Shadows Reel (Joe Pickett #22)(22)

“He’s a sweetie. His name is LeDoux. You know, like Chris LeDoux.”

April called him out and LeDoux lumbered across the seat and dropped heavily to the ground beside her.

“I got a new truck, too,” she said. “I mean, an old truck that’s new to me. Pretty sweet, huh?”

“It is.”

“Do you know there’s a cow moose blocking your road? I thought she wasn’t going to let me get by.”

“She does that every night,” Marybeth said. “Especially to your dad.”

“It’s weird coming home to a place I never lived before.”

“Come into the light,” Marybeth said. “Let me see you.”

“I haven’t changed.”

But she had.

Marybeth quickly texted the news to Joe, who replied:


Don’t let her drink all of my beer.



After April claimed the larger of the two guest rooms and justified it by saying she “got there first,” Marybeth offered her a glass of wine if she’d help her in the kitchen.

“I’ll help, but I’d go for a beer instead,” April said as she ducked out to the garage to her dad’s refrigerator and grabbed a stubby bottle of Coors as if she’d done it dozens of times before. Which, Marybeth thought, she probably had in their other home.

April had grown at least two inches in the last few months, Marybeth thought, as she mentally did the calculation while they stood next to each other at the counter making deviled eggs. April was now taller than her, and her high-heeled cowboy boots made the disparity even more obvious. As did the fact that April jokingly referred to Marybeth as “my little mama.”

April wore cowgirl jeans with faux rhinestones on the back pockets, a tight white tank top under an open snap-button shirt, and a collection of bangle bracelets that clicked as she worked. Her expression had always been hard, but now it was harder: more angles, a downturned mouth, and a flinty look in her eye.

April looked more and more, Marybeth thought, like her birth mother, Jeannie Keeley. She wasn’t as hard—few could be—but she came off as tough and no-nonsense, and Marybeth knew that she unfortunately attracted a certain kind of man. Like her ex-boyfriend, the rodeo star Dallas Cates, who was in the last years of his sentence at the Wyoming State Penitentiary in Rawlins.

“This is a nice place,” April said as she pulled at her beer and looked around. “Is the river just outside? I couldn’t see very much in the dark.”

“It is. Your dad loves the fact that he can grab his fly rod and walk to the water. He told me his lifelong goal was to someday live in a place where he didn’t have to break down his fly rod and put it in a case every time he was done casting. I never knew that before he mentioned it a few months ago.”

“What else hasn’t he told you?” April asked with a devilish gleam in her eye.

“Always the instigator,” Marybeth said. “That hasn’t changed.”



* * *



—

Marybeth outlined the logistics of the Thanksgiving weekend. Lucy was scheduled to show up the next day with her new friend from college, and Sheridan could show up at any time, but wouldn’t sleep over because she was staying at Nate and Liv Romanowski’s place eight miles away.

“Lucy is bringing a friend?” April asked with an eye roll. “How Lucy is that?”

“Very Lucy.” Their youngest was by far the most social of the girls and the quickest to make friends.

“How’s it working out for Sheridan to work for Nate?” April asked. The question surprised Marybeth because she assumed April and Sheridan were in regular communication. Apparently, she’d assumed wrong.

“It’s going very well from what I can tell,” Marybeth said. “Despite much more drama than I’d like.”

She knew April was well aware of the situation that had occurred weeks before in the mountains and the fact that Sheridan had ended up in the middle of it. The murder plot against the high-tech executive had made national news and there were conspiracy theories online about what really had happened.

“Nate’s away right now, though,” Marybeth continued. “That’s why Sheridan is staying with Liv and the baby at their house.”

“Will he be here for Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Doubtful, from what I understand.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s trying to track down a man who beat up Liv and stole his falcons.”

After a moment’s shock, April said, “That won’t end well,” with a ghoulish delight Marybeth found uncomfortable. But that was April. She believed in rough justice.

“We’ll fill you in on all of that later,” Marybeth said. “Or you can ask Liv herself. She’s bringing desserts. And she’s bringing Kestrel, their toddler. She’s fourteen months old and growing up in front of our eyes.”

“I’m glad you have a baby around to keep you occupied,” April said.

As before, the statement was more than a little provocative. All the girls knew Marybeth couldn’t wait to be a grandmother. Marybeth didn’t take the bait.

“So how are things going at the store in Montana?” she asked.

After graduating from Northwest Community College, April had taken a job in Cody at the Western-wear retailer she’d worked for in Saddlestring. Within two months, she’d been offered a promotion to manage an outlet in Bozeman and had moved north across the border.