Murder at Rendezvous

by P. R. Morris

Nina Archueletta stepped out of the tepee she had finally gotten organized, frowning down at the out-of-range message on the tiny screen of her cell phone. The phone had been a Christmas gift from Steve, her husband, and it had all the bells and whistles near and dear to masculine hearts.

“There's another sell out! Christ, the place is full of ‘em!”

She slid the phone into her belt pouch and searched for the source of the rude comment. A muscular young man, about eighteen, of obviously mixed Native American and Black blood was walking towards her, jabbing his finger at her.

“Yeah, you! Princess Summer-Fall-Winter-Spring!”

Nina noted his black leather biker pants, heavy metal T-shirt, and numerous body piercings. No overt gang signs, but he had a knife stuck in the top of his biker boots.

Beside him strolled a girl, wearing a gingham pioneer dress and neon-pink striped hair. The sun glinted off her nose ring, and a matching gingham sunbonnet dangled by its ties from her wrist.

Nina straightened and turned to face the loudmouth as he came closer. “I beg your pardon?”

“See,” he said to the girl walking next to him, totally ignoring Nina's words. He waved his hand, incorporating Nina's braided black hair, beaded and quill embroidered antelope skin dress, belt pouch, and leggings. “Total sell out to the White Man's fantasy!”

Nina had heard worse, mostly from her own relatives on the reservation when she married Steve.

“Yeah!” The teen shifted forward so he was in her face. “You're a sell out! Dressed like a squaw, playing at pioneering, perpetuating the Great White Lie!” He shoved her.

Nina acted instinctively, twisting his hand into a wristlock and forcing him to bend over to relieve the pain. “That's Deputy Archueletta. Now, I'm off duty at the moment and I'm trying to have a nice time re-creating a little history and educating others about my Ute heritage. Because of that I'm going to let you go, provided you make an apology and promise to mind your manners.”

“Do it, Spider,” the girl urged. “I see my dad and you know he hates your guts. If he sees you here…” her voice trailed off.

Still keeping her hold on Spider, Nina followed the girl's gaze to where a man in settler dress was walking from the tarp covered central pavilion toward one of the rented Conastoga-style wagons. “You're Dan Reardon's daughter?” Reardon was the local chapter president of the Pikes Peak Black Powder and Pioneer Society.

The girl responded with a sullen “yeah.”

“Listen to your friend, Spider.” When he tried to straighten, she applied a little more pressure.

Spider mumbled something.

Nina cocked her head to one side. “I couldn't quite make that out.”

“Sorry,” the teen gasped out.

“Sorry for what?” Nina asked.

“Sorry for calling you a sell-out.”

“Better.” She released his wrist.

Spider scrambled to his feet. “I could sue you!”

“You do that,” she said. “But then I could justify my actions by explaining you assaulted me.”

Spider glared at her, backing off. “I didn't know you were a cop.”

“Just goes to show appearances can be deceiving.” She looked past the boy at the two men coming around the side of the tepee. One was dressed in a green muslin shirt, Levis , heavy leather farmer boots, and suspenders, but the younger one had yet to change into period garb. Nina smiled at him. “Hi, honey.”

Steve Archueletta took in his wife's face, and then narrowed his eyes as he looked at the teenagers. “Everything OK?”

“Just peachy,” Nina replied in a too-sweet voice. “Just reminding Spider here that he should get to know someone before he makes sweeping judgements.” She nodded to the older man who accompanied her husband. “Good to see you, Ernie.”

“Nina,” Ernie Delacroix acknowledged her greeting. “Your mom's been looking for you, Tiffany,” he said to the girl.

“She's not my mom! She's just my dad's current fiasco.” Grabbing Spider's arm and pulling him along, Tiffany stomped off in the opposite direction from the wagons.

“Just another fun-filled Rendezvous,” Ernie said, shaking his head. “Wonder if the original pioneers had to deal with recalcitrant teenagers.”

Nina leaned into her husband's side. “Sure they did. Ever hear of Billy the Kid?”

Ernie watched the teenagers' progress across the meadow. “I don't know why Reardon dragged her along. She's downright spiteful toward her stepmother. It really hurts Elizabeth knowing the girl hates her.”

