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Chapter Thirteen

Marybeth Pickett was behind the desk in her office at the Twelve Sleep County Library when she looked up and saw the shadows of two broad-shouldered men through the upper pane of smoked glass in her door. She was in the midst of finalizing the annual budget for the facility after the county commissioners had once again slashed her request by fifteen percent.

The adjustment was not as painful as it’d once been, she reassured herself, because over the years she’d learned to pad the request by twenty to thirty percent so the inevitable cut wouldn’t be debilitating. She hated that she had become such a bureaucrat since she’d been named director of the library, but the commissioners had all but forced her into it. Especially the hardcore retired feedstore owner, who asked her out loud, “Why in the hell do we fund a library when we have the internet?”

Kestrel was playing quietly with books and toys directly behind Marybeth in the corner of the office. She’d just gotten up from a nap, and it took the toddler a while to fully wake up. That in-between time was always a wonderful period to be with and around the child, and it was when Kestrel’s innate sweetness showed through.

A man’s voice said, “Knock-knock” as he rapped on the door and then opened it.

Sheriff Jackson Bishop stuck his head in and grinned at Marybeth like a Hollywood leading man. He wore a crisp silver cowboy hat and his blue eyes twinkled.

“Can I bother you for a few minutes?” he asked.

Before she could answer, he fully opened the door and entered. There was another man behind him she didn’t recognize. The man was older, in his sixties, and he had a kindly, scholarly air about him. He wore a trench coat, which was very unusual attire in Saddlestring.

“Come on in,” she said. “I’m working on our budget.”

“I figured you might be,” Bishop said as he removed his hat and gracefully sat down in one of the hardback chairs facing Marybeth. “They gave you a haircut the other night at the commissioners’ meeting.”

What he didn’t need to say was that the sheriff’s department budget had sailed through the proceedings with no cuts at all. In fact, the retired feedstore owner had proposed a fifteen percent increase overall, citing potential threats to the community from illegal migrants, who had yet to arrive.

Sheriff Bishop placed his hat on his lap, and Marybeth noted that he didn’t do it crown-down as Joe would have insisted on.

“This is Special Agent Rick Orr of the FBI,” Bishop said, glancing toward the man who loomed over his shoulder. “He came by the office today and asked a bunch of questions, only a few of which I could answer. But I told him you might be able to help him out.”

“I guess that depends on what the questions are.”

“The inquiry I’m working on involves Nate Romanowski and a man named Axel Soledad,” Orr said, breaking in. Then he removed a card from his breast pocket and slid it across the desk toward her. His address was Langley, Virginia.

Marybeth was intrigued, and she waved to the empty chair next to the sheriff for Orr. He sat down.

“You’re a long way from home,” she said.

“I rarely travel out west,” he replied. “It’s…interesting.”

She wasn’t sure what that meant.

“It’s no secret that Nate has been a friend of our family for years,” she said while feeling her defenses go up. “I haven’t seen Nate for nearly a year, though. I’m not sure I can help you.”

Every word of it was true.

“My understanding is that your husband is away at the moment,” Orr said. “I’d like to ask the same questions of him.”

Marybeth was familiar with several of Joe’s interactions with federal agents in the past and she knew not to say too much, and certainly not to lie when giving her answers. Some unscrupulous feds loved to go after civilians for violating a federal statute known as 18 U.S.C. 1001, which criminalized false statements or concealing anything from a federal investigator. The statute could also be twisted to include memory lapses or misstating dates or timelines. A number of FBI agents didn’t record their conversations with subjects, so it would be their word against hers in court if it ever came to that.

She knew nothing about Special Agent Rick Orr, but his demeanor suggested he wasn’t out to entrap her. Still, she sat up straight and resolved to be careful with her responses.

“I can give you his cell phone number,” she said, “but Joe will tell you the same thing. Nate has been off the grid for months. We’re watching his child for him until he returns.”

“That would be little Kestrel,” Sheriff Bishop said, rising in his chair so he could get a good look at her.

Marybeth felt the hairs go up on the back of her neck. Something about the way Bishop looked at Kestrel set off alarm bells. The reaction was entirely instinctual, and unexpected.

“What about Axel Soledad?” Orr asked, oblivious to what was going on.

Marybeth turned to him. “I’ve heard the name, of course,” she said. “My understanding is he was working with Dallas Cates to go after Joe and Nate, as well as our local judge and the ex–county prosecutor. But I never laid eyes on him, and I know very little about him. Why are you asking about Nate and Soledad?”

Orr’s eyes twinkled as he said, “I’m sorry. I really can’t comment on an ongoing investigation. I just want to assure you that neither you nor your husband are suspects at the moment.”

“Well,” she said icily, “that’s nice to know. Especially since Joe is in law enforcement and he takes his job very seriously. And, as you can see, I’m the director of the county library.”

“I’m well aware of both of those facts,” Orr said.

“So she lives with you?” Bishop said, once again back to Kestrel. “And you bring her to work with you every day?”

Marybeth turned to the sheriff and studied him for a moment. She was unsure why Bishop’s sole interest seemed to be aimed at Kestrel. He was apparently uninterested in Orr’s line of questioning, or her answers.

She said, “We changed our staffing policy during the pandemic to allow employees with children to bring them to work, as long as they didn’t interfere with their jobs. The same applies to me.”

“Don’t trust day care, huh?” Bishop asked.

“If you weren’t aware of it, Sheriff, our day care center in town has a waiting list.”

“Interesting,” Bishop said. “I didn’t know that. I don’t have kids myself.”

“Obviously,” Marybeth responded with ice in her tone.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your conversation about day care,” Orr said, “but I just have a couple more questions for Mrs. Pickett.”

