Cold Case Colorado

by Cassie Miles

  “We’re on the same page,” he said. “We both want to go upstairs and slide between the sheets. I want you in my bed, lying beside me, naked.”

  “Yes, I want that, too.” Be responsible. “But there’s no promise of anything more than tonight, one night. We’re not going to build a nest together. Do you understand?”

  He gazed at her with such flaming intensity that she actually felt her temperature rise. “This has got to be the most formal declaration of casual sex I’ve ever heard. I’m not asking for a commitment, Vanessa. Any time you feel like we should stop, I’ll back off. No hard feelings.”

  “I like you, Ty. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I’m a grown man. I can take care of myself.”

  He proved that point by unbuttoning her pajama top and slipping his hand inside. He slung his other arm around her waist and yanked her against him. She couldn’t resist, didn’t want to. Instead, she kissed him again, and she reveled in his touch. He fondled her in a full-body caress, paying particular attention to her breasts. His hands slid down her torso until he cupped her bottom. He squeezed and held her against him.

  Outside, the lightning had subsided, but the rain continued to spill down the windows. She couldn’t see more than a few feet into the darkness, but a watcher could peer into Ty’s cabin. She felt exposed. The stalker might be nearby. Two deputies were keeping an eye on them. She didn’t want to put on a show.

  “Your bed.” She gasped. “Upstairs. Now.”

  Tangled together, they stumbled to the staircase. Ungracefully, they made it to the top, across the landing and into his bedroom, which was twice as large as the guest room. When he reached for the light switch, she slapped his hand away.

  “I like the dark,” she said.

  “I can live with that.” He scooped her off her feet and carried her the last few paces to the bed. “I don’t want you to trip over something and stumble.”

  Vanessa was a feminist through and through, but she enjoyed being manhandled, knowing that Ty could lift her and carry her without showing any sign of exertion. In spite of his sensitivity and his dainty teapot, he was a manly man.

  In seconds, they were undressed. Under the crisp, cool sheets, their naked bodies curled against each other. In perfect harmony, they made love. They were good together—too good for this to be a mistake.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Vanessa woke in a strange bed—Ty’s bed. Naked and very happy, she reached toward his side, expecting to touch his broad, muscular shoulder or to drag her fingers through his short bristly hair. He wasn’t there. She opened her eyes and stared at the empty pillow. Had last night actually happened? Had she made love—twice—with the handsome, sensitive sheriff of Tremont County?

  Sunlight poured through his bay windows. She glanced at the bedside clock and saw that it was almost nine o’clock. She should have been awake an hour ago. They had an agenda. “Ty?”

  The center windows were open, and she heard hammering from outside. “Ty?”

  “Out here.”

  She wrapped herself in the comforter to cover her nudity and went to the window. He stood on the peak of the A-frame over the front door, wearing his tool belt, jeans, cowboy hat and nothing else. Bare-chested with the morning sun highlighting the ridges and shadows of his muscular torso, he reminded her of a classical statue. But Ty was better than a marble replica because he was warm and supple. When he took off his hat and grinned, she couldn’t believe she’d resisted him for even one minute.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Last night when that shutter blew off, it messed up some of the shingles. This is a new roof. I wanted to repair it right away.”

  Nesting. That was his nature, and he couldn’t help himself. “I’m going to call the lawyers and see if we can make an appointment.”

  “Wait.” In his bare feet, he climbed up the shingles to the window, leaned inside and kissed her. “You look beautiful in the morning.”

  “So do you.”

  This was a memory she’d treasure forever. Even if their passion was only a one-night affair, she would always remember the vision of a half-naked cowboy outside her window.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The town of Greenwell wasn’t the place where Ty had been born and raised but was so similar that he felt like he’d never left home. The Greenwell town square showed off indigenous landscaping provided by the Garden Society. In the center was a yellow gazebo where the high school jazz combo performed every Sunday evening in the summer. Third Avenue and the attached parking lot separated the Tremont County Courthouse from the square. Most of the businesses lined Main Street, which was to the right of the courthouse. There was slanted parking at the curb and four-way stop signs on each end. No stoplights. On the far corner of Main was Charlie’s Diner. That was where Ty took Vanessa for breakfast.

