Double Blind (6 page)

“You think he’s responsible for the rift between you and Shelby.”

“Partly. Mostly. But, I am, ‘like, you know, totally uncool,’ as Shelby would say. She’s not exactly overjoyed to be here. She wanted to
hang
in LA with her friends. Apparently one of the parents offered to let her stay with them, but that I wouldn’t stand for. I’d rather fight with her every day than lay awake every night and worry where she is and what she’s doing.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “Anything I can do?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Alyss said. “Talk to her. She’ll listen to you. She always has. Me? I’m the enemy. Whatever I say sparks a war.”

“She’s a teenager,” Sam offered. “She’s supposed to rebel.”

“It’s more than that.” Alyss dabbed a tear from the corner of her eye with her napkin. “She chose to live with her father. Not with me.”

Sam started to protest that that wasn’t true, but footsteps on the porch silenced her. The front door swung open and Shelby came in.

Shelby’s face lit up when she saw Sam. “Aunt Sam,” she said, using the only name she had ever called Sam. She handed her mother a fistful of flowers and then hugged Sam.

Sam pushed her back and examined her. She had last seen Shelby three years ago. Since then, Shelby had turned 17, sprouted four inches, and matured into a beautiful young woman--tall, lithe, with bright green eyes, like her mother’s. Those were the good points. The rest disturbed Sam and she fought not to betray her shock.

Six earrings lined her left ear, four her right. Her eyebrows were dark, pencil thin and her beautiful, long auburn hair clipped and dyed into a jet-black skullcap. That is except for a half a dozen braided strands tipped with multicolored plastic clips of Elmo, Big Bird, and other Sesame Street characters. She wore over-sized fuzzy lime green pants and a strategically torn white tee shirt, which exposed most of her belly. A multi-colored tattoo of abstract design haloed her navel and a gold ring perforated its lip.

Alyss had used the word “clown” to describe Shelby’s dress. Sam agreed. She held back what she really wanted to say and instead said, “Look at you. You’ve grown so much.”

Shelby offered a mock curtsy.

“New color?” Sam said as she touched Shelby’s hair.

“Yeah. You like it?”

“Your hair was so pretty before.”

“Mom hates it. And she hates my tattoos and my piercings.”

Sam smiled and offered a wink to Alyss and then looked at Shelby. “Maybe your mom’ll come around when she’s older.”

Shelby laughed and hugged Sam again. “I knew you’d understand.”

Alyss smiled at Sam and nodded a “Thank you.” Then, she said: “I thought we’d go into town and show Sam around. And I need to stop by Tony’s Market and pick up a few things.” She looked at Shelby. “Want to go?”

“Sure. Let me jump in the shower.” Shelby headed down the hall to her room.

Alyss walked to the sink, dumped a basket of blackberries into a metal colander, and began rinsing them.

Sam joined her. “Let me do that.” 

Alyss dried her hands, retrieved flour, sugar, and shortening from the cabinet, and began work on dough for the cobbler she was preparing for dinner.

 “The good thing about her being here,” Alyss said, “is that she can’t go to those all night rave parties like she does in LA. There are all kinds of drugs there. Marijuana, alcohol. That Ecstasy stuff that has killed so many teenagers.”

“I thought that fad had passed,” Sam said.

“I wish. According to Shelby, it’s bigger than ever.”

“Shelby’s smart. She’ll take care of herself.”

“A year ago, I would’ve agreed with you. But, since she’s been with Dan and his trinket, her judgment hasn’t been the best. And God knows they haven’t disciplined her one bit.”

After they finished the cobbler and slipped it into the refrigerator to be baked later, Alyss led her upstairs. “Let me show you the rest of the place.”

The inn was wonderful. Six bedrooms, four for rent, including the one Sam occupied, each decorated in a different color scheme, each more beautiful than the last.

“I bought it furnished,” Alyss said. “I only had to do a little painting and buy new draperies and carpets.” She pushed open the door to the last room, which occupied the front corner of the second floor directly above Sam’s room. “This is the Honeymoon Suite.”

The walls were a rich, creamy green. White lace curtains, held open by polished brass hooks, framed French windows that looked out over the rose garden. A massive, waist high four-poster bed dominated the room. A sheer canopy tented the top and dropped graceful tendrils to the floor along each post. A mantled fireplace occupied one corner.

“Wow,” Sam said. “This is spectacular.”

