Nest in the Ashes (16 page)

At the bedroom door, he braced himself, then flipped on the light. Except for a smear of blood on the carpet leading to the bathroom, the bedroom looked clean. The bed was made. Clothes were picked up and put away. Verbiscar must have been up and in the living room when whatever had happened here happened.

Eric found her in the bathroom, sitting on the tile floor and leaning against the wall. A hand towel wrapped one wrist tourniquet-style, with an X-Acto knife holding the makeshift device in place.

He reached out and pressed his fingers to her neck. There was a faint pulse.

At his touch, her eyes fluttered open. “Eric?” she said, going soft on the
c
.

“What happened to you?” he asked, forcing himself to keep his tone light. From the wound on her wrist, it looked like a suicide attempt. But why start in the kitchen? And why try to stop the bleeding?

“Someone was here,” she said in a slurred voice.

He knew he should tell her not to talk too much, to save her strength. Instead he swallowed and asked, “Anyone I know?”

Verbiscar nodded, almost imperceptibly, then she tried wetting her lips with her tongue.

“Who? Tell me who was here,” he prodded, grabbing a bath towel and forcing her to lie down. He felt guilty for pushing her to answer him.

Verbiscar struggled to get up. “The tape—”

Eric gently held her down. “Don’t try and get up. You’re hurt pretty bad. You’re in shock. If you want the tape, let me get it for you.”

Collapsing on the floor, she sobbed, “It’s gone. The tape is gone.”

“How do you know? Did someone take it?” he asked, checking the tourniquet. She’d done a good job of stopping the bleeding. When he tried looking at the wound, it gushed blood, so he repositioned the tourniquet.

“Did you give it to the person who was here?” he asked, rolling another hand towel for a pillow.

She tried shaking her head, then scrunched her dark eyes against the pain. Opening them, she stared at the tourniquet binding her arm. “I’m bleeding.”

That’s an understatement
. “We’ve called for an ambulance.”

Verbiscar coughed, and a small burbling sound bubbled up from her throat. She moved her unbound arm to cover her mouth, and Eric watched in horror as blood oozed from a slice in her shirt. Grabbing a washcloth, he ripped open her shirt and applied pressure to the wound. What had happened here?

“It’s okay,” he said. “Help is on the way. You just hang in there.”

“He told me to get rid of the tape,” Verbiscar whispered. “I didn’t listen. I never listen.”

“Who?” Eric said. “The person who was here? The person who did this to you?” His mind flashed to the footprints.

Verbiscar’s head lolled to the side, and he felt for a pulse. Thready, but there. Where the hell was the ambulance?

Verbiscar’s eyes fluttered open again. “Eric?”

“I’m right here.”

She wet her lips. “Tell Charlie he was right.”

Eric sat on a
rock one hundred yards from the cabin and watched the paramedics load Linda Verbiscar into a Flight for Life helicopter. It didn’t look good. She was in severe shock by the time the ambulance had arrived, and she’d lost a lot of blood.

Vic had shown up on the heels of the paramedics. The Inn on 34 sat just outside the Elk Park city limits, in the jurisdiction of the sheriff’s office.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he’d said when he found Eric in the bathroom with Verbiscar. “Stick around. I’ll want to talk to you.”

After that, the paramedics had ushered Eric out, and Vic had put Deputy Brill in charge of cordoning off the cabin. Since then, the blood evidence had been trampled and the tracks in front of the house churned into mud.

For the better part of an hour, Eric occupied himself watching mountain bluebirds hunt for insects in the meadow. In the early morning sun, the azure males flitted above the grass like bits of the mountain sky. The females—gray with a blue wash—were harder to spot, hovering like small helicopters, then diving for insect prey. Eric wished he had his binoculars, but they were in the truck, and he didn’t want to go near the cabin. Better to sit on the rock.

Vic stood near the cabin’s front door, speaking to the hotel manager. The stocky sheriff shook the old man’s hand, then turned, hiking up the slope toward Eric.

