AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Now, with Wendy it was different. Early on, there wasn’t that element of childhood friendship in her feelings toward Keefe that there always was with Brenda. I could see her entertaining, uh, interest in Keefe. But when she got the ranch, it was like she put all her feelings into the ranch. Saw Keefe as an asset to the ranch, not a potential paramour any longer.
“And, in fairness, over the years, I do think a kind of friendship grew — among all of them. As much with Keefe as you could be friends.”
“I’ve heard you called his best friend.”
“I might be. I loved the guy, for sure. But there was something in him... You know how we — people — look at wildlife? Interested, respectful mostly when we see them. But we’re not going out and living with them. We’re not building relationships with them. We don’t open ourselves to them. Well, that’s how Keefe was with people.”
I considered that. “And he was more like people are with each other with wildlife.”
He chortled. “Except for the passions — sexual and otherwise. But, yeah, I think more of his inner life or whatever you want to call it connected to wildlife, nature, outdoors — and his dogs — than with people.”
“When did you last talk to Keefe?”
“Last weekend, a couple days before he was murdered. I called — he never called me or anybody.”
“What did you talk about?”
“He was waiting for the results on the DNA test he’d taken. And he was excited about something else, but he said he couldn’t tell anybody anything until he had those DNA results. He said the young woman who’d gotten it for him, the one who got hurt last year — Sorry, don’t remember her name. Anyway, she was getting on the company because the results were taking longer than they should have. Then he said she and her father were coming to Sherman, though he was vague on exactly when.”
The something else had to be what he’d found in the museum box. But what was it?
“Did he talk about a fellow researcher, someone else interested in Oscar and Pearl Virtanen?”
“Yeah, yeah. An Irish last name. They were planning a trip to check locations on the ranch where this guy thought there might be something buried. But Keefe indicated this whatever that he was excited about that he wasn’t telling anybody would make that unnecessary.”
“In what way unnecessary? Like he knew the precise location? Or—?”
“Sorry. Really. You had to know Keefe. It was stunning he talked as much about it as he did. I can’t give you any more on that.”
As we wrapped up, I edged toward a celebrity-related question.
“Do you mind me asking why you decided to retire to Cooke City?”
He chuckled. “My earlier comment about Suzie Q not being safe at Elk Rock in winter because of predators circling closer made you think of this place, huh? It’s not that bad. Not all winter. I spend a few weeks on a beach somewhere to break it up. In fact, when I first retired, I thought I’d be on one beach or another permanently. But I discovered a real drawback.
“No, give me Cooke City. In a way, its location keeps the predators from circling in too close to me. Weather’s just bad enough that when someone calls and wants me to work a couple weeks in their restaurant because they’re in a desperate situation, I can always say, Sorry, I’m snowed in — yes, even in May or October — and they’ll believe it. It’s the only way to protect being retired.”
I joined in with his deep chuckle.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Now what are you looking at? You’ve practically got your nose pressed to the screen.”
Diana’s voice came from over my shoulder, so she could see what I was looking at.
I backed up, but only because I’d completed my closeup inspection and now wanted an overall perspective.
“Diana, do you think these two photographs are of the same man?”
She looked at me before looking closely at the screen. “Why?”
“Some people claim this was Sundance in his later life. The nose is different—”
“It is, though the photo quality is so bad... No. Not the same man. Look at the ears. Ears can get bigger as someone ages, but the shape of the earlobe and the way it’s connected to the head — No. Not the same.”
“Good eye, Diana.” I flicked to another pairing. “What about these two? I say the older man’s eyes weren’t as deep-set as the younger man’s and—”
“Aka Butch as the younger man,” she murmured, leaning in to look at the photos. “You’re right about that and it generally goes the other direction — eyes getting more deep-set, not less. Plus, the ears again. No. Why are you studying these? Do they have something to do with Keefe’s death?”
