Dark Sky (Joe Pickett #21)(62)

“I’m sorry,” Marybeth said in an acid tone, “I thought you were the sheriff.”

“I am the sheriff. Look, I can see that you’re upset about something, but I don’t neglect my duties. We’ve got staff on call during the night. I think Deputy Steck is on call tonight, in fact. You didn’t need to come straight to my house.”

Marybeth noted that he’d stepped farther out onto the porch and had eased the door almost but not quite fully closed behind him as he did so.

“That concrete has to be cold on your bare feet,” she said. She leaned to the side so she could get a peek inside his house through the thin opening. “What is it you don’t want me to see in there?”

Tibbs looked like he was thinking it over.

“This better be an emergency,” he growled as he stepped back and welcomed her in.

“It is.”

The house was warm inside and nicely appointed, she thought. There was a single lighted lamp near an overstuffed chair in front of the television set and a bar of light on the floor from an open door down the hallway. She hoped he’d turn on more lights because the setting was a little too intimate.

Tibbs retreated to the chair and settled heavily into it. He looked annoyed, but he gestured toward a hardback chair near the door for her to sit in. She didn’t.

“So, what’s the big emergency?” he asked.

“My husband, Joe, is guiding elk hunters in the mountains and we haven’t heard anything from him in thirty-six hours.”

Tibbs paused, then scoffed. “I’ve been hunting in the backcountry before, although it’s been a few years now. Thirty-six hours is nothing. I remember not talking to my wife for a week.”

“We’re not like that,” Marybeth said, her voice rising. “Believe me, coming here tonight was the last thing I wanted to do. But you don’t understand. Joe checks in every night he can when he’s gone. He has a satellite phone even if he has no cell signal. Under no circumstances would he forget two nights in a row. Something has happened up there,” she said, nodding her head in the direction of the Bighorns.

“There’s a lot more to this,” she said. “You know that Steve-2 Price and his ConFab people came here to go hunting?”

“Yeah, the governor gave me a heads-up on that. He said to treat this guy like a big VIP, so we closed the road to the airport to keep people away from him when he flew in. So Joe is the one guiding him, huh?”

“Yes. And another thing: Steve-2 constantly posts his movements and thoughts to all of his followers, and there’s millions of them. Other than a weird post last evening, he’s gone completely off-line as well.”

“What do you mean, a weird post?” Tibbs asked. “I’m not up on this social media hoopla.”

“My daughter noticed it,” Marybeth said. “The photo in it was taken the day before because there is no snow in the background. Why would Steve-2 post a day-old photo?”

“Beats me,” Tibbs said. Then: “Do they have plenty of food and clothing?”

“Yes.”

“So we’re not worried about them starving and dying of exposure up there.”

“No.”

“I’m not sure this is enough. Why don’t we wait until morning before we run around with our hair on fire?”

“It’s more than enough,” Marybeth said. “The reason I’m here is, I was told by your office that a search-and-rescue effort has to be approved and signed off personally by you before it can be done. Since you aren’t answering your phone, I had to come here and wake you up in person.”

Tibbs flinched.

That’s when a good-looking middle-aged woman wearing a short dark robe peered around the corner from the hallway.

“Scott, what’s going on?”

Marybeth recognized her as Ruthanne Hubbard, one of the longtime dispatchers for the sheriff’s department. She had a semipermanent stool at the Stockman’s Bar when she wasn’t working for the county. Ruthanne was attractive in a rough-edged way and she had at least two ex-husbands Marybeth knew about.

“Hello, Ruthanne,” Marybeth said.

“Hello, Marybeth.”

“Three of the books you checked out are long overdue.”

“I might have lost them.”

“Come in during business hours and we’ll get it sorted out.”

“I’ll do that.”

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’m having a private conversation with Sheriff Tibbs.”

“I don’t mind.” But she didn’t move.

“Go back to the bedroom,” Marybeth said to her with a sigh.

“Oh, right. I was just making sure everything was okay out here.”

“It isn’t, but we don’t need your help.”

“Is it concerning Joe?” Ruthanne asked.

“Yes.”

“Is he okay?”

“I hope so.”

“I do, too. I really like him. He’s always polite when I talk to him. Not every cop or officer is like that.”

“Ruthanne, please,” Tibbs said wearily.

“This is kind of part of my job,” Ruthanne said to him.

“Not tonight it isn’t,” he replied.