Hawk Moon (5 page)

He didn't really feel like partying, but he wanted to talk to Taylor alone. She might know more than she was saying. Besides, maybe someone else at the party would know something.

It was quarter to ten when Will arrived at Paige's house on Red Mountain. His mother had tried to convince him to stay home and rest, as the doctor had advised, but when he'd finally promised her he'd be home by midnight and he wouldn't drink anything alcoholic, she'd reluctantly told him to go ahead.

Although it wasn't the first time Will had gone to a party at Paige's, he had trouble finding the turnoff. He passed it once before spotting the narrow drive. It wound upward for a quarter of a mile through towering aspens and pine trees and ended at a parking area next to the palatial house, which was built on four levels and had ten bedrooms and six bathrooms. The enormous picture windows on the top three levels looked out toward Aspen Mountain and the town below. Everyone was gathered in the basement, which included a game room, a swimming pool, Jacuzzi and sauna. Paige's parents were out of town, and Paige had the place to herself.

"Hey, look who's here," Claude Kirkpatrick said when he saw Will. "I didn't think you were going to make it." He threw an arm over Will's shoulder as if they hadn't seen each other for weeks.

"Neither did I," Will said, wondering why Claude hadn't mentioned the party. He saw Aaron Thomas and a couple of other football players and recognized a few other familiar faces. Then he saw Taylor and walked over to her. She moved away from the two girls she was talking to when she saw him.

"Heard anything new about Myra?"

"Just that there's nothing new," she responded. "And I'm getting really worried, Will. I don't understand it."

"I was hoping you might know something else."

To his surprise, Aaron walked up to him, a big grin on his face. He put one hand on Will's shoulder, another on Taylor's. "You know, I always thought you two would make a great couple."

"Why do you say that, Aaron?" Taylor asked. "Because we're the only ones here who aren't white? Do you think that makes us compatible?"

Aaron raised his hands. "Hey, take it easy, Taylor. I'm just complimenting you on your good looks."

"Some compliment."

"You're just upset because you and I didn't hit it off," he said with a wide grin.

"Right." She walked off.

"Hey, chill out, Taylor." Aaron laughed, then leaned close to Will. "What did you do, send Myra to Kansas? I heard she wasn't around."

"I don't know where she is," Will said in an even voice. "You got any ideas, Aaron?"

Aaron grinned like a maniac. His eyes were glazed and hooded as if he'd been drinking, but his breath didn't give off any odor of alcohol. "I just told you mine."

"Why did you tell the coach I called that play?" Will asked.

Aaron straightened his back, tilted his head to the side. "I never told him that. I said
he
made a great call."

"You changed his play and now he thinks I'm the one who did it."

"Hey, that's the play you told me."

"No, it's not."

"What are you complaining about,
Lansa
? That play put you in the record books."

"That's not the point."

"Hey, you're missing out on a lot, you know." Aaron walked away.

Will wasn't sure what Aaron thought he was missing. He looked around for Taylor, but didn't see her. He moved through the crowd, exchanging greetings. He asked about Myra over and over, but no one seemed to know anything.

Most everyone, though, seemed happy—almost too happy. There was a lot of giddy laughter. Smiles seemed to stretch from one ear to the other. "We got some beer, Will," Claude said. "You want one?"

"No, thanks."

Besides the fact that he'd made a promise to his mother, he didn't really care for the taste of beer. He also knew that people of Native American heritage were susceptible to alcoholism. Whether it was genetic or not, he didn't know. But it was enough to make him wary of drinking beer or anything alcoholic.

"So what's your father think of you drinking while he's running for re-election?"

"He doesn't mind if I have a beer at home once in a while." Claude smiled. "And Paige's place is home away from home."

"Where is Paige?"

"In the Jacuzzi. I was going to join her, if I could find where I left my swim suit."

Just then the music on the stereo stopped abruptly and was replaced by the strumming of a guitar. Aaron Thomas was seated on a stool near the fireplace. He played a couple of chords, then started singing.

Listen, Will, ol' buddy,

there's no reason to be mad.

You got your hotshot record

and you made ol' Leadville sad.

Run, run,
Lansa
.

Run, run,
Lansa
.

Listen, Will, ol' pal

about that bump on the head,

Don't take it out on me

'cause I'm the one who said:

Run, run,
Lansa
.

Run, run,
Lansa
.

Several others joined Aaron in the chorus and repeated the verse. In spite of himself, Will couldn't help smiling. Finally, he waved a hand at Aaron and walked over to the wet bar in the game room.

To his surprise, Claude Kirkpatrick was sitting by himself, his head bowed over his beer. "What's wrong, Claude?"

"You know, Aaron's the one who's playing hotshot. Not you. You hear about the band he's going to be playing in? He's the lead singer, of course, and they're going to play some of his songs. I've heard them and I'll tell you, Will, I can write better lyrics."

