Shadow Ridge

by M. E. Browning

  He swerved around a pothole, and Jo clutched the roll bar to keep her balance. “A nondisclosure agreement?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. The only thing he said about it was he was going to cash in big.”

  “Could he have been trying to cash in on your capstone project?”

  They drove through the lot, joining a conga line of vehicles looking for a space. “Tye wasn’t like that. This was something else.”

  “What’s going to happen with your capstone game?”

  “I don’t even want to think about that. I’m on academic probation as it is. I thought majoring in video gaming would be a kick. Hell was I wrong.” Another glance in the mirror. “Pardon my French, Detective Jo.”

  “I’ve heard worse.”

  He turned down the last aisle. “It’s a stupid degree anyway. Most coders learn by doing. Look at Tye. He didn’t even have his degree yet, and already gaming companies were throwing money at him.”

  A gray utility box anchored the rear corner of the lot, and Ronny pulled up beside it.

  “Why not change majors?” Jo asked.

  “Dad threatened to cut me off if I don’t graduate. The only thing I have left is the capstone project.” He slid out of the driver’s seat and unlocked the box, then tapped a code onto an electronic keypad. The cart lurched as he climbed back inside.

  “That sucks,” Jo said.

  “Tell me about it.” Ronny steered toward the exit. “Tye had it good. It was amazing what he could do on a computer.”

  “What about you?” He was driving faster now, and the cold air brought tears to Jo’s eyes. “Were you holding up your part of the project?”

  “Of course.” He craned around in his seat. “Why would you even ask that?”

  “You said you were on probation.”

  Ronny faced forward again. “Turns out the degree is more than playing games.”

  “What was your part of the project?”

  His shoulders slumped. “I bought Tye’s chair.”

  “The gaming chair?”

  “Best money can buy.” He pulled into the second lot and drove straight to the utility box.

  Before he could get out, Squint asked, “Did Mr. Horton give you his laptop?”

  “I wish. Then I wouldn’t be sweating the project.” He hopped out.

  Jo followed. “So, as far as you know, Tye had no reason to suicide. Anybody mad at him?”

  He tapped his code onto the keypad. “Besides Quinn?”

  Jo sidestepped a slush puddle. Maybe there was more to Ms. Kirkwood’s story after all. “What was Quinn’s beef with Tye?”

  “I don’t know the details. Only know they had a falling out.”

  “What about you? Anybody upset with you at the moment?”

  “Like I said, I’m staying out of trouble.”

  A black Escalade with the resort logo bounced into the lot.

  A new thought. “What did you get Quinn?”

  “What?” He didn’t meet her eyes, and for the first time since she’d known him, she could have sworn he was holding something back.

  “You got Tye a gaming chair. Quinn was part of the team. So what’d you get her to make her go along with carrying you on the project?”

  He snorted. “I wouldn’t give that bitch a damn thing.”

  Squint unfolded from the front seat and stood next to the cart, his eyes marking the progress of the Escalade as it charged toward them.

  Jo knew exactly who was driving. “Ronny, what—”

  The driver braked seconds before he would have rammed the security cart. The front end of the Escalade dipped, and Xavier Buck stepped out of the passenger side before the springs returned to neutral. “Maiku, Detective Wyatt.” His expression belied the friendly Ute greeting. He held out his hand to Squint. “Detective MacAllister, I believe?”

  “Mr. Buck.”

  “How can I help you two today?”

  Jo answered. “I’m just having a friendly conversation with your son.”

  He brushed a bit of dirt from his shearling jacket. “I’m sure you understand he’s working.”

  “I do. We’re helping so he doesn’t get behind. I heard the management here is pretty unforgiving.”

  The corners of Xavier’s mouth turned up, but it fell short of a smile. “That’s very true.”

  “If you’ll excuse us,” Jo said. “My partner and I only have a few more questions.”

  “Oh, you’re done now. Feel free to address any additional inquiries to my attorney.”

  “Are you suggesting your son needs a lawyer?”

  “Of course he does. He’s speaking with you.” He turned to his son. “Ronald, you don’t have anything else for the detectives, do you?”