  Earlier, she’d called Greenwell Law Firm and managed to set up an appointment for eleven o’clock—about an hour from now. As soon as they took their seats in a burgundy booth near the window, the peppy little waitress Darlene rushed over with a mug of coffee exactly the way he liked it: strong and black. He introduced her to Vanessa.

  Darlene’s big blue eyes got wide. “You’re a Whitman?”

  “Grew up in the Castle,” Ty informed her.

  “Are you related to the woman who got murdered?”

  “She was a distant cousin,” Vanessa said. “We didn’t know each other well.”

  “Her hubby comes in here all the time, which I think is nuts. He could be eating that fancy gourmet food at the Castle, but he goes for Charlie’s greasy burgers and fries.”

  “Does he meet anybody?” Ty asked.

  “Keith Gable and his supermodel wife who never actually eats anything at all. Once I saw Burke with Doc Ingram.”

  She pivoted and asked Vanessa, “How do you take your coffee?”

  “With milk. What’s good for breakfast?”

  “Bacon and cheesy grits with a fried egg, over-easy.”

  “I’ll have that,” Vanessa said.

  Ty echoed her order. “With two eggs. Double the bacon and keep the coffee coming.”

  “You got it, Sheriff.”

  He gazed across the table at Vanessa—a genuine Whitman. Many small western towns had a family or families who owned the most acreage or ran the greatest number of cattle. They were usually among the first settlers, and people thought of them as royalty. Everybody knew who they were but didn’t treat them special, and these frontier aristocrats didn’t put on airs.

  He asked, “When you were growing up, did you know your family was wealthy?”

  “I lived in a castle, Ty. Of course I knew. And I hated being different. Other kids used to pick on me, and I usually started the school year with a couple of good fights.”

  “You were a tomboy.” And he wasn’t surprised.

  “I just wanted to fit in.” She picked up the coffee mug that Darlene had silently delivered with a small pitcher of milk. “It’s funny that you should mention the old days. I recognized the name of the lawyer we’re going to meet at Greenwell Law Firm. He’s Denny Nussbaum. I went to school with him.”

  She looked down into her coffee, and he recognized her ploy. When she didn’t want to talk about something, she stared off into the distance or blinked or did something else to avoid eye contact. The more he knew about her, the more he liked her. But this time, he wouldn’t let her off the hook. “What happened between you and Denny?”

  “He was an undersized kid with skinny arms and slouchy posture. And then, there were his ears.” She shook her head. “Big floppy ears. He got bullied. The bigger boys called him Denny Dumbo.”

  Everybody knew someone like Denny. Ty considered it sweet revenge when those who were bullied achieved success. “Now he’s a lawyer. Good for him.”

  “We could h
ave been close friends,” she said, “but something happened. I was walking home from school and I saw two boys beating Denny up. I was so mad. I jumped into the middle of their fight and punched the other boys. I knocked one of them down, and he got a bad scrape on his elbow. The other ran off.”

  “You rescued Denny.”

  “And you’d think he’d be my friend. We had other stuff in common, like being smart and getting good grades, but he pushed me away. The pendulum swung in the other direction. He told me he didn’t need a girl to fight his battles. We hardly talked after that.”

  Kids sucked. In spite of the good manners his grandma taught him, Ty rested his elbows on the table and reached across to hold Vanessa’s hands. This morning, her hair was neatly pulled back and twisted into a bun, which she probably thought was appropriate for meeting a lawyer. She wore pink lipstick, and he thought she was beautiful. “You did the right thing.”

  Darlene dropped off their eggs and grits and waited until they took a bite so they could tell her the food was delish.

