As he sat up, his head reeled. When he tried standing, his legs refused to hold him. Elbows to knees, he cradled his head in his hands.
In moments, Lark appeared, a strand of blond hair loose from her braid falling across her cheek. Her blue eyes were narrowed in concern. Tall, thin, dressed in jeans and flannel, and backlit by the sun, she looked like an angel.
Then Vic loomed behind her, hand on his gun. “You hurt?”
“Not too bad,” said Eric, focusing on his feet and discounting the headache. “I’m alive.”
Lark’s fingers probed the wound on his head.
“It’s just a nick,” said Vic. “He’ll live.” The sheriff glanced around. “What happened?”
“We were shot at.”
“I can see that. Tell me something I don’t know.”
Eric told him everything he could remember, up to the point where he collapsed on the ground. “Either the guy couldn’t find me, or he ran out of ammunition. I heard a vehicle fire up, and that’s the last I remember until I heard Lark shout.”
“You need to see a doctor,” she said.
“He needs soap and water,” said Vic. “Why don’t we head up to the Youth Camp? We can talk there and get you cleaned up.”
“He needs to see a doctor,” insisted Lark. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”
“It’s a head wound. They always look worse than they are.” Vic extended his hand. “Here, let me help you up.”
Standing between Vic and Lark, Eric gimped to the boulder. Collapsing against the knobby surface of the rock, he rested while Vic nosed around and Lark retrieved their packs.
“Thanks,” said Eric, when Lark pitched him his. Pulling out the bandana, he soaked it with water from his water bottle, and dabbed at the dried blood on his face.
“Here, let me do that,” offered Lark. With skillful fingers and a feather-light touch, she cleaned the wound on his head. “Ouch,” said Eric, when she hit a sore spot.
“Vic’s right. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“It still hurts,” Eric complained.
“Don’t whine.” Lark doused the bandana with more water. “Hold still.” This time she scrubbed, and he winced.
It occurred to him that Lark had gone for help and only brought back Vic. “What happened after you left?” he asked. “Where’s the backup?”
“Probably huffing up the hill.” She pushed his head sideways and dabbed the wet cloth against his hairline. “I made the road in record time, but I wasn’t sure which direction to go for the truck. I flagged down a passing motorist and used their cell phone. As it turned out, Vic was at the Youth Mountain Camp. He got here quick, so we came on ahead.”
“That was brave, or stupid, considering someone was up here shooting at us.”
“I was worried:” She sounded defensive. “Besides, Vic made me wait down below until he was sure the shooter was gone. We only started looking for you after we knew it was safe.” She dropped her arm and sat back on her heels. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“I’m glad we’re okay,” he answered.
“Ah hum.”
Eric glanced up. The sheriff stood ten feet to their left, slightly around the curve in the rock. “Is this where one of the bullets struck?” he asked.
“Could be,” said Eric, unable to see exactly where his hands were. “Several shots hit the boulder.”
Stooping, Vic patted his hands on the ground. “Ah.” He reached his hand into the duff and retrieved a bullet, holding it up to the sun. “From the looks of it, a .45.” He slipped the slug into his shirt pocket. “I found what looks like ATV tracks on the hill over there.” He pointed south. “Of course, they’ll be darned near impossible to track.”
The mention of the ATV triggered Eric’s memory. He had heard something. A cracking sound. His mind was blank, like an Alzheimer’s victim, and it dawned on him this was how Wayne must have felt sometimes. Like a sieve, things came in and passed through, no longer retained.
Allowing his mind to wander away from task of remembering, it suddenly dawned on him what he wanted to remember. “Glass! I heard shattering glass.”
The sheriff raised his eyebrows. “I suppose there’s an of chance whoever was up here clipped a mirror on a tree. If we can find them, the glass fragments might help us prove we have the right vehicle. Provided, of course, we put our hands on the right ATV.”
“It wasn’t a mirror that broke,” insisted Eric. “I heard a shot, then the glass shattered, then the ATV’s engine start. The vehicle was parked when the glass broke.”
“You know, son, there are a lot of things up here,” said Vic, settling his hands on his hips and scanning the area. “But there’s not a lot made of glass. Like, nada.”
