LITMIR.BIZ

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was always quick to blame Pete. She disapproved of him, not because he was a musician with the band he and J.D. had started, the Montana Country Club, but because he’d never gone beyond that. “He’s as talented as J.D. but he lacks J.D.’s inner strength,” she’d said. “Behind all that charm is a very disappointed, angry young man.” It was one of the few things Max and Maggie had ever argued about.

      Denver wished Pete and Maggie could get along, especially now that Max was gone.

      “Pete’s fine. It’s about Max,” Denver said. More guests arrived. She’d known Max made friends easily, but Denver was astounded at the number of people who’d come hundreds of miles to pay their respects to him.

      Maggie told Denver to go on through the house to the kitchen, where the noise level was lower and the temperature definitely warmer, and wait for her. “Cal Dalton was here earlier,” Maggie said. Since the party was an all-day kind of thing, people kept coming and going. “I just got back so I don’t know if he’s still here or not.”

      “Thanks, I need to talk to him.”

      Denver worked her way through the guests, stopping to accept words of sympathy and visit a moment with friends. She didn’t see Cal. In the kitchen, she stood watching the snow fall and thinking of Max. She didn’t even hear Maggie come in.

      “Has Deputy Cline found some new evidence?” Maggie asked hopefully.

      “No.” Denver pulled off her hat and coat, and hung them on a hook by the back door. She wandered around the familiar kitchen, too keyed up to sit. “Cline is still convinced Max was killed by a hitchhiker.”

      Max’s body had been found at the old city dump; according to Sheriff’s Deputy Bill Cline, he’d been stabbed once in the heart. Cline was looking for a hitchhiker Max had bought lunch for at the Elkhorn Café earlier that day.

      Maggie sat down at the kitchen table, her eyes dark with pain. “I can’t believe Max was killed by someone he helped.”

      “I don’t think that’s what happened.” Denver bit her lip, watching for Maggie’s reaction. “What if it was connected to one of his cases? Maybe an...old case.”

      “You aren’t suggesting it might be—”

      “No.” Denver fought off a chill. “Even Max had given up on that one.” The one old case that had haunted Max for years was the unsolved murders of Denver’s parents. Denver stopped beside the table, settling her gaze on Maggie. “I’ve been having the nightmare again.”

      “Oh, Denver.” Maggie took her hand. “Max’s death must have brought it back.”

      It had been years since she’d had the nightmare, not since Max had brought her to live with him in West Yellowstone. She’d been five at the time and could remember very little of her life before then. Except for images from the nightmare of fear and death from that day at the bank. She’d been with her parents the day the bank robber had killed her father and mother. Her father had just gotten off duty; he was still in his police uniform. Max said that was what had gotten him killed—walking into the middle of a robbery in uniform.

      “I thought maybe Max might have mentioned a case,” Denver said, changing the subject.

      “You know the kind of work he did, small-time stuff, insurance fraud, divorce and child custody, theft—nothing worth getting murdered over.”

      “What if he’d stumbled across that once-in-a-lifetime case he’d always dreamed of?”

      Maggie smiled. “I wish he had, honey. But you know Max. He couldn’t have kept that a secret from us.”

      Denver ran her fingers along the edge of the kitchen counter. “He could if it was too dangerous or confidential or...” The word illegal sprang into her mind. Surely Maggie had heard the rumors.

      “The last time he mentioned a case, he was tailing a husband whose wife thought he was having an affair,” Maggie said. “I remember because Max was keeping odd hours. He wouldn’t get in until the wee hours of the morning.” She laughed. “I asked him if he was having an affair.”

      “How did the case turn out?” Denver asked.

      “He never told me.” Maggie looked past Denver, her gaze clouded. “There is one thing, though. A few days before he was...before he died, he brought some file folders home from the office. Old ones.”

      “Where are they now?” Denver asked as she sat down across from Maggie.

      “He burned them.”

      “He what?” Denver couldn’t believe her ears.

      “That night we were sitting by the fireplace. He was sorting through some things. That’s when I saw the folders—right before he tossed them into the fire.”

      “Did you see what they were?”

      Maggie frowned. “I wasn’t paying much attention, but a newspaper clipping fell out of one of the files. I don’t even remember what it was about, just that it was old. I’m sure that’s why Max was throwing the files away.”

      “Still, that doesn’t sound like Max. He never threw anything away.”

      “I didn’t think it was strange at the time....” Maggie’s voice trailed off. “You know, he did keep one of those files. I guess he took it back to his office.”

      “There are too many strange things. Like Max’s will. Not even his lawyer’s seen it. It seems Max drew it up himself and said he’d put it in a safe place.” Denver shook her head. “I wonder what Max would consider a safe place? Probably the middle of his kitchen table.”

      Maggie laughed softly, her eyes misty with private memories of Max. “The police didn’t find it in either Max’s apartment or office. Do you think he could have left it at your cabin?”

      “I haven’t looked yet,” Denver said. “And Max’s gun is missing, too. Deputy Cline says the killer must have taken it when he took Max’s wallet. But you know Max hardly ever carried a gun.”

      Maggie brushed at her tears. “Max would have given that hitchhiker money before the guy could even ask, and given him his shirt and shoes, as well. Even his car.”

      “That’s just it, Maggie. Why didn’t the guy take Max’s car? The keys were in it.” Denver turned and was startled to find Pete standing just inside the kitchen doorway. She wondered how long he’d been there, listening.

      “I thought we’d already settled this.” He glared at her, his gaze hard with anger. “You were going to stay out of the murder investigation and let Cline do his job.”

      Denver drew in a deep breath. Obviously she hadn’t made herself clear when they’d argued about this earlier. “I can’t stay out of it. How is the killer ever going to be caught when Cline isn’t even looking into Max’s cases?”

      “What cases?” Pete demanded. “Come on, Denver. You’re clutching at straws. It was a hitchhiker. You know how bad Max was about picking up strays.”

      No one knew better than she did just how Max was about helping people in trouble, she thought as she fingered her mother’s gold locket at her neck. Fortunately, Max McCallahan had been that kind of man.

      “No, it simply doesn’t make sense,” Denver said, standing her ground. “Maggie said he burned some old files right before he was killed. Doesn’t that sound suspicious to you?”

      Pete raked his fingers through his hair, not bothering to hide his exasperation. “So what are you going to do? Go after this murderer by yourself?”

      “Pete’s right,” Maggie interrupted, surprising them both, since she seldom agreed with Pete on anything. “Listen, honey, Max wouldn’t have wanted you getting involved in this. Obviously it’s dangerous. I think you’d better leave it to the deputy sheriff.”

      Denver

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