by Todd Borg
“The plan all along was to have the Camp Twenty-Five project fall apart and be replaced by the golf course on which they stood to make hundreds of millions. K.D.’s genius was to identify the major opponents to the development and kill them in advance. There was almost no way to trace the murders because there appeared to be no motive. They weren’t going to bring the project to anybody’s attention until they owned all the property and all the slow-growth and no-growth advocates were eliminated.”
“Tight pair,” Diamond said.
“Not tight enough,” I said. “According to K.D.’s neighbor, they would argue often and loudly. Just after Camden tried to kill Tyrone on the Flume and accidentally killed Glory instead, he and K.D. came home yelling at each other. A minute later, the neighbor saw Faith Runyon sneaking out the downstairs door as if K.D. and Camden were unaware she’d been there. It may have been then that Faith overheard something about Glory’s death.”
“And Faith told it to Bobby Crash who told Wheels Washburn?” Street said.
“Could be,” I said. “We’ll never know.”
Diamond raised his eyebrows a bit, the first expressive facial move since we arrived in his hospital room.
“Camden was stationed once at the army base in Herlong,” I said. “He knew where to steal the mist bomb. He was good at planning murders that looked like accidents. Or murders where all the evidence was destroyed. When he was unsuccessful at killing Tyrone, he broke into Tyrone’s house and took one of Tyrone’s rifles to shoot me with. It almost worked. I would have been dead and Tyrone would have gone to prison for murders he didn’t commit.”
Diamond’s face was a gray wall.
“I think we should open presents,” Street said.
Spot was still looking at the cake.
Diamond saw and reached for the cake. “A present for Spot,” he mumbled.
It was a bad idea, but I didn’t think I should intervene.
Diamond held it out. “World’s largest Danish.”
Spot looked at Diamond, then at the cake, then took the world’s largest bite. Frosting went everywhere. He looked like he was in a shaving cream commercial.
“Okay, Spot, that’s enough,” I finally said.
“Diamond, can you sit up enough to look out the window?” Ellie said.
Diamond frowned. We helped boost him up, careful not to pull out the tubes.
“In the parking lot,” Ellie said, pointing. “Violet Verona bought you a new used Karmann Ghia to replace the one that got ruined.”
Diamond squinted out at the parking lot which burned under a Turner sunset. “The Green Flame,” he finally said.
“And there’s another thing,” Rockport said. “Sheriff wanted to be here, but couldn’t. Spot, are you ready?”
Spot was still licking frosting off his chops as he looked up at Rockport. Rockport pulled a badge out of his pocket. The sheriff had altered Diamond’s badge to show his new sergeant status. Rockport handed it to Spot. Spot took it in his teeth. “Take it to Diamond,” Rockport said.
Spot chewed on it, the metal clicking on his teeth.
“No, Spot.” I pointed toward Diamond. “Take it to him.”
Spot went over, gave the badge another chomp, then reluctantly dumped the badge on Diamond’s lap.
Diamond picked up the wet badge. “Got dog slobber on it,” he said.
“Best way to polish it,” I said.
Diamond’s fingers were slow, but he managed to pin it on his hospital gown.
“Hey Diamond,” I said. “They said you would recover physically. But we were wondering if your brain felt okay? You know, do you feel like you can think clearly? Or are you going to be slow like the rest of us, now?”
Diamond looked at me. His eyes were empty ponds. When he spoke, he slurred again. “In his essay on liberty, John Stuart Mill more or less said that the principal right of any man is the right to be left alone.” Diamond reached a finger up and wiped some frosting off his lips. “Either we stick to cake and Karmann Ghias or I’m going to exercise my right and kick your asses outta here.”
About The Author
Todd Borg lives with his wife in Lake Tahoe where they write and paint. To contact Todd or learn more about the Owen McKenna mysteries, please visit toddborg.com.
Titles by Todd Borg:
TAHOE DEATHFALL
TAHOE BLOWUP
TAHOE ICE GRAVE
TAHOE KILLSHOT
TAHOE SILENCE
TAHOE AVALANCHE
TAHOE NIGHT
TAHOE HEAT
TAHOE HIJACK (August 2011)
This book is for Kit
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many people helped me with this story.
Special thanks go to Lieutenant Warren Smith, ret., El Dorado County Sheriff’s Office. Warren gave me insight into how cops work and think and how local law enforcement functions. His expert guidance was invaluable, and I’m grateful for the big picture as well as the little snapshots... like the line about combat Tupperware! Warren deserves credit for anything I got right, while any mistakes are mine alone.
Many thanks to my agent Barbara Braun who, along with John Baker, gave me much guidance. As before, she helped me sort out how to tell this story.
Thanks to Gary Bell for answering my questions about the equipment and the sport of mountain biking. As one of the original mountain bike pioneers in the ’70s, he knows it all.
Jenny Ross turned her alert radar on my story, found many glitches and helped make it much better. Many thanks for her help.
Thanks to Marvin Weitzenhoffer for answering questions about Karmann Ghias.
Thanks once again to Liz Johnston for great editing. The quantity of my mistakes is impressive, and I’m very lucky that Liz maintains enthusiasm for tackling such a big project.
I’m especially fortunate that Keith Carlson produced another spectacular cover. Along with the great interior map, I’m in good hands indeed.
While other writers could only dream of the perfect writer’s companion, I’ve got my dream girl. Not only is Kit the ideal story editor, BS detector and character judge, she is my Muse. I can’t thank her enough.
