The Lost Sheenan's Bride (Taming of the Sheenans Book 6) Page 10

  Shane would have liked to have met his father, just once. He would have liked to stand toe to toe with Bill Sheenan and look him in the eye. It would have been easy to do. They were the same height. Six-foot-one.

  Shane had seen pictures of him as a young man, and Shane definitely had the Sheenan cheekbones, jaw, and mouth—one of the reasons he wore a beard—but he had his mother’s nose, as well as her coloring. All his brothers but Cormac had her coloring. He wished there were photos of her as a young girl. He would have liked to see what she looked like as a child. He’d been surprised when he moved in last spring that there were no photos of her in the house. He’d wondered if they were all in the master bedroom, locked away. The master bedroom was the only room that had a lock. Shane was free to roam the house, but the master bedroom was strictly off limits.

  Shane hadn’t cared initially. Now, knowing he had just a month left here, he wondered what secrets there were behind the locked door.

  Shane stroked the page with his mother’s name one last time, and then down the page before flipping it over to a page with a list of events and dates. Important events that needed to be recorded—her confirmation, and then years later, her marriage to William Sheenan on September 1974, and then the birth of each baby.

  1975 Brock

  1979 Troy & Trey

  1981 Cormac

  1982

  1985 Dillon

  He froze. There it was. It was what he’d been looking for all these years—not for the Douglas story, but his. 1982, his birth year. And no, his name hadn’t been recorded, but the year he’d been born had been recorded with all the others.

  He stared at the blank space next to the date, finding it significant, wondering if anyone else in the family had ever bothered to look at her Bible, and noticed the empty spot next to the year. Perhaps it meant nothing to his brothers. Perhaps they thought it referenced a miscarriage or still birth.

  But it meant something to him. It meant that his mother had recognized the birth, and she’d included it in her Bible, in the record of her life, in the history of her family.

  In a very small way he mattered. In a very small way he’d existed…even if only for her.

  Chapter Seven

  Jet usually attended the nine a.m. church service with Harley and the kids at St. James, but when she woke Sunday morning there was a text from Harley saying that Mack had woken up in the night with a stomach bug and Harley didn’t want to risk exposing anyone so they were staying home. Which meant Jet was free.

  Jet could have skipped church, but she didn’t. She went to the hour-long service and then afterwards walked to Main Street where she joined the line at Java Café for a croissant stuffed with scrambled eggs and cheese, but the line moved with agonizing slowness. Finally she placed her order for the eggs and croissant and a latte with an extra shot, and then searched for a place to sit.

  A couple at a table for four said she could join them and then returned to their conversation. Jet didn’t want to listen in so she pulled out her phone and pretended to be checking email and Instagram, but it was impossible to ignore the conversation when she realized they were discussing the Douglas family and the murders on the ranch.

  “Only three of the six Douglas kids survived, all the older ones,” the woman said to her boyfriend. “The oldest son was gone, driving someone to a party, so that’s why those two survived, but the rest were shot.”

  “They all died?” the man asked.

  “Everyone but Quinn. You know Quinn Douglas. He’s that outfielder that was just signed by Seattle.”

  “His family was killed?”

  “And he was shot like four or five times. He was supposed to die. The fact that he didn’t was a miracle.”

  “But everyone else died?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why was he left alive?”

  “I don’t know…maybe they thought he was dead?”

  Jet couldn’t move. Her ears felt like they were burning while the rest of her was icy cold. She didn’t want to sit here and listen to them discuss the murders, feeling a fierce protectiveness towards McKenna, understanding for the first time what it felt like hearing absolute strangers discuss a family she knew as if they were the Kardashians.

  This was why the Sheenans were angry about the book. This was why they didn’t want the book to happen, and yet, listening to the details, she found herself drawn into the conversation, and she knew it wasn’t because of McKenna but Shane. “Excuse me,” she said, interrupting the couple’s discussion. “I’ve just recently moved to the area. Do you live here?”

