Deadly Silence. Lindsay McKenna
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raptor, and then we’re going to the library computers and they’re going to do research on their raptor.”
“I have photos of Megan with Susie,” Casey told her. “Do you think that it will be helpful to send them to her father?”
“I think so. In fact,” Sherry touched Casey’s arm, “would you do something for me?”
“Sure.”
“I’m going to call Matt Sinclaire tonight and tell him what happened today. Would you have time to drive over to his house with the photos? You saw Megan here in class. She knows and she trusts you. Maybe if you take the photos over to Megan, he can see for his own eyes the effect it had on her. This could be a way to get her to speak again. Oh, I’m so excited! We owe both of you so much! I was so worried for Megan. I was anxious that the birds would scare her or traumatize her even more. But they didn’t. They opened her up as nothing else has!” Sherry quickly wiped away tears. She took out a tissue and blew her nose.
Katie touched the teacher’s shoulder. “I had heard of Megan’s situation before this. Jackson Hole is a small town and we all knew what happened to the Sinclaires. I was over at Quilter’s Haven when I heard about it from Gwen Garner, the owner.”
Sniffing and laughing, Sherry said, “Oh, yes, our quilting store! If you want to know anything about what’s going on, you go there.”
“You know that Bev Sinclaire was a quilter before she was murdered?” Katie asked.
Casey said, “I’m new here, and I haven’t gotten to know this area yet.”
“Do you quilt, Casey?” Katie asked.
“I sew my own clothes. I don’t have any quilting skills.”
“Well,” Sherry said, “since you’re stationed here for the next five years as a ranger at the Tetons National Park, make yourself known to Gwen at the quilting store. The women all gather over there. They know everything that’s going on in the area. It might do you some good to go there for a visit with Gwen before you see Matt Sinclaire and his daughter.”
Nodding, Casey said, “I’ve just rented an apartment in town with a woman firefighter, Cat Edwin.”
“Oh, I know her!” Sherry said. “She’s the only woman on the fire department. And she’s a quilter. Did you know that?”
Shaking her head, Casey murmured, “I just got the apartment with her because she’d advertised for a roommate. I knew she was with the fire department, but I haven’t had time to get to know her much at all.”
Katie grinned and picked up the two raptor boxes. “Go visit Gwen. She’s the wife of a rancher. The Garner family has been in this valley since the fur trappers came here a hundred and fifty years ago. I think it’s a great idea to take the photos over to Megan, but get the scoop from Gwen first. That way, you can be educated and handle the situation with the father and daughter even better.”
Casey nodded. “Okay, sounds like a plan. I’ll do that.”
Sherry gave them a warm look. “Thank you, ladies. Casey, give me your phone number. I’ll call Mr. Sinclaire tonight and fill him in. He can call you and you two can set a day and time to exchange those photos of Megan holding Susie on her glove.” She clasped her hands. “I just pray to God this is the breakthrough Megan needs. Her father, Matt, is so filled with guilt over his daughter’s condition. It just tears my heart up.”
Casey nodded. She understood tragedy, suffering, grief and guilt. “Sounds like a plan to me. She’s a sweet child. I’d like to see her work through her trauma and start talking again.”
Katie walked to the door and waited for Casey to open it for her. “It’s known as hysterical muteness, Casey. Megan has been through a battery of shrinks and they’ve all told Matt Sinclaire the same thing—it’s hysterical. A little six-year-old doesn’t realize that, of course. And now, two years later, Megan is still mute, which tells you the power of the trauma she experienced.”
Casey opened the door. “Yes,” she murmured, “it does.”
Sherry followed Kate and Casey out into the empty hall and walked with them. The children were all in the lunchroom, but Sherry kept her voice low. “Listen,” she told Casey, “Mr. Sinclaire has his problems, too. I mean, Bev Sinclaire and he were childhood sweethearts from the moment they met in the first grade. She was the love of his life. He’s not over her death. He’s filled with guilt and remorse from what I can see.”
Katie nodded and they turned down the hall toward the exit doors. “He’s blaming himself for what happened. He was in Cheyenne at fire school when it occurred. But look, go to the quilting store. You’ll find out everything you ever needed to know about Matt Sinclaire from Gwen.”
Casey opened the door, the cool April breeze hitting them. There was snow on the ground, but the sky was a bright blue. The sun warmed her a bit. “Okay, I’ll do that.” Casey gave Sherry Harrington her business card. “Call me, Sherry, when you know something.”
“Oh, I will, Casey. Bless you! Thank you!”
Casey didn’t feel very blessed. She walked with Katie out to her SUV and opened the rear door so Katie could put the bird boxes in and strap them down. The asphalt parking area had been cleared of snow and was wet and gleaming under the midday sunlight.
“Do you know anything about Matt Sinclaire?” Casey asked, shutting the door.
Katie fished the keys out of the pocket of her red jacket. “He’s a hunk.”
Casey laughed. “Okay.”
Grinning, Katie said, “He’s thirty years old, black hair, green eyes, square face and about six foot two inches in height. He’s been on the fire department eight years, and he’s a lieutenant. Before Bev was murdered, Matt was a pretty outgoing dude. But now—” Katie opened the driver’s-side door “—he’s pretty serious, unreadable and just about as mute as his daughter.”
“Sounds pretty grim,” Casey muttered, frowning.
Katie nodded and frowned. “How do you get over your wife suddenly being torn from you? And on top of that, your child goes mute and is trapped inside her own trauma? Matt can’t fathom what she has endured. No one can.”
“Really bad stuff,” Casey mumbled, frowning. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her brown nylon Forest Service jacket. Her mint-green USFS truck was parked next to Katie’s vehicle.
“Gwen has said repeatedly that Matt needs psychological help, but he’s refused. He’s gummed up tighter than Fort Knox when it comes to his own grief. All we see is his guilt. He just hasn’t been able to open up and let out all that toxic grief,” Katie said. She climbed into her truck. “Maybe, Casey, you’re a ray of sunlight into his dark world. That was smart of you to take those photos.” She grinned and slipped the key into the ignition. The engine growled to life. “Who knows? Maybe those photos will not only help Megan, but Matt, too. Good luck!”
CHAPTER THREE
CASEY’S HANDS WERE DAMP as she stood at the door of a white, one-story, ranch-style house with green trim. Flexing her fingers, she couldn’t stop the tension that thrummed through her. Nervously, she smoothed her shoulder-length brown hair. The April morning was sunny with a cobalt-blue sky—a rare event for this time of year, she’d been told by her supervisor, Charley, who had given her two hours off to run over to Matt Sinclaire’s home.
Knocking a couple of times, Casey stood back and waited. In her left hand, she held her beat-up brown leather briefcase that had seen her through her university years. What was Matthew Sinclaire like? And how would Megan receive the photos of Hank, the red-tailed hawk?
The door opened.
Automatically, Casey held her breath for a moment. Her eyes widened as a man in a red T-shirt and jeans appeared. Instantly, her heart began a wild, unfamiliar beat. She