"Yes," Jack said, his brow furrowing, "She had a new phone, and a camera—a good digital SLR. Amber was never without it. On holidays, she'd take family photos and make us say things like "Merry Christmas" while she took them. She certainly might have used her phone or iPad for recording interviews." He nodded at Jessie.
"I can't imagine a young person these days travelling without their electronics. Do you know if she had them both with her? I think her phone is a given. Kids don’t go anywhere without one.
Jack turned to Shelly. "Her digital camera and iPad weren't on the list of personal items the police said they'd be returning to us, were they, Shelly?"
His wife shook her head. "I don't think so. There wasn't much on the list. What there was, we hope to pick up after the funeral, when we travel to Sage Bluff to pick up her motorcycle.
Jack turned back to Jessie; his eyes wide. "And she had to be staying in or near Sage Bluff. Her iPad and camera could be at a hotel there somewhere. There was a motorcycle saddlebag listed on the inventory, but I'm pretty sure Amber had an extra backpack, too. I. . . I don't know. Shelly and I didn't like the motorcycle. We kept trying to get her to agree to buy a car. There isn't—wasn't—a good way to haul a suitcase, so she made do."
Shelly put her head against her husband's shoulder and slumped into him. Her eyes filled. "Honey, we're probably missing so many of Amber's private things."
"I'm sure the Sage Bluff Deputies will check all the local lodgings. There aren't many," Jessie said encouragingly. "I can call Detective Sergeant Abrahmsen. He's the one who has promised to help me with the Moran angle of your daughter's death."
"Thanks, Jessie." Shelly rubbed her eyes, and said in a tired voice, "I hope you begin work soon with the papers we have here. I'm sorry. There's a lot, but without the missing iPad it might be a lot like starting from scratch. Please let us know."
"Shelly, it's late." Jack stood up, took Shelly's hand and drew her up from the sofa. "Why not get some rest? I'll take this young lady to Amber's room to get the computer, and we'll gather whatever paperwork we can find."
"The guest room is made up, Jessie. Let me get you some fresh towels." Shelly stood shakily.
"I offered her our guest room for the night while you were getting our tea, but she insists on staying in her motorhome. She can leave it in the driveway."
"Yes, that's perfect," Jessie said.
Shelly Reynolds stared at her. "But our guest room is always ready for visitors. Are you positive you want to stay out in the little trailer?"
"Oh, yes." Inwardly, Jessie smiled to hear the huge Greyhawk described as a little trailer. "Believe me, Mrs. Reynolds, you don't want my cat around your lovely rugs, and I don't want him left alone in my motorhome, either." Jessie chuckled.
That won a faint smile from the lady of the house. "I understand."
"I hope you don't mind my asking for a short tour of the western art you have collected, though. Maybe tomorrow morning before I leave?"
"Of course. And we'll have a nice breakfast in the morning. I'll see you at 7:30 or so, then, Jessie. I believe you mentioned you wanted to get an early start home. Thank you again for coming." She looked at her husband, her eyes brimming with tears, and gave him an apologetic look.
He looked back with understanding, his grey eyes darkening. "Goodnight, dear," Jack Reynolds said, as his wife walked haltingly to the elegant curving staircase.
"Goodnight, Mrs. Reynolds," Jessie said.
Once his wife turned the curve of the landing, Jack Reynolds turned to Jessie. "We'll retrieve the items we'd like you to take charge of, and there's something else in Amber's room my wife and I want you to see."
Jack Reynolds opened the door to a bedroom gleaming with mellow cherry wood furniture. The room was accented with the intense indigo, burgundy and ochre of traditional Native American rugs and pillows. Amber had used them with a lavish hand. A featherweight down comforter the color of clotted cream with a border of stylized running buffalo covered the queen-sized bed.
