell you that there's no strychnine in it."

"Speaking of food, you look as though you haven't eaten lately. Gwen's worried about you too. You really should take care of yourself because you're going to need to be on top of it. Stress tears you to pieces," Royce cautioned. "And you'll need to be strong."

"Stop with the small talk. You've just jailed me for murder. You shouldn't give a rat's ass what becomes of me." Jorie's jaw clamped. "I didn't kill anyone." Her words were stones, settling with a thud.

Royce stood. "Do you have anything to tell me that might help me prove your innocence?"

"No."

"If there's anything you can think of, let me know. Jorie, you do understand the gravity of this situation?"

"Gravity," Jorie repeated. "One of my colleagues always says there is no such thing as gravity. We're held down because the earth sucks."

Royce looked back through the bars at the shabby jail cell. "Your colleague might be on to something."

*****

Even crossing Main Street seemed a reminder of Royce's burdens. She looked around Timber City and wondered how this tranquil mountain community could be in such turmoil. She remembered when most of her calls were for shoplifting. That presented little danger and less diplomacy. If the thief was over legal age, she would issue a ticket. If not, she would make her warning stick by taking the youth to see a jail cell. They were seldom caught with anything 'warm' in their pockets again. Events were manageable then. Not now.

Stress was making Royce's thoughts scatter. She was worried about Nadine. Worried about the fact that she had become a co-conspirator in keeping Nadine's confidence. Gwen wanted to know what was bothering Nadine. Now Royce knew and had promised not to tell. Royce also felt tortured each time she saw Rick Brown surveying the High Country Animal Clinic. She feared for Hertha. She also feared for Jorie. There was an unwritten law of sisterhood. But more. Royce's instincts told her Jorie was innocent. And although Royce had almost resigned herself to losing the election, she was concerned about the impact on her life. And what that might mean to her future with Hertha.

Royce lectured herself to focus on one problem at a time. All of her concerns seemed intertwined with one another. The murder cases were overwhelming. She wondered if there were two separate murderers. The first murder appeared not to have been premeditated. No murder weapon was brought in. A fireplace poker is usually not the weapon of choice, but rather of chance. The second was surely premeditated. The first could have easily been committed by any of the suspects in the case, or by someone unknown. The second murder had closed the circle of suspects. It had to have been someone at the party.

The familiar static on her radio made her bristle each time she took a call. This time it was a fight at the Bell Ringer. Royce radioed that she was across the street and would take the call. When she did, she was glad that it was mid-afternoon. The barroom only had a few patrons.

Chairs had been overturned in a skirmish. Two drunken men were rolling on the floor. Their fists flailed. When they saw Royce standing above them, their fighting stopped.

"Both of you get up before you hurt yourselves." She looked across the room at a chair that had been splintered. "I'll expect you to two pay Faye for damages by this time tomorrow. And on your way out, straighten up the place. I see either of you in trouble again, and you'll be marched off to the dungeon. Got it?" She watched for their nods of agreement.

After they left, Royce slid into a booth opposite Faye. "Thanks, Royce. I tried bawling them out, but they were bent on creating a ruckus. They must think this is a goddamn prize fighting ring. Hell, tension is running high nowadays. With this murder business and the election, things are nutty." She paused, looking away. "None of us want trouble aimed in our direction."

"Meaning?"

"The Family Morals Coalition is scurrilous. Scurrilous. That's the word Gwen used. They're going around town claiming that they can ruin the trade for people in town. If we don't vote for Dillon Granger and help them shut down the Times by canceling our ads, they'll see that we're boycotted."

Royce's head sagged. Her throat constricted. "But what makes them think they can do that? It's extortion."

"They say that you and Gwen are both working against the investigation. That you're both covering up for Jorie."

"I haven't covered anything up. I arrested her. But the evidence is circumstantial. And she is innocent until a court finds her guilty and sentences her. I've done my duty as prescribed by the law. No more; and certainly no less." Royce stood. "I hope the town doesn't buy into this trash."

"I sure as hell don't plan on voting for Granger. And if I ever cancel my advertising in the Times, it will be because the old fart across the street misspelled Bell Ringer."

Royce's chuckle was unexpected and felt good. "Thanks, Faye. By the way, have you seen Laramie around?"

"He was in right after the fuss began. Took a look around and muttered that the place looked as miserable as an empty bottle. He'll probably be out watching for Rick Brown."

"I owe him. You too."

"You and Molly have taken care of him since Grady was killed. Making sure he didn't freeze to death. And me, well, you're always there for me. Always watched out for my kid too. Royce, people hereabouts know the things you've done for this town. They won't listen to the hate."

*****

By the time Royce went off duty, she was exhausted. When she saw Laramie seated on the curb across from the clinic, she walked over and sat beside the bowed man. "Laramie, how's it going?"

"Got it all wrong. Faye's cooler was damaged during the ruckus today. Beer's hotter than a two-buck shotgun. Hell, beer's supposed to be cold and bed's supposed to be warm. My beer's warm and my bed's cold."

Royce's lips curled upward. "Heat hasn't gone on over at the boarding house yet?"

"Naw. Landlady's so tight she must have buffalo poop in her hands every time she spends a nickel."

"At least most of the time Faye's beer is cold."

"Never could abide by hot beer. A little warm whiskey never bothered me. But beer ain't meant to be hot." Laramie's eyes squinted as they examined Royce. "I hear tell about you and the doc."

"What?"

"This fella says you're sweet on the doc." He paused, his mouth munched the word. "Lez-beings."

"They do talk around here."

"Yep. Says that the creator didn't hold with your kind and we shouldn't vote for you."

"And what did you say?"

"Told 'em I'd poke his nose 'til my fist reached the back of his Stetson if he didn't shut up. Guy who told me has been fiddling the books for years. Cheatin' his employer. So he better not be tryin' to poop on nobody. Told him to let those boots of his to take him for a walk. I'm votin' for you."

"I appreciate that. Anything on Rick Brown?"

"I think the first word on his truck panel is San. Been tryin' to come up with the letters. I think it's San something. Ain't much, but I'll keep workin' on it."

"San could be San Francisco, San Diego, or San Antonio."

"Yep. A sorta puzzle. Over my head like a rifle shot."

Royce stood, nodded, and began her trek across the street. She turned midway and issued a smile. "Good work, Laramie."

*****

Royce changed out of her uniform and decided to stop by Molly's. By the time she arrived, the Pantry was closed. She used her key and went through the bakery. Behind the glass-enclosed shelves were glistening fruit pies, crusty European peasant loaves, and an assortment of rolls and muffins. From the huge ovens came the fragrance of dill bread. Royce went upstairs to where Molly was resting on the sofa. "Mom, looks like you had a busy day." She kissed her mother's forehead.

"Yes indeed. I've got one more batch to take out of the oven, and I can call it a day. I got so tuckered out, I decided to have a little rest while my bread baked." Molly sat up and rubbed her eyes. "I heard you had a busy day too. They were all talking about the fight over at Faye's this afternoon. You eaten yet?"

"No. Hertha is still in surgery. Thought I'd wait for her."

"Got some pasties you could warm up. I'll send them along with you. And a little cherry pie. My special of the week. Cherry pie. Been selling out nearly every day. Had half a pie left today."

"Did you see Gwen after she came back from the judge's funeral?"

"I surely did. She came by for a chat. You know how she hates funerals. Well, she said she's not good at first-person articles. Especially when they have to do with murder."

"I've got to question Elizabeth and Tyler again sometime soon. I wanted to wait on going over their statements until after the funeral."

"Expect a tiger. Gwen said Elizabeth blames you for not gathering enough evidence on Jorie. Said the judge would still be alive if it hadn't been for your poor police work. Well, you know how she is."

"The evidence is still circumstantial. Nothing about the case is conclusive. People don't realize that. The town is turning into a lynch mob. Evidence points to Jorie. We could all be duped by her, but I don't think so. Both Tyler and Godiva were behind the bar from time to time. And I remember Godiva's bodyguard going back, but I think Tyler was there at the time. Did Gwen say how Tyler was holding up?"

"Said he seemed fine. But Godiva didn't attend the funeral. Still worried about the threats."

"If she'd miss the publicity, maybe she's not in on the scam."

"There were plenty of cameras there. I saw it on evening news."

"And Godiva wouldn't want to lose media attention. I think I'll have a tail put on her bodyguard," Royce was thinking out loud. "Yes, I'll call Nick in the morning to have him assign someone to watch."

"What news do you have on the case?" Molly pried.

"For one thing, I contacted the reporter who Jorie claims destroyed the poison. He corroborated her story. Looked his notes up and even gave me the date. But that hardly clears her. I can't imagine what motive she'd have for killing the judge."

"Gwen asked Elizabeth that very question. Elizabeth claims that Jorie couldn't stand to see her happily married and having a famous son. And the judge mentioned that he had some new, important information that proved Jorie had killed Sandra."

"How about Elizabeth? Did she stand to benefit monetarily? Could there have been insurance?" Royce speculated.

"Oh, honey, that couldn't have been the motive. Why she's got tons of money herself. Owns a large chunk of Crystal Ski Village stock. She was on the ground floor of the entire Crystal development project. Her family had property up there, so she's a major stockholder. And she still owns a profitable dude ranch. Inherited it years back. Has a manager now, so she just rakes off the money. Even goes up once a month or so to make sure everything is running according to her standards. Gwen laughs when she tells about Elizabeth riding in her full regalia. Rider's outfit." Molly began to chuckle. "Gwen always asks her if she's going on a hunt." Molly stopped laughing. "Besides. She was so devoted to the judge. Gwen said Elizabeth mentioned that she first thought it might be a stroke. She felt guilty wondering if she had fixed too many gourmet meals for the judge and given him too much cholesterol."

"What about Tyler? Would he inherit anything?"

"I suppose so. But the lion's share of money is Elizabeth's fortune." Molly's face tensed. "I never thought I'd say I hate anything or anyone. But I hate that Family Morals Coalition. I surely do hate them. They're calling you the 'status quo' sheriff. And they are saying you're a pervert."

Royce gently took her mother's hand. "I'm sorry for what this is doing to you. It isn't in your nature to hate. And because of me, of what I am, you're hating."

"Not because of you, Royce. Because they are trying to hurt you. They have hurt you."

"Gran always says that mirrors reflect and eyes see. They may think that what they say is a reflection of truth. But it isn't, Mom. It isn't."

18

Hertha's vehicle attacked the steep incline of a rugged gravel road. Dusty ruffles of dirt and plumes of exhaust followed the van's climb toward a remote cabin.

"You didn't need to accompany me on my call," Hertha said to Royce with a mild rebuke. "Your one day off and you're trudging the backcountry with me. Besides, you were supposed to meet with your campaign people."

"It's become their campaign. I'm just the commodity. And I told you that I don't want you out alone. When you have a call, have one of the deputies accompany you."

"Royce, they resent babysitting me. I can tell. And I refuse to allow some weirdo to dictate my every move. This is an emergency, and I've got to get there."

"I know Rick Brown is still stalking you. I know that when I leave he calls. Hertha, he's dangerous."

"Yes, he calls. And his calls are a choking sound. And yes, it concerns me. But Royce, I can't be imprisoned by fear. I won't be his twenty-four-hour-a-day victim. Don't you understand? That's reservation life."

Hertha parked along the dirt path, and the women exited. "Royce, I know you don't need this additional burden now."

"It would be a gross dereliction of duty for me to allow you to be out running around alone. And," Royce disclosed as she looked up, "being here and being here with you is what I need right now. The mountains have always been my comfort." Without them, Royce meditated, her spirit was naked. The Rockies offered swaddling, protection, and love. "This is my respite. And Smoky's." The pup gave a snarl of agreement.

Royce surveyed the canopy of clouds above. Behind the clouds was a great sash of periwinkle skyline. Snow-dusted peaks rose above timberline and into that backdrop of sky. A roaring river echoed through the giant cliffs. Wind whistled through trees. The quiet monologue of breeze through aspen had given way to the bluster of winter's promise. The great force of wind now thundered off the shoulders of each rock formation. The range was losing its color as well. Leaves had fallen and their sheen dulled. Cascading bushes and undergrowth with trails of tangling brambles were wilting, shrinking. Grasses were now pale and crinkled beneath the women's feet as they made their way to a sagging barn.

"Life is a self-exploration," Hertha's introspection allowed her to comment. "Royce, I love you with everything I am."

"And I love you. Hertha, if I lose the election, I may be forced to relocate." She finally said it.

"You won't lose."

"Let's say I do. My contingency plan is to take the job offer in Denver. What then? With us?"

"I'll never let my county Mountie leave without me. I'll be at your side."

"But you love the mountains. You said they're your home."

"My home is you. My possessions and profession can allow me to move anywhere you are. I can heal animals wherever there are animals to cure. My people were wanderers."

Royce's eyes watered; her lashes were wet. She opened the groaning door of the barn. She watched her lover bend over the downed horse. His rasping snorts continued as Hertha opened her bag and pulled out a stethoscope. She then began a saline drip. Her clear, piercing eyes were intense. Tiny sparkles of perspiration began to appear on her forehead. Royce tenderly wiped the sweat away. "Can I help?"

"An obstruction. I've got to operate. But at least he won't have to be put down. I hate that. Years ago horses were euthanized with something called black leaf forty. A nicotine sulfate. Miserable. Before that with mallet."

"Now what do ranchers use?"

"Not long ago it was any type of poison they had around, very often strychnine. Now it's all more sophisticated."

Royce marveled at the skill and confidence Hertha showed as she worked. There was precision in her every effort. Her intelligent, dark eyes were riveted to the incision. Her hand adroitly, almost without effort, retrieved the tennis-ball size obstruction. Each motion appeared controlled, yet automatic.

After the surgery had been completed, Royce helped Hertha wash up. Then she slipped a butterscotch between Hertha's lips. "Nice work, doc." She kissed her lover.

"And nice reward."

"If you looked at a lab report, could you tell me what you know about that poison? About the poison in the tissue and the poison samples taken from the glass and rug?"

"I'm not a forensic scientist. I know some about high-level poisonings in tissue and half-life properties. But to be honest, I'm not trained in redistribution of toxins in plasma and tissue. I'll be glad to look over the report and explain anything I know. Just remember, I'm a veterinarian. And I use spearmint to sooth stomach disorders, sagebrush for colds, and still believe in the curative powers in dreams." Hertha's smile was lush. She seemed happy for the moment, away from the shadow of a stalker. "Now, let's go up to the cabin and tell the owners that their horse will be galloping in no time at all. Oh, and also, we'll have a guest accompanying us back."

"A guest?"

"Move over, Smoky," Hertha teased. "We've got to select a kitten to take back. Their litter is being given away, so I told the people that I knew a little girl who is waiting for a kitten of her own."

"Carrie?"

"Yes. She's become a fine assistant."

Royce smiled. "You are so wonderful. Where you are is my home too."

*****

"Come on in," Nadine invited Royce as they walked back toward the dining area. "We were just having a spot of after-dinner coffee. You'll join us. Sit." Nadine poured the Irish-cream-flavored coffee for Royce as she sat.

Gwen greeted Royce, "Where's Hertha?"

"We went on an emergency call this morning, and she's been catching up since then. This afternoon I spent reading the various statements of the employees up at Crystal."

"Did you learn anything?" Gwen's tone was precise and cool. Her chin dipped and she peered up through the upper portion of her bifocals.

"No one saw anything out of the ordinary. That was the consensus. I'm getting my share of indifference lately. I need to go up and interrogate Tyler and Elizabeth. I've been putting that off. I know they're in mourning. I'm also aware that they're bitter about trusting Jorie. And that Elizabeth believes the judge's murder would have been prevented if I'd locked Jorie for Sandra Holt's homicide. Mom told me you'd mentioned it." Royce took a sip of coffee. "How did your day go?"

"Jorie was bailed out. But we know that she's been arrested and formally indicted, and she may be convicted for a crime she didn't commit. So I've had better days."