Steve shrugged. “He probably thinks it makes him look like a good family man. He's up for regional president of the society. Winning that would be good PR for him and his company.” He grinned at Ernie. “Heard you and Paul Llewellyn were giving him a run for his money.”

“Well,” Ernie said, shifting his feet. “Some of us just don't feel that Dan understands the spirit of the organization.”

Nina slid her arm around her husband's waist. With her free hand she gestured at the land around them. “Great place you got this year, Ernie. I heard we're expecting close to three hundred.”

“We got the place cheap, and Reardon thought it was more authentic to have to pack everything in. Of course a jeep could probably make it, but Reardon says that would spoil the ambience. You'll just have to stay cut off from that newspaper of yours for the weekend, Steve. Hey, maybe you can write a story about this.”

“Sure,” Steve said. “Corporate Big Wigs Play Pioneer. I write on corporate corruption remember, not feel-good filler stories.”

“It sure is lovely,” Nina said, looking at the mountains that encircled the small valley. There was a copse of aspen off to one side, their silver-backed leaves rustling in the slight breeze creating the famous quaking effect. Pigeon Creek, the small stream the valley was named for, rushed through the stand, swollen with the spring snow melt. Snow still tipped the higher peaks, and the sky was the incredible blue seen on postcards of the Colorado Rockies.

Like all Rendezvous, the campsite had been laid out in specific areas. Where Nina and Steve stood comprised the Native American and Mountain Man encampment. Several tepees, including the Archeulettas', were set up around a communal cement fire pit. Drying racks made from forest deadfall stood by each entrance. When the Rendezvous was over, the participants would return the wood to the forest.

On the other side of the central pavilion seven covered wagons haphazardly lined up a few yards from the creek. Kettles or griddles hung from tripods over the portable fire pits, helping to maintain the pioneer image while honoring the no ground fire law. Nina noticed the tall blonde figure of Elizabeth Reardon climbing awkwardly down from the farthest wagon.

The blonde was not one of Nina's favorite people. Especially since she kept hitting on Steve.

Even though it was early, volunteers from the local chapter were busily readying the site for the regional get-together. Several men unloaded wooden planks for the arts and crafts display tables from a wagon. Others were stretching canvas between wooden frames to provide protection from the spring rains that were expected.

“I've got Paul setting up the turkey shoot and hatchet throw targets,” Ernie said. “Would you two mind seeing to the archery range? I've got to check with Mason, he's running security, and then I got to make sure the remuda is secure. Last thing we want is some kid being bit or kicked by one of our horses.”

“Sure,” Steve said.

With a nod, Ernie headed toward the north end of the encampment where Mason Trent was hanging a rough plank sign with ***Security*** burned into it over the entrance of a Civil War style tent. In keeping with his Old West persona, the former state trooper was dressed in a combination of muslin shirt, cavalry riding pants, heavy boots, and a cavalry officer's Stetson. There was a marshal's star pinned to his chest and a gun belt around his waist. Mason, it seemed, took the whole historic concept seriously.

Steve gave Nina a little squeeze. “I've got to change. Lord, I love these events. Don't have to shave for days.”

Nina gave him a coy smile. “Think so, white man? If you want to do any ***claim jumping*** this weekend you'd better keep that face of yours smooth. I'm not going back on the job with whisker burns all over me.”

Steve tried to leer, but succeeded only in looking like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Want to play trapper and the squaw?”

Nina gave him a shove toward their tent and followed him inside. “Isn't Dan Reardon's company the one you wrote that exposé about? Didn't it cost him some important clients?” She dug the deerskin shirt she had made Steve for Christmas out of the wooden chest they used to store clothes during re-enactments. She paused, enjoying the wifely pleasure of watching her husband strip. Steve had grown up on a ranch, and he still maintained the wiry muscles of a cowboy.

“Yeah. Paul Llewellyn tipped me off. He was pissed about some program design he had developed on his own time while he was with the company.” He paused. “Technically any project developed under those conditions belongs to the company if they want to claim it. Reardon originally said the property was Llewellyn's, but when he lost a big account, he grabbed the program. It was legal, but just right nasty for him to do that.” Steve pulled on his buckskin pants. Reaching to take the shirt from her, he grinned. “But they're not corporate executives and computer engineers this weekend. They're mountain men, trappers, and pioneers. Hand me my belt, would you?”

