Page 68 of Head Room (Caught Dead in Wyoming #15)

First, I found out where our quarry could be found, thanks to a quick call to Tom’s neighbor. The stars aligned — or I was having bride’s luck.

This could work.

Maybe.

Where to meet was the next big issue.

My house was out of the question with my parents arriving later to share the day.

Mike and Diana’s places were too far out, not to mention overrun with wedding guests.

I opted for the station’s parking lot.

With Mike and Diana needing more time to get there than I did, I showered and dressed in jeans and a t-shirt before tiptoeing past Tamantha’s room. I left a note on the counter saying I had a last-minute errand to run and would be back soon.

On the drive, I called Tom.

“Something’s come up. I’ll be there at the church. I swear I will. But—”

“You got ’im.”

“Not yet.”

“You know, though.”

“I hope so. We might not be able to pull this off in time and if that’s so, I’ll drop it—”

“Not on my account. We’re married.”

“Yes, we are.” I grinned even though he couldn’t see it.

“Go do what you need to do. If you’re late, I’ll be standing at the front of the church and not budging until you get there.”

“Have I said I love you?”

“Can’t hurt to say it again.”

I obliged. And so did he.

Diana pulled in then, having reached supersonic speeds on the way, no doubt.

She got in the passenger front seat. “You do know that your mother will kill you if—”

“Tom’s promised to hold the fort at the church.”

“He’s a brave man.”

Jennifer was the last to arrive, but with good reason. I’d given her an assignment to complete before she left home.

We all piled into Mike’s luxury SUV.

“What put this together for you?” she asked.

“It wasn’t Page Forty-Seven. Or—”

“Page—?”

“—any single thought. It was throughout the manuscript. The names—”

Diana jumped on that. “Ransom Fletcher switching his names around to mask his identity from the Union Army so he could take Peter to Wyoming as a Galvanized Yankee.”

“Like Kyle Vaughn Quetcher Moser,” Jennifer said.

“Yes, but does that connect to Nance and the veterans?” I said.

Before I could explain, Mike interrupted. “I was thinking last night . . . what turned your thinking away from the vets?”

“Actually, it was the swinging blade trap from the Indiana Jones movie — or circular saw trap, as Jennifer told us.”

“Oh-kay.” Mike’s drawn-out version of the word didn’t convey confidence that I’d connect this to anything reasonable.

“And then I thought about the conversation we had with Orson and Needham.”

“You talked about circular saw traps?” Jennifer asked him.

“Not that I remember. Did we?” he asked me.

“No. But we did talk about conspiracies, believers in conspiracies, and how they both defy Occam’s razor.”

“The simplest explanation most likely to be the truth,” murmured Diana.

“Exactly. Unlike Occam’s razor, the vets were the conspiracy theory of the swinging blades trap, requiring, as nearly all conspiracy theories do, a stretch of credulity.”

“Multiple players and all of them keeping the secret,” Mike added, clearly recalling the conversation with Orson now.

“Right. And this among a group of people whose loose association was primarily based on — besides having been in the military — not wanting to live too close to each other.”

“When you put it like that . . .” Diana said with dry humor.

“Plus, things I heard Kam Droemi saying. Fragments, but interesting.”

I did not get into explanations about head room resurfacing that memory.

No time.

Mike pulled into the parking lot between the courthouse and the joined buildings of the sheriff’s department and fire department.

Showtime.

* * * *

Mike went the other way around and slipped in at the fire station’s farthest bay.

I glanced back along the sidewalk. Jennifer was in front of the sheriff’s department, prepared to rouse the cavalry. Diana provided closer backup if needed.

I walked into the open bay, spotting a figure at the back as I had the first day.

Miles Stevens.

An anagram for Stelmen Viess. A puzzle Irene Jardos created.

“Hi Miles.”

“Hi Elizabeth.” He sounded surprised, not concerned. He was using an old towel to wipe grease from a part. “Aren’t you getting married today?”

“I am. This afternoon.” No need to get into the details of Wedding One and Wedding Two. “That’s why I’m going to get right to the point.

“When the call came in that Sergeant Frank Jardos’ cabin was on fire, you tried like the devil to be the lead. Must have been a bad moment for you, since you’d left it earlier that day and it wasn’t burning then. But there was a dead body in it.

“But you tried to turn it to your advantage.

Did you use the cover of the fire to kick the gun away from the body to make it look more like Frank Jardos planned the fire to cover up the premeditated murder of Nance?

You kept coming back to his doing the clear-cut right before the fire, trying to add that in as evidence that he was guilty.

“What you should have considered is that the money trail leads right to you. We—” By which I meant Jennifer, but since she might have gone a tiny bit over the hacking line to get information fast this morning, I was not singling her out.

“—have proof of that. Account numbers, deposits, the whole thing.

“And not just from the initial registering of bad actor businesses using other people’s names, but additional services to truly nasty enterprises who are not going to be happy you got caught and thus exposed them.

“That must have been your first thought when Haus sent Nance after you. You must have tried to talk him around. But you couldn’t be sure, could you. You followed him to that cabin. And, how fortunate for you, he was alone.”

Not relaxed now. “I don’t get where you’re going with this.”

“I thought I was clear. You murdered Nance — Ron Sam Preet. It might not matter to you, but that’s an anagram for Peter Ransom.”

I heard faint sounds from where Diana and Mike stood. We’d have to catch up Jennifer later.

“I have no idea what you’re—”

“Maybe you don’t have any idea about Peter Ransom, because you haven’t read Irene Jardos’ manuscript.

Everybody says she saw right through people.

She certainly saw the truth well before you killed him that Ron Sam Preet was a good guy and Stelmen Viess was not.

You know what Stelmen Viess is an anagram for? Miles Stevens.”

“That’s bull—”

He didn’t even finish the word. He threw the greasy piece of machinery and towel at me and ran.

I call that an admission of guilt.

He ran right into Mike, who had stopped far, far better men than Miles Stevens.