Colin snapped a photo and then, as he looked at the tiny screen, said, “Not if they sat down and scooted off.”
“Maybe.”
I ran my fingers along the edge of the platform. If someone had done that, maybe a trace of fabric would scrape from their clothes onto the concrete. But nothing was there.
Colin announced, “I’m done,” as he put his camera in its bag and zipped it closed. “Wanna go back to the hotel?”
“Okay,” I said. “I have enough for a story, I guess.”
It wouldn’t be a great story, but Mary’s comments and Pat’s outburst at the press conference would give it a little color, at least.
As we walked down the alley, the door that was marked “Mission Lager House” crashed open, slamming against a railing. A man came bounding out, stood on the railing, and jumped down onto the pavement.
It was Mitch. He wore fingerless gloves and those shoes that have individual compartments for each toe.
“Hey, it’s Spider Man!” I said.
He smiled at Colin and me. “I heard you stopped by. Sorry I missed you.”
“No problem,” I said. “What’s with the acrobatics? And the foot gloves?”
Mitch looked down at his feet and wiggled his toes. “Parkour. There’s a group that meets over at Blazier Square. You should come.”
I needed to get my news story written, but a parkour group would be a great feature for my travel story. I looked over at Colin.
“Fine with me,” he said.
Mitch smiled. “Have you ever tried it? Parkour? Free running?”
I shook my head. “Nope. And I’m not going to start now. I’m just here for the story.”
“We’ll see.”
| Five
Jennie’s long brunette braid swung sideways, perpendicular to her body, as she leapt from the ground to a park bench, kicked off of a tree trunk with one foot, and then somersaulted through the air, landing on one shoulder, rolling on the ground, and then hopping up to land on two feet, all in one swift motion.
I wanted to jump up and down and clap, but I contained myself. Mitch looked from Jennie to me to see my reaction, then he smiled at me. My jaw was probably hanging open.
“Pretty cool, huh?” he asked me.
“Amazing.”
Mitch smiled at me, his eyes flashing with anticipation, and then he took off running toward a swingset. He jumped, grabbed the top bar with both hands, swung forward and then did a back flip in the air. He landed on his feet and continued running toward a railing. He jumped, placed one hand on the railing, and swung his body sideways over it, before running off toward more playground equipment where he continued to leap, swing, and flip through the air.
Jennie stood beside me catching her breath.
“How did you ever learn all that?” I asked. “Were you a gymnast growing up?”
“No, I wasn’t really athletic before this. You just start small, practice, and then you increase in tiny increments while you’re getting stronger and more confident.”
I scribbled her words in my notebook. Jennie was a great subject to write about—a police dispatcher by night and a self-taught urban acrobat by day.
Colin had followed Mitch and another man, Amos, as they flung themselves between tree branches, fences, and park equipment, their movements defying gravity. I hoped Colin was getting some good photos of the other traceurs. If Mitch turned out to be a murder suspect, I didn’t want to be the idiot who depicted him as the fun-loving urban acrobat.
“Now I get why they call it free running,” I said to Jennie. “You’re not contained by any boundaries. Even the laws of physics—or what I thought the laws of physics were.”
“Come on. I want to show you something.”
I followed Jennie as she headed toward a walking path and called out to Mitch and Amos, telling them we were going to “the tube.” Jogging along behind them, I was thankful for my sensible, flat, rubber-soled boots.
When we got to the tube, I was breathless and smiling. Colin pointed his camera at me, briefly, before walking to the other end and pulling a special lens out of his bag.
The tube was actually a narrow tunnel that allowed the walking path to pass under a road. On this weekday afternoon, it wasn’t a busy place. The three traceurs took off down the tube, leaping from side to side and occasionally doing flips in between. It seemed like they rarely set a foot on the ground.
Colin was lying on his stomach at the far end of the tunnel, pointing his camera at Jennie and her gravity-defying braid. I stepped out of the way to avoid ending up in the picture, but I could still peek around the edge of the tunnel and watch their shadows dancing.