"Gwen, I promise you that I'll do everything in my power to see that the truth comes out."

"The truth," Gwen's voice rose, "is that Jorie did not kill anyone."

"I'm inclined to believe that too. But suppose we want to believe it. Sometimes we don't see the facts straight on because we want to believe something other than the truth."

"You arrested her!"

"I was told by the district attorney that if I didn't act, I would be ordered by the court to do so. My opposition to the arrest is going to work against me in the election. Which I might remind you is my future and is right around the corner."

"So now you're politically pandering to popular opinion."

"Hardly. I'm losing the damned election! The deputies are saying that I'm doing nothing and doing it slowly. Someone even told Mom that they're calling me the status quo sheriff. I held off longer than anyone else would have. When I caved, I was very nearly under court order to do so. What is it you expect of me?"

Gwen gave a huff and then took a final sip of her coffee. "You are her only hope. That being the case, her chances of being exonerated are pretty damned remote." She pushed the cup and saucer away from her and leaned back.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that everyone else at the Sheriff's Department and in the court believes the case is ready to sign, seal, and send Jorie to prison. If I can't count on you to come up with the real killer, all is lost."

"All is lost," Nadine repeated. Then she stood, threw her napkin on the table and leaned across it. "All is Jorie. Your life is wrapped up in this crusade for Jorie. That's all you care about." She exited the dining room, entering the kitchen. She grumbled, "Why didn't you stay with her since she's all you think about?"

Royce watched as Gwen gave a sigh of exasperation. "She's started snarling again."

"Why don't you find out why she's snarling?"

"Royce, she's just being ornery."

"Talk with her."

"You talk with her." Gwen's eyes flashed with defiance. "She won't talk with me."

"I wonder why," Royce muttered as she stood. "I'm going to talk with her. You just go on with this self-indulgent quest to save your ex-lover. Don't worry about the woman you're sharing your life with. She can be put on hold as always."

Royce opened the kitchen door, and the scent of ripening tomatoes hit her. Her stomach was churning and felt as though she'd gulped pure acid. "Nadine, you've got to tell her. It isn't fair. Not to any of us."

Nadine's arms were wrapped around her body. She turned. There was despair beneath her timidity. And there was fear. "I can't." Her topaz eyes dimmed as they closed. "I just can't find the words. They're buried. I can't, Royce."

"You've got to." Royce's throat was filled with a million cobwebs. Her mouth was dry. "Nadine, it's time. It's past time. We love you. You've got let Gwen know how you feel."

"I don't have the words." Nadine wrung the edge of the tea towel. "Will you come with me?"

"Yes."

Royce lifted Nadine's hand and led her back into the dining room. "Nadine has something to tell you."

Gwen looked puzzled. "What's wrong?"

"Gwen, I'm unhappy with our relationship."

"Unhappy?"

"More than that. It isn't the election. It isn't the pressure of everyday. It goes deeper than that."

"Every relationship goes through problems."

"For years now, I've felt left behind. I've been in your wake. Being in charge of the election has changed that. It's given me my own identity. You don't seem to understand my needs."

"I don't understand what I've done. What your problem is."

"Gwen, I'm trying to tell you. Listen to me," Nadine's voice rose. "I can't make you understand if you won't admit that it isn't just my problem. It's our problem."

The look on Gwen's face was one of total destruction. "Are you telling me that living with me has been a problem?"

"There's an undercurrent."

"After all these years, you're suddenly having second thoughts? Hell's bells. I don't believe this is happening. I'm worried about a dear friend going to prison for a crime she didn't commit and you're on about this." Gwen's eyes were filling with tears of anger. They flooded the lower portion of her glasses. "I can't believe how selfish you're being."

"Selfish! Gwen, I've always felt that I'm just a small portion of your world." Nadine choked the words out between tears. "I wanted to feel as though I am your world."

"You are. Damn it, Nadine. You know you are. But now is not the time to whisper sweet nothings. Jorie needs me to be there for her too."

"I'll be sleeping in the guest room," Nadine blurted. She exited.

After her Gwen shouted, "It will be the first time in a quarter century we've slept apart. Think about that!"

Royce looked down as she made her way to the door. "Nadine needs to know that you're there for her."

"Royce, at the end of the day, I'll be there for her."

"Just not the end of this day?"

Gwen gave a blasting huff. "So it seems."

*****

Royce entered the animal clinic. She went directly back to the surgery. Hertha looked up. "Just finishing my last neutering of the night," she said with a sigh. "What a day. Sometimes being the only vet in town has its disadvantages." She made a final suture and then clipped. "There. Where did you go?"

"This afternoon I worked in the office. Had some loose ends. I waited for the phone calls and to see if I'd get a fax on the lead Laramie gave me. Nothing in any of the major 'Sans' that relates to Rick Brown. When I saw your surgery light still on, I went over to visit Gwen and Nadine."

Hertha bandaged the puppy's incision. With final snaps she twisted off each disposable glove. She tossed them into a receptacle. She untied her surgical mask and then removed her smock. 'Whew, am I ever glad this day is done. I was so happy about not having to put down the horse this morning. Then I got back here and a family brought in a basset hound that needed to be put to sleep. That always hurts. They look like sick old dogs in pain until they die. Then they seem like sleeping puppies. Strange. Anyway, Carrie showed up. She was so happy about the kitten that it boosted my spirits again." Hertha moved to the chair where Royce had sat. She bent down and kissed Royce's temple. "What's wrong?"

"It's been a bad day."

Hertha straddled Royce's long legs. Then slowly eased on her lap. Royce felt the full heat from Hertha's body. She hugged Hertha tightly. Her face pressed against Hertha's breasts. Hertha kissed the crown of her lover's head. "Tell me, Royce. I know when something's bothering you."

"If I tell you what's bothering me, it won't improve your day."

"It's to do with Gwen and Nadine?"

"They were bickering. It now appears to be a war."

"Do you think Nadine will leave Gwen?"

'They're in separate bedrooms. I've known about the problem for a while. I've felt like a traitor to Gwen, but I promised Nadine I wouldn't say anything about her feelings."

"What did Gwen say?"

"She doesn't understand. And she seemed steamed at me for not warning her about how serious Nadine is about their problem."

"Gwen's just hurt. She'll get over it. You know how she is. She blusters and then wants to make peace. Like with the family get-together. Gwen can't stand to have disharmony. Yes, she'll stir, and she'll scream, but she comes around."

"I don't think so." Royce cringed. "She looked at me as though it were unconscionable of me to keep a secret from her. She's already ticked at me for arresting Jorie."

"You didn't have a choice. And you will solve the murder."

"You believe that?"

Hertha's lips met Royce's. "You will. You've got so much on your mind, I'm amazed you can function at all. Well, this is one problem that is at least out in the open now. You don't need to carry Nadine's secret." Hertha's warm fingers caressed Royce's cheeks. Royce picked up the faint scent of her surgical gloves, a hint of powder. "Royce, I know what a difficult decision it must have been to respect Nadine's privacy and balance that against your devotion to Gwen."

"At least Nadine's cards are on the table. I wanted to tell you." Royce's eyes misted. "I don't care if I lose the damned election. I just want the people I love to be happy and safe."

Hertha's arms surrounded Royce and cosseted her with warmth. She whispered, "If you ever keep another secret from me, some night when you're sleeping, I'll surgically remove your gizzard."

Royce's smile converted into the first laugh she'd had in a very long time. "That gives me pause for concern, Doctor "White."

"I'm glad threats work so well on you, Sheriff Madison. I've got a million of them in my little black bag." Her eyebrow lifted and she teased, "In addition to that, I've got a scalpel. And I know how to use it."

19

Royce's troubles were often dwarfed by the loveliness of the mountains. But as she entered Crystal, she realized that even the extraordinary beauty of the scenery had not wiped away the problems of the day. She had called Gwen and had been curtly informed that Nadine had slept in the guest room.

Royce knew the day wasn't going to get easier. She gripped the Blazer's steering wheel tightly as she drove into the driveway of the McDermott home. She frowned when she spotted Nick's squad car. She greeted him with surprise in her voice. "Adonis. You acting as my escort now?"

"Naw. Disturbance call from Mrs. McDermott asking that we give an assist."

Royce chuckled. "I'm only going over her statement again. So what's the disturbance?"

"She's tossing out an employee."

"That takes a deputy?"

"Claims the woman is unruly." Nick shook his head. "She's the housekeeper. Woman about thirty-five. Not bad looking. Name is Clara Davis," he reported, glancing down at his notes. "She didn't look dangerous. But she does wear tight clothing." He smiled. "Bet the judge liked her. Great figure, long fiery red hair, and huge green eyes."

Royce recalled seeing her when she was in the McDermott home for the debate. "I remember her. I thought she was part of the catering crew. I had no idea she was the housekeeper. She didn't look as though she'd cause major trouble. Speaking of trouble, how are things in Crystal?"

"Trying to keep Granger out of my hair. And all the terrific women up here in my hair. As soon as we've finished this, I'll tell you the other developments."

By the time the reached the door, Royce heard loud voices inside. The door swung open and the housekeeper exited. She stormed past Royce. Elizabeth McDermott was behind her, screaming. "You slut," she attacked. "A common, ill-bred whore with delusional problems!"

"You didn't need to call the authorities," the woman seethed. "I'm leaving."

"I don't know why I allowed you to stay two years," Elizabeth blasted.

"You wouldn't have, but Jake . . . Judge McDermott, insisted I stay," the woman countered.

"All people like you can think of is the depraved world of the carnal," Elizabeth's shout echoed.

As soon as the woman had scurried down the path away from the house, Elizabeth led Royce and Nick into the living room. "She was trash. The judge felt sorry for Clara and allowed her to continue working here. Even though she was infatuated with him, he never felt anything for her but pity." Elizabeth pulled herself together quickly. She became cloyingly cordial. "Might I get you anything? Tea or coffee?"

"Nothing. We're fine." Royce was seated. With flourish and decorum, Elizabeth lifted her right hand to glance at her diamond- studded gold watch. The multitude of jewels blinked when Elizabeth moved her arm. "We'll try not to take too much of your time, Mrs. McDermott. I just had a few questions about the day Judge McDermott was murdered."

"I've already told you everything I know."

Royce heard the key being turned in the door. Tyler walked in; his eyes were stormy. "Why are you bothering my mother?" he raged. "Can't you see she's suffering?"

"We just had a few questions."

Tyler sat on the arm of the chair and his hand rested on his mother's shoulder. "Are you up to this, Mother?"

"Yes, I'll be fine." She took a deep breath. "We miscalculated. The judge knew that Marjorie was guilty. But we thought it was just the circumstances. That Holt woman had forced Marjorie's hand. It was an accident. Cousin Marjorie has always had a temper. The woman had triggered that temper. We could understand how it might happen. But how could we know that she would commit this cruel act of premeditated murder?"

"Why do you believe that she would have murdered the judge?"

"I told you. He knew she was guilty of the Holt murder."

"When he approached her, she denied it."

"In front of everyone, yes. But in private she had asked him about the charges. She wanted to know if it were an accident, what the expected sentencing arrangement might be." Elizabeth's eyes batted before she closed them. Her hand shaded her eyes. "The judge wanted to let her know she would be treated fairly by the courts."

"The stein he brought with him, did it have a full drink in it?"

"I believe he'd finished about half of it. I told him not to have another, that Cousin Marjorie would fix him her favorite drink."

"Who fixed his drink before he left?"

"Not I." Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "I never fixed them strong enough for him. It would have been the judge or perhaps it was that woman."

"Clara Davis, the housekeeper?"

"Yes. She often brought him drinks. But there couldn't have been anything in the drink that was poured here. The poison had an immediate reaction, I was told."

"Yes. According to the coroner's report, it would have been ingested at the party," Royce concurred.

"I only wish we hadn't allowed Gwen to talk us into a family party." Elizabeth took Tyler's hand. "For Tyler's sake, so that he wouldn't be totally estranged from his family, I decided we should attend. Now, I think it was probably Marjorie who insisted on the reunion, and Gwen just set it up. Marjorie undoubtedly had it all planned out."

"Tyler," Royce inquired, "can you add anything else to your statement?"

"There's nothing to add." He stood abruptly. "I hope you'll just get on with this investigation. You've indicted Jorie. And Mother's right, if you'd done that after Sandra Holt was killed, my father might alive now."

Royce stood and closed her report book. She slipped it into her breast pocket and made her way to the door. Tyler followed. "Tyler, I regret that your father's dead. But I don't believe Jorie killed him. Nor do I believe she murdered Sandra Holt."

Royce detected a flash of concern when her words registered with Tyler. She walked in silence to the Blazer, with Nick at her side. When they reached the vehicle, she sighed. "I'll never be a diplomat."

"But Elizabeth McDermott will always be a fundamentalist," he joked. "She's been telling everyone that people of superior breeding don't engage in acts of abomination." Nick leaned against the Blazer. "In some states oral sex is a crime."

Royce shook her head. "So?"

"If we've got prison overload now, just consider the crowding if we arrested everyone guilty of oral sex." His grin was churning.

"No doubt about that." Royce switched on the ignition. "So?"

"Just a commentary."

"What is it you had to tell me? Or are we going to keep up with your tawdry commentary?"

"News about Godiva."

"Yes?"

"The deputy tailing her bodyguard reported that he made a phone call from a phone booth. Same time exactly as a threat came in on the lodge switchboard. Pretty conclusive, huh?"

"Conclusive enough for me to pay a call on Godiva. Are you coming?"

"Naw, that ought to be a one-enforcer job."

"Want to keep on Godiva's good side?" Royce accused. "Letting me take the dirty jobs?" she chided and then issued a slight laugh. "And you tell me you aren't interested."

"I'm not. What is this, Nick's turn in the barrel? I'm not that starved for affection."

"There are times when talking with you is an exercise in futility."

"There is one bit of good news for you."

"Hit me with it."

"Rick Brown has packed up and left. Quit his job, left no forwarding address. Gone."

"Maybe." Royce put the Blazer in gear. "See you later. I'll tell Godiva you'll miss working with her."

Nick waved. "And I'll tell her you'll miss questioning her."

"I won't be missing that. I have plenty of questions for her." Royce drove to the lodge. She had the desk clerk announce that she was on her way up to talk with Godiva.

Godiva looked weary from a long night. "What is it now?" she barked.

"We have reason to believe that your bodyguard has been making the threatening calls. Let's fast-forward to you. Are you implicated?"

"No." Godiva rumpled her hair and sat. "Shit, no."

"We don't have time for this."

"It won't happen again."

"Right. It won't happen again because I'm pulling my deputies. I have a stalker loose, and my department is chasing you around. If you are involved, I'll find out and bring charges. Your bodyguard has falsified a statement. He can be charged too. I should cite you now. You've wasted our time. All for publicity."

"If he did it, he did it for his own reasons. I promise it won't happen again. I had nothing at all to do with it."

"I'll hold you to that promise. If any more calls come in, I'll reopen the investigation. We have voice prints, and your bodyguard will be subjected to a comparison test. We'll convict him. And you could be charged with aiding and abetting. If you see that the calls are discontinued, we can drop it right now. We've wasted enough police time on you. No sense wasting the court's time too. But in trade, I'm requiring another promise. I want you to finish your film and leave this area. I don't want you back here as long as I'm sheriff of Timber County."

"From what I hear, that may not be long." Godiva lifted an eyebrow and with a haughty grin flicked Royce's badge. "But you can always work as my bodyguard, if this sheriff thing falls through."

"No thanks," Royce mumbled.

"I'll keep the position open. It has a very interesting job description. And after all, I owe you for not charging me. Are you sure you're really encouraging me to leave?"

"I'm doing a great deal more than that. I'm requiring that you leave."

Royce turned and walked away. She was glad the star had not given her usual good-bye. "Ciao" would have been too much, considering her mood of the day.

