by Cassie Miles
The arrangement made sense to Ty, especially since Dorothy was levelheaded and her brother was flighty. She was the nester. He was the exotic bird.
Nussbaum continued, “Your dad wanted to buy an island in the Caribbean. Dorothy refused to loosen up that much money. He insisted on a split where they never had to consult with each other again. Simon, her beloved spouse, would inherit all property. I like to think that Dorothy and John would have made up, but there were other big life events: your mom’s death, Simon’s success with Simplicity, your departure for college.”
“Me?” She looked from Nussbaum to Ty and back again. “I didn’t think Dorothy paid attention to me and what was happening in my life.”
“She adored you, Vanessa. She went to your graduation in a disguise and applauded every award you won.” He reached into the folder and produced a codicil to Dorothy’s last will and testament. “She wanted to make sure you were always taken care of, and she didn’t trust her brother to make that happen. Rather than give an inheritance in property, she took out a life insurance policy worth four mil. You’re the sole beneficiary.”
And her suicide negated the payout.
Chapter Seventeen
After Vanessa promised to visit Denny Nussbaum and meet his wife, she and Ty left the Greenwell Law Firm and got into his patrol car. While he drove around the square and headed toward the highway, one word echoed in her head—why?
Why had Aunt Dorothy committed suicide? Her life wasn’t miserable. She and Simon had loved each other a lot. Why kill herself? Supposedly, when she was contemplating suicide, she’d been making plans for Christmas and sewing herself a fancy gown for the Ski Ball. It just didn’t make sense.
Vanessa lowered the window and dangled her hand in the autumn breeze. “Why suicide?”
“Maybe it wasn’t,” Ty said.
“Doc signed the death certificate. Cause of death—suicide. Why would he do that if it weren’t true?” She remembered her conversation with him. “He felt terrible about telling Simon that his wife killed herself.”
“Doc could have made a mistake.”
“Somebody would have noticed,” she said. “Other people viewed the remains. Keith Gable was with him constantly. And, again, why? Why would anyone want her death to be suicide?”
“I can’t think of any motivation, except for the insurance company trying to avoid the payout.”
“Far-fetched.” She reached into her backpack and found her list, which she’d revised and made more specific since last night. “Before we start with the drone, I need to stop at the Castle.”
“Works for me,” he said. “I was going to suggest that we start our search at the Castle, anyway. If we follow the steps in the story, young Dorothy and your dad set out from that place.”
The first descriptive passage referred to the plaintive cries of other barn cats in mourning, a broken wheelbarrow and the scent of hay and apples. “The first step on their funeral procession could be the horse barn.”
“And I should check in with Morris. He’s figured out a couple of ways the murderer got into and out of the locked room. And he ought to have autopsy results.”
She’d been so focused on Aunt Dorothy’s cold case that Bethany’s murder had faded into the shadows in the back of her mind. “If Burke is at the Castle, I wouldn’t mind talking to him.”
“According to Nussbaum, Burke is the one who got the ball rolling six months ago when he started due diligence for Yuri Kirov. I doubt that Burke is going to give us any new info.”
“You’re probably right. The timing is interesting. Six months ago, the stalker started following me.”
“He might have gotten the idea that you knew something about the property that could ruin the sale. But Nussbaum didn’t mention any connection.” He glanced over at her. “I’m glad you and Denny reconciled.”
“For a while, I didn’t think we’d have such a happy ending. He was being a jerk, right? I would have been justified in smacking him.”
“As an officer of the law, I don’t advocate violence as a solution, but yeah. He was being a jerk.”
“His ears don’t look as big as I remembered. Do you think he had plastic surgery?”
“Maybe he just grew into them.”
“Nobody likes the way they looked as a kid. I hated, I mean really hated, my freckles.”
He drove the SUV onto a wide road with a ditch along one side. At the third house, he pulled into the driveway. “Here’s where we get the drone,” he said. “Come inside with me.”
“I’d rather stay in the car.”
“That’s not how this works,” he said as he parked. “When you got shot yesterday, I became your bodyguard. You don’t go anywhere without me.”
“You’re being a tiny bit overprotective. I’ll be in the car, ten paces away from the front door.”
“Not safe. I don’t have bulletproof glass in the windshield.” He exited from the SUV, came around to her side and opened the door. “Let’s go.”
She followed him inside where he introduced her to the man who ran the S&R operation for the wilderness area in Tremont and Pitkin counties. Though Vanessa didn’t feel sociable, she managed to be polite. Proper behavior was as much a part of her as her last name.
Before they left, Ty stowed the drone in the rear of the SUV. It was in a cardboard box and not very heavy from the way he was carrying the box. She wasn’t a big fan of new technology, but Vanessa was fascinated with the drone. Flying through the forest and gathering information with a tiny camera seemed impossibly cool.
“Is it hard to use?” she asked.
“Not when I have it synched up with the GPS on my phone. You’ll get your turn, but don’t tell anybody else that we’re running a search with a drone.”