“I hope my first guests agree. They’re newlyweds, coming in from Denver later today.”

“Don’t worry,” Sam said. “They’ll be impressed.”

“I wonder if they know about the murder? Maybe they’ll pack up and leave when they do find out. Maybe they already know and won’t show at all.”

Sam locked her arm with Alyss’ as they walked down the hall toward the stairs. “Quit worrying. They’ll show up. And they’ll love it.”

The news of Lloyd Varney’s murder settled over the town like a winter frost, chilling an otherwise clear, sunny day. It swept up Main Street, passing from person to person like a virus, infecting each in turn with a smoldering fear. The horror slipped softly from one person’s lips to another’s ears, the words heavy with sadness and disbelief.

Those who had attended church heard Reverend Phillip Blaine speak of Lloyd’s kindness and generosity, of how he had lived in Gold Creek his entire life, a native son, and would now be buried in the small cemetery behind the church he had attended since boyhood.

Now, the churchgoers, dressed in their Sunday best, mingled with other townspeople, sharing their loss in hushed tones. Most shuffled along Main Street, confused and shocked, while a dozen or so clotted together in front of Varney’s General Merchandise as if being close to the scene would somehow make it more understandable. Children stood silently at their parents’ sides, seeming to sense a gravity most were too young to comprehend.

Sam, Alyss, and Shelby rounded the corner from Fourth Street, where Sam had parked her Jeep. As they neared the throng, several people nodded to Alyss and eyed Sam with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. One older couple whispered to each other, their mutual gaze tracking Sam’s approach, glancing down and away when Sam looked toward them.

The outsider, Sam thought. Just like back home. Visitors, new faces are always greeted with polite suspicion. No one would say or do anything, but the wall of separation was almost palpable. Except here, she was the outsider.

As she neared the gathering, Sam smiled and nodded to the couple that seemed so curious about her, but they turned to each other, continuing their conversation as if they hadn’t seen her olive branch.

Chief Wade stepped out of Mama Rose’s, a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand. Sam nearly collided with him.

“How are you doing, Deputy Cody?” Wade said.

“Tired,” Sam said.

“Alyss,” he nodded.

“Chief Wade.” Alyss lay a hand on Shelby’s shoulder. “This is my daughter Shelby.”

Wade touched the brim of his worn and stained Stetson. “Nice to meet you.”

“Anything new on your investigation?” Sam said. She noticed that the crowd’s murmurings waned as it turned its collective ear toward them, no doubt searching for some scrap of information that might shed light on what exactly had happened to Lloyd Varney. Wade apparently sensed this, too. He moved down the sidewalk, away from curious ears. Sam followed. Alyss and Shelby remained behind.

Wade stopped near the corner, beneath one of the ornate lampposts. Sam glanced back up the street and saw the older couple strike up a conversation with Alyss. Probably to find out who Sam might be and if they had heard correctly when Wade addressed her as “deputy.” Morbid curiosity apparently doesn’t dwindle with age.

Wade tilted his hat back with a finger under the brim. “That empty shoe box you found. Timberline boots. Size fourteen. Billy Bear’s brand and size. Lloyd orders them in special for him and a shoe that big sure wouldn’t fit anyone else around here.”

“So, he was stealing boots that were his anyway?” Sam asked.

“Cheaper that way, don’t you think?” Wade pulled a toothpick from his shirt pocket and shoved it into the corner of his mouth. “And Billy’s the only person around here as big as the guy that ran over you.”

Sam felt a twinge of apprehension. Wade’s suspicion appeared to be based solely on her description. She never really saw the man, only the shadow of a run-away bull. And a swirl of stars after her head hit the wall of the bank. “I never really got a look at him,” she said.

“Yeah. I know,” Wade said. “But, Billy’s not our most upstanding citizen.”

“Oh?” Sam said.

“He’s got a sheet. Nothing like this, but fighting, growing dope, stuff like that.”

“Marijuana?”

“Never could prove it. It was on his land, but out from his house a ways. Guess it could have been anyone. Of course, Billy never denied using the stuff. Just denied growing it, which would have gotten him before the judge.”

“Have you talked to him?” Sam asked.

“Not yet. Went by his place. Wasn’t there. He’s probably out in the mountains. That’s where he is half the time.”

“Doing what?” Sam asked.