  “I used to,” the girl answered, tearing a chunk from her bagel. “I’m going to grad school in Missoula but Michael and I thought it’d be fun to head this way for a weekend ski trip and a visit to Marietta.”

  “Did you live here at the time of the Douglas ranch tragedy?” Jet asked.

  The girl nodded. “I was only five but I remember hearing my parents talk about it late at night in their bedroom. My dad told my mom to keep a gun on her always and not to be afraid to use it. He said with a murderer on the loose it was better not to take chances.”

  Jet was fascinated. “What did your mother say?”

  “She cried. She was scared. She didn’t want Dad to leave her for work, but he had to. He was one of the foremen on the Circle C Ranch and work had to be done.”

  “The Circle C Ranch?”

  “The Carrigans’ ranch in Paradise Valley. We lived on the ranch, so we were right there where it all happened.”

  Jet pushed her half-eaten croissant away. “So you were neighbors?”

  She nodded again. “Just up the road from the Douglases. That’s what made it so scary. The killer could be any one of the people living in the area, or hiding in the hills, or in one of the old homesteads, or maybe even in one of the abandoned mines…” Her voice drifted away. “Mom couldn’t handle it. Eventually we moved to town, and then later, they divorced.” She was silent for a beat and then added, “My mom used to say that whoever did it killed two families…the Douglas’ and ours.”

  The girl’s boyfriend reached over and covered her hand with his. Jet looked at their linked fingers and then blurted, “You know that a book is being written about the tragedy.” She didn’t know why she said that, but she was curious about the girl’s response.

  “Good,” the girl answered firmly. “Maybe they’ll finally catch that a-hole—or a-holes. Whoever did it should be punished.”

  “Do you think most people feel that way?”

  “That the murderer should be punished?”

  “About the book being written.”

  “I think people will be okay with the book if it solves the crime. Otherwise…what’s the point?”

  The girl’s boyfriend began stacking their plates and Jet knew they were about to leave but she had to ask one last question.

  “Who did your mom think did it? Did she ever say?”

  The girl shrugged. “She didn’t know. That’s why she started to hate the ranch. It made her feel crazy.”

  The boyfriend stood and the girl stood. Jet did, too. “So no theories?”

  “Lots of people said it might have been one of those seasonal ranch hands, or even someone who’d once worked for Mr. Douglas, but my mom thought it wasn’t about Mr. Douglas, but Mrs. Douglas.”

  “Why Mrs. Douglas?”

  “She was really beautiful. Many people say she was the most beautiful girl to ever come out of Crawford County. She was Miss Montana, did you know that?”

  Jet shook her head.

  “I don’t know exactly what happened,” the girl added, “but she gave up her crown after just a few months. She didn’t like being in the spotlight—I think she had some weird fans or maybe just one really obsessive fan—but it freaked her out and she left midyear, which was a big scandal in and of itself, and then got really religious afterwards, always attending church and Bible studies and revivals.”

  “So whoever committed the cri
mes could have been obsessed with Mrs. Douglas?”

  “That’s what my mom says. Maybe even some sicko involved with that weird church.”

  “Weird church?”

  “Traveling preacher. Thought he was the new Messiah or something. Now that is an interesting story.”

  The boyfriend had exited onto the street and the girl hurried to catch up. Jet accompanied her out. “Where is your mom now?”

  “She lives in Polson. Runs a shoe store with my step-dad.”

  “Thank you so much.” Jet extended her hand. “By the way, I’m Jet Diekerhof. I’m teaching at the one room schoolhouse in Paradise Valley. You’ve been really helpful.”

  “Laura,” the girl replied, shaking her hand. “Glad I could help.” And then Laura and her boyfriend, Michael, were walking away.

  Jet watched them a moment, thinking of everything just discussed, and then she thought of Shane and his book and all the rumors and scandal and how important it was that the book that was being written was correct, that he laid to rest the gossip and rumors and focused on the truth.

