Crunch Time

Ice formed in my chest. “That poor man. Why do you suppose he kept on working, doing investigations?”

“Some people don’t want others to know they’re terminal, because they don’t want pity. The investigations were probably what was keeping him alive. They were giving him a sense of purpose.”

“And we don’t know where his files are.”

“Except for the one with his will, they burned, Miss G. Forgot to tell you. The fire guys said Yolanda’s seventeen K is toast, too.”

I sighed. “Still, I know that money’s an issue. Why Humberto gave it to her, and what she’s going to do now, besides work for me. But with the filing: Wouldn’t Ernest have had a backup system of some sort?”

“Not necessarily. Ernest was old-school.” Tom exhaled. “Speaking of which, his former partner, John Bertram, isn’t in very good shape. Not because of Ferdinanda whacking him, but because he didn’t know Ernest was sick. He’s having a hell of a dose of survivor’s guilt, I can tell you. We’re having a get-together at their house on Thursday night, you know, the way we do. We’re going to share our recollections of Ernest—”

“I want to help,” I interjected. “And I’m sure Yolanda and Ferdinanda will want to, too. Did John Bertram even know that two women were living in Ernest’s house?”

“Nope. But remember, Yolanda and Ferdinanda hadn’t been there that long.” Tom exhaled. “You might as well know the rest. It looks like Ernest’s body was moved. He was shot in the chest, near the fire road that goes behind John Bertram’s garage. Then he was pulled out of sight of the main road, behind a boulder. As far as we can tell, Ernest wasn’t armed.”

“What was he doing back there?”

“We don’t know. There’s no path going from his house to where we found him. Our theory is that he heard or felt someone following him along the main road, so he ducked down the fire department’s wide dirt trail, which most people don’t even know about. Then when he thought he was safe, he started walking back toward the main road. Whoever was waiting for him jumped out and shot him with a thirty-eight.”

“Shell casings?”

“They’re working on a match now.”

I said, “Were there defensive wounds? I mean, if Ernest struggled with our bald guy, and the bald guy wanted to know what Ernest was up to or what he had discovered, maybe the perp would have tortured him.”

“No defensive wounds. His wallet and anything else he had on him are gone. But it wasn’t a burglary, apparently, or somebody wouldn’t have thought to come back to torch his house. We’re thinking the motive was to shut him up. About what, we don’t know yet.”

“What about Humberto? Does he have an alibi?”

“More or less. His guards are vouching for him, but our guys who interviewed them say they had rum on their breath, and it’s clear they spend most of their time down in the gatehouse that’s outside the high fence surrounding Humberto’s property. So that may not mean much. No matter what, there’s not evidence for a warrant. Kris Nielsen claims he was having brunch in Denver. He paid cash and kept the receipt.”

“Oh, that reminds me. Something else about Kris Nielsen. This summer, he called Father Pete and said he was trying to get an elderly woman involuntarily committed to an institution. The woman sounded like Ferdinanda, and it made me wonder more about Kris Nielsen.”

Tom exhaled. “He has financial resources, no question. As does Humberto Captain. We just don’t know what we’re dealing with here. Plus, we don’t yet know if Marla’s story about Brie Quarles is true, but we’re going to talk again to Brie. Our guys are still checking the scene and Ernest’s house, or what’s left of it. Maybe they’ll find something.”

“I hope so.” A cramp had spread from my chest to the pit of my stomach. Ignoring it, I asked, “How about the pictures you took of the puppies? Did you get any information from one of our town veterinarians?”

Tom sighed. “This past summer? A hiker brought a small beagle puppy that was bleeding into one of our local guys. The puppy was female but hadn’t been spayed.” Tom paused. “The puppy had some buckshot in its backside.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry, the little gal made a full recovery. The veterinarian offered to put it up for adoption, but the hiker said he wanted to adopt the thing, that it was karma. Or dogma, whichever you prefer.”

“Who would shoot a puppy?” I asked.

“There are bad people out there, Miss G., in case I need to remind you. My question is, what was a puppy doing out on a remote hiking trail? If the hiker hadn’t found her, she would have died, that’s for sure. The vet said the hiker was a real animal lover, and that he went back to the same trail the next day, looking for more casualties. He didn’t find any, but he did hear gunfire.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” My stomach clenched again.

“Miss G., relax,” said Tom, reading my mind. “The vet is going to look through his files to see if he recorded who this hiker was and where he lives. We’ll talk to him.” Tom pulled me closer. “And for now? We’re in our own house, the security system is set, and there are two cops under this roof.”

“I think Boyd is developing an attachment to Yolanda,” I whispered. “That’s not going to screw up the investigation, is it?”

“It didn’t hurt the investigation when I developed an attachment to you when there was an attempted poisoning at a party you catered, now, did it?”

The next morning, we were awakened by the sound of water trickling through our gutters. As quickly as it had come, the evidence of the blizzard was disappearing. I pulled back the curtains and looked outside. The sun shone through sprays of drops, spangling our bedroom wall with rainbows. Melting clumps of snow were already dropping from our street’s pines and aspens, and a recognizable thump on our deck indicated the load of snow on our roof had thawed enough for the whole thing to slide off. Shining rivulets of water snaked down the middle of the street. I was pretty sure Arch would have school. Would Brad be there? Would Tom be able to find Hermie? I wondered.

I also wondered how the fencers’ bald looks would go over.

I didn’t dwell on these thoughts. Instead, more sinister worries surfaced, like memories of nightmares: In the darkness, did the cops get a good enough photo of our would-be burglar’s boot prints to match them absolutely to the ones at Ernest’s house? Did that same guy break into our garage and steal Tom’s gun? And how would the guy know where Tom kept the gun? Who were the three people who came to our door yesterday, and what did they want? And in a buyer’s market, who would purchase the house Jack had gutted, when he’d intended to remodel it and it looked horrible? The house has only been for sale for a few weeks. So what gives with that?

Am I being paranoid, or does someone want to keep an eye on us? If so, why?

The answers to none of these were forthcoming. I allowed the thoughts to drain away as I moved through my yoga routine. The scent of ham drifted up the stairs.

When Tom finished shaving, he came out and sniffed. “Sure smells like someone’s cooking a super breakfast again! When Ferdinanda gets out of her wheelchair, maybe we could move her and Yolanda into our basement.” He winked. “Not that your breakfasts aren’t fabulous, Miss G. It’s just good to have a break now and then.”

“From me?”

“You need a break from cooking. I thought I heard Arch moving around.” His forehead furrowed. “Wonder if anyone woke up Boyd?”

But someone had. In the kitchen, the newly bald Arch sat next to Ferdinanda and across from Boyd and Yolanda. In front of my son was a plate of ham, eggs, and a slab of toasted Cuban bread spread with guava marmalade. He was forking in food while asking Ferdinanda questions.

“So you don’t really inhale the cigar smoke?” he said around a mouthful.

“You inhale it a little,” Ferdinanda replied. “You gotta get the taste.”

Rather too loudly, I said, “Hello?”

“I’m just asking her, Mom.” Arch shoveled in more food, then announced, “I checked online, and we do have classes today. There wasn’t enough snow to close a school of fish. Speaking of pets, how cool are those three puppies, Mom? Why didn’t you tell me about them?”

“We were being foster parents for a day. Father Pete’s coming to get them this morning. Speaking of which,