“Fancy meeting you here,” he’d said, when he found Eric in the bathroom with Verbiscar. “Stick around. I’ll want to talk to you.”
After that, the paramedics had ushered Eric out, and Vic had put Deputy Brill in charge of cordoning off the cabin. No doubt since then, the blood evidence had been trampled, and the tracks in front of the house churned into mud.
For the better part of an hour, Eric occupied himself watching mountain bluebirds hunting for insects in the meadow. In the early morning sun, the azure males flitted above the grass like bits of the mountain sky. The female—gray with a blue wash—were harder to spot, hovering like small helicopters, then diving for insect prey. Eric wished he had his binoculars, but they were in the truck, and he didn’t want to go near the cabin. Better to sit on the rock.
Vic stood near the cabin’s front door, speaking to the hotel manager. The stocky sheriff shook the old man’s hand, then turned, hiking up the slope toward Eric.
“Whew,” said Vic, panting by the time he reached the rock. Eric slid over and let him sit down.
“So what happened here, Eric?”
“You want the short version, or the blow-by-blow?”
“The blow.”
“Vell, after you dropped me off, I discovered I had a message from Verbiscar.”
Eric walked the sheriff through the morning. He told him about the tape, about Charlie and Tamara Devlin, about finding Verbiscar. When Eric finished, Vic said, “Whew. I take it the tape is the same one you were talking about last night?”
“Ja.”
Vic stared at Eric. “Do we have any idea what was on it?”
“No. All she told me was that it proved Wayne didn’t light the fire. She wanted me to watch it, to get my reaction on tape. She wanted an interview. I set up the meeting. I never got to see it.” Eric ran his fingers through his hair. “Have you talked to Charlie?”
“He’s next on my list.” The sheriff rested his hands on his knees and drummed his kneecaps with his fingers. “Any idea who or what she might have captured on tape?”
Eric considered the question. “Probably whoever killed Wayne. Doing what, I don’t know.”
“Okay, son, I’ll bite. If, and I mean if . . . we have no proof that he was . . . but, if Wayne was murdered, who do you think did it?
Eric nodded, shifting his weight on the rock to look at Vic more easily. “My list is dwindling.”
“I want everyone that ever skimmed it.”
“At first I wondered about Pacey Trent. I thought Wayne planned to call off the burn, and Trent was so set on it happening.”
“But?” prompted Vic.
“Trent couldn’t have done it, based on the timing of the a second fire. He was accounted for at all times on the burn site.”
“Go on.”
“Then there’s Nora Frank. She wanted Wayne’s job, and she disappeared for awhile during the burn. She was gone almost an hour and had access to the ATVs in the maintenance shed near the burn site.”
“Anyone else?”
“Lark wondered about Jackie.”
Vic cocked his head, donning a thoughtful expression. “She certainly had motive.”
Eric stood up. Talking about Jackie as a suspect made him uneasy. It wasn’t that he even liked her that much. She tended to be prickly and standoffish. But she was Wayne’s wife. Not a surrogate mother in the same way Wayne had served as a surrogate father, but more like a tolerated family member. Someone you afforded loyalty by virtue of relationship.
Eric jammed his hands in his pockets. “Why do you say that?”
“The investigation team got Wayne’s autopsy report back,” said Vic, sitting up straight and stretching his legs out in front of him. “Wayne had Alzheimer’s disease.”
Eric’s stomach muscles tightened. He felt like he’d been gut kicked.
“It explains a lot about his recent behavior,” said Vic. “And it seems to have solidified the case against him.”
Alzheimer’s. “Did Jackie know?”
“I would assume so. He’d been seeing a doctor in Denver for the past year.”
“Wayne might not have told her.”
“Maybe. Except, you know what they say, if you can worry about having Alzheimer’s, you don’t have it. It’s usually a family member who recognizes that something’s wrong.”
Eric wondered why Jackie had lied to him. To protect Wayne? Or to protect herself and Tamara? A diagnosis like that could have forced Wayne into an early medical retirement, which would have cut his benefits.
