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  Justice for Katie

  A Jake and Emma Mystery

  LINDA CROWDER

  © 2015 Linda Crowder

  First Edition

  Cover Art by Carla Gabriel Garcia

  All Rights Reserved Including:

  The right of reproduction in any form, or by any mechanical or electronic means including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, in whole or in part in any form and in any case not without the written permission of the author and publisher.

  This work is fictional. Any resemblance to any human being, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  to contact the author, visit www.lindajcrowder.com

  Other books by linda Crowder

  Jake and Emma Mysteries:

  Too Cute to Kill

  Main Street Murder

  Nonfiction:

  Life Isn't Just Luck

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I owe a huge debt to my fellow Indie Authors. Their wisdom, encouragement and suggestions have improved my writing and my professionalism as an author. I find in Indies the spirit of cooperation and "each one reach one" that I miss from my days in nonprofits. Indies are fiercely committed to writing and publishing the best work possible. I find them generous and open, sharing their mistakes and successes for the benefit of all.

  If you enjoy flinch-free fiction, like mine, please seek them out at Clean Indie Reads.

  1

  Jeb Cannon's mind was not on fences or cattle or the July heat. As he rode behind his father, Jeb was thinking about a challenge he was having with his latest short story. He hoped to have the story perfected in time to enter the 1985 Wyoming Art Council's Young Writer competition before submissions closed next week.

  He'd been entering every year for the last four years. Last year his story garnered an Honorable Mention. He thought this year's entry might finally earn a prize if he could just make it work. Jeb loved writing sci-fi, creating a world where only he was in control, but lately his characters seemed to defy him. Whenever he took them in the direction he wanted the story to go, they seemed listless and hollow.

  There were few people Jeb could talk to about the rebellion of his characters. His mother enthusiastically supported the writing that his father merely tolerated yet even she could not understand why characters Jeb created would not do his bidding. If he had to be honest, Jeb didn't quite understand it either.

  His mind occupied by the looming deadline, Jeb didn't notice his father's horse had stopped. Thankfully Magic, Jeb's horse, was paying attention. When she abruptly halted, Jeb gripped the saddle horn and tightened his legs around her to keep his seat. Long accustomed to her rider, Magic stood patiently behind Whiskey, the Black Chestnut gelding Jeb's father rode.

  As a rule, Jeb enjoyed riding fence on horseback. He appreciated the horse's companionship and the feeling of freedom they shared whenever he had time to go out with her and just ride. Magic was always eager to saddle up and together they'd explored every inch of his family's 3,200 acre ranch.

  Jeb nudged Magic and came alongside Whiskey, following his father's gaze to see why he had stopped. They'd been riding this stretch of fence along the highway for two miles now, with three more to go before their land turned away from the road. They were riding midway between the fence and a short rise and it was toward the rise that Jeb's father was staring.

  Jeb saw the bone pile, laying scattered just over the rise. Range of vision was one of the reasons his father chose horses when he checked fence. Seated on Whiskey, Mac Cannon was a good two feet higher than he would have been in the truck, with no cab around him blocking his view. "Always best to see what's coming," he would say whenever Jeb suggested taking the truck would make the job of checking fence along the five square mile border of the ranch go faster.

  "Winter kill?" Winters were harsh in Wyoming and though they searched for missing cattle when they brought the herd in, there were always a few stragglers they couldn't find. Most managed to find their way home but others were not so lucky. The bones looked like they had been there awhile.

  "Maybe a calf," answered his father, "or antelope. Not big enough for a cow."

  Mac rode slowly over the rise to get a closer look. Jeb stayed behind, his mind returning to his story. Idly, he watched his father ride back but the ashen tone of his face drove away all thoughts of his story. His father had a heart attack last fall and Jeb's own heart clutched to see him.

  "Dad, what is it?" he asked with alarm.

  "Son, ride back to the house and call the Sheriff."

  "Is it your heart again? I don't want to leave you out here."

  Jeb's father shook his head. "I'm fine, son. Just go call the Sheriff. Tell him we found a body."

  A body? Jeb nudged Magic, starting toward where he'd seen the bones but his father stopped him. "You don't want to see it, son. Just get back to the house and make that call. I'll wait here for the Sheriff."

  There aren't many things too gruesome for the curious eyes of a 15 year-old boy and growing up on a ranch, Jeb had seen his share of things that would turn grown men's stomachs. Trusting his father's judgment, however, Jeb turned Magic toward the house and set off as fast as the horse could safely travel over the rough terrain.

  ***

  Thirty years later, Emma Rand was listening to the silence in the room, broken only by the low hum of an oscillating fan in the corner. When she was training to become a therapist, putting in supervised hours after graduate school, silences during sessions had unnerved her. She'd filled them at first, and found it difficult to follow her clinical supervisor's advice to let the silence do its work.

  "People need silence," Dr. Russell told her as she and Emma reviewed video-taped sessions. "They need time to think, to reflect. If you fill every silence, they remain on the surface."