“Whew,” Vic said, panting by the time he reached the rock. Eric slid over and let him sit down.

“So what happened here, Eric?”

“You want the short version, or the blow-by-blow?”

“The blow.”

“Vell, after you dropped me off, I discovered I had a message from Verbiscar.”

Eric walked the sheriff through the morning. He told him about the tape, about Charlie and Tamara Devlin, about finding Verbiscar. When Eric finished, Vic said, “Whew. I take it the tape is the same one you were talking about last night?”

“Ja.”

Vic stared at Eric. “Do we have any idea what was on it?”

“No. All she told me was that it proved Wayne didn’t light the fire. She wanted me to watch it, to get my reaction on tape. She wanted an interview. I set up the meeting. I never got to see it.” Eric ran his fingers through his hair. “Have you talked to Charlie?”

“He’s next on my list.” The sheriff rested his hands on his knees and drummed his kneecaps with his fingers. “Any idea who or what she might have captured on tape?”

Eric considered the question. “Probably whoever killed Wayne. Doing what, I don’t know.”

“Okay, son, I’ll bite. If, and I mean
if
… we have no proof that he was… but, if Wayne was murdered, who do you think did it?”

Eric nodded, shifting his weight on the rock to look at Vic more easily. “My list is dwindling.”

“I want everyone that ever skimmed it.”

“At first I wondered about Pacey Trent. I thought Wayne planned to call off the burn, and Trent was so set on it happening.”

“But?” prompted Vic.

“Trent couldn’t have done it, based on the timing of the second fire. He was accounted for at all times on the burn site.”

“Go on.”

“Then there’s Nora Frank. She wanted Wayne’s job, and she disappeared for a while during the burn. She was gone almost an hour and had access to the ATVs in the maintenance shed near the burn site.”

“Anyone else?”

“Lark wondered about Jackie.”

Vic cocked his head, donning a thoughtful expression. “She certainly had motive.”

Eric stood up. Talking about Jackie as a suspect made him uneasy. It wasn’t that he even liked her that much. She tended to be prickly and standoffish. But she was Wayne’s wife. Not a surrogate mother in the same way Wayne had served as a surrogate father, but more like a tolerated family member. Someone you afforded loyalty by virtue of relationship.

Eric jammed his hands in his pockets. “Why do you say that?”

“The investigation team got Wayne’s autopsy report back,” Vic said, sitting up straight and stretching his legs out in front of him. “Wayne had Alzheimer’s disease.”

Eric’s stomach muscles tightened. He felt like he’d been gut-kicked.

“It explains a lot about his recent behavior,” Vic said. “And it seems to have solidified the case against him.”

Alzheimer’s
. “Did Jackie know?”

“I would assume so. He’d been seeing a doctor in Denver for the past year.”

“Wayne might not have told her.”

“Maybe. Except, you know what they say, if you can worry about having Alzheimer’s, you don’t have it. It’s usually a family member who recognizes that something’s wrong.”

Eric wondered why Jackie had lied to him. To protect Wayne? Or to protect herself and Tamara? A diagnosis like that could have forced Wayne into an early medical retirement, which would have cut his benefits.

“Anyway, I crossed her off the list because I talked to her at home twice the morning Wayne died.”

“By telephone?”

“Why?”

“Phones can be forwarded.”

“She was at home,” Eric said. “Besides, Lark saw her in the Warbler at nine-thirty. She wouldn’t have had time to get up on the mountain and back.”

Vic cocked his head, then after a moment or two, said, “You got any more on your list, or are we through?”

“There are four more,” Eric said. “The two boys from the Youth Camp—ruled out because of the fusees. They would have used one of Wayne’s to start the Eagle Cliff Fire. And at the very least, they would have stolen the ones he had on the mountain.”

Vic grinned. “You’ve got them pegged.”

“Then there’s Forest Nettleman and Gene Paxton.”