*****

Before Royce checked out that evening, Gran called to ask if Royce minded dropping by Laird's. Bonnie said a package had just arrived. Royce agreed, and offered to chop some wood while she was up at the cabin. After changing into her civvies, she began her walk to Laird's General Store. She was agitated by events. Her head suddenly jerked to the side. Across the street from Laird's was the pool hall, and behind that was the Lonesome Pines Motel. Rick Brown's truck was parked in one of the spaces.

Whirling around, Royce rushed toward the motel. She entered the office. Rick Brown had checked in, telling the clerk that he was there to be closer to his girlfriend who lives in Timber but they would be leaving Timber City together soon.

Royce could hear the heaviness of her walk as she made her way to Rick Brown's room. She pounded the door with force.

When he opened the door, she confronted him. "I told you to leave her alone. I mean it."

"You leave me alone," he challenged.

"Your calls have escalated. You're trouble. You attempt to harm her and I'll be after you like a lioness at a rat. No more, do you hear me?"

The sides of his mouth lifted into a smirk. Spittle gathered in the corners. His eyes shone with malevolence.

"My girlfriend don't want you around her," he said.

"Your girlfriend! You haven't got a girlfriend. You have no friends around these parts. None, count them. None."

"I told you that she wants to be with me."

"You haven't exactly been on first-date behavior. You've attempted to terrorize her. The shining visage of manhood! You've been stalking her. You've been telephoning her. I've had it with you. You clear out of town and soon."

"You ain't got the stuff to make me. And it ain't legal to run somebody out of town." His laugh was menacing. Taunting. "So see how far you get tryin' to run me off."

Royce took two steps backward. She glared at him. "Don't be too sure I won't come for you. She's a lovely, decent woman. She doesn't deserve this. She wants no part of you."

"But I want a part of her. Bet she's something in the sack. I know she'll be worth waiting for."

Royce had never felt this kind of outrage. Her face burned with hatred. Her eyes stung from the heat of anger. "You'll have to kill me first." She turned, walking away, feeling that she was being dragged along within the constriction of the very law she had vowed to uphold.

Royce could not free an innocent woman of murder charges. She could not arrest the party she was becoming convinced actually committed both murders. She could not make the relationship between her dear friends better. She could not convince the people of Timber County that she should be elected. That they should not allow the facts that she is a woman and a lesbian to impact their decision when casting their vote.

She could not even protect her lover from a madman.

*****

"You feelin' poorly, honey?" Bonnie Laird questioned when Royce entered the small general store. "You surely got a furrow in your brow."

"Just a hectic day."

"Well, here's your gran's package." Bonnie pulled the box from under the counter. "Imagine you'll be wantin' some butterscotch."

Royce muttered, "It might help." She dug into her pocket for change. "How's Orson doing?"

"Fit as a fiddle. That old back number is trimmin' down a little. He used to eat whatever he came across that didn't get out of the way fast enough. Since he's gettin' up there in years, he's slowed his fork and spoon down a tad. Maybe it's my cookin'," she joked.

"I doubt that. Gran says you're her equal, and that's plenty terrific."

"Say, that was mighty nice of you and Doc White to get that kitten for Carrie Donovan. She was in seventh heaven. Her mama was just in for some milk and eggs. Says Carrie is naming the kitten Whitey. After Doc White."

Royce smiled. "That will please Hertha."

"Well, Norma Donovan told Carrie that people will ask why she named a gray cat 'Whitey' and she'll have to explain. Didn't phase Carrie. She claims she'll name the cat what she says. As sure as eggs are eggs, she's got her own mind."

"Hertha hoped it would be okay with her mother."

"Norma loves the little kitten too." Bonnie frowned and her glance cast down to the floor. "Norma tells that she saw Mrs. McDermott in the bank. Mrs. McDermott was on a toot about how Carrie spends time with Doc White. She tells Norma it isn't a good idea."

"Oh?"

"Well, you know Mrs. McDermott. Guess she comes in and returns that huge sum of money she'd withdrawn. 'Spose now that Tyler's a star he doesn't need her handouts. Anyways, Mrs. McDermott warns Norma. Says that Doc White and you are odd."

"Odd?"

"Too involved."

"Oh." Royce unrolled the butterscotch and offered one to Bonnie.

"Thanks. She says that a child shouldn't be around Doc White's sort."

"Sort?"

"Well, there are allegations. You know, it's a fine kettle of fish when people can't leave other people alone. Anyways, her ladyship keeps on tellin' Norma not to let Carrie be alone with your Doc White."

"What did Norma say?"

"Told her to mind her own business. Guess' she says how Carrie has turned around since Doc White's taken an interest in helpin' her."

"That's good. Because Hertha would never harm anyone in the world. She would never take a child's innocence. That's absurd. And what we're talking about is called lesbianism. It can't be contracted by touch. It isn't contagious."

"Well, makes no difference. Around here we know you. And we know Doc White is special. Anyways, Norma says as long as Doc White will have Carrie, she hopes Carrie will keep on helping out. It's been mighty good for her."

"I guess it all depends on the election."

"What you mean?"

"If I lose the election, I'll be moving to Denver."

"You can't be talkin' like that. You aren't gonna be losing. Those of us who been workin' on your campaign won't hear of such a thing." Bonnie was indignant, her voice cut. "You just get your boot straps pulled back up right now. You daddy wouldn't hold with you talkin' about givin' up. You fight. You're our sheriff."

"I just don't want to let you down."

"You aren't gonna let us down. And we aren't gonna let you down. And you aren't gonna let down Grady's memory."

"I wish I could be more optimistic. Bonnie, when prejudice and bigotry are concerned, it's a dicey call. I wish I could promise the election results you want."

"Your gran is gonna tell you to get your spunk back."

Royce gave a slight laugh, an embarrassed laugh. "I know."

*****

"I been behind as a cat's tail," Dora Madison remarked as her granddaughter entered. "I didn't want to pop into town for my package, because I had my club ladies over today to work on campaign calls. Hope you didn't mind?"

"No, Gran. I appreciate your campaigning. Calling all those folks to get out the vote." Royce gave her grandmother a kiss on the temple. "Smells great in here."

"Not quite ready yet. By the time you chop a little wood, it will be."

"I'll be back in a tick." Royce grabbed the ax and headed out toward the wood pile. She felt the meadow tundra beneath her boots. She glanced down at the pocket of moss and thought about winter's approach. With a sigh, she began chopping. She planned to split about a quarter of the wood now, and then split the rest on her next day off. Second next, she corrected. Her next day off was the final debate with Dillon Granger. It was planned at Gwen's. That thought made Royce uncomfortable. Gwen was barely speaking to her.

Royce's hands were becoming stiff. As she drove the wedge into yet another log, she realized she was working out her aggression against Rick Brown. She knew he'd been winding her up, but she couldn't quite figure out why. She was getting weary. It had been a very long day, and it was time to get back inside. The wink of a lantern from the back porch beckoned. She inhaled the pine scent that mixed with the weedy fragrance of rich earth. Mountain soil smelled like nothing else, she thought, stretching as she strode back to the cabin. The crunch of fallen leaves alerted her grandmother that she was near.

"Thought you were spending the night out there," Gran called from the porch.

Royce removed her gloves as she entered the cabin's warmth. Simmering vegetable soup had been poured into a large tureen. After she washed up, Royce sat. "Your soup is always so good, Gran."

Gran beamed. She lifted a spoonful of broth and blew. Then she tasted it. "Not my best, but not my worst."

Royce laughed. "You always say that."

"So tell me about your day. I so miss your news of the day. I put on a scrap of music now and again, but I do miss our conversations."

"Lately there hasn't been much good to tell," Royce whispered hoarsely. Royce tasted the soup. "Delicious." Gran always seemed to get the mixture of beef, pearl barley, celery, carrots, onions, and spices matched to perfection.

"Most of the folks I been talking with are planning to get to the polls next month. I have plenty of friends around here."

"Elizabeth McDermott and the Family Morals Coalition have lots of friends too."

"Oh botheration! She's got no such thing. She's got some social hangers-on. People who come to her parties to get their photos in the paper."

"She threw out her housekeeper today. Ugly scene. I ran a check on the woman, Clara Davis. She's clean. But her claims of misconduct with the judge finally riled Elizabeth."

"There's been talk of his philandering ways. When they lived in Denver there was plenty of talk about his indiscretions."

"I thought theirs was a loving relationship. The Family Morals bit and all."

"Well, it might have been put out that way."

"You mean because of social expectations?"

"He was the judge. She liked his title. But the rot set in when they were first married. They held it up as model, but folks figured out that there was trouble. Then they moved here and folks said he settled down."

"Or became careful."

"Why you asking about them?"

"Curious."

"I hate to see you so down-hearted, Royce. Bonnie Laird called. Said she figured you were so blue you were ready to chuck in the election."

"No. I'm going to do my very best."

"Then you're bound to win. Well, what you think?"

"Gran, I ate too much of your delicious soup. I can barely budge." Royce looked away at the wall. "And I love you. You've always been there for me."

20

"Hey Laramie, what's your hurry? You got a cake in the oven?" Nick asked as Laramie scurried past him toward Royce's desk. Royce had spent the entire morning in the Sheriff's Department at her desk as she sifted clues. No matter how many times she trawled her mind, there was a missing particle. Motive, she repeated to herself.

Glancing up, she automatically stood. "Laramie, is Hertha okay?"

"Yep," he muttered. He waved her back into her chair. "She's fine."

"What do you have?"

"I was over at the Lonesome Pines Motel, checkin' out the paint again. All hell lets loose. That Rick Brown fella comes out and flies off the handle. Tells me to stop pesterin' him or he'll see to it I never pester nobody again. But I got me the letter. It ain't an 'N' at all."

"What isn't?"

"It ain't SAN. It's an 'R' a spellin' Sar."

"Sarasota." Royce reached for the phone. "Thanks Laramie."

"What you reckon?"

"I reckon you did excellent detective work," Royce said with a smile as she dialed. "I reckon, thanks!"

She watched as Laramie's stutter-steps took him away. Nick approached and sat on the edge of her desk. "So what did your C.I. have to say?"

"My confidential informant just solved a part of the puzzle." Royce had been placed on hold by the Sarasota switchboard. "At least I hope so."

"Why do you suppose someone like Laramie puts his life in the bottle?" Nick's question was one of pity.

"Maybe the clarion call of good fortune never reached him." Royce heard the detective on the other end of the line. "This is Sheriff Royce Madison from Timber City, Colorado. I've got a stalker in the vicinity. I'm calling to check and see if someone there might be able to help me identify him. I've got reason to believe that he's got a false I.D."

"Glad to assist," Detective Johnson offered. "I've been here for quite a few years, so I might be able to help."

"I've been through all the available information on stalkers in Florida and come up empty handed. But now I believe he's lived and worked in the Sarasota area. And maybe I was going after the wrong crime. I was looking for a stalker. The guy also has a racial tattoo. Maybe I should have been looking for a white supremacist."

"What can you tell me about him?"

"He's about thirty. Six-foot, maybe a hundred and sixty pounds. Wiry build. Brown eyes, unkempt beige-brown hair. Sunken cheeks, with missing front teeth. Scars on his cheek and several on his arms. He worked as a handyman. Maybe a mechanic or an electrician."

"Bingo!" the detective said. "Your man might be Richard Burke. An electrician."

"Richard Burke," Royce repeated. "Maybe he kept his initials. Rick Brown."

"Burke is a white supremacist and has been convicted on some charges involved with the local group here. Listen, can I have Sergeant Harris call you right back? He worked on the case. And as I recall, there was stalking."

"Yes. I'd like to talk with him. How dangerous is Richard Burke?"

"He's got an ugly past. Sergeant Harris can fill you in." Royce left her number and waited for the return call. Finally a break, she thought. She was tense as she flipped through the leaves of papers in each file on her desk, aware that she was unable to even read the words. Her mind was whirling.

When the phone rang a few minutes later, she breathed deeply and lifted the receiver. "Sergeant Harris, thanks for your quick response."

"Johnson tells me you might have Burke in your area."

"Not a positive I.D., but it's as close as I've come. What's his rap sheet like?"

"Not pretty. He's been trouble for the past decade and a half. But I never nailed him for the crimes we wanted him charged with."

"Which were?"

"Stalking, yes. But we were positive he was guilty of murdering young women. We had a string of women disappear while he was in the area. We questioned him. He always seemed to slip through the net and out of our grasp. When we finally cornered him, he got out on a technicality. Eleven women were murdered. Eleven."

"You said young women."

"Right. Between twenty and thirty. And he liked women of color. Always women of color. We used to joke about it. Called him an equal opportunity serial killer."

Royce felt a chill. "Will you fax me his photo?"

"We'll dig up the file and fax his sheet. Our records department is backlogged, so give us the rest of the day. I'll red-tag it to expedite."

"If it is Burke, do you have anything outstanding on him?"

"Sheriff, never confuse twenty-four-karat nuts for stupid. The man is crafty. We don't have anything on him."

Royce's jaw clamped tightly. "You don't have anything you'd like to question him about?"

"Would it help?"

"It might save a life. And with the new detection methods of DNA testing, you might come up with something important."

"You have a point. Now that I think about it, I believe we do have additional questions that need answering. How about if we hold him on a short affidavit. You detain him for questioning, Sheriff. We'll come up with a list of questions. I'll get that fax off as quickly as possible. Let me know if it's him. I'll take the responsibility for getting you that warrant."

"Sergeant, I owe you one."

"Sheriff, you get him off the streets, and the debt is squared. He's left an ugly trail here. He tortured those women. Tortured them and killed them. I nearly took out a wall when he walked. The guy was guilty and he skated. Figure it."

Royce replaced the receiver and the chill remained. She called together her deputies on duty and briefed them on the situation. "We're waiting on information to make a positive I.D. on our stalker. They'll fax his photo, but until we get the results, I want around-the-clock guard and surveillance for Doctor White. And check Lonesome Pines to see if he's there. If so, put a tail on him. If not, post a sentry."

Two of the deputies side-glanced one another. One commented, "Dillon Granger says that you're taking special privileges by asking us to escort the vet around."

"Deputies, I know you resent this. I'm ordering you to set up a duty schedule now that will safeguard the life of one of Timber County's citizens. With the election only days away, I also know that you are listening to Dillon Granger. But, gentlemen, don't hang on his every word. I'm still the sheriff. And a citizen needs to be protected. There is a restraining order. And there is cause to believe a life is in danger. It is our duty to protect. That's what I'm doing. It's what we're going to do. When we get the fax, there will probably be a directive to apprehend the suspect. He's wanted for questioning in Florida. Until then, check the schedule for when you're posted."

"But ..."

"Deputies, we've just pulled everyone from protecting a superstar. No one opposed my decision to protect her. Doctor White has just as much right to protection as Godiva." Royce gave a quick, angry dismissive gesture.

Nick's hearty laugh boomed. He added, "In fact, more right, Deputy. Unless you want to deal with your poodle's anal gland problem by yourself."

The deputy smirked. "I'll take the first watch. My wife's poodle is a pain in the ass, but I don't think I want to get involved."

"Good thinking," Royce muttered.

Nick folded his arms. "You didn't need a confrontation today."

"No," Royce agreed. "I've got my share of jitters about this afternoon's debate."

"You did fine on the last one and it was on unfriendly turf. This one's being held at the home of your friends."

Royce closed her eyes. She felt the elastic snap in the sockets as she rubbed them. She wanted to pound the desk; she wanted to scream. "I wouldn't call it home territory."

*****

Gwen was barely cordial. "Where's Nadine?" Royce questioned. "She went outside."

"How are things going?"

"Other than the fact that my lover of twenty-five years is about to walk out on me, everything is just terrific." Gwen was abrupt. "It is making things slightly more civil having Jorie here. Nadine insisted Jorie stay with us until she can leave town. Nadine is in one spare bedroom. Jorie in the other."

"I wasn't aware Jorie had moved in."