  Silence lets them dive deep, Emma thought, her mentor's words echoing in her mind. She watched emotion play across her client's face. The young woman had been molested by her stepfather as a child and was only beginning to come to terms with the impact the abuse was having on her life.

  "I never felt safe," she whispered. "All my life, I've been looking for the monster under the bed." She looked up at Emma, a look of wonder in her eyes, "The monster isn't there anymore." Emma tipped a mental hat to Grace Russell.

  Twenty minutes later, as Emma escorted the client out of her office, she reflected on the wisdom she'd gained working with Dr. Grace Russell at the Mental Wellness Institute. Her freshly-minted graduate degree framed and hanging on the wall of her tiny office, Emma had thought she finally knew it all, or at least all she needed to know. Seven years of college behind her, she was eager to start making a difference.

  Dr. Russell had gently but firmly guided Emma, teaching her what books and lectures could not about the art of therapy. "Listen more, speak less" had been a common theme of their clinical supervision sessions. "Your client isn't helped by theory," she gently counseled Emma. "Listen, reflect, nudge. Always remember that each session is precious time. Hold up the mirror, Emma, and let your clients find themselves inside."

  Emma found silence to be the most challenging skill she'd had to master in becoming a therapist. She often found Dr. Russell's words guiding her as she worked with her clients even so many years later.

  "I wonder what she's doing now," Emma mused.

  Kristy Castle looked up at Emma, leaning on the door frame between her office and the reception area where Kristy sat. "What who's doing?" she asked.

  Emma started. She hadn't realized she'd spoken out loud. "Grace Russell," she responded.

  "I thought you were going to call her."

  "I called her home number but it was disconnected. When I called the Institute they eith
er didn't have or wouldn't give me her new number. I left my name and number but she never called."

  "Why don't you look her up on the Internet?" Kristy had been working for Emma since coming to Casper, fleeing a violent ex-husband. With him in prison after being found guilty of murder, Kristy was finally starting to feel safe again.

  Emma smiled at her. "You're the computer whiz," she told her. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

  "Sit down," invited Kristy, gesturing to the visitor chair across the desk. "We have some time before your next appointment. Let's see if we can find her. How do you spell her name?"

  Emma told her and Kristy typed the name into her favorite search engine. "Pretty common name," she frowned. The women narrowed the search a few times until at last the results yielded the correct Grace Russell.

  Kristy wrote down the phone number and address they'd found, tore the sheet from her notepad and handed it to Emma. She glanced at the clock. "You might just have enough time to talk to her before your 11:00 gets here."

  Emma closed her office door and sat down at her desk. She picked up her phone then put it down again. It had been nearly 10 years since she'd last seen Dr. Russell. When she completed her supervised hours and earned her license, Dr. Russell had wanted her to stay on at the Institute. Emma had by then fallen in love with the man who was now her ex-husband. He lived in a neighboring city so Emma had accepted a job with County Mental Health to be closer to him.

  The two women had kept in touch. They met for lunch, first on a monthly basis then less frequently. As Emma's marriage deteriorated, she'd withdrawn from her friends, partly to soothe his fragile ego and partly because she was ashamed of her inability to make the marriage work.

  Dr. Russell expressed her concern whenever she saw Emma. As Emma became more distant, her mentor's attention became increasingly centered on the Institute. Russell's work absorbed her and both she and the Institute developed an international reputation. Emma had suffered through the humiliation of her divorce in self-imposed solitude.

  The last time Emma had seen Grace Russell was at a farewell party Grace had thrown for her when she left California to marry Jake. Usually supportive of Emma, Dr. Russell voiced displeasure with her for making the decision to again uproot her life in order to follow a man, and this time to Wyoming.

  "What do you know about living in a place like that?" she'd asked Emma. "Do they even go to therapists there? Don't they live by the 'Code of the West' or some such nonsense?"

  Emma had patiently explained the great need for mental health professionals in Wyoming. The predominantly rural state suffered from an acute shortage of qualified professionals, as did rural areas throughout the United States. Wyoming offered reciprocity for her California license, making it a quick and easy process for Emma to become licensed in her new state.

  The older woman had shaken her head and told Emma her fiancé was dragging her into the wilderness. "Jacob could make a good living here. Why, there are twice as many people in this city alone than there are in the whole of Wyoming."

  It was true. Casper was tiny compared to the dense urban sprawl of the San Francisco Bay Area. Put together, the metropolitan horse-shoe that surrounded the bay boasted nearly eight million residents, more than ten times the entire population of the state of Wyoming.

  "Population isn't everything," Emma had told her. "Wyoming is a beautiful place, with mountains and prairies and wildlife you don't see here outside of a zoo."

  She had not convinced the woman, who worried that Emma would find it a very lonely life. "When you get tired of all that empty space, come back to California. You'll always have a place at the Institute."

  After Emma settled in Casper, the distance and differences that arose between them left them with little to talk about. How would her former mentor react to a call from Emma after all this time?