Vic frowned at the mention of Nettleman. “What’s Forest got to do with this?”

Eric pushed his hands deeper into his pockets, playing his fingers along the seam at the bottom. “He’s anti-burn, but you know Forest. For him, the end sometimes justifies the means.”

Vic nodded.

“He and Linda Verbiscar were working together, producing an IMAX-style movie for the center. The film needed fire footage. Verbiscar even hit the list before…”

Vic slapped his thighs and stood up. “And Paxton’s motive is self-explanatory. The insurance money.”

“I don’t think either one of them has an alibi.”

Vic’s eyes narrowed. “You leave the investigating to me. Do you hear me?” He pointed his finger at Eric. “After what happened here tonight, it’s obvious someone got too close to the truth.”

Eric let the order hang and laced his next words with sarcasm. “Aren’t you worried about jurisdiction?”

“Covered,” Vic said, jerking his head toward the cabin. “I’m serious, Eric. Stay out of it.”

Eric waited for his frustration to dissipate, then asked, “Did you see all the tracks?”

Vic’s eyes narrowed. “What tracks?”

“They were all over the place,” Eric said. “Footprints and ATV tracks, both in front and in back.” As he spoke the words, Eric realized what had happened. The sun had come up. The sun had warmed the earth and obliterated the evidence, just like the paramedics had obliterated the evidence while rescuing Linda Verbiscar.

Eric slumped back down on the rock. “I’m tired.”

“Me too,” Vic said.

Eric hung around until Vic finished interviewing Charlie and Tamara. The cameraman admitted knowing about the tape but denied knowing who or what was on it. Tamara didn’t know anything. She simply cried and begged them not to tell her mother where she’d been.

Lark heard the knock and considered hiding. She was content to be ensconced at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and the morning paper. She was comfortable in her flannel pajama bottoms and T-shirt. She contemplated ignoring the summons, then caved in. It was probably Velof with the crisis du jour.

Padding across the sun-warmed linoleum, she flung open the door and was surprised to find Eric leaning against the door frame. Self-consciously she fingered her braid, still feathered from last night’s sleep. “Good morning,” she said.

“Morning.” His eyes took assessment of her attire. “Any chance for a cup of coffee?”

“Sure, it’s already made.” When he stepped inside, she noticed the blood on his hands. “Oh my God, Eric. You’re bleeding.”

The concern in her voice seemed to embarrass him. “No, it’s not mine.”

“Then whose is it?” she asked, horrified by the streaks of red blood smearing his hands. “I’d say it’s a good thing I know you.”

He laughed, a tight, strained release that tugged at her heart. “It’s Linda Verbiscar’s blood.”

“Oh, in that case… follow me.” She led him to the laundry room and pointed to the wash tub. “What happened?”

“You want the short version or the blow-by-blow?”

He gave her the short version while she poured him a cup of coffee.

“So, let me get this straight,” she said, peeling bacon strips into a skillet on the stove. “Linda Verbiscar claimed to have a tape that proved Wayne didn’t light the Eagle Cliff Fire.”

“Right.”

“The tape is missing.”

“Right again.”

“She’s in the hospital—

“And may not pull through.”

“And no one knows what was on it.”

“You’ve got it.”

“So who do you think took it?” Lark asked, grabbing an onion out of the wooden bread bowl on the counter. Slicing the ends off, she peeled its skin into the trash.

Eric crossed to the stove. “Nora Frank. Forest Nettleman. Or Gene Paxton,” he said, turning the strips of bacon in the pan.

Lark’s eyes teared from chopping the onion, and she flipped on the cold water, rinsing her hands. “Linda Verbiscar wouldn’t have been stupid enough to try blackmailing someone, would she?”

“There were others who knew about the video. She wanted interviews.”

The smell of bacon permeated the air. Lark’s mouth watered. Drying her hands, she broke four eggs into a bowl, added a splash of milk, and whisked the mixture into a yellow froth. “Do you know who else she called?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“How about Charlie? Did she confide in him?”