Jennie had given me some great quotes about how parkour is an ideal sport because it’s free, it’s accessible, and it promotes a sense of community. I knew this would be the story that helped me tell my readers all about the spirit of Denver.
“The culture of parkour is respectful,” she’d told me. “We value our neighbors, and we definitely want to maintain boundaries that everyone is comfortable with. We don’t trespass. We stay away from crowded areas.”
While I watched them, I traced my fingers along the outline of my notebook in my messenger bag. Lance would be happy with this story, I thought. My readers would be, too.
Mitch came bounding out of the tunnel and landed in front of me, breathing hard.
“Ready?”
I shook my head. He wanted me to try it, but I just imagined landing on my head.
His eyes twinkled as he smiled at me. “Come on, let me just show you a couple of the basics—for your article.”
Finally, I gave in. It looked like fun. Plus, Mitch was right: Trying the moves myself would give me some insights for the story.
Mitch and Jennie gave me a brief lesson on landing (land on the balls of your feet, arch your back, chest up) then Mitch led me into the tunnel and showed me how to do a wall run.
It looked so easy when he and Jennie did it. But when they stepped back, watched, and waited for me to try it, I suddenly became sure that running on a vertical surface was impossible.
My hesitation was obvious.
“Just start with one step,” Jennie said. “See how it feels to put one foot up there.”
“Here,” Mitch said as he took my hand. “Let’s walk through it first.”
He stood to my right and held my cool fingers gently. His hand was warm and his skin was surprisingly rough. It felt like the surface of fine sandpaper. I tried to pay attention to his instructions, but it was almost impossible to tear my attention away from Mitch’s touch.
I also wondered what Colin thought of this. His expression was blank as he watched Mitch and I through the screen on his camera.
“So you’re going to approach at a forty-five-degree angle,” he said as he guided me in stepping up to the wall. “Don’t watch your feet, that’ll mess you up. Just look straight ahead or at the horizon.”
He pressed one foot against the wall, about fourteen inches above the ground. “When you get here, just shut your brain off. Your instincts will tell you what to do.”
“Okay,” I said, before taking a deep breath.
As I took a few steps away to give myself room for a running start, I could hear my heart thumping in my ears. I didn’t know which was freaking me out more—the idea of defying gravity or having everyone’s eyes on me. If I wanted people staring at me, I’d be in broadcast journalism instead of writing.
I wished Colin would put the camera down, but asking him to do that would make me look petty and vain. So I just blocked him out. I blocked everything out. And then I ran.
When I got to the wall, I pushed off as hard as I could with my left foot as I pressed my right foot against the wall. And I was up. I managed to get my left toes to brush against the wall of the tunnel before I landed—hard—on my right foot.
Mitch, Jennie, and Amos clapped and cheered at my baby parkour move. I was pretty sure it looked pitiful, but I couldn’t help gr
inning. Maybe I’d had fun, or maybe I was just relieved that it was over.
Colin still had his eyes on his camera screen, but his lips betrayed just a hint of a smile.
My landing was not anything like the soft balls-of-feet touchdown I’d been taught. It was jarring. Everything from my knees, up through my back, and even into my teeth, felt rattled by my bad landing. I actually wondered if my already-short stature had been compressed below five-two.
Jennie patted me on my back. Then Amos stepped toward me for a fist bump. Then Mitch approached me with his arms open.
A hug? Part of me wanted to resist, but there were lots of eyes on us, and then it happened so fast. Even though he leaned down toward me, Mitch’s shoulder pressed into my face. I closed my eyes. His body felt strong, solid against mine.
»·×·»
I hit “send” on my story about the investigation of Bunny’s murder. Then I stood up from my hotel room desk and threw myself onto the bed, my body flopping next to the pizza I’d picked up on the way back across town from Mission Key. It felt like ages since I’d had a meal—and a moment alone. I was used to spending much more time solo when I worked.
