Cold Case Colorado

by Cassie Miles

  “Never mind,” Morris muttered.

  Ty sensed that he and Vanessa were about to be booted out of the investigation. No matter how obnoxious Morris was, Ty wanted access to the information uncovered by the CBI and that meant making nice with these agents. Ty dug into a pouch on his utility belt and pulled out the plastic evidence bag with the single glove inside and dropped it on the table. “There’s another track to this investigation that needs to be investigated. Last night, Vanessa and I found this glove on the Hag Stone at the rear of the house where it had been dropped by her stalker.”

  Morris picked up the evidence bag and stared through the clear plastic. “Okay, Vanessa, why do you think you’re being stalked?”

  She ran through the story of her stalker, paying particular attention to the fact that she’d filed a police report after he broke into her Denver apartment. “Last night was the first time I’ve seen him since I moved to the Castle. I left my bedroom and found Ty. Together, we ran to the place where the stalker had been standing. He was gone.”

  Morris shrugged. “Why do you think this stalker is connected to your cousin’s murder?”

  “When Ty and I looked around, we saw a light from a bedroom in the tower. It came from Aunt Dorothy’s sewing room. As far as I knew, the door to that room hadn’t been opened in twelve years.”

  Morris swiveled to face Ty. “Did you catch the guy?”

  “I called my deputies who were inside the Castle. They went to the sewing room, but they were too late. They found Mona, the housekeeper, and she unlocked the room.”

  “It wasn’t dusty at all,” Vanessa said with a sense of wonder. “Mona has been keeping it clean all these years on Simon’s order.”

  “I had my deputies seal off the room with crime scene tape,” Ty said. “Nobody went inside. I wanted to leave it for your forensic team.”

  “What do you think we’ll find?” Morris asked.

  “I’m hoping for evidence that would lead to the stalker, but I have my doubts.” Ty folded his arms across his chest. “The appearance of the stalker seemed staged. First, he appears and calls attention to himself to lure Vanessa outside. We found a remote-controlled microphone in her bedroom, Then he drops a glove where we’ll be sure to find it. And he flashes a light in Aunt Dorothy’s sewing room At least, I think it was the same guy.”

  “A setup,” Morris said. “Good thinking.”

  “I’m just saying...we need to be skeptical about evidence from the stalker. But we also need to investigate. He’s a real guy, a real threat. If he was the one in Aunt Dorothy’s sewing room, he’s not the only one pointing to her.”

  “Who else?” Morris demanded.

  Ty unfolded his arms and stuck one hand into his pocket. “Bethany told her husband that she had reason to believe she was entitled to an inheritance from Aunt Dorothy’s estate.”

  “And what did Lowell Burke say?”

  “He didn’t think his wife’s idea had merit.”

  “Burke is a lawyer. I’ve never known one of those bloodsuckers to turn their back on a potential cash payout.” He dropped a condescending pat on Ty’s shoulder. “Your suspicions are duly noted, and I will send my forensic team up to the sewing room, but I think you were right when you called this a setup. Somebody is playing games with you.”

  Ty didn’t call murder a game. “I want to be informed of your forensic results.”

  “Sure thing, son. And don’t you worry, we’ll solve this crime. And I’ll bet the killer is Bethany’s boyfriend.”

  Son? Ty was maybe ten years younger than this agent, and he didn’t like being treated like a kid. He straightened his shoulders, sucked in his gut and prepared to be a good soldier who obeyed orders.

  At the same time, he closed his fingers around the gold necklace in his pocket, which he now had tucked away in an evidence bag. This locket had been clutched in Bethany’s hand when she was killed. It was important. Central to the crime. And Ty would be damned if he shared this piece of jewelry with Morris. Maybe Ty wasn’t so readily obedient after all. Maybe he was cut out to be the boss. He needed to try harder.