“She asked me to tell him he was right.”

Popping two slices of bread in the toaster, Lark grabbed plates and glasses from the cupboard and carried them to the table. “Tell me Vic is at least going to check out Paxton and Nettleman.”

“Ja,” replied Eric, taking the bacon out of the skillet. “Do you want the onions in here?”

Lark nodded. “There’s a can for the grease under the sink.”

Eric rooted around under the sink, drained the grease into the can he found, and tossed the onions into the skillet. “Vic said he was going to ask some questions. From what he told me, it would be hard to convince a judge to issue a search warrant only on the basis of hearsay evidence.”

“What about the tracks you saw around the cabin?”

“Gone with the morning sun. Any that might have survived, the emergency crew had pretty well trampled.” Eric stirred the onions, then added the eggs. Lark carried the bacon to the table.

After they had juggled everything to the table—toast, jelly, butter, juice, eggs, and silverware—and sat down across from each other, Lark slathered a piece of toast with jelly and asked, “So what’s your next step?”

“You know me pretty well.”

“Yeah, well, that has its good and bad points.”

He grinned at her, his brown hair rumpled from being outdoors, his blue eyes twinkling. “More good than bad, I hope.”

Lark felt her face flush. Considerably more good, she thought, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. Their friendship was moving toward something else, but slowly, and she was content with the pace. His friendship mattered to her, and she didn’t want to jeopardize that friendship by reading romance in where it didn’t belong.

“I told you about the fusees, right?” Eric asked.

Lark nodded, taking a bite of her toast.

“Then there’s the missing psychrometer.”

Lark set down her toast. “It didn’t turn up in the truck?”

“No.” Eric shook his head. “He had a special one he carried, and it wasn’t in the office. I Jackie asked about it, and she didn’t even know what I was talking about.”

“Then where is it?”

“I think it’s up on Eagle Cliff Mountain.” Eric pushed the eggs around on his plate with the fork. “The investigation team issued a quick report on what happened. I think they went up there with some preconceived notion of what they’d find and overlooked something.”

“Are you going up there” Lark asked.

“Ja,” he said, taking a mouthful of eggs.

“I’ll go with you.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Eric said, pushing away his plate. “Not after what’s happened to Verbiscar. Someone’s frightened, and I don’t want you getting in the way.”

Lark placed her napkin on the table, then stood up to clear the dishes. “In the way of what?”

“You know what I mean, Lark.” His eyes riveted on hers. “It might be dangerous.”

“For you too.” She reached for his plate. “Besides, you’re forgetting something. We don’t know anything.”

“Yet,” he replied.

After cleaning the kitchen, Lark telephoned the Drummond and told Stephen Velof that she wasn’t coming in. Eric called Nora. He hadn’t expected her to answer, but she picked up on the first ring.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our local celebrity,” she said.

Apprehension stirred in his guts. “What are you talking about, Nora?”

“Don’t be modest, Eric. I’d guess by now everyone in Elk Park has heard about your early morning adventures. How does it feel to be a hero?”

His mind scrambled, trying to figure out what she knew and how she knew it. When he didn’t respond, she continued. “KEPC-TV Morning News. They did an in-depth report on Linda Verbiscar and showed a great picture of you sitting on a rock. You looked appropriately dejected and everything.” There was a pregnant pause. “Just to satisfy my curiosity, Eric, do you mind filling me in on how you ended up the rescuer?”

Her tone implied impropriety, and the insinuation annoyed him. As far as he knew, the only ones who’d been playing around at the inn were Tamara Devlin and Charlie.

“No comment,” he said, choosing not to engage.

“Smart man,” Nora said, “considering the buzz is you’re the prime suspect.”

He visualized her leaning into the conversation, her elbows planted on the gray metal desk in Wayne’s office. Nora hadn’t wasted a moment moving in. Eric’s grip tightened around the receiver. If Nora was trying to bait him, she was doing a good job.