A walnut roll-top desk was placed against the north wall. It looked antique, but was actually a reproduction designed to hold a computer. Jessie was stunned to see that hung above the desk was a vivid oil painting of a horse herd and wranglers running through a snowy meadow. The mix of roans, palominos, paints and duns was joined together in the composition by billows of churning snow and the bright colors of the cowboys' shirts. Leading the herd was a magnificent reddish-brown bay with a white blaze and white stockings. It was one of the largest and most dynamic oil paintings Jessie had ever sold, in fact, one she regretted putting on the market. The gallery sold it the first week it was displayed.
"Amber discovered your work while she was working on her thesis. We bought this piece for her birthday. She wanted a painting done by your great Aunt Kate as well, but we couldn't locate one that was for sale. Her love of your artwork was another reason we wanted you to work on her research, Jessie."
"Oh, I'm delighted she liked my work. I wish that she'd found one of Kate's. Our family has a number of them, but we couldn't bear to part with any."
"Of course not."
"Most of Kate's are quite small, but we do have two large ones in my father's bedroom. My favorite is an autumn painting of the Missouri River breaks near Great Falls, Montana. It was painted after the cottonwood trees had turned yellow and gold and the scrub oaks a deep red."
"And the other?"
"The other painting is a pioneer ox cart pulling onto the bank after fording a river. The oxen are lunging forward against the yoke, rolling their eyes with the effort of hauling the wagon out of the water." She sighed. "They're magnificent. I wish your daughter could have seen them."
"My wife would still love to see them, Jessie. So would I. Perhaps someday it will be possible for us to come and visit to discuss the research. Or, when we can come to Sage Bluff to retrieve Amber's belongings. I didn't argue with Shelly about it, but I plan to have the motorcycle and belongings simply shipped to Denver when they're done with them."
"Yes," Jessie said with understanding. "That might be more practical."
"We'll see how stubborn she is about it. I'm afraid she'll feel it's necessary to see where Amber was found." Jack Reynolds bowed his head for a second, seemed to give himself a mental shake, and looked at his guest. "Shall we get busy?"
Amber's computer booted up slowly, and began an automatic slide show of photographs—mostly college kids enjoying life in their free time. Jack Reynolds sat in a leather chair on Jessie's right, his face solemn. Jessie was seated on the chair that matched the roll-top desk, leaning over and peering at the monitor intently.
"Her computer is not password protected. That makes it easier. It seems like an invasion of privacy, but I would like to look through her email and see who she'd been in contact with during the course of writing her thesis." Jessie looked at Jack.
"Go ahead, Jessie. You have free reign."
At his okay, she tapped a few keys. "I'll need a copy of the list of friends you gave the police, too. Kids today usually go by nicknames—I'll need to be able to match them with full names. For instance, how about this entry that just says 'the Web'?"
"That's Amber's best friend, Monette. Monette Weber. There will be photos of her in Amber's picture gallery on the computer—a tiny woman, older than Amber, with a mass of white blonde hair."
All of a sudden Jack Reynolds leaped from the chair and looked at Jessie in horror. "My God. We haven't heard from her. I would have expected her to call. She went along on some of Amber's trips, but I don't know about this trip." Jack looked down at his watch. "It's way too late to phone. I'll call her first thing in the morning."
"Was Amber good about telling you who was along for the ride when she traveled?" Jessie said.
"Yes. Usually, she called us as soon as she settled into a hotel on one of her research trips. If anyone else was along, she'd give us their phone number, too. Just in case of traffic accidents, and such. We never heard who was
going along this time, but it was nearly always Monette."
He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and stared at the screen. "There aren't any missed calls. I can't believe I didn't think about Monette before." He looked at Jessie with a haunted expression. "Now I'm very concerned. It isn't like her not to call or come by if she knows what has happened to our daughter. What if she was hurt, too, and nobody even knows?"
"Mr. Reynolds . . . Jack, do you have her number? I think we should try it tonight, or you simply aren't going to be able to sleep."
He looked stricken. "No, I don't think I do. And it was a cell phone. There's no way to look it up."
"We'll figure out something in the morning," Jessie assured him. "Maybe by calling mutual acquaintances. Your wife will know a few other girls we can phone and ask."
Jack looked slightly relieved. "Yes, you're right. I think she will."