  * * *

  IN A RESIDENCE as large as the Castle, Ty didn’t think it would be hard to find privacy, but it took smart logistics to arrange a meeting with Vanessa in a place where they wouldn’t be overheard. At the swimming pool before lunch, he stood at the far edge of the pool, waiting for her and watching through the sliding glass doors as several of the guests made their way toward the staircase that led down to the area where lunch would be served. From the cooking aromas, he guessed the food would be some kind of pasta with garlic bread.

  The Ingrams walked together, hand in hand. After all their years together, there was no need to talk. They seemed like a sweet couple, but Ty knew they had their share of problems with their druggy grandson and George’s binge drinking, as well as Martha’s accusation that he was having an affair.

  Gloria Gable stalked down the hall behind them, somehow managing to turn jeans and a plaid flannel shirt into a fashion statement.

  Then came the Kirov couple. Yuri had been identified as the owner of the glove Ty had found on the Hag Stone, which didn’t make sense. Yuri might have been Bethany’s lover, but he didn’t have any connection to Vanessa. There was no discernible reason for him to stalk her in Denver. More than ever, the glove and the arrival of the stalker appeared to be a setup, a distraction from the real crime. Speaking of distraction... Macy dragged all the attention to herself with her booming voice and flashy clothes. Today, she was dressed in swirls of tie-dye with enough colorful beads to impersonate a Mardi Gras float.

  When Vanessa slipped through the sliding glass doors, he felt profound relief. She was still wearing her white shirt with the rolled-up sleeves and her jeans. He noticed her oversize silver belt buckle that appeared to be some kind of award for barrel racing.

  He commented on the buckle. “I thought you were only a kid when you left the mountains, but it looks like you were old enough for rodeo.”

  “Little Britches Rodeo,” she said. “I was nine, and the junior barrel race wasn’t even a sanctioned event. I’ve seen what the adult racers can do, and they’re amazing. I wouldn’t dream of putting myself in the same class with them.”

  “Did you win?”

  “Damn right, I did.” She flashed a cocky grin. “Why did you want to see me?”

  “I’m getting bounced out of here. Morris made it clear that he doesn’t need my help. He told me to send the deputies home, and I should leave, too. But he wants us back after dark to keep an eye on the Castle and make sure nobody else gets hurt.”

  “That’s not right.” Her voice was firm. “He can’t come in here and start ordering people around. Who does he think he is?”

  “An agent for the Colorado Bureau of Investigation. And I gave him jurisdiction.” Ty had been impressed with the work done by the CBI, including deep research on the witnesses. The woman on the computer turned up clue after clue. “After last night, I’m concerned about your safety. If anything weird turns up, give me a call. Later tonight, we should sneak into Aunt Dorothy’s sewing room for a look around. I’ll check back with you after dinner.”

  “Is that a date?”

  “Not unless your idea of a good time is breaking crime scene tape and poking around in a room that’s been unoccupied for twelve years.”

  “Actually,” she said, “that sounds better than a lot of dates I’ve had.”

  Chapter Nine

  Vanessa’s next recording session with Simon was scheduled for two o’clock, which left her with some free time. She would have liked to follow Ty around the house but didn’t want to look like an adoring puppy dog. She’d been out of the dating game long enough to be unsure of what came next. A setting of boundaries or a breaking down of walls, she didn’t know which.

  She decided to join the others for lunch. This
might be an awkward meal, but the food was always great when Simon was in the kitchen. The houseguests—who had been ordered not to leave until after they spoke with Morris—gathered at tables in the casual breakfast room.

  Vanessa had found herself seated with Ice Queen Chloe, the Ingrams and Macy Kirov.

  Yuri Kirov had taken a place at another table with Burke, Jack Jenkins from Aspen and Keith Gable. The men were talking low, and it sounded like the topic was real estate and business.

  Hoping to break the ice, Vanessa turned to Macy. “I like your colorful beads. The purple and green make me think of New Orleans.”

  “Not too garish?”

  “Not a bit.”

  “I’ve been thinking about starting my own fashion line for big women like me.” She craned her neck. “I should talk to Gloria. An international model ought to have good feedback on fashion trends. Is she here?”