“Anyway, I crossed her off the list, because I talked to her at home twice the morning Wayne died.”
“By telephone?”
“Ja, why?”
“Phones can be forwarded.”
“She was at home,” said Eric. “Besides, Lark saw her in the Warbler at nine-thirty. She wouldn’t have had time to get up on the mountain and back.”
Vic cocked his head, then after a moment or two, said, “You got any more on your list, or are we through?”
“There are four more,” said Eric. “The two boys from the Youth Camp—ruled out because of the fusees. They would have used one of Wayne’s to start the Eagle Cliff Fire. And at the very least, they would have stolen the ones he had on the mountain.”
Vic grinned. “You’ve got them pegged.”
“Then, there’s Forest Nettleman and Gene Paxton.”
Vic frowned at the mention of Nettleman. “What’s Forest got to do with this?”
Eric pushed his hands deeper into his pockets, playing his fingers along the seam at the bottom. “He’s anti-burn, but you know Forest. For him, the end sometimes justifies the means.”
Vic nodded.
“He and Linda Verbiscar were working together, producing an IMAX-style movie for the center. The film needed fire footage. Verbiscar even hit the list before . . .”
Vic slapped his thighs, and stood up. “And Paxton’s motive is self-explanatory. The insurance money.”
“I don’t think either one of them has an alibi.”
Vic’s eyes narrowed. “You leave the investigating to me. Do you hear me?” He pointed his finger at Eric. “After what happened here tonight, it’s obvious someone got too close to the truth.”
Eric let the order hang and laced his next words with sarcasm. “Aren’t you worried about jurisdiction?”
“Covered,” said Vic, jerking his head toward the cabin. “I’m serious, Eric. Stay out of it.”
Eric waited for his frustration to dissipate, then asked, “Did you see all the tracks?”
Vic’s eyes narrowed. “What tracks?”
“They were all over the place,” said Eric. “Footprints and ATV tracks, both in front and in back.” As he spoke the words, Eric realized what had happened. The sun had come up. The sun had warmed the earth and obliterated the evidence, just like the paramedics had obliterated the evidence while rescuing Linda Verbiscar.
Eric slumped back down on the rock. “I’m tired.”
“Me, too,” said Vic.
Eric hung around until Vic finished interviewing Charlie and Tamara. The cameraman admitted knowing about the tape, but denied knowing who or what was on it. Tamara didn’t know anything. She simply cried and begged them not to tell her mother where she’d been.
Lark heard the knock and considered hiding. She was content to be ensconced at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and the morning paper. She was comfortable in her flannel pajama bottoms and T-shirt. She contemplated ignoring the summons, then caved in. It was probably Velof with the crisis du jour.
Padding across the sun-warmed linoleum, she flung open the door and was surprised to find Eric leaning against the door frame. Self-consciously she fingered her braid, still feathered from last night’s sleep. “Good morning,” she said.
“Morning.” His eyes took assessment of her attire. “Any chance for a cup of coffee?”
“Sure, it’s already made.” When he stepped inside, she noticed the blood o
n his hands. “Oh my God, Eric. You’re bleeding.”
The concern in her voice seemed to embarrass him. “No, it’s not mine.”
“Then whose is it?” she asked, horrified by the streaks of red blood smearing his hands. “I’d say it’s a good thing I know you.”
He laughed, a tight, strained release that tugged at her heart. “It’s Linda Verbiscar’s blood.”
“Oh, in that case . . . follow me.” She led him to the laundry room and pointed to the wash tub. “What happened?”
“You want the short version, or the blow-by-blow?”
“I’ll make us some breakfast.” He gave her the short version, while she poured him a cup of coffee.
“So, let me get this straight,” she said, peeling bacon strips into a skillet on the stove. “Linda Verbiscar claimed to have a tape that proved Wayne didn’t light the Eagle Cliff Fire.”
“Right.”
“The tape is missing.”
“Right again.”
“She’s in the hospital”
“And may not pull through.”
