by D P Lyle
Shelby laughed. “Mom, he’s like a total babe.”
Sam laughed; Alyss shook her head and rolled her eyes.
They left Tony’s, each carrying a bag of groceries, and walked down Main Street toward Sam’s Jeep.
“So, Burt rates a personal call from Wade about Lloyd’s murder?” Sam asked.
“You should know, you live in a small town. Everybody knows everything. I’d guess not much goes on around here that Burt Eagan doesn’t know about. Besides, Burt and Wade are good friends.”
“Really?” Sam asked. “They seem so different.”
“I suppose.”
“What does Burt do?” Sam asked.
“He owned a company. Sold it a few years back. He’s not hurting for money, I can tell you that. I hear he owns nearly two thirds of the valley and could probably buy the whole town, several times over. You should see his spread, Casa Grande. Thousands of acres and a huge house. I’ve only seen it from a distance. Never been inside.”
“I guess we’ll see it tomorrow,” Sam said.
Chapter 10
The town of Gold Creek, Colorado nestled near the mouth of a deep, narrow valley, cradled by the 11,000-foot peaks of the San Juan Mountain Range. The only road into the valley entered from the west where Highway 550 zipped past. Gold Creek Road split off the highway and wound through a deep notch in the mountains to reach the town, and then continued eastward, bisecting the valley.
Though the steep mountains protected the valley from the most severe storms, it still received its share of snowfall, averaging over 100 inches each year. The mountain peaks attracted at least twice that amount and thus displayed year-round snowcaps, which gave birth to half a dozen waterfalls and several creeks, all of which ultimately fed into Gold Creek itself. Gold Creek paralleled Main Street and marked the northern edge of town before rumbling westward to join the Uncompahgre River near the state highway.
Though no one knew the exact number, it was believed that as many as 10,000 mines punctured the slopes of the San Juan Mountain Range. Several hundred bored into the peaks that surrounded Gold Creek.
Standing in the mouth of one of these shafts--the Old Watkin's Mine--he combed his thick fingers through his unruly beard and watched a hawk soar across the clear blue sky. The sun hovered low, the shadows long. His dark eyes followed the hawk as it twisted first one way, then the other, aligning its attack, before scudding toward the ground, only to rise again, some small animal in his clutches.
He turned and shuffled back into the mine where a gas lantern provided a dim light. He sat on his sleeping bag and removed the last of the hunk beef he had cooked last night and gnawed off a piece. He consumed the meat along with a tomato and chunk of stale bread, washing it down with huge gulps of water.
He stuffed the empty plastic bottle into his backpack where several others lay. Better hike over to Aspen Creek and refill them, he thought. Then in a few hours, after darkness settled over the valley, he could go hunting again.
He snatched up the pack and headed out into the waning daylight.
*
Alyss’ Aspen Creek Inn sat 200 feet above the valley floor and a mile east of town. Pressed against a grove of white barked aspens, it possessed a 180-degree view across a rolling, flower-dusted meadow. Aspen Creek tumbled down the sloping terrain a hundred feet from the house on its way to join Gold Creek near town.
After carrying the groceries in, Shelby headed to her room to listen to her new CD while Sam and Alyss put away the perishables, dressed and stuffed the hens with a hazelnut-cornbread mixture, then retreated to the front porch, each with a cup of herbal tea. Sam curled into one corner of a wooden swing that hung by two shiny new chains, while Alyss sat in a weathered ladder back rocker.
The sun hung near the jagged peaks to the west and bathed the porch with its final blush. Its warming rays gilded the roses that filled the front yard and added diamond-like sparkles to the churning waters of Aspen Creek.
Sam inhaled the clean, crisp air. “This place is fabulous,” she said. “You really picked a winner.”
“I had my doubts at first,” Alyss said. “But, the longer I’ve been here the more I love it.”
“I can see why. Your inn, the town, the mountains. It’s all so perfect. Not like home.”
“That’s because Mercer’s Corner isn’t fit for habitation,” Alyss teased. “Except for snakes and scorpions.”
