After parallel parking the rental car on Elk Avenue, I buttoned my coat and wrapped the one winter scarf I owned around my neck. What started off as a drizzle had turned to a frigid sleet.
Decorated with fall leaves and pumpkins, enticing store windows displayed their handmade goods, mountaineer gear, and new slope maps. I stopped into a small coffee bar and stood at the counter to buy a hot espresso.
“Anything else?” the clerk asked.
“You look like you’re closing,” I said.
“That I am. It’s quitting time. My customers have all gone home to put their dinners on or they’ve crossed the street to trade their caffeine high in for a shot of whiskey and some pool. Don’t see many takers after four.”
“Four?” I gasped.
“Like I said. Quitting time. But you can sip away as I clean up and close out.”
No sipping. I pushed the half-full cup on the counter and dashed to my car. I had completely forgotten. Colorado was still on Daylight Saving Time. I thought it was three!
CRAP. I’D LOOKED at my watch and not my cell phone. Why didn’t I buy that watch that did it all? I was too cheap. That’s why.
I looked at the information coming in from the tracking device. It didn’t matter what hour it was, Hunter Childs was on CO-135 and approaching North Main Street in Crested Butte.
I’d just come from there. Starting the car and doing a quick u-turn in hopes the local cops weren’t around to nail me; I kept one eye on the road and one on the mapped moving vehicle. I had to try and get behind it, but the slick streets didn’t help. It didn’t help that I had no idea which side street he may turn on to go to his cabin.
Why did I have to be on his tail? I’d learn soon enough where the car met the cabin. I had this feeling. Watch him arrive. Watch him in action. Get your eyes on his car. Those are the words I kept hearing.
I took the street two blocks over from Elk Avenue, going as fast as I could safely drive. The sleet became more like a sheath of darkness, obscuring any sunlight. I glanced at the navigation system to see I had about met up to Main. I looked up and saw the pedestrian slipping on the wet pavement and blinded by my headlights.
With a hard turn of the wheels I managed to spare the pedestrian, now cursing at me and flipping me the finger. I slammed down on the brakes, forgetting all rules about driving on ice and snow. The car spun out and ran into the towering pine tree making the careening sound of impact and jostling my body from side to side. The man, now out of harm's way on the other side of the street, started moving his head back and forth with a huge grin as he slapped his thighs, yelling, “Freako tourist! Go back home!”
Great. I gave the young man a good laugh, the tree survived, and my rental car still had four wheels. The feeling inside me pressed me on to back up, straighten the car, and get to Main Street.
When I reached the intersection a steel gray military looking SUV passed in front of me. I could barely make out the Arizona plates. This was the vehicle I’d risked a pedestrian’s life for as I ran up both a tree and a certain hefty repair bill.
Only one car behind Childs, I lagged behind. My rental had been nondescript. Now, it fell into the distinctive category of a wreck. We crossed Elk Avenue and the vehicle slowed, making a right into a park.
I slipped further behind when realizing that the parking lot was empty. My only refuge was in refuse. A large construction dumpster sat on the far side of the lot. Lights off, I slipped in behind it, rolled down my window, and grabbed my camera to zoom in on the two men congregated and huddled.
They took shelter under a huge pavilion and turned toward one another. Heads started shaking and air-fists went flying. With the window down I could hear the yelling but not the words.
“Come on,” I coaxed them with a hushed voice. “Turn around for the camera.”
Six minutes later the men turned back toward the car. Without hats or scarves, I took a series of photographs with the shutter on fast-speed. Even with the camera clicking over and over again, I could make out Hunter Childs through the viewer.
Now standing near the vehicle, the second man turned and looked toward my direction.
It couldn’t be. I had never met the man in person but he was deceased. I’d have to go to my laptop to see a larger image.
Whoever I thought I saw could be a dead-ringer for Manny Childs.
HUNTER CHILDS and the other man jumped into the SUV and pulled away.
I snapped a shot of the maker’s emblem on the vehicle. A Rhino? Once Childs had turned on Main Street, I pulled out from behind my cover, gritted my teeth as I waited for a truck to pass, and slipped in behind.
They made a hard left onto a dirt road. I slowed down and made the same turn. The sleet returned for a second performance. While not an expert on cold weather, I knew that snow would be likely and I hoped the tires on the rental car were worthy of the challenge. The blinding effect helped keep my car out of clear site from them. Dropping behind a good distance, I wound around a mountainside. At the fork, Hunter took what appeared to be the less travelled road. I turned the other way, waited until they had driven on ahead, then turned around and waited as I watched the GPS tracker showing them taking a few more winding turns. Within minutes Childs’ vehicle had come to a stop.
Not knowing what might occur at the cabin, logic prevailed. I’d give them a good fifteen minutes in hopes the men would cool down. Then what the hell would I do? They had been so vehement in their display of anger I could walk in on a drug sale going bad. A love triangle. Even, murder.
My first call went to Breecie. After four rings she answered, her words slurred and barely audible against the noise of a raucous background likely that of a bar. Maybe a sports bar, by the load cheers.