"You haven't been in touch for a few days."

"I didn't think you wanted me around."

"I don't," Gwen tried to hush her anger. "I'm pulling my endorsement of you. Against Nadine's wishes, but I'm still doing it."

"Because I didn't live my life by your dictates? That sounds like Family Morals Coalition thinking."

"Royce, I can't support you. I trusted you. You knew Nadine was upset. And you knew why," Gwen fumed. "You were a conspirator. If it were Hertha getting ready to leave you, you'd want me to tell you so you could do something about it. And I would have told you. Warned you. Nadine means the world to me. You betrayed me. You stood by and allowed a situation to get out of control. I refuse to endorse a public official with that kind of faulty decision-making."

"My decision was based on friendship to Nadine. I wouldn't betray a trust and break my promise to her. I did encourage her to tell you." Royce shifted her stance, looking away. "If the election isn't already lost, your pulling your endorsement will do it."

Briskly Gwen handed Royce a cup of punch. "Something to keep your throat from drying out during the debate."

Elizabeth McDermott approached and asked, "Are we planning last-minute strategy?"

Gwen handed punch to Elizabeth. "No need. So are you here for my excellent punch, or to stake and burn the lesbian nation?"

"If Sheriff Madison hadn't spent so much time under your tutelage, she might be suitable to be our sheriff."

"Elizabeth, I don't think Royce learned one damned thing from me. I used to, but not now," Gwen jabbed.

"Be that as it may," Elizabeth remarked, "freaks of nature should not be in positions of power or of authority."

"Freaks of nature!" Gwen seethed. "Make up your mind. Was I designed by nature to be lesbian? Or am I a consciously blatant sinner? Hell's bells, your argument can't swing both ways."

"Save your small town tedium to pack into your biased little gazette."

"Your thinking is so muddled, it's pathetic," Gwen blasted. "And decent, really decent, people are going to tire of it."

Elizabeth turned on her heel and returned to her side of the room.

Gwen shrugged. "I thought I handled that with at least a modicum of the genteel."

Royce saw the glimmer of a smile in Gwen's eyes and then they again flashed anger. Royce's back went ramrod straight and she turned.

She faced Dillon Granger. "Deputy Granger."

"Hear the train leavin' the station, Sheriff?" Granger grated his teeth. There was malice in his eyes. "Got your concession speech ready?" He was trying to trigger her humiliation. "We both know the best man is gonna win. Even with your gender-bender toughness, this job requires the best man for the job."

"Play that one to the gallery," Royce answered.

"I got my acceptance speech memorized," he boasted.

"For Timber County's sake, I hope your speech won't be needed." Royce felt the sweat from the cup in her hand. She was holding the cup so tightly that for a moment she thought it might slip from her fingers. She went outside to find Nadine.

"Things are worse?" Royce questioned Nadine.

"Yes. Even when everything out here in my garden is getting ready for a winter's sleep, being out here relaxes me." Nadine reclined on her lounge. Her sunglasses tipped back on her head. "The sun feels so good. Funny how up here we have sun one day, snow the next."

"I wish I understood what's happening between Gwen and you."

Nadine sat up and took Royce's hand. "I'm sorry that Gwen's upset with you. It wasn't your fault. I told her that. If anyone's at fault, it's me. I should never have asked you to keep my secret. It wasn't my intention to break up the friendship between Gwen and you. Now without even thinking about it, that's happened. Please be patient with her. Fate grants us all permission to forgive. Time insists on it. Forgive what she says to you now."

"I already have. Nadine, could forgiveness help you and Gwen?"

"I don't think forgiveness can change the things that need to be changed."

Royce leaned and kissed Nadine's cheek. "I love you both."

"We love you. Gwen will come to understand. Both my decision to evaluate our relationship, and your allegiance to me."

"Of course I have an allegiance to you."

"Maybe that's what's bothering Gwen. She wants the larger portion of your friendship."

"There is no larger portion possible for my friendship to either of you. I think we'd better get inside. It's about time for the debate to start."

*****

Royce took a stand behind her podium and looked out into the faces of the audience. "Are you ready, Sheriff Madison?" Gwen asked.

Royce nodded and began her opening statement. "I want to thank you for the opportunity to state my reasons for wanting to be your sheriff. Today a friend said that I hadn't learned anything from her. I learned many of the most important things in life from her. One of them will never leave my mind. She said that the heart of a crowd is its conscience. My platform is simple. I appeal to each person's conscience. For I believe that there can be no justice without tolerance and equality. Bigotry is offensive. The heart of bigotry is hatred. And that is unacceptable to this community and to this nation. We are the children of a fiercely proud and individualistic people. We have a pioneer soul. We have the spirit of adventurers. Our generation has been gifted with the ability not only to know what is right, but to do what is right. We can do that with our votes. I am the more experienced law enforcer; I am the more qualified. I ask you to place a barometer on your conscience. I ask you to take a reading based on who I am, not what you've been told I might be. I ask you to vote the way your heart dictates."

Royce leaned away from the podium. Tears were welling in Gwen's eyes. Through the rest of the debate Royce felt isolation, but not absolute isolation. And for the first time in a long time, she felt no resentment.

*****

The evening had been quietly spent in the cottage. After Hertha and Royce finished dinner, Royce had sequestered herself in the small office where Hertha kept her files. She'd taken the forensic folders on the Holt and McDermott murders. Royce had studied them with a sense of urgency.

"Tea?" Hertha offered.

"Thanks." Royce reached and took the steaming mug of herbal tea.

"Nadine said that you talked with Jorie after the debate."

"Yes. She's barricaded in their guest room. I had some questions to ask her."

"Questions?"

"Yes. Elizabeth McDermott claimed that Jorie had approached the judge and inquired about what would happen if the Holt murder was an accident. Jorie confessed that she had asked. But it was not for her. She said she wanted to know from a journalistic point of inquiry."

"That's not hard evidence. What did Jorie think of your speech?"

"She said that Granger's ignorance showed up in the broadcast. And she said I have a very sincere voice. With my history of police work, she said I could be an investigative reporter. But my androgyny would be a problem."

"It's not easy for a sheriff to doll up," Hertha teased.

"No. She then told me that she felt terrible that her sexuality was still veiled. It would need to remain veiled. I guess I can better understand that now, after what I've been through with all the allegations."

"I was terribly proud of you, Royce. What you said has to get through to the citizens."

"Not necessarily. Granger did tromp on me where the investigation was concerned. I won't say that I believe someone is guilty when I don't. I won't politicize my values to win an election. And condemning someone who hasn't even been tried is wrong. But he used it to his advantage."

"You've got to find out who committed these crimes."

"And I'm convinced of Jorie's innocence." Royce smiled as Patches jumped into her lap. "You going help sift out the clues, Patches? I'll open my files, we can look at the list of forensic evidence, and you can allow your kitty curiosity detect the killer."

Smoky growled for attention. "You too," Hertha confirmed as Smoky scratched at Royce's arm.

"They at least keep me company."

"I'll be glad to do that."

Royce leaned into Hertha's kiss. "Just as we begin living together everything else seems to fall apart. I hate that. This investigation has been brutal. No time for you. Even on one of our rare evenings home alone, I'm studying files. Pouring over documents about murder. Not very romantic."

"I don't mind." Hertha pulled a chair near. "Why don't you run everything by me? To begin with, you said you had questions, plural, to ask Jorie."

"Yes. The other question was about the stein that the judge used. I asked about the ice cubes."

"Ice cubes?" Hertha frowned.

"I asked if they were clear. She said she remembered that they were. Strychnine could easily be placed into an alcoholic beverage. Alcohol serves as an excellent solvent. So if the poison was administered in booze it would be hidden. But it wouldn't dissolve as readily in the ice. It destroyed a theory I had about the judge's murder."

"If you'd like, I could go over the toxicology reports now. There might be something that will register."

Royce dug through the pile of papers and pulled out three sheets. "Like I said, the fact that the ice cubes were clear negates my theory."

Hertha examined the forms. "These reports don't tell me much. For instance, the toxicity of the samples taken from the carpet seem awfully strong. Pure."

"The trace samples." Royce perused the report. "Yes. It is a high number."

"The tissue samples are much weaker, but they could have been taken after the poison had reached full potency. I wish I could be of more help, Royce. I just don't have the knowledge of forensic chemistry. But something seems wrong. It doesn't quite add up."

Royce sat back in the chair. Her petting of Patches was steady, automatic, as she pondered. "You might not have proved my first theory, but I have another idea and what you've said doesn't disprove it."

"Would you like to run anything else by me?"

"Yes. One of my criminology professors lectured that the solution of crime often rests in one's ability to get into another person's mind. To understand another person's thinking. The victim. And the killer. The prof said a good investigator needs to see the crime from every perspective."

"Will you come to bed now? It's getting late."

Royce lifted Patches in her arms and stood. "Yes. I need a good night's sleep."

"And a good sleep remedy?"

Royce grinned. "Particularly that."

21

Waiting had always proved to be the most difficult part of police work. And of life, Royce admitted as she took a counter seat in Molly's Pantry.

"Glad the debate went well for you, Royce," Molly tried to boost Royce's mood.

"Yes. I'm just glad it's finished. I'm not cut out for politics. Only being a sheriff."

Molly looked weary. It had been a busy morning, and her mornings were always early. "Royce, I been wanting a chance to talk with you." She placed a cup of coffee in front of her daughter and then poured one for herself. "This business with you and Gwen has got to stop."

"I know tensions are running high." Royce sipped the coffee. An inspection of her mother's face told Royce that Molly was suffering.

"Your good-natured ways are a thing of the past. You used to be sweet as marshmallow pie."

"Mom, I apologize. I want to end the hostilities."

"Then do it."

"I apologized to her for saying she was an egomaniac."

"Such a thing to call your best buddy. Both Gwen and you are strong-willed and stubborn as the day is long. But you've got to patch this up."

Royce swallowed. Her eyes burned with Molly's magnetic stare that seemed to be scorching her. "Mom, everything is just happening at once. Everything seems to have me tied in knots. I can't find a balance."

"It will work out, Royce. Prove your mettle. One time when your daddy and I were courting he had his hands full on a big case. We had words, which was mighty rare for your daddy. Anyway, he came to me and apologized for being snappy. Said he'd try not to let his work influence his moods. Gave me a little music box and inside an engagement ring. And there was a note. It said, 'I knead your love.' I laughed and called him a romantic for the spelling of 'knead' because I worked at a bakery. He said he also 'needed' me. He asked if I'd marry him. Your daddy and I could always laugh together. It took work for him to make me happy while being a law officer. You picked a profession that can give you mighty big rewards when it comes to satisfaction, but there is a dark side. Anyway, I liked to think your daddy and I needed one another. Well, what I'm trying to say is that we all need the love of people we love. And when we padlock our hearts from friends, it's very sad indeed."

"I haven't turned on Gwen."

"Royce, it takes years to find and develop friendships. You meet hundreds of folks in a lifetime. But only a few are really the kind we trust with our love. Like separating the gold from dross. It takes hard work to hold that gold in the palm of your hand. It takes even harder work to hold a golden friendship always in the center of your heart. Seems as though when it's most crucial to be there for someone, it's also often most difficult to keep that friendship intact."

"I'm trying."

"You try harder. You do that, Royce." Molly sipped her coffee. "Gwen called a few minutes ago and said she'd be over. So you just stay seated. You two work this out."

Gwen's stride was hurried as she crossed the street. She entered and her eyes were shadowed with anger. Molly poured her a cup of coffee. Gwen took a quick gulp. "So I've been called before the arbitration board," she spoke as she glared at Royce. "Molly, I'm not ready to deal with this. Nadine is planning to leave me after the election. She says she's going to Denver to stay with her aunt for a while. But she's packing as if she doesn't intend to return."

Molly went around the counter to embrace her friend. "Gwen, you know she'll be back. She's just going to have a little think."

"Your daughter hasn't helped the matter," Gwen charged.

Royce swallowed. "Gwen, I didn't want either of you hurt. But you're acting as if I set out to intentionally hurt you. I didn't make her feel the way she does, and I certainly didn't encourage her to. Can't you talk to Nadine? Make her understand you love her?"

Gwen's eyes became soggy. She blinked helplessly. "We have talked. She won't listen to reason."

"Reason!" Royce's voice rose. "You're acting as if she's the unreasonable one."

"I'm the one who wanted to talk. To make it better. She doesn't even seem to want that." Gwen's eyes watered. "If I would have known earlier, maybe the entire thing might have been prevented. Instead, I added stress to a faltering relationship." Gwen's stormy glance registered with Royce. "It was reprehensible for you to keep this from me. I didn't even know there was a problem until it smashed me."

"Maybe you should have known." Royce said solemnly.

"I don't read minds."

"You should have read her face. She's been in pain."

"And I made her unhappy!"

"Now, you two stop this," Molly's voice peaked. "Stop it now. I'm not having it. This animosity is causing even more heartache for Nadine. You two are pulling in opposite directions, and she needs you both. I won't have her subjected to this. Everything is in a dither, and it's time for the two of you to make peace."

Gwen was silent for a moment. She saw the depth of pain in Royce's eyes. She tersely replied, "Molly, I've stated my case as succinctly as I can."

Molly leaned against the counter. "Gwen, we're in the midst of an election. There are unsolved murders. And Hertha is in danger. There's no time for arguing between friends."

"Is Hertha okay?" Gwen seemed to have forgotten Hertha's danger.

"She's under round-the-clock surveillance."

"News on the stalker?" Gwen asked.

"We may have an I.D. on Brown. If he is the man we suspect, we'll pick him up. We're waiting on a fax."

"Fax?" Gwen quizzed.

"A photo of a man named Richard Burke. He was a suspect in eleven murder cases in Sarasota."

"Eleven murders?" Gwen said with shock. "I guess we always knew he was vermin. But I'd always hoped that he was just a goof."

"He's a nasty piece of work," Molly issued.

"And if he is Richard Burke, he's a very dangerous man." Royce became grim. "Until we get a positive I.D. and then get our warrant, I can't do much more. The report should be here any time. As soon as we've taken him into custody, we can breath easier. Until then, Hertha's in danger."

Gwen shook her head. "Looks like we both fear losing the women we love."

"All the more reason for the two of you to stop this silliness," Molly confronted them.

Curtly, Gwen replied, "I hope you get him jailed. Then Hertha can have some peace of mind. Hertha's being stalked by a killer. A murderer is running free, and Jorie is accused of a crime she couldn't have committed."

Royce stood. "I'm mystified by the tangles of this case, but I'm sure she didn't kill anyone. I'm searching for a motive."

"I know that Jorie is innocent. She might cover for someone, but she would never kill."

"Cover?" Royce questioned. The static of her radio interrupted her question. The fax was coming in. Royce rushed to the door. "Gwen, I'm not sure I can do much good. But I'm willing to try and talk with Nadine again. I truly don't want you to lose her." Royce paused at the door a moment, "Or for her to lose you." She smiled. "If she leaves you, there's no chance you'll ever get sent to charm school."

Royce thought she saw the glimmer of a smile overtake Gwen's anger. "I want her to stay. Yes, I'd even consider going to charm school. Yes."

Molly called after Royce, "Maybe we can get a two-for-one special and send the both of you to charm school."

*****

"It's a make," Royce announced to Nick and Amy. As the photo rolled, Royce examined it. "Amy, dispatch an APB immediately. He could be armed and should be considered dangerous. Tell them to exercise extreme caution. And make sure somebody's with Hertha. Let's not confuse crazy for stupid." Royce watched as his sheet was stretching out. "AKA Rick Burke; Dick Brown; Ricky Braun; and Richard Braun. Amy, run him through the computer bank to see if there might be anything outstanding in any other areas. Nick, get over to Lonesome Pines Motel and see if he's come back yet. I'll be there as soon as I have the search warrant."

Royce rushed to Judge Meg Carter's chambers. She was glad to find Meg there. "Sheriff, along with my vote, what is it I can do for you?"

