Crystal Mountain Veils

by Kieran York

  “And you’re so finicky about probable cause, we’d really be shit out of luck. Unless I arrested her on indecent exposure,” Nick offered with a chuckle. “I hear her latest series of posters would be admissible evidence.”

  Royce rolled her eyes. “Okay, let’s keep going. There’s Rick Brown. He’s shady. He’s a stalker profile. He was there. Maybe, beyond stalking quarry, he goes for crimes of opportunity. Maybe Sandra Holt was just a victim of his opportunity. And it wouldn’t have been a problem for him to get a copy of the master key from one of the maintenance people.”

  “No getting around it. He’s loony enough,” Nick agreed. “Hell, all the people at the party left at one time or another. Our leading suspects who quarreled with Godiva are women. But I always thought women weren’t usually vicious enough to do a hands-on brutal murder.”

  “According to the textbooks, usually when women kill it’s in self-defense. Or protection of their young.” Royce took another sip of coffee. “We got back Sandra Holt’s bank statement. Some large entries, periodically, that I haven’t accounted for with her publication, or personal appearances on television.”

  “If it was blackmail, maybe she’s had a scam going for some time. Dig up dirt and get paid for burying it again.”

  Royce confirmed, “Looks possible. We’ll continue working a search into the victimology. Might not net us anything, but we haven’t got anything to lose. What about Godiva’s main bodyguard and Tyler?”

  “The bodyguard was searching for Godiva. Tyler was making the rounds in the party area. He did go to the men’s room within the time frame. He claims he hadn’t been in Sandra’s room since earlier that afternoon after they arrived. The little mini cocktail party. Sandra was famous for them. One of the reports said she even sometimes hid a tape recorder and then left the room.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me,” Royce muttered dryly. “So any sign of her tape recorder or bugging devices yet?”

  “Negative.”

  “Even if we found a recorder, she probably wouldn’t have had it on because she had retired with a headache.”

  Nick roared, “Then she got a real headache.”

  Royce shook her head. “Cops are known for their gallows humor, but you go over the top sometimes, Nick.”

  “Add it to the list of my charms.” He sat back.

  “Well, leaving your list, let’s return to our murder investigation. If we could find this elusive tape recorder, it might offer a motive for someone killing her. Maybe someone wanted to erase a tape badly enough to kill her. But if there were an incriminating tape, it wasn’t among her belongings. So we can safely say it’s buried or burned by now.”

  “Another dead end.”

  “And the bodyguard and Tyler didn’t change their stories? Not even the slightest variation in their statements?”

  “Like reading their lines. Nothing.”

  “I wonder if there was anything that Sandra could have had on Godiva?”

  “Godiva’s shown all, done all, and proudly,” Nick snickered.

  “The more scandal the better. But I’m wondering if there’s anything at all in her past. You might want to do some probing next time you talk with her. And I want to interrogate her too.”

  “She’ll enjoy hearing that,” Nick teased. “She has still been asking questions about you.”

  “She’ll have her chance to ask me personally.”

  Nick poured another cup of coffee and sat on the edge of her desk. “Royce, I think you’ll find the killer.”

  Royce wished Nick’s intonation was more talismanic and less patronizing. But she would settle for any vote of support at this time. “Thanks, Nick.”

  ***

  Royce was becoming restless, even agitated. She was impatient for some break in the case. There had to be some clue that would advance the investigation.

  One thing was certain: Marjorie Lovett remained the case’s prime suspect. Royce wondered whether she was overlooking something about Jorie. She knew that there were times when Jorie seemed dispassionate when talking about the murder, but that could be attributed to her journalistic training in stoicism.

  Royce decided to do her probing socially. Not only would a get-together help her get to know more about Jorie, it also promised the correspondent time away from Crystal. Gran’s cabin, Royce considered, was the perfect place to entertain Jorie, Gwen, and Nadine.

  So a late-afternoon barbecue had been planned. Royce and Hertha fixed iced tea, fish and beef kabobs, roasting ears, and salad. When Royce lit the grill, she heard the rasp of sulfur and saw the flame as it cracked and licked at the charcoal.