Nina retrieved the tooled leather belt with its beaded bowie knife sheath and passed it to her husband. Steve buckled it on and settled the knife more securely on his hip. “Time to go to work,” he said, stepping aside so she could exit first.

For the next several hours the Rendezvous site was a flurry of building, laying fires, cooking, and setting up campsites for the expected participants. Nina spent some time running back and forth between the different areas borrowing tools to finish the set-up. In the process she caught glimpses of various members of the local chapter. Paul Llewellyn waved at them as they carried the life-sized target of an elk out into the field. Mason Trent gave a nod of greeting as he made his way to the coffee set up for the volunteers. Nina saw Spider and Tiffany walking around with sneers on their faces. Nina wondered just what the teens were up to. But that was the Reardons' problem, not that Nina had seen much of either of the girl's parents.

Nina considered neither one of them worth the powder it would take to blow them up.

A scream pierced through the sounds of hammering.

Nina took off running towards the origin of the sound, several others doing the same. Another panicked scream ripped through the air and Nina realized it came from the last wagon. As soon as she got to the tailgate, Nina looked inside. Elizabeth Reardon was crouched over her husband, shaking his shoulders and screeching at him.

A knife protruded from his chest.

“ Elizabeth , come on over here,” Nina called to the distraught woman. “Come on out. We'll take care of your husband.” She kept her voice calm a sympathetic.

“What? What's wrong?” Ernie came panting up. Behind him several more of the re-enactors rushed forward, pressing Nina painfully into the tailgate. Ernie looked inside the wagon, gasped, and began to climb in.

“Don't,” Nina said, barring his way with her arm. She eyed the others rushing forward. “Everyone, back off. This is now a crime scene.”

“But Elizabeth . I've got to help Elizabeth ,” he said.

Mason pushed his way through the crowd, directing people to move back. “I'll take care of things here,” he said. “I'm security. Ernie, get these people out of here.” He turned to Nina. “I've got it.” He started to hoist himself onto the tailgate.

“You can help me, Mason,” Nina said. “But this isn't part of the reenactment. As the only representative of the sheriff's department here, it's my crime scene. Find someone to notify the county sheriff and the coroner. My cell phone doesn't work here.”

Elizabeth wailed “He's dead. He's dead!”

“On second thought, send someone else. I'm gong to pass Elizabeth off on you. You know the drill. Take her somewhere away from the others.” Nina hoisted herself

“ Elizabeth ,” Nina said as she hoisted herself up into the wagon bed. She started to reach in her back pocket for the latex gloves she carried on the job when she realized she had no pockets—and no gloves. Carefully she worked her way to the stricken woman, keeping as close to the edge of the wagon bed as she could.
“ Elizabeth ,” she said again, keeping her voice calm and professional. Stepping over a dome-top trunk and two black powder rifles propped against its side, she finally reached the screaming woman. One look at Reardon and she knew there was no point in checking for a pulse. As gently as she could she lifted Elizabeth 's hands from her husband's shoulders. “Come on. Come with me.”

Nina guided the hysterical woman out of the wagon, helping her jump down from the tailgate. She passed Elizabeth off to Mason. “I've got to see to Reardon.” She pulled her cell phone out of her pouch and began taking pictures. Then she hopped off the tailgate and went around to the front of the wagon. She recorded the mud smears on the running board and the ground all around the recreated Conestoga.

She returned to the back of the wagon, careful to step only where she had walked before and climbed back in. Crouching next to the body though Reardon's waxy skin and empty eyes made it clear he was dead, she followed procedure and checked for a pulse. His skin was still warm. Her eyes were drawn to the murder weapon protruding from the corpse. A sharp, brief sting of panic pierced her professionalism as she studied the murder weapon.

She knew that knife. She'd handed it to Steve just a few hours ago. But it was only one piece of evidence. There had to be more. No way would she believe her husband capable of stabbing a man.

Reardon's body lay face up on the floor, his eyes staring, his mouth frozen open. His shoulders lay flat against the wagon bed, but his hips twisted to the side. His arms were bent on either side of his body. There was very little blood staining his calico shirt. The long blade of the knife must have pierced his heart, stopping it instantly.