“Where are you?” she asked.
I could ask the same of her, but instead I replied, “I’m in Crested Butte, Colorado and not far from what I think must be Hunter Childs’ cabin.”
“What the hell? Why?”
“To finally stand eyeball-to-eyeball to this elusive man that doesn’t want the encounter.”
“That’s dumb,” she managed to say after a long pause. “You know the first rule. Meet in some place public.”
“Too late. I think he’s in there and he has company,” I said.
I stared back at the tracker. No movement.
“Let me guess. He’s with a member of his tribe of voluptuous bimbos.”
“Not this time. He’s with a man and Breecie, I’ve got the photos I took earlier up on my monitor. The man looks a lot like Manny Childs. I don’t know what to think.”
“Oh, honey, you’ve had more drinks than me. That guy’s good and dead.”
I heard a man near her suggesting it was time to go have some real fun.”
“But, I’m talking to my friend,” Breecie said.
The man must have grabbed her phone. He said, “Hello, friend. Goodbye, friend.”
I heard Breecie’s sultry laugh and the call ended.
Not having the luxury of time, I didn’t give it a thought. I called Schlep and explained in more detail what I had seen and where I sat parked.
“I don’t like this. Go on up there if you must, but just do a drive by. Are there other homes around? Businesses?”
“I passed a few small cabins. The snow’s coming down hard so I don’t think I’ll be able to see the tire tracks, yet alone any of those that have come or gone earlier.”
“You have the location, Cassidy. You can always go back in the morning. Get out of there.”
“I know. That’s the wise thing to do. But I might lose track of the other man.”
“And you think it might be Manny Childs?”
I had zoomed in on the photograph. “Same height. Same build. Good looking in a rugged way. Same nose. Oh, my stars!”
“What is it?”
I gulped, “I didn’t recall it, but now, with one of the old photographs of Manny in front of me, it’s too friggin’ creepy. Manny had a dark birthmark in the
shape of Alaska on his left chin. It’s on the screen in front of me right now from my photo. It’s him. But damn, he’s dead.”
The phone fell silent. For Schlep not to be yapping meant his mind had begun to search though the thick files in his brain.
“Schlep, are you there?”
He cleared his throat. “When we debriefed on the man and his death do you remember the coroner’s report?”
“Yes. Well, not really.”
“The coroner indicated that both Mr. and Mrs. Childs were burned beyond recognition and that they’d have to rely on dental records for identification.”
“That’s right.”
“It went on to read that Manny Childs had no records but for those in his early childhood. Since early adulthood, he’d gone to Mexico for his dental work.”
“Where in Mexico?”
“Unknown. Same story. Even if we took a look at the two most likely towns Tucsonans travel to, Nogales and Puerto Penasco, and even toss in San Carlos and Yuma, there must be thousands of dentists and no records. I’ve tried twice. No way. Nothing,”
“I know,” I sighed. “Shingles on every corner. But, if it’s true, why?”
“Save the why for me to dig into. Right now you need to get out of there.”
“You’re right. Start digging.”
“Good. So I trust you’re leaving for your hotel?”
I hung up. Schlep already knew my answer.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES had passed. With luck, the two men had called an end to their heated argument and brought out the good scotch.
I called Schlep back.
He answered the phone saying, “You’re still there.”
“You betcha, but I wanted to tell you my knowings are on track. I know I’ll be safe.”
The rental car skidded as I snaked my way up the mountainside. While not experienced driving in snow, I deduced I wasn’t exactly on new snow tires. Thank God the fender bender didn’t affect the wheel rim, although I did hear an occasional grinding sound when I made the turns.
A few more cabins dotted the sides of the road, larger in size from those at the beginning of the street but still barely visible through the heavy snowfall. I kept my eyes on the GPS and the stopped vehicle, which presumably showed Childs’ cabin would be around the next bend. As I curved to the right I saw the home with dim exterior lights marking my way to the front door. Interior lights shone through several windows.
What stood before me could not be mistaken for anything but Childs’ idea of a home away from home. More like a mountain retreat, the two-storied sprawling structure rose stoically from the ground like a medieval slate fortress.
I took a deep breath, still unsure what game it was I’d set out to play. All I knew is that I had come to have a surprise talk with Hunter and might have caught on to something bigger than the man’s ego. For good measure, I unzipped my leather bag, making sure that the gun wouldn’t be seen but be easy to retrieve.
Making my way to the front door, I skipped the bell and knocked on the door.
I knocked on it a second time and pounded on the damn door for a third time before the porch light turned on and the door opened.
Hunter Childs stood there, his face quick to turn crimson. He stepped back.
“I was in the neighborhood,” I said as I seized the moment of his astonishment to step inside. “Out of the cold, you know. I can’t imagine how you deal with this but maybe for the gorgeous summers.”
“Ms. Clark. To what do I owe the pleasure of you stalking me?”
“I knew you wouldn’t be impossibly busy up here and we might finally have a chance to chat.”