Sam laughed. “That’s true.”
Shelby came out the door, dressed in shorts, tee shirt, and tennis shoes, her green Elmo backpack slung over one shoulder. A Macintosh iPod hung from a black cord around her neck and headphones covered her ears. Her head bobbed back and forth and she sang, woefully out of tune, with the music that spilled around the ear pads.
Finally, Sam thought. For the first time since Sam had gotten there, Shelby looked like a normal teenager, not some LA raver. Except for the Sesame Street hair clips that is.
“Where are you going?” Alyss asked.
Shelby slipped the headphones from her ears. “For a walk.”
“Don’t go too far,” Alyss said. “There’s a murderer on the lose, in case you forgot.”
“Mom, you worry too much. I’m not going far. You said you wanted me to get out of my room more.”
“OK.” Alyss held her hands up, palms out in surrender. “Just stay within sight of the house. It’s easy to get turned around and lost up here.”
Shelby rolled her eyes. “Want me to drop bread crumbs?”
Alyss frowned. “No. I just want you to be careful.”
“I will. I’ll stay near the creek.” Shelby reseated the headphones, ending further conversation, bounced down the porch steps, and headed around the inn toward the forest.
“See what I mean?” Alyss said.
“She’s a teenager. I seem to remember arguing with my mom, too.”
Alyss sighed. “Maybe I’m just too sensitive. Too judgmental.”
“That’s what moms are supposed to be, isn’t it?” Sam said. When Alyss didn’t respond, Sam continued. “Besides, you’re a little off balance right now. The divorce, the move, Shelby testing your limits. This murder.”
“Maybe.” Alyss finished her tea and placed the cup on the porch beside her. “You know me, Sam. I’m like you. Simple, practical. I don’t believe in much. Sun, rain, seasons, the laws of physics. The things that aren’t subject to interpretation. Then, of course, there’s happiness, joy, promises. But, those beliefs evaporated the day Dan waltzed in, packed a bag, and said he was leaving. For Tiffany.”
“I know it’s tough. But, you’ll survive.”
“It’s what they’re doing to Shelby that I can’t stand. I don’t even know her anymore. She’s seventeen for Christ’s sake.” She massaged her temples. “They bought her a new BMW convertible. She’s not doing well in school, rebelling against everything, and it wouldn’t surprise me if she was using drugs. And they reward her. Does that make sense?” Alyss rocked forward, resting her elbows on her knees.
“I wish I could help,” Sam said.
“Just your being here helps.”
“Then, let’s have some fun,” Sam said. “Laugh a little.”
“I could use that.”
“What about Burt Eagan?” Sam asked. “He seemed interested.”
“I don’t know. I’m too old for the dating game.”
“You’re 35, not dead.”
“It’s awkward, uncomfortable. You know. The guy wears his best shirt and splashes on enough cologne to be flammable. And the girl destroys her hair, trying to make it something that it’s not, and suddenly develops perfect manners, all the while hoping the childish nervousness that causes her giggle too often and laugh too loud, doesn’t settle in her stomach and make her throw up. Not my idea of fun.”
Sam laughed. “You’ve been out of circulation too long. You’re not eighteen. You’re an adult.”
“Is that why last week I cried because the new curtains I bought for the honeymoon su
ite didn’t match anything in the room?”
Sam smiled. “Honestly, I don’t see how you’ve kept this many balls in the air.”
“It’s had its moments.”
“It’s time you lived a little. Burt is handsome and charming and successful. What have you got to lose?”
“Only what’s left of my sanity,” Alyss laughed.
“See. You’re better already.”
“What about you?” Alyss asked. “Tell me about your new guy.”
“Nathan? He’s a doll. You know he writes for that tabloid, ‘Straight Story.’ He lives in LA and travels a lot so we don’t get to see each other that often.”
“I read his story on the Richard Earl Garrett case. He made him out to be the son of Satan.”
“He may have been Satan himself.”
Alyss raised an eyebrow.
“Garrett seemed to have some kind of power over people,” Sam said.