Once working, Eric’s mind reeled through the events of the past few days. Wayne’s murder. The attack on Linda Verbiscar. The tape. The camera! “He shot out the camera.”
“The shooter is Forest Nettleman,” said Lark and Eric in unison.
“Whoa,” said Vic waving his hands in the air. “Hold your horses and back up a little there.”
“No, she’s right,” said Eric. “At the last EPOCH meeting, Nettleman explained to us how the Wildland Center uses videocams to monitor wildlife.”
“He vocally condemned the burn,” said Lark. “And the rumor is, he’s filed a lawsuit against the NPS and Wayne Devlin’s estate for the damages to the Wildland Center.”
“He and Linda Verbiscar would have been the only ones who knew where the cameras were located.”
“You’re sure of that?”
Eric and Lark glanced at each other, then nodded.
“What about Dorothy?” asked Vic.
Eric grimaced. “She might have,” he conceded. “But somehow I can’t picture Dorothy MacBean bashing Wayne Devlin over the head.”
“Or wielding a gun at me and Eric,” said Lark.
Vic chuckled. “I have to admit, that’s quite an image.” His face sobered. “But what about Charlie, Verbiscar’s cameraman?”
Eric had forgotten all about Charlie. “Ja, him too.
“So really, anyone who knew about the tape would know about the camera.”
“Ja.”
Pushing back his hat, Vic scratched the sweat-lined ring around his head. “Okeydoke, first things first. Let’s see if we can find it. Then, depending on how easy the task, we can determine a course of action.”
Eric struggled to his feet. He minced his way around the boulder, keeping one hand on the rough granite to steady himself as he scanned the trees. His head throbbed, but the more he moved, the steadier he felt on his feet. Maybe moving around helped get blood back to his brain.
Once they knew what they were looking for, the camera wasn’t hard to spot. Eric found it perched high in the unburned trees below the boulder. Shots had been fired to incapacitate it—one to shatter the glass lens, and one to destroy the cassette holder. The impact from the second bullet had left the camera dangling at an odd angle, making it impossible to know who was up there today, where the lens had been pointed on the day of the fire.
Vic marked the location of the glass fragments near the bottom of the tree. “We’ll get a team up here to work the area, but I don’t expect they’ll find too much.”
From Eric’s perspective, what they had was enough. “Nettleman must have discovered Linda had the tape and put two and two together.”
Vic rested a hand on Eric’s shoulder. “There’s only one problem with your theory, son. Nettleman couldn’t have started the Eagle Cliff Fire. He had an alibi.”
Eric’s head snapped up, and he shut his right eye against the flash of pain. “Nettleman has an alibi? But Dorothy said that he was at the Wildland Center in the morning.”
“And so he was. He was also in Boulder by ten-fifteen. He had an appointment with someone who could vouch for him. A therapist.”
Lark exchanged glances with Eric. She looked more surprised than Eric. “As in psychiatrist?” she asked.
“No, some New-A
ge therapy. It seems he’s got himself a Reiki master. He wants to ‘rid himself of anger, balance his chakras, learn to communicate on a higher plane.’ ” Vic swirled his hand in the air.
“Anything would be an improvement,” mumbled Eric. He tried envisioning Nettleman prone on a table while someone cleansed his energy, but the effort made his head hurt. “I guess that leaves us with Paxton.”
“That’s a leap. Besides, we have nothing to go on,” said Vic.
“We have motive—the insurance money,” argued Eric. “We have the nail, the bullets fired, and I know he has an ATV. I saw it.”
“Has, or had?” Vic pulled off his hat, jabbing the brim toward Eric while he ruffled his hair with his other hand. “Son, there’s no way to tie the nail to Paxton. There’s no way to prove he drove his ATV up here. And we don’t even know whether Paxton owns a gun.” Vic shook his head. “We’d need a warrant to search his place, and no judge in his right mind would issue a warrant based on that sort of circumstantial evidence. Hell, no sheriff in his right mind would ask for one.” Vic slumped against the boulder. “I’m not saying Paxton isn’t our guy. He might be. But there’s not enough evidence here to question him over.”