  Ronny shook his head but didn’t meet Jo’s eyes. “I’m good.”

  15

  Jo slammed the telephone receiver back into its cradle. “Still no answer.”

  Squint leaned back in his office chair. “If you want me to add something to this conversation, you’re going to have to give me a bit more to go on.”

  “Eva Petersen.” When Squint still didn’t respond, she added, “The chintz-loving gun collector from the Walsenbergs’ Fifth Street rental?”

  “Ah.” He leaned forward and resumed typing on his computer.

  “Tye’s dead,” she said.

  Squint’s chair squeaked as he once again leaned back. “Is this going to be one of your scintillating nonlinear conversations where the only reason you include me is so you aren’t talking to yourself? Because if it is, I need to finish the follow-up on the Ruffini burglary and get it over to the DA’s office.”

  Jo stripped the hair tie from her ponytail and raked her fingers across her scalp. “Derek suicided. Quinn’s getting death threats.”

  “The cat is still missing.”

  Jo shot the elastic across the desks at Squint. It flew wide. “Where’s that leave Ronny?”

  Squint steepled his fingers. “On academic probation with no chance of graduating.”

  “And Daddy threatening to cut him off financially.”

  “Which probably positions Ronny as the least likely person to want Tye dead.”

  “Yeah, there’s that.” She drew another hair tie from the stash in her desk drawer. Most of them ended up on Squint’s side of the room by the end of the day. “What I can’t figure out is how Quinn’s emails figure into all of this.”

  “Could be unrelated.”

  “I even considered that maybe Tye had sent them. That made sense in light of the squabble Ronny mentioned, but unless he’s emailing from the great beyond, there’s no way he could have sent a message saying he’d seen her in the Bean.”

  “Any luck with our friends at the Bureau?”

  “Still waiting to hear back from Raubenheimer. I reached out to the Denver office. The agent there suggested contracting a forensic specialist to conduct a search of Quinn’s computer and router to see if someone’s piggybacking on her system. Something about capturing data packets. He’s sending me some info, so I’ll know more after I have a chance to wade through it all. But Quinn’s a student. She’s less than enthusiastic about giving up her laptop. Anything on the Bean surveillance?”

  “They don’t have any.”

  “Of course not.” The words hung in the air until Jo finally broke the silence. “I’m starving.” The institutional clock on the detective bureau wall claimed it was two thirty. Her computer put it at quarter to three. “Plus, I haven’t exercised in three days.” She buried her face in her hands and rubbed her eyes. “Unless you want to count running into brick walls, swimming upstream, and chasing my own tail.”

  “I’m exhausted just listening to you.” He lifted his Southwest Regional Drug Task Force coffee mug and took a leisurely sip.

  “I’ve left messages with Mrs. Petersen, Professor Lucas, and Quinn—I need to find out more about the kerfuffle with Tye that Ronny mentioned. No one wants to talk to me. I’ve officially entered the hurry-up-and-wai
t phase of both investigations.”

  “Considering your blood sugar level and my will to live, I’m going to suggest you walk downtown and get yourself something to eat.”

  Stacks of paperwork had taken over her desk, and the clutter set her on edge. “I should make sure Jimmy Hoffa isn’t hiding in there somewhere.” She pulled a manila envelope from the bottom of the stack and shoved it in her desk drawer. She’d give the documents to Cameron later. Hopefully he’d sign them without a fuss.

  “My treat,” Squint said.

  Jo rose from her seat. “What do you want?”

  “Lady’s choice. I’m only doing this in the interest of self-preservation.”

  “I’m thinking Prospectors.” She shoved her arms into her coat. “I’ve got a hankering for a burger.”

  Squint tossed some bills on her desk. “I would greatly appreciate it if you declined onions and green chili this time.”

  “And miss out on a meal I can taste the rest of the day?” She tossed the bills back. “I don’t think so.”

