At thirty, Matt had been a firefighter for four years. He knew fire. He knew its ways. And yes, as Cade had informed him, he knew they had a few amateur arsonists in the valley. But none of them had killed anyone. And the county sheriff had personally confided in him that Bev had been killed by a professional. One shot to the head. That bothered him more than anything else. The coroner, Jason Armitage, had told him his wife had not been molested or harmed in any other way, and that gave Matt some relief. He didn’t think he could stand the thought of Bev being raped and then murdered. Dr. Armitage had postulated that someone had hired a hit man to come in and do the killing.
Shaking his head in frustration, Matt moved restlessly around the large, airy kitchen. The coolness of the pine floor felt good against the soles of his feet. It grounded him, kept him here. Who would hire a hit man to kill his wife? And why hadn’t the hit man walked down the hall to kill Megan, too? It just didn’t make sense!
Growling an obscenity beneath his breath, Matt stopped, turned and stared out the large window above the kitchen sink. It was dark and quiet outside this house. His gut churned. He’d gotten heartburn a lot since Bev’s death. It always kicked up when Megan would run down the hall and wake him, sobbing and clinging to him as if a monster were chasing her.
Megan knew something. Matt sensed it. What had she seen? She couldn’t speak, and a host of child psychologists over the last two years had tried to spring open that door and get her to talk, but all Megan would do was cling to Elmo and stare up at them with huge, terrified blue eyes, her mouth open, lips trembling—but no sound other than animal-like cries would issue forth. Rubbing his wrinkled brow, Matt paced around the island in the kitchen. What could he do to get Meggie to talk again? What?
Guilt that he was gone when this had happened ate daily at Matt. If he’d been here, he’d have heard someone breaking into their house. Bev had always been a deep, hard sleeper. An earthquake could have shaken the place and she wouldn’t wake up. Matt, on the other hand, had always been a light sleeper. The least noise and he sprang awake in a millisecond. He knew he’d have heard the murderous intruder. If only he’d been here and not away at fire school in Cheyenne. He could have saved Bev’s life, stopped his daughter from being utterly traumatized and saved the house he’d built with his own two hands from being burned to the ground.
Halting, Matt sipped the last of the coffee. It was scaldingly hot, but he wasn’t aware of that. His heart and mind were centered on Megan. He would be taking her to school at 7:00 a.m. She would sit in the back of Mrs. Harrington’s class, mute, attentive and taking notes. Sherry Harrington, Megan’s second-grade teacher, was wonderful with his daughter. Matt thanked God for that. Megan was intelligent and caught on quickly. She could read and comprehend, but she never uttered a word out loud. Sherry had even tried getting the children to read from Muppet stories in hopes that Megan would want to take part, but she did not.
And so, Megan would sit mutely in class. Mrs. Harrington was sensitive and attentive, even though she had a class of thirty second-graders. She went out of her way to create unique teaching content for Megan. Matt was forever grateful to the teacher.
What now? Dawn was crawling up the horizon, and the Grand Tetons looked like sharpened dragon’s teeth slowly congealing out of the darkness. Matt placed the cup in the sink. Sherry Harrington had written him a note yesterday. She was going to try something new in hopes of reaching Megan. This morning, Katie Bergstrom, a raptor rehabilitator, was bringing several birds in to the class and would give a talk about them. With her would be a ranger from the Grand Tetons National Park, ten miles outside Jackson Hole. Sherry had written that she hoped this might catch Megan’s attention and maybe, fingers crossed, it might inspire her finally to talk.
CHAPTER TWO
CASEY CANTRELL TRIED to shore up her sagging spirits. She’d been assigned to help Katie Bergstrom, a raptor rehabilitator who had her business on the outskirts of Jackson Hole, Wyoming. They stood in front of Sherry Harrington’s rapt second-grade class. This was her first official duty for the U.S. Forest Service. She had been hired straight after graduation from Colorado State University at Fort Collins. She looked at Katie, who was relaxed and smiling, with a red-tailed hawk named Hank on her leather glove. The eyes of the thirty children were huge with anticipation. She had their full, undivided attention.
“First,” Katie told the children with a smile, “let’s hear from Ranger Cantrell. She’s going to tell us why it’s so important to have raptors in our area. Ranger Cantrell?”
Clearing her throat, Casey gave the reasons for the importance of raptors to the ecological balance of life in the area. She was serious and low-key compared to bubbly Katie Bergstrom. As she spoke, Hank would lift and flap his wings every now and again, much to the children’s delight. She kept her explanation short, understanding that second-graders had an attention span of about two seconds. Glancing over at Katie, Casey said, “It’s all yours, Katie,” and stepped to one side to position herself near Sherry.
“Thank you, Ranger Cantrell,” Katie said, grinning and carrying Hank, who wore soft kangaroo-leather jesses around his yellow legs, closer to the children. Their desks formed a huge semicircle facing the front of the room. Casey thought it looked like a crowded amphitheater. The glow of excitement on the children’s faces lifted the anxiety she felt.
Earlier, Sherry had met them outside the door for a quick chat. She was concerned about Megan Sinclaire, and gave them the story of her being mute. Casey’s heart broke when she heard about the little girl’s tragedy. Sure enough, Megan was at the back of the group. Sherry Harrington was afraid that Megan might be frightened of a hawk flying around the room, so it would be Casey’s job to stand near the little girl when Mrs. Harrington donned the other leather glove on the other side of the room and Hank flew to her from Katie’s glove.
Casey felt comfortable working with the little blond-haired girl. She moved quietly to the rear, her back to the windows. Megan was only three feet away, and she seemed absolutely enraptured over the hawk, just as all the other children were. Megan clasped her hands, smitten by Hank, and Casey tried to relax.
Casey’s boss, Charley Davidson, believed in educating the children from the ground up about nature. He said such programs would serve to keep all species safer. He often had Katie come and give talks with her hawks and owls at the visitor’s center just inside Grand Tetons National Park.
“Okay,” Katie sang out now, “how many of you would like to see Mrs. Harrington put on this glove?” She held it up so the children could see it. “And then, we’ll let Hank fly to her. Raise your hands!”
Every hand shot up, the children wriggling like excited puppies in their seats. Casey saw Megan’s hand shoot up, too. She was so excited that she stood up, jumping up and down. Casey heard excited rasps coming from her. But no words.
“Okay, okay!” Katie laughed, handing the teacher the glove. “You’ve voted for Mrs. Harrington to do this. Let’s quiet down now. Hank doesn’t like a lot of noise. It bothers his flying concentration.”
Instantly, everyone sat down. All except Megan, who remained standing, her small hands clasped to her chest, all eyes.
Casey did nothing. Megan was clear of the flight path, and though Katie saw her, she didn’t direct her to sit down. The child’s cheeks were a bright red, her blue eyes now bright with excitement. Mrs. Harrington pulled on the glove, held it high for the children to see and then walked to the other corner of the classroom.
Casey’s focus was on Megan. Clearly, she loved what was going on. She knew little of the child’s trauma other than that her mother had been murdered and the house set on fire and that she had barely escaped. Casey’s heart bled for Megan.
Everyone ooohhed as Hank flapped and took off from Katie’s glove. He flew low across the