A Treasure to Die For

by Richard Houston

  Fred didn’t answer, but raised his head at the mention of his name. He had slept through the excitement of the scanner, and I felt bad for waking him from his dreams. For all I knew he might have caught Chatter, or met a pretty Collie. I reached down to rub his ears, but froze when the scanner came back on.

  Bonnie managed to raise the volume in time for us to hear someone request a tow-truck at Three Sisters Park to haul Appleton’s truck away. “I think Fred and I might go there tomorrow, Bon.”

  “Three Sister’s Park? What do you expect to find there?”

  “Not the park, Bon. I want to go back to Appleton’s cabin before they send out their forensics team. Our prints are all over the place.”

  She set her glass on the table next to the wrinkled paper from Appleton’s bedroom. “Why would they do that? Are you saying he didn’t kill himself?”

  “You’re forgetting the blood stain on the deck, Bon. I’m no expert, but it looked fresh and someone tried to wash it out. Maybe somebody was trying to make it look like suicide.”

  “Are you sure I can’t get you a beer, Jake. It would help you think better. How did he drive back and catch us there if he’d already been killed? You gonna tell me he’s a zombie?”

  “Zombie or not, it doesn’t smell right, and I’m sure the cops will smell it too.”

  ***

  I was torn between leaving Fred with Bonnie and taking him with me the following morning. Bonnie made the decision for me when she used the same tactic as the day before. My Jeep was still down and if I wanted to use her Cherokee, I had to take her along.

  “Only if I drive,” I told her, trying to look like I meant it. I used my mean face, the one I use when Fred has done something bad, where I stare without blinking.

  She wasn’t buying it. “Should we let the little boy drive, Freddie?”

  My mean voice had worked on him. He was at my side acting like a concrete statue, but managed a short bark when he heard her question.

  “Okay, you guys win, but only because I need to fix my face and it will save time if I do it while you drive.”

  ***

  We drove past Appleton’s slowly, but not slow enough to be suspicious if someone should be watching. Once satisfied that the cabin wasn’t being watched, we went back and pulled into the drive. I parked close to the deck stairs instead of the front door. There was no need to clean the door of prints because we had entered through the sliding door on the deck.

  I turned to Bonnie who had already unhooked her seat belt and was reaching for the door handle. “Bon, please don’t,” I said before she could open the door. “I need you to stay here with Fred and watch the road while I go in and wipe the place down.”

  “It’s my prints too, Jake. I can’t take the chance you’ll miss anything.”

  “Please, Bon. You’ll slow me down and I need you to be my lookout.”

  She let go of the door handle and sat back without saying a word. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was pouting.

  “I’m sorry, Bon Bon. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It’s just that I really need you to watch my back.”

  A cigarette and lighter appeared from nowhere. “I’m not a cripple, Jake. Just because I’m old, doesn’t mean I’m slow,” she said, before flicking on her lighter.

  ***

  The cabin looked the same as when we were here yesterday. I knew I had to be quick for it was only a matter of time before someone showed up, so I started at the sliding door then worked my way toward the bedroom, wiping everything we might have touched with a rag coated with lemon oil. I had seen on some TV show where prints couldn’t be lifted from an oily surface. It sounded logical, whether it was true or not, but too late I realized how stupid I’d been. Maybe Bonnie should have come with me after all. I’m sure she would have known better.

  Appleton had been a slob. The place looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in months, so my attempt to wipe prints became all too obvious when I went to clean off the table where my shotgun had lain. I needed to wipe the whole table or even a rookie cop would see someone had tried to remove finger prints. It would be like leaving little sticky notes saying ‘look here’.

  If only moving the clutter to clean under it was so simple. My brilliant idea to wear latex gloves was stupid, because they were now coated in lemon oil. I couldn’t touch anything without staining it with oil from the gloves, and if I took them off, I’d be leaving more prints than I started with.