  She shouldn’t get involved. She shouldn’t. But maybe it was too late for that. Jet reached into her purse for her phone and shot Shane a text. “I learned some interesting things today about Douglas ranch. Interested?”

  He answered almost right away. “Yes.” Then added in a new text. “Heading off to ski right now, but should be home around two. Should I call then?”

  “Sure. Or I could drop by and tell you,” she answered.

  He didn’t hesitate. “Drop by.”

  Jet had a little over two hours to kill before she drove out to Shane’s. She knew approximately where the Sheenan ranch was as Harley had taken her on a tour of Marietta and Paradise Valley when Jet had first arrived, but needed to double check the actual road as the Sheenan ranch was an earlier exit than her schoolhouse, but then set deep in the valley, up in the foothills of the Absarokas, facing the Gallatin Mountain Range.

  Jet pulled up the map app on her phone and noted the exit she’d take off Highway 89 and then the winding road that looped the valley, connecting back with the highway just north of Pray. It’d take her twenty-five minutes or so to get to the Sheenan’s, leaving her an hour and a half to either get some work done, or watch TV, or maybe do a little research of her own into the Douglas ranch murders. She didn’t really know the story and if she was going to try to help Shane then she needed to know what really happened, which meant gathering the facts.

  Checking her watch, Jet realized the library would now be open so she walked quickly down Main Street, towards the courthouse in Crawford Park before cutting through the parking lot on Court Street for the library.

  The library’s parking lot only had a few cars in it, which wasn’t unusual for a Sunday. Jet climbed the front steps, the handsome building one of the first built in turn-of-the-century Marietta in the heyday of the copper mining boom, hoping Taylor Sheenan, Marietta’s new head librarian, would not be working today.

  Jet had always liked Taylor but she was still annoyed Taylor had told the others that she’d spotted Jet talking to Shane at Java Café last week. Just like it was none of Cormac’s business that she’d had dinner with Shane Friday night.

  Harley had put the squeeze on Jet to stay away from Shane but Jet wasn’t sure she could.

  Thank goodness there was no one Jet recognized at the library’s front desk so she asked the librarian on duty, an older woman with a welcoming smile, if they saved the local newspapers, and if so, how far back did they go.

  The librarian answered they had newspapers dating back almost one hundred years, although most of those early ones were fragile and rarely handled.

  “What about papers from the 1990’s, would any of those be available?”

  “I would think so. What are you looking for?”

  Jet drew a quick breath. “Papers that would be covering the Douglas ranch murders.”

  The librarian hesitated a moment before calmly answering, “That would be 1996. August. The murders took place on the first.”

  Jet met her gaze. “Could I have the papers for that first week?”

  “Give me a few minutes and I’ll bring them out to you. Where will you be sitting?”

  Jet nodded to one of the empty tables not far from the magazine racks. “Right there.”

  The woman returned a few minutes later with the papers. “Are you a journalist, too?” she asked, placing the papers on the table in front of Jet.

  Interesting. Shane must have been here researching. “No. I’m a teacher.”

  “History?”

  “It’s one of the subjects I teach. I’m at the Paradise Valley one room schoolhouse, just south of Emigrant Gulch.”

  “Didn’t they hire a new teacher just a year or two ago?”

  “Yes, Missy Sharp, but she’s on maternity leave and I’m filling in for the rest of the school year.” Jet held out her hand. “By the way, I’m Jet Diekerhof.”

  “I’m Louise Jenkins.” Louise glanced towards the front desk, making sure no one was waiting for her. No one was. It was still late morning and the library was practically empty. “Your last name—Diekerhof—sounds awfully familiar, but I’m not able to place it.”

  “You might know my sister, Harley. She’s now married to Brock Sheenan—”

  “I do. Harley, yes. She’s a lovely woman. She used to always bring the twins in once a week and I’d help them find books. I used to be the children’s head librarian but I retired last year and now just fill in when I’m needed.” Louise beamed at Jet. “So pleased to meet you. This is a wonderful surprise. I take it Harley helped get you the job?”

