Alone in the Wild (Rockton #5)(70)

He smiles, his eyes warming. “She’s the artist. I just try to provide a canvas halfway worthy of her art.”

“It is gorgeous work,” I say.

“But you mentioned that you found it on a dead woman. No one’s missing from our village. While we do trade with former members, no one has left in years and the only woman we actually trade with—”

He trails off, and he blinks. When he speaks, his throat dries up, and he has to try twice before he says, “Could you … describe this woman?”

“Are you familiar with the hostiles?”

He pales. Then he forces a ragged laugh. “Haven’t heard that word in a very long time. We call them the wild people. But yes, it’s hard to live out here and not know them, as much as we might wish otherwise. This woman…” He swallows. “You asked that for a reason, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“Ellen,” he murmurs.

I nod. “That was apparently her name.” I take out the leather anklet she’d worn. When I pass it over, he stares at it and sways, just a little. His eyes squeeze shut, and he nods, as if to himself, and says, in a small voice, “How did it happen?”

“She was shot,” I say.

He flinches. Then he says, slowly, “And this, Sheriff, is the truth of your earlier words. Why your guns are so much more dangerous than our bows. Yes, it is possible to accidentally shoot someone while hunting, but the chances of killing them are slight. We always hope that the scarcity of ammunition will decrease the use of firearms in these woods, but…”

His gaze rises to Dalton’s, meeting it. “That will not happen while Rockton has guns and ammunition, and the willingness to trade both.”

My brows rise.

Dalton says to me, “Yeah, under Tyrone, Rockton traded ammunition to help those who chose to leave. Giving them a higher chance of survival. Of course, another philosophy is that if you don’t trade, maybe they’ll see the light and come back. That’s what Gene thought. By the time he left, people had found other sources of ammo, and I’m sure as hell not giving them extra.”

He looks at Tomas. “I’d supply it in a matter of life or death. I’m not going to let anyone starve. But personally, I’m on your side. I’d like to see a lot fewer guns. Fuck, I’d make our own residents use bows if that didn’t mean we’d be facing settlers and traders and miners with guns. Rockton hasn’t supplied weapons or ammunition in years. And, though you haven’t suggested it outright, we didn’t kill this woman. We found her on a camping trip.”

Tomas nods. “I wasn’t accusing you, but thank you for clarifying. I’m guessing that’s how it happened? A hunting accident?”

“It’s … difficult to tell,” I say. “The reason we’re pursuing it is that she had something … with her. Something that may be important to someone.”

I still want the chance to evaluate Abby’s parents before I return her. I know I may not have that right. Yet after meeting Owen and Cherise, I will place myself in this role, judging who does and does not deserve their child back.

If I need to justify that, I’ll do it with the reminder that Ellen could have rescued Abby from abandonment. If her parents were from the Second Settlement and hid the pregnancy, they won’t want their fellow settlers knowing what they did. If the Second Settlement was complicit in the abandonment, they won’t want her back. Either way, the settlement might lie and take the child to save face.

When I say this, being cagey, Tomas’s gaze drops to the bracelet, still in his hands.

“Not that,” I say. “If anyone in the settlement knew Ellen well, we’d love the chance to speak to them. I’m trying to piece together her final days.”

The corners of his lips rise in a strained smile. “You really are a detective then.”

“I am.”

“Well…” He trails off, and I can see him thinking. Considering his options.

Finally, he says, “My wife was close to Ellen. They were friends. I would appreciate the chance to speak to Nancy—my wife—first, if you don’t mind. I’d like this news to come from me.”

“We understand.”

“I’ll go into the settlement and tell people what has happened. They won’t be thrilled at you being here, but with a death involved, they will understand. Many were fond of Ellen. This will be difficult.”

I nod. He starts to leave. Then he looks down at the bracelet. He stares at it a moment before clearing his throat, his expression unreadable as he says, “May I ask…” Another glance at the bracelet. “I’d rather not show this to anyone yet. It was … very personal.”

Dalton and I exchange a glance. I agree, and Tomas pockets the bracelet before heading toward the village.





THIRTY-ONE


It takes a while for Tomas to return, but we expect that. We take off our snowshoes and packs, drink some water, share another protein bar, and play with Storm. Or Dalton plays with her. I lie on my back in the snow. Just making snow angels, really. Not collapsed from the exhaustion of snowshoeing all day.

When Tomas returns, he’s alone, and I’m braced for “Sorry, but you can’t come in,” but he waves for us to follow. After a few steps, he says, “Nancy is … taking it hard, as you might expect. She’ll speak to you, but she asks for a few minutes to gather her thoughts.”