I hustled up to Arch, who was unfastening the leash from Jake’s working harness. Talking quietly to his dog, Arch then removed the harness itself. This was Jake’s signal that the day’s tracking was over. I held the working harness while Arch clipped on Jake’s regular collar.
“You’re done, boy, good boy,” Arch murmured. “Dinner soon. I hope.”
As we ran back toward the car, Jake’s whines at being pulled off the trail almost rivaled the boom of the creek. Did I really want to find Tony? Yes, I said to myself as I gritted my teeth. I did. Dead or alive. I needed to know the truth.
“Lord,” said Marla when we were all packed back into the car. “I’m an icicle in an orange prison suit.”
I pointed to the storage area behind the back seat. “I brought a bag from your house. Extra sweaters, dry clothes.” She mumbled a thanks but only hugged herself for warmth.
After snapping on both the overhead and dashboard lights, the general wiped the laminated map and offered it to me. He asked gruffly, “So what’s the next part of the plan, Goldy? Now that both rain and night are falling??
I tried to sound confident as I took the map. “Just give me a minute.” On the seat between Arch and me, Jake shook himself and nudged closer.
Marla was immediately dubious. “What are we doing, a scavenger hunt? Or is this an off-road trip? How long do you think it’s going to take the sheriffs department to swoop down on us?”
“Please relax,” I said as I traced Grizzly Creek with my index finger.
Arch embraced Jake, who slobbered over his face in gratitude. General Bo turned on the engine and clicked on the heat.
“Do you think,” Marla wondered aloud, “that the sheriffs department would take the investigation in a different direction, if we turned in that test tube?”
I snorted. “Do you want to risk the reactions of Hersey, De Groot, and Captain Shockley to what may or may not be evidence in your case? Especially now that you’re an escaped suspect? It’ll take them at least a week to run the tests to figure out whose blood is in your car. Matching with the stuff in the tube could take even longer. And then they’d have forty theories on what it proves.”
She shook her head dolefully. I went back to the map. Rain pounded on the roof. The only other sounds were Jake’s snuffles and the persistent roar of the creek.
I’m not great with maps, especially ones of the mountain areas that show elevations, streams, and roads. But this particular map was unusually complex. In addition to the main roads and towns, it depicted trails, campsites, four-wheel-drive roads, and historic landmarks. I had never heard of the Perdito Ghost Town or the Fallen Angel Mine. Making a mental note to check them out sometime, I searched for the Continental Divide. After a moment I made out Interstate 70, Clear Creek, Cottonwood Creek, and the Arapahoe National Forest.
“Jake’s hungry,” Arch announced to no one in particular.
“I’ve got food for him,” I said, still bent over the map.
The general assumed a jovial tone. “Anyone for camping out?”
Marla groaned. “No, no, no. Not now. Not ever. In fact, there is nothing that would get me back into a tent at any point in my lifetime. Especially when it’s raining. Besides, the last time I camped out on a night like this, bad things happened that I’m still paying for.”
“Let me see the map,” Arch offered helpfully. Jake awkwardly scrambled into the storage area behind the backseat. “Okay, here’s Aspen Meadow.” Arch’s finger indicated our town’s lake. Then he traced over to Interstate 70, eastward to the approximate point where we had taken Marla from the ambulance. “And here’s where we’ve come.” His stubby finger then indicated the road that ran northwestward out of Aspen Meadow, past the turnoff that led to the general’s compound in Blue Spruce, toward the entrance to the national forest and Grizzly Creek. “That trail we were on t goes over a lot of hills, and then just ends up back at I-Seventy, by Georgetown. Mom. Where do you suppose this guy or guys we’re tracking are going? What do you think they’re after?”
“Honey, that’s what I’m trying to figure out. There are all kinds of roads back to these campsites.”
“But,” Arch objected, his concentration back on the map, “why would you go up that path instead of back toward the campsite road, where you could have a car??
The general turned on the wipers. They swept thick ripples of rain off the windshield.
