chapter 20:CLAIRE
Frannie was going to be the death of Claire.
“I’m in the Christmas in August show today,” Frannie crowed when she finally called three days after running off. “You have to come watch.”
Claire sat down hard on the kitchen chair, relief flooding through her. “Do you realize how worried we were about you, Frannie? What were you—”
“I’m fine, sis,” Frannie interrupted without a shred of remorse. “See ya soon!” And the line went dead.
Claire stared at the receiver, her relief turning to outrage. Claire had been ready to call the sheriff to track down her sister—almost ready to call Dad—and here Frannie had been fine and dandy the whole time, working as a savage all the way over in Canyon. Claire rubbed a hand down her face and let out a long breath.
She dialed Mammoth Hospital to let Bridget know Frannie wasn’t dead in a ditch. “She wants us to see her in a show this afternoon at Canyon Lodge,” she told Bridget. “But I’m not—”
“I have this afternoon off,” Bridget interrupted. “I’ll give her a piece of my mind and make her go home with you to help with Jenny.”
The last thing Claire wanted to do was drive all the way across the park at the height of the tourist season. She was in the middle of sterilizing bottles, had a mountain of laundry to get to... and she hadn’t heard from Red since he left on Monday.
If she left, she might miss his call.
Claire twisted the coiled telephone cord around her fingers. If Frannie came home with her, she’d have to explain why Red was five hundred miles away and she didn’t want to do that—not to Frannie and not to Bridget. “I have so much to do,” she finally said. “And Jenny needs her nap. Anyway, Frannie is more of a hindrance than a help.”
“I promised Dad,” Bridget said as if it were all decided. “And I need to get back to work. Pick me up at noon.” She said goodbye and hung up.
Frustration welled in Claire’s throat. Why did Bridget have to be so bossy?
Claire lined up the piping hot bottles on the counter and carefully poured hot formula in each one as her stomach knotted. Three days. Why hadn’t Red called? Was he angry about what she’d said at the Depot? But no, Red wasn’t one to hold a grudge... or was he?
You don’t even know him.
Dad was wrong. She did know her husband. She knew him enough to know he was keeping something from her—something Beth Henshaw tried to tell her before her father-in-law dragged her away.
Claire had tried calling Beth but Pete Henshaw had answered and told her Beth couldn’t be disturbed. She’d driven by the house, but it had been shuttered tight and she was afraid to knock on the door again. She’d even considered going to Sheriff Eagle with her concerns, but what would she say? That Beth Henshaw was distraught? She’d just lost her husband. That her father-in-law was rude and over-bearing? That wasn’t a crime. Claire screwed the clean nipples on the bottles and put each one in the refrigerator with no idea of how to help Beth—or if she even needed her help.
Half an hour later, the truck was packed for a daylong excursion into the park, Jenny was fed and changed, and Claire stood in frontof the mirror in the little bathroom, examining her pale face and the shadows under her eyes. Bridget would see in one glance that she hadn’t been sleeping. She patted on some powder and put a bright red lipstick over her pale lips. That would have to do.
She propped Jenny on one hip and was just going through the door when the telephone rang. Two shorts and a long—their signal on the party line.
Her heart jumped. It had to be Red.
She snatched the receiver on the second ring. “Hello, Wilder residence.”
“Mrs. Wilder.” The voice on the line wasn’t familiar and her hope deflated. “This is Lem Garrison, the superintendent.”
Lem Garrison. Claire suddenly remembered the business card left in her door. “Oh, Mr. Garrison,” Claire said. “You left your card last week.” With Marigold and Bridget and all that had happened, it had completely slipped her mind. “I forgot to give it to Red, I’m so sorry,” Claire admitted. Jenny started to squirm, reaching for the telephone cord with a squeal.
“Don’t give it another thought, Mrs. Wilder.” His voice was perfectly polite. “Is he there now?”
She hesitated. Why was the Yellowstone superintendent looking for Red? “He’s not in at the moment,” she said carefully. It was the truth, but not the whole truth.
“He’s a hard man to track down,” Mr. Garrison replied.
Claire rescued the cord from Jenny’s mouth as alarm prickled up her neck.
“If you would, ask him to call me back. I have some questions for him about Dell Henshaw. Do you still have my card?”
Claire’s grip on the telephone tightened. Questions about Dell? The superintendent looked into deaths in the park, but what would Red know about Dell drowning all the way up at the northern border of Yellowstone?
“Mrs. Wilder?” Mr. Garrison prompted.
