“Just one more thing. You spend a lot of time at the Scorpions’ offices. What exactly do you do there?”
He wrinkled his nose and his eyebrows rose like the top of yurts with his bulging eyes supporting them.
“I’ll take that as a naive insult. This conversation wearies me and your unexpected visit was and is unwelcome.”
He stood and pointed to my belongings. The welcome mat had been pulled.
CHAPTER FORTY
Driving to town through the snow as if I was one-hundred and five years old, I arrived at the inn with wet hair, frozen fingers, and wearing a frazzled smile.
The innkeepers kindly told me of a shop with late hours that sold hats and gloves, and just up the street. I thanked them, grabbed the key and took my belongings to the room.
As the coffee finished brewing I took a towel to my hair and sat down with my phone and my computer, ringing Schlep.
“Thank God,” he said. “Are you in for the night?”
“I’m in and working all night. It’s him, Schlep. The man with Hunter is his brother, the once-dead Manny.”
“You saw him?”
“I know it. It took me awhile when I was driving from his so-called cabin mansion down to the inn. There was no sign of anyone else at the house but for two crystal glasses Hunter tried to explain it away. But there was something else. Music coming from somewhere down a long hallway.”
“So, maybe he left it on and forgot about it.”
“Nope. It was sitar music. And, thanks to that fiesta party hosted by Claudia Childs, I happen to remember that Stacie gave Manny a couple of rare CD’s that night. Ravi Shankar and George Harrison. Sitar music,” I said as I tossed the damp towel onto the floor.
“Coincidence?”
“No way. Even when you consider the audience to be slim, I felt a knowing.”
“Won’t hold up in court, but I learned a long time ago not to doubt you. Now, what?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to call down to the front desk and see if I can keep this room for a couple more nights. We have no way to track Manny. He’s kept hidden all this time and I don’t want to lose him.”
Right after I spoke those words the hair on my neck started to rise. Cold hair. Prickly pear cactus hair.
I had to come up with a better plan. If I confronted them I knew I’d be playing Russian roulette with the devil incarnated. Maybe, two of them.
Waking up early the next morning, I became aware that I didn’t remember any dreams. Usually, I can’t shut down the images or messages until after my second cup of coffee.
I also remembered I hadn’t called the front desk to extend my stay, so I tossed on some jeans, a sweater, and my Red Sox baseball cap, grabbed my parka and bag, and descended the creaking stairs to the small lobby.
The innkeeper sat on a Victorian red velvet sofa adjacent to the desk, hunched over and perusing what appeared to be a local paper.
“Good morning, Ms. Clark,”
“And to you. I wonder if I could trouble you with a couple of questions?”
The man stood up and shuffled over to his position behind the desk. “How can I help you?”
“First, I’d like to stay on here for two or three more nights. Is that possible?”
No need for a computer, he took a look at his ledger book. “I can get you in for one more night. Sorry. It’s the best I can do. And I’d suggest you call around town, but I’ve already done that for other guests. There’s a big music festival in town this weekend and everyone’s booked.”
“I’ll take the one night, and just one more thing,” I said, producing my phone with the pictures I had taken at the park. “Do you know these two men?”
He adjusted the table lamp to get a better look. “Can’t say I know them but I’ve seen them around. Now, this man here,” he pointed to Hunter, “isn’t here all that much that I know. Maybe I see him once or twice a month. Makes himself scarce.”
“But Hitch is a local. He seems to come into town about once a week to load up on groceries. I’ve seen him sitting over at the park, and patronizing our local restaurants and pubs. As nice as he is, he seems to be a loner.”
“Hitch? Is that his real name?”
“Told us so. Everyone calls him Hitch.”
I didn’t waver in my knowing we were looking at a photo of Manny Childs.
“Do you have his last name?” I said.
“He didn’t offer. Me and my wife don’t ask. Around here we take our own at face value, and Hitch is a good one. Always smiling. Always jumps in to help someone out. I saw him changing a flat tire for one of our deputy marshals, Sam, who’d slipped on the ice and broke his leg, and another time a while back he paid the grocery bill for old Mrs. Finch who gets by living in a trailer. Darla manages the store and she told me he does that a lot. Doesn’t want any thanks or recognition. Good man.”
Doesn’t want to be recognized, I thought.
“Where do people like that like to hang out around here?”
“Now, I know you aren’t the paparazzi, but you have to keep in mind that Crested Butte is no Aspen or Telluride where people flock to see the rich and famous. People here go about their business, which is exactly why we have so many celebrities. You need to respect their privacy.”
“Of course,” I said, and thanked the innkeeper for the extra night and his input.
Frequently when I’m on a hunting mission I can stroll down the streets and know which storefronts and restaurants I should enter. Elk Avenue brought me nothing. I walked up and down, on both sides, twice.
The snow had abated but the freezing air lingered. I grabbed a hot all-day breakfast and people watched while gobbling down a Denver omelet and crisp hash browns. I took my eyes away from the street only to stare at the mesmerizing steam coming from my coffee cup. Shoppers and diners alike seemed to favor balaclava hoods that covered all but their eyes and thick ski mittens. Even with only one more night I decided to find a store with some gloves and maybe a scarf, and then I’d drive back up the mountain and park out of sight from Hunter’s home.