“And no one knows what was on it.”
“You’ve got it.”
“So who do you think took it?” asked Lark, grabbing an onion out of the wooden bread bowl on the counter. Slicing the ends off, she peeled its skin into the trash.
Eric crossed to the stove. “Nora Frank. Forest Nettleman. Or Gene Paxton,” he said, turning the strips of bacon in the pan.
Lark’s eyes teared from chopping the onion, and she flipped on the cold water, rinsing her hands. “Linda Verbiscar wouldn’t have been stupid enough to try blackmailing someone, would she?”
“There were other’s who knew about the video. She wanted interviews.”
The smell of bacon permeated the air. Lark’s mouth watered. Drying her hands, she broke four eggs into a bowl, added a splash of milk to the bowl, and whisked the mixture into a yellow froth. “Do you know who else she called?”
“I haven’t a clue.”
“How about Charlie? Did she confide in him?” Eric shook his head.
Popping two slices of bread in the toaster, Lark grabbed plates and glasses from the cupboard and carried them to the table. “Tell me Vic is at least going to check out Paxton and Nettleman.”
“Ja,” replied Eric, taking the bacon out of the skillet. “Do you want the onions in here?”
Lark nodded. “There’s a can for the grease under the sink.”
Eric routed around under the sink, drained the grease into the can he found, and tossed the onions into the skillet. “Vic said he was going to ask some questions. From what he told me, it would be hard to convince a judge to issue a search warrant only on the basis of hearsay evidence.”
“What about the tracks you saw around the cabin?”
“Gone with the morning sun. Any that might have survived, the emergency crew had pretty well trampled.” Eric stirred the onions, then added the eggs. Lark carried the bacon to the table.
After juggling everything to the table—toast, jelly, butter, juice, eggs, and silverware—and they had sat down across from each other at the table, Lark slathered a piece of toast with jelly and asked, “So what’s your next step?”
“You know me pretty well.”
“Yeah, well, that has its good and bad points.”
He grinned at her, his brown hair rumpled from being outdoors, his blue eyes twinkling. “More good than bad, I hope.”
Lark felt her face flush. Considerably more good, she thought, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. Their friendship was moving toward something else, but slowly, and she was content with the pace. His friendship mattered to her, and she didn’t want to jeopardize that friendship by reading romance in where it didn’t belong.
“I told you about the fusees, right?” asked Eric.
Lark nodded, taking a bite of her toast.
“Then there’s the missing psychrometer.”
Lark set down her toast. “It didn’t turn up in the truck?”
“No.” Eric shook his head. “He had a special one he carried, and it wasn’t in the office. I asked Jackie about it, and she didn’t even know what I was talking about.”
“Then where is it?”
“I think it’s up on Eagle Cliff Mountain.” Eric pushed the eggs around on his plate with the fork. “The investigation team issued a quick report on what happened. I think they went up there with some preconceived notion of what they’d find and overlooked something.”
“Are you going up there” asked Lark.
“Ja,” he said, taking a mouthful of eggs.
“I’ll go with you.”
“That’s not a good idea,” Eric said, pushing away his plate. “Not after what’s happened to Verbiscar. Someone’s frightened, and I don’t want you getting in the way.”
Lark placed her napkin on the table, then stood up to clear the dishes. “In the way of what?”
“You know what I mean, Lark.” His eyes riveted on hers. “It might be dangerous.”
“For you, too.” She reached for his plate. “Besides, you’re forgetting something. We don’t know anything.”
“Yet,” he replied.
After cleaning the kitchen, Lark telephoned the Drummond and told Stephen Velof that she wasn’t coming in. Eric called Nora. He hadn’t expected her to answer, but she picked up on the first ring.
“Well, well, if it isn’t our local celebrity,” she said.
Apprehension stirred in his guts. “What are you talking about, Nora?”
“Don’t be modest, Eric. By now I’d guess everyone in Elk Park has heard about your early morning adventures. How does it feel to be a hero?”
