Smokin' Six-Shooter. B.J. Daniels
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for the girl’s body, but with no sign of the daughter. If anyone knows of the child’s whereabouts or has information about the killing, they are to contact the sheriff’s department at once. All calls will be confidential.
A few issues later, Jolene found the news article about the daughter.
DULCIE GRABBED SOMETHING to eat at a small café downtown and debated if she should call this Arlene Evans woman or drive out to her place. She opted to drive out unannounced and talk to her face-to-face.
As she was leaving the café, her mind on what she would say once she reached the Evans place, Dulcie bumped into a young woman coming out of one of the local businesses.
“Pardon me,” Dulcie said as the woman, slim, dark-haired and pretty, dropped the folder she’d been carrying. Papers fluttered across the sidewalk. “I’m so sorry.”
Dulcie hurried to help her pick up the scattered sheets, noticing that they were copies of newspaper articles. One headline caught her eye. Investigation Continues in Murder Case.
“Thank you,” the young woman said, clearly upset as she hurriedly stuffed the copies back into the folder and rushed to her compact car parked at the curb.
Murder? Dulcie wondered how many murders they had in a town like this and what were the chances the article could have been about Laura Beaumont. She told herself that when she had more time and information, she’d come back and have a look at some old newspaper stories.
As she climbed into her rental car, she put the incident out of her mind and drove south to the Evans place outside of Old Town Whitehorse.
Like everything else in this part of Montana, the houses were few and far between, with a lot of prairie and gullies and sagebrush to fill the spaces.
It was late and Dulcie wasn’t sure what approach to use when she knocked on the farmhouse door.
“Arlene Evans?” she asked the tall, rawboned ranch-woman who answered the door. Her hair was short in a becoming style that made her appear younger than Dulcie had expected.
“Yes?”
“I’m looking for some information and I was hoping you could help me.”
“I’ll certainly try. Why don’t you step in out of the heat? I just made some lemonade. Would you like a glass?”
Dulcie blinked in surprise at how easy it had been to get inside this woman’s home. Had this been Chicago and a stranger knocking on Dulcie’s door…well, she wouldn’t have opened it, let alone invited her inside for lemonade.
Dulcie noticed photographs on the wall of what appeared to be Arlene’s grown children. The oldest looked to be in her thirties and rather frumpy. A woman in her early twenties was posing with a baby in her arms and a young man, presumably her husband, standing next to her. They looked as if they were crazy about each other. The third photo was of a handsome young man, but there was something sneaky in his gaze.
“Is this about my rural online dating service?” Arlene asked from the kitchen. “Have a seat,” she said, motioning to the adjacent living room as she came in, and handed Dulcie a tall glass of lemonade.
It looked so good she took a sip before she sat down in the immaculate house. “This is wonderful,” she said, licking her lips.
Arlene Evans smiled as she sat down across from her. The house was surprisingly cool, considering how hot it was outside.
“An online rural dating service? That does sound interesting, but I’m here about something else,” Dulcie said. “Let me be candid with you. I am up here looking at a piece of property.” It was the truth. Just not as much truth as she’d told Roselee at the museum. She didn’t want another reaction like that one.
“Property?” Arlene repeated.
“I’m trying to find out the history of the place. I understand you’ve lived here all your life and might be able to help me.”
“Well, like I said, I’ll certainly try.”
Dulcie noticed the ring on Arlene’s finger as she put down her lemonade glass on one of the coasters on the coffee table. “That’s a beautiful ring.”
“Thank you. I’m getting married in a few months. A Christmas wedding.”
“Congratulations.” The diamond was extraordinary, and Dulcie wondered if Arlene was marrying some rich rancher from around here.
“So where is this property?”
“It’s outside Old Town Whitehorse. I believe the last occupant of the place was named Laura Beaumont?”
“Oh, my gosh.” Arlene’s expression told her that she’d hit paydirt.
“Did you know Laura?”
“Not personally. I knew she was widowed. She wasn’t from around here and wasn’t here all that long. I heard the land belonged to her husband’s family and was all that she had, so she had no choice but to live here after her husband died. She leased all of the farmland. Clearly she had no interest in farming or living in the country.”
Arlene seemed to catch herself. “I shouldn’t be saying anything because I didn’t know her. You know how rumors get started.”
Apparently Arlene was trying to live down her reputation as a gossip. “Do you know where Laura moved from?” asked Dulcie.
“California. That was another reason it was odd. Californians move to Montana all the time, just not this part of Montana, if you know what I mean.”
She did. California though? Not the Chicago area. So how was it that her parents knew this woman?
“Can you tell me what happened to her?”
“You don’t know?”
Dulcie wanted to hear it from Arlene. “Please, I really need you to be honest with me. I heard she might have been murdered?”
“Well, it’s not like I’m carrying tales. Everyone knows. She was murdered in one of the upstairs bedrooms twenty…oh, my gosh, twenty-four years ago this month!”
Did that explain why Roselee at the museum had gotten so upset? “Murder must be rare in this part of the country,” she said, thinking of the woman she’d run into earlier with the copies of the newspaper clippings about a murder.
“It is rare, but this murder.” Arlene shook her head. “It was quite vicious. She was stabbed to death over a dozen times and the killer was never caught.”
Dulcie was trying to take this all in when Arlene said, “What made it all the more horrific was her daughter.”
“Her daughter?”
“She was just a little thing, four or five, as I recall. They discovered her bloody footprints in the bedroom where she’d come in. She must have seen her mother lying there and ran.”
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