“Hiking around mostly. He’s gone for days sometimes. Likes to camp up there.”

“You going to go find him?”

“Me? No way.” Wade shook his head for emphasis. “Couldn’t find him anyway. Nobody knows these hills better than Billy and if he doesn’t want to be found, ain’t nobody going to find him.”

“You really think he killed Mr. Varney?” Alyss asked.

Wade scratched his ear. “He knows the lay out of the store. Even has a key.” Wade shifted the toothpick to the other corner of his mouth. “If Billy did this and run off, we’ll never find him in these mountains. If not, he’ll be back in a day or two, I suspect.”

Eloy Fuller, head bouncing on his long neck, cigarette bobbing from the corner of his mouth, eyes darting around as if following a gnat, walked toward them. He seemed to focus one eye on Wade and the other on Sam. He offered Sam a grin and then turned to Wade. “Chief. They’re here to take the body over to Montrose.”

Sam flashed a quizzical look at Wade.

“Abe Summers. County Coroner,” Wade said. “Up in Montrose. Examines all homicides in the county, which is almost never. But, we’ll see what he has to say. Probably not much since the cause of death seems fairly obvious, and I doubt he can tell us who did it.” He plucked the toothpick from his mouth and tossed it in the nearby trashcan. “I’d better get this done since Abe has kindly agreed to do the post today. That way we won’t have to delay Lloyd’s funeral too long.” He nodded to Sam. “See you later.” He turned and followed Eloy up the sidewalk.

Eloy looked over his shoulder at Sam a couple of times as he and Wade crossed Main Street and headed toward the Police Department.

Alyss walked up, Shelby in tow. “Looks like you have a fan.”

“Spare me,” Sam said.

“Come on,” Alyss said. “I’ll show you the town.”

“I’ve seen it,” Shelby said. “I’m going over to the music store and see if they have anything that’s not like totally lame.”

“OK,” Alyss said. “We’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

Sam and Alyss strolled down Main Street. While they walked and chatted, Sam decided that despite her introduction to the town last night and the understandably suspicious nature of the crowd outside Varney’s, she liked Gold Creek.

In the daylight, it appeared very different. The stores were old but seemed to wear their age well. Clean and tidy, but with no hint of Disney-like contrivance, they were the real thing. Built by hand from sturdy materials. Aged by time and weather, not some artisan’s patina.

Alyss pointed out some of the historic buildings, mostly Victorian, dating from a time when gold and silver were big business. Many had served as homes for the wealthy mine owners. Most had been restored; others still needed work.

Alyss showed her one particularly impressive three-story Victorian that had been the town’s main brothel. It was now the Begley Hotel. Stately, sedate, yellow with caramel trim, and stained glass everywhere.

“The brothel was run for over forty years by a woman who called herself Belle Bovary,” Alyss said. “I forget her real name.”

“When did it close?”

“Belle died in the 1930’s. A couple of the girls kept it running until the mid Forties. After the war, Thomas Begley bought it and converted it to a hotel.”

“It’s beautiful.” Sam shielded the sun from her eyes as she inspected the building.

“My main competition,” Alyss said. “They have eighteen rooms. I have four.”

“I’d bet yours are better though,” Sam said. “Besides, yours come with peace and solitude. And you.”

Alyss laughed.

“And down comforters and fresh muffins,” Sam continued.

They veered off Main Street long enough for Alyss to show Sam the hundred-year-old stone church with its soaring white steeple and gold cross. “It’s plated with real gold,” Alyss said.

“You’re kidding?”

“Apparently, they had more gold around here than they knew what to do with.” Alyss turned and looked back toward the Begley Hotel a block away. “The miners that visited Belle’s girls usually paid in nuggets and dust. That’s all they had, I guess. Anyway, Belle donated the gold for the cross.”

“Buying salvation?” Sam said.

“Or trying to keep the local powers out of her hair.”

Sam turned back to the church. The church’s property covered an entire block, set off from the sidewalk by a black wrought iron fence topped with ornate spikes. The grounds were park like, with manicured lawns and stately spruce trees. Reverend Blaine’s modest white, frame home sat only a few yards from the church’s rear door. Beyond lay the cemetery, a garden of flowers, shrubs, and headstones. Soon to be Lloyd Varney’s final resting place.

They continued their stroll, circling the church’s property. As they neared where they had started, Sam asked, “What’s the story on Chief Wade?”