Smoke and Mirrors

5

Faith Ann’s deer hung by his spread back legs in the open-air shed beside the RV. After Winter had skinned the animal, put the meat in the chiller, and placed the caped head on the concrete floor, Rush suddenly turned. “Somebody’s coming,” he said. “They took the chain off the gate.”

The north gate to the property was seventy-five yards away down a gravel road that curved through the woods. After a few seconds Winter heard a vehicle approaching. He reflexively touched the handgun at his side. Since the front gate was kept locked, whoever was coming in either had a key or knew where the spare key to the padlock was hidden. Billy Lyons had said he wasn’t coming down, nor were they expecting any of the other men that sometimes hunted on the four hundred acres. He put the wide-bladed skinning knife down and peeled off the surgical gloves he wore to keep his hands blood-free.

The truck was a silver-gray extended cab Toyota Tundra with large tires and a five-pointed star on the front license plate. The driver cut the motor and climbed out of the cab. There was something familiar about the tall man who walked over to the shed. He wore a short coat that broke above his sidearm, a Colt Python. The letters TCS were emblazoned on the brown baseball cap he wore.

“Hello,” the man called out as he approached the shed.

An alert Nemo growled and looked up at Winter.

“It’s okay, Nemo,” Winter said.

“Hello, Winter,” the stranger said. “You must be Rush and Faith Ann.”

“Who are you?” Faith Ann asked as the tall man came into the shed.

“I’m Brad Barnett,” he said. “I’m the sheriff in Tunica County.”

“Brad Barnett,” Winter said, shaking the sheriff’s proffered hand. “Billy’s buddy from Ole Miss. I thought you looked familiar. Been a long time.” Barnett was six one or so, forty pounds heavier than he had been the last time Winter had seen him, but he looked as fit and quick as he had years before. He had a pleasant, boyish face and an easy smile, his brown eyes radiated intelligence.

“Twenty years, give or take,” Brad said. “Who killed the monster?” he asked, bending down and turning the heavy antlers on the animal’s head for a better look.

“I killed him,” Faith Ann said proudly.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a nicer buck taken in these parts,” Brad said.

“It was her first one too,” Rush said, smiling. “She killed it in deer-defense.”

“Deer-defense?” Brad asked.

“He was beating up this other buck,” the boy said. “Faith Ann decided the fight wasn’t fair, so she rang the bell.”

“You wanting to hunt?” Massey said.

“I wish I had time.”

Nemo sniffed at Brad’s leg, wagging his tail. The sheriff reached down, let the dog sniff the back of his hand, then rubbed the animal behind his ears.

“You smell my dog, Ruger? Last time I saw you, Winter, was homecoming weekend my junior year,” Brad said. “You stayed with Billy. He set you up with a blind date he ended up marrying.”

“Yeah.” Winter smiled. “And Ole Miss lost that game.”

“I believe so.”

Winter saw Brad’s eyes go to his handgun, a custom-made stainless.45 automatic with stag grips.

“Nice-looking piece,” Brad said. “Wilson or Kimber?”

“Neither.” Massey took out the.45, ejected the loaded magazine into his hand, pocketed it, ejected the shell from its chamber, let the hammer down gently, and handed the weapon over to Brad. “Custom gun maker named Kase Reeder made it.”

“Beauty,” Brad said, turning the gun to read what was inscribed on the weapon. “Flagstaff, Arizona. I’m not familiar with his work.”

“It was a gift from my wife, Sean,” Winter said. “Faith Ann’s great uncle read about it in a handgun magazine. When Sean asked him what she could get me for my last birthday, he called Reeder and he made it for me. First.45 I’ve ever carried, but it’s the most accurate gun I’ve ever owned.”

Brad whistled and handed the Reeder Rekon Kommander back to Massey, who reloaded it and slipped it back into its holster, snapping the thumb brake closed.

“Billy told me you were the sheriff in Tunica now,” Winter said.

“He told me you’re off the job,” Brad said. “Something about working for a big security company.”