“Because it’s dangerous for too many people to know?”
“It’s not so much about the danger,” he said. “It’s the fun factor. I don’t want a lot of people playing with this piece of equipment.”
He parked on the lowest level outside the Castle, locked his vehicle and they hiked up the winding staircase to a side entrance that she could access with her card. As soon as the door opened, she was hit with the spicy fragrance of veggie stir-fry, sweet and sour chicken and deep-fried egg rolls. In the kitchen, several woks were sizzling and steaming. According to Simon, these recipes weren’t authentic Chinese. Vanessa didn’t care. She preferred the Americanized version.
“Wish I hadn’t eaten such a big breakfast,” she said.
“There’s always room for more.” Ty followed his nose into the kitchen, where Mona intercepted him and rushed around preparing a plate for his lunch.
When she had Ty seated at a table with Morris and a few of the other agents, Mona came back to her. “Vanessa, dear, are you hungry?”
“Not right now.” She scooped a fortune cookie from a bowl on the counter. “I’ll just grab a little snack.”
“Don’t bother reading the fortune.” Mona smoothed her pinstriped apron. “I can tell you what it says.”
“Is that so? Are you psychic?”
“Just observant.” She pressed her fingers to her temples. “Your fortune is that you’ve found the man of your dreams, and you’re going to live happily-ever-after.”
Vanessa looked toward the door to the dining area and saw Ty standing there with an odd expression on his face. She opened her cookie and read, “I will take a trip across distant waters.”
Mona huffed. “I like mine better.”
“But the trip is a possible scenario.” Dad wanted his ashes spread in three locations—by the grave of her mother, in the mountains and in an ocean where they could spread to exotic locales. “I was planning a trip to a beach in northern California with a historic lighthouse that gets cut off by the rising waters of high tide.”
“I know that beach,” Ty murmured.
Behind her back, she heard Keith Gable scoff. “Another fairy tale? You need to think about the real world, Vanessa.”
“I didn’t ask for your advice.”
“But you need it,” he said. “How come you moved out of the Castle?”
“Yesterday, somebody tried to kill me.”
“Are you sure this isn’t another fairy tale?”
“The sheriff doesn’t think so. He wants me in protective custody.” He wanted her in his bed, and that was where she intended to stay.
“Well, I hope he can put you on the right path. You’re wasting time with stories about what happened to Dorothy. It’s done. Settled. Move on.”
He was so smug. Unfortunately, he was one of the few people who had been close to Simon and Dorothy at the time of her disappearance. Vanessa couldn’t just come out and ask direct questions about that time because Keith had no motivation to cooperate with her.
She used a research interview tactic to keep him talking: make the conversation all about him. “When you and Simon launched the Simple Simon’s franchise, the gourmet restaurant was faltering. It might be said that you saved the day.”
“That’s what I mean about living in the real world. The franchises were my dream, but it took hard work and smart marketing to make my concept a success.”
There was no lack of ego on his part. Over the years, Keith and Simon had argued in epic battles. Vanessa had researched some of their feuds for the memoir but probably wouldn’t use them in the book. Simon wanted to protect his image as a brilliant chef who only cared about the food. She wondered how Keith felt about Aunt Dorothy. He had to stay on her good side. After all, her property financed his franchises.
“Aunt Dorothy’s death wasn’t a fairy tale,” she said. “Her body was mangled by predators, and she died alone.”
Before she could delve more deeply into the dark tragedy, Ty stepped up beside her and carefully guided her away from a conversation that might turn explosive. She didn’t trust Keith, but she couldn’t for the life of her think of a reason why Dorothy’s death by suicide would help him.
In a low voice, she asked Ty, “Am I turning into a loose cannon? It seems like I’m running around with a lit fuse, looking for trouble.”
“Are you?”
“I’m frustrated. None of these pieces of evidence seem to fit.”
“We need an expert,” he said. “Agent Morris called in the best.”
At the table where he had been sitting with the other agents, Ty introduced her to Dr. Emily Waters, a forensic pathologist based in Aspen. “Dr. Waters observed Bethany’s autopsy at the CBI facility in Denver.”
Vanessa shook her hand. “Was any new information discovered?”
“Not yet.” She had a lovely white smile and a pleasant bedside manner that was totally wasted on the deceased. “Cause of death was blunt force trauma to the skull. No drugs in her system. I wanted to come back here and look into her living situation and possible environmental factors that might have played into her death.”
“I’ve worked with Dr. Waters before,” Morris said. “She sees things that most people—including me—are prone to overlook.”
“Which is why she can help us,” Ty said. “If we can locate Dorothy’s remains, we’ll have access to all kinds of details about how she died, how long her body was exposed to the elements and what kind of animals gnawed on her bones.”
Vanessa was impressed. “You can do that?”
“The dead hold on to their secrets. I looked over the autopsy notes from Dr. Ingram, which were vague and inconclusive. I would have liked to have seen X-rays and photographs.”