"I need a search warrant. Lonesome Pines Motel. Richard Burke. Just as we suspected, he's been living under an assumed name. I have a short warrant." Royce held out the document. "He's to be detained for questioning in Florida. I couldn't do anything until now. He wouldn't get near enough to violate the restraining order. He knows the drill."

"When they're trouble, they always do. I'd say you have cause."

"Yes. I need that warrant." Royce divulged, "I've got to get him before he kills again."

"Your Doctor White?"

"Yes. The man stalking my Doctor White." Royce's eyes were fiercely impatient. "I need that warrant now."

"You've got it now, Sheriff." Meg nodded as she quickly scribbled. "And you have my vote too."

Royce forced a smile. "Thanks. Your vote of confidence means a lot." Royce reached the door and turned. "I'll be voting for you too."

"You get Burke off the streets, and I'll try and keep him off." Their mutual glance lingered only seconds before Royce hastened down the courthouse corridor. She ran a final fifty yards to the edge of the Lonesome Pines Motel parking lot. On one end of the driveway was the deputy who had been posted; on the opposite end was another who had been radioed for backup. When she spotted Nick, Royce urged, "Let's go." They entered the motel office and presented the warrant.

They were taken to the room, and when the door swung open, Royce nearly gagged. "A bit whiffy in here," she said as the blinds were opened so that they could see the squalidness better.

"Looks like a pigsty exploded," Nick muttered as his eyes adjusted to the lighting.

"Conduct a sweep of his room," Royce directed. "It looks like he left in a hurry. I probably spooked him when I called on him last time. Before I found out who he is."

"I don't see anything incriminating," Nick reported.

"Wear your crime scene gloves. We don't want to lose prints in case we find anything." Royce pulled the small packet from her back pocket and opened it. She slid the gloves on. She opened the dresser drawers and poked through the clutter. "Nothing."

"Look at this, will you?" Nick pointed down to the stained carpeting. The chest of drawers had been recently moved. A strip of clean carpet ran parallel to the dresser.

"Grab the other end," Royce instructed. "Let's move it and see what's under it."

They hoisted the dresser up and swung it to the side. There was a bundle beneath a tarp. Nick carefully pulled the corner back. Under the worn material was a pile of assorted pictures and newspaper clippings.

"Jesus!" Nick said as he stepped back. His eyes were horror-filled. "I think I'm going to lose it."

Royce began to scrutinize the stack of Polaroid photos and clippings of unsolved crimes. The photos were of brutally tortured women. They'd been taken at various stages of the murder. Royce's stomach lurched. "Post-mortem mutilation," she confirmed. "Women of color. These must be the victims from Florida. Nick, careful in handling these when you take them into evidence. I don't want to lose the prints. We'll need to get copies of these photos to Florida for I.D.s on the victims."

"Giving Florida first crack at him?"

"Damn betcha," Royce answered. With vehemence she uttered, "They'll execute him. And he'll deserve it." The stark photos were of atrocious mutilation. The kind of sordid thing a city officer might expect to come into contact with, but in Timber City it seemed completely out of context.

Royce opened the closet door. Her flashlight beam reflected cartons of hardcore pornography. Then a pool of light hit the corner. Several empty containers of bullets were scattered. "He's armed." A roll of haphazardly clipped electrical wiring snaked across the base of the closet. "When we're done collecting evidence from the premises, post a sentry to watch and see if he returns. My best bet says he won't." She radioed, "Amy, the suspect is armed. Issue a dispatch to that effect. He's well-armed from the looks of it, so apprehending him could be dangerous." She lowered her radio. She turned back to Nick. "This scene, here. This is where humanity should be directing its hatred."

"Makes the name-calling against you and Hertha look pretty shallow, don't you think?"

"Right," Royce said with a confirming nod.

"Think he's still in the area?" Nick queried.

"Yes. I feel it. He's here. Nick, I feel as though we're at the edge of a cliff and no one knows who will be first over." Her heart had not stopped its heavy beating since the fax had come in.

Nick looked away a moment and then back at the stack of mortifying photos. In his eyes were revulsion, pain, and disbelief. "I finally really get what you've been saying about crimes against women. This is unbelievably disgusting."

Royce reached to pat Nick's arm. "Are you okay?"

"These women were someone's daughters and sisters." Nick closed his eyes and turned his face away. Royce was relatively certain he had never cried in front of a woman before.

22

The weather bureau called for an overnight dusting of the Timber County area. By morning the early snowfall was an accumulation of several inches. After dispersing the deputy assignments, Royce carefully considered safety measures. Round-the-clock surveillance of Hertha and of the Lonesome Pine Motel was in place. All available officers had completed a sweep of areas that might offer refuge to a fugitive. Their reports were negative. No trace of the elusive Burke.

But the APB had been issued, and surrounding counties were also on the lookout for Burke's vehicle. Royce knew that this was all she could do for the time. Wait and watch.

The one positive was that it had snowed. Burke was from Florida and probably not used to the inclement weather. Every member of the Sheriff's Department had been trained to drive in snow, most of them from childhood. And they knew every inch of the area. But Royce cautioned against false security. Burke had demonstrated his unpredictable nature. Everyone was to remain alert.

Because of the events, she'd put off meeting with Nadine about the campaign. With all stations relatively secure, Royce decided early morning would be the best time to take a few minutes to assemble at the Times office.

Wearily she trudged across the street. She resented taking valuable time from police work for her campaign. But she also knew it was required. As was her friendship at this time to Gwen and Nadine.

Royce sat alone in the Times conference room. She had wanted an extra few moments to gather her thoughts when she talked with Nadine. Her agenda was to discuss the campaign.

Her motive was to intercede for Gwen. Perhaps, she thought, it might mend animosity between everyone concerned.

"Sorry I'm late," Nadine remarked as she placed the folder in front of her. "I stopped to check the post office box. Royce, we've got more contributions. In addition to a multitude of small checks and money orders, we've got some sizable ones."

"These sizable ones," Royce said as she leaned her elbows on the table, "are from major companies?"

"Right, just like before. We've got some from Northern Colorado. From Wyoming. And a couple from Utah. Mining companies. All legal. All within the guidelines. I imagine Granger is getting the same funding."

"Maybe." Royce's frown deepened. "Is there a common denominator with the names?"

"No. Nothing illegal."

"I don't mean improprieties. I just don't understand why."

"I don't care where it comes from. As long as it's legal. Royce, we're still not matching the monies that the Coalition is pumping into Granger's treasury. But with this money, we can buy more radio spots countering Granger's allegations."

Royce slumped back. "I don't like negative campaigning."

"The guy was released from duty a number of times. He's held down two dozen enforcement jobs in that twenty-five year span. People deserve to know that, and they certainly ought to think about it. He's not competent to be sheriff. If your predecessor hadn't hired him, he probably couldn't have even found another deputy job."

"Most people around here know that. I don't see why we need to dredge it up."

"Royce, it might be our only chance at winning." Nadine's eyes flared. "I don't want to lose. That would make Gwen right about me."

"What?" Royce delved.

"Gwen thinks I'm not good enough to run your campaign."

"She's never said that." Royce looked away. "Nadine, this election is not about confronting some inner emotional conflict. It isn't about showing Gwen you can succeed."

"Of course, it's about the best person for the job."

"Why am I getting the feeling that it's about your proving something to Gwen?"

"There's more to it than that." Nadine's eyes pinched tightly. "Don't you see, I want to win on my own. I can do that by helping you win. It's a victory for us both."

Royce stood. She leaned over the table and her eyes targeted Nadine's. "She is in love with you. She wants to talk with you.

She wants to save your relationship. As I see it, if you don't call that winning, you've lost what's really important. The best victory will be swallowed away by ego."

Royce turned to leave. Nadine asked, "What do you want to do about the new radio commercials?"

"I want my experience reinforced. I want my enforcement history told. I'm not going to keep my town clean with a dirty campaign. No smear tactics." Royce slowly put on her Stetson and jacket. Then she turned back to Nadine. "I also want to find out why these mining companies are funneling the money into the campaign. But most of all, I want you to think about Gwen's love for you."

*****

Tension created an eerie calm. Royce had a gut feeling that Richard Burke was out there somewhere. He was also waiting. But he had the advantage of knowing if and when he would strike.

By the middle of the morning, everything was quiet in the Sheriff's Department office. Royce glanced outside at the tranquil scene. Show was falling gently in beautiful, fresh sheets.

Even the conversation seemed uneventful, suspended by critical events. Royce recognized the placid danger. She had mentioned to Nick that even the weather conditions might not detour Richard Burke. In fact, she commented, he might consider it the ultimate element of surprise.

Standing at the window, at attention, wasn't getting her work done, she thought. She went to her desk and tackled a stack of reports she'd been ignoring. Her nerves required busywork. Royce opened a file, attempting to alleviate pressure by keeping everything as normal as possible.

"Only two days until you find out if you'll need to spend the next six years checking my spelling," Nick chided.

"The dictionary for your birthday didn't help," Royce muttered.

"Well if Dillon Granger ever did anything, you'd see that his spelling is much worse than mine."

"I don't doubt it for an instant."

"What are all those telephone calls on your desk?"

"Just a little investigation. Trying to find if some of my recent contributions are related in any way. Checking the CEOs of the companies. You know, affiliations, things like that."

"I'm sure you're not going to find any from the Family Morals Coalition."

"Not likely. I'll return these calls when I go off duty." Royce punched up a name on her desktop computer. "Back to a traffic report grind. I have to wonder why speeders can't come up with any new excuses."

Nick laughed, "Must be talking about Leary's excursion. The kid thinks he's at a speedway."

"Judge Carter will rearrange that thinking in a hurry. She's tough on traffic violations."

"She's tough on everything," Nick stressed. "Don't you love it?"

"But if Granger's elected, his buddies won't ever have the opportunity to meet Judge Carter," Royce noted.

Nick went to the coffee machine and began pouring. "I saw him play that a few times up in Crystal. His pals get the blind eye. But he throws his weight around with everyone else. He says if you're elected he's heading out of state." Nick swayed around quickly when he heard Smoky yelping as she scampered down the hall. "Fastest pup on four paws."

Royce rose and rushed to the door. She knew Smoky's bark for help. The minute Smoky saw her, she twirled around twice and headed for the courthouse doors. Royce was running behind her. When Royce reached the entry, she heard the radio dispatch.

"He's got her," reported the deputy who had been guarding Hertha. Royce looked in the deputy's direction when she reached the street. He safely knelt behind a parked car, his gun aimed at the clinic's door.

Directly in front of High Country Animal Hospital was Richard Burke's truck. The motor was running. Royce drew her gun as she raced across the street. She saw Burke moving around the truck with Hertha. Burke blasted a warning shot at the crouched deputy. The bullet kicked the ground. Both the deputy and Royce held their fire. Royce was glad for the restraint. Burke had an electrical cord around Hertha's neck like a leash and a gun to her head. Burke pushed the vet through the open door of his vehicle and sped off.

As Royce hastened to her Blazer, she heard the deputy radio that he was okay. He explained that Burke had begun by opening fire and then while the deputy took cover, rushed the clinic. He'd used an exiting family as his shield when the abduction began. It all happened so fast, reported the deputy, that he couldn't stop the man.

Royce pressed down on the accelerator. The racing Blazer engine reacted to her chase training as she sped after Richard Burke. By the time they reached the outskirts of Timber City, she had narrowed the gap between them to three hundred yards. She radioed that she was in pursuit. Her mind rushed as she began orchestrating the operation.

Clasping her radio, she directed Amy to dispatch all available units. Royce described Burke's truck. "The abduction took place five minutes ago. We're headed east toward Crystal. Deploy all Crystal vehicles. Institute hostage procedures. Alert neighboring counties of the chase and have them standing by. No heroics. Let's use our heads and try to minimize the damage."

Royce listened for Amy's unruffled report. "We've got units three and four on their way from Crystal. Unit two is behind you and five is leaving the Gold Rush Gulch area to intersect."

"Remember our maneuvers. He's armed and dangerous. From the looks of the ammunition containers in his room, he might have hollow-point bullets. So exercise extreme caution," Royce directed.

Royce gripped the steering wheel tightly. Her mind was focused. It couldn't be the woman she loved in danger. Royce followed behind the recklessly driven truck. She recalled that Hertha's mother had been abducted and raped. Royce could not prevent the abduction, but she would do everything in her power to prevent Hertha being harmed further.

Throughout the high-speed chase, Royce listened intently for the positions of other vehicles. Cruisers from surrounding counties were dispatched from various destinations. They would encircle Burke. Royce instructed them to hit their sirens only when needed to clear the highway.

"Burke is turning onto the Crow Pass exit," Royce said. They went onto a winding gravel road. The spine-jarring ride continued as Burke drove deeper into the mountains. "Unit three, exit on Pine Trails Road and find a clearing to block him. Make sure we have access. I don't want him loose in the brush. Snow will make a run difficult, but we'll have trouble following him too. I want him in the open. Unit four, continue on down in case he turns off again."

Royce had just issued her orders when Burke spun to the side and took a winding, snow-covered dirt road. Royce knew that the road would widen into a meadow. She hoped Burke would continue to that clear area. Royce radioed the others. She saw the truck fishtail. She heard the screech of brake metal and saw the shower of sparks as the belly of Burke's truck drug against rocks still jutting up above the snow. There was a cloud of white before the vehicle came to a stop. The road had ended.

Royce jumped out of the Blazer with her weapon drawn. Burke had dragged Hertha out of his truck. Royce heard tire squeals from approaching patrol units as they converged. Doors slammed with fury. Her nerves were taut. She was still behind her Blazer's fender. By the time the final vehicle arrived, Burke stood still with Hertha. His fist gripped an electrical cord that bound her neck. His other hand held a gun aimed at her temple. Surrounding him was a strategically positioned arch of deputies. It looked just like one of the maneuvers they'd been practicing.

Royce stepped away from her cover. She moved carefully toward Burke and Hertha. Her gun was aimed with precision at his head. "Burke, it's over. Drop the gun. Release her now."

"You'd like that," he spat. "I'm not giving her back."

Royce felt the spiky tussocks of frozen grass beneath her boots as she walked carefully. A gauze of cirrus clouds allowed bars of light. Royce tried to block each distraction. She squinted against the glare of sunlight on freshly fallen snow. She ignored the muffled caws of birds. The moment was electrifying, and she knew that her only chance of saving Hertha was an element of surprise. She could see the naked hatred in Burke's eyes. They were wildly searching, but they held a brutal savagery. Royce's concentration yielded only piercing silence. She had never experienced the quiet between battles known as an acoustic shadow. It gripped her senses. She stared into Burke's deadly glower of steel. He had determined that he would kill Hertha. Royce could see that in his eyes. He would watch Royce's pain, and it would be his final pleasure.

Royce's thoughts were rushing fragments. She was satisfied that each of the deputies had taken cover as they had been trained. She was aware that the department's crack shot was positioned to her right. His high-powered rifle rested in the crotch of a sapling and was trained on Richard Burke. Each deputy was situated safely in a triangulated crossfire.

Royce stood alone, facing the stalker and his victim. With the stance of a gunfighter, Royce held her gun steadily with both hands wrapped around the handle.

The taste of fear filled her mouth. Her heart thudded and her eyes smarted. She checked her aim. There could be no margin for error. Death knows where to find us all, she thought.

His lips thinned with frenzy as he shouted, "Drop your gun and let me go. I'll release her when I'm out of the area."

"I'm not allowing you to leave with her. Throw down your gun or we'll shoot you here."

"I'll kill her," he warned.

"You're going to kill her anyway. If you shoot her right now, at least she's been spared your torture. We know who you are, Burke. It's all over. Drop the gun."

"Not me."

His glower confirmed that he would not be taken alive. And that he would shoot Hertha. Royce relaxed her hand a moment. She felt the perspiration of her palms and between her fingers. She tightened her index finger. She would need split-second reaction for her plan to work.