  * * *

  Jo slid on a slab of invisible ice that had formed in the shadow of the police station, then crossed to the sunny side of the street. Five blocks to Prospectors, five blocks back, five minutes to wolf it down at her desk. Once she stabilized her blood sugar, maybe she’d be able to figure out what to do next.

  She cut through the recently rechristened Derek Walsenberg Memorial Garden, preferring its gravel paths to icy sidewalks. Use of the land had been gifted to the city by the Ambrose family years ago, and it stretched across two acres of prime real estate next to the courthouse. The wooded gardens radiated peace.

  Her pace slowed. Pine scented the crisp air, and the sun played hide-and-seek with the clouds. The trees parted, and the stately columns framing the courthouse came into view. Her life’s story was held in that building. Birth records, marriage certificate, court testimony, property records. Soon her divorce papers would add another chapter.

  She rounded a holly bush, its red berries bright against the snowy backdrop, and stumbled into a woman crouched at the base of the shrub.

  “I’m so sorry! Are you all right?” Jo leaned over and offered the woman support while she regained her footing.

  “Completely my fault. I didn’t hear you coming.” She brushed ice shards from her knees. A bronze plaque peeked through the snow at her feet.

  Jo recognized her immediately. Alice Walsenberg.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jo repeated. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “Don’t be silly, dear. You’re not intruding at all. I’m glad to see someone else enjoying the gardens in this weather.” She knelt and dusted the remaining snow from the plaque and read the inscription aloud. “‘The most effective kind of education is that a child should play amongst lovely things.’ Time has changed so little since Plato spoke those words.”

  “He would be proud, Mrs. Walsenberg. The garden is lovely.”

  “Plato or my son?” She stared off into the distance, then seemed to rouse. “It’s Jo, right? My husband mentioned he had spoken with you recently about a case.”

  “Yes.” She held out her hand. “Jo Wyatt.”

  Alice shook Jo’s gloved hand with the strength of a ranch girl, even if there was a manicure under her glove. “It is my pleasure, Ms. Wyatt. I knew your mother. A wonderful woman. And your father, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Mrs. Walsenberg returned her attention to the memorial plaque. “No amount of time dulls the loss of a child. Do you have any of your own, Ms. Wyatt?”

  “No.” She and Cameron had talked about having children. Several times. He’d been all for it. She’d wanted to wait a bit, not realizing that someday didn’t always come around. Would a child have saved her marriage?

  “It’s already been a year.” Alice didn’t have to mention since what. “Yet I still expect to see Derek come through the door. He was going through a stage where he never used a glass. He’d drive me to distraction by drinking straight from the carton. Milk, juice, soda—it didn’t matter.” She brushed her hand across a holly sprig, and the sharp edge snagged her woolen glove. “What I wouldn’t give to feel that aggravation again.”

  “It’s strange the things we miss,” Jo said. “I miss my mother’s biscuits. She couldn’t bake a batch without burning the bottom of every last one of them. It was the oddest thing, because she was a great cook.”

  She spoke of her mother but thought of Cameron. She missed the press of his body when he spooned her as they slept, how his hand always found the dip between her hip and rib cage. His soft breaths by her ear. She’d never appreciated how much of her life he’d filled just by being present.

  Alice freed her glove of the snag. “Those are the kind of memories that keep our loved ones alive.”

  “Yes.” Jo cleared her throat. “Mrs. Walsenberg, maybe you can help me. I’ve been trying to get in touch with Mrs. Petersen.”

  “The poor dear. She’s suffered some health issues recently and has been in and out of the hospital. I stopped by on Sunday. I make a point of checking on her when she’s home. She’s got an independent streak, but it’s a big house for an older woman.”

  “I’m sure she appreciates it. When you’ve visited, did you ever notice anyone in the garage?”

  “No. I park in front. I was stunned to learn it was Tye.”

  “You knew him?” Jo tried to hide her interest. “Tye’s name didn’t ring a bell with your husband.”

  “Oh, I’m not a bit surprised. Zachary makes a point of knowing the names and addresses of every boy who’s ever shown a speck of interest in our daughter, but Derek was always a bit of a mama’s boy. I only knew Tye’s name because of my son.”

