The Crossroads (A Joe Pickett Novel)

At the junction, the public road ended and the three roads emerging from it were private. Each was posted with signs to warn the public that to proceed on them amounted to trespassing. The road that went to the north led eventually to the magnificent Double Diamond Ranch, one of the largest landholdings in the Twelve Sleep River Valley. The middle road continued on to the Bucholz Cattle Company. And the southern spur led to the McElwee Land and Cattle Ranch holdings.

All three ranches were longtime, multigenerational properties with distinct characteristics. The Double Diamond was owned by a wealthy southern mogul and his much younger wife. The Bucholz place was run by a fourth-generation couple who, rumor had it, had acquired the ranch in a shady transaction that was still whispered about. The owners of the McElwee Land and Cattle Ranch were sisters who were notorious for committing hunting and fishing violations, bending the law to fit their needs, and being involved in large-scale criminal schemes, though they'd never been charged. Joe said he hated going out there.

Although Joe and Marybeth had lived in the valley for over twenty years, they still felt like newcomers when it came to the personalities, backgrounds, and conflicts that had erupted between the principals of the three ranches. What Marybeth had heard about the three ranches often had dark and gothic overtones. Rumors of water wars, cattle rustling, spouse-swapping, missing ranch hands, cut fences, and feuds spanning several generations.

*  *  *

Marybeth was upon Antler Creek Junction when she topped a hill and the swale with the roads cutting through it appeared before her. A green Game and Fish Department pickup sat squarely in the middle of the road where the three ranch road spurs began. At first glance, there was no hint which fork the truck was going to take before being shot at. Beside the pickup was the EMT van, its lights flashing. The law enforcement vehicles ahead of her sped to the location and surrounded it.

The scene before her made her take in a sharp breath and hold it. Her heart raced and her mouth went dry.

She followed the LE vehicles to the junction and parked away from them. No one seemed to notice her back there.

Marybeth climbed out of her car and hugged herself tightly against the icy wind. Her eyes teared up from both the sharp wind and what she saw as she walked toward the pickup, her hair whipping around her face. The sheriff's deputies, a town cop, and a state trooper had already emerged from their vehicles to jog to the scene.

It was Joe's truck. Clearly stenciled on the side panel was GF-10, his call signal. As if to underscore her terrible realization, their black Lab, Biscuit, appeared at the back of the pickup frantically hopping up and down. Marybeth knew she did that when she was scared or stressed-out. Biscuit had likely been in the cab when it happened and she hoped the dog wouldn't be forever traumatized.

The windshield was shattered and had turned white with bullet impacts, but the glass had held together. There were three large holes in the glass on the driver's side, as well as concave dents in the hood and side doors that were clearly made by bullets. Two of the holes were centered at eye level to a driver.

EMTs huddled around the driver's side. They were shouting and moving quickly. One of them motioned to the driver of the EMT van to bring a stretcher. She heard the word "stat."

As she neared the pickup, Marybeth felt as if her soul were leaving her body and hovering above her and that she was taking everything in through the eyes of a dispassionate third party. It was all so surreal.

Then she felt a firm grip on her shoulder.

"Ma'am," a deputy she didn't recognize said, "I don't think you're supposed to be here."

The deputy looked as young as her daughters. He was trying to grow a mustache. His cheeks were flushed.

"I'm Marybeth Pickett," she said, her voice flat. "That's my husband's truck."

He winced at that. "Please don't get in the way of the medical professionals."

"Why can't I see him?" she asked.

The deputy shook his head. He was at a loss for words.

Deputy Frank Carroll approached her. He had been at the pickup and his face was ashen. He had a tough time meeting her eyes at first.

"It's Joe, isn't it?" she asked.

He nodded that it was.

"Is he dead?"