Alyss looked at Sam as if she had spoken in tongues. “Come on, Sam. Don’t tell me you bought into that stuff.” Alyss laughed. “What has this Nathan guy done to you? Samantha Cody believes in the supernatural?”
The specter of Garrett’s face, haughtily laughing, then surrounded by flames and contorted in pain, formed in her mind. A montage of images from her Garrett infused dreams followed. She pushed these memories aside and shrugged. “You had to be there, I guess.”
“You should’ve brought Nathan with you. I’d love to meet him.”
“He might be able to get away in a couple of days.”
“Where’s he now?
“He’s in upstate New York chasing a story. Probably a three headed alien or something like that.”
Alyss laughed. “I’m sorry. But, knowing you...little Miss Pragmatic...I can’t see you with a tabloid reporter.”
“You should see him. Gorgeous with a capital G.”
“Like Dan,” Alyss said.
“Yeah.”
“Next time,” Alyss said, “I’m going to marry an ugly guy who can cook.”
They laughed.
*
Shelby followed Aspen Creek as it wound upward, through the trees until she came to a place where it tumbled down a stair step of rocks and boulders and into a wide crystalline pool. She had found this place her first day in Gold Creek and had immediately claimed it as her own. No one around, no one to bother her or nag her, no noise except the chirping of birds, the scurrying of squirrels, and the swirling water. And, of course, her music.
She dropped her Elmo pack near the bank and sat down, leaning against a thick spruce trunk. After adjusting her headphones, she pulled a plastic bag from a zippered pocket near Elmo’s ear. Inside lay several neatly rolled joints. She selected one, lit it, and inhaled deeply.
Her mother would shit if she knew what she was doing. And if she knew about the raves back in LA, she’d probably have a seizure.
Her father would be upset, but he’d get over it. Tiffany? Tiffany gave her the bag of joints just before she boarded the plane for her trip here. Tiffany was way cool.
*
Luckily, he had completed refilling his water bottles when he saw her approaching through the trees and had concealed himself behind a boulder near the top of the cascade before she wandered into the clearing. She had not seen him, but from his vantage point, he possessed a clear view of her, and even a hundred or so feet away, he could smell the aroma of the marijuana. He watched as she took several long drags, holding each for a time before exhaling the pale smoke skyward. She then licked a thumb and forefinger, pinched the glow from the roach, and dropped it on the ground next to her. She leaned back against the tree, adjusted her headphones, and closed her eyes.
He couldn’t remember ever having seen her before. And had he, he would definitely remember. She was beautiful, trim, with long legs. Strange, colorful clips tipped what appeared to be half a dozen short pigtails, which sprouted in no discernible pattern from her short jet-black hair. Her head bobbed slightly in time with whatever music she listened to.
He swept his unruly beard aside and rested his chin on one thick forearm. He imagined them sitting together beneath the tree, talking, laughing, holding hands, kissing, making love. He imagined that they were in love, had a life, a future together.
He knew none of it was true. None of it could ever be true. Not after what he had done.
Judging from the angle of the shadows, it was well after five and he had things to do before darkness arrived in a couple of hours. He took one last look at her, storing her image in his mind, and picked up his backpack, now stuffed with refilled water bottles.
Before he could take a step, he saw her yank off the headphones and stand. He ducked. Had she seen him? He held his breath and listened for her scream or the patter of her running feet, but all he heard was the sound of the water rushing over the rocks.
He carefully peered around the boulder. She stood facing the pool as if studying it. She slipped off her shirt and unhooked her bra, dropping both to the ground behind her. She stepped out of her shorts and then her black bikini panties.
His heart fluttered in his chest. She was incredible. Her skin had been lightly toasted by the sun. Her breasts were small, firm with erect nipples, and her long legs joined at a soft brown triangle. A colorful tattoo circled her navel.
She stepped into the water, ankle deep, knee deep, shivering, arms wrapped across her chest, and hesitated as if the coldness would drive her back to shore. With a soft squeal, she stretched out on the water and gracefully stroked to the middle of the pool. Rolling to her back, she kicked to the other side, where she turned and backstroked across the pool once again.
