Chapter 1

“I’m not one of your deputies, Rob,” Cyrus Decker said, surveying the dead body of the young woman who’d been found dumped along Winding River, the large waterway that ran through the community of Chance City, Oklahoma.

“And yet here you are,” Sheriff Rob Anderson responded with a smile.

Cy’s dark eyes speared Rob with an angry glare. “That’s only because you keep badgering me.”

Rob chuckled, his faded blue eyes sparkling. The rail-thin, fifty-five-year-old man’s affable demeanor and dedication to his job made him a popular person in Chance City. He’d been sheriff for twenty-six years and was well-respected for his ability to keep law and order through mainly diplomatic means versus force.

“Seems to be working,” Rob said. “I don’t know why you don’t just join up with us and be done with it. You know you’re not cut out for ranching. That’s why you left in the first place.”

Cy couldn’t deny that, but he was starting his life over, or trying to. “Nope. Not interested. You wouldn’t like the way I do the job. That’s one of the things that got me fired from Pinkerton’s.”

“Look, I told you I’d call you a special investigator or something like that. We’ve got the budget for it thanks to that endowment from Carly Branson,” Rob said. He spoke of their rich mayor. The Bransons were one of the three richest families in the small city.

Cy had to admit that it was tempting, but he just couldn’t do it. That part of his life was over and all he wanted to do was lead a nice quiet life on his family’s ranch. The only problem was that Rob’s dogged determination and ability to guilt Cy into helping him kept intruding on that lifestyle. Which was the reason he was at the crime scene at quarter to six in the morning, looking at a dead girl, trying to determine how she’d been killed. He searched for any clues that would lead to the capture of the murderer.

Wiping sweat from his brow, Cy crouched, noting every detail about the woman. She was young, maybe twenty-years-old or so. Her body and tangled blonde hair were splattered with mud. Her simple calico dress led Cy to believe that she’d been a ranch woman. While her hands were pretty, they also sported callouses, denoting the fact that she’d done manual labor.

“You don’t know her?” Cy asked, as he started looking for shoe prints in the muddy ground around her.

“Nope, but then there’s been a lot of people comin’ in here since the government let everyone in.”

It was May of 1894, eight months after the Cherokee Strip Run of 1893 when 100,000 plus people had rushed to secure property in the Cherokee territory that had been opened by President Grover Cleveland. Although Chance City had been established back in 1877, it hadn’t been officially made part of the territory until September 16, 1893.

Chance City was close to Woodward, Oklahoma, which had sprung up almost overnight, and the name Woodward County had been given to the formerly named County N. Chance City bordered the new city of Woodward, which was constantly growing and would soon supersede Chance City’s population.

However, Chance City was also growing, although at a slower rate since much of Chance City was already owned by cattle and swine ranchers and occupied by sundry other economic endeavors. As a result, there were now many people whom the original residents of the city didn’t know, the poor girl before Cy being one of them.

“Well, get Guthrie down here to take her picture and we’ll have to circulate it in the Current, ” Cy said. “The first step is gonna be finding out who she is and if she’s married or whatnot. There’s no wedding ring, but it could have been stolen. No other identifying jewelry, either.

“No footprints around her, which leads me to believe that she was thrown by two people from a wagon or carriage. There aren’t any wagon tracks close to her, so it would take two people to throw her that far from the road. I see some bruising around her knees and lower thighs, so I’m betting that when you take her to Doc Barnes, he’ll find that sexual assault is involved. Hard to tell whether it was before or after death, though.”

Rob listened closely to Cy’s insights. Cy always talked his way through a crime scene, often producing new theories as he did so. Rob found it fascinating to watch the man work and he wanted him on his force in the worst way. The sheriff wasn’t going to give up trying to convince Cy to come on board.

Thunder rumbled overhead and Cy looked at the blackening sky. “Damn it. Send someone for Guthrie before it pours again, will you?”

Rob smiled at Cy’s authoritative tone but humored the younger man. “Sure. Hey! Jeffries, get over here!”

Chance City’s newly hired female deputy, Ellie Jeffries ran over to her superior. “Yes, sir?”

Rob was fond of the twenty-three-year-old woman with light brown hair and vibrant blue eyes. People thought that he was insane for hiring a woman, but she had talents that were useful to the department. She was only five-foot-three, but she was strong and quick with her fists, which had earned her the nickname “Jabs”. “Go get Guthrie and get a move on.”

“Yes, sir,” Ellie said, rushing to her horse and galloping away.

Cy saw a pair of women’s everyday boots lying a short distance away. “Definitely a ranch woman,” he muttered. “Pudge!”

In response to his call, a black Japanese Pug emerged from some bushes a few yards away and raced to Cy’s side, prancing as he eagerly awaited Cy’s orders. He was one of three dogs that Cy had trained for various forms of work. He’d used them during his time as a Pinkerton detective and had, of course, brought them with him when he’d come home in disgrace.

Cy pointed at the shoes and had Pudge sniff. “Find,” he told the dog.

Pudge sniffed all around the body but came back and looked at the deceased woman and then at Cy, his curly little tail wagging.

Smiling, Cy said, “Good boy. Yep. Someone threw her over here. They dumped her in a good place, too. Not many houses here on the outskirts of town.” He stood up and carefully made one last circle around the body.

Rob had already come to some of the same conclusions that Cy had drawn, but he hadn’t thought about the woman being tossed from a vehicle of some sort. “Why do you think they didn’t bury her somewhere?”

“Have there been any other women found lately?” Cy asked.

“Nope.”

“I hope there aren’t, but it’s something to keep in the back of your mind. Maybe they wanted her to be found,” Cy said.

Rob sighed and bent to scratch Pudge’s ears. The pug grunted happily. Ellie returned with Brock Guthrie, another one of Rob’s four deputies. Brock couldn’t stand Cy and took every opportunity to annoy the former detective when he wasn’t on duty. However, since he was working a crime scene, he retained a professional demeanor around Cy.

Because Cy was one-quarter Comanche, the deputy barely tolerated him. Brock’s grandfather had been killed during a skirmish between a small Comanche group and some of Brock’s family. Brock had been little at the time and had witnessed the fight. He’d dearly loved his grandfather and seeing him struck down by a Comanche brave had instilled hatred in Brock for Indians in general, but especially the Comanche.