  When she blew out the kitchen match, it only served as a reminder of the passage of time. The clock was ticking and people were grumbling, just as Dillon Granger had predicted. They wanted the murder resolved. The locals were usually patient, but not now. With all the media attention, citizens of Timber County wanted the world to know that visitors were protected, that they were safe. And that Timber County would not tolerate crime.

  Royce knew her badge was on the line. The premature arrest of her best friend’s ex-lover could save that badge. It might be the price of the election, Royce mused. But it would be contrary to her belief system. Royce felt her spine quiver at the thought of leaving Timber County in Dillon Granger’s hands.

  But Royce appreciated the fact that the day was seeped in autumn sun. The flower-strewn meadow beside the cabin had always offered her a special respite. It was alive with marmots peering out of their rock homes. Chipmunks skittered out from their bush umbrellas and begged for peanuts. Mule deer, with their full racks of antlers, grazed, anticipating another winter. And elk bugled their mating ritual. Royce loved autumn. Travel agents called summer and winter Colorado’s tourist seasons. But what was referred to as the shoulder seasons of spring and autumn were Royce’s favorite. The aspen were beginning to blaze. Queen Anne’s lace, black-eyed Susans, and various other flowers continued blooming late. Late.

  Royce clamped her eyes shut as she thought about perhaps missing the changing of seasons here next year. She felt a pang. There would not be room for both her and Dillon Granger on the force should he become the sheriff. It was unthinkable. And what was more unthinkable was Royce leaving Timber County.

  After eating, the five women hiked a remote trail and then returned to the cabin. Darkness was approaching, and they decided to sit out on the enclosed porch for a nightcap. Jorie offered to make her specialty drink, a Longhorn Kick. Hertha declined, opting for herbal tea. Nadine was the designated driver, so she decided on tea also.

  “Come on, Royce,” Gwen encouraged. “Try it.”

  “Not me,” Royce chuckled. “A cool longneck beer is more my style.”

  “What a wonderful meal,” Jorie complimented.

  “Gran always says that hunger is the best spice. Seems like the altitude makes me hungrier,” Royce said as she leaned back and sighed. “A Longhorn Kick, huh?”

  Jorie poured liquor out in ample portions and then swirled the Longhorn Kicks vigorously. “And this setting is something out of a nature movie.”

  “Glad you’re enjoying it,” Royce said with a smile. “And Smoky and Cinnamon had a wonderful day of running.” She always enjoyed seeing Cinnamon’s long stride as she frolicked. Smoky’s piston legs had trouble keeping up with the Irish setter, but she found every shortcut she could.

  “Cinnamon loves the woods,” Nadine spoke softly. Her expression was pinched, her words pensive. “We all do. I suppose that’s why I’m in Timber City.”

  “I hoped I had something to do with your decision!“ Gwen inserted.

  “That too,” Nadine answered. “Not too many of those Longhorn Kicks,” she cautioned. “You’ll have a sore head in the morning.”

  ***

  Moments had a way of gathering into days and rapidly rolling onward, faster than Royce would have liked. Royce felt captive to time. Days were stacking themselves into weeks, and the investigation was gathering d
ust. The election was nearing. The mundane events of Timber City continued. Royce and Hertha continued sharing each episode with the relish and the strains of a newly-formed relationship. Royce returned to the cottage weary from a quick-paced day.

  Royce had chased a lead on a criminal using the alias of Ricardo Brown. It ended in a literal dead end. The man had been shot and killed by authorities in Kansas City. She had worked her way through endless photographs of the Holt murder scene. And she had spent the remainder of the day, scraps of time between calls and sorting through problems with the deputies, on the mounds of ongoing paperwork.

  After Royce and Hertha had finished dinner, Hertha had an emergency patient. A local family brought their cat in after it had been hit by a car. Hertha would need to perform a long and complicated surgery. She suggested that Royce go over to the Bell Ringer and wait there.

  Faye Arnall had wanted to talk with the sheriff. Royce sat on the end bar stool and waited while Faye delivered a pitcher of beer to another customer. When Faye returned, she twisted open a bottle and placed it in front of Royce.

