“Do you know the sheriff in Ekalaka, Montana? His name is—”
“Bebe Verplank,” Kirkbride said. “Yeah, I know Bebe. Good guy. But why are you interested in him? Have you ever been to Ekalaka?”
*
THE OLD STAND BAR and Grill had a covered porch outside supported by four-by-fours. Inside was a bar with two big-hatted cowboys separated by a single stool. It was an ancient place. A cavernous room to the right was scattered with steel and formica tables, most not occupied. The ceiling sagged in the room and looked like it might give out any moment.
Sheriff Verplank waved her over from a table. As she approached he stood and removed his tan cowboy hat with his left hand and extended his right.
“Bebe Verplank.”
“I’m Cassie Dewell,” she said. “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”
“Jon said you’d be coming. He said you’re one of the good ones.”
“That’s nice to hear.”
He nodded, waited for her to sit down, and did the same.
Verplank was in his mid-sixties, with light gray eyes and a white bristly mustache that hung over his top lip like the head of a toothbrush. He had faint smile lines on both sides of his mouth.
“Jon told me what happened up in North Dakota,” he said to Cassie. “Let me say that I’m very sorry for your loss.”
She nodded. “Ian was a good man. I miss him.”
“Jon said the same. He also said you two both got railroaded.”
“You can put it that way.”
“And that you’re now trying to help an old woman out by doing a private investigation of some kind?”
She nodded. “I’m not a licensed private investigator. I’m a civilian with a law enforcement background. When it comes to arresting someone I’ll call the cops, hand over what I’ve found, and let them take over. I just want to make sure we’re clear on that.”
“Crystal clear,” he said. “You get to do investigative work without all the bureaucracy and politics of a sheriff’s department. I envy you there.”
She smiled.
“We’re in luck,” he said, gesturing around the room of The Old Stand. “No one ever knows when this place is going to be open or closed. The owner just kind of does what he wants to. I don’t know why he even posts hours on the door because he doesn’t pay any attention to them.”
“It’s interesting,” Cassie said.
He looked up and grinned while he took her in. He had a friendly, half-amused-at-everything demeanor, but behind it were the cool eyes of a lawman.
“It was either here or the Church of Hank Williams,” he said.
“The Church of Hank Williams?”
“That’s what they call it,” he said. “It’s really an old garage down the street where locals bring their own beer and sit around and listen to old country music and shoot the shit when The Old Stand is closed. I’ve wound up there a few times myself.
“Wife’s gone to Miles City,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind if I order some dinner here while we talk. I missed lunch today because I was chasing a cow that jumped the fence and got on the highway. So I’m damned hungry.”
“Did you catch the cow?” she asked.
“Sadly, yes,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “But it was a rodeo for a couple of hours. As you can guess, my life as a sheriff is filled with nonstop action.”
That made her smile.
“It’s not like the big city,” he said. “We don’t spend much time trying to stop a gang war—or chasing the Lizard King.”
“So you know about those things,” she said.
“I did my homework on you and Jon filled in the gaps. Damned impressive work you did.”
“Thank you,” she said. She knew she was blushing.
“Jon said you were the best chief investigator he ever had.”
She wanted to get to the point but not offend him. And Cassie couldn’t deny that the compliments made her feel good. She also knew that innocent small talk from a sheriff wasn’t always innocent. It was a technique to disarm while verifying the subject at the same time.
“I’m sorry to call you on your personal cell phone to request a meeting,” she said.
“Everybody here calls me on my cell phone,” he said. “I used to joke that nobody in Carter County knew how to dial the numbers nine-one-one.”
She smiled.
“So, first time in Ekalaka?”
“Yes.”
“You won’t get lost, that’s for sure.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Do you know the story of this place?” he asked.
“The town or this bar?”
“Both,” he said with a grin. “A man named Claude Carter—hence the county name—was pulling logs and whiskey across the state in the 1880s to build a bar down by Miles City. He got his wagon stuck in the creek out there and he said, ‘Hell, anyplace in Montana is a good place for a saloon,’ and he built this place right here where it still stands.
“You think I made that up, don’t you?”
Before she could answer, a waitress in a dark red smock approached the table with a pad and pen. “Do you know what you want?”
“What do you think?” Verplank said.
“Baseball steak medium-rare, burnt fries, salad with Thousand Island.”
He nodded and said to Cassie, “Try the baseball steak. They cut all their own meat here in the back.”
“Baseball steak?”
“Exactly like it sounds,” he said. “The size and shape of a baseball. A damned nice piece of meat.”
Cassie looked up at the waitress and said, “I’ll have what he’s having. Only blue cheese instead of Thousand Island.”
“We don’t have blue cheese,” the waitress said.
“Then Thousand Island.”
“Good choice,” she said and departed the table with a knowing wink to the sheriff.
When she left, he said, “Everybody knows Mrs. Verplank is gone and here I am sitting at dinner with a nice looking lady. It’ll be the news at the Church of Hank Williams within the hour.”
“So,” she said, “about that body you found…”
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
“IT’S NOT LIKE WE NEVER see any dead bodies around here,” Sheriff Verplank said to Cassie as he cut into his steak. Juice from the meat pooled across his plate.
“We see our share,” he said, taking a bite. He chewed slowly and closed his eyes because he obviously enjoyed it so much.
After he swallowed, he said, “Car accidents, mainly, and once in a while a suicide. But ninety-five percent of the bodies I’ve been called out on died by natural causes. We thought we had a double homicide a while back but it turned out it wasn’t. The story is a weird one even for here.
“A local rancher called to say there was a car with South Dakota plates parked off to the side of a service road on his place. The rancher looked inside and didn’t see anybody so he called me.
“We checked it out and found a dead female in the trunk. That looked highly suspicious,” he said. “Then we found her husband dead a quarter mile away. He’d been shot in the chest with a deer rifle that was laying there next to him in the mud.”
He jabbed his fork at her.
“Hey, you had better eat up before yours gets cold.”