She bent over his hands, careful not to touch anything. Reardon had corporate hands, soft, manicured. Except for the little finger of his left hand. He had a torn nail with a bit of what looked like unbleached muslin thread caught in it.

Nina cautiously got to her feet and leaned over the corpse, checking the other side. There were clumps of mud near Reardon's right foot. From the peculiar rectangular shapes, Nina concluded they came from between the lugs of a heavy boot sole. Someone beside Reardon, since he was wearing expensive Tony Lama roper boots with smooth leather soles.

The mud was only partially dry. It probably came from the nearby creek bed. Some of it was on the cuff of Reardon's pants, as if the perpetrator had stepped on the cloth. Most likely during or just after the victim had fallen. She checked the driver's seat and the flooring around it and was rewarded with another partial print. Just the toe of the left foot, smeared at that, but definitely a lugged sole. There was a good chance forensics could find out the make of boot and maybe estimate the size and weight of its owner. It didn't seem particularly large or wide, but it looked like a man's boot.

Next, she studied each inch of the wooden plank flooring, then the back of the driver's seat with its old-fashioned metal springs and the ribbing that held the canvas top in place. The sides of the wagon were weathered wood with “Old West Rentals #37” burned into the left side of the tailgate.

Nina ran over possible scenarios in her mind. There weren't any defensive wounds that she could see. Nor was there any other sign of a struggle. Space in the wagon was limited but everything was in its place. A struggle would have caused the rifles to be knocked over. It seemed that Reardon knew his killer and hadn't expected an attack.

Nina recreated the scene. The assailant came in the front of the wagon on the side closest to the creek. He or she stood in front of Reardon. Reardon must have grabbed the killer's clothes, got a bit of thread caught in his hangnail, and pulled it free as he crumpled to the floor. If he had caught the thread in his nail earlier, he would have removed it and filed the nail. So she was looking for someone wearing unbleached muslin and lugged boots. The problem was that fit three-quarters of the volunteers present.

Who hated Reardon enough to kill him? And why try to implicate Steve? The fact the killer had used Steve's knife indicated premeditation at the very least.

An image of Spider with a knife sticking from his boot came to mind. Maybe the kid stole Steve's knife somehow and used it to finish off his girlfriend's irritating father. Even he wouldn't be stupid enough to use his own knife. But then how did he get Steve's? She wanted a closer look at Spider's boots.

Or maybe Ernie Delacroix? For some people their pioneer personas seemed more real to them than their mundane lives. Could becoming the regional president be so important to him that he'd kill for it? Or maybe it wasn't that clear cut. Was he infatuated with Elizabeth ?

Then there was Paul Llewellyn. Now there was a motive. From his point of view Reardon had stolen a program that would have made the computer engineer very wealthy. That was months ago, but maybe it was a matter of opportunity.

And let's not forget the widow, she reminded herself. The majority of murders like this were committed by someone close to the victim. The spouse is always the number one suspect.

Nina surveyed the wagon's interior again, looking for something she'd missed. Lord, she needed a forensic team.

Just the tiniest touch of panic made her stomach tighten. Since her husband owned the murder weapon, that made this investigation too personal for the department to allow her to investigate. But who knew how long it would take for someone else from the department to show up? In the interim the killer could destroy evidence or even get away, leaving Steve holding the bag.

Nina backtracked the prints as best she could, out of the wagon, searching for more imprints as she cautiously moved towards the creek. But all she could find was trampled grass. The grass ran right up to the edge of the creek where a few large rocks created a small rapid.

“Nina.” Mason was standing a few yards away from the rear of the wagon. His hands were on his hips and the sleeves of his cream colored lace up shirt were rolled up to his elbows. “I've got Myra Connor staying with Mrs. Reardon.”

“Good.” Nina said, returning to the back of the wagon. She was careful to swing wide so as not to disturb the scene any more than she already had. “We need to take statements from everybody. Just let me grab my notebook.”

Steve was in their tepee when Nina entered. She went straight to the wooden chest and pulled out her notebook.

“What happened?” he asked.

Before she answered she waved Mason inside. “Steve, where's your knife?”

He shrugged. “I lent it to Paul. Paul Llewellyn. He'd forgotten his. Then I got busy putting up tables. Guess he forgot to bring it back.”