"Burke, I'm giving you one more chance to drop your gun and release your hostage."

His face reflected the defiance of a madman. Royce caught a glimpse of Hertha. He was keeping her in the direct line of fire. There were no options and only a hastily thought-out plan Royce was devising as the seconds ticked by. Their only chance depended on the bridge of communication between Royce and Hertha. It would be chancy, but there were no alternatives. Royce had to act quickly. Burke was becoming increasingly agitated.

She rapidly searched her lover's eyes.

"Burke, I'm going to count to three and then, unless you drop your gun, we're going to open fire." Royce's eyes linked with Hertha's. Those brown eyes had registered with Royce's plan. She understood, Royce was convinced.

"If you don't let my Native American friend free, we'll shoot on the count of three." Royce's glance went downward toward Hertha's left. Again, she was certain she'd seen that glint of recognition. The consequences of a misdirected or misinterpreted glance would spell Hertha's death.

"You won't shoot," he spat. He didn't believe a woman was capable of violence or of surprise. Royce depended on that and saw it in his face.

"I'm going to begin counting." Royce's trigger finger was poised. "One," she shouted.

Hertha gave a kick backward and struggled as she thrust to her left. It was only a slight window, but Royce fired. Burke's neck snapped back as if a harsh hammer-blow had struck when Royce's bullet hit his head directly. She heard the pop echo from the sharpshooter's rifle. Another bullet struck Burke between the shoulder blades, and his body was jolted forward as his weapon discharged. A sharp spurt of gunfire followed. Burke crumpled, disjointed, to the ground. A blast rang. From the stalker's gun had flashed an errant bullet. Royce looked around to where a deputy had been located. He staggered backward into the bushes. Royce heard his body thump. She rushed to him.

"I'm okay." He gave a cough. "Just winded." He pulled his jacket and shirt away. A small amount of blood trickled from the chest area beneath his flak vest.

Royce bent and lifted the panel of the vest. She felt shock waves in her knees. "Close call." She squeezed his shoulder. "You'll be fine."

Hertha remained on the ground. Royce moved quickly to her side and knelt beside her shivering lover. Her hand reached to unwind the noose of electrical cord from around Hertha's neck. Royce's fingertips felt the cord's indentations in the skin of her lover's neck. She put a jacket around Hertha's shoulders, and her arms gathered Hertha into an embrace. Their cheeks brushed, their bodies touched, and Royce kissed the side of Hertha's mouth.

"Royce, they're watching."

"I don't care," Royce's hand pressed the back of Hertha's head to her face. "I really don't care." Her other hand cupped Hertha's chin. "I only care that you're safe." Royce looked up at the surrounding deputies.

The deputies dispersed self-consciously.

*****

Before the ambulance and coroner arrived, Royce handed her gun to Nick. "You'll need to give this to forensics for testing. I'll be placed on suspension for a couple days while the court completes a review."

"It won't be long. Not with two unsolved murder cases," Nick encouraged. "And it gives you an extra day to campaign. I'll take your statement."

"Right. Hertha's giving hers now. She said while Burke was driving, he boasted about all the women he'd killed. He gave names; places. She said she'd be able to recall most of them. The Florida authorities will appreciate knowing, so some of their files can be closed."

"He was a nut case. Complete psycho."

"Why would he come to this place?" Royce mused, looking around at the clearing. "It's two hundred yards to the density that he would have needed to escape."

"One of the deputies went back in the bushes to take a leak. Said Burke had dug a shallow grave. A recently dug narrow rectangle of earth is behind that snowbank."

Royce was suddenly staggered by the thought of it. "I'll give them a hand with reports," Royce offered. "I don't want them thinking I'm just a soft woman. The Department's weak sister."

"You really think you need to prove your courage to us now?"

"Thank them all for putting their lives on the line. For their restraint; teamwork," Royce said. "Everything." Her shoulder sagged with fatigue. She wished her adrenalin would kick in. "I'm grateful. And I'm proud of you all."

After giving a detailed report, Royce scanned it carefully and then signed it. She turned around and viewed the madman's body. She walked in silence to where Richard Burke's corpse was sprawled in the snow. She would never forget the ugly thud of his body when it hit the ground. She would never forget the sounds, sights, and smells of that moment. She looked down into his face. It was evil, even in death. Frothy cardinal bubbles were on the corner of his lips. A spider web pattern of spotted blood had sprayed across his stubbly cheek. A pool of red was expanding slowly beneath his head and melted the snow beneath him. The warmth of his body was seeping away, as was his hatred. He would kill no more.

"Okay?" Nick asked.

"I've never shot anyone before. Never killed anyone. He nearly killed the person I love most on this earth."

Richard Burke had stalked and tormented Hertha. He had victimized her. And Hertha had never harmed anyone in her life. She was about healing. She was about love. That he could harm anyone, much less someone so fine, angered Royce. She hated him for that. She contemplated about how her own vengeance should be sated. But she only felt sickness. A physical aching. Royce glanced up from her introspection, and she pivoted around. She inspected the tired, frightened eyes of the woman she loved. She would also never forget the terror within those lovely dark eyes.

"I'll take Hertha home now."

*****

Royce had intercepted the myriad of phone calls. Molly had brought dinner to the women, but they had only picked at their food. They wanted to be alone in their cottage with the safety and love that only they could provide one another this night.

Royce watched as Molly walked down the path away from the cottage. Then she returned to the kitchen, where Hertha was seated at the table. Royce poured herbal tea and sat beside her lover. Her hand became a warm layer over Hertha's.

"I love you so," Royce whispered. It was barely audible, but it came from the deepest recesses of her emotions.

"It happened so quickly. One moment I was handing a cat back to her delighted owners. The next, he was there. I tried to fight him, but when he'd looped the cord around my neck, it began to choke me. All the time, his gun was pointed at my face." Her eyes dimmed with pain. "Royce, I felt such an overwhelming revulsion. I thought about how terrified my mother must have been when she was attacked."

"I finally understand why you feel the way you do, Hertha. I understand the way you feel about hatred directed at your race. You could have been killed just because of your race." Royce cast her glance downward at the tabletop. "I was looking for a reason for racial bigotry. There is no reason except raw hatred. It transcends reason. Richard Burke hunted down women because of their skin color."

"It's been hunting season on women of color for a very long time. It isn't as though today is the first day I've been a hostage. I was born a hostage to social bigotry."

"A white man would have killed you."

"But a white woman saved my life. And half a dozen white men were at her side. Each of you put your life on the line to save me."

Royce watched the great pools of tears appear in Hertha's eyes. There was no way that a victim isn't severely traumatized, Royce considered. "I'm so sorry you had to go through it." Her own eyes were damp. "I want you to feel safe."

"Royce, we both learned from this. I now have a clearer understanding of something you've been saying. You said we should live today rather than in the past. When I feared for my life, and yours, all that mattered was that moment. Now. Living in today. Now." Royce leaned to kiss Hertha.

"No," Hertha said as she pulled away. "I've brushed my teeth and rinsed my mouth a dozen times, but I still feel tainted. Dirty. He pressed his lips against my face." Her teardrops spilled. "I feel grimy."

"Let's shower together," Royce suggested.

"No. I'm not ready to be with you yet."

Their eyes linked. Each woman was in a shell of pain. Royce felt her own tears warmly drizzling down her cheeks. "We are with one another. We need to be together more than ever before. Now." Royce stood and her hand reached toward Hertha.

Hertha rose and walked into Royce's embrace. She sobbed against Royce's shoulder. "I am so in love with you, Royce."

"I've fallen more in love with you than I ever knew was possible. It's pain beyond endurance to think about living without you. And today that thought forced its way into our lives. I hope I can always show you how much I love you. Every day we live."

Royce led Hertha to the shower. While they waited for the water temperature to warm, they disrobed. Royce loosened the tie around Hertha's hair, and it fell softly to her shoulders. They entered the steamy waterfall, and Royce spread a cloak of suds over her lover's body. She tenderly cleansed Hertha. Then Royce replaced the soap in its tray, and the two women wrapped each other in an embrace. Royce felt Hertha's fingers going through Royce's short hair. Hertha's lips seared Royce's. When they parted, their eyes explained the healing.

They stepped from the warm fog and began patting one another dry. Torrents of yearning overcame them both. They again clutched tightly. Royce lifted Hertha's chin. Her warm mouth traced Hertha's lips. Together they walked to the bedroom and slid beneath the flannel sheets. Royce swamped her lover's body with kisses and tears. There was tenderness, and an urgency. As if their wounds could only be healed by intimacy, the women pressed nearer.

23

Royce was upset that Gwen hadn't attended the rally. Nadine had carefully coached Royce in staying behind to shake hands. But when Royce hadn't seen Gwen, she insisted on leaving immediately after the rally ended.

Nadine was quick to object. "If you put in your appearance, state your qualifications, and leave, it looks as though you're weak. Running."

"No. We're going to the Times to find Gwen. Then we're sitting down to talk." Royce's walk was a quick march. "The people know me. That's enough. Or it isn't."

"We aren't following strategy. You even left Hertha back there. And now Granger has the remainder of the evening to boast."

Royce made a quick leap onto the wooded sidewalk and flapped open the door. "Gwen," she muttered as they entered. "We're going to talk."

Gwen glanced up from her galleys. "Aren't you supposed to be at the rally?"

"I gave my speech. I told the crowd that they could be proud of the way their deputies performed during the confrontation with Richard Burke. They executed the maneuvers with precision and skill. As they rehearsed. I also told the citizens that they have every right to expect that level of performance from their law enforcers."

"That was it?" Gwen quizzed.

"Yes," Royce responded. "There was no reason to stay. I already know that the deputies are going to support Dillon Granger. He was strutting as if I might as well hand him the badge. The Family Morals Coalition were really smooching his rear. I'm sure the deputies don't want to begin his term in his bad books, so they'll back him."

"Except for Nick," Nadine inserted. "Amazingly. When Granger said that he was sorry he missed the shootout, Nick stung him. Nick mentioned that those long coffee breaks can cost you the action. The crowd heard it and laughed. I thought Granger was going to swallow his mustache the way he began blustering."

Gwen laughed. "I can just imagine. I've had a go with Granger. You know my peppery temper. I don't suffer fools gladly. The time I zapped him, I acted as though I was eating out of his hand. But his gloves weren't thick enough." Gwen paused. "Funny, Nick doesn't seem the sort to be anyone's guardian."

"Nick," Nadine repeated. "Royce, that reminds me. I have a message for you from Nick. He said to tell you the photos you requested arrived. The ones from the newspaper that supplied you with only a contact sheet. He said he didn't know why you needed them since there are dozens of other photos to examine. But he'll put them through your mail slot."

"Great. I need to check something I thought I saw, but couldn't tell from the sheet."

"Oh, you're still on the case?" Gwen asked with mock surprise. Royce leaned across the desk. Her glare was fire. "Sit down, Nadine. The three of us are having a talk."

"I thought you wanted to solve the case?" Gwen's voice was icy.

"Enough," Royce said with commanding precision. "I've had it. I want to know what's going on with you two. Why my campaign has become a wedge between you."

"It began with her snappiness," Gwen accused.

"Royce, I explained, it wasn't the election," Nadine relayed.

"I asked you to be my campaign manager, and everything began to change. Why?" Royce repeated to a somber Nadine, "I want to know why."

"What's really got her goat," Gwen interrupted, "is that she knows you would have selected me. But you knew I couldn't because of my affiliations. So now she's been busting her tail to show me she could do the job just as good as I would have done."

"That's what started it?" Royce asked with disbelief.

Nadine's head lowered. "Maybe that is how I feel. I admit it."

Royce slid into the chair. Her head shook. "No, Nadine. That wasn't my reason for selecting you. Nor for not selecting Gwen. I don't believe this. You actually thought you were my second pick?"

"Of course," Nadine answered. Tears formed in her eyes. "Gwen is the mover and shaker. She gets things done."

"That means she is a heck of a good editor, and president of the city council." Royce stopped. She leaned toward Nadine and took her hand. "I selected you because you are well-liked and respected by everyone in the community. Gwen has her followers, but also her detractors. Everyone loves you. That's why I selected you. For my own selfish reasons. I knew you could do the better job for my campaign. And you have. You haven't excluded anyone. You haven't alienated anyone. I needed someone to reflect my own spirit. That was you."

Gwen stood, leaning to within inches of Royce's face. "You wouldn't have selected me?"

"No. You're wonderful at what you do. But you're a tad on the irascible side." Royce expected Gwen to fume. But Gwen sat quietly, as if a magnet drew her back into her chair. "Well?"

Gwen stole a look at her lover. "You selected the right woman for the job. Nadine, I concede, you have done a much better job than I would have done."

Nadine's lower lip bobbled. "You mean that?"

"Yes. Absolutely. Hell's bells, I'd have had murder charges against me if I'd had to deal with those Coalition bigots." She laughed, "Absolutely, it was the right decision. Not that all of Royce's decisions have been correct."

Royce shuddered. "Nadine, would you mind fixing us a cup of tea? I think Gwen and I should talk."

Royce watched as Nadine exited slowly. She waited for Gwen to begin her tirade. Gwen only asked, "What's your problem?"

"What's our problem?"

Gwen's eyes began to tear. "Royce, what hurts worst of all is that I must have failed to communicate my love to Nadine. She went to you. She told you about being displeased with me. She kept it from me. And so did you."

"I honored her request to keep her conversation confidential. She said that she always felt she got second billing. That where our friendship was concerned, she felt second. I couldn't perpetuate that feeling by running to you with her secrets."

"She never came under the heading of second. Not with me. How could she not know that she means everything to me? She's been my strength?"

"Maybe she just found that out." Royce stood and walked to the door. "I think you just told her that she's not only allowed to be first, but that you believe she is first."

"Royce . . ." Gwen's words seemed jammed in her throat. "Nothing. Just want to tell you that you grabbed the headlines with the abduction and shooting."

Royce smiled. "I hope you give Smoky a mention."

*****

Royce returned to the cottage and bent to give Smoky a hug. She picked up the packet of photos Nick had slipped through the door slot.

"I wondered where you went," Hertha greeted her.

"A confab with Gwen and Nadine."

"I thought it might have been that."

Royce gripped the envelope.

"Would tea help replenish the gray cells? I was just getting ready to put some on."

"No, not for me," Royce answered with preoccupation as she ripped open the envelope. "Maybe I will have a cup to warm me up." She began thumbing through the photos as she walked to the study. By the time she sat at the desk, her eyes snagged on something. She examined the photo that had been taken after the murder of Sandra Holt. "Yes," she murmured to herself. "They're off."

"Let it cool first," Hertha cautioned as she placed the herbal tea on the corner of the desk. She leaned over and kissed Royce's cheek. Her arms wound around her lover. "I'm going to bed. It's been a long day. And with the election tomorrow, it's going to be an even longer day. Coming?"

"No. Not yet, hon."

"Are you okay, Royce?"

"Fine." Royce pulled out a stack of files and began rummaging through them. "I'll be in later."

"It's later now. I'll warm the bed for you." She walked to the door and then turned. "Royce, don't stay up too late. Remember you have a victory coming up tomorrow."

"I doubt it," Royce brooded. "But thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Royce, you will be elected. I truly believe that morality is a state of heart. The people in this county know they can rely on you. You've affirmed their belief in you time and again. They won't forget that."

Royce glanced up. She then stood to embrace her lover. "I truly believe that everything will work out as long as I have you, my friends, and family."

"You know who the murderer is, don't you?"

"Yes. I know who committed the murders."

"It was the same person?"

"Yes. I know who did it, but I've got to gather enough evidence and enough logical circumstances for an airtight case. Even if I had a motive, without a full confession, it will be circumstantial. So the killer must believe I have the conviction in my pocket. I'm searching solid evidence and motive."

"But you are certain of who the killer is?"