"Yeah, you probably can."

Will knew Claude had a jealous streak, that he suspected Aaron was trying to steal Paige from him. Still, he was surprised by Kirkpatrick's sudden change in mood.

Claude slid off the stool and straightened his back. "Oh, forget it. Just forget it." He walked away.

Forget what?
Will thought.

Just then the door to the Jacuzzi room opened. Steam filtered out and Paige Davis, wearing a bikini, stepped into the doorway. "Hey, catch! I found my dad's swim suit on the shelf in here." She threw him a pair of khaki trunks. "Oh, Will. I thought Claude was sitting there."

She started laughing, laughing too loud and too long. Then she rocked from side to side, a wide grin on her face, her wet hair plastered against her head and shoulders. "Well, don't just sit there. C'mon and join us."

"Maybe later."

"Oh, this stuff is weird. I feel like I'm melting, you know, like an ice cube." She started laughing again. "Pretty soon there won't be anything left of me." She leaned forward and smiled. Her eyes were all pupil. "I'm melting away."

She ducked back, closing the door, and Will heard her muffled laughter. He set the trunks down on the counter and poured himself a soft drink.

"So Paige couldn't lure you into the Jacuzzi?" Taylor said as she sat on the adjacent stool.

He shrugged. "I guess not."

"I think she's on the Chill."

"What is it?"

"Some kind of new designer drug the Hollywood crowd's into. It's real expensive. Aaron was trying to get me to try it earlier."

"I never heard of it."

"It was around here last summer. There were rumors that it was coming here in a big way, then I never heard anything more about it—until tonight."

"W
ill. Will, wake up, Will."

Marion Connors's voice reached him from far away and pulled him up from a deep sleep. He rubbed his face, blinked his eyes, and looked at the clock on the bed stand. It was seven-fifteen.

"Mom," he said in a gravelly voice, "it's Saturday."

"Will, there's someone here to see you. It's about Myra."

He sat up and saw his mother standing in the doorway wearing a robe. "Did she come home?"

"You better get dressed and come upstairs." The tension in her voice snapped Will wide awake.

He pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and headed for the bathroom. A couple of minutes later, he found his mother sitting at the kitchen table with a woman about her age. She had short blond hair and wore a ski sweater that might have been purchased in the sports clothing shop Will's mother owned.

"Will, this is Stephanie Olsen. She's a detective with the sheriff's office. She wants to ask a few questions."

"What happened to Myra?"

"Sit down, Will." It was more of a command than a request. Her large green eyes searched his face as he eased into a chair.

"We found the minivan in Carbondale. It was stolen by a couple of kids who found it at Ashcroft Thursday night. They say the keys were in the ignition. No one was around, so they took it."

"What about Myra?"

"They claim they never saw her."

"Do you believe them?"

"My feeling after talking with them is that they weren't hiding anything. Neither of them has a history of violence, and they both passed lie detector tests last night."

Will thought about the implications and realized that Detective Olsen probably didn't think that Myra had run away. Something had happened to her, something bad, and Will was a suspect—maybe the only suspect.

"Do you remember Myra wearing a red scarf Thursday night?"

Will thought a moment. "Yeah, but she lost it."

"Oh, how?"

"We were inside one of the buildings. It was dark and Myra got spooked. When she ran out, her scarf came off. She didn't want to go back inside for it."

"Didn't she ask you to go get it?"

"No, she just wanted to leave. Did you find it?" Detective Olsen considered his question a moment before answering. "It was ripped and hanging on the edge of a protruding piece of wood."

Will's mother carried two cups of coffee to the table, one for Olsen and one for herself. She gave Will a glass of orange juice.

Olsen thanked her, then continued her questions. "What kind of mood were you in when you went back to the parking lot?"

Will felt uneasy about the questions, even though he had nothing to hide. "We just talked for a while before we left."

"Before you left. You told the sheriff you didn't see Myra leave."

"Right."

Olsen stared at him as if she were looking inside him. "Did you tell her you didn't want to see her anymore?"

A beat passed.
How could she know?
Of course: He'd mentioned it to Claude, and he'd told his father. "Yeah, we broke up."

"Why didn't you tell that to the sheriff yesterday?" Will shrugged. "I didn't think it was important."

"Will," his mother said, “of course that could be important. Myra was upset."

He shook his head. "Maybe. But I don't think she'd run away, especially not without the minivan."

"Unless she went with someone else," Detective Olsen said as she jotted down something in her notebook. "How'd she get along with her parents?"

"As far as I know, everything was fine at home." Olsen never took her eyes off Will. "But things weren't so good between the two of you?"

Will stared into the glass of orange juice. "It just wasn't going anywhere. I think she knew it, too."

Will's mother came to his support. "Kids at this age usually don't have long-term, stable relationships. There's nothing unusual about—"