  Appleton had inadvertently solved the problem for me. Among the mess on the table was a dirty dish towel. Using the towel as a makeshift pair of gloves, I could now move a stack of books that included Forrest Fenn’s book and several overdue library books on lost Rocky Mountain treasures. There was also a Lakewood phone book and a printout on paper with holes punched on the sides. I was in still in high school the last time I saw that kind of paper; it had to be thirty years old, but wasn’t. Thirty-year-old paper should be yellow with faded ink, and this looked like it was printed yesterday. A quick glance told me it was a copy of the Rocky Mountain News article Paul Wilson had mentioned at his book signing.

  More clutter was stacked on top of a small tin box. My heart nearly stopped when I went to move the box heard the distinctive sound of coins. Sure that Julie’s ring would be there, I tore off the top of the box, but all I found were my coins and a flash drive.

  Where was her ring? Did he sell or hock it? I wanted to throw the tin box across the room, and probably would have if not for Fred. He was sitting on the other side of the table wearing a grin on his face.

  “What are you doing here, Freddie?” The question was really meant for Bonnie, for she was standing behind him at the sliding-glass door.

  “Jake, I think we better leave.” Her wrinkled forehead and frown spelled worry.

  “I’m almost finished, Bon. Give me another minute and I’ll be right out.”

  “You don’t have another minute. Someone has driven by a couple times in a fancy SUV, and I’m sure they saw my Cherokee.”

  “I can’t leave yet, I’m not finished. Keep an eye out for me while I check the bedroom.”

  She surprised me when she didn’t argue. I thought for sure she would have come in to help, or should I say snoop. Evidently, she took the SUV seriously.

  I quickly finished with the table then had a brilliant idea. I put most of my coins and the flash drive in my pockets, but left a few quarters. Somewhere in my twisted logic, I thought the police wouldn’t suspect anyone had been here when they saw the coins. Any self-respecting burglar wouldn’t leave cash money behind.

  Pleased with my clever subterfuge, I hurried to the bedroom door to wipe its frame and knobs, and anything Bonnie or I might have touched or leaned against. Two minutes later, I joined her at the door.

  She pointed toward the kitchen. “You missed those paw prints by the fridge, Jake.”

  I followed her finger and saw where Fred had sniffed for food. There was no way I could clean those without doing the entire floor. “It’s too late now. We’ll leave the door open and hope they think a neighbor’s dog made them.”

  She was gone when I turned back to the sliding door. I made one last wipe of the jamb where she had been resting her hand, and followed her to the car with Fred one step behind me. I couldn’t help but wonder if the FBI kept track of dog prints.

  Bonnie was behind the wheel, and I wanted to leave the scene of our crime quickly, so I didn’t argue about her driving. “I think all we did was dig a deeper hole,” I said while watching out the rear window for the mysterious SUV once we were back on the road.

  She looked over at me as she turned onto 285. “Why’s that, Jake?”

  Suddenly, the blare of a semi truck’s horn made us nearly jump out of our seats. Bonnie had cut off the big rig and it missed us by inches when its driver swerved into another lane.

  I subconsciously crossed myself. “He’s probably calling the sheriff this very minute.”

  She started pouting again.
“He shouldn’t be going so fast down this hill, and that’s what I’ll tell the sheriff if he does report me.”

  “Not the truck driver, Bon. The guy in the SUV. He’s probably reporting us right now.”

  “Oh, him. Well, I doubt if he got a license number. That would have been impossible the way you parked next to the side entrance.”

  She was probably right and her Cherokee was as common in the foothills as pine beetles, so telling the cops what we were driving would narrow the suspect list down to a few hundred thousand. Still, it wouldn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to track us down; even Inspector Clouseau would be able to do it in time.

  ***

  We stopped at the lake in Evergreen before heading up the canyon to our homes. Fred had been cooped up too long, and needed to stretch his legs. Bonnie needed a cigarette to calm her nerves, and I needed to think.

  “That was close, Bon,” I said once we found a bench away from the lake house where Fred could water some trees.

  She paused with her cigarette in midair. “I feel like a little girl again, Jake. That was fun.”

  “Are you sure your last name isn’t Parker?”