“I’m just a consultant on protection programs for their corporate clients.”

“Who’s mounting the head for you?” Brad asked.

“Calvin Patton,” Winter said. “He’s at his shop now. That’s why I’m hurrying.”

“Patton’s about the best there is around here,” Brad said. He looked at Faith Ann. “You know what kind of mount you want?”

“A left-hand sneak mount,” she said. “I’m going to put it over our fireplace.”

“Good choice,” Brad said.

“Faith Ann always knows what she wants,” Winter said.

“That way he’ll always look like he’s smelling that other buck’s heated-up does just around the corner in the kitchen,” Rush said.

“What brings you way down here?” Winter asked Brad.

“Well, fact is, Billy told me you were out here. I called him to find out where you were.”

Winter was perplexed. “Why are you looking for me?”

“Well, your name came up and I wondered, if you had some time, maybe you could take a couple of hours and visit Tunica County,” Brad said. “I tried to call the number he gave me but there was no answer.”

“I don’t have my cell on.”

“I hate to interrupt your hunt, but I sure could use your help.”

The motor home door opened and Sean came out carrying Olivia on her hip. She strode over and stood beside Winter.

“My wife, Sean,” Winter said. “Sean, this is Tunica County sheriff Brad Barnett. He’s an old friend of Billy’s. We spent a wild homecoming weekend together at Ole Miss some years back.”

Sean’s smile was warm and her eyes sparkled with interest and kindness. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said. “This is Olivia, our daughter. She’s two and very shy.”

As if on command, Olivia hid her face in Sean’s down vest, then peeked at Brad and smiled.

“Cooww go moo,” she said, pointing at the deer.

“Cow,” Rush said, laughing.

“What’s going on in Tunica County?” Winter asked.

“I’d like to have your input on a case I have.”

“What kind of case?” Winter asked.

“Homicide,” Brad replied.

Sean Massey’s smile remained in place, but her eyes changed.

“Cool,” Rush said.

“I was a deputy U.S. marshal,” Winter said. “If you need my opinion on how to locate a fugitive, or how to best serve a warrant, I’m your man. Other than that…” He shrugged.

“I understand all that. Just a quick look. Three hours, tops.”

“I wouldn’t be any help with it,” Winter said.

“This one looks like a professional killing. It’s the first one like it I’ve run across, and I think I’m in over my head.”

“The Mississippi Bureau investigators are your best bet,” Winter said.

“I have a nineteen-year-old victim who was shot from almost half a mile away with a high-powered rifle. It will be treated as an accidental shooting because it’s hunting season. Other than a polished casing, I’ve got nothing but some boot prints and tire treads. She’s a local girl who finished high school last year. She was a young black girl from a good, hard-working family.”

“Maybe she was a target of opportunity.”

“It’s possible, but the place I’m talking about isn’t one anybody would just happen upon.”

Sean Massey was silent, thinking. “Rush, Faith Ann,” she said. “Come in and wash your hands. Lunch is ready. Sheriff Barnett, will you join us?”

“I’d love to, but I’m sort of in a hurry.”

Winter watched the family until the door closed, then turned his now-serious eyes on Brad. “What’s the real deal here, Brad?” Winter said. “I know my reputation better than anybody. You have a killing with a rifle, and I’m close by hunting with a rifle? I haven’t left this land in two days. And half the people on earth can shoot a rifle better than I do.”

“Well, I don’t think you were involved, but somebody wanted me to,” Brad said, reaching into his pocket and taking out a plastic bag containing a business card. Winter took it and did a double take as he recognized the card.

It read WINTER JAMES MASSEY, DEPUTY U.S. MARSHAL. It was definitely his, with the Charlotte, North Carolina, address and phone numbers.

“That was left at the scene where the shooter set up. Best I can come up with is that he wanted me to think you were there. Anybody else might have believed that was the case, but I know better.”

Winter had a hard time forming his thoughts, his eyes locked on the card.

“I can make time,” Winter said firmly, handing back the card. Somebody was calling him out.