Dead Man’s Fancy by Keith McCafferty

the one in the cellar. I can’t be sure. And why would she want to kill me? Look, I’m guessing here, but what I think happened is this person was startled when I knocked on the front door, hid herself/himself and then knocked me down into the cellar. Time passes, I don’t know how long, but long enough for me to rub my hands raw digging with the trap, then that person or another person comes back, this time with a gun. From what I’ve heard about this girl—”
    â€œWoman,” Martha corrected.
    â€œWoman. There’s no history of violence.”
    â€œSo if it wasn’t Martinelli, who do you think?”
    Stranahan had been anticipating the question ever since he’d called Ettinger from a pay phone on the drive back. Now they were sitting across the fire ring from each other on folded buffalo blankets. Sean added a stick to the coals, the night setting in cold, and studied the wisp of smoke snaking toward the vent. He stood to adjust the flap poles and spoke without facing her.
    â€œI think it could be the girl who was with the motorcycle guy, the one who came looking for Martinelli.”
    â€œBecause you heard a motorcycle.”
    â€œIt was a two-stroke. A lot of dirt bikes are two-stroke. The fly shop owner said the guy was riding an off-road bike.”
    â€œYou told me the girl had short black hair. That doesn’t sound like a Medusa.”
    â€œI could be wrong about the shadow.”
    â€œYou could be wrong about the motorcycle, too.”
    â€œNo, bikes I know.”
    â€œSince when?”
    â€œMy dad restored an Indian 741 Scout, the model used in World War II. There’s about ten years after he died that I was lucky to live through. That Indian was only one of the risks I ran.”
    â€œAh, those lost years. We all have a few.”
    â€œI was lost. I remember the years well enough, the good parts, anyway.”
    â€œThat’s the difference between us. You’re an optimist.” Her hand crept up to her jaw and they sat in comfortable silence. She stroked her throat. “Well, okay,” she said slowly. “If you think it could be the girl, then that seems like a valid line of investigation. Frankly, I’ve got my hands full with the wrangler your buddy Sam beat up. I told you he stepped in a trap, didn’t I? A wolf trap. Probably not much different than the one you set off in that cellar.” She shook her head. “As if someone with an antler through his gut isn’t enough to keep a story in headlines.”
    â€œStrange coincidence, me digging with a trap, the wrangler getting caught in one.”
    â€œA wolf runs through it.” Ettinger nodded her head. “Where’s your bathroom?”
    â€œIt’s back in the woods. You take a path from that rock I told you about where I get my mail.”
    â€œI’ll hold it.” She rolled her eyes. “That path is reason number two no self-respecting woman wants to kiss you. So, how is . . . Mar-tin-ique?” She didn’t want to hear Sean Stranahan talk about his girlfriend any more than she wanted to hear Harold Little Feather talk about his ex-wife, but she couldn’t help herself. Why didn’t either of the men who made her feel like a woman realize there was a heart under the badge.
I’m right here
, she wanted to say.
    â€œI haven’t spoken with her since coming back from B.C.,” Stranahan said.
    â€œIs there a problem?”
    â€œI don’t know. I thought this business of working as a bikini barista would be over once she went to vet school, and it is over, but now she’s got a second cell phone she uses to seduce men, like a nine hundred number. She’s up front with me about it, says the phone can’t be traced and it’s easy money.”
    â€œSo you aren’t the only one she talks dirty to.”
    â€œThat’s the thing. She never did. She’s”—he searched for a