by Cindi Myers
“Looks like air vents,” Dwight said. “Maybe venting an old mine, or an underground utility plant for the development.”
“Maybe,” Travis agreed. “They don’t look that old, but maybe putting them in was one of the environmental requirements for building up here. Some of these old mines contain trapped gasses they might have had to vent.”
“What exactly are we looking for?” Gage asked.
“Any signs of recent activity,” Travis said. “I have a feeling whoever shot Eddie may have been coming from here.”
“So you’re thinking the shooting didn’t have anything to do with the storage units?” Gage said.
“There wasn’t any reason to shoot a man for digging through the ashes of a burned-out storage room,” Travis said. “The fire destroyed everything, which even a casual observer could see. But if someone was coming over the ridge from this area—with something they didn’t want anyone else to see—then they might be willing to kill for it.”
The two brothers walked together along the development’s main street, while Dwight explored among the foundations of buildings. “What does Eddie say about the shooter?” Gage asked.
“He doesn’t remember anything,” Travis said. “The knock on the head and the resultant concussion wiped out his short-term memory. He can’t help us.”
Mixed in among the modern foundations and survey markers were the signs of older occupation—weathered timbers with square iron nails and bent rusted spikes marked the path of tram lines that had carried raw ore from the mines. A new iron gate blocked the opening of a mine adit that had probably been constructed a hundred and fifty years before, and a rusting ore car positioned alongside the already-crumbling concrete foundation hinted at a future purpose as a flower planter.
“I may have something over here,” Dwight called, about fifteen minutes into their search.
Gage and Travis joined him at the end of one of the streets, where the crumbling blacktop gave way to drying mud. Dwight pointed to a pair of impressions in the ground.
“Boots,” Gage observed and squatted down for a closer look. “Some kind of work boots, or heavy-duty hiking boots.”
“Army boots,” Dwight said. “About a size thirteen from the looks of them. I’ve got the stuff in my unit to make casts of them if you want.”
“Go ahead,” Travis said. He walked from the mud in the direction of the storage units. Five feet farther on, he found a heel print that matched the boot print. Ten yards from there, he stood on a ledge that overlooked the storage facility and the end of Fireline Road.
“Sometimes you do know what you’re doing,” Gage said. He studied the ground at their feet. “I don’t suppose we’d get lucky enough to find some shell casings.”
“I think we’re dealing with a pro,” Travis said. “Someone who doesn’t leave clues behind.”
“The footprints were a mistake,” Gage said.
“A mistake, or he knows they’re not going to give us anything useful.”
“It wasn’t Jan Selkirk,” Gage said.
“She was with Brenda when Eddie was shot,” Travis said. “I’m not ruling her out for the murder, but not this. This was someone else.”
“Come look at this.” Dwight called them over.
On the back of a low rock wall that marked the boundary of the proposed resort, he had located tire imprints. “It’s a good-sized truck,” he said. “Not a tractor-trailer rig, but maybe a box truck. The tread pattern is still really sharp—they haven’t had time to erode in the weather.”
“So we know someone was up here,” Travis said. He scanned the desolate surroundings. No trees grew taller than four feet, and the wind blew constantly. In summer, the sun burned through the thin air, fading paint, weathering wood and carrying an increased risk of skin cancer to anyone who stayed out in it very long. In winter, nighttime temperatures plunged to thirty below zero and snow piled up in drifts as tall as two-story buildings. Yes, the views were breathtaking, the air clear and the nighttime vista of stars unparalleled, but it seemed to Travis there were some places where it was better for people to visit and not try to dominate entirely.
They spent another half hour exploring the place, taking pictures and impressions of what they found. The few buildings that were intact were locked with heavy padlocks. “I’d love to see what’s inside there,” Travis said after he shook the door of a metal building half sunk in the side of a hill. “But I’d say our chances of getting a warrant to search this place are pretty much nil.”
“Then why are we bothering with the impressions?” Gage asked.
“We had cause to come up here, tracking the shooter,” Travis said. “If those impressions turn up anything, I’ll make my case to a judge. But I’m not holding my breath we’ll find anything.”
They piled into their vehicles and headed back toward town. Halfway there, Travis got a call from Adelaide. “That writer, Alvin Exeter, is here in the office, demanding to speak with you,” she said.
“Tell Mr. Exeter I have nothing to say to him.”
“He says you’ll want to talk to him,” Adelaide said. “He says he has information about Eddie’s shooting.”
“Is he telling the truth, or only bluffing?” Travis asked.
“Well...” Adelaide paused, then said. “I don’t know what kind of poker player he is, but I’m thinking you might want to talk to him.”
Chapter Sixteen
Lacy had a restless night, replaying her interaction with Ian Barnes over and over again. By morning, she had decided she would tell Travis about Barnes and trust him to protect her and her family while dealing with Barnes’s threats.
But when she came down to breakfast, she froze at the sight of a hunk of rusting metal resting in the middle of the kitchen table. She stared at it, a sinking feeling in her stomach that she had seen this artifact somewhere before—and recently. “What is that?” she asked.