"Yes. I'm sure. But all the evidence needs to be admissible and congruous. I don't want to lose this one in court. It needs padlocking."

"You'll do it."

Royce heard Hertha turn off the bedroom light switch. For many moments Royce questioned whether the case couldn't wait until morning. She longed to be warmed by Hertha. Then she sat back down to began pouring over the files. Diligence and persistence, she thought. Investigative cornerstones. So many things she'd learned in criminology classes. She tried to draw from that knowledge.

Concentrating as she went, she traced the path, a clue at a time. A morsel of evidence at a time. Breaking her thoughts, she heard Smoky scratch at the window. "We just let you out. What's wrong, girl? It's too chilly to play out there tonight." Royce went to the window and looked out. She knelt on one knee and gave Smoky a hug. She saw the circlet that Smoky had drawn as her nails dragged across the window's frosty steam.

Quickly Royce went back to the desk. She dug through files until she found photos of the letters that Sandra Holt had written while dying. Royce took the 8x10. She sprawled on the floor, in the exact way the body was found. She began making the same symbols with her finger on the floor. "That's it," she said, jumping to her feet. She had investigated this part of the case through the eyes of the victim. Now, she would concentrate on how the judge was murdered through the eyes of the killer.

She went to the bedroom and woke Hertha. "Hon, I need to ask you some questions about the lab reports."

Hertha sat up. She rubbed her eyes. "I don't suppose it can wait until morning?" Hertha's lips then lifted into a grin. "I doubt if the killer is giving you a thought one way or another tonight. Surely it can wait."

"No," Royce returned her smile. "It won't take a minute. I'll bring the files in here."

Royce filled her arms with file folders and took them back. She rustled through them until she'd found the report.

Hertha, taking the file, said, "I told you that I don't know much about this, hon."

"I know. But what I'm looking for is the distribution of alcohol. In the toxicology report, it breaks it down. Can you tell what the components of the actual drinks might be?"

Hertha glanced over it. "What am I looking for?"

"The type of liquor used. A light, tasteless drink. Vodka, probably."

"Vodka is unaged."

"I think I read somewhere about the distilling process. It's filtered through activated charcoal. Is there any charcoal in the report?"

Hertha squinted, scrutinizing the report. "Traces, yes. But some of the other liquors might have traces from burnt oak barrels. This appears to have the properties of charcoal."

"Once more. What amount of pure strychnine would it take to kill someone? Not much, huh?"

"A very minute amount, as I said before. A glassful could wipe out Timber County."

"Granules? Taking up a space no larger than a small ball bearing."

"Yes. Sorry I can't be of more help. Not many animals need restoration from alcohol intake."

"I'll call forensics in the morning and ask for a precise breakdown on content of alcohol. I also wanted to ask more about trace evidence from the carpet sample. One other thing," Royce requested as she stood. "Hertha, I've got to talk with Jorie. Would you call over to let her know I'm on my way?"

"Jorie?" Hertha examined the alarm clock. "It's after three in the morning. What do you need to talk with her about?"

"Her Longhorn Kick recipe. I keep wondering if there isn't some simple answer to a complex problem. It has something to do with the contents of Jorie's recipe."

Hertha's eyebrows lifted. "She wouldn't give you that even in the best of times. Three A.M. is hardly the best of times."

Royce's smile was confident. "You're probably right. She'll never divulge the authentic blend. But I'll convince her to share the ingredient list. And that's all I need."

"How do you propose to do that?" Hertha questioned with a laugh.

"I'm going to ask her to compose one for me."

*****

A sharp bite of night wind chilled Royce. She looked up at the paling stars.

When the door fanned back, Jorie scanned Royce with a quizzical look. "Might I inquire what the hell is so important that you're getting me up at this hour?" Jorie grumbled. "You woke us all. At least I convinced the others to go back to bed. I was happy that the sleeping arrangements with Gwen and Nadine have improved."

"Their bedroom?"

"Yes." Jorie's smile was weak, but bright. "Nadine is planning to unpack her bags in the morning. But you didn't come over here at this time to discuss their reunion. You wanted to talk with me about something specific, I hope."

"Jorie, I've got to ask you some questions. These murders are finally coming into focus for me."

"What?" Jorie walked with the lethargy of being recently awakened. She led Royce to the living room. "I told you everything I can. Damn, Royce, what can't wait until morning?"

"I'm working on a pattern. I need your help. Unless you plan on staying in Timber City for a trial?"

"No offense, but I'd rather not. Not that prison is going to be much better."

"I'm about to prove that you are innocent."

Jorie's smile fossilized a moment, but her eyes were mournful. "I can't take heart at this hour. I can't face a lie, and I don't want to hear encouragement. Particularly when I haven't any makeup on and my hair looks as though someone's wiped their hands with it."

Royce chuckled. "You look fine. No network cameras here anyway."

"So what are you here for?"

"Will you fix me a drink?"

"A drink." Her shoulders drooped. "Damn, why not. Middle of the night, and you want me to fix a drink." She began to walk toward the bar.

"A Longhorn Kick."

Jorie spun around. "The last person I fixed a Kick for is rotting. How about your usual beer?"

"I'll get the ice," Royce offered. "I'm about to arrest someone else for the murders, and you'll be back in New York soon. I don't want to miss my chance at tasting your specialty."

"My lover wouldn't like it if you tasted my specialty," Jorie teased.

"At least you're smiling." Royce placed the ice tray on the bar. "Now, how about that drink while we talk?"

"Sure." Jorie began pouring. Royce watched Jorie's process. First, she poured bourbon, dark rum, and cherry-flavored brandy. Then she swirled the alcohol. She tipped in a squirt of lime juice and then filled the cocktail shaker with carbonated water. She shook it briskly, then poured the contents into two glasses. "In case you're squeamish about my killer drink, I'll join you."

Royce lifted the glass and toasted. "To your freedom." She sipped the strong drink. "Whew. Good, but it does have that kick."

"When a Longhorn Kick reaches your tonsils for the first time, it's more of a stomp than a kick." The women sat in opposite chairs. The dim light spilled against Jorie's somber face. "Any other late-night requests?"

"I notice you didn't use any light alcohols. Vodka or gin."

"No."

"When the judge handed you his drink, you used the ice cubes that were in the stein, right? You weren't worried about contaminating your Kick with what he had in his glass?"

"He drinks bourbon. I could smell it. So it wouldn't matter. Folks from Texas are conservative about things like ice. I guess it's habit." She paused, taking a drink. "You really think I'll ever be exonerated?"

"I know you will. I'm not far from a resolution."

"Who is the guilty party?"

"Until I've done the final checking, I'd rather not say."

"I wasn't even aware there was another suspect."

"As far as I'm concerned, everyone is a suspect. But I'd rather not name anyone yet."

"No defamation of character in Timber City. I'll buy that."

"After the arrest is made, I promise you'll be the first reporter on the scene. Timber City owes you that."

"Royce, you aren't bullshitting about another arrest?"

"No. I do have a couple more questions. And I need answers."

"What questions?"

"You asked the judge about the law as it pertained to an accidental crime. Manslaughter. You told me it was journalist's inquiry. But it was more. Why did you ask?"

"I just wanted to know the sentencing on a murder that wasn't premeditated."

"You're protecting someone. The same person Gwen is protecting by not telling me a secret the two of you share. Only one person I can think of who could be involved. Tyler." Royce inspected Jorie's face as it blanched. "I'm right, aren't I? This has to do with Tyler?"

"It's inconsequential."

"When Godiva and her bodyguard fought, it was as if they had the tumultuous emotions of lovers. Tyler and Godiva aren't lovers. It is all publicity, isn't it?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Godiva's bodyguard also accused her of hanging around gay men."

"Her dancers."

"No. I don't think so." Royce took another sip. "The only thing I can think of that you and Gwen might be keeping the lid on is that Tyler is gay." Jorie's reaction confirmed Royce's suspicion. "Well?"

"If you're looking for a motive and think that implicates him, you're wrong. Tyler wouldn't kill anyone."

"But both you and Gwen knew he's gay?"

"You've seen the face of prejudice. Bigotry hides behind those veils I told you about. We put on our own veils to protect against the hatred. We counter hate by hiding out. Royce, I admire you for never denying the charge of homosexuality. But it doesn't work for everyone. And it wouldn't work for Tyler."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wasn't going to expose him. Neither was Gwen. It's a sacred bond of silence. Tyler came out to us years ago, and we vowed not to betray the trust. Being a reporter teaches you not to break confidences." Jorie gulped at her drink.

"Tyler was able to conceal his sexual orientation?"

"There were rumors in Hollywood, off and on. But they were never substantiated, so everyone left it alone."

"Everyone with the exception of Sandra Holt?"

"She would have ruined him." Jorie's eyes blinked rapidly and her jaw tightened. "No matter how much talent you might have, or what kind of person you might be, you're vulnerable. You know that now better than anyone."

Royce finished her drink and stood. "Sorry I woke you. I'd better get back and try and get a couple hours of sleep. I have a busy day tomorrow."

"By the way, the morning paper is finished. Your shootout grabbed the biggest headline Gwen could use." Jorie followed Royce to the door. "And below the news story is Gwen's endorsement list. The Timber City Times is endorsing you for sheriff."

"Great." The victory felt hollow. "I'm going to be voting first thing. Then I have some stops along the way. Court. Library."

"Library?" Jorie asked with a start. "You're going to the library?"

Royce's laugh was throaty and slightly embarrassed. "Let's not tell Gwen. I've got my reputation as an illiterate to uphold."

"Your secret is safe with me."

Royce hastened across the street. She'd seen a light on in the kitchen window. She knew Hertha was waiting up for her. She would be glad for Hertha's company, as well as her comfort.

Smoky greeted her with a whine. "It's okay, girl. It will all be fine now."

24

"Vote early and avoid the rush," Bonnie Laird joked as Royce exited her voting precinct.

"Got a busy day ahead, Bonnie. So I figured I'd get here as early as I could," Royce said as she gave Bonnie a hug. "Thanks for everything you did on my campaign."

As Royce stepped into the street, she intercepted Laramie. "Glad to see you're voting," she said with a smile. "You're one of the dozen votes I'm counting on."

"Had a hankering for a drink: hair of the dog. But the bars are closed during voting hours. So I'm on my way to cast my vote. Faye told me to tell you that you should come on over and wait for the results to come in. Havin' a little victory party tonight."

"I'll do that. Even if I lose, I've got plenty of folks to thank for their support."

"I'm plannin' on buyin' you a victory drink, kid," he announced.

"I'd be honored, Laramie. Regardless."

"I reckon you'll win. The danged Family Morals Coalition can't set folks aside just 'cause they don't approve of 'em."

Royce watched as he tipped his hat and walked away to cast his vote. She felt the ache of not knowing what would happen to Laramie if she were out of office. Maybe Nick would watch after him, she hoped.

Royce made her trip to the library, where she conferred with the librarian. She went back into the stacks and searched until she found the books that would become evidence. With two books stored in plastic evidence bags, she left to continue on with the second phase of her plan.

When she arrived at the office, she was glad that only Amy was there. Election day is usually a slow crime day. Royce glanced down at the stack of calls. Some were returns from the companies of major contributors. She scrutinized the various names. Then one name grabbed her attention. Quickly she dialed half a dozen of the companies. They were all subsidiaries of a conglomerate in Wyoming. The name was one she'd only heard once before. Thomas R. Buckley. Buckley Industries. She shook her head.

Before she had time to digest that bit of news, a return call from the forensic lab came in. She wanted answers to a list of questions she'd jotted in her notebook. A lab worker said it would take time to pull up the reports. The crime lab's leading pathologist and toxicologist would contact her with the results. Royce requested a conference call with them when the tests were complete. She explained that having them both on the phone at once would expedite a conclusion. She needed their expertise now, and they would undoubtedly be required to serve as expert witnesses during the murder trial. Royce wanted them all to be on the same page to ensure a conviction.

For the rest of the morning, Royce gathered and systematically listed the evidence. When the report on chemical coding from the drink's and carpet's contents came in, she carefully printed the determination. She then asked the forensic scientists additional questions she had about the strengths. The answers were exactly what she needed to reinforce her case. The evidentiary samplings and genetic concordancy between samples were binding the case.

The case had been thought to be airtight after the lab identified the strychnine. Additional evaluations and testing had ceased prematurely.

Royce took the long tablet with her list and two files. She headed for Judge Meg Carter's chambers.

"Meg, any way of getting my gun and badge back before tomorrow's review for reinstatement?"

"I could issue a stay of suspension for twenty-four hours. By that time you should be reinstated permanently anyway. Why the rush?"

Royce sat in the chair opposite Meg's desk. "I'll need my badge to carry out the rest of my plans. And I'll need a couple search and seizure warrants, along with an arrest warrant."

"What evidence?"

Royce explained her theory, the evidence, and her strategy. "I know it's not ironclad, but it will sell."

"I'd feel better about it with a confession. That would cinch it." Meg's comment reflected open reluctance. "Let's face facts, our D.A. is a nice fellow, but he has potential for inadequacy."

Royce's sigh was deep and troubled. "I'll have a confession."

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Yes."

"I'll issue the stay, and the writs. Royce, I'm counting on your certainty."

Royce stood. "I know I very well may be a lame duck after the election. I wouldn't do anything that could potentially leave you or the department with a mess."

"And don't let's allow the sharks to go with some feeble, frail diminished-capacity plea. I just hate those."

Royce waited until she saw Judge Carter's face begin to beam, and heard her teasing chuckle. "Meg, I've always applauded your dishing out those sentences with a steam shovel. Keep up the good work."

"Sheriff, I hope you're wearing your badge for a long, long time. By the way, are you planning a celebration tonight?"

"I'm not sure it will be a victory celebration, but some folks will be stopping by the Bell Ringer after the results are announced. Drop on by, and at least we're assured of celebrating your win."

"I'll do that. Royce, it's been a tough few months for you. You really ought to plan on taking a couple days off and getting away."

"Yes. That's an idea." Royce reached the door. "I'll let you know immediately how this falls out with the arrest."

"Good. I hate to begin my term with too many legal entanglements. Handle it with finesse for all of us."

Royce sprinted back to the office and presented the stay. She took her gun from forensics and holstered it. She carefully pinned her badge to her shirt. She lifted her radio and dispatched a deputy, telling him to call back reporting his find immediately.

After pouring a cup of coffee, Royce sat and again plotted out each bit of theory with each piece of evidence. For nearly two hours she waited. Then the call came in confirming her suspicion. "One more affirmation. Yes," she muttered to her quiet office.

She phoned Hertha. She asked that Hertha call Jorie and tell her to wait outside the courthouse in about an hour. And to have her camera team.

Royce slipped a circle of butterscotch between her lips. She stood, wiped her badge to a sheen with her shirt cuff, and took a very deep breath. Then she called for backup.

There was so much on the line, she couldn't even consider blowing it.

*****

Royce heard muted laughter behind the huge decorative doors. The Family Morals Coalition victory party had started. But it would soon be ended. Royce glanced over at Nick. He carried the office's tape recorder. With his free hand, he again rang the elegantly chiming doorbell of the imposing McDermott home.

"Tyler," Royce greeted the young actor.

"Who is it, Tyler?" Elizabeth McDermott asked as she came into view. "Sheriff Madison. Are you here to give your concession speech?"

Royce lifted her head. "No. The polls haven't closed yet, and my term isn't completed. I've been temporarily reinstated. I'm here on official business. Could I speak with you both in private?" she asked.

"This isn't a good time."

"We've got to talk with you, and I prefer that it be in private," Royce insisted.

"We're having a party. Can't this wait?" Elizabeth's voice was indignant. She led Tyler, Nick, and Royce into the study. When they were seated, she accused, "You're coming here now to harass us because you know you've lost the election."

"No." Royce nodded to Nick. "I've come here to make an arrest for the murder of Sandra Holt and Judge Jakob McDermott."

