Just that quickly, all my sympathy for Michelle vanished. “Good to know,” I told Willow. “We’ve already gotten all we need to put her away for a long, long time.”
The public defender wanted to explain how she’d been enslaved, but that didn’t justify her asking for a hit on me. None of us on the law enforcement side felt like cutting Michelle any breaks. We arrested her on one charge of conspiracy to commit murder of a police officer.
Sarah took care of the arraignment. The judge rejected the defense’s request for bail. Michelle had begun doing her time then and there instead of participating in the sing-off.
-o-o-o-
By dinnertime, I’d finished all the paperwork related to Michelle. Jenkins put out a press release announcing a final arrest connected to the murder of Splendiferous Wang. My name didn’t appear, which was fine with me. I’d already received more attention than I could handle.
Randy did an interview with Angelina Esteban, the up-and-coming Denver TV reporter, and he did mention my name. He was a good guy. His only problem was that he’d gotten too close to Jenkins. Randy was too comfortable with the good ol’ boy network.
In addition to the dog treats, Skip and I took Boomer out to dinner at a steak place in Snowmass. It had an outdoor patio where the dog could sit next to us. I bought him his own beef tenderloin, blood rare, and a side of fries smothered in ketchup. What a pig! He ate it all within a minute.
While Skip and I relaxed over our meals, I chatted with Willow. “The US Marshal’s Office called me to say the bratva cell that’d been after me is gone. The CIA blew up their building in St. Petersburg and confirmed all of the leadership was inside.”
“Fantastic news,” I said and meant it. Everything was finally working out wonderfully for once.
She and I made plans for her to return to Aspen tomorrow. She could lay low once she was here, but there was no reason for her to stay away anymore.
-o-o-o-
After dinner, Skip, Boomer, and I headed to his house to watch Tyrone’s show. MTV had expanded the first episode to three hours, and I didn’t want to miss any of it. Although I cringed at the thought of all the video he’d taken of me, that problem was in God’s hands.
Karen, Skip’s better half, made popcorn, I brought a six pack of a Glenwood microbrew. The kids were bouncing around in their pajamas like ping pong balls, climbing on the dog. They’d been allowed to stay up past their bedtime, but Mindy was already teetering on her feet. The little blonde could shriek loud enough to cause a cerebral hemorrhage.
I did my best to keep Boomer from destroying the living room.
“Relax, Hank,” Skip said. “The place is childproof, which means it’s dog proof. Stop worrying for a few hours.”
Karen nodded, so I plopped down on the sofa and let happiness fill me. Life was glorious. Willow was still in Montréal, but she chatted with me on the phone while she watched the program in her hotel room.
The first third of the show introduced all the contestants but focused on Splendid. It ended with him singing one of the songs Tyrone expected to sell like gangbusters. It was a catchy tune.
I relaxed because I was hardly mentioned in the first third. The second part, though, focused on the murder investigation. Tyrone cleverly dropped hints early on that something was not quite right about Michelle. He had plenty of video of her, and after the fact, he picked out quite a few little things that none of us had noticed before. Hindsight was twenty-twenty, and the camera never blinked.
Tyrone could’ve made me look like an idiot, but instead, he used the footage of me talking with Michelle to give the impression I’d suspected her all along. He mentioned the three attempts on my life and the raid to grab Lomax, but he had no video of those events. They just didn’t seem important. That was reality TV.
The last third of the program focused on the other rappers, giving personal looks at each of them and showed them working on their songs. In the middle of that section, Willow asked me, “How are they going to rank performers? I don’t see any judges.”
“You’re the judge,” I said. “They’re supposed to flash a website on the screen where you can vote. The two who get the least number of votes will be eliminated tonight.”
“That’s going to be a heckuva lot of Internet traffic,” Skip said. “Could crash.”
“Yeah, but Tyrone swears his Internet company added thousands of extra connections to its servers. We’ll see.”
Sure enough, Tyrone came onscreen and explained how everybody could vote for their favorite rapper. Karen, Willow, and Skip each voted, and they received a text back telling them their votes had been recorded. I didn’t vote because I thought I’d forced the contestants into giving me too much inside information. I didn’t want to use it against them.
All the contestants stood in a semicircle again in the old ballroom. This time, Tyrone stood on the stage. He called out their names in the order in which they ranked, and they stepped onto the stage and lined up behind him. I wasn’t surprised to see Katrina had hauled in the most votes. A star was born.
Finally, only two were left, Luther and Maria had to go home. That worked for me.
Chapter 31
In the morning, Mom called. The first words out of her mouth thrilled me to the core. “I’m so proud of you. You solved a murder case that the whole country is talking about. My daughter discovered the truth and gave all those people justice.”
I was so choked up, it took me a moment to react. “Jeez, thanks, Mom. That means the world to me.”
I wasn’t exaggerating. For the first time in a decade, her voice sounded happy and warm, not cold and disapproving. I glowed inside.
We chatted about ordinary things for a while and agreed on a time for our lunch, noon on Thursday.