  “Looks like this can do you some good.”

  “Thanks, Faye.”

  “People hereabouts remember your daddy,” Faye declared loudly, over Patsy Cline on the jukebox. “Roycie, they’ll end up voting for you instead of that 'wannabe sheriff Dillon. You’re Grady Madison’s little girl.”

  Royce ruffled, her comment was terse. “I want to win this election because I can handle the job better than anyone else in the county. That’s the way my father won his elections. He gained the trust and respect of the people. That’s the way I want to win. To earn it on my own.”

  Faye leaned over the bar and whispered, “Your daddy wasn’t campaigning against the deep pockets and convictions of a mob like the Family Morals Coalition. Those McDermotts are comin’ after you. And you know what I mean. Royce, they’re saying that you’re back-peddling on this murder. The prime suspect is an old pal of one of your best buddies. And Gwen is openly lesbian. You get my drift?”

  “The siege continues,” Royce muttered. She took a sip of beer. “You told me they would be after me. And now it’s showdown time?”

  “A wife of one of my customers is a strong Coalition member. He relays everything. You know Donny Evans, he relays everything. Comes in this morning and tells me the McDermotts and their pals are really stirring it up.”

  “Yes?”

  “They’re going to put out flyers accusing you of being a lesbian.”

  They can’t do something like that.”

  “Sure they can. They’ll distribute the flyers and the Coalition plans to deny having a hand in it.”

  “Their allegations are just that,” Royce responded brusquely.

  “You got cloth ears, or doesn’t my voice carry. Royce, they are telling everyone you’re a lesbian.” Faye looked to the side, and then huddled nearer. “I think you better talk with Molly. Your mother has always treated me with respect. Even when most of the other women hereabouts were treating me like a river rat, tramp. I didn’t hide the fact that I’ve been under the bleachers plenty. And I got drug through it. But Molly never looked down her nose at me. I don’t want to see your mother hurt. I never have been one to believe in poking an open wound. These people piss me off. I thought you should know.”

  Royce had been expecting this conversation. But it still hit her with the thud of a brick. “I’ll talk to Mom.”

  “I blew a cork when I first heard. Then I thought, well, Royce never hurt nobody. Maybe they’ll pull back and do what’s right. That’s been my character flaw. I always expect people to do what’s right. I even tried to give the benefit of the doubt to that weird guy that’s been watching Hertha. Thought maybe he was a loon, and just hung up on her. But he just keeps watching. Day after day, like clockwork. Now I think he’s more than a harmless nut.”

  “I’ve been diligently searching for something, anything, on him.” Royce felt the knots in her stomach. “The criminal records network is enormous. I’ve had photos and histories of known stalkers faxed from all the areas where he might have been. There’s a restraining order, and if he goes near her, I can nab him. Then I’ll have more to go on. But the employment information given the lodge is scant. His I.D. could be falsified. There are so many places to hide and ways to be hidden.” Royce allowed her discouragement to show. Her mouth was dry and she took a large, bubbly gulp of beer. “Damn it, Faye, I feel helpless.”

  “Maybe he’s all talk.”

  “It’s the ’maybe' that concerns me. Flip-side, maybe he’s not.”

  Royce spotted Laramie entering the bar. She motioned to him. When he sat, she asked Faye to bring him some coffee.

  “What’s happening, Laramie?”

  “I ain’t legless yet, and it’s nearly eight p.m.”

  “The night is young,” Royce remarked with a partial smile. “Anything new in Timber City?”

  “I seen that Godiva in a long ole car filled with movie folks. That’s about the size of it.”

  Royce nodded affirmatively, and then took another swig of beer. “Did you get a good look at her?”

  “She waves out the window like she knows me. Never met her. I reckon she waves to everyone.”

  Royce’s grin broke into a chuckle. “Could be. So what did you think of her?”

  “As one of them rock stars, she’ll do. But she ain’t much of a dance hall girl.”

  “Oh?”

  “Naw. Them old-time women knew how to kick up their heels.” He lifted a shot glass to his lips and pitched back his head. He then wiped his mouth with a frayed sleeve. “Naw. Shady ladies just ain’t what they used to be.”

