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befallen his father. When her words finally failed her, he’d turned and started toward the barn, as if unwilling to accept the truth unless he had seen for himself what had happened.
    “D-Don’t,” she’d whispered, her voice hoarse. “Don’t go in, Joey. Find Bill Sikes.” Joey had hesitated, and Audrey had managed to speak again. “Just go get Sikes, Joey. There’s nothing you can do in there.”
    Her son’s eyes had fixed on her, but then he’d turned away and continued walking toward the barn. Only when he was at the half-open door was Audrey finally able to drag herself once more to her feet and return to the barn to pull her oddly silent son into her arms.
    “Come on,” she’d whispered to him, turning him away from his father’s still body. “We have to get help, Joey. We can’t just stay in here.”
    Almost in a trance, she’d led Joey back to the house and called Bill Sikes, who was in his cabin a quarter of a mile away. The Custer County sheriff’s office was located in Challis, more than seventy miles away, but the deputy’s office was closer, in Sugarloaf, and the deputy, Rick Martin, like everyone in town, was a friend. Rick would know what to do.
    “There’s been an accident,” Audrey said when Martin’s voice came on the line. “It’s Ted.”
    She couldn’t remember much after that, except that within a few minutes the police car arrived, and an ambulance,and then the yard between the house and the barn had begun to fill up as word spread through the valley of what had happened.
    It was Rick Martin who had led her to the tack room, Joey’s hand clutched in hers, and told her to stay there.
    “I can’t keep folks away from you in the house, Audrey,” he said gently. “Better if you’re down here. No one’ll come through unless you say the word.”
    Audrey nodded mutely, sank down onto the sagging leather sofa that was the tack room’s main piece of furniture, and waited, Joey sitting silently next to her.
    She did her best to answer questions, but was unable to tell Rick Martin any more than he’d been able to see for himself.
    Half an hour ago, after they’d taken pictures from every imaginable angle, Ted’s body had been placed in the ambulance and taken away.
    And now, at last, Rick Martin was crouched on the floor in front of her.
    “Audrey?” he said, his voice barely penetrating the mist that seemed to be closing around her mind. “Can I talk to you, Aud?”
    Talk to me? What could he possibly say? Ted’s dead. He’s dead, and nothing can bring him back to life.
    She felt a wave of panic well up in her.
    What am I going to do? What am I going to do without him?
    She wanted to throw herself into someone’s arms—
    —wanted to scream out the anguish she was feeling—
    —wanted to let herself die, to give up her life to the grief that held her in an iron grip, choking her.
    Help me, Ted! Please help me!
    Though no sound escaped her lips, the plea echoed in her mind.
    And one word emerged out of the confusion that engulfed her.
    Joey.
    An image of her son rose out of Audrey Wilkenson’s roiling emotions, and abruptly her mind cleared.
    She took a deep breath, then sat up straight, focusing onthe deputy’s concerned face. “What happened, Rick?” she asked, her voice calm and clear. “Do you have any idea?”
    Martin shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “From what I can see, he was mucking out Sheika’s stall, and he must have parked the horse in the wash stall till he was done. Something must have spooked the horse, and when Ted tried to calm her down, Sheika must have reared up, knocked him over, then come down on his head. An accident, pure and simple.”
    Audrey felt another wave of emotion rise up inside her, but firmly held it in check.
    “What could have spooked Sheika?” she asked.
    Rick Martin shrugged. “Don’t know. Could have been anything, could have been nothing at all. For all I know, a rat could have run through, or an owl