  “You’ve got to admit, Clyde, that was exciting,” she answered before taking a deep drag.

  She waited long enough to feel the nicotine then exhaled. “I’m sorry you didn’t find your book or ring, but I’m glad you at least got your coins back.”

  Watching the smoke circle in front of her, she continued. “I would have never thought to look in that box. But you should have taken all of them. Your prints must be on the ones you left behind.”

  I had told her about finding my coins on our trip back from Pine Junction, and I couldn’t resist mentioning how clever I’d been to leave a few behind. Leave it to Bonnie to burst my bubble.

  Fred came back and sat by my feet, listening to every word we said. “All the more reason we need to find out who killed Appleton,” I said.

  Instinctively, I reached out to pet Fred. It was more for my comfort than his. “Now both of us will be murder suspects. They might take pity on a little old lady, but you can bet they’ll throw me and Fred in jail first and ask questions later.”

  Bonnie started to say something, but coughed instead. Once she recovered, she flipped her cigarette into the lake. “You really think someone murdered Sleeveless?”

  Fred lost interest in our conversation and went off to bark at some ducks in the water. I kept one eye on him while I answered Bonnie’s question. “Appleton wasn’t the kind to sit in his truck and watch us break into his house. I think he was already dead and his killer came back for evidence that would connect him to the murder.”

  “Someone else was in his truck?” Bonnie started to light another cigarette, then paused with the lighter inches from her face. “Do you think they’re connected?”

  “Who, Bon? Appleton and his killer?”

  Fred decided to go after the ducks before Bonnie could answer.

  “The murders, silly. Do you think the same guy killed Shelia?”

  Bonnie waited for an answer while I watched Fred swim slowly toward the ducks. Golden’s are great swimmers, but have nothing on Mallards. They let him get close then took off quacking, only to land a few yards away, and draw him further out in the lake.

  “As sure as Fred will never catch those ducks,” I said.

  Bonnie turned toward Fred and laughed. He lunged at a duck but missed when they took flight again, leaving him with a mouth full of water. Beethoven’s Fifth started playing on my cell phone before I could call Fred to come back. A quick glance at the text message told me it was the contractor who had replaced me with illegals.

  “Looks like our sleuthing is on hold, Bon. I need to get my Jeep fixed. They want me to come back tomorrow and fix the mess made by the day laborers.”

  ***

  Fred should have been exhausted after his marathon swim trying to catch dinner, but the first thing he did when we got back to Bonnie’s was jump out of her Cherokee and run after Chatter. I let him go after the tree-rat, and hiked up the path from Bonnie’s to my cabin. Fred would be sleeping soundly tonight.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon replacing the fuel pump on my old Jeep while Fred kept himself busy trying to catch the squirrel. The phone call to my new boss could wait.

  Working on a car is one chore most people would rather pass on to a mechanic, but working on my old beast was different. I actually enjoyed it at times like this. It was better than alcohol or nicotine and a lot less work than jogging to get the endorphins flowing.

  Unlike newer vehicles, with electric fuel pumps buried in unreachable gas tanks, my Jeep had the old-style mechanical pump attached to the engine block. And it didn’t take a contortionist to get to it. There was enough room under the hood for a small army of back-yard mechanics, or in my case, a man and his dog.

  Fred had tired of chasing the elusive Chatter, and parked himself under the Jeep so he could watch and supervise. He barked when my ratchet slipped and I let out a few cuss words to ease the pain of scraped knuckles. I realized he wasn’t there to check my work at all when I heard the distinctive sound of bells and cannons; Beethoven was calling me.

  The symphony stopped by the time I extracted myself from under the Jeep and stumbled up my front porch stairs to answer my phone. There was a message from Bonnie inviting me and Fred to dinner, and a text from the contractor wondering where I was. I sent a text back to the contractor explaining my Jeep was down and I wouldn’t be there until tomorrow. Then I called Bonnie.

  “Jake, you won’t believe who called me,” she said before I had a chance to speak. I was more surprised she knew it was me on the line than I was by the excitement in her voice; she didn’t have caller ID.