Steve's eyes narrowed when she flipped open her notebook and began to write in it. “Why?”

“Someone killed Dan Reardon,” Nina replied. One of the things Nina admired about her husband was his quick understanding.

“My knife was the murder weapon.” Steve moved to stand in front of his wife. “You can't possibly think that I killed the bastard?” His words dripped with incredulity and disappointment, and he reached out to touch her shoulder.

Nina stepped back before he made contact, looking down at her notebook and pretending she hadn't seen his gesture. “Don't say any more.” Cop or not, this was her husband, and the hurt she saw in his eyes nearly undermined her resolve. She had to give him some reassurance, something to let him know she believed in him.

“No, I don't, but I've got to cover all the bases. That's why Mason's here. I don't want anyone claiming I didn't do it by the book.” She paused and looked at Steve, trying to communicate her love and trust without words. “Can you give me names of the people you were with working on the tables?”

Steve rattled off four other members of the Black Powder Club.

“Good. Do you mind staying in here until the sheriff and coroner get here?”

“Yeah, I know. Procedure. Keep the suspects separated so they can't talk. I know the drill. Just never thought I'd be on this side of it.”

She tried to ignore the painful twist of her heart at his bitter tone. She'd make it up to him later, somehow.

Next Nina and Mason went to talk with Elizabeth Reardon. She was sitting in a lean-to that the club had constructed to store miscellaneous items. Nina nodded to the older woman sitting with Elizabeth . “ Myra , why don't you go get some coffee?”

Myra patted Elizabeth 's hand and then left. Nina took the seat she had occupied. She held up her cell phone so Elizabeth could see it.

“Is it alright if I record this? Just procedure.” Seeing Elizabeth nod, Nina continued. “I know this is hard. I need you to tell me what happened. Let's start when you entered your wagon.”

Elizabeth stared down at her hands and kept wringing them in her lap. She took several deep breaths. Nina noticed half-healed bruises around her left wrist, but she waited for the other woman to answer her question.

“I was looking for Dan,” Elizabeth began, her words hesitant. She glanced up and looked around the lean-to, then at Mason. She dropped her eyes again. “A group from the Grand Junction chapter had arrived and they wanted to know where they could set up. Dan, um, Dan told me he wanted to meet with each group that came in.”

Probably to campaign for the regional position, Nina thought, but didn't interrupt.

“Anyway, I called out when I got near the wagon but he didn't answer.” Elizabeth hesitated, and then looked directly at Nina. “Sometimes Dan catnaps. I'm not tall enough to see over the tailgate so I had to let it down before I could climb inside. There he was with the, the, that thing in his chest!” She covered her face with her hands and began sobbing into them.

Nina wasn't sure whether the woman's grief was real or not. Elizabeth was doing a lot of face burying and eking out a couple of tears, but there was something stagy about her response.

When the other woman calmed down a bit, Nina pressed on. “When was the last time you saw Dan before you went to the wagon?”

“Um, I don't know.” Elizabeth again looked around the small enclosure. “I guess when we were having coffee over in the central area.”

“And what time was that?”

She shrugged. “Mid-morning sometime. He wouldn't let me wear a watch. Said it didn't go with the dress.” She plucked at the gingham skirt of her pioneer outfit. Nina noticed she wore designer boots beneath the petticoats.

“Who do you think had reason to kill your husband?”

Another shrug. “He had disputes with a lot of people.” She looked at Nina, a sudden, malicious gleam in her eye. “He hated your husband. That article cost him big bucks. He said he was going to get your husband fired if it was the last thing he did.”

That was a motive for Reardon to kill Steve, Nina thought, but hardly one for Steve to take a knife to Reardon. Why was Elizabeth trying to get a reaction from her? Was the woman trying to distract her for some reason? Nina kept her voice even. “Anyone else? Could you be more specific?”

Elizabeth shook her head and hunched in on herself.

“Did he take these naps at regular times?”

“Not really.”

Mason shifted his position. The movement caused both women to look at him. “Why don't I get you some water, Elizabeth ?” He ducked out of the lean-to before she could answer.

Nina frowned at the interruption, but pressed the widow. “Did Dan beat up on you?”

“Me? You think I killed him!” Elizabeth pulled away from Nina.

“Did he?”

“Dan tends to be physical about some things. He never means to hurt me,” Elizabeth said.

