Crazy Mountain Kiss Read Online Free PDF Page A

Harold’s head reemerged. He shook out his hair and saw her looking at him. “What?”
    Martha shook her head. “Never mind.” She
had
cut his heart out once, at the same time he’d cut out hers and claimed it for his own. Then he’d taken back up with his ex-wife, who lived on the Blackfeet Reservation, and at some point Martha had given up waiting for it to fail. Two office romances, if you counted Stranahan, who had contracted for the county as an independent investigator on several occasions. It was strict violation of her own policy. But where else was she going to meet anyone?
    She sat back and hugged her knees. “As you were saying,” she said.
    Harold struggled into a sitting position. “Had a visitor last night,” he said. “Mr. Gallagher drove in, ’bout four in the morning. Seemed a little taken aback to find me blocking the road.”
    â€œWhat did he want?”
    â€œSaid he forgot his computer. Wanted to hike in and get it because he could plug it in at Meslik’s place.”
    â€œSo much for magic.”
    Harold raised his eyebrows.
    â€œSomething he said about working on a manual typewriter. I’m just talking to myself.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t do that, Martha. It’s a bad habit.”
    â€œSo I’ve been informed. What did you tell him?”
    â€œI told him to come back this morning. If he was looking to take anything away from the cabin, it’s still in there.”
    â€œGood. I got the impression he was hiding something. All that antebellum charm, he doesn’t fool me.”
    â€œWell.” Harold was examining the damage done by Ettinger’s scissors. “The man hadn’t slept in two days, so sure as hell something was bothering him to come all the way back here.”
    Martha nodded. “I just got off the phone with Stranahan down in Florida. He said Gallagher powders his nose. Maybe he left some blow in the cabin.”
    â€œThat would be an illegal search, Martha.”
    â€œI don’t think so. But he can put a Canada goose up his nose for all I care. I’m wondering if there’s something else he left behind, something that could tie him to the girl.”
    â€œYou’re really thinking along those lines?”
    â€œNo. But he’s the only person of interest we have.”
    â€œSo how’s the morning shape up?”
    â€œKent’s driving in. He’s going to chain up and bust through the ruts, so we can caravan to the cabin. Walt’s coming, so is Wilkerson; that way we cover our asses. This looks like an accident, but if it turns out the victim died somewhere else and was placed in the chimney, I want Gigi to conduct the evidence search before the place gets mucked up. Then, by God, we’re going to get that poor girl out. I don’t want to bust up the stonework, but if that’s what it takes . . .”
    â€œAny fairy dust?”
    â€œDon’t go Walt on me today, not even a little bit.” She blew a strand of hair out of her eye and felt the cold of the metal pickup bed working into her bottom. Far below, they could hear Jason Kent’s four-by-four diesel grinding in third.
    â€œThis place gives me the willies, Harold.”
    â€œYou mean the legend of the crazy woman.”
    â€œNo, I think that’s a myth. I don’t mean it couldn’t happen. Indians pincushioned their share of settlers, I just doubt that a woman whose husband and children were slain by the Blackfeet would go on living here by herself, or they would let her. Never mind that her spirit would haunt the place ever since.”
    â€œGlad you’re on our side.”
    â€œNo, it’s these mountains. You go to other ranges, the Madison, the Absaroka, they have a soft side, meadows, flowers, they show you their beauty. You can feel the breeze, hear them breathe. But the Crazies are just a jumble of peaks. They’re nothing but hard edges