Double Shot

Even so, I was sure I detected a note of fear in his voice. “There are a couple of cops here at Todd’s. They want me to…” His words dissolved in a storm of static.

“What? Arch? Arch!” The cell phone was silent.

Tom left Blackridge and approached me. “They need Arch’s and your help.” A note of authority underlay his soothing voice, and this made me uneasy. “You don’t have to go with them, and neither does he. But I think it would be a good idea.”

“They need our help for what, Tom?” My voice cracked.

My husband’s handsome face softened. “First, you need to know that the firearms test came back. Korman wasn’t killed with bullets from your thirty-eight. They’re from a twenty-two-caliber Ruger.”

“How comforting. So my gun was just dropped by his body?”

“Apparently.”

“Then am I cleared?”

Tom’s green eyes sifted through the gaggle of departing women outside. “Not totally.”

“Tom!”

His mouth turned down at the edges as he returned my gaze. “The GSR test on your hands came back positive. Your weapon was found at the scene. They can’t clear you yet.”

“So their theory is that I used a twenty-two to kill him, but dropped my thirty-eight there because I’m terminally stupid?”

Blackridge coughed, as in hurry up.

Tom took my hand. “They’re hoping you’ll go with them to Korman’s house now. If you want, you can give permission for Arch to be taken there—”

“John Richard’s house?”

Tom paused. “Two men showed up at Korman’s house a few hours ago. A neighbor thought they were investigators. But everyone over in the country-club area is so skittish now, the neighbor called the department to be sure. Our crime-scene guys pulled up stakes yesterday, so the department dispatched a car to investigate. By the time our deputies got there, the place had been ransacked. The pair of vandals making the mess had taken off.” Tom sighed. “But they weren’t just vandals. They were looking for something.”

“Besides money-laundering, what was John Richard up to?” I shook my head. “I mean, it must have been something big.”

“Our guys don’t think the murder was a professional hit. Still, they have to try to figure out if the vandals took anything, and if they did, what it was.”

“Tom, please! I haven’t spent any time in that house.”

“No, but Arch has.” I snorted, but Tom went on: “Sandee the stripper can’t leave the Rainbow now to help them out. This afternoon, she’s dancing or whatever it is she does. So our guys are looking to Arch and you. And, since Arch is a minor, you have to be there.”

Desperation rose in my throat. “I don’t want Arch to have to look at his dead father’s house, especially if it’s been trashed. It could be too much trauma for him to absorb.”

Tom put his arm around me. “Why don’t we go outside?” He held up his hand to Blackridge, indicating that he didn’t want us to be bothered.

Outside, I said, “I don’t know, Tom.”

He held me tight. “I understand. Whether you two do this or not is up to you. I’m not going to pressure you, don’t worry. You’re the mom.”

A sudden breeze washed down from the pines above the golf course, bringing the scent of smoke. Despite the recent hailstorm, the second forest fire the women had mentioned at that morning’s breakfast seemed to be gaining. Fear lurched around in my chest: fear of fire, fear for Arch again being overwhelmed by grief. And something else: I was afraid to go into John Richard’s rental house. Tom always said he could pick up the emotions of a homicide victim at the scene: the panic, the terror. I was worried for Arch, yes. I was also worried about myself.

“Tom, are you sure they don’t suspect me of breaking in?”

“You’re not two guys.”

“Right.” Still, I hesitated. My interrogation at the department had been no fun. The visit from Blackridge, when I’d given him the letter Cecelia had mailed me, had been very much less than delightful. “You’re sure this isn’t a trap? Blackridge trying to get me to say something incriminating? ‘Whoops! There’s my butcher knife I dropped here, too!’ ”

Tom shook his head. “He pulls that kind of stunt, he knows I’ll make his life hell.”

As if on cue, Blackridge approached us. “Mrs. Schulz, please,” he begged. “Your ex-husband’s place is a wreck. If we can develop leads from the scene, we’ll have a much better chance of closing this case.”

“I want to talk to my son first. This might be too hard for him. If he doesn’t want to go into his father’s house, I’m not going to make him.” I softened my tone. “You do understand, don’t you?”

Blackridge pursed his lips and nodded.

“And I want my lawyer there,” I added.

“We already called him.” Blackridge seemed eager to please, like a puppy dog that’s pooped inside and now wants to be pals. “Motley’s meeting us at Korman’s house,” he added.

“All right,” I said. “Just a minute.” I checked the tent. A few stragglers were disassembling the centerpieces and helping pick up trash. When I got back to the parking lot, I said, “I want to go over there in my own van. If I go in a police car, everyone will think I’ve been arrested.”

“Suit yourself,” Blackridge replied.

Tom promised to stay with Julian and Liz until the picnic detritus was cleared and Front Range Rentals had taken down the tent. I climbed into my van, followed Blackridge’s sedan through the clot of departing cars, and gunned the accelerator toward Aspen Meadow Country Club.

Again the smoky wind whipped down from the mountains. Fluffs of dandelion and cottonwood scattered from the road and rolled into a ditch. Dust slammed my windshield, just like on Tuesday afternoon, the last time I’d ventured to John Richard’s house. I took a deep breath and inhaled more smoke.

Just before we turned into the Aspen Meadow Country Club area, my tires chewed into a mound of dirt that had washed onto the highway from a house-construction site. I cursed and hit the brakes, then noticed a group of women ranged on a deck overlooking the club entrance. They were pointing first to Blackridge’s police car, then to my van. They were talking excitedly. Neighborhood watch? Or neighborhood gossips, who’d be paid twenty-five dollars by the Mountain Journal for a news tip? In the absence of Cecelia, folks’ desire for dirty laundry was still unquenchable. And the last thing I wanted was to face more reporters at John Richard’s house.

No other vehicles awaited us in the Stoneberry cul-de-sac. Blackridge signaled for me to park. I pulled into another mound of shiny grit that had washed onto the street. I cut the engine and stared at the street, where glimmering pebbles speckled the drying mud. A fresh wave of dizziness assaulted me. Well, I was most assuredly not going to just sit in my vehicle getting anxious for Arch to arrive. I picked up the cell and dialed Tom.

“The team from the rental company is just starting on the tent,” he informed me. “How are you doing?”

“I’m seeing spots in front of my eyes, so I’m not doing so hot. Speaking of which, have you heard anything about this new fire? I know it’s up in the wildlife preserve.”

“It’s already covered a thousand acres, and they have zero containment.” He yelled directions to somebody who’d called to him, then came back. “I heard something else, though.” My heart plummeted as I imagined the gossips calling the newspaper, the newspaper calling the department, and everyone wanting to know what was going on at Dr. Korman’s house. “It’s about the bullets,” Tom said, his voice terse. “The firearms examiner thought he recognized them from another homicide in Denver. They’re doing the tests now.”

I blinked. “What? A criminal who killed someone in Denver might have also shot John Richard? Have they solved the other homicide?” I looked up the driveway to John Richard’s rental and wondered, Who shot you? What were you doing? Would you not give them what they wanted?

“They haven’t solved the other case. But they’re looking for connections. Look, I gotta go help these people, the wind is making their job tough.”

The call waiting beeped, so I signed off. I hoped it would be Arch. To my dismay, the caller ID read