"It is getting really late." Jessie reached over to shut down the computer. "Why don't I take this back to the Greyhawk, along with the notebooks and thumb-drives you gave me? I want to get a small start on them tonight. That way, I'll know if I have other questions you'll be able to answer before I leave tomorrow."
"Yes, that's a good idea."
Jessie stood up and stretched, putting her hand at the small of her back. "And I imagine I have a cat who wonders if I have abandoned him."
"Ah. We used to have a very demanding Siamese and still miss him. He was an elegant, smart beast, Amber's baby. She called him Zebedee."
"Siamese are beautiful animals."
"What kind of cat is yours? And what do you call him?"
"I'm almost embarrassed to tell you," Jessie said, smiling broadly. "He's an enormous, perverse, orange tomcat named Jack. He's named after a boxer my granddad used to like, Jack Dempsey, who was in the ring in the 1920s. Dempsey had a killer left hook, and held the World Heavyweight Championship from 1919 to 1926."
"Yes, I know the boxer you mean," Jack said with interest.
"Well, this cat is a heavyweight, has a little notch missing from one ear, and has lots of hooks. He likes to fight, too, so I keep him close to me when I can."
Jack Reynolds beamed. "A fighting cat named Jack, huh? We have to remember to tell Shelly that in the morning. It might brighten her day a little. She might even have to come out to your Greyhawk and get acquainted. I assume he's a handsome devil."
Jessie thought of Jack's ragtag ear, his loopy grin when the cat's front tooth sometime became snagged over his lower lip, and when his pink tongue decided to protrude just a bit for no particular reason, and said with a smile, "Oh yeah. He's a looker."
Back in the motorhome, Jessie grabbed her cell phone and called Arvid, apologizing for the lateness.
"They don't know where she was planning to stay. Her folks already told the Denver police that. I don't know why that info wasn't passed along to the cops in Sage Bluff. Jack said she definitely would have had reservations at a small hotel. She hated the big chain hotels. Or maybe a B&B. Amber had plenty of money for travel, and Shelly and Jack told me she hated camping." She flicked a cat treat to Jack, and then yawned loudly. "Sorry, it's been a long day."
Arvid yawned back. "Uffda, don't get me started. It's been a bugger of a day here, too."
"Anyway, she could have been staying anywhere. Surely everyone in Sage Bluff would have heard about her death by now. Do you suppose someone thinks they can keep her stuff if they don't fess up about her staying at their place?"
"Yeah. People love free things if they think they can get away with keeping them."
"Hers had to be nice things, too. The missing digital camera was very expensive, if the Reynolds' place is any indication. It's a mansion."
"I hear you. Good quality. Tempting for innkeepers. Yes, people must have heard about her death. The newsman on Channel 8 made an announcement for us. They also announced that if anyone has any knowledge about Amber they should call the station. No takers."
"Too bad."
"Yep. But she had to be staying somewhere local, and she must have offloaded some of her personal items at that lodging. There wasn't enough in the motorcycle bag to get her through even a two day trip. Especially not the way most girls travel with extra clothes, makeup, junk like that—heck, Jessie, there wasn't even a hairbrush in there. In fact, it looks to me like it's mostly dirty clothes she was planning to take to a laundry, and a pair of sandals."
"Well, I know she had a duffel besides the black leather saddlebags that fit on her motorcycle. But no regular luggage," Jessie said with authority. "Her folks say that besides the camera, which probably could take a short movie, if she was interviewing people she may have an iPad with her to record interviews. College kids these days don't take notes on paper. They do everything with electronics, and nearly everything portable has a microphone—iPads, smart phones. Amber would be using something easy to travel with. Her parents think it was probably her iPad. And of course, the phone is a given."
"Yeah, kids practically have phones stitched to their ears," Arvid said. "Huh, I'm surprised they haven't made the smart phones into earrings. Say, Russell said you called him and told him there was a message from her on your dad's answering machine?"