  “She did. I’m grateful.”

  “And now you want to know about the tragedy on the Douglas ranch.”

  Jet squirmed. “I don’t want to know, but there’s so much talk about it right now, and it’s a sensitive subject with the Sheenans so they never say much.”

  “Is there a lot of talk?”

  “I think so. Or maybe I’m just hearing about it because the Sheenans are upset about Sean Finley’s book.” Jet’s brow furrowed. “I take it he’s been here and talked to you about it.”

  “Yes. Mr. Finely—” Louise broke off as a mother and her three young children approached the front desk, arms full of books. “Let me go help them. Have a look at these and I’ll check back on you when I have a moment.”

  Jet didn’t even have to unfold the first paper to read the headlines. It covered the top quarter of the page, the font huge and black and shocking.

  Massacre on the Douglas Ranch. 5 Dead.

  Jet exhaled slowly, feeling her heart already pound. She wasn’t one who liked horror films. She didn’t enjoy being scared. And this was real.

  Spreading the paper out, Jet began to read.

  Just skimming the story chilled her. She felt sick by the time she was finished with the first article. Jet glanced up at the date on the paper. Friday, August second.

  The first days of the last month of summer before school started.

  The older boys, Rory and Quinn, had only been home an hour or so from their high school football practice, the infamous hell week at Marietta High.

  Rory, sixteen, had been asked to drive thirteen year old McKenna to a friend’s for a sleepover.

  Quinn had headed into the barn to do chores. And then it had happened. The violent assault—

  “Pretty horrific, isn’t it?”

  Jet jumped at the sound of Louise’s voice. She nodded. “I feel sick,” she whispered, unable to get the words out of her head, unable to imagine the horror Rory found on returning to the ranch after dropping McKenna in town. He had to race to the neighbor’s since, at the time, there was no cell coverage and the phone’s landline had been cut.

  “By far the darkest point in Marietta’s history,” Louise said.

  “You lived here then?”

  “I’ve lived here all my life.”

  “You remember it all?”


  “I do.”

  Taylor lifted the next paper and then the one after, and the front page of each was filled with more gruesome headlines. Bloodbath on Local Ranch. Baby Slain in Crib. Young Victim Still Clinging to Life.

  “And these headlines?” Jet said. “All true?”

  Louise nodded. “The nine-year-old tried to save his baby sister.”

  Jet swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “Quinn, the boy that was hurt, but survived?”

  “He was in ICU for weeks. He wasn’t supposed to make it. He crawled all the way from the barn to the driveway. That’s where Rory found him. He was trying to get help. Thank God for Rob MacCreadie and Bill Sheenan. They rushed to the scene, saved that boy. Both of them gave blood later. The whole town did. People lined up to donate blood. Everyone wanted to do something for those kids.”

  “Was Quinn able to identify the attackers?”

  “No. He was gunned down in the barn while taking care of horses.”

  “He was just a teenager.”

  “Almost sixteen. Just about to start his sophomore year of high school.”

  “How is he now? Okay?”

  “He’s fine. He recovered and went on to become a major league baseball player. He just signed a one-year contract with the Seattle Mariners and many expect this to be his last year.”

  So that’s the baseball player Laura and Michael were discussing at Java Café. “Did he have a good career?”

  “Excellent. But he wouldn’t have survived those early days if Rory and McKenna hadn’t stayed by his side, day and night. The hospital even put another bed in Quinn’s room to be sure someone could always be there with him.”

  “Where is Rory now?”

  “Still around, at least when he’s not competing on the IBR.”

  “IBR?”

  “International Bull Riders circuit.” Louise grimaced. “Talk about a rough sport. Don’t understand why anyone would want to do that.”

  “There’s got to be money, otherwise, why do it?” Jet agreed, thinking about everything she’d read and heard. “So what happened to the kids afterwards?”