“Call?” Laurel craned her head to see him. He was no longer standing where he had been moments earlier. Looking around, she saw him walking toward their horses. “What are you doing?”
He removed the coiled rope attached to the saddle pommel and held it up for her to see. He unwound it as he walked back, looped it, and then passed one end of the rope through the loop. The simple overhand knot created a lasso.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “I can drag the body over here.”
Call was firm. “No. Stay where you are or climb out. You’ve already done the hard work.”
Laurel did not argue. “Who do you suppose it is?”
“You’re more likely to know than I am.” He swung the lasso and let it fly. He missed, dropping the loop on the body’s bloated back. He was luckier the second time,catching the body at the head. Call carefully pulled on the lasso until it circled the shoulders. He tightened it and began dragging the body toward him.
Laurel climbed out of the pool before the body reached her. She stood at Call’s side, prepared to help him. The literal dead weight would be difficult to pull out. It occurred to her that she should have stayed in the water to assist lifting the body. She edged closer to the lip of the rock. It was as if Call had divined her thoughts because he shook his head and told her to stay where she was.
It was a struggle to lift the body. The muscles in Call’s arms and back bunched and strained. At one point, he considered asking Laurel to bring Artemis over to help, but then he managed to heave the body far enough out of the water until he could grasp it under one arm and pull it out the rest of the way.
Call grabbed a fistful of the dead man’s trousers and yanked him all the way onto dry land. Breathing raggedly, Call removed the lasso and turned the body over. Several moments passed before he heard Laurel suck in a breath. “I reckon that means you recognize him,” he said quietly.
She almost hadn’t. The face no longer had any familiar angles; every feature was as puffy as a mushroom head. The open, sightless eyes were clouded over so their color was obscured. Something had nibbled on the bare throat. His coat was unbuttoned. She recognized the water-saturated black leather vest because of the loop of gold chain hanging out of the breast pocket. There would be a timepiece attached to the end. He’d set great store by that watch, claimed it was his father’s. Laurel had no reason to doubt him, yet she couldn’t deny that she had. She should have listened to her doubts and let him go. None of this would have happened if she’d let him go.
“It’s Josiah Pye,” she said.
Call nodded. He finished coiling the rope and walked it back to his mare.
“You knew,” she called after him.
“I suspected.” He attached the rope and then untethered Artemis. He led her over to where Laurel was standing. Her damp undergarments were dripping water on the stones. She had her arms crossed in front of her because, in spite of the heat, she was shivering. He stopped at her neatly folded stack of clothes, picked up her shirt, and handed it to her.
Laurel thanked him and shrugged into it, pulling it closed but not buttoning it. “Should we get the sheriff?”
“I want to examine the body first.” He hunkered beside Mr. Pye at the level of his head. He looked first without touching, noting the scratches on the face and the bite mark on the neck. It seemed likely all of those were caused after death. Call pushed his fingers through Pye’s wet hair. It didn’t take him long to find the deep gash at the back of his head. He turned Pye’s face sideways, parted the hair, and pointed out the injury to Laurel. He was so sure she was watching him that he was surprised when she didn’t say anything. He looked up and saw her head was averted. “Laurel?”
“I’m all right,” she said quietly. She turned to face Call and did not glance at the body. “It’s not how I imagined he’d be found. Certainly not how I imagined he’d meet his end.”
Call pointed to where Abby was tethered. “Why don’t you stand over there? Or would you prefer to ride for the sheriff?”
She nodded slowly but didn’t move. “Was he murdered, do you think?”
“There’s a big gash at the back of his head, but that could be from hitting the rocks. On the other hand, the rope you found suggested he was tied, and since his body didn’t surface on its own, it suggests he was weighed down.” Call tugged on Pye’s pant legs and saw evidence that pointed to the fact he had been bound. “So, yeah, murdered.”
“What about the payroll? Should I search for a saddlebag? He must have carried the money away in something like that.”
“No. Let someone else make that their job. I doubt it’s there.”
“How long do you think he’s been in the water?”
“Don’t know. Who’s the doctor around here?”
“There isn’t one, not a real one anyway, not since Mrs. Lancaster’s husband died. Nick Buchanan has some doctoring experience, most of it during the war. He owns the feed store and folks are happy to have him suggest remedies if it’s not a serious illness or set bones and splints. Leastways he hasn’t killed anyone. I’m not sure what you think he can do.”
“Probably nothing with his experience. I thought a doc—a real one—might be able to tell us about how long Pye’s been in the drink.”
“I could wire Mr. Stonechurch. He might send their town’s doctor. I know there’s one.”
“All right. If the doc’s willing to travel, that could be helpful.” Call hitched his thumb over his shoulder to indicate Artemis. “Why don’t you send the message to Stonechurch and ask Rooster to ride for Sheriff Carter? I forgot that it’s Sunday afternoon when I suggested that you go. He’ll probably be at Mrs. Fry’s. Send Dillon here to dive around and see if a saddlebag or a pouch turns up.”
“As soon as I’m dry.” Laurel plucked her damp camisole away from her body and gathered some of the material in her fist to twist water out of it.
“Sure. Of course. There’s no real hurry.” Call turned back to examining Pye, running his hands over the man’s shoulders, arms, and digging into his pockets. When he darted a look in Laurel’s direction, he saw she was watching him.