My parent’s ranch was southwest of Gunnison, a good two hours from Aspen. We decided to meet partway, at a barbeque joint I’d seen in Carbondale. My heart pounded so much I thought it might burst. Couldn’t wait to see her again.
After I hung up, the giddiness continued. I had to get up and do a happy dance.
It wasn’t until later that I realized I hadn’t worried about or cared what my dad thought. It just didn’t matter anymore. I had Mom on my side again. That was worth almost everything.
I hugged Boomer but still had to share my excitement. So, I called Willow to tell her my wonderful news.
-o-o-o-
Two days later, my girlfriend and I drove out to my cabin.
She’d already hired a real estate agent to sell her house in town. We talked about her buying a ranch in the Roaring Fork Valley west of town. She showed me brochures for a couple of horse properties, but five million bucks didn’t go far. She’d be lucky to get a large lot with a crappy house.
Instead, I hoped to talk her into living at my place.
A foot of snow already blanketed my mining claim. The outside of the cabin looked like something a drunken miner threw together back in the 1950s. Unfortunately, that was exactly what’d happened. The building’s best feature, the picture windows, were still covered with plywood.
Before I dared show Willow the inside, she and I strolled the path following the fence line for my twenty acres. I used a hiking stick to steady myself on the uneven snow. Boomer bouncing around us like a jacked-up kangaroo. Rambo followed us with considerably more style, trying without much success to find dead grass to eat.
Willow smiled but didn’t speak. I kept pointing at the spectacular snow-covered peaks of the Elk Range just to the south and east.
Finally, I said, “You have to admit, this is nature at its finest.”
“It’s amazing, Hank, to die for.”
There was a but coming, and I waited for it.
“How much snow comes over the winter?”
That was a problem, particularly for Rambo. “The deepest it’s ever gotten is five feet, with a few drifts thicker. Usually, much less. I use a snow blower to keep this path
cleared for all of us to walk on, particularly Rambo. And although it can get damned cold at night, he stays in the mine where it remains above freezing all year round.”
She nodded. “And how do you get to and from the main road in wintertime?”
I’d had some trouble getting us up the icy road in the Rubicon. “Remember that garage I pointed out next to our access road? We’ve got room inside for two vehicles and two snowmobiles. They work great when the doubletrack gets too icy to drive up.”
With a quiver in her voice, she asked, “How cold is ‘damned cold,’ exactly?”
I grimaced at the recollection. “The coldest night I’ve experienced here was thirty-three below zero, but the next day was sunny and fifteen.”
Willow flinched. “That’s less than minus thirty Celsius, isn’t it?”
I had no idea. “I’ll check.” I used my phone and Wi-Fi to confirm. “You’re right.”
She shuddered. “Yes, that’s damned cold.”
I was expecting too much from her. “Okay, I’m crazy. Shouldn’t expect you to love it here. We’ll work something else out.”
She gave me a hug and kiss. “Maybe we could spend two-thirds of the year here and pass the winters somewhere in the valleys below Aspen? That’s assuming you’re amenable to upgrading the cabin here and there. I imagine the inside could use some updating.”
That was putting it charitably. She’d given me a much better offer than I’d expected. “Fine with me, but can you afford to spend multiple millions for a ranch you’d only live at four months a year?”
She shrugged. “It’s an investment. Aspen real estate always seems to be going up. I already have a full-price offer for my home in town. I’ve made a hundred thousand dollars in four months. And when we’re not living at our winter ranch, we can rent the property out.”
The most important thing was, I’d have Willow with me year-round. That was all that mattered. “Sounds like a great plan.”
~Finis~
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Book 2 Excerpt—Perverted Justice
Fall is the best time of year in Aspen, a quiet breath before the plunge into another insane ski season. For a couple of months, my girlfriend Willow Higgins and I’d agreed to housesit and horsesit at a mansion near the Roaring Fork River, just a short walk from my office.
Late on Sunday, we were sitting in a hot tub and enjoying the chilly, star-filled night. Life was beautiful.
Then, my cellphone rang. I should’ve known better than to tempt the gods with happy thoughts.
The Caller ID said Pitkin County Sheriff’s Office. The office never called with good news after normal business hours. Muriel, my favorite dispatcher, said, “Hank, girl, we got a job for you and your mutt. Overdue elk hunter, Sherman Blatter. Search and Rescue will meet in Ashcroft at seven a.m.”
A missing hunter? Things could’ve been a lot worse. “Who’s Blatter? I think I’ve heard that name before.”
Muriel never held back her opinions. “He’s one of those idiots who shoots semi-tame lions in Africa. A doctor from Denver with more money than brains. Personally, I hope you never find him.”
Classic Muriel. “We’ll try anyway. What else can you tell me?”
“Nothing, but Linda Kingsley is interviewing his girlfriend. Linda will meet you at Ashcroft in the morning.”
“Perfect.” Linda was one of our younger deputies and a pleasure to work with. Ashcroft was a ghost town ten miles south.
“Should I arrange for a horse for her?” our dispatcher asked.
“Nah, we’ll switch off riding Rambo. One of us has to walk to hold Boomer back. He’s nuts when he’s hot on a trail. He and I’ll be there by seven.”
