“So.No magic?” I asked.
“Notthat we can tell from outside.”
“Isthis going to be like Al Capone’s vault? There’s not going to beanything in it, is there?” He hesitated, tilted his head. “What?”
“Ihad to explain Al Capone’s vault to Amelia.”
Iwanted to scream. “Here. Give me the key. I’ll open it.”
Cormacsmirkedat me and slipped the key into the box’s lock.
So,it wasn’t Al Capone’s vault. The box wasn’t empty, but it also didn’trelease a puff of stale, ancient, intriguing air like I was hoping itwould. My wolfish nose took a long breath just to be sure. And . . . itsmelled like an animal.
Cormacopened the lid all the way and we peered inside. The box contained twoitems: a chunk of fur tied with a string, and a postcard.
“Well,that’s satisfyingly cryptic,” I said.
Hetook out the postcard first. It showed a historic Western main streetagainst the backdrop of snow-capped peaks. LEADVILLE, COLORADO, wasprinted across the scene in friendly letters. The back of the card wasblank.
Thefur was tawny colored, rough. “Can you tell what that came from?” heasked.
Ileaned in to get a better smell. It smelled familiar, but not. Canine,I thought. But . . . I wrinkled my nose, tried again. Then leanedback.
“Thatcame from a lycanthrope,” I said.
“Oneof yours?” he asked.
“No,I don’t know who it is. Just . . . it’s not entirely canine, it’s gotthat little bit of human in it, you know? No, I guess you wouldn’t. Idon’t think it’s wolf. I don’t know what it is.”
“Huh,”he said, frowning.
Itook the card from him, thinking maybe I could get a scent off it too,but it had been stored with the fur so long both items just smelledlike each other. I studied the picture, looked over the back. Blinked.Looked again, just to be sure. Held the card up to Cormac.
“This. . .this is newer than fifty years old.” I pointed out the copyright dateon the postcard. Ten years ago. The postcard, and probably thefur, were no more than ten years old.
“So?”
“Ricksaid he got the key fifty years ago. How can the key be older than thething it locks? How did this get locked in here ten years ago if Rickalready had the key?”
“I’mnot here to ask questions. I’m just trying to do this job.”
“Maybethere was a second key? A master key?”
“See,logical explanation,” he said.
Iwasn’t convinced. “This is a really weird job, Cormac.”
“Yeah,I’venoticed.”
“SoI guess we’re going to Leadville?”
“Shit,” he muttered.
Wetold the clerk we were finished with the box. We didn’t tell herwe’d emptied it. I had a few questions for her. “Just out of curiosity,do you have information on file about when the box was rented andwho rented it?”
Shewent to her computer terminal. It seemed to be a modern computer with aflat-screen monitor, so at least that was up to date. She typed for aminute, then another minute. “Hmm,” she murmured intriguingly.
“It’srented under the name of Mr. Crow, and the rent on it was paid inadvance . . . well, for a good many years, it looks like.”
“Doyou have contact information for Mr. Crow?” I asked.
Shegave me her best, most professional customer service smile. It wassoothing. “Nothing I’m allowed to give out, I’m sorry.” She reallydid seem to be sorry.
“Thanksanyway,” I said. “You have a great day!”
“Thankyou so much, you too!”
Wefled.
Itexted Ben to let him know we were going to Leadville, and told him tocall Cormac with any questions. When Cormac’s phone rang a minutelater, the hunter shut it off.
“He’sjust going to call back,” I said. We were already on I-70 west out ofDenver. This trip was going to take the rest of the day, at least.
“Thenyou talk to him, he’s your husband,” he said curtly.
SoI called him. “Hey there, you’re on speaker,” I said, and held thephone between me and Cormac.
“Whyare you going to Leadville?” Ben asked in a frustrated tone.
Ianswered, “Because we found a postcard for Leadville in thesafe-deposit box.” A long pause followed. “Ben?” Maybe we’d lost theconnection.
“Thisdoesn’t make any sense,” he said. “Why is your client sending you ona scavenger hunt?”
“I’dlike to know,” Cormac said. “This message is starting to feel likea grenade. I want to get rid of it before it goes off.” The originalenvelope was tucked in next to the driver’s seat.
Benmuttered a curse under his breath. “I hope you’re getting paid reallywell for this.”
“Ieven got half up front.”
“Well,that’s something, anyway. I don’t have to tell you to be careful, do I?This feels really off.”
“We’llbe careful,” Cormac said.
“Kitty?Call me the minute you’re headed back home. Or if you need help. Or ifyou get arrested. Or—”
“I’llcall. I promise. Love you.”
“Ilove you, too. Be careful!”
Iended the call and blushed a little, with all that emotion out in theopen and Cormac looking on, stone-faced. If he cared, I’d never know it.
“Sorryabout the mush,” I said.
Weprobably went another mile before he said, quickly, like he was worriedhe couldn’t get it all out, “You two are the best people I know. I’mglad you’re together.”
Inan incautious moment I asked, “So, no regrets?”
Hehesitated. Just fora minute. “A few. But it’s okay.”
“Itmight have been fun. You and me.”
“Maybe.And it would have ended the minute you tried to bring me home to meetyour parents.”
“Wait.You still haven’t met my parents, have you? You really should come oversometime. Maybe Thanksgiving.”
“No.”
“Youwouldn’t have to stay long, just have some pie or something—”
“No.”
“Oh,come on—”
“Iam not going to meet your parents.”
Igrinned.
Leadvillewas touted as having the highest elevation of any town inthe U.S. Over ten thousand feet. The thin air had a crisp, heady chillto it. I filled my lungs.
“Nowwhat?” I asked.
Hepulled the postcard out of a pocket, tapped it on his hand. “I don’tknow. Smell anything?”
“RockyMountain high,” I said, drawing another deep breath. “Let’s walk arounda little bit.”
Wewent down the old main street, a picturesque stretch ofturn-of-the-century brick and stone buildings. Lots of people wanderingaround like us, looking up and around, checking out the shops.
“MaybeI should get a pound of fudge to take back to Ben, to make up for beingall mysterious.” Or maybe I just wanted to buy a pound of fudge becauseit