He leaned on the boulder, transfixed, watching her every move. Her long, lean body glided back and forth, and then she stood beneath a small cascade, letting the water flow over her head and breasts. Finally, she climbed out of the water, shivering, and dried herself with a towel she pulled from her backpack. She dressed and then relit the joint. After taking two long hits, she flicked the remnant into the water and reseated the headphones. She snatched up her backpack, stuffed the towel inside, and disappeared through the trees.
He waited, listening, hoping she would return. She didn’t. Finally, he trudged up the slope, turned eastward, and followed a trail that led deeper into the forest.
*
After discussing the men in and out of their lives, Sam and Alyss turned to other topics--books, movies, clothes, food, and old memories. Sam heard Shelby’s footsteps before she rounded the corner of the porch and climbed the steps.
Alyss looked up. “Your hair’s wet. What happened?”
“Nothing. I went for a swim.”
Concern knitted Alyss’ brow. “Where?”
“There’s a neat pond about a half mile from here. Up in the trees.”
“I thought I told you not to wonder too far.”
“A half mile? That’s far? Besides, nobody knows about this place.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s not exactly on the beaten path.”
Alyss sighed. “Go dry your hair before you catch a cold or something.”
“I will, mother,” Shelby said and charged through the door into the house.
A car came up the winding gravel drive and stopped. A young couple stepped out. Alyss’ first guests had arrived.
Chapter 11
Sam found Kurt and Debbie Kendall to be a cute couple. Both had short, trimmed blonde hair, pert little yuppie noses, blue eyes, and flawless smiles. They looked like a People Magazine cover photo of the latest Hollywood power couple, but with a more innocent glint in their eyes.
As she and Alyss helped with their bags, they learned the couple had spoken their vows the previous afternoon before Debbie’s minister in the Denver suburb of Littleton, then presided over a reception for 400 people that continued until well past midnight. After sleeping late this morning, they drove the 300 plus miles to Gold Creek. Giddy from excitement and fatigue, they giggled and ohhed and
ahhed over the Honeymoon Suite.
While the Kendalls settled in, Alyss retreated to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Sam offered to help, but Alyss said there was little left to do, so Sam decided to go for a run.
“Maybe I can shake out some of the kinks,” she said, massaging her neck.
She slipped on a pair of black Spandex knee length shorts, a sports bra, a tee shirt, and laced up her tattered New Balance running shoes. Time to buy a new pair, but running shoes, like old jeans, are difficult to part with.
She pulled her back-up piece, a small .25 caliber Berretta, from her suitcase, ejected the clip, inspected it, and snapped it back into position. She debated whether to take it with her or not. Taking it seemed foolish, even wimpy. Yet, there was a killer loose. Deciding to play it safe, she slipped the weapon into her fanny pack, which she fastened around her waist.
Flashing a wave at Alyss, she headed out the door, down the winding gravel drive, and then veered eastward onto a trail that cut diagonally across the meadow and deeper into the valley. Soon the knots in her back and shoulders released their grip, her legs relaxed, and she settled into a comfortable pace.
She ran easily, each foot accepting the ground, not challenging it, gliding along as if she knew the trail. As she ascended a gentle rise in the meadow, two ribbon-like waterfalls, which cascaded down the gray peaks, came into view. The one nearest her made its dramatic final plunge into a pool and lifted a misty cloud into the surrounding trees. Two crows soared overhead, loudly arguing with one another.
She mentally compared the dry, monotonous bleakness of the desert trails she ran near Mercer’s Corner with the majestic beauty around her. The peaceful meadow, the snow-capped peaks, the shimmering Aspen leaves, the graceful blue green spruces, and the crystalline waterfalls seemed almost unreal, as if this much beauty could not collect in one place.
She inhaled deeply. The air was crisp and clean and laced with a faint hint of pine. Not like home. There, on hot, windy days, she would tie a bandana over her nose and mouth to protect her lungs from the swirling dust. Her boss, Sheriff Charlie Walker, often teased her about looking like a bank robber.