  “Alex Trebek?”

  “No, silly. Why would he call me? It was Paula Morgan.”

  “The reporter?”

  “Yes. I’m so excited, I could pee my pants. She wants to interview me on television.”

  “Be careful what you say, Bon. The police can use it against you.”

  “That’s just it, Jake. Appleton left a suicide note in his truck. He confessed to killing Shelia.”

  Bonnie was so wound up, I didn’t get many details. Our conversation went on for several more minutes without me learning much. However, she did invite me to dinner again; Patty had dropped by to celebrate with more food than they could possibly eat, and they wanted me to join them. Fred would be disappointed, but I begged off. I knew in my heart Appleton didn’t kill himself or Shelia, and my heart also knew I wouldn’t rest until I found the real killer. Not because of some altruistic sense of justice, but because whoever killed Appleton must have the two things that mean the most to me: Julie’s wedding ring, and the copy of Tom Sawyer she gave me.

  Those thoughts no sooner crossed my mind when Fred came up to lie by my feet. “Make that three things, Freddie. How could I forget you?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  I missed Bonnie’s fifteen minutes of fame and our morning coffee the next two days. The job in Bailey demanded we get there early before the boss decided to replace me again. Bonnie met Paula Morgan at Three Sister’s Park Thursday, so they could film where Appleton killed himself and left the suicide note exonerating Bonnie.

  It wasn’t until I got home, tired and dirty, that I was able to pick up my cell messages. Bonnie got a lot less than her fifteen minutes because Paula did most of the talking. She also wanted Fred and me to join her and watch the television interview. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. The physical labor had me exhausted, and all I wanted was a shower and some sleep. I would have sent her a text saying so, but I knew that would be rude. Bonnie doesn’t text.

  “Can’t you record it, Bon,” I asked after making the obligatory call and begging off. “We’re so tired, well, at least I am. Fred slept most of the day when he wasn’t hunting varmints.”

  She laughed. “You say the funniest things, Jake. Yes, I’ll record it. Now you get some sleep.”
/>   ***

  By Friday afternoon, the job was finished, and once more I had some cash in my pocket. I thought I would stop off in Evergreen and get the pineapple pizza Bonnie liked so much, but got sidetracked when I noticed my Jeep was low on gas and stopped at the convenience store in Pine Junction. A fancy Mercedes SUV was pulling out as I pulled in. The car’s windows were too darkly tinted to see the driver, but I immediately thought of Bonnie’s mysterious SUV, the one that had driven by Appleton’s cabin last Wednesday.

  The temptation to drive past Appleton’s cabin had been with me all week, so after buying a soda and lotto ticket, I gave the clerk twenty dollars and decided I’d drive by the cabin after pumping my gas.

  Sometimes a person has to break the law, I told myself as I turned around to take the road to Appleton’s. Sure, I could file a report with the Park County Sheriff, and hope I would get Julie’s ring and book returned. I could have also just bought a winning lotto ticket. The odds of either were about the same. Of course, I had no guarantee I would find them in his cabin. After all, Bonnie and I had tried once with no success, so why did I think I would do any better this time?

  Fred barked and woke me from my inner debate when we approached the cabin. Parked in the driveway was the Mercedes I had seen leaving the convenience store. Bonnie was right about it being expensive; people paid dearly for that circle with a three-pointed star I had saw as we drove by.

  I was tempted to floor the Jeep and get away before we were spotted. Fortunately, I kept my cool, and neither sped up nor slowed down. Once I reached the bend in the road, I turned around and pulled over. My heart was beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings. I couldn’t approach the cabin now, but I needed to know who was inside, and what was he doing in there. Instinct said to wait until whoever it was left the cabin; then I could either go in or follow the Mercedes. My second option seemed the safest choice, for it didn’t involve breaking any laws. I’m not a superstitious man, but it was Friday the thirteenth after all. Besides, I could always come back, but would probably never get another chance to find out who owned the expensive SUV.