Neither Lark nor Eric spoke. Wind whistled through the trees, felling dead snags. The hawk keened. Branches snapped and popped, sounding like gunshots. If Vic hadn’t found the bullet, he might have believed Eric and Lark hallucinated the whole thing.
Finally Lark broke the silence. “Paxton doesn’t know that,” she said.
Eric and Vic both stared at her.
Clutching at the glimmer of hope, Eric said, “You know, she might be on to something. If we could convince Paxton there was enough evidence to convict him, he might talk.”
“A bluff?” Vic squinted and rubbed his fingers and thumb along his jawline. Eric could tell the idea appealed to the sheriff.
“I see only one problem with that,” said Vic.
“What?” Eric braced himself for disappointment. “Jurisdiction?”
“No, I took this call as a courtesy to the Larimer County sheriff. And the case ties back to Linda Verbiscar, which falls under my auspices. I’m covered there.”
“Then what?” demanded Eric.
Vic jammed his hat back on his head and elbowed himself off the rock. “How do we find Paxton? Last I knew he was living at Shangri-la. In case you’ve forgotten, it burned to the ground five days ago.”
“Someone has to know where he is,” said Eric.
“what about Mandy Hathaway?” asked Lark. “She’s his secretary. If she’s anything like Velof, she knows where to find him.”
Eric nodded. “Lark’s right. Mandy would know.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Does anyone have a cell phone?”
“In the patrol car.”
“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”
“I still say, you need to see a doctor,” said Lark, falling in behind Eric.
“Later. I promise I’ll go.”
“Yeah, right,” said Lark. “At the very least, you need to wash it with soap.”
Vic chuckled. “Isn’t that what I said?”
Halfway down the mountain, they ran into Deputy Brill and two officers hiking up. Vic gave them a quick rundown on the situation, then held up the two-inch nail Eric had found. “I need you to search for more of these. Track the ATV if you can, and collect the camera. You might need a ladder.”
Brill groaned. “Which means . . . ?”
“I guess one of you has to go back down,” confirmed Vic.
Brill sent the other two officers on ahead then led Eric and the others back to the base of the mountain. Eric’s headache increased with each jarring step, the steep pitch forcing them to sidestep down the hillside more than once. When they finally reached the road, they came out half a mile upstream from the truck and patrol car.
Brill flashed them a wave and struck out toward his vehicle. Vic, Lark, and Eric turned downhill, skirted the edge of the asphalt, and headed for the patrol car. After radioing the dispatcher, Vic dialed Mandy Hathaway’s number.
“Hi, Ben. It’s Sheriff Garcia. Mandy around? Huh. Ah huh. Ah huh. Okeydoke. Thanks.” Vic clicked off.
“Vell?”
“Seems that a little thing like a fire doesn’t stop an enterprising man like Paxton,” said Vic. “He’s already hauled a new trailer onto the property and set up shop. Ben told me Mandy’s at the office. Do you want to drive with me, or follow?” Eric and Lark chose to follow in the pickup. Turning into the subdivision, Eric noticed that the sign marking the entrance to Shangri-la still stood. The huge billboard—paint blistered, blackened by smoke, and sporting one charred leg still proclaimed, “Buy a Slice of Utopia.” Beyond the gate, a scattered group of slab foundations rose from the ashes like the ruins of Pompeii. Houses that once sprawled against the landscape were now piles of rubble. As if in testament to their former grandeur, fireplace chimneys rose out of the charred debris.
In contrast to the ruins, Paxton’s new office looked opulent. A double-wide, cream-colored, three-bedroom trailer with thermal-pane windows and a wraparound deck. A small shed stood off to the side, with Gene Paxton’s dusty, blue pickup parked next to it. Beside that, was parked a red ATV.
Vic pulled in in front of the office. Eric followed suit. He started to climb out of the truck, when Vic stopped him. “You two, stay here. Let me go in and talk to him.”
Eric started to protest, but Vic held up his hand. “Let me see if I can convince him to let us have a look around.”
Slouching back against the seat, Eric watched Vic climb the steps to the wraparound deck. “What do you think?” he asked Lark.
“What choice do we have?”