Bishop looked over at him and waited for Orr to proceed. Marybeth was grateful, even though she had to be prepared for whatever was coming.

“Another name has come up in regard to my inquiry,” Orr said. “His name is Geronimo Jones. We know he lived outside of Denver, but his residence burned down in a suspicious fire and he hasn’t been on-site for weeks. Neither has his wife or child.”

“What about him?” Marybeth asked.

“Have you spoken to him recently?”

“No, I haven’t spoken to him.” Sheridan has , Marybeth thought.

Orr studied her demeanor while she spoke, and Marybeth felt her cheeks flush slightly. The man was a professional and he knew she was withholding something. He stared at her in silence for a long thirty seconds.

“I believe he spoke with my daughter,” Marybeth said. “He, like you, was looking for Nate.”

Orr’s expression softened. He believed her, and what could have become an issue between them was apparently resolved to his satisfaction. For now.

“Did he find him?” Orr asked.

“I honestly don’t know,” Marybeth said.

“Would Sheridan know?”

“I can’t answer that,” Marybeth said.

“Perhaps you can give me your oldest daughter’s contact information as well,” Orr said. “Again, none of you are suspects. I would just like to talk to her.”

Marybeth looked away for a moment. She felt trapped, and she wasn’t sure why. Then she leaned forward on the desktop toward Orr.

“I don’t know what you hoped to accomplish here today, but I think we’re done talking without my lawyer present,” she said. “You’re the FBI and you have access to the most intrusive databases in the free world. You have Joe’s number, and you probably know exactly where he is at the moment. And you have Sheridan’s contact details, even though you pretend you don’t. I know this because I never said her name or mentioned that she was our oldest.”

At that, Orr chuckled as if to say, Touché. Then: “I understand you might know a little about accessing law enforcement databases.”

“I’ve assisted my husband with several cases over the years,” she responded.

“You’re probably planning to do a deep dive on the name ‘Richard Orr, Special Agent’ the minute we leave your office,” Orr said with a twinkle in his eye.

“You read my mind,” Marybeth said.

After a long, tense pause while Marybeth and Orr eyed each other, Bishop cleared his throat and said, “So, are we done here?”

“Yes, you are,” she said.

“I believe we are for the time being anyway,” Orr agreed. He pushed himself to his feet and held out his hand to Marybeth.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” he said. “Give my regards to your husband and Sheridan.”

She shook his hand limply. It was cool to the touch.

“I guess I’ll see you at the next commissioners’ meeting,” Bishop said to Marybeth as he fitted his hat back on his head.

“Probably so,” Marybeth said, not looking forward to it.

“By the way, where is Joe right now? I haven’t seen his truck around the last couple of days.”

Marybeth said he was out of town, but she didn’t say why.

“He’s out of his district?” Bishop asked. “In the middle of hunting season?”

“The governor asked him to do something in southern Wyoming, near Warm Springs,” she said. “He should be back soon.”

“Take care of that little sweetheart,” Bishop said as he nodded toward Kestrel.

Marybeth didn’t reply.

—

Two minutes after Orr and Bishop had left and closed the door, Marybeth’s breathing returned to normal. She knew she was probably more shaken than she should be, but she also trusted her instincts. Orr had been playing games with her, but he hadn’t revealed what they were. And Bishop’s unhealthy interest in Kestrel Romanowski’s circumstances unnerved her.

Quickly, she called Sheridan on her cell phone.

“Yes, Mom,” her daughter answered. Her tone was dutiful, but not overly enthusiastic.

“Sheriff Bishop and an FBI agent from headquarters named Rick Orr were just in my office. Orr asked questions about Nate, Geronimo, and your dad. Orr is aware that you talked to Geronimo.”

“Well, I did,” Sheridan said.

“I know that. But Orr is up to something and I don’t know what. I’m pretty sure you’ll hear from him soon. If you do, I want to give you some advice.”

“Okay,” she said warily.

“Tell him the truth, but no more. Don’t speculate about Nate’s whereabouts, or Geronimo’s. Don’t give him any reason to come back at you later, claiming you misled him or lied. Answer like you’re on the witness stand: yes, no, or I don’t know. Got that?”

“Got it.”

“Good. Now I’ve got to let your dad know.”

“You said Bishop was there as well?” Sheridan asked.

“Yes.”

“What did he want?”

“I’m not really sure,” Marybeth said. “I think he was here to make the introduction, but he seemed most interested in Kestrel. And where you were.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Not really. He knows where you work.”

“Why does he care?”

“I don’t know, other than he thinks anything that goes on around here is his business,” Marybeth said.

“I don’t trust that man,” Sheridan said. “He’s creepy.”

“Let’s talk more about that. What are you doing tonight?”

“No plans at the moment.”

“Come over for dinner.”

Sheridan hesitated a moment. “I can do that.” Then: “What’s going on, Mom?”

“I’m not sure, and of course your dad is out of town. But please bring a change of clothes, just in case you decide to stay over. I could really use some company, and we can talk about Sheriff Bishop.”

“I’ll see you after work.”

“Thank you,” Marybeth said. “I’d appreciate that.”

—

She punched off and speed-dialed Joe’s number. He answered immediately, but his voice was hushed.

“I’m in a meeting,” he said. “I’ll call you right back.” Then he disconnected.

Frustrated at her husband and still awash from the strange conversations with Bishop, Orr, and Sheridan, she gathered up Kestrel and plopped her on her lap. Kestrel loved to sit there and watch what happened on the computer monitor, hoping Marybeth would open up a video application that featured Peppa Pig and Bluey .

Instead, Marybeth reached around the child to her keyboard and called up the first of many search engines she planned to access in the next few minutes while waiting for Joe’s return call.

She keyed in: Richard Orr Special Agent FBI Langley Virginia .