  “As good as the stuff they serve at the Castle,” Vanessa said.

  Darlene winked at the guy working the grill and turned back to Vanessa. “You just made his day.”

  While they ate, she pulled out the copy of her dad’s book with the story of Fluffball’s funeral and read highlighted passages. “This part refers to a rock formation that looks like Stonehenge. Does that sound like any of the local landmarks?”

  “I can’t think of anything,” he said. “Did you bring that photograph with your father and Aunt Dorothy as kids?”

  She’d tucked the picture between the pages of the book, a faded Polaroid. As he dug into the cheesy grits, he studied the landscape in the background—pine, aspen and potentilla shrubs with yellow flowers. This photo could have been taken anywhere.

  “It can’t be too far from the Castle,” she said. “Dad and Dorothy were just kids, probably eight and eleven, not strong enough to lug a makeshift coffin any great distance.”

  “And the paint.” As sheriff, he’d had experience with kids marking up the rocks with graffiti. Some of the acrylic paint they used to decorate the tombstone was impossible to get off. “They would have carried the paint.”

  She lifted a strip of bacon to her lips. “They could have painted the grave marker before they set out to bury the cat.”

  “But then they’d have to transport the heavy stone.”

  From careful study of the photo, he guessed that her dad and Dorothy hiked until they found a rock that resembled a gravestone. They painted the edge a bright yellow with blue flowers. In the center, they wrote in black Mr. Fluffball. Silly cat. Rest in peace.

  “In the story,” she said, “Dad described their funeral procession. Both kids had backpacks, which is where they could have put the paint. Dad carried a spade on his shoulder. Dorothy dragged the coffin behind her on a travois.”

  “Like the Arapaho used to transport their goods and tepees.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She nodded. “And he describes a fire burial used in ancient rituals.”

  “He had a thing about burials.”

  “Dad was a poet,” she said as she finished the last of her grits. “Many deep thinkers have a fascination with death and dying.”

  He drained his coffee, and they set out for the Greenwell Law Firm on the other side of the square. The three-story brick building stood beside the one movie theater in town that specialized in oldies and art films. There had been talk of establishing a Tremont film festival using some of the celebrity patrons from Aspen for promotion.

  In spite of the humble exterior, the furnishings on the second-floor offices were lush and expensive-looking. Ty suspected their law practice was lucrative. There wasn’t much crime in Tremont County, but legal services were required for real estate, property transfers and sales that ranged from a broken-down John Deere tractor to an original Brancusi sculpture.

  He recognized the receptionist, a recently divorced woman named Luann who dated one of his deputies. He introduced her to Vanessa. “We’re here for our appointment with Denny Nussbaum.”

  She looked up from her computer screen. “I heard that Mr. Nussbaum went to grade school with Miss Whitman.”

  “It’s Vanessa,” she said. “And I remember Denny.”

  He realized that she was holding back information, not betraying her feelings—whether negative or positive—about the lawyer. Ty moved back a step, waiting to see how this reunion played out. He had no reason to be suspicious of the lawyer, but Nussbaum’s behavior seemed odd and strangely distant. If his firm had information about the Whitman family, why hadn’t he contacted her?

  Denny Nussbaum charged through a dark-stained door and rushed toward Vanessa as though he were a very busy, important man. He greeted her with a painfully awkward hug. “I was sorry to hear about your father.”

  “Thank you.”

  He guided them into his office. After telling the receptionist to hold his calls, Denny dove behind his massive desk and gestured for them to sit opposite him in carved antique-looking chairs. “Vanessa, I’ve thought about you many times. My dad has been one of your father’s attorneys for over twenty years. He worked with Dorothy longer than that.”

  “I’m really hoping you can help me.”

  “Anything,” he said expansively. “I’ve got to admit that I feel guilty about the way our firm allowed your father to divest himself of assets. John Whitman was just throwing his money away. When he decided to do something, he wouldn’t listen to advice. Trips to the South Pacific. Investing in a seat on a space shuttle. He was quite a character. Am I right?”