Unease overcame me along with a sense of defensiveness as I entered the mountain gear store. My posture stiffened, straining already tense muscles. I scanned the store and forced myself into a corner and slumping over so as not to be seen. Hurriedly, I tucked my red hair up under my baseball cap.
Opposite me stood Manny Childs, engaged in conversation with a clerk. With his head turned downward as he fingered snow goggles, I grabbed my phone and took several rapid shots of the man standing only ten feet away from me.
The clerk looked up at me and told me she’d be right with me. I saw Manny’s shoulder turn my way and I abruptly turned to the wall. “Just looking,” I said, mustering up a low gruff voice.
With my heartbeat feeling me like pounding rocks against my chest and sweat already forming at my forehead under the rim of my cap, I made my way to the front door.
Outside and having cleared the store window I skirted across the street and around the corner, walking two more blocks and down another street.
Leaning against the cold stone wall of an empty building and taking deep but harsh breaths of the frigid air, the sensation of doom left my body. I had to believe that even though I never came face-to-face with Manny Childs, by now Hunter would have shown him a photo of me from online or maybe a back cover of one of my crime novels. My stupid ball cap would have to suffice as my winter hat.
I had close-up photographs of an undeniable Childs sibling who was very much alive. It made little sense for me to go back to Hunter’s place, even if no one was home and I could get in. I had the proof I needed.
Glancing at my watch, it was nearing noon. On the list for the afternoon would be to try and find the people the innkeeper told me about.
First on my list was the town’s main grocery store.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
ASKING AT THE customer service counter for Darla, the woman told me I’d find her outside behind the
store on her break.
Easy to spot as she was the only one to take breaks in the bitter cold, I approached her and asked if I could bum one of her cigarettes, using my best Texas accent.
“Sure thing. Not too many smokers in this town. All health-nuts.”
I told her it was my first time in Crested Butte and just passing through. She’d lived there all of her life.
“Where do you hail from?” she asked.
“Fort Worth, Texas,” I said. We don’t have mountains like these.”
We continued chatting for a while until I realized her break time might be coming to an end.
“Hey, I hear you have some pretty famous people around here. I think I saw one in a store but I can’t recall his name. I took some pictures of him.”
“People do that all the time. Do you have them with you?”
I pulled out my phone and showed her the photos of Manny.
“He’s no celebrity, but he must be rich. Don’t know where he made his fortune. He lives in what some of us call the Beverly Hills of Crested Butte. Very generous with those less fortunate. Big heart but he’s not much of a talker. Just likes to be a regular guy, I guess.
“Good looking guy and the girls around here all took notice and gave him their best shot when he arrived into town, and we’ve got some real lookers. Not his thing, I guess.”
“Married?”
“No wedding ring. I’ve never seen him with a sole but for one other man, and that’s not too often. I don’t think he’s a life partner, mind you. They’ll get into loud spats one moment and be cordial but all serious the next time I see them.
“Real nice talking to you, but I have to go back inside. Sorry you didn’t get your celebrity shot.”
Oh, but I did. I just didn’t know what to do with it.
I DROVE BACK UP to the park. Nothing. Not a soul. Now, I wished I’d stuck around the gear shop to see the car Manny might be driving. I didn’t know what I’d do with that information, either, other than to run the registration. These weren’t stupid men. Any vehicles would likely be under the name of the shell corporation as was the house. Now, I had the address, Schlep was already digging up information as to who or what entity held title.
Next up would be to park in front of the Crested Butte marshals’ office. I untucked my red hair from the cap, grabbed my bag after safely storing the gun, and walked in to introduce my true self to the marshal that had endured a broken leg. Sam.
“I hope he’s recovered,” I said.
The woman at the desk informed me that Sam took a few days off to see a specialist in Aspen. And visit the local bars.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.
“Oh, he’s fine. He’s just a wimp when it comes to pain, but here comes the marshal now,” she said, and then called to the giant of a man lumbering down the hall toward us.
“This lady has come to see you and your bum leg,” she said.
“Personal or business?”
“Business,” I assured him as he gave me a look over.
“Then you can talk to me. What is it I can do for you?”
I retrieved my cell phone as I showed him my Arizona P.I. license.
“Ms. Clark, and all the way from Arizona. Are you packing?”
“No, sir. I wonder if you would take a moment to look at a couple of photos for me?”
The marshal pulled out his reading glasses, glimpsed at my screen, huffed, and said, “And, your point?”
“Do you know this man?”
“Seen him around. I’ve had no cause to introduce myself to him. This is a quiet town and he fits right in. I haven’t as much as written him up for a parking violation. Why?”
“I have some information for him,” I lied, “regarding a family estate. Some relatives are concerned about his welfare.”
The marshal stood silent. I held my ground with a firm stance, still holding my screen up to his face.
“Ms. Clark, you come waltzing in here with questions about a citizen that kindly changed one of my deputy’s tires. I’m here to say I’ve had no trouble with the man and I don’t want any.”
