Sundown on Top of the World: A Hunter Rayne Highway Mystery by R.E. Donald

Crow, and Hunter had accepted that he would never know the answer.
    Before they’d left this morning, Bart had made them coffee and seen them off. “So you keep an eye out for my person of interest, and I’ll see what I can do about finding the Martin Blake file,” he’d said. “The case is so cold it’s probably iced over, but you never know.”
    Hunter had smiled sadly and shook his head. “I’m not holding out much hope.”
    Bart just smiled that spooky smile, as if he knew something Hunter didn’t.
    “You never know,” he said again.

– – – – – SEVEN
     
    Betty took pains not to wake Goldie, walking as quietly as she could from the alcove that contained her bed across the cabin floor. She opened the cabin door and stepped outside. The air was crisp and imbued with smells of spring: the subtle spice of new growth and the earthy smell of newly turned soil. She heard a raven croak in the distance. She could see around the corner of the cabin to where her visitor had tied a canvas tarp between two trees at the edge of the clearing, making a lean-to shelter from wind and damp. The bulk to the sleeping bag told her that Orville was still asleep, or at least still stretched out on the ground under the tarp. She watched until she could make out the slight swell of his torso with each breath.
    There was a movement beside him, and she recognized the grey mound as her dog. Hootie raised his head to look at her but made no move to get up. Betty tried to be annoyed, but found herself more amused by the fact that Hootie had chosen to sleep beside the stranger instead of at his usual post near the cabin door. Her smile lingered as she made a quick trip to the outhouse, up a well-worn dirt path on the opposite side of the cabin. By the time she returned to the kitchen, Hootie had joined her and settled down in his customary spot outside the door. Leaving the solid door open to the early morning sun with the screen door closed against mosquitoes, she took a couple of sticks from the kindling pile and lay them on top of the embers in the woodstove.
    Once the sticks had caught, she gently laid a couple of splits across and left the damper wide open while she went outside again. She had a dozen eggs or more stored in the cold room, but fresher was better, and she always liked to check the chicken coop first thing. It was solidly built and the hens were locked in at night, but foxes and weasels were clever, sneaky creatures and Hootie was sleeping more soundly these days, so she liked to reassure herself that her flock was intact. They were. Cradling half a dozen eggs in a shirt-tail sling, she headed back to the cabin to check the fire and heat up the kettle for morning tea. By the time the kettle boiled, she had begun preparations for breakfast.
    “You opened the bacon?”
    It was Goldie; pushing aside the curtain, she stopped just outside the alcove that passed for her bedroom to tuck in her tee shirt and fasten her jeans. She raised her nose and sniffed enthusiastically. “Smells great. What’s the occasion?”
    Betty just shrugged.
    “Trying to impress your gentleman friend?” Goldie’s voice held a smile.
    Betty could feel herself begin to blush. “That would be stupid,” she said. “We don’t get many visitors. I don’t like to open a whole can of bacon for just you and me, so I thought we should take advantage of another mouth to feed.”
    “If you say so.” Goldie shot her a worried look – feigned or not, Betty wasn’t sure – as she passed by on her way out the door. “And potatoes, too?” she added over her shoulder. “What a treat.”
    Betty huffed, but she had to admit she was enjoying the pleasures she had just begun to allow herself, and looking forward to Orville’s reaction when he sat down to breakfast. She wasn’t surprised that Goldie seemed concerned. This was a departure from her usual frugal summer breakfasts of fried bread and eggs, and even more of a departure from her usual