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“Attackers,” Shane said quietly. “You think there was more than one?”
Trey shrugged. “I don’t see how one person could have taken such complete control…it doesn’t make sense.”
“Unless Mr. Douglas surrendered to protect the others.”
“The investigation seemed to think that.”
“From the reports I’ve read, I’d agree,” Shane said.
Trey made a rough sound. “Todd—McKenna’s father—was not a fighter. I wouldn’t call him a pacifist, but he and Grace, McKenna’s mom, were very strong Christians and they believed in the power of prayer. They believed God would protect them.” He closed his eyes and drew a breath, and when he opened his eyes again his expression was fierce. Gritty. “It makes me so angry still. It’s not easy to talk about, because it makes me feel disloyal to my wife. But you’re here in this area. We’re set back in the hills. It’s isolated. Each rancher can be a mile or more from the nearest neighbor. You have to be smart. You have to have a plan in times of crisis, and while I respect Todd’s kindness—he was known as a very patient, and generous man—he should have been prepared. He should have done more to defend his family.”
“You think he should have fought back.”
“I know he should have. And I’m not saying he did nothing, but it wasn’t enough. Clearly, it wasn’t enough. Knowing Todd, he probably tried to reason with the attacker, or attackers, first, but once he was incapacitated, the rest of the family was screwed.”
“Why didn’t they have dogs? I thought every ranch has a couple.”
“They had two until just before the assault. Goldie, the older lab, died of old age, a couple weeks before, and the younger dog, Silver, a three-year-old German shepard, was hit by a car just a few days before the accident.”
Shane frowned. That hadn’t been in any of the reports he’d read. “Did one of the boys run over the dog by accident?”
“No. They found Silver lying by the side of the easement road. Silver was Quinn’s dog. He was devastated.”
“The easement road. Isn’t that the one that cuts across your property?”
“Yes. But we never go down that way. My dad didn’t have any problems with the Douglases, but he wasn’t very social and he discouraged us from being overly friendly, so we grew up knowing that the easement road was for access to their ranch, not for us.”
“And you all listened?”
“It was that or get some quality time with his belt. Or fist.”
Shane studied Trey. “He was tough.”
“He didn’t suffer fools. And I don’t say this to McKenna, but what happened on the Douglas ranch would never have happened here. You didn’t cross my dad. If he suspected someone of lying to him, or doing something behind his back, he’d take you out, fast. And then ask questions later.”
“Did that ever backfire?”
“Absolutely. But it meant he was the last man standing.”
Shane’s lips quirked. “You’ve learned that one well, haven’t you?”
Trey shrugged. “I’m going to protect my wife and son until the day I die.”
“And your dad. He didn’t have any beef with the Douglases?”
“No. If anything he was protective of them. They were good people. Too religious for his liking but they always treated Mom well. Mom and Mrs. Douglas were once quite friendly. One summer they went every night together to the revival, and then the next summer they started going, and then after once or twice, Mom wouldn’t go back. Mrs. Douglas was a little confused, but Mom was adamant. She’d had enough.”
“The revival’s the traveling church headed up by Pastor Newsome?”
Trey’s head inclined. “Dad was not a fan. He didn’t trust the minister’s motives. Thought the minister was more interested in the prettier ladies in the congregation than the older ones, or the unattractive ones.”
Shane’s gut tightened. “Your mom being one,” he said carefully, not liking the uneasy feeling he’d gotten.
“And Mrs. Douglas being another.” Trey hesitated. “McKenna is almost the spitting image of her mom.”
“Did everyone in Marietta attend the summer revival?”
“No. There were a lot of people who were quite unhappy that the minister set up his tent here each summer. I never went. Dad wouldn’t let Mom take us. He said the minister was after one thing—pretty young women without a brain.”
“Your mom was stupid?”
“No. Just lonely.”
Shane didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t. It made him feel as if he’d chomped on shards of glass. “Why did your dad think the pastor targeted the young, pretty women?”
“Dad thought the minister was trying to get them to part with purses and their panties.” A dull red flush colored Trey’s high hard cheekbones. “Dad said as much to Mom, right around the time she stopped going to the services. But Mrs. Douglas continued to attend, right up until the day she was killed.”
Shane forced his thoughts away from his mother, not wanting to think of her now, not wanting to think of Bill Sheenan speaking so rudely to her. Treating her with contempt and disdain. “The murders at the Douglas ranch took place while the revival was in Paradise Valley.”
“Yes.”
“Did people talk about that?”
“There was a lot of finger-pointing. But the minister—Newsome—he was in the middle of a prayer meeting when it happened, and Mrs. Douglas was planning on going to the evening worship service that night. She’d just put dinner on the table when the assault began.”
Shane drank his coffee. Not because he was thirsty but because he needed something to do to hide his revulsion. He hated this story. He hated this book. It was beyond tragic. It was pointless…meaningless… just endless suffering and grief. He shouldn’t have ever started it. If he could go back eighteen months and undo the contract and return the advance and stop the research, he would.
But he couldn’t go back. He was here, in the thick of it, and there was no standing still. Life did not stand still. He’d committed to this path, and all he could do was go forward. “Do you r
emember your mother, and how she reacted to the news of the Douglas murders?”
Trey set his cup down hard on the table and crossed the kitchen to the mudroom. He disappeared inside a moment, checked a shelf that looked as if it was about to fall off the wall and then turned around. “She said it could have been her.”
It was hard to swallow. Shane’s mouth tasted sour. “Because the ranches were so close?”
“Because Grace Douglas took the brunt of the attack. She was hurt so much worse than the others. My mother—” Trey broke off, shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I shouldn’t say more. This can’t go in your book. None of this should go in your book.”
“Why not? What is it that everyone is hiding? Because something isn’t adding up. You’ve come here, been open with me, so I’m going to tell you that my gut says the Sheenans aren’t protecting McKenna, as much as protecting themselves.” He saw Trey stiffen, and a startled look in his eyes, before his expression hardened, shuttering.
Shane didn’t let it stop him. If Trey was going to throw another punch, so be it. “You know your family,” he added. “You know what happened, but there’s more to this story. You and I both know that. I’m sure you’re aware of the investigation. It was mismanaged from the beginning.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“There was a big story in your Copper Mountain Courier the summer of 1997 about the problems in the investigation. Missing pages. Tampered evidence.”
“Didn’t pay any attention to it. I was just eighteen.”
“But you were dating McKenna then.”
“Yeah, I was eighteen, and my mom had just died. Hard to pay attention to the Courier when you’re burying your mom.” Trey walked past Shane to exit the kitchen. He stepped through the hall and into the dining room and stopped at the head of the table.
Shane stood behind him, seeing what Trey was seeing.
Wallpaper. Curtains. A framed landscape featuring Paradise Valley.
The bulletin boards were gone. The books were gone. The dining room table had been returned to the middle of the room, and chairs lined the table, just as they once had. The only sign that Shane still worked in there was his laptop at the foot of the table and a tidy pile of folders with a notebook on top.
