Hard Evidence by Roxanne Rustand Page A

darkness.
    Michael shifted Rylie’s weight in his arms. “Almost home, sugar. I’ll bet you’ll be glad to put your foot up on a pillow and rest after this.”
    “Wait.” Janna’s voice came from a few yards back. “That’s really odd—unless it’s just my imagination.”
    He turned and found her staring off the side of the trail, pointing to several low clumps of underbrush. “What is?”
    “Last Thursday, I saw several places over there—you know, where the DCI dug for evidence.” She leaned forward and peered into the gloom. “I thought they were done, didn’t you? Now it looks like they’ve been back.”
    He retraced his steps and followed the direction of her hand. “The DCI didn’t spend any time over there, Janna. I was with them the entire day. They excavated the burial site and spent considerable time in the ravine. They wouldn’t come back, much less research such a distant site, without contacting me first. They come by invitation, not as an independent agency.”
    “But look—see there, by those trees? There were several piles of fresh dirt last week—now I’m almost certain there are more.” She visibly shivered. “You don’t think…”
    He searched around for a place for Rylie to sit, then put her down on a log. “You two stay here and I’ll go take a look.”
    Without a trail, it took several minutes to make his way through the low-lying brush, downed trees and twisted vines.
    Sure enough—there were five haphazard holes here, not more than fifteen feet apart. Perhaps four feet square, they’d been partially refilled with loose dirt and leaves, with mounds of loose branches tossed on top. To shield them from view?
    Had they been dug to bury something—or to search for something else?
    Michael hunkered down and sifted the loose soil through his fingers, then scanned the area. McAllister land stretched at least a mile toward the closest boundary. The only vehicle access into the area was the long, narrow road leading to the lodge—which meant a high risk of being noticed.
    If someone wanted to hide something, surely they wouldn’t go to this much trouble and still be so close to an inhabited set of buildings. It made no sense.
    But if someone was looking for something, that opened up a new realm of possibilities. What sort of determination—or desperation—could drive a person to dig in this rocky, hard-packed terrain? With the scant annual rainfall in the area, a pickax was probably required to make any progress at all.
    As soon as the sun rose tomorrow, Michael would be back, and he would be hunting for answers.

     
    Startled by a knock on her door, Claire leaned forward in her chair and peered over her shoulder, her June copy of the Western Rancher open on her lap.
    The words had run together, spiraling across the page in dizzying patterns since she’d sat down an hour ago, and irritation welled up in her throat at the interruption.
    “Mom, are you in there? Are you okay?”
    Janna. Again. Claire slammed her magazine shut. It was always something. That obnoxious teenage boy thundering down the stairs and slamming doors. Rylie, who’d foolishly gotten herself lost yesterday and acted like a scared rabbit half the time.
    Or Janna—who had to be mighty proud of her little power trip here at the lodge. Always interfering. Prying. Watching. As if Claire had ever needed help from anyone in her entire life.
    “I’m busy,” Claire barked, stubbornly sitting back in her chair.
    The door squealed open anyway, and Janna walked right on in to stand in front of Claire. “I couldn’t hear you answer. Are you all right?”
    Claire’s anger escalated to rage, swift and hot. “Why wouldn’t I be? Go…do whatever it is you’re doing around here, and leave me in peace.”
    As usual, Janna didn’t listen. Instead, her eyebrows drew together and she searched Claire’s face. “I just came in from working on one of the cabins to start lunch. The bathtub was overflowing, Mom.