It was seven o’clock, nine at home. Quinn would be awake. I reached for my phone and texted her.
“Colin is tooooooo quiet!”
“It’s been two days. Maybe he just needs more time to loosen up?”
“It’s unnerving. What if he’s not shy? Maybe he just doesn’t like me.”
“Stop it. How could he not like you? You’re like a professional friend-maker, right? You always put people at ease, make them comfortable talking.”
“Not always.”
“Maybe it bothers you because you’re lonely for male companionship.”
“Shut it. I don’t want to get tangled up like that. He’s not my type.”
“Who is your type?” Quinn wrote. “Lance?”
“Maybe.”
“I think he might be seeing someone,” Quinn wrote, adding a frowning face to the text.
I looked at my phone. Lance didn’t keep his social media sites updated, so I didn’t know what he was up to. I never quite understood what our brief fling was about, or why it didn’t continue.
I asked Quinn, “Anyone I know?” She knew I hadn’t dated anyone in a long time—since before whatever that was with Lance. Dating was almost impossible when I spent all my time traveling. I guess I just figured the serious relationship thing wasn’t going to happen for me.
“She works here … new admin. You probably never met her.”
“Oh well.”
“You’ll find someone,” she wrote.
But Quinn didn’t really know that. She was just saying the thing that friends are supposed to say. I took a bite of my pizza and tried to think of a way to change the subject to something less pitiful.
Then Quinn wrote, “When are you coming home? I miss you!”
“Meh. You should meet me somewhere. I got Vegas coming up then maybe Austin or Portland. You can stay with me, it’ll be a super cheap vacation for you!”
“Yeah, maybe Portland.”
She’d said that before.
“Gotta go,” Quinn wrote. “Check your email, I went through public records and found lots of goodies for ya.”
“Thanks,” I wrote. “Bye.”
I turned on the TV, opened my laptop, and started eating another piece of pizza. Earlier, Quinn had sent me an extensive packet of background information on Bunny Malone. I’d only had time to skim the basics—only child, widowed, heir to a gold mine fortune.
My inbox also had a new email from Quinn that included three attachments—folders about Mitch, Pat Malone, and Gus Grubler. I replied to Quinn’s email, thanking her and asking if she could find anything on Mary Pettigrew, the lady in the bird sweater. Even though I only got a man-on-the-street quote from her, something seemed off about that woman. If she really had dealt in antiques with Bunny, maybe that could be a new angle for my story.
Mitch’s file included some information about his NFL-quarterback dad and his divorce from Mitch’s mother. The records that Quinn got for me showed massive child support payments, but the court papers’ paternal visitation schedule was blank.
Gus Grubler’s file showed he was retired from the C&E Railroad. He had two sons who were both away with the military. Their mother, Grubler’s wife, had died seventeen years ago. There weren’t any documents linking him to Bunny. Of course, if they just dated without getting married or living together, there would be no paper trail.
Grubler’s records showed a pension from the railroad, but no disability settlement. He had a noticeable limp that had supposedly happened at work. I scrolled through the documents, looking for an insurance settlement or a government disability claim, but there were no records of his injury or of him being compensated for it.
As I was combing through the documents, my phone rang. It was Lance.
“Working late?” I asked Lance as I answered the call.
“It’s been crazy in here today,” he said.
“Sounds like the usual.”
“I just wanted to see how you’re doing covering that murder. I liked your story from today. That Pat Malone guy sounds like a character.”
“Yeah, I’m going to try to go out to his place tomorrow. The police won’t say if he’s a suspect, but it sure looked like they wanted to question him at the press conference.”
“What about the beer guy? Is he a suspect?”
“Maybe. They took him in for questioning, too. I guess Bunny was his landlord and they didn’t really get along, so that could be something.”
“Does he have an alibi?” Lance asked.
“Yes and no,” I said. “I mean, he was at his brewery all day, but it’s right next door. He could have stepped out for five minutes to do the deed and people might not notice.”
“That would be awfully bold, though.”