"Tyler had nothing to do with it, and if you dare bring charges ..." Elizabeth sputtered.

"We aren't here to arrest Tyler. I'm placing you under arrest for the murders. Nick, would you Mirandize her?"

Shock blanched their faces. Elizabeth spat, "You don't need to read me my rights. I know the law."

"If you know the law, you know that it's required we Mirandize you. We'll be making a tape recording of this interrogation. Your statements will be turned over to the D.A. and used in a court of law." The recorder was clicked on.

While Nick read the rights, Tyler argued, "Are you crazy? My mother wouldn't have killed anyone." He rose to his feet and demanded, "What evidence could you have?"

"Sit down, Tyler," Royce ordered. "With the laws of discovery, every shred of evidence will be at your mother's disposal, so I'll be glad to cover it with you now." Royce knew that she would need to take Elizabeth apart a stitch at a time if she were to get a confession. With total confidence, she would need to prod and extract the truth. "I assure you both, this case will be convictable. Do you waive your rights to an attorney?"

"I have no need for an attorney. I haven't committed any crime." Elizabeth's eyes seemed controlled; her speech was defiant.

"You pride yourself on being methodical, so I'll present the evidence to you in a methodical way. We'll begin with the murder of Sandra Holt." Both Royce and Elizabeth braced for one another's words.

"Why would I have killed her? I barely knew her."

"She was blackmailing someone. We all thought it might be your cousin, Jorie. But she was blackmailing you. You made a sizable withdrawal the day you met with her. Before the press party. You delivered the money to her. During the party, you saw the woman's lack of control when she drank. You decided you would need to deal with her differently. She needed to be silenced permanently."

"This is insane!" Elizabeth blustered. "Marjorie was found standing over her with the murder weapon in her hand."

"In her right hand. Sandra Holt had been struck on her right temple. It would have been extremely awkward for Jorie to swing the poker with her left hand and accurately strike Miss Holt with the force needed to kill her. But I noticed that you're left handed. And you're the only left-handed suspect."

"That certainly isn't conclusive proof. She'd written L-O with her blood," Tyler argued.

"Yes," Royce agreed. "It looked as though it would have been an O, when, in fact, she was attempting to write an I. For Liz. That is what she called you?" Royce questioned Elizabeth.

"I suppose so."

"And she never referred to Jorie by her last name. But she did call you Liz. Others weren't allowed that privilege. Nor could they have spoken to you the way she did. She told you, commanded you, to pull the judge's leash. When I recalled hearing that, I figured you allowed those things so that she would write favorably about Tyler. But there was more to it than that."

"The letter written in blood was definitely a circle," Tyler declared.

"I tried writing the same letters, in the same position that the deceased woman was found. My demonstration concluded that she was at the outer perimeter of her reach. The semicircle was a natural final motion as she died. The scrawl just happened to look as though she might have wanted to write an O."

"This is all speculation, I'm not hearing any more," Elizabeth ranted.

"I think you will. There's much more." Royce's voice was strong with an assurance. "There was an empty envelope on her desk. It only had her own prints on it. For the same reason the poker only had Jorie's prints on it, the envelope didn't have your prints. You were wearing gloves. But you did take the money. Why would Sandra have an empty envelope there? People normally discard empty envelopes. And weeks later, the money you had withdrawn was returned to your account."

"This is all outrageous!" she spewed. "It's nonsense. Why would I have killed her? And more shocking is your accusation that I murdered my own husband."

"He had seen you exiting Sandra Holt's room. He gave contradicting statements. He had to have lied for a reason."

"My father sometimes got confused," Tyler defended. His glance was jumpy, and his rich voice quivered. "That wasn't unusual."

"He realized he needed to cover. Another thing, he probably also realized. Elizabeth, your gloves had been taken off after the murder was committed. I have photographs taken before the murder. And after. That would have been inconspicuous to most, but a husband would have noticed. It's reasonable to assume that you took the gloves off because they had been splattered with blood."

"That's absurd. Your assumptions are just that. Assumptive."

"The gloves were color-coordinated with a hat, dress, and shoes. Not the kind of set an orderly woman like you would break up. Do you have the gloves? Could you get them for us now?"

"I wouldn't know where they might be."

"You disposed of them, Elizabeth. You can't provide them to us now, and you know it. Because they were splattered with blood. They have been burned, or destroyed in some other way. But that triggered Judge McDermott's suspicion. He began wondering if you were implicated. That's why he tried to persuade Jorie to confess. He didn't want murder too close to home."

"He wanted her to confess for her own good."

"As well as yours. What astounds me most is that you were willing to allow your cousin to take the fall for your crime. But the first crime was credited to circumstance. You devised the second. It must have all seemed predestined. The judge was wanting answers, and Jorie was already being accused of one murder. The proposed party in Crystal was the right opportunity for murder. You've often stated that your chief fault is in being a perfectionist. So you began to plot the perfect murder. A meticulous effort. And it very nearly worked."

"This is a monstrous allegation!" Elizabeth hurled her venom. "And even if you win the election, I'll see to it that the Family Morals Coalition has a recall."

Royce refused to allow her to jump tracks. "You devised a plan to murder your husband with methodical precision. One time you mentioned that if you didn't have a recipe for something, you went to the library. You needed a recipe to kill. I have in evidence two books that you checked out days before the judge was murdered. They are both reference books on the properties of poison. We have your prints on file from the ones provided because you were on the murder scene. My bet is that there will be a multitude of prints on the strychnine pages. You wanted to get the precise dosage for death. Administering a lethal dosage was of importance. You didn't want to be lumbered with an invalid. A man you didn't even love. So there was no margin for error."

"But Jorie had the packet of poison," Tyler refuted. "And the availability and access."

"Your mother made a trip to her dude ranch days before the party. I sent a deputy there, and he found a box of uncut strychnine. That is also being checked for prints and will be sent to our forensic lab. I'm betting the results will come back a match. As well as the prints. But there wouldn't be prints on the packet that your mother slipped into Jorie's jacket when she greeted her. She was wearing gloves."

"What about the timing?" Elizabeth stammered. Her eyes batted rapidly. "My husband didn't die until half an hour after he'd arrived at the party."

"Your plan was ingenious. But technology is also plenty ingenious. You knew the judge's habits. He would take a drink along with him in his favorite stein. You once told me that you never mixed drinks for the judge. We're attempting to locate your housekeeper to see if you mixed him one the day he died."

"She hates me. She'll tell you anything to incriminate me." Elizabeth fidgeted with her hair. "That still doesn't show why he didn't die until after we'd been at the party for half an hour."

"There's where luck came in. You hoped that Jorie would keep the same ice and just pour in the contents of her special drink. You wanted the Longhorn Kick ingredients to be blamed for the murder. The judge drank bourbon. The ingredients of Jorie's drink include bourbon. But not vodka. You read the same information on strychnine's properties as I did. It can be administered in small quantities, and alcohol is an excellent solvent. I questioned Jorie about the ice being cloudy immediately. I erroneously rejected the 'ice' theory at first. But there would be a way. Mix the poison in the vodka. Freeze a portion of the ice. Before totally freezing, the interior bubble of water in the ice could be removed with something. Maybe a hot hypodermic syringe needle inserted and the water withdrawn. Then replaced with the poisoned vodka. You've filled puffed pastry, and it's the same concept. You would then put the ice back into the freezer, and no one would ever be able to tell the difference."

"How do you plan on proving an idiotic theory like that?"

"Science. I've spoken with a toxicologist and pathologist. The toxicity is out of whack. Between the tissue samples and the trace samples from the carpet, something was amiss. The strength of poison in the carpet was different as the ice continued to melt. And to clinch it, traces of vodka showed up in their testing."

"None of this is conclusive," Tyler charged. "Why would my mother kill them?"

"I think you know. Deep down, you know," Royce offered. "Mrs. McDermott, tell your son why you murdered Sandra Holt. We know she was blackmailing you. We know why."

"Mother?"

"It was a lie," Elizabeth screamed. "The vile woman would have printed a lie about you. I had to kill her. I followed her back to her room. She told me that the money I'd given her was only a down payment. She had photos of you with another man. She showed them to me and said she had the negatives. Her bluff didn't work. I could read in her eyes that she had only the prints."

"Mother, you killed her? And my father too?"

Elizabeth's face paled and her eyes closed. "He was on to it. He knew. He would have wanted a reason. He was never a real father. He was contemptuous of you. He ridiculed your gentleness. He was too busy playing politics. Too busy trying to be a man. I was his backbone. I propped him up. His manly act of opening the door was as good as it got. He was a weakling."

"What are you saying?" Tyler blurted. "You did hate him?"

"Of course I hated him. He was a worse husband than father. He wanted a young, beautiful wife. I was devoted. I stayed with him. He always had to have the attention. I had to laugh at his pathetic jokes. When I tried to read, he would tap his fingers. When I tried to listen to music, he would hum or whistle. Always he had to be the center of attention. He required constant attention." She inhaled quickly and deeply. "I had prepared for the role of his bereaved widow with years of pretending to be his loving and devoted wife. It was all pretend. You see, Tyler, your acting ability comes quite naturally to you. You've inherited much of your talent from me."

"Why didn't you leave him?" Tyler asked with disbelief.

"The perfect marriage drama." Her head tipped up. "Oh yes, everything was respectable."

"How can you believe murder is respectable?" Tyler questioned with rhetorical disdain. "You could have left him."

"No," she paused. "When we lived in Denver, we had just moved into a new home. A prairie dog entered the garage and was couldn't get out. I opened the garage doors and shooed it out. With its freedom, I thought it would run. It didn't. In half an hour it was back, scratching to reenter its prison. Leaving your father was impossible for me. I couldn't endure the lack of respectability afforded a divorced woman. And the judge never would have understood about the lies that Holt woman was telling."

"They weren't lies. Two people have been murdered because of my secret. Mother, children aren't seedlings you plant in the ground and then weed out. You don't have a choice to pick hair color, eye color, or sexual orientation."

"Tyler, you aren't really that way? No." Elizabeth broke. Tears formed quickly and she blinked them back. "You have only been satanically misled a time or two. But I believe in you."

"Mother, I'm everything you despise. Look into my face. It's everything you and your Coalition hate. I don't need your belief. I don't want your belief. The dark secret is about to be revealed. The veil is about to be lifted. For all of us." Tyler looked over at Royce. "I've always hated secrets," he mulled. "Particularly my own." Tyler went to his mother and his arm looped her shoulder. "Come on, Mother. It's all over."

Royce stood. "Nick, we'll take her into custody now. Radio that we're bringing in the murderer of Sandra Holt and Judge Jakob McDermott."

She snapped off the recorder. She then ejected the cassette tape and carefully placed it in her breast pocket.

*****

Royce had arrived at the Bell Ringer late. Throughout the afternoon, she worked on completing the reports and she had given an exclusive interview to correspondent Marjorie Lovett. The murder had been solved and a full confession given. There was no jubilation; but there was justice, Royce had stated privately to Jorie.

"Sorry I'm late," Royce said as she sat next to Hertha. Smoky leaped up and waited for Royce to greet her with an ear tickle. "Hey, Smoky," she spoke, "you been waiting for me too?"

"Laramie wants to buy you a drink," Hertha replied.

As the beer was set in front of her, Royce lifted it in thanks to Laramie. She was aware that he had always bought her father a celebration drink when he would win each election. Royce looked back at Hertha. "I think this is one time I'd like to thank Laramie with words."

She neared Laramie and their glasses clanked. "Good work, kid."

"Thank you, Laramie."

"You've taken care of me plenty. Just returning the favor."

"I know it's more than that."

"You know?"

"My job is investigation. People speculate about your past. We were wrong."

"My pa didn't like the way I was turnin' out. Never did approve of my ways. Told me if I didn't settle down, he was cutting me out of my inheritance. Well, a fella like me don't go for that malarkey. I told him I'd never spend a dime of his money. Never did. I turned and walked out of that board room and never went back. Even though I'm the last remaining heir, I never called in a favor. Until now. Small price for them executive fellas to pay. I'm outta their hair. And they don't trouble me none. I'm free. They ain't."

"I appreciate what you did on my behalf."

"Didn't figure you'd find out."

"I remember you told me your name once."

"Now, I'm askin' one thing of you. Forget that name. I have."

Royce nodded. "It's forgotten."

Royce returned to Hertha's side.

Hertha smiled. "Was Laramie giving you a congratulatory speech?" she joked. "I've never seen him talk that much."

"No. I just thanked him for his vote. He responded."

"And it brought up memories? Memories of your father's election days?"

"It brought up memories," Royce repeated. She looked back at Laramie. He was living life exactly as he wanted. Royce turned and spotted Gwen and Nadine entering. "Here's my campaign manager and her house spouse."

Gwen gave Royce a hug. "We've been looking for you. Just saw Jorie. She was about to leave for New York. On assignment. You did it, Royce. Busted the case."

Nadine added, "And now we await the election results. Molly was so nervous she drove out to Gran's cabin to watch the news. Said they would drive in later and put on a victory feast at the Pantry."

"Maybe victory," Royce commented.

"Oh, you'll win," Gwen said with confidence.

"Are you saying that because you now believe I'm the best for the job?" Royce asked.

Gwen grasped Nadine's waist. "No. I'm saying that because you had the very best campaign manager."

Chuckling, Royce glanced back at Nadine. "Yes. I did."

"I'm so happy," Hertha said, with a smile that matched the one on Royce's face. "It sounds like everything is going to work out fine."

"Yes." Gwen glanced back at Royce. "Royce, Jorie explained the details. She said to thank you for the exclusive. For everything. And I want to tell you that I'm sorry about keeping Tyler's secret from you. I did the same thing I chastised you for doing. Tried to keep a confidence. Forgive me?"

"Nothing to forgive," Royce said with a hug. "Let's go on with it. The most important thing is that our friendship and your relationship are back on track."

Royce turned as Nick entered. "Royce, more election projections are about to be announced. Just thought I'd warn you."

"Thanks," Royce muttered. "But I think defeat is imminent."

"We did what we could," he said encouragingly.

"We?"

"Royce, you left the rally too soon. We had decided unanimously to support you."

"The deputies? You all backed me?"

"All except Granger. I happened to mention the crapola Granger pulled. Besides that, they were confident in your ability to enforce, protect, and lead. After the standoff with Burke, they knew you have what it takes."

"Thanks, I appreciate the backing."

"Hey, like the fellas say, we don't want a sheriff no one will whistle at."

Royce smiled. Her blush was evident when she turned her head. "Maybe you ought to have a little talk with them," she kidded.

"With the paper's endorsement, and the support of the deputies," Gwen calculated, "it could be closer than we think. And just maybe we couldn't get a reading on the polls because people didn't want to tell anyone that they intended on voting for a lesbian!"

"Royce," Faye yelled out. "It's Molly calling from the cabin. They've just announced the projected winner. A landslide, Sheriff! You've won! Granger conceded. Molly says to tell you she's proud of you. And your daddy would have been too. She and Gran are on their way down to celebrate."

"Congratulations, Sheriff," Gwen shouted as she swooped Royce into her hug.

There was a swarm around Royce. Folks wanted her words of victory. She held up her beer. "I toast you all for your help with the election. The citizens voted for a candidate, rather than for hatred. We all won today. I want to thank my campaign manager, Nadine. All the campaign workers. And Hertha, my family, friends, and," Royce said with a teasing laugh as Smoky tugged at her trousers leg, "my schnauzer." Smoky gave a gruff snort.

Hertha lifted Royce's other arm in victory.

"That's it on the speech?" Gwen chided. "If you're going to keep winning elections, you qualify as a professional politician. So you'd best work on lengthening your speeches. Not exactly your strong suit, Sheriff Madison."

Nadine's eyebrows lifted. "She won, didn't she?"

"You're all plenty amazing!" Royce asserted. "Plenty amazing."

"That's much better," Gwen complimented. "Much more eloquent."