When Paxton answered the door, Eric turned the key to auxiliary power and rolled down the window.
Dressed in clean blue jeans and T-shirt, with a signature baseball cap perched backwards on his head, Paxton looked surprised to see Vic. “Hey ya, Sheriff. How ya doin’?”
“Good, Gene.” The sheriff placed his hand on the butt of his gun. “Mind if I ask a few questions?”
Paxton scratched his beard. Leaning out the door, he looked in both directions, then stepped outside and shut the door to the office. “Like what?”
Vic pointed toward the red ATV. “Does that belong to you?”
“No.” Paxton shook his head. “It’s Mandy’s.”
Eric glanced over at Lark. “I’ll bet he’s borrowed it.”
“Ever borrow it?” asked Vic.
Paxton jutted out his chin. “Yeah.” He peered toward the NPS truck, then shifted his weight from foot to foot. “What’s this all about, Vic?”
Vic smiled noncommittally. “Is Mandy here, Gene?”
“She’s inside.” Paxton sounded wary.
Vic smiled. “Have you both been around all morning?”
Paxton frowned. “You never answered my question, Vic. What’s this about? Am I in some kind of trouble?”
Vic pulled the nail out of his pocket. “Have you ever seen one of these before?”
“A nail?” Paxton sneered. “I’m a contractor. I see nails every day.
“This isn’t just a nail,” said Vic. “It came out of a car flare.”
“Okay. So?”
Mandy had stepped to the window, and Vic smiled at her and waved. Eric reached for the truck’s door handle. “I can’t sit here any longer.”
“Where are you going?” Lark asked, grabbing his arm. “Vic asked us to wait.”
“I don’t wait well.”
“Too bad.” Her fingers bit into his flesh. “Put your hands on the wheel.”
Eric slapped his hands down on the airbag cover. She was right. The only way the bluff would work is if Paxton didn’t run scared and call his attorney.
“Do you mind if I have a look around?” asked Vic, jerking his head in the direction of the shed.
Paxton puffed up his chest. “Yeah, I mind. Now, for the last time, what’s going on here? Are you looking f
or something in particular? Am I under some sort of investigation?”
Vic leaned forward. “I tell you what, Gene. We can do this the hard way or the easy way. I can call and have the judge issue a warrant to search the premises, or you can let me take a look around. Your choice. Of course, if I have to bring out a crew, there’s going to be a lot more mess. They’re a lot more thorough, and they’ll want to run fingerprints, that sort of thing. Still, it’s up to you.”
Eric’s lungs burned, and he glanced at Lark. Paxton wasn’t the only one holding his breath.
Paxton exhaled, hitched up his pants. “Well, since you put it that way, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to let you look around. I’ve got nothing to hide.
Vic turned and signaled to Eric and Lark. “You two, want to come with me.”
“Hey, wait just a cotton pickin’ minute. What do they have to do with anything?” asked Paxton, as Eric and Lark climbed out of the truck.
Mandy opened the door of the trailer and stuck her head out. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine,” said Vic. “But, I need you to stick around. I have a couple of questions for you.” He gestured toward the shed. “This won’t take but a sec.”
Vic descended the steps with Paxton in tow, and together the four of them walked toward Paxton’s pickup truck. The sheriff signaled Eric to check out the ATV.
“Care to open the saddlebags?” Vic asked, pointing to the white mounted tool box behind the cab of the truck, the one Eric had seen Gene pitch something into the day of the fire.
While Paxton fumbled for his keys, Eric sidled over to the ATV. Reaching down, he laid his hand on the red engine cover. The machine felt warm to the touch. He looked up and nodded at Vic.
Paxton’s hands shook as he inserted the small silver key into the truck’s toolbox. “There isn’t much in here besides tools,” he said, pushing back the cover.
“Mind if I look?” asked Vic.
Paxton hesitated, then stepped aside.
Vic checked visually, then reached inside the toolbox and rummaged around. “You’re right, there’s not much here.” He started to pull his arm back, then hesitated. “Oops, wait a minute.”
Eric could see the sheriff straining for a better reach. Paxton looked like he planned to be sick.
A Nest in the Ashes Page 18