“Yeah. I’m going to ask the detectives about the murder weapon again. She must have been strangled. Pat Malone was screaming about a lanyard with some keys, but I didn’t see anything around Bunny’s neck.”
“Sounds like you have to figure out what happened to that lanyard.”
“Sure,” I said with a resigned laugh. “Piece of cake.”
“Still working on your Assignment America piece?”
“Yes,” I said, unable to hide the excitement in my voice as the topic switched to the type of writing I loved the most. “I started a piece on parkour today. Colin got some great art.”
“Cool,” Lance said with a faraway sigh. “I’ll let you go. It sounds like everything’s under control. Things are going okay with Colin?”
I pressed my lips together. Colin was a good photographer and a respectful coworker. That’s all that really mattered. “Yep. Everything’s fine.”
| Six
It was still dark out when I heard a knock on my hotel room door. I squinted at the clock. 5:30 a.m. I hoped the knocking might be for one of the rooms beside me, but I could see a shadow of feet under the door. I was wearing baggy pajama pants and a t-shirt. I pulled on a sweatshirt and checked the peep hole. Colin was standing there, dressed, with his camera around his neck.
I opened the door but said nothing. I don’t do well with sleep interruptions. I don’t know if my face was angry-looking because I was annoyed at being woken up, or it was scary-looking because I wasn’t wearing makeup, but Colin flinched when he saw me.
“Sorry,” he said. “I tried calling but you must have your phone on mute.”
He didn’t say anything else. Was he waiting to be invited in?
“Okay,” I said.
“Um, so I have this app on my phone that plays whatever’s on the police scanners. They got called out to the antiques shop.”
“Oh.” I looked Colin over again. “We should go down there?”
He raised his eyebrows as if to say, yeah, of course.
“Umm,” I rubbed my eyes and looked around. “Okay, give
me two minutes to get dressed. Wanna meet in the lobby?”
“Sure,” Colin said. “How do you take your coffee?”
He was going to get me coffee! I wanted to answer, “I love you so much.” But instead I said, “One cream, one Splenda. Thanks.”
I splashed some water on my face, ran my fingers through my hair, brushed my teeth, and put on my boots, jeans, a sweater, and my jacket and scarf. I grabbed my messenger bag and was out the door in ten minutes.
In the hotel lobby, Colin handed me my coffee with a sleepy smile. I smiled and thanked him as I held the cup in both hands, letting it warm me.
As he drove us to Antiquities, I asked, “Did you leave that scanner turned on while you were sleeping?”
“I was up,” he said. “Sometimes I don’t sleep very well.”
“Oh. Well thanks for getting me. I’ve been out of news reporting for so long, I didn’t even think of listening to the scanner.”
Colin twisted in his seat to check the blind spot as we merged onto the interstate. “I like news,” he said. “I like the excitement.”
Maybe that’s why he was so quiet. Maybe he was unhappy on this assignment.
“Oh. Sorry you got stuck with me, you know, doing features.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. Features are good too,” he said. “Anyway, I love to travel. I would live on the road if I could. I asked for this assignment.”
“Really?” I took a sip of my coffee, trying not to grin.
“Yeah,” Colin said with a chuckle. “This is an awesome gig. I’ve been bugging Lance to let me come with you for months.”
“Oh.” I kept my gaze toward the window.
The sun would be rising soon, behind us. Ahead, stars were still visible. I thought I saw a familiar constellation, but I couldn’t remember its name.
We arrived at Mission Key. The street in front of Antiquities and Mission Lager House wasn’t the chaotic scene it had been the day we’d found Bunny’s body.
One police car, with its lights rolling, was parked in front of the store. An unmarked car sat behind it. A couple reporters were milling around on the sidewalk. Except for the coffee shop across the street and Antiquities, the businesses were all dark.
Assignment Denver: The Case of the Eccentric Heiress: Jae Lovejoy Cozy Mystery One (Jae Lovejoy Cozy Mysteries Book 1) Page 4