And how many times have I heard that one, Nina thought. Then again, Elizabeth didn't act like an abused wife. She didn't cower or make excuses, talk about how everything was her fault. Although Nina knew the rumors about Reardon's lecherous tendencies, she wondered if Elizabeth did. “What about lovers?”

“Are you kidding? He wouldn't dare!” Elizabeth 's whole demeanor changed.

Definitely not the mannerisms of an abused wife, Nina noted. “How about you?”

The widow's lips became a thin line and her eyes narrowed. “Lovers? Of course not.”

Avoiding eye contact, over emphasis, all the little tells were there. Elizabeth was lying. Both she and Reardon were swingers.

“Back to who would want to kill your husband. What about problems at work? Anyone there ticked off enough to kill him?”

Elizabeth considered for a moment. “Paul Llewellyn, but he's not with the company any more. Not after your husband's newspaper story.”

“Anyone else?”

Elizabeth took her time. Once again she looked around the lean-to, then smiled when Mason returned and handed her a bottle of water. “Thanks.”

Nina repeated her question.

“Maybe. Probably. Who knows? There were a lot of people jealous of Dan.”

“What about Spider?”

Elizabeth looked genuinely puzzled. “Who?”

“Your stepdaughter's boyfriend. The one with the piercings.”

“Oh, him. Dan didn't like him. He told Tiffany she couldn't see him, but the brat ignored him.”

The way she said it made Nina sympathize with Tiffany. Obviously her stepmother was barely aware of her existence.

“Can you think of anything else that might help us? Nina asked.

Elizabeth took a long pull from the water bottle. “I've told you everything I know.”

Nina tracked down Paul Llewellyn at the shooting range.

“I suppose you want to talk to me about what happened,” he said as she drew close. “I don't know anything.” He nodded a greeting at Mason.

That's what they always say, Nina thought. “Just need to place everyone so we can clear this up. Where were you about half an hour before the camp heard Elizabeth 's screams?”

She studied him while he thought back. Llewellyn was a good-looking man in his mid-thirties. His blond hair and fair skin marked his Welsh heritage. Fair skin that was getting decidedly sunburned. He was dressed in a blue and yellow calico shirt, leather breeches, and, Nina was careful to note, sturdy leather farm boots.

“I was clear out at the end of the field.” He gestured across the meadow. “Been out there most of the morning. I didn't even hear the screams. Hell, I didn't know anything had happened until I went to the cook shed for some coffee. Everybody there was buzzing about it.”

Nina measured the distance and conceded he probably wouldn't have heard. “Anybody with you out there?”

“Bob Paskin. And we saw the Reardon girl and that punk down by the creek. I think they saw us. We were gathering more dead fall to make the gun rest for the shooting contest.” He gestured to a short fence made of dead wood lashed together with a couple of black powder rifles leaning against it. A powder horn and a leather bag hung off one end.

“What did you do with Steve's knife?”

Llewellyn blinked a few times. “I dropped it off at your tent. No one was there so I set it on the drying rack. What does that have to do with anything?”

“What do you know about Dan Reardon?”

“Christ, I worked for the man for eight years! He was a lying, cheating son-of-a-bitch. Grabbed anything in skirts and then threatened to fire them if they said something. Treated Elizabeth like dirt except when he needed her on display.”

“You and Elizabeth good friends?” Mason asked.

Nina frowned at his interruption.

“If you're asking if we ever slept together, the answer is yes. More than once. But not recently. She's got others in her claws now.”

“I take it your relationship with Mrs. Reardon didn't end amicably?” Nina asked.

“Hell, no. She was too crazy for me. Between her husband stealing my program and her leaching on me for some thrills, I had enough.” Llewellyn ran his fingers through his hair in disgust.

“Did taking your program make you mad enough to want Reardon dead?” Nina watched his expression.

Llewellyn threw his hands up in the air. “Damn right it did!” He dropped his arms. “But I didn't kill him. I was across the meadow on the edge of the woods with Bob.”

Nina had one more item to check. “Let me see the soles of your boots.”

Llewellyn shrugged, and then lifted one foot so he was standing like a flamingo. The sole of his boot was old, worn down so there was little left of the tread. He put it down and lifted the other one. Equally as worn.