  Tye and Derek. Both dead. Coincidence? “Were they close?”

  “Not at all. Derek’s best friend, Ronny Buck, introduced them. If memory serves, Tye was a game designer. Derek and Ronny tested something for him.”

  “Do you know what he thought of the game?”

  Alice smiled. “He was a teenager. He loved anything that distracted him from his homework.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Walsenberg. Again, I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

  “Ms. Wyatt.” She brushed Jo’s forearm. A butterfly-soft touch. “Jo.”

  The slightest hitch crept into Alice’s voice. Desperate? No. Desolate. It was at complete odds with the carefully curated persona of control she always exuded. Even following the death of her son, she had appeared poised—grief-stricken, sure, but still somehow regal.

  “The suicide awareness program I’ve been developing … I understand the incident at our rental property was a suicide.”

  “I can’t—”

  “Rest easy, Ms. Wyatt. I’m not asking for any details. But I understand a young woman reported it. A friend of Tye’s, I presume.” Mrs. Walsenberg pulled a business card from her jacket pocket. “Would you please give this to her, let her know she’s not alone?”

  Jo took the card. “Of course.”

  “I was ashamed my son committed suicide. I’d wondered where I went wrong, what I could have done differently. I was so very angry. I’ve since learned that what I felt was normal, but at the time, I thought I was a monster. The grief that accompanies suicide is full of unexpected struggles. She should know that nothing is the same in its wake.”

  * * *

  Jo nudged the detective bureau door open with her hip.

  Squint rose out of his seat to help her. “I was about to send out a search party.”

  “I ran into Alice Walsenberg when I cut through the gardens. Interesting conversation.”

  He took the cardboard drink holder from her grasp. “Anything useful?”

  “She knew her son was testing a game for Tye.”

  “The DA said he’d never heard of Tye.”

  “He might not have, but I thought it an interesting twist.” Jo placed the bag of burgers on her desk and started doling out ketchup packets and cutlery. “She was al
so at the rental house on Sunday, but she didn’t see anyone other than Mrs. Petersen.”

  “Too bad.” Squint cleared a space on his desk. “Ingersleben called while you were out.”

  Jo paused. “And?”

  “The preliminary determination is that the Tye Horton case is a suicide.”

  Jo lowered the napkins onto her desk. “So Cameron was right all along.”

  “No, Officer Finch stepped all over the crime scene like a rookie just out of the academy. You were right to treat it as a homicide until the investigation ruled otherwise.”

  “Sergeant Finch.” She flopped into her chair, no longer hungry. “I don’t get it. Tye had stellar grades. Friends. He was on the verge of success. So why would someone who had it all decide to suicide?”

  “Why did Derek Walsenberg hang himself in his bedroom closet?”

  “That’s another thing. Don’t you think it’s odd that Derek and Tye knew each other and now they’re both dead?”

  “Statistically, they both possessed risk factors. Tye was diabetic. Both were white, male, and young.”

  Derek Walsenberg’s death had been Squint’s case. Jo and Cameron had been in Glenwood Springs on their last vacation together when the death occurred.

  After they returned, Jo had read the reports. Olivia had found her brother. Zachery had called the police. Alice had sat in the window seat in the solarium, staring out at the falling snow. If she hadn’t known better, Jo would have thought Alice and Zachary had been interviewed at the same time. No, their son wasn’t having any problems. No he wasn’t depressed. No, he wasn’t in a relationship. No warning. No explanation.

  “No note.” Jo pushed the takeout container with her burger to the side of her desk. “Derek didn’t leave a note either.”

  16

  Tye’s name didn’t ring a bell with your husband.

  The detective’s voice buzzed in Alice’s ear. What did she mean? Of course he knew Tye’s name.

  Dozens of questions kept her company on her walk home, but only one answer was certain.

  Zachary lied.

  A ray of sun struck the leaded-glass panes beside the front door and shattered into a thousand colors across the porch. Maybe he’d just forgotten the name. Didn’t make the connection. As district attorney, he encountered countless names every day. It was possible.