“If they continued on to Leadville, there would be fluid going that way too.”
She considered my logic for a moment then changed the subject. “Do you think it was those kids?”
“Not unless someone put an automatic from a Nissan in their truck. I don’t think the early Datsuns came with anything but a stick. Mine had a four speed which was a pain in the butt for a kid learning to drive.”
Fred dropped his mouthful of snow at my feet and barked. It was a game we played in the winter, so I scooped it up and made a snowball. He knew how far I’d throw it and was already headed for the spot when I let it sail. It gave me time to fill my baseball cap with a load of the white stuff and head back toward the Jeep. Bonnie followed with her headscarf full of snow, looking like a bag lady that had run out of shopping bags.
I didn’t see the footprints leading away from the road until my second trip back to the snowdrift.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The angle of the setting sun created shadows I hadn’t seen earlier. There were half a dozen footprints in the snow leading north toward the closest hillside. There might have been more, but several vehicles had been through here after the prints were left. I saw deep tire tracks from a heavy truck, and several narrower ones that could only be a motorcycle or ATV. A lot of people used this trail for off-road fun, which explained why most of the footprints had been obliterated. I also knew there had been more than one person because one of the prints was much smaller than the others. Bonnie and Fred watched as I got on my hands and knees to get a closer look.
Fred came over to see what was so interesting. “How about it, boy, think you can find where those footprints go to?” I suspected he thought I’d found something good to eat, but was willing to give him credit for wanting to help.
“Do you think it was those kids?” Bonnie didn’t bother to bend down to our level.
“Maybe, but I can’t help wonder what they were doing over there,” I answered pointing to where the prints led.
Bonnie’s eyes followed the path in the snow. “Well whoever it is, I don’t give a rat’s ass anymore. I’m cold and getting scared we might get stuck up here in that old Jeep of yours. Can we come back and look some other time?” She had dressed in shorts and a thin summer blouse. Great attire for the near eighty temps back in Denver, but nothing a Sherpa would be caught wearing at this altitude.
“My thoughts exactly. And the sooner we head home, the better. Unless they were leaving breadcrumbs from a jelly donut, Fred would never find their scent anyway.”
***
Bonnie and Fred both slept on the way home, which was fine with me. It gave me nearly two hours of quiet solitude to think about how foolish we had been thinking we could simply drive up to Mosquito Pass and find the treasure. We had barely started up the trail and must have seen the remnants of at least two dozen mines. There were probably over a hundred more in the area and any one of them could have been where Drake had hidden his treasure, if there was one. Even Wilson said his book was a work of fiction based on an old news article.
Thinking of Paul Wilson reminded me of the punk kids. What were they doing up there? Had they solved Drake’s riddle within a riddle? The owner of the gas station had said they were only a few hours ahead of us, so unless they went on to Leadville, we should have passed them on our way up Mosquito Gulch as they were coming back. Then again, they could have gone north on Colorado Nine to Breckenridge before we’d made the turn toward the pass. I hoped that was the case, for the road into Leadville was a widow maker in a two-wheel-drive Datsun pickup.
***
Mosquito Pass still bugged me as I sat at my computer Sunday morning working on my how-to eBook. My mind kept drifting while staring at the nearly blank computer screen. I had the title for the chapter, How to Stop Dry Rot Dead, and that was all I had written. I finally shut down the computer and called Fred. Maybe some great revelation would come to me during our walk around the lake.
Like our morning walk, the revelation on dry rot would have to wait. A county Mountie was in my driveway checking out my Jeep. Trouble is, he was checking in the wrong county. His truck said Park County Sheriff and I live in Jefferson County.
“Stay, Fred,” I said, opening the door. Maybe I should have used reverse psychology and said go. He obeyed as well as a teenager and was the first one out the door.
The deputy stopped writing in his notebook long enough to reach down and pat Fred on the head before addressing me. “Is this your Jeep, sir?”
“What I do, Officer? Get caught by a red-light camera or something?”
“Then you must be Jacob Martin,” he said extending his hand. “I’m Officer White from the Park County Sheriff’s Department. I’d like to ask you a few questions about your trip yesterday.”
Fred tired of the chit-chat and went in search of a bush. I invited the officer inside my house once I realized he wasn’t here to arrest me for breaking and entering Appleton’s cabin.
White took in everything the second he stepped through the entrance of my small cabin, including the dirty dishes stacked in my kitchen sink. Even my bedroom door was open, exposing an unmade bed. My bathroom was the only room he couldn’t see because that door was closed. He must have been disappointed if he’d been expecting a meth lab, or stacks of stolen electronics.
I offered him a chair at my kitchen table, facing away from the clutter in the sink and on the counter. “I’ve got a half a pot of coffee from breakfast this morning. I can warm it in the microwave if you care for a cup.”
“No thank you, Jacob. Or do you go by Jake?”
“Everyone, except my ex, calls me Jake. I won’t repeat what she calls me.” I no sooner let it out my mouth when I realized how dumb the cliché sounded. I chalked it up to nerves.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Jake, but we need to follow up all possible leads in a case like this. My brother-in-law owns a service station in Fairplay, and claims a man and older woman with a Golden, like the one that greeted me, stopped at his place yesterday asking questions about a couple kids. My captain was wondering if you saw them on your trip up to Mosquito Pass.”
His brother-in-law? It made me wonder if his captain was some relation too. I thought I’d left nepotism back in the Ozarks. “We didn’t get very far. My Jeep overheated and by the time it cooled off it was too late to go any further. But I can tell you we never saw the kids, or anyone else. Why do you ask? Did they rob a bank or something?”
He missed my futile attempt at humor, and hesitated before answering. It was obvious he was considering his words carefully. “They’ve been reported missing.”
I got up from the table when I heard the microwave beep. I had put a cup in for myself even if he didn’t want one. “Sure I can’t warm you up a cup, Officer?”
“Bob. You can call me Bob, no need to be formal. I only want to ask a few questions.”
I almost laughed