  There's only one way to find out, thought Emma. She picked up the phone and dialed the number Kristy had given her. It rang four times and Emma's courage almost deserted her. She was on the verge of hanging up when the phone was answered.

  "Emma Shepherd, how lovely to hear from you!" Dr. Russell's voice was warm and inviting, as it had always been.

  "I'm so sorry I've neglected our friendship, Dr. Russell."

  "Emma, how many times have I told you that if we're going to be friends you have got to start calling me Grace?" Emma laughed and Grace continued, "I don't suppose after all of these years you're calling because you're finally ready to come back to California."

  "No, nothing like that. I'm calling because I heard your voice in session today and it reminded me just how much I've missed you."

  "I've missed you too, Emma, and it's my fault too for neglecting our friendship. So how are you faring in the wild west?"

  As the two women talked, Emma felt the years and the distance started to melt away. The kinship they'd once enjoyed began to span the gulf that had grown between them. As she had many times when she first moved to Casper, Emma invited Grace to come for a visit.

  "Come where? To Wyoming?"

  "Yes, and I won't accept excuses," insisted Emma. "I would love to see you and we've wasted too many years already, don't you think?"

  There was silence on the other end of the line. "I'm sorry, I know it was out of the blue, me calling you and then asking you to come see me. You always told me I was too impulsive."

  Grace chuckled softly. "I never broke you of the habit of filling silences, did I?" Emma blushed and was glad it was not a video call. "I was just wondering whether you really want me to come."

  "Of course I do. Whenever you're available."

  "I'm retired, so I suppose I'm always available." There was a long pause and Emma bit her lip to keep from filling the silence. "If I'm going to come, I think it would be best done sooner than later."

  "Then come now!"

  "How does one get to Casper?" asked Grace dubiously. "Is there some modern-day version of the Pony Express?"

  "Yes it's called an airplane," giggled Emma. "Casper has an International airport, though I will admit, I've never known any airline to take you anywhere but Salt Lake, Denver or Vegas. I'd be make the arrangements for you."

  "No, no, thank you. I'll call my travel agent and let her take care of it. She'll be glad to have the commission. It seems no one uses travel agents anymore. I suspect one day I'll call only to discover she's gone out of business and I'll be stuck having to use one of those horrible on-line places."

  Emma laughed. "Just let me know when to expect you and we'll meet you at the airport. Why don't you leave your return open-ended? That way if you find you actually like my wide open spaces, you can stick around for awhile."

  "I don't know about that. I'm a pretty old dog to be learning new tricks."

  "I have every faith in you." Hanging up the phone Emma checked the clock. She had just enough time to call Jake before her next appointment.

  2

  Jake sighed as he hung up the phone after Emma's call. As thrilled as she was about Dr. Russell's visit, he couldn't bring himself to feel anything but dread. The woman had practically accused him of kidnapping Emma when they got married. In truth, the couple had talked for months about which one of them should move before they agreed that Emma could more easily relocate.

  Emma never seemed to regret the decision but her California friends hadn't quite understood the allure of Wyoming. None of them had ever come to Casper for a visit, though they frequently pressed Emma to come visit them "back home."

  Jake sighed. Emma was excited about Dr. Russell's visit so he would do his best to be supportive. At least she wouldn't be likely to stay too long. One look at a rattlesnake and she'd be back on a plane for the coast.

  A knock on his door snapped Jake's attention back to the present. A boy of fourteen shuffled into the room and slumped into one of the visitor chairs. "Hello Jason." Jake stood to greet the boy's father, who followed his son into the office.

  "So Austin," said Jake, addressing his
teenage client, "I've read the police report. Why don't you tell me what happened?"

  Jake made a few notes as the boy rambled through his story. He'd been shooting BB's at parked cars so neighbors had called the police. When officers arrived, Austin denied shooting at anything but squirrels. Four broken windows and two cracked windshields told a different story.

  When Jake asked him about the damage to the parked cars, Austin shrugged his shoulders and said, "I'm a rotten shot."

  Jake sat back and looked at his young client. Defending juveniles, he was able to take a different approach than if he were defending adults. With a juvenile, the justice system was geared toward rehabilitation. The right intervention now could make a difference in the kind of man Austin would become.

  "I spoke with the Assistant County Attorney assigned to your case this morning," he told Austin. "Mr. Taylor and I agree that you should pay restitution to the owners of the vehicles that were damaged."

  Austin's father nodded. "We expected as much. Do you know how much that's going to be?"

  Jake consulted the file that lay open in front of him on the desk. "Four window replacements at $200 each and both windshields had to be replaced. I don't have the numbers on them yet but I'd guess in the $500 range for each of them."

  Austin's father whistled as he drew in a breath. "I hadn't expected it to be so much. I don't have that kind of money."

  Jake looked at Austin, who seemed bored by the proceedings. "You won't have to pay it," he told Austin's father. "Austin will."

  He had the boy's attention now. "I don't have any money!" For the first time since he dropped into his chair, Austin was fully engaged in the meeting.