Sign Off (Caught Dead In Wyoming, Book 1)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Two

"Ms. Danniher and Mr. Paycik of KWMT to see you, Judge Claustel."

His assistant's announcement was formal and strained. She'd answered the first call we'd made from the car, and had been so uncooperative that we'd called Ames Hunt, asked him to set it up, and sidestepped specifics.

"And then I'll be leaving," she added.

She did that well, with the faintly aggrieved note clearly exempting her boss and aimed squarely at Mike and me for keeping her into the evening.

"Of course, of course. And thank you." It was Hunt playing host. "Come in, Elizabeth. We were just having an after-hours drink. Since this is, as you told me, a strictly informal gathering to clear up mistaken impressions about this case."

That was a quarter turn from what I'd actually told him. And what I'd told him had been another quarter turn from the truth. That brought us all the way around to face away from where we were actually heading, enough misdirection to keep everyone at ease. For now.

Hunt waved us to the guest chairs, now facing the couch, and settled back into the chair pulled around from behind the desk. His sports jacket, neatly hung on a hanger, joined Claustel's wrinkled robe and shapeless jacket on the antler-topped coat tree.

"You know Judge Claustel and Sheriff Widcuff, of course," Hunt added with a nod to the men seated on the couch, Claustel with one arm spread across the back with a studied air of ease.

"I believe you know Michael Paycik." Nods all around.

Claustel lifted his glass, revealing amber liquid. "Would you care for one?"

We declined.

I felt suddenly edgier than I had when anticipating this meeting. And then, almost as quickly as I recognized the reaction, I recognized its cause. Just the faintest scent, like a whisper in passing. But it was definitely the remnants of Mona's strong perfume.

A surge of adrenaline tingled out to my fingers. Mona's scent clung to one of the men in this room, woven into the fabric of his clothes so deeply he probably no longer smelled it. From their last encounter, when he shot her at the trailer?

A noise at the door caught my attention. Mike opened it, revealing Diana, who'd been trying to bump it open with the camera because she had both hands on the strap of her gear bag. She'd been the second call we made from the car.

I'd asked her if she could get her hands on a camera from the station. She'd said no. But she did have one of her own, even older and bigger than the station's antiques, that she'd bought on eBay and kept running herself.

Of course she did.

"This is Diana Stendahl," I added. "She's going to record this. I'm sure you don't mind, since I'm sure you all are as eager as everyone else in Cottonwood County to straighten out the murders of Foster Redus and Mona Burrell, even if it is done informally."

"Always glad to get any unpleasantness with the media straightened out informally," Claustel said, political smile intact, as he set down his glass on a side table, out of view of the camera. "That's what's so wonderful about this part of the country. We don't have to stand on ceremony, Ms. Danniher. Or do you think we know each other well enough to use Elizabeth and Ambrose?"

"I'd feel more comfortable with Judge Claustel."

I nodded to Diana. She dropped the equipment bag and started taping-and I do mean taping. I hadn't seen one of those behemoth cameras, complete with attached tape deck, since early in my career.