A Treasure to Die For (10 page)

I’d convinced myself they either made it down the trail to Leadville or had gone on to Breckenridge. Deputy White had said that none of the search teams found a trace of their Datsun, so I concluded they had probably run away, and left the state by now. I had to concentrate on finding Appleton’s killer before the CBI found Fred’s prints and came after me. Now I wished I’d taken the time to clean his tracks in the kitchen.

A young couple stopped to watch Fred swim after the stick I had been throwing for him. They reminded me of Craig and Shelia the last time I saw them together. Unlike Craig, this guy didn’t seem bothered by Fred being loose. He and his girlfriend were laughing and holding hands when Fred jumped in the water.

Thinking of Craig brought me back to the murders. I was sure he had killed Shelia and Appleton, but how could I prove it? I would look really foolish if I called Deputy White and told him that he should arrest Craig Renfield. Without motive and some proof that he did it, White would have me locked up, not for murder but for insanity.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized I was grasping at straws. But who else could have killed Appleton, and why? That’s when I realized I’d been playing detective all wrong. I needed to start with the
why
instead of the
who
.

Appleton stole my copy of
Tom Sawyer
so he could decode Drake’s enigma. It only followed that whoever killed him knew he had found the answer to the riddle. Bingo. That was why the punk kids were on the pass; they hadn’t solved the riddle, they took the answer from Appleton. Damn, I really wanted to see Renfield hang, and it wasn’t going to happen. Now I had the why and the who, but I still had no proof it was the kids.

My brilliant deductive reasoning ended when Fred dropped a stick at my feet. At least I thought it had been brilliant, though I’m sure Deputy White would compare it to a night-light — dim and dull. I threw the stick back in the water then headed toward the parking lot. It wasn’t two minutes later I felt Fred trying to put the stick in my hand.

“No, Fred!” I said a little too loud. “We need to get on home and do some research on those kids. I don’t even know their names.”

He had a limited vocabulary, so I doubt he understood what I’d said, but he did know the word NO, and dropped the stick.

***

Fred was still pouting when we got home. I wasn’t sure if it was because he thought I’d yelled at him, or he was mad that I’d cut his swim too short. Whatever it was, he wanted to let me know he didn’t like it. I ignored him and let him stay outside to sulk while I went in to boot my computer.

It didn’t take long to get the names of the punk kids. A search with the keywords ‘missing’ and ‘Park County’ returned an article on the search underway on Mosquito Pass for a Jennifer Dawson and Cory Weston of Lakewood. Another search, this time using ‘Cory Weston’ and ‘Lakewood, Colorado’, gave me an address on Saulsbury. I quickly checked my notes for Craig’s address. They lived on the same block.

I couldn’t wait to share my knowledge with someone and gave Bonnie a call.

When she didn’t pick up, I called her cell phone. “Did you hear the news, Jake?” she asked before I could tell her about my fortuitous research. “They found those kids in a mine on Mosquito Pass.”

“Are they okay?”

“No. They’r
e—
”

My phone beeped and cut her off momentarily. “Hold on, Bon. It’s the Park County Sheriff calling. I better get it.”

“Don’t say a word to them until you talk to a lawyer, Bonnie. I’ll ask Harvey first thing tomorrow and see if he can help you.” Bonnie’s twin sister, Margot, didn’t let me finish talking before adding her two-cents. I had just finished telling them about my conversation with Deputy White and how he wanted us to sign a written statement. Bonnie and Margot were at a boutique in Evergreen when her call had been interrupted by the Sheriff’s office. When I called back, Margot insisted I come down and tell them everything White had said. After I’d told her I wouldn’t be caught dead in a boutique, we agreed to meet at the coffee shop two doors down.

I knew better than to interrupt Margot by suggesting a lawyer wasn’t necessary, especially one like Harvey Goldstein, Denver’s finest. Margot was a major pain in my neck last year when she and Bonnie had talked me into re-writing a manuscript their father had written. Little did I know it would lead to a trail of deceit and murder and get me accused of negligent homicide. I hadn’t seen Margot since then, and it still amazed me how alike, yet different, two twins could be. I suppose it was the money.

Margot had married well and didn’t mind spending on anything that would make her look younger. Bonnie’s dead husband left her with a mortgaged house and a Social Security check that barely paid the utilities and grocery bill. She couldn’t afford the expensive facials, and beauty treatments her sister could. Margot looked twenty years younger, from a distance. Sitting next to her in the coffee shop with her makeup, Botox, and tired face lift, she looked like a clown.

Bonnie winced after sipping her latte. “I can’t afford a lawyer, Margot. You know that. And don’t even suggest paying for one. I don’t need your charity.”

Other than being too sweet for my taste, I knew there was nothing wrong with her coffee that a little bourbon wouldn’t fix. I tried to stop the argument that was sure to follow. “Whoa, you two. White only wants a statement. He just called to let me know they found the bodies and thank me for telling him about the transmission fluid. He said they would have missed it otherwise.”