I peered beyond the foyer and spied the roaring fire spitting sparks onto the gray stone floor. Blatant were the two glasses half empty of an amber liquid.
“Oh, I’m sorry. It looks like I’ve interrupted you and your guest.”
His stance remained rigid as his eyes appeared as slithers of flat glazed gunmetal. He brought a hand to his pronounced chin, rubbing it as if polishing limestone speckled with a day or two of beard growth.
“Where are my manners? Come in by the fire and let’s have this discussion you deem to be so damn important.”
My eyes darted around as far as I could see. “But, what about your guest?”
“Just me. This isn’t the easiest place to find, but you know that now, don’t you?”
I hadn’t noticed it before, but he wore a perpetual smirk. Even when he spoke the snarl raised the left side of his upper lip.
I persisted, “But, the two glasses on the table?”
“I have a habit of being a two-fisted drinker, especially when I’m roaming around inside of here. I lose one drink and make another. Why don’t I pour you a glass? Name your poison.”
“Water will be fine,” I said.
“Nonsense. Way out here, in the freezing weather. Let’s get something to warm you up inside.
I watched with a bit of relief as he made me a drink and refilled a glass from the table with the same poison, even as he hastily removed the extra goblet.
Listening for sounds from inside or outside of the house, I heard nothing but some twangy sitar music from a distant room.
“Mr. Childs, may I use your restroom?”
He raised his arms slightly, turned to look down a long hallway, and returned his gaze to me. “Of course. There’s one to the right at the top of the stairs.”
The faint music seemed to be coming from somewhere down that long hall, and who doesn’t have a main floor bathroom?
I dismissed myself to find it, which proved to be easy as it was the only room with an open door. Now, if I could only figure out how to work the toilet with the electronically controlled panel to whish up there, whish down there, blow-dry you out, and all while on the heated seat. The only thing it didn’t do is squeeze your bowels and bladder to empty them. I rifled through the trash basket. Facial tissue and nothing else. One had red lipstick blots. Another, a shade of coral. No surprise there. I snooped in the medicine cabinet to find it empty of all but an array of condom packages, perfectly arranged. They were all extra large, needed or not.
I learned one thing during my tour of the bathroom. The guy was a friggin’ neat freak.
Returning to the living room, Hunter’s back leaned away from me as he put more logs on the fire. He turned to face me, that fake warm smile riddled with cynicism.
“Now, let’s have our fireside chat,” he quipped.
His cordiality fell flat. Time to play to win.
“Very well,” I said. “As I’m sure you can deduce, you didn’t seem to have time for me in Tucson, so here I am. I thought it a prudent trip.”
“Paid for by my paranoid half-sister, Stacie. And I won’t even bother to ask how you knew I was here, as she the hell didn’t.”
“Let’s start with your perspective on this family trust and its terms. How do you feel about it?”
Hunter took a seat, and not in a comfortable chair but rather one with a rigid wood back that held his posture upright and firm. After lifting his drink from the table and taking a long pull on it, almost oblivious to me he cocked his head which almost made the crooked sneer less noticeable.
“It’s ludicrous. I’m the single heir cut out for the job and my father knew it. In his big-hearted way I think he drew up the trust to let the others know he loved them, equally, and he did.”
I uncrossed my legs and thrust my face nearer him. “The list of heirs-apparent is shrinking with the three deaths of your siblings, starting with the death of Claudia’s son, Nick.”
His words came swiftly. “Nick was a fun guy. Smart, too. He didn’t have Dad’s blood running through his veins, and in the end, call it DNA, it mattered. An unfortunate accident.”
“What if it wasn’t an accident?”
“I’ll hear none of your bullshit ramblings and half-cocked theories. The investigative ruling is clear. Move on. Or better yet, I’ll set you on yo
ur way. For free. Mason’s death came as no real surprise. Everyone saw his physical and mental descent into the abyss of the dark world of drugs, no matter how he tried to hide it. The damnable thing is no one talked about it. Maybe we could have helped the kid. Again, an unfortunate death.”
Hunter polished off his drink with a slug and reached for the bottle of tequila.
“May I top off yours?” he asked. “Treasures are meant to be enjoyed.”
I’d only taken a few small sips, and declined. I had to make it down that mountain with a wrecked car and questionable tires. From a side window I could see that the snow kept falling.
“That’s good that you can enjoy fine things. You do have sadness all around you. I know about your friend, Ms. Fine,” I said. “A tragic loss.”
“Her drowning was her own damn fault, out in that weather. Stupid woman. And speaking of women we have Stacie, dumb enough to hire you, and our family whore, Taylor. The reason they aren’t— ”
After his long pause I said, “—aren’t what?”
Hunter reached for a cigar from the nearby humidor after another drink of tequila and a deep breath. “They’re a stain on the family’s name. Does this conclude our little chat?”
“Sure,” I said, making precise moves. I stood up and grabbed my coat, then sat back down. “I guess we forgot Manny and his death. He’s your full brother, right?”
“That he is. One helluva loss. Call me callous, but I never cared for his wife. Next subject, or are we through here?”
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