"Yes. After Russell told me her folks said she was coming to see us, I listened to the messages. All Amber said was that she wanted to stop by when she was in town. Her voice seemed professional and calm. She didn't give any specific time she might stop by, either, but it seems odd that she'd plan to show up unannounced—especially so late in the evening, doesn't it? It makes me think that maybe after she left the first message, she found something that she couldn't wait to share."
"Nah, bet it's just that most college kids are night owls, so they expect everyone else to be up. I have a nephew who calls my sister at 11:30 nearly once a week. He can't seem to understand she's been in bed for at least an hour or two by then. Inconsiderate little bugger. My sister keeps threatening to call him at 5:30 in the morning when she hauls herself out of bed. Ha ha." He went on, "I'll want to listen to that message when you get home. What else did you find out?"
"Arvid, there's this girl . . . " Jessie told him about the little blond who may have been with Amber.
"Damn. Since this Weber girl hasn't checked in with anyone and never called the Sheriff's Department, maybe she didn't go along. She may not have heard about Amber's death." Arvid paused. "Or, blast it, we could have a missing girl."
"Yeah," Jessie said. "Woman, actually. She was older than the usual student. And the Reynolds know Monette was raised by a maternal grandmother, but that's about it. They don't know the woman's last name or phone number. The college may have her contact information since Monette was registered for classes this year, though. Her information would be on Amber's phone. If it ever shows up." Jessie thought a minute, feeling like she was missing something obvious. "Heck, I must be having an idiot day," she said, thumping the palm of her hand against her forehead. "Her email address ought to be on Amber's computer Jack Reynolds just gave me—and an email would go right to a smart phone. She'd get the message in two seconds." Jessie heard a slamming sound.
"Jessie, I'm on my way out the door, heading to the station. Boot the computer back up before you take off, and send me that email address when you find it."
"Will do."
"When I get back to the office, I'll try to get hold of her. And Baker, our new hire, has been real interested in how the investigation's been going. I might get her to do some follow up."
"Okay."
"Tell Amber's parents that Russell and I will find where she was lodging and track down her things." He wrinkled his forehead with worry that Jessie couldn't see over the phone, but heard in his voice. "You be real careful, Jessie. Russell could still be on the right track, thinking there might be a drug angle, but if I asked one of them magic eight balls kids I had when I was young, I think when I flipped it over it'd say the 'outlook is poor'."
The next morning Jessie bit into the last sliver of her warm
caramel roll and nearly swooned with pleasure.
"You're right; your wife is the best baker I've ever met. Thanks for talking me into staying for breakfast. But, I've got to get on the road soon."
"I never lie, Jessie. At least not about something as good as Shelly's cooking."
They sat at the breakfast bar in the Reynolds' custom kitchen on high stools whose cushions were covered in vivid, southwestern Zapotec patterns. A shoe box of correspondence from Amber's bedroom sat at the end of the counter ready to be packed in the Greyhawk. Jack had handed her the box with an apologetic look as soon as she entered their home that morning. It had been overlooked when they searched for computer disks the night before. A quick glance through the box piqued her interest. Jessie planned to go through every word as soon as she returned home. The box of letters had also reminded her she had forgotten to look for the letter from the FBI agent her father asked her to give Russ. Well, she'd do it tomorrow.
She slid down from her stool and reached into her pocket for a pad of sticky notes. She got a pen from Jack Reynolds, jotted down Arvid's name and personal cell phone number and handed it to him.
"This is the contact information for the cop there in Sage Bluff who I know will help as much as he can. He'll call you when he finds out if Monette Weber was actually traveling with your daughter. Arvid's a sweetheart." She handed a business card to Shelly. "This has my cell phone number and email address. Contact me any time."
Shelly looked at the card, then placed it on the counter. "Monette." Shelly made a small moue of distaste. "She's been good to Amber. And I like her okay, Jessie, but she's what you'd call a 'man-eater'. Monette is older than Amber, closer to thirty. She isn't the bit of fluff that she looks, either. Monette is what people call a computer geek, and like Amber's address book says, my daughter simply called her "the Web". But of course, we gave her full name to the police."
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