Now, Vanessa was even more motivated to get on with the search. Finding Aunt Dorothy’s remains was significant, and it felt good to be taken seriously by an expert. “We’ll be in touch.”
In spite of Ty’s earlier insistence not to add anyone to the search party, he had assembled a small group, including a deputy to help them dig up the remains and the short-haired female agent who was an expert in all things electronic. Vanessa took out her notebook and checked her list. There was one more thing she needed to do before they set out.
She squeezed Ty’s arm. “I’ll be right back.”
In the Grand Hall, she took the staircase to the third-floor library. Her area hadn’t been marked off with crime scene tape like the master bedroom directly below, but the door was closed. She looked over her shoulder and saw Ty following. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I don’t want to get in your way,” he said, “but I’ve got to keep you safe. That means watching, constantly.”
Being protected wasn’t her idea of a good time, but she’d be foolish to ignore him. “I’ll try not to go running off.”
She pivoted. Using her key, she unlocked the library and entered. Though she was aware of Ty following behind her, she whispered as she took the urn from the shelf and placed it on the long table with the carved legs.
“Hi, Dad, it’s Vanessa. We’re almost finished with the search for Aunt Dorothy. You chose her final resting place so it must be important. That’s where I’m going to scatter another portion of your ashes. To honor your memory and our family.”
She’d learned a lot about the eccentric Whitmans, and she felt a renewed kinship, almost wished she’d taken the time to know Bethany better.
She grasped the urn in her hand and tightened the lid. The metal surface should have been cold but it was as warm as a living thing. Dad was here with her. Even when his ashes were gone, he’d be a part of her.
Chapter Eighteen
It was Ty’s turn to be organized, and he relied on his ability to delegate. He used experts to work on the drone search. Vanessa the English teacher took charge of interpreting her father’s prose, turning the story of Fluffball’s funeral into a metaphorical map. Deputy Randall carried a rifle over his shoulder and was on guard against possible sabotage or ambush. Most useful was the federal agent named Liz Hurtado, who expertly operated the Phantom 4 Pro video camera drone. Ty had experience and could drive drones that were basically kids’ toys, scanning an area from above. The professional level was far more complex.
Following the Mr. Fluffball narrative, they drove to the horse barn and hiked downhill to a creek. In this early autumn season, there was only a narrow trickle of water and wide banks that Vanessa’s father had described as pillows of sand and mud. According to his narrative, the route of their funeral procession went south toward the twin summits of Mount Sopris.
“Here’s where it gets vague,” she said. “He describes the azure sky and the breeze and the sunlight, blah, blah, blah. Those things could be anywhere.”
“Let’s go to the drone,” Ty said.
Agent Hurtado removed the aircraft from its box and set up her tracking equipment on the ground while she explained the mechanics of the camera, which was capable of zooming in and out while turning on a circular axis. The four synched rotating engines made it possible to hover.
“Like a helicopter,” he said.
“Pretty much. And we have two extra batteries, which should give a search radius of thirty miles. That isn’t as far as you might think.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Randall said. “It’s only a couple of hours before sundown. When the light fades, we won’t be able to see well enough to continue. Say, do you think I could take the drone home to show my four-year-old daughter?”
“Check with the guys at Search and Rescue,” Ty said.
Hurtado cleared her throat and adjusted her collar. “Does your daughter like electronics?”
“You bet! She knows more about the computer than I do.”
“If you get the okay,” Hurtado said, “I’d be happy to show her the basics of dr
ones. The world needs more women in my field.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Prepared for takeoff?” Hurtado asked.
Ty bobbed his head. When he glanced over at Vanessa, he recognized the excitement that flushed her cheeks beneath her freckles. She clutched her dad’s book and stared at the futuristic drone as it hummed to life, lifted off and hovered about four feet off the ground.
Hurtado had plugged the operating system into her phone to access the GPS and other data. “Does it save the video?” Vanessa asked.
“It does. Do you want to take it for a spin?”
“Oh, yeah.” Seated on the ground by Hurtado, Vanessa practiced the basic drone moves and then—predictably—she accelerated and swooped. Talk about an exotic bird! Laughing, she made a wild dive and circled his head, coming close enough that she bumped his hat off his head.
“Let’s get started with the search,” Hurtado said as she reclaimed the controls. Her guidance was excellent as she swept from left to right and back again.
Ty was amazed by the clarity of the video and the detail that could be seen from a great height. “Can you go lower?”
“It’s hard to find the sweet spot, staying high enough that the rotors don’t get tangled in the tree branches but low enough to see what’s on the ground.”
“This is what we’re looking for.” He handed her the Polaroid of the homemade tombstone for the yellow cat. After all this time, a lot could have changed. If the paint wasn’t the indelible type, it might have washed away. Or the stone might have blown down or been buried under a fallen tree.
“Look at this,” Vanessa said as she leaned close to the screen. “It’s a fire circle. There’s no way of figuring out how old it is, but the Fluffball story talks about playing Kumbaya on the guitar in front of a fire. Should we go closer?”