“Your father thinks it’s a piton,” her mother said. “You know, the anchor things they drive into rock for climbers to attach safety lines to.”
“Right.” Lacy had a clear vision of a display of similar pitons on the wall in the Local Sports room at the history museum. “Where did you get it?” she asked.
Her father picked it up and turned it over in his hand. “The craziest thing—it was on the front porch this morning, right in front of the door. I can’t imagine where it came from.”
“Some climber probably dropped it in the street or it bounced out of a truck and the person who found it left it at the closest house,” her mother said. “Though it looks old, antique, even.”
“I thought if you were going to the museum again today you could take it down there,” her father said. “Maybe they can use something like that—I sure can’t.”
Lacy had little doubt that she would find a missing space in the museum’s display where, until yesterday afternoon, this exact piton had sat. Ian Barnes had brought it here and left it as a message to her. I know where you live and I can practically come into your house without you ever knowing, he was saying. I can hurt you and the people you love and nothing you can do will stop me.
“Lacy? Are you all right?” Jeanette put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “You’ve gone all pale.”
Lacy swallowed the bile that had risen in her throat. “I’m fine.” She dropped into her chair at the table and forced a smile. “Nothing a cup of coffee won’t fix.”
“I’ll wrap this up for you to take to the museum,” her father said. “Tell Brenda hello from me.”
Lacy had thought she would tell her parents that she had agreed to rent the apartment over Brenda’s garage, but she needed to deal with Ian before she took that step. Living alone didn’t seem like a good idea with him threatening her—and she needed to be near her parents to keep an eye on them.
“It’s wonderful of you to help Bren
da out at the museum.” Lacy’s mother placed a mug of coffee in front of her, then sat across from her. “That was so awful about Jan Selkirk. I couldn’t believe it—her and Henry Hake. And Andy Stenson was blackmailing her?” She shook her head. “I couldn’t say anything while Brenda was here yesterday, but it just goes to show you never can tell about people. I mean, I never would have thought Andy was a blackmailer, and I certainly wouldn’t have picked Jan for a murderer.”
“Mom, we don’t know that Jan killed Andy,” Lacy said. “We, of all people, should know better than to jump to conclusions about something so serious.”
“Of course, dear.” Jeanette stirred her coffee. “Still, someone killed Andy. I know it wasn’t you, but knowing who really did it would finally put an end to all the speculation, and you wouldn’t have any doubt hanging over your head. People think I haven’t overheard their whispering. To some people you’ll never be innocent until someone else is proven guilty.”
“I don’t care about those people,” Lacy said. The only people she cared about were here in this room. And, well, Travis. She was beginning to care a great deal about him. Her gaze shifted once more to the rusted piton lying in the center of the table. She couldn’t risk telling Travis about Ian. Not when there was so much at stake. She would never forgive herself if anything happened to her parents. And what if Ian hurt Travis?
She finished her breakfast, collected the piton her father had wrapped up for her and walked to the museum. She tried to slip through the door quietly, though the bell announced her arrival. The front room was empty, so she took the opportunity to tiptoe back to the Local Sports room and replace the piton in the display. By the time she made it back up front, Brenda had emerged from the workroom.
“I thought I heard you come in,” Brenda said. “And just in time, too. The printer just delivered a bunch of brochures we have to fold and box up to hand out tomorrow. I’d forgotten Jan ordered them.”
“I can definitely help with that,” Lacy said, feigning cheerfulness. Though Brenda was as perfectly groomed and put together as ever, she had dark half-moons under her eyes, as if she, too, hadn’t slept well last night. Between her hurt over the news about Andy and worry about her friend, Jan, she had a lot to deal with right now.
The two of them were well into the brochures when the bell over the door rang and Jan sashayed in. “Don’t look so shocked to see me,” she said. “There’s lots of work to be done before tomorrow and until the town council relieves me of my duties, I’m still director of this museum.”
She stashed her purse in the filing cabinet and locked the drawer, then turned to face them. “I’m only going to say this once, so pay attention. Brenda, I did not kill your husband. I was furious with him for extorting money from me and threatening to tell Barry about the affair, but really, I was furious with myself for getting into such a mess in the first place. I argued with Andy, but I never, never would have killed him. When I left his office that afternoon he was very much alive.”
Brenda’s eyes shone with tears. “I believe you,” she said.
Jan turned to Lacy. “One of my biggest regrets is that I didn’t speak out at your trial, when Wade Tomlinson told everyone he had seen you outside Andy’s office that day. But I was too much of a coward. I told myself it didn’t matter but I know I could have made a difference to you and I didn’t. I don’t blame you if you hate me for that.”
Lacy told herself she should be angry with Jan, but the once-proud woman looked so pathetic. She seemed to have aged ten years overnight, her usually perfect manicured nails chipped and bitten, her lipstick crooked, her hair hanging limp. Jan would never be one of her favorite people, but she wasn’t going to waste time hating her. “I’m through holding grudges,” she said. Travis had taught her that lesson, hadn’t he?
“What does Barry say?” Brenda asked.
Jan’s expression grew more strained. “He’s understandably upset, and he’s moved into our guesthouse. But he’s agreed we should see a counselor, so I’m hoping we can get past this.”