  Chapter 9

  “I’ve got to tell Mom,” Royce muttered. “I can’t put off talking with her.”

  Hertha reached across the High Country Animal Hospital’s pine counter and caressed Royce’s hand. “Yes. Royce, you know she loves you. And when Gwen came out to her years ago, Molly handled it beautifully.”

  “But I’m her daughter,” Royce countered. “There’s a difference.” Her spirit was bedraggled. Royce marveled at her lover’s ability to stay vibrant. Hertha’s spirit was tranquil; she possessed an innate grace. Royce admired that quality. It was as if Hertha’s Ute heritage allowed her to automatically participate with nature, as part of a partnership with earth and its wilderness and wonder.

  “I think Gwen’s right about Molly knowing.”

  “She might be. I’ve got to have the courage to come out to Mom. Regardless.” Royce shrugged.

  Hertha smiled. “I wish I could kiss you right now.”

  “Me too. There’s always the examining room,” Royce suggested.

  “I’m expecting Carrie Donovan any second.”

  “Has she been helpful?”

  “I just wish I could get through to her. The closest I’ve seen to joy on her face was when Smoky hugged her. Then she turned around and huffed off to her corner. When I mentioned that I was going to put an herb-and-root poultice on a cat’s leg, she told me that Indian medicine stinks like 'crap.'”

  “Kids don’t always understand other people.”

  “Royce, some people will never understand. I hope she’s not one of them. I hope you’re not one of them.”

  “I know that we miss a note or two, but Hertha, we are on the same sheet of music, trying to play the same song. And Carrie isn’t bad but she is mixed up.”

  Hertha glanced away. “I know it must seem strange to her. With all of our modern miracle drugs, I use ancient herbal formulas of sacred medicine. But it works, sometimes when all else fails. It does work.”

  “So how is the cat?”

  Smiling, Hertha reported, “Recovering. I’ve done everything I can, and it’s all in her paws now.”

  “I love you, Hertha.”

  “And I love you. Remember when we went to Goldville and saw the ghost town the first time?”

  “Before we were together. Yes.”

  “We walked on the
side of the creek and saw a columbine plant growing.”

  “And we promised to go back and see if it made it.”

  “And it had. It had survived.”

  ***

  Nadine entered Laird’s General Store. In her arms were three dozen placards with thin wooden stakes backing them. She propped them in the corner and greeted Royce and Bonnie Laird. “I just wanted to get here before the campaign workers. Deliver the placards.” Nadine sat at the rectangle table in the back room. “Someone is destroying these as quickly as we put them up. ”

  “I don’t care what Granger’s committee to elect says,” Bonnie huffed, “they’re paying kids to do it.”

  “If we resort to the same methods,” Nadine said, “it won’t impact them at all. We’ve got to gather funds door to door to reprint our placards. And flyers. And they seem to go missing immediately.”

  Royce glanced down at her own folded hands. “I’m amazed that the radio station has enough time left over for news and music after running all Granger’s spots.”

  “You ought to see the full-page ad going in tomorrow’s paper,” Nadine disclosed. “It makes him up to be a saint. And hints at Royce’s inexperience.”

  “Roycie has better experience,” Bonnie defended.

  “That doesn’t stop them from distorting the facts.” Nadine sat back. “One good thing. We received a small check from the P-FLAG in Denver. And a promise that we’d get support from the GLF.”

  Royce recognized the organization’s call letters. P-FLAG was Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays. GLF was the Gay and Lesbian Foundation. Bonnie had no inkling about the groups, Royce guessed.

  Bonnie smiled. “Mighty nice of them. A flag company sending donations to help. That must mean they know you’re a good American, Royce.”

  Royce agreed with a somber shrug. “Yes. I better be going now.” She stood. “Please thank the workers for me. I wish I could stay, but I need to get over and see Mom before going up to Crystal.”

  “Well don’t you worry about folks believing you’re inexperienced,” Bonnie walked Royce to the door. “You got more experience at your Daddy’s side when you were a young 'un than most people get their entire lives.”