Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Chance poured another glass of whiskey as the pounding sounded through the empty house again, but he ignored it. He was Justice Bear’s son. He answered to no one.
Reaching down, he grabbed the hunting knife he’d been sharpening to a fine point. He held it against the grinding stone, pushing the blade across the surface at angles like his people had done for hundreds of years, and envisioned his enemies on their knees begging him for mercy.
“The weakness of my enemy gives me strength.”
The pounding sounded a third time, and Chance smiled as the room filled with the sound of metal against stone. His endgame was in sight. He just had to wait for the right time. Then he would taste the sweetness of victory before he left this miserable world and soared with the eagles.
_______________
An itch began to worm its way down Logan’s spine as he drove into town. He had no doubt that Chance Bear had been home, and the fact he wasn’t answering his door, with a dead man on his property, turned that itch into a burn. As he made the curve that brought him into Ennis’ downtown, the shell of the mortuary opened up in front of him. Logan rolled to a stop and stared at the charred remnants as the burning intensified.
Five deaths in a week? Was Skylar making a mountain out of nothing or was there something going on in Ennis, Montana, other than Duke’s disappearance?
Logan pulled to the side of the road and got out, staring at the burned out structure. He closed his eyes and pictured where he’d found Frank and the elderly woman. That was two of the five dead. Duke was still missing and Rip was on his way to Twin Bridges morgue. That left Justice Bear.
The fire marshal’s report had been waiting for Logan when he got to Duke’s office, but he hadn’t had time to read it. He’d grabbed it, along with incident reports he’d need to fill out concerning Rip Jackson’s death, before leaving. He’d planned to study the fire marshal’s findings after filling out the incident report at the bar, but he turned and opened the door to his truck and pulled out the manila file folder. Using his cell phone as a light, he scanned the report, searching for the deceased listed. When he found that section of the report, his jaw ticked. There were only two bodies listed and Justice Bear wasn’t one of them.
“Where the fuck is Justice Bear?”
Logan looked back at the mortuary.
Cremated?
Tossing the file folder into his cab, Logan moved around to the bed and climbed inside. He dug through his tools until he found his flashlight, then hopped down and headed across the street. The snow had covered the damage with a blanket of pristine white, but the cremator stood in sharp relief against the snow, like a small cave beckoning shelter for local wildlife.
Timbers had been moved and stacked, clearing a path for the fire marshal to do his work. He’d met the man Ennis had appointed to the position. He was in his sixties and more than ready to retire. He also wore thick glasses. The kind that said his eyesight had long since passed 20/20 vision.
Once he reached the cremator, Logan crouched and shined the light inside what was left of the structure. Snow had blown inside, hiding what was left of the burners used to bake a body into ashes. He flicked his light to the dials and gauges that controlled the gas and flames. The model was old. He’d seen modern-day crematories. Most were controlled electronically, with sliding doors and digital displays. This model had a single iron door that opened out, allowing the crib—the table the body lay on during cremation—to extend outside the brick furnace. It looked similar to a submarine hatch, with a small peephole to observe the cremation process. An electronic ignitor had been added at some point, but to light the furnace, Frank still had to turn the gas valve on by hand.
Logan directed his light at the gas valve and turned the handle counterclockwise to see if it was open. When it didn’t budge, he turned it to the right. It rotated easily, indicating the gas line had been wide open at the time of the explosion.
That itch, which had turned into a burn, was now on fire.
He turned his flashlight back inside the cremator and noted the snow hadn’t been touched around the crib or burners. It had started snowing early afternoon the day before and according to the weather report, Ennis had received at least twelve inches. The inside of the cremator held at least that much or more. If it had been searched during the investigation the day before, he would have expected to see half that amount.