Margot looked at me with swollen eyelids. “Transmission fluid?”

I hesitated answering, wondering if she had been crying. Had they been arguing before I arrived? Then I saw the scars and realized it must have been from her latest elective surgery.

Bonnie didn’t wait for me to speak. “Jake told him it wasn’t the kids because their truck didn’t have an automatic. He got all that from a little spot of oil on the ground.”

“Except I didn’t take into account a power-steering pump,” I said, cutting back into the conversation.

Both sisters sat their drinks down at the same time and looked at me, four gray-blue eyes wondering what I had just said.

“I’m pretty sure the early Datsuns didn’t have power-steering, so it never occurred to me that it was the pump that was leaking. Someone must have added it. Anyway, those pumps use a fluid that looks exactly like transmission fluid.”

Margot looked annoyed. She had fished out a compact from her purse to check her eyelids while I was talking. “That’s nice, Jake, but what did the sheriff say about the kids?”

“I was getting to it, Margot. White said they found the Datsun in a pit half a mile from the mine. That’s when they decided to check out all the mines in the area. The kids were in the one where we saw the footprints in the snow. The old rotten floor gave out on them, and they fell fifty feet straight down.”

Margot didn’t wait for me to continue and put away her compact. Evidently, she was satisfied with what she had seen in the mirror, or maybe it had cracked and she didn’t want us to know. “All the more reason you need a lawyer, Bonnie. I won’t be surprised if they say you two ditched the truck after throwing the kids down the mine shaft. I know these cops. They’ll pretend you’re their best friends and then slam it to you.”

Bonnie’s eyes turned a shade darker. “This isn’t a television cop show, Margot. All they want is a statement. If I go in there with a lawyer, I might as well hang a scarlet M on my chest.”

“I still think it’s a trick. They’ll find out you were in that guy’s house sooner or later. You should let them know before they find out. That’s why you need a lawyer.”

“You told her we went into Appleton’s cabin?” I asked, raising my voice.

Bonnie lowered her head, and stared into her latte. “She’s my sister, Jake. I guess I let it slip.”

I took a deep breath and cleared my throat to get their attention. “We don’t even know if the burglary White mentioned was Appleton’s. Nor do we know if they suspect murder. Are you forgetting they said Appleton killed himself? Why incriminate ourselves and make them think otherwise?”

“Because Bonnie will be charged for withholding evidence when they find out she was there. Ow! Why’d you kick me?”

“Because everyone’s listening,” Bonnie answered.

I hadn’t seen Bonnie kick her sister under the table, but looked around to see that we had indeed become the coffee shop’s main event. “Well, if you gals don’t mind, Fred’s been alone in the car too long, and I need to get going,” I said, getting up and reaching for my wallet. It was a white-lie. I had left Fred home on my front deck, but it was all I could think of to make a quick exit.

“I’ll get it, Jake,” Margot said when I opened my empty wallet in front of her while trying to extract a credit card. “And I promise not to call Harvey — for now.”

Fred ran out to greet me with a tennis ball in his mouth when I drove into my driveway twenty minutes later. I hope if there is such a thing as reincarnation that I come back as a Golden. They have a way of making one smile no matter what. I took the slimy ball and threw it down the hill, knowing it should give me time to make it to my porch before he came back to drop it at my feet.

Our game went on for over half an hour, long enough for me to plan my next move. I didn’t want to pin my future on Margot’s promise. I knew all too well she could have second thoughts and tell Harvey everything, thinking it would be best for Bonnie. If she did spill the beans or talk Bonnie into coming clean, I could forget about ever getting Julie’s book and ring back. Once they suspected Appleton had been murdered, his loot would become evidence, assuming it was found, and I would become the number one suspect. In the end, I decided to hold off a few days before going to the Sheriff’s substation in Bailey with Bonnie to give our statements. I wasn’t ready to perjure myself in the event Margot got Bonnie to confess. I needed time to gather more information before making any decision that could put me in jail for several years.

Once Fred was fed and lying at my feet, I went to the one source of information that never failed me: the Internet. I had convinced myself that it was the kids who killed Appleton when he caught them in the act of a break-in, but now I wasn’t so sure. My gut told me Appleton didn’t kill himself, nor did the kids die in an accident. That left Mr. Jerk as my only suspect, so I decided to run the cheapskate’s version of a background check on Renfield.

Craig Renfield turned out to be of the generation that had little to do with computers and social media. I couldn’t find him on Facebook, YouTube, or LinkedIn. Next, I tried Cory and Jennifer.

Cory kept his Facebook page private. Jennifer, however, seemed to have nothing to hide. She discussed in full detail all the things she and Cory were going to buy with the money they would get from Drake’s treasure. She also didn’t mind sharing her personal thoughts through her poetry. There were crude attempts at writing sonnets with only twelve lines and no clue about iambic pentameter. But it didn’t matter, for after reading several of them, I felt terrible for thinking this poor kid could have killed anyone.