“Did you know Henry Hake is missing?” Lacy asked. “I heard it on the news last night.”
“I heard it, too,” Jan said. “Travis contacted me to see if I knew anything about it. But I haven’t seen the man in over a year, and we broke off our relationship before Andy died. That was one of the things I told Andy that day when I went to plead with him. I told Henry I couldn’t take the stress and I wanted to try to make things better with Barry.” She dropped into the chair behind the front counter. “Henry took the news much better than I expected. To tell you the truth, I was a little insulted that he took it so well. But I think I knew deep down inside that Henry was never really invested in a serious relationship. He’s one of those perpetually distracted people—so many irons in the fire, so many deals and meetings. I was a bit of casual entertainment.”
An awkward silence stretched between them, until Jan stood and picked up one of the brochures. “I’m not going to let my personal problems get in the way of making Pioneer Days as fabulous as possible. We have a lot of people counting on us.”
“Right.” Brenda picked up a stack of brochures. “Let’s get to work, ladies.”
* * *
ALVIN EXETER LOOKED as cocky as ever when Adelaide ushered him into Travis’s office Friday afternoon, after Travis finally decided to talk to him. The writer offered a firm handshake, then dropped into the chair across from Travis’s desk. “You’re going to be glad you talked to me, Sheriff,” he said. “All I ask in return is an interview for my book to get your side of the story. This is going to be great for both of us.”
“I’m not interested in making any deals,” Travis said. “If you know something that pertains to my case, you have an obligation to tell me.”
“I don’t know about that.” Exeter pursed his lips. “After all, maybe I’m only speculating. And even if I did see something that might pertain to an investigation you’re conducting, it’s not a crime to keep it a secret, is it?”
“Then I have to ask myself—why would you say you know something about a shooting involving one of my officers unless you’re an accessory to the crime?”
Exeter’s mouth tightened. “There’s no need to make threats.”
Travis glared at the man. The guy really rubbed him the wrong way. “Either tell me what you know or quit wasting my time,” he said.
Exeter sat back and crossed one leg over the other. “You suspect Jan Selkirk had something to do with the murder of Andrew Stenson,” he said. “Don’t deny it. The news is all over town. Her motive was that Stenson was blackmailing her over her affair with Henry Hake.”
It was true what people said, Travis thought. You couldn’t keep anything secret in a small town.
“So it stands to reason she’s your chief suspect in the attack on Brenda Stenson and Lacy Milligan,” Exeter continued. “As well as the explosion at the storage units.”
“We haven’t found any evidence linking her to those crimes,” Travis said.
“But what if I could give you evidence?” Exeter uncrossed his legs and scooted to the edge of his chair. “That would be worth something to you, wouldn’t it?”
“Get on with it, Exeter. I’m losing patience.”
“What if I told you Jan Selkirk had an accomplice?” Exeter said. “A man who has the skills and the background to make him perfectly capable of running two women off the road or blowing up a building. And one who I don’t think would hesitate to shoot a cop.”
“Who are you talking about?” Travis asked.
Exeter grinned. “Ian Barnes.”
Travis’s heart beat a little faster at mention of the name. Barnes’s military background certainly made him familiar with firearms, and explosives, too. And he had a certain menace about him. But looking tough didn’t mean a man had broken the law. “What makes you think Jan and Barnes are working together?” he
asked.
“Because I saw them. In the bar of the motel where I’m staying. Jan Selkirk was wearing sunglasses and a black wig, but I know it was her. She and Barnes had their heads together in a back booth, and then she handed over a stack of bills to him. He counted the money, slipped it into his wallet and told her she didn’t have anything to worry about—he’d take care of things.”
“What things?” Travis asked.
“He didn’t elaborate, but I’m thinking it might be running those two women off the road, blowing up the storage unit—and maybe even shooting a cop.”
Travis didn’t know whether to be annoyed or intrigued by these revelations. “So you saw two people talking and one of them gave the other some money,” he said. “That doesn’t make either one of them guilty of a crime.”
Exeter’s expression hardened. “It does when one of them is a suspect in a murder case.”
“Go back to your motel room and dream up a few more conspiracies, Exeter. Don’t waste any more of my time.”
The writer shoved to his feet. “You’re not going to look into this?”
“I know how to do my job,” Travis said. “You can leave now.”
Exeter glared at Travis, then stormed out of the office. Adelaide swept in after him. “He didn’t look too happy,” she said.
“What’s the local gossip about Ian Barnes?” Travis asked.
“Other than that it should be illegal for a man to look so good?” She grinned. “I heard he has PTSD, and that’s what makes him so standoffish. He spends a lot of time in the mountains, climbing. I guess that’s his big thing. He’s friends with Wade and Brock, over at Eagle Mountain Outfitters. What else do you want to know?”
“Any links between him and Jan Selkirk?”
Adelaide hooted. “In her dreams. I think Jan’s a little long in the tooth for Ian.”
“Exeter said he saw them together and they were pretty cozy.”
“If that’s true, then she’s more of a cougar than I ever expected,” Adelaide said.