“But, can you tell me—”
“—First, you can go home and tell all the boy’s relatives that you saw him alive and well. Second, I have nothing to divulge and even if I did I wouldn’t. You’ve shown me an Arizona license. It’s no good here. I suggest you get in touch with the family’s lawyer to deal with any estate.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a busy man.”
The marshal turned, bumping into the reception desk, and disappeared down the short hall.
I turned to the woman still sitting at the desk. “I’m sorry to waste your time.”
“Forget about it. That old grouch’s biggest problem is keeping skiers from mangling up their bodies when they take to the slopes high on all the legal marijuana around here. We have more pot shops than liquor stores in this town,” she said as she rolled her eyes. “Let me take a look at those photos.”
I handed her my phone.
“That’s Hitch. An oddball, that one.”
“How so?”
“He seems all friendly and such, but I think that smile of his covers up some demons. My husband thinks maybe it’s PTSD, but I don’t think so. I’ve seen the man’s emotions change in a dark flash, like a Jekyll and Hyde thing. He recovers, alright, but I’m not fooled. And then there’s his crying.”
“In public?”
“I’ve only seen him whimper or tear up at the diner, but he goes out to the park and will sit there alone for an hour sobbing. Some may say something got his heart, but I think something else. I think something got his soul. You know, we have ghosts in this town. Crested Butte is known as the most haunted ski town in America. Maybe he’s not real at all. Wouldn’t that be something?”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
MY FLIGHT LEFT Gunnison at 12:50 the next day but I had the drive to make and anticipated spending quite some time when turning in my wrecked rental car. I’d check out of the inn at nine.
That night I grabbed a soup-to-go and holed up in my room, but not before catching a glimpse of what the locals refer to as the best alpenglow in the country. Tucson has its own range of mountains that turn the rosy pink to purple color when the sun’s solar disc drops below the horizon. The sight was awe inspiring, and I felt certain it was time for me to get back home to my pupcakes and my team. We had work to do.
I called Schlep, hoping for him to pick me up at the airport.
“What about Jimmy and the gang?” I asked.
“Jimmy had no trouble gaining access to the Childs family plot. He didn’t see a soul. He took scores of photos and we pulled them all up. Nothing popped out at us, but they’re all on a disc for your review.
“The rest of our team is out in the field and handling our smaller cases. Everything’s under control. Same old issue with a few clients that want their goods yesterday.”
“Yeah. The good people that want to divorce, rat out, or put loved ones, friends, and business partners in jail. Do me a big favor. Will you arrange for Jimmie to fly up here to Crested Butte? Just to run surveillance, for now. We have an address of this house. Manny Childs is there and he has to have a car to get into town. See if Jimmie can get a tracker on it.”
“Done. Listen, I was about to call you,” Schlep said. “I took Finnegan and Phoebe over to your house a couple of hours ago and yes, I took my swim. The thing is, from your diving board I could see the edge of your driveway. That black SUV was parked there again. I looked straight at it so whoever was driving it must have spotted me. It made its own dust devils tearing out of there.”
“And none of the Childs’ clan owns such a vehicle?” I asked.
“You’d think one of them would own one black SUV, which is all I had to go on, but nothing turned up. Unless it’s under another shell company. I did track down the property owner of the Crested Butte home. It’s under an L.L.C. deeded to I. H. M. Enterprises. Couldn’t find anyth
ing further on that entity, and I dug down deep.”
I sighed, rubbing my forehead and collapsing on the bed. “So, the SUV. I don’t know why anyone would be watching me. Will you make the call and get me on our security guy’s schedule to come out and put up another camera, angled toward the street where you think it might catch this vehicle. Maybe we can grab a license plate next time.”
“I’m on it. And I checked on that Rhino you’ve been following. It’s a Rhino GX. Costs around $240,000.00 used, and it’s military tough.”
“Of course it is,” I laughed. “The dude has to protect what’s left of his shriveling balls.”
AFTER RETRIEVING HER blouse from the bedpost, Breecie grabbed her crumpled skirt, blazer, and shoes and quickly dressed. She didn’t bother putting on the velvet bustier and garter belt with the sheer nylons, and instead tossed them into her purse. She slipped out of the hotel room door.
Driving home, Breecie realized she would never see the shady judge again. She enjoyed his voracious sexual appetite, and while she didn’t relish the fact that he was still on-again, off-again with his wife he was probably more than one woman could handle, anyway. Still, their arrangement needed to end. He had become too clingy. Too close. He wanted from her what she was unwilling to give.
Besides, she’d caught the wandering eyes of a handsome and prominent politician.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
THE TRIP BACK to Tucson proved uneventful, although I wished I had a camera to capture the employees’ jaws that dropped when I went to return the wrecked rental car. Schlep and my pupcakes picked me up at the airport and we drove directly to our office. Within minutes I had my files open and worked two monitors while Schlep retrieved fresh water for Finnegan and Phoebe as he then grabbed his tablet.
I pulled up the map of southern Arizona in my office to reveal the bad board. The kind you would see in a police conference room or the chief’s office, usually equally disguised. We hid it so that our guests might not feel the same discomfort and anguish we felt every day. We both left the computers for the time being and sat on a bench across from the board.
Lethal Trust Page 17