Arch chewed his bottom lip the way he did with a particularly odious math problem. “Okay, we’re not going home or to the general’s compound. And we’re not going to camp out.” He straightened his glasses. “I gotta tell ya, Mom, I don’t think there’s enough room for all of us to sleep in this car.”
No one commented. Marla asked Bo to pop the trunk, which he did. She hopped into the rain. A moment later she ordered Jake to hold still as she clambered around behind us, looking for dry clothes.
“Okay everybody,” I said solemnly, “Bride’s Creek isn’t too far away. Remember when we did that party at the Hardcastles’ place, Arch? I think that’s where we should go.”
Arch said, “Some of the Prospect. Financial people were there, weren’t they? That’s where I met Sam the soup guy.”
I said glumly, “No one is supposed to be there now. Let’s just hope the property isn’t under water.”
The general pressed the accelerator. The engine roared in response, and Bo snapped the car into reverse. Unanchored by a seatbelt, Marla squealed as she bounced across the storage area.
“Wait a minute!” she cried.
Bo braked and Marla yelped again. “I know where Bride’s Creek is,” he announced. “Adele’s ashes are scattered there.” At the mention of her dead sister, Marla groaned. Bo ignored her. “How do we get to this cabin?” he demanded.
I endeavored to keep the irritation out of my voice. What had I been thinking ? getting us all into this mess? Tom was going to kill me. If the general didn’t manage to do it first. “We need to be very careful,” I said. “If I ever get back home, I’d like to have a business to go back to. We’ll spend the night under a real roof and come back early tomorrow to pick up Tony’s trail.” It shouldn’t be so bad, if we don’t break anything, I consoled myself. Then I added mentally, I’ll give Edna and Whit a discount on their next party. If I have a next party.
18
Marla scrambled back to the front seat, now in a sequined burgundy sweat suit. The general made an efficient three-point turn. As we zipped along recalled the details of the roast pork luncheon Arch a I had done for the Hardcastles in the fall. It had been lavish fund-raiser for historic lands preservation. I hadn’t met Albert Lipscomb that day, but I knew he been a guest. Marla and Tony had been in attendance too, as had Amanda Trotfield, although her husband had been flying a charter to Buenos Aires. Edna Hardcastle had hired Sam Perdue to make vichyssoise. She told me she was trying to spread her money around among Aspen Meadow food folks. At the time, ] been miffed, but I’d been assured by Eileen Tobey, whose bank was a big sponsor of historic land preservation, that Sam’s cold potato-leek soup couldn’t touch mine. Now, I didn’t give a hoot about the luncheon what had been served. I concentrated on trying to r member where the Hardcastles kept the spare key to their cabin door.
With a screech and thud, the general catapulted the Jeep onto the state highway. To the east were his compound and Aspen Meadow; to the west, the Continental Divide and the high mountains. I half expected to see a dozen police cars lying in wait for us where the dirt met the gravel. But there was only the rain.
“May I see the map?” Marla asked meekly. I handed it to her. She turned the light on over her seat and bent over it.
Incredibly, undoubtedly from habit, I tried to decide what we were all going to have for dinner. I had no idea what foodstuffs General Bo had brought for us. The more I stared at the rain streaking our windows, the more unwelcome, catering-type worries crowded my mind. There was the problem of the Hardcastles’ wood stove-would there be enough dry firewood to keep it going through the evening? And what would we have for breakfast? I almost laughed. Then my mind posed another question: Didn’t the Hardcastles have a caretaker living near the cabin? Would he see us breaking in? If he did, wouldn’t he call the police?
Within thirty minutes we turned onto the road paralleling Bride’s Creek. After following the swollen, turbulent waterway for a few miles, we came to the split rail fence that announced the beginning of the Hardcastles’ extensive property. Arch excitedly pointed to the driveway with its stone pillars. I held my breath as the Jeep rocked over the narrow wooden bridge that barely spanned the muddy wash of the usually idyllic stream.
Peering through the gloom for signs of life at the caretaker’s white house, I quickly realized there wouldn’t be