I hung up.
“A serious problem?” Willow asked.
“Doubtful. Missing hunter. The vast majority of those who get lost turn up eventually.”
But after I said that so flippantly, I realized I shouldn’t keep tempting fate.
-o-o-o-
The dog, the horse, and I showed up a few minutes early in the old ghost town. Golden aspens covered the surrounding mountainsides, even though the sun hadn’t risen over the mountains to the east.
Long ago, this silver mining community had contained thirty-five-hundred fortune seekers. Today, only a few of its buildings remained standing.
I was hoping Blatter wouldn’t become the latest spook to take up residence here, but he still hadn’t been found.
As a general rule, we didn’t like to lose folks, even the assholes. Bad for business.
In any case, the word was already out about Blatter’s disappearance. I’d heard a report about him on Aspen Public Radio’s morning news show.
Boomer, Rambo, and I said hello to the others on the search and rescue team. We’d worked together many times over the years. While we waited for everyone to show up, I took the time to catch up with friends I hadn’t seen for a while.
They didn’t resist the temptation to tease me about the upcoming election where I was running to become the next sheriff. Although I didn’t ask any of them for their votes, I was hoping they’d support me. If these folks wouldn’t, nobody in the county would. According to my campaign manager, the word on the street was that I had a good chance to win—as long as I didn’t screw up any big cases before the election.
Boomer was popular with the crowd gathering around us, despite his many annoying habits, like shoving his nose into someone’s crotch. His main talent was sniffing, and these folks appreciated his amazing nose. Several people even said to him, “The sooner you find our quarry, buddy, the sooner we can all go out for a beer and cheer your success.”
Once everyone showed up, we gathered in a circle around Linda. “Sherman Blatter’s girlfriend didn’t report him missing until after eight p.m. last night. Got caught up in binge-watching Game of Thrones. Then, after she finally figured out something was wrong, she flipped from blasé to hysterical.”
“Are they vacationing in the area?” I asked.
“Nope,” Linda said. “Live here full-time now. His medical practice imploded when he killed that poor lion in Zimbabwe. But by then, was already rich. And his dad died. Left him a fabulous condo in town. Life can be so damned unfair, folks.”
That produced a round of raucous laughter. Linda was right, but I felt for Blatter’s girlfriend. Like her, I’d gotten lucky in love recently. Life could be unfair in both good and bad ways, and someone’s luck could easily change from one to the other.
-o-o-o-
All the search teams received their assignments and headed off. Linda and I were assigned to track Blatter’s scent from his Escalade. A Forest Service ranger had spotted it yesterday in a turnout a mile up the four-wheel-drive road leading to Taylor Pass.
We started up the rocky road to the pass. Boomer and Rambo hated riding in vehicles on rough roads, so I left my new Rubicon and the horse trailer in Ashcroft. I rode on Rambo while Linda and Boomer walked ahead.
The dog was particularly frisky because he knew we were going to track someone through Colorado’s high country. Rambo, on the other hand, stayed dignified and steady. Linda knew my mutt’s tricks and kept a firm grip on his leash. The road was icy in many spots from water freezing overnight, but we took our time in slippery areas.
We found the Escalade with no trouble. It was all tricked out with fancy wheels and chrome. Definitely not designed for four-wheeling. Our target wa
s a flashy city slicker.
I wondered why he didn’t have a horse trailer attached. If he’d shot an elk, he’d need a horse or mule to pack the carcass out. I hoped he’d also taken some emergency gear. This time of year, it often dropped below freezing at night, and storms blew through regularly.
Linda used a key she’d received from Blatter’s girlfriend to unlock his SUV and found a Broncos cap with a sweat-stained headband. That would give the mutt plenty of the man’s scent.
I dismounted and gave my hound a good whiff of the cap. Sure enough, he surged toward an abandoned Forest Service road leading into the high mountains. Linda rode Rambo.
As usual, I had to hustle to keep up with the dog. He lived for these moments, straining in his harness to go faster. I also had to keep a close eye on the ground to make sure I planted my fake foot solidly with each step. Linda had seen him pull me into a face-plant before, more than once, and I didn’t want to give a repeat performance.
After we settled into a steady pace, I said, “Tell me more about his girlfriend. I feel an affinity for a fellow gold digger.”
My human partner snorted. “Don’t even start. Willow is incredibly lucky to have you. You proved that beyond any doubt when you shot the fucking Russian. Blatter’s girlfriend, on the other hand, is the kind of blonde who gives them all a bad name. Her stage name is Candy Kaine. Perfect for a pole dancer, eh?”
“Cute. One of those June-December romances?”
“More like February-December. I ran her, just to be sure she wasn’t a grifter. Real name is Mildred Bukowski. No record. She’s twenty-four, and he’s fifty-eight. She was Miss North Dakota a few years ago. Met him at a gentlemen’s club in Denver. Shermie—that’s what she calls him—is apparently good looking and personable. Candy told me she was smitten at first sight.”
“Me, too, with Willow!” I said with a laugh. “I love it when that happens!”
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