Nina and Mason left him and headed back toward the central area.

“Why don't you get some lunch? I've got to finish up my notes before the sheriff gets here. And I want to talk with Ernie Delacroix next.”

Mason nodded. “Anything else?”

“Check with your man and make sure the scene is still secure. I'll be in my tepee.”

Steve was stretched out on the pile of quilts they used as a bed. He sat up when she came in.

“How's it going?” He rose and came to stand behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “You're tense.” He began making delicious circling motions with his thumbs to ease the tension.

She let her head loll forward while he worked out the knots. “You would be too. By the way, we traced the knife, not that it necessarily clears you, but it does show that anyone could have the opportunity to use it.”

The massage stopped. “What else?”

She turned towards him and shook her head. “It's the whole thing. It's just so stupid. Why kill Reardon that way when there are a dozens of ways out here to make it look like an accident? Foxglove grows wild here. The trail into the mountains has some steep spots. A little push-oops.”

“Sometimes you really scare me,” Steve said, softening his words with a gentle stroking of his fingers along her neck. “Maybe it was a crime of passion.”

Nina shrugged. “Only way it makes sense. But why? Was it Dan's lover or a jilted lover? Was it one of Elizabeth 's? And it was premeditated. There was your knife. Someone had to consciously take it with them to the wagon. Is the killer trying to frame you or was it a matter of convenience?” She put her head in her hands. “And I shouldn't even be discussing this with you.”

“I'm your husband.”

“You're a material witness.” She looked at him. Temper flared in his eyes.

“Maybe I should just leave you alone before this turns into something we both can't take back.”

“Sorry, Steve. You have to stay here.” She took the three steps that brought her back up against him and laid her hands on his chest. “I know you didn't have anything do with this, but I've got to make certain all the little ducks are in line before the sheriff arrives.”

His shoulders relaxed and he put his arm around her and hugged her close. “Yeah, I know, and I'm really proud of your being a cop. I'm just not used to being so useless.”

Nina hugged him back. “You're not useless. But I've got to do this right.”

He released her and gave her a little push towards the entrance flap. “So you'd better get to it.”

She gave him a grateful smile and headed out to talk with Ernie Delacroix. She found him talking with Mason at the entrance to the Rendezvous grounds.

“I was here,” Ernie said, answering her first question. He indicated the canvas information and reception desk. “Setting up. Then I heard the screams and I headed in the direction of the wagons.”

“What about before? What were you doing between when I saw you at our tepee and you heard Elizabeth scream?”

“Right here.” He paused, then shook his head. “No, wait. After I talked to Mason I went and got some coffee at the cook tent. Talked with a few people there about this and that. Then I fetched the insurance waivers from my tent and lugged them over here. That's when I started setting up.”

“Who do you think would want to kill Reardon?”

Ernie screwed up his homely face as he thought. “No one that I know of. A lot of people didn't like him. But to kill him, that's got to be pretty deep hatred. He was a bastard, no doubt about it. The way he treated Elizabeth ! Poor woman. Putting up with that.”

“With what?”

“You know. He was always belittling her. I think he might have even hurt her. Not that she ever said anything.”

It seemed most of the men who encountered Elizabeth saw her as a helpless female. Everyone except Paul Llewellyn. Nina made a note. “You and Elizabeth are close?”

He actually blushed. “Well, you know how it is. We see a lot of each other because of the club.”

“Were you sleeping with her?”

“What?” Guilt washed over his face. “No! I mean, well… .” His voice trailed off.

“Were you sleeping with her?” Nina repeated.

“Just once. I swear, just once.” Ernie sat on the edge of the table. “She was so upset. It was after the society's Christmas party. Reardon was being a bastard as usual and she needed someone to talk to. You know how it is.” He avoided looking at her. “Just that once.”

“Did you notice any bruises. Did you see any evidence Reardon abused her?”

Ernie shook his head slowly.

“OK. You know not to discuss any of this, don't you?”

Ernie nodded. It seemed that his confession about sleeping with Elizabeth had drained him of words.

Nina looked down at his boots. Ernie was wearing an unbleached muslin shirt. “Just one more thing. Let me see the bottom of your boots.”

Looking puzzled, he crossed one foot over his thigh, then the other. The soles were smooth.