  “Oh, Gloria doesn’t eat lunch,” Chloe informed them as she picked at her small salad. “She brought her own special formula for a smoothie cleanse. Simon has been trying to duplicate the health benefits and make it taste better.”

  “How’s that going?” Vanessa asked.

  Chloe made a face. “Not tasty.”

  “I’ve got to have protein with every meal. Nothing beats a ribeye.” Macy nudged Doc Ingram’s shoulder. “Am I right, George?”

  He nodded. The conversation sputtered along for another ten minutes while they served themselves from family-sized containers of salad, fruit and penne in cream sauce with prosciutto and Parmigiano-Reggiano. Great food. Lousy chatter.

  Macy blurted, “Okay, folks, we need to talk about the elephant in the room. Somebody—maybe somebody right here at these tables—is a cold-blooded murderer.”

  “Not necessarily,” Jenkins, the only actual cop among them, said. “I’ve been going through the data from surveillance cameras, and it looks to me like we’re missing a lot. It’s very possible that the killer sneaked into the house from outside.”

  “I don’t think so,” Chloe said. “We have every exit covered.”

  “But not every window or other access point, like the cellar or the swimming pool or the balconies. Your security is good, ma’am, but not airtight. In a house as big as this one, a skilled intruder can always find a way to break in.”

  Macy shook her head. “Should that make me feel better or worse? I hate thinking that one of us killed poor Bethany. But I don’t like imagining an intruder creeping through the halls, waiting to attack.”

  Chloe picked up her water glass and tapped her spoon against the side. “We shouldn’t discuss the crime. Agent Morris asked that we not chat among ourselves.”

  “She’s right,” Jenkins said. “Leave the crime-solving to the professionals.”

  Vanessa heard the echo of condescending advice from Morris. Leave it to us. You don’t know what you’re doing. She couldn’t pretend to be an expert on fingerprints and DNA, but she could guess at motives, and she knew more about this house and this family than anyone else. She was born a Whitman.

  And she intended to find out everything she could, starting with anything about Aunt Dorothy. Her disappearance and death were a puzzle that needed to be unlocked.

  * * *

  IN THE LIBRARY, Vanessa prepared her recording corner for Simon. He liked to have fresh water, which she brought up in the dumbwaiter from the baking kitchen below. And he liked a choice of seats, ranging from a straight-back wooden chair at the table to a leather recliner that matched the sofa. Gathering enough information for a memoir could be hard work, especially since Simon didn’t have a good idea of the image he wanted to portray. She’d suggested a few other memoirs from celebrity chefs that he could read, but he wasn’t interested. Like most people, he preferred skimming the text, studying the recipes and savoring the delicious photos of food that decorated the pages.

  Today, he entered the library and went directly to the dumbwaiter that he activated with the flick of a switch. He seemed nervous. Who wouldn’t be with a murder in his bedroom and the CBI all over his house? His face was more flushed than usual.

  “I have a treat,” he said, “that might make it easier to understand my early life. Are you ready? It’s Neapolitan pizza.”

  She recognized the pizza made with tomato, mozzarella and basil, and she enjoyed the rich, spicy aroma. Truly, this was one of her faves. “But I just had lunch.”

  “This isn’t for eating. The pizza has a story. It originated in Naples and is red, white and green, like the Italian flag.”

  She decided to play along. “What does this wonderful pizza have to do with your life story?”

  “So many of the great chefs talk about how they learned how to cook with their grandma or mama. They have warm, folksy stories that people can relate to. And so, voila! When I was a kid, I spent several summers with my sweet Jewish grandmother, my zaidy, who lived in Naples, Italy. Here’s a photo.”

  Dressed in 1980s chic—a mini-skirt and sequined jacket with padded shoulders—his zaidy was the furthest thing from a kindly old lady who toiled in the kitchen to make pizza for her grandson. “She’s beautiful,” Vanessa said.

  “But not heartwarming.”