His mind scrambled, trying to figure out what she knew, and how she knew it. When he didn’t respond, she continued, “KEPC-TV Morning News. They did an in-depth report on Linda Verbiscar, and showed a great picture of you sitting on a rock. You looked appropriately dejected and everything.” There was a pregnant pause. “Just to satisfy my curiosity, Eric, do you mind filling me in on how you ended up the rescuer?”
Her tone implied impropriety, and the insinuation annoyed him. As far as he knew, the only one who’d been playing around at the inn was Tamara Devlin and Charlie.
“No comment,” he said, choosing not to engage.
“Smart man,” said Nora, “considering the buzz is you’re the prime suspect.”
He visualized her leaning into the conversation, her elbows planted on the gray metal desk in Wayne’s office. Nora hadn’t wasted a moment moving in. Eric’s grip tightened around the receiver. If Nora was trying to bait him, she was doing a good job.
Eric refused to bite. “I was calling to let you know I wouldn’t be in the office today. I’ll take care of the birds at the Raptor House, but afterward I plan to do some fieldwork to get ready for the fire impact study.”
“Really. Are you sure this ‘field work’ doesn’t have anything to do with your fusee theory?”
Damn, how did she know about that? KEPC-TV hadn’t been on sight in Bellville. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play dumb, Linenger. The news reporter interviewed Brill. He coughed up your late-night adventures and spilled the beans on your twenty-four count hypothesis. My, but you’ve been busy.” Nora chuckled. “I’m wondering, Eric, can you guess how many fusees I carry around with me?”
Eric worked to keep his voice even. “Make fun if you want, Nora. It’s a good theory.”
“Hey, we could develop an NPS game show. And now,” she intoned sarcastically, “let’s play, ‘Estimate the Fusees.’ ”
Anger brought Eric to his feet, and he paced the length of the cord. “Can we get back to business?”
“Sure thing,” she said, amusement still lacing her voice.
“I need to map the burned areas for the impact studies,” he said. “The sooner it’s done, the sooner we can start assessing the effect of the burn.” Eric paused, then shot a dagger of his own. “Wayne would hav
e offered, but I’d welcome your help.”
“Not a chance, Linenger,” she replied. “Take care.” Then, she banged down the phone.
Chapter 21
The day had warmed up into the sixties by the time Eric and Lark headed out. The sun blazed down from an azure sky, and the smell of pine hung heavy on the breeze.
Passing Prospect Point, with Eagle Cliff Mountain rising above them, Eric slowed the truck and searched the side of the road for the pullout where Wayne Devlin had parked his truck.
According to Tres’s description, the narrow pulloff was sheltered by trees and branched off on the right-hand side of the road. Eric shifted his gaze back and forth from the asphalt to the right-of-way, while Lark kept her nose pressed to the window.
“There,” she said, pointing to a shallow opening in the trees. “Is that it?”
Eric braked and yanked the wheel. The truck bumped, straddling the shallow ditch, then came to a stop at the side of the road.
The gap in the trees opened into a small clearing, but the number of days since the truck disappeared, combined with the recent snow, worked against them. Their search for signs that Wayne’s truck had been parked there was futile. The moisture had caused any crushed vegetation to regenerate. Short grasses blanketed the earth, dotted with patches of alpine forget me nots and blue columbines. Giant trees towered toward the sky. Any imprints left on the land by any others had been erased.
Eric was about to abandon the search, when his eye picked up nicks in the dirt near the road. Moving closer, he knelt down. Several sets of tire tracks marred the edges of the ditch.
“Over here,” he called out.
Lark walked toward him and hunkered down. Her thin-boned fingers explored the indentations in the dirt. “Are they from a pickup?”
“These are,” said Eric. He pointed to a set of tracks clearly matching those left by his NPS truck in axle width and tire size. “But these . . .” He broke off and studied another, smaller set. “These look like they came from an ATV.”
“Did Wayne use one?”
“He owned an ATV. He used it for packing meat when he hunted. But it’s illegal to ride them up here.”
A Nest in the Ashes Page 16