“OK. Remember, don't talk to anyone about what you saw unless it's me, the sheriff, or the coroner when they get here.”

Elizabeth Reardon was at the center of this, Nina was sure of it. Elizabeth manipulated men. It seemed a strange dichotomy, posing as victim and being the aggressor, but Nina had seen stranger personalities in her years on the force. Maybe Elizabeth had enjoyed provoking Reardon, or maybe she had used her flirting to get him to notice her beyond being his trophy. She'd leave that part to the shrinks.

But had any of her lovers plunged the knife into Reardon's heart to save her?

Nina couldn't see Ernie doing it. He might get in a nasty argument over something he cared about, but he didn't come across as physically aggressive. And his alibi stood up. Paul Llewellyn was convincing, but he still had the strongest motive. Still, the boots he was wearing didn't match the print in the wagon. Steve wore soft-soled warrior boots, something she would be quick to point out when the sheriff arrived. He didn't even own a pair of lug-soled boots. Spider's footwear was straight from the Harley-Davidson catalogue. Of all the people Nina had interviewed, only Ernie wore a muslin shirt that might match the thread.

There was only one man who fit the physical evidence. But she needed to check out one more detail. First, she stopped by her tepee and picked up her gun and her cuffs. The gun she secured in her belt at the small of her back. The cuffs went into her belt pouch.

It only took her a few minutes to cross the distance to the south end of camp. She checked to make sure the tent was empty before she slipped in. There was a neatly made-up cot, a trunk at its foot. And next to it a pair of heavy leather boots. Nina lifted one and examined the sole. It was a new sole, mud still caught between some of the lugs. She set both boots on top of the trunk and took pictures of them with her cell phone camera.

Nina stiffened when she heard the tent flap lift behind her. She turned to see Mason standing just inside the entrance, his gun in his hand.

He heaved a heavy sigh and took another step towards her. ”What are you doing?”

Nina crooked one arm behind her back, gripping her gun. She dropped her left to her side, concealing the cell phone as she pushed record. “It dawned on me you changed footwear between the time I saw you earlier this morning and when you came to the wagon. You're wearing an unbleached muslin shirt. And then I remembered how Elizabeth kept glancing at you while I was interviewing her. You are one of her lovers, aren't you?”

“Even if I were, that's all circumstantial. No fingerprints on the knife, no substantial physical evidence to place me at the crime.”

“How would you know there were no fingerprints on the knife unless you made sure it was wiped clean? I didn't even know that. But you are wearing a shirt that matches the thread caught in Reardon's nails. Add that to the boots, and we've got you. Rather sloppy for a former state trooper. You should have covered your tracks better, literally. Mason Trent, I am arresting you for the murder of Dan Reardon.”

“This is illegal. You don't have a search warrant. Besides, I'm the law here.” Mason indicated the badge on his shirt.

Nina knew some re-enactors got lost in their personas at events, but this was going too far. “I don't need a warrant for a public domain. You made it that when you set up that security sign. It's an invitation for anyone to enter. And I didn't search. You left the boots out in plain sight. That was arrogant of you.”

“I don't hold with hurting women, but I'll have to make an exception in your case.” He moved closer to her.

“Oh, please, how cliché.” Nina had seen a familiar silhouette in the entrance behind Mason. Steve. Damn the man! Mason wouldn't hesitate to shoot him. She needed to keep the former state trooper's attention on her.

But Mason must have sensed someone behind him because he glanced away from Nina.

That was all she needed. She kicked his gun hand, sending the weapon flying across the tent and had her own out and trained on him before he could do more than swear.

“Get down on the ground! Now!” she commanded. “Hands behind your head.”

Mason dropped to the floor of the tent, swearing. “Half-breed bitch. This is entrapment! I'll have your badge.”

Nina kept her gun trained on Mason as she reached with her other hand into her belt pouch. She tossed her handcuffs to Steve. “Cuff him.”

Her husband snapped the cuffs on Mason's wrists, then hauled the man up and slammed him into a chair.

“Why did you follow me?” she asked Steve after she had given Mason his Miranda Rights. “You were supposed to stay in the tent until the sheriff got here.”

“Honey,” Steve said, giving her that lopsided grin that turned her insides to mush. “I'm just protecting my claim.”