  “That depends.” The photo had triggered a spark in her imagination that might become a full-fledged concept. “Here’s the thing, Simon. You’ve got to be true to yourself. Let those other chefs have their supposedly humble beginnings. Your grandma was cosmopolitan and classy.”

  He nodded, reluctantly proud of her. “She was.”

  “And when she took you out to eat, I’ll bet you went to great places.”

  “Absolutely. And she usually knew the chef.”

  “Think about it, Simon. Maybe she didn’t put the mixing bowl in your hand and teach you the secrets of nutmeg and cilantro, but she showed you what great cooking was really about.”

  Vanessa could almost see a light bulb over his head. He got it.

  “Cosmopolitan,” he murmured. “She made sure I wore a suit and bow tie. I had to sit up straight. And I had to compliment the chef. Magnifico!”

  He rattled off several charming stories about places he’d gone and food he’d eaten with his stylish grandma in Naples while Vanessa sat back and let the recorder do the work. She used a wheel cutter to slice off a piece of the Neapolitan pizza, which was fresh, tasty and great. She nibbled, munching, sipping water and listening. When Simon wasn’t forcing himself to be somebody else, he was interesting and had a cool background.

  As he continued to talk, he picked up steam and turned a deeper shade of crimson. He rose from the chair at the table and paced. “This is good stuff.”

  “You bet,” she said.

  “Where do we go from here?”

  “I think we have enough for today. I’ll transcribe these recordings, then you can look them over and decide which are the best to include.”

  “I could take a trip to Naples and revisit some of these restaurants. Dorothy and I traveled there. She met my zaidy, and they hit it off.”

  Now was the moment when Vanessa could make the transition to her own agenda. She reached forward and deliberately turned off the recorder. “There’s something we need to discuss off the record...about Dorothy and how she died.”

  His back was toward her, and she saw him cringe. His shoulders tensed. “I don’t have anything more to say. You’ve already heard what happened.”

  “Let me see if I have it right.” When Vanessa was growing up, this was the basic story her father told. “Aunt Dorothy went for a ride one afternoon in November when the weather was nice. She didn’t come home but her horse returned to the barn after dark. Teams from S&R went out to look for her. She couldn’t be found. A few days later, winter hit. A blizzard. The ground was covered with a blanket of snow.”

  “We didn’t find her remains until after the spring thaw,” Simon said. “End
of story.”

  “That doesn’t feel like a conclusion. I still have questions. Was there DNA testing to be sure the remains belonged to Dorothy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Among the remains, what was found?”

  “I never saw them.” Stiffly, he sat at the table. His posture was as tense as his words. “You’d have to talk to Doc Ingram or Keith. There was a skull, some ribs, a femur and other bones.”

  “Was there a cause of death?”

  “Trauma to the head.”

  Just like Bethany. What was the connection? Why couldn’t Vanessa see what was missing? “This is painful for you to talk about, and I’m sorry. But I need to find the truth. The sheriff can give me access to the county records that pertain to her death, and I can talk to Doc Ingram. He was the coroner at the time.”

  “Stop playing games with me, Vanessa. You already know what you’re going to find.”

  Simon was usually aggressive and sometimes scary, but she felt sorry for him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Dorothy and I had been going through a rough patch in our marriage. Simplicity was a success in terms of reviews from critics and customers, but I was losing money every month. There wasn’t a large enough client base in this area. Keith and I had begun talks about the Simple Simon’s franchise. Dorothy hated the idea. She said that if I started another venture, we’d have less time together.”

  “Which was probably true,” Vanessa said.

  “She said she had enough family money for us to live comfortably for the rest of our lives.”

  Also true. Aunt Dorothy wasn’t a fool. “Did you have a problem with that?”

  He slanted a glance toward her. “I might be old-fashioned, but I’ve always believed that the man should be the breadwinner. On the day Dorothy went for her ride, we argued. I went to Simplicity for the rest of the day. I should have been home waiting for her, should have responded sooner when she didn’t come back. I could have stopped her.”