It was obvious she had been abused as a child; abandoned by her father before she could walk and ignored by a drunken mother. Cory had saved her from taking her life only last year and the two of them were deeply in love. She moved in with him when she was only sixteen without any objection from her mother. Cory was her knight in shining armor, and the father of her unborn child.

I gave up searching when my Internet connection went dead around midnight. This happened whenever Bonnie would turn off the power strip to her router. She was close enough, so I didn’t have to pay for service of my own, but at times like this I wish I wasn’t so frugal.

The low-down on Renfield would have to wait, as would the solution to my problem of finding Julie’s book and ring. Fred was already asleep at my feet, so I shut down my computer and quietly headed for the bedroom. Whoever said dogs could hear twice as good as humans must have had a Golden. He woke and followed me before I made it two feet.

***

Sleep failed to produce the answer to my problem. I still had no idea who killed whom when I woke Monday morning. Instead, my subconscious kept nagging me about a more pressing predicament — what to do about Margot and her lawyer. Seeing as how it was Bonnie’s predicament too, Fred and I went knocking on her door. I’m sure his only concern was if he’d like what was for breakfast.

We could smell sausage frying even before we let ourselves in. Once inside, I went straight for the coffee pot. “This smells so good, Bon. It’s just what I need to wake up. Poor Fred has no idea what he’s missing.” I loved her coffee. Unlike the generic store brands I always bought on sale, she insisted on nothing but Columbian beans picked by Juan Valdez himself.

She smiled and rubbed Fred’s head. “Acid reflux, according to Doctor Oz.” Then she looked up at me like a worried mother. “Don’t tell me you were up all night at that computer again?”

“Not after your router went down. But in a way, I’m glad you shut me off last night. I probably would have fallen asleep at my desk again. That really hurts this old back.”

“I’m sorry, Jake. I keep forgetting about that switch.” Almost every room in her house had an outlet for a lamp controlled by a wall switch. That was the building code back in the seventies when ceiling lights were not in fashion. Her router was plugged into one of those outlets.

Fred decided he wanted out, which seemed strange considering the wonderful smells of breakfast cooking. But nature must take precedence over food in the animal kingdom, so I left the kitchen counter where I had been standing and opened the back door for him.

“Do you think Margot can keep her word?” I asked without looking at her so I could watch Fred to make sure he didn’t stray too far.

When she didn’t answer, I quit watching Fred and turned toward her. She looked really upset. “Bon? Are you okay?”

“You’ll have to go without me, Jake. Margot insists I wait until her lawyer can go with me to make my statement. You know how she can be. Money does that to people. Makes them think they know best.”

Fred interrupted our conversation by barking before I could tell her I had decided to wait a few days myself. I quickly turned, and looked outside to see what had him so upset. Someone was driving up the road to my cabin with Fred chasing after him.

I yanked the door open, and yelled out before running down her back steps, “My God, Bon! It’s the SUV from Appleton’s! Wait here and call 911 if you hear any gunshots!”

I was completely out of breath by the time I ran up the path to my house. It was less than fifty yards, but it was all uphill. Fred had the driver trapped in his car, afraid to get out. When I got closer, I noticed a man with a neatly trimmed goatee, a horseshoe ring of hair, and thick glasses sitting behind the wheel. He was the author from the book signing.

“Down, boy. It’s okay,” I said to Fred, grabbing him by his collar.

“Mr. Martin?” Paul Wilson opened his window halfway, but didn’t make a move to get out of his car.

Bonnie’s Cherokee raced into my driveway before I could respond. “I called the sheriff,” she said through her open window. “They should be here…” She stopped short when she saw who it was.

Wilson finally found the nerve to leave his car and surprised me when he stood next to it. He barely made it to the top of its door. He had looked much taller at the signing, but then he might have been standing on some kind of platform at the time.

“I’m sorry to come unannounced, Mr. Martin, but I assure you I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

“It’s okay. She didn’t really call the cops. Did you, Bon?”

She shook her head no.

“Please call me Jake,” I said, extending my hand. “And the speechless lady is my good neighbor, Bonnie Jones. I think you already met my dog, Fred.”

Wilson returned the handshake without looking at me. His eyes never left Fred. “Yes, I remember him from the bookstore. He didn’t look so vicious then.”

Bonnie found her voice and came over to hold Fred. “He’s a pussycat most of the time. It’s that car you’re driving he doesn’t like.”

“My car?” Wilson asked. “What’s he got against my car?”

“He saw one just like it at a crime scene a few days ago.” She no longer seemed to be afraid of Wilson. Maybe it was because he was a good inch or two shorter than her.

He looked over at her Cherokee. “That was
your
Jeep?” he asked in a much stronger voice. “What were
you
doing there?” For some reason, the situation reminded me of the time when Fred had cornered a raccoon he’d been chasing. We were no longer the hunters.

“Maybe we better go sit on the deck,” I answered. “It’s a long story.”