heard such respect in Tom’s voice.
With enormous effort, Bo turned toward me. “I’m going to be with Adele… .” He raised his head feebly, then let it sink back to my lap. “I … you all … very much… .” And then he died.
A rescue team from the Colorado School of Mines cleared the entrance to the Eurydice Gold Mine. They’ brought out the corpse of Albert Lipscomb. Tony Royce was charged with, among other things, the murders of his financial partner and the First of the Rockies teller. The investigation into the death of Victoria Lear was reopened. Eileen Tobey was charged with grand larceny and being an accessory to murder.
Once Marla was cleared of wrongdoing, she called her lawyer to sue the sheriffs department for false arrest, harassment, and anything else the two of them could think of. The case against De Groot and Hersey looked very bad. At that point, the Furman County Sheriff, the boss of bosses and certainly the boss of Captain Shockley, invoked a long-standing Colorado statute, called “at pleasure.” Back in the old days, when a Colorado sheriff gathered a posse and went after a criminal, he would release the deputies from duty after they caught the perpetrator. The posse served at the sheriff’s pleasure, period. If he fired them, there was no appeal. There was no review. Three days after Tom apprehended Tony Royce, the Furman County Sheriff fired Investigators De Groot and Hersey. Rather than face the same fate, Captain Shockley promptly withdrew his newly recovered money from Prospect Financial Partners and took an early retirement.
His face set grimly, Tom informed me that I probably would be charged with complicity in aiding an escape. But the female guard had actually fainted before General Farquhar hit her, just as Bo had maintained.
She was fine, she told me repeatedly, and so glad to be rid of Shockley she could kiss me. So at least I wouldn’t be charged with assault.
Two days later, with obvious reluctance, the District Attorney held a press conference. Because Bo, Arch, and I had helped clear up Albert Lipscomb’s murder and aided in the apprehension of Anthony Royce and Eileen Tobey, there would be no charges filed against us. Despite this vindication, Marla’s blood pressure went through the roof. Tony Royce, the man she loved, had deceived her, stolen her money and her heart, and killed people. And her loving brother-in-law had died trying to help her. Her cardiologist ordered her to spend a week in the hospital for tests. For once, too weary to protest, she allowed herself to be admitted, but talked her way into an early discharge so she could come with us to Bo’s memorial service.
A week later, the five of us-Tom, Arch, Marla, Macguire, and I, took on the responsibility of scattering the general’s ashes. As his wife’s ashes were scattered by Bride’s Creek, we decided that would be an appropriate place for Bo’s. We would take a small picnic that would include Bo’s favorite food-chocolate.
The bad weather had come to an end and summer had finally arrived in the high country. On a brilliantly sunny day, we piled into the newly repaired van. Of course, we took Jake, whom I now cherished like a human friend. After all, without Jake’s persistence, we would never have found Tony Royce and broken his chain of crimes. From the knowing, eager expression in the dog’s liquid eyes whenever he looked at me, I knew that he knew I’d had a change of heart toward him. By the creek, we ate liverwurst sandwiches and tomatoes vinaigrette and munched Chocoholic cookies, and talked about our wonderful and dangerous times with General Bo Farquhar.
“He loved us all very much,” Marla said, raising her voice above the thunder of Bride’s Creek, when we’d finished our recollections. Lifting the urn above the water, she emptied the ashes into the raging water.
I said a silent prayer. I’d never known anyone like Bo Farquhar. The world would seem an emptier, less colorful place without him. Even as I thought it, Tom’s fingers closed around mine.
As we turned to go back to the van, Jake flung his head up and howled. Arch tugged on his leash, but the hound wouldn’t budge. Instead, Jake pointed his body in the direction of the pines and howled again, heart- breakingly. Arch shook his head, then squinted at the trees.
“Mom,” he said softly. “Everybody. Look.” We turned. Moving through the sunlit trees was a solitary wisp of vapor. It seemed to have a military bearing.