  She nodded.

  “I remember one time,” Nussbaum said, “when he ran out of cash in Reno and sold one of Dorothy’s favorite horses. Lucky he won the animal back. She would have killed him.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “He managed to pull this scam off without speaking to her. Your father was charming, eccentric and irresponsible.”

  Ty could see Vanessa’s anger rising. Her cheeks reddened. Her slender fingers clenched into tight fists. Nussbaum was oblivious to her mood. He’d grown into a tall man with skinny shoulders, a flabby gut and a desperate need to prove he was a winner.

  Vanessa interrupted his monologue. “Excuse me, Denny. You’re aware that Dad had been dying of cancer for the past four years, aren’t you?”

  “And I’m very sorry.”

  “He invested most of those liquidated assets in experimental medical treatments, hoping he could save his own life. And I would have paid ten times that amount if there had been a sliver of a chance.” She fought to keep her lip from quivering. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not reminisce. I have a few questions. Then you can get back to your busy day.”

  “Of course.”

  “Twenty years ago, there was a split between Dad and Dorothy. After that, Dad and Mom and I left the Castle and never moved back. Can you tell me anything about the estrangement?”

  “It involved inheritance and the way the family funds would be dispersed.” He gave a smug little smile. “I don’t know if it’s ethical to reveal the documents.”

  Vanessa surged to her feet. “If you can’t help, tell me who in this law firm will explain the Whitman family documents.”

  “Settle down.”

  She braced her hands on the desk. Ty wouldn’t have been surprised if she leaped over the in-box and throttled him. “Don’t tell me to settle down.”

  Nussbaum stood and stuck out his pointy chin. “What are you going to do? Punch me in the face? That’s your solution to everything.”

  Ty feared this confrontation would erupt into violence, and he inserted himself into the fray. “Excuse me, Mr. Nussbaum. Does your father still work for Greenwell Law Firm?”

  “He’s a partner. So what?”

  “Vanessa might prefer talking to h
im.”

  Nussbaum backed down. “He’s not in.”

  “We’ll wait.” Vanessa turned on her heel and marched toward the door. “Good day, Denny.”

  “No, no, no, no.” He scampered around his desk and closed the door to his office. “I’ll tell you anything.”

  Without facing him, she said, “The split between Dad and Dorothy. Why?”

  “It was about money, the family inheritance.” He touched her arm. “I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted.” She returned to her chair. “These things happened a long time ago. Are you familiar with the details?”

  “I started looking into the Whitman file about six months ago.” He returned to his throne behind the desk and removed a file from a drawer. “This is a summary that I prepared for Lowell Burke, Bethany’s husband.”

  “Why?”

  “Due diligence. Burke was working with Yuri Kirov to determine if selling off pieces of the Simplicity empire was a solid investment. Many of their questions referred to the Castle. They wanted to know if you or your father had any claim or any share in the ownership. You don’t. Not at all. Again, I’m sorry and wish I had better news.”

  Ty was starting to put the pieces together. Six months ago, Vanessa was being menaced by a stalker. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the Burke–Kirov due diligence started at the same time.

  She shrugged. “I never thought I owned the Castle.”

  “About that split twenty years ago,” Nussbaum said. “I studied many of my father’s old cases but could never bring myself to look at this one. When you and your family left, I turned my back on all things Whitman. Somehow, I always thought we’d make up and be friends again.”

  Ty felt bad for both of them. Bethany’s murder was only part of the investigation. To truly understand what happened, Vanessa had to travel back in time and face her past.

  “I missed you, too,” she said, “and I want to mend fences after this investigation is over.”

  “Okay.” He flipped open the file folder. “Your family has many weird provisions about inheritance. To make a long story short, this is how it works. One sibling inherits all the property with the understanding that the other relatives would be compensated. Since Dorothy was the eldest child, she got all tangible property and the responsibility that went with it.”