Page 34 of Head Room (Caught Dead in Wyoming #15)

“But he knows several of the people, besides you?”

“Sure.”

“Who else?”

He’d been braced for me to try to batter down the door. The fact that I didn’t, relaxed him. But it didn’t send him into a coma.

“Him,” he said with a jerk of his head toward the younger man, not even giving me a first name. “And Nance.”

“Did you talk with Frank Jardos in town recently?” I asked the younger man.

He was taller than Jardos’ reported five-ten, but still, would Hiram Popppinger consider them an even match?

“In town? No,” the younger man said.

I was inclined to believe him. Partly from his surprise. Partly because he would know how easy it would be to disprove.

“I’d like to talk to Nance.”

The younger guy flicked a look at the older one, who answered, “Hasn’t been around for a while. He comes and goes. No reason he can’t. Free agent. Not committed.”

That was interesting. I would have considered all the members of a group living in the woods as free agents, not committed. So what about Nance made that worth mentioning?

“What’s Nance’s first name?”

Easy call to go for the newcomer’s name, since Tom would have seen both these men and would be able to give me their names. Assuming they gave them to anybody.

The older man chuckled, the younger almost smiled.

“That’s not his last name. Not his first name, either. It’s short for finance, for FMT.”

“FMT?” I repeated.

He nodded. Didn’t offer more.

The younger man spoke for the first time. “He’s a pal of my brother’s.”

I followed the new thread. “Is your brother—?”

“Here? No. He’s . . . right.”

My chest felt like a big hand squeezed my heart.

His brother was right. What did that make him?

Sometimes you can show your reactions. This wasn’t one of those times. He’d shy away from sympathy. The older man might, too, even vicariously.

I backtracked to ask a safer question, “What is FMT?”

“Financial Management Technologist.”

“What’s that?”

“MOS 36B.”

“What’s that?”

“Military Occupational Specialty — MOS.”

I was not asking What’s that? again. I applied silence.

The older man gave way, though not right away.

“Thirty-six B is an Army designation — we’re all Army here now. Used to have a couple Navy guys. They’re gone. Nance, he worked with the financial side. Payments and such. Moved around some. Worked on soldiers’ pay, compensating vendors, computers and tech stuff,” he said.

That didn’t sound hugely dangerous.

As if he’d heard my thought, the second guy said, “Deployed.”

His more talkative elder said, “Yeah. And where he was, it was all hands-on-deck, if you’ll excuse the expression—”

Took a beat to realize he meant its naval origins required an apology.

“—said it messed with him that he could be helping a local in their currency one minute and facing them over a gun on security patrol the next.”

“Did he and Sergeant Jardos talk about financial matters?”

“In a way, they did.”

“In what way?” I kept most of the impatience out of that.

“We’re putting together a deal for land we can share. The sergeant’s been working on it. When Nance came back, he was real curious about how the sergeant’s approaching it.”

“Curious about what aspects?”

“Didn’t say.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“Figured we’d find out what he had in mind if anything came of it. Still had the sergeant working on it.”

The younger one didn’t say anything, but shifted his feet. He recognized that with Jardos gone, their plan had sprung a leak.

“How did the sergeant react to Nance’s curiosity?”

“Don’t know. Between them,” the older man said.

“Tell me about Nance coming and going.”

Neither made eye contact with each other or with me.

I could hear the door that led to more words creaking closed.

Then, to my surprise, the younger one spoke. “Rest of us found a place here. Nance had trouble settling.”

That felt like a dead end. But you know what they say, if you hit a dead end, look for other angles. Well, if they don’t say it, they should.

“Did you give the sergeant money? Any of you? Or authority over your money?”

“Nah. We’ve read up on scammers trying to fleece vets. Even if Sarge asked, we’d’ve said no. He never did. Nance, neither.”

“Is Nance around now?”

This time the elder man shifted his feet. “Nah. Like I said, he comes and goes.”

Darn. That door was swinging toward closed.

Another choice — force it or try another entry point? “Did you know Irene, the sergeant’s wife?”

“Nice lady,” the younger man said.

“She’d say hello, bring cookies and such, but stayed in the truck mostly,” the older man said.

“How did Frank Jardos cope after her death?”

“Privately.” That door slam left an echo. “Gotta go.”

“Of course. I appreciate your time. One more question for now. What are your names?”

“Two questions.” Again, the younger guy almost smiled.

“So it is,” the older guy said. “I’m Victor and this is Zeke.”

“And Nance’s name?”

“Three questions,” Zeke said.

“Right again. Because three names,” Victor said. “Ron Sam Preet. Always uses all three. That’s why we call him Nance.”

They looked at me, waiting for me to ask more, prepared to not answer.

I skipped that step, smiled, then thanked them.

We nodded at each other — no offer of handshakes.

I turned, aware that Shadow didn’t turn with me right away. He had my back.

After I’d gone three feet, he joined up, but he kept looking over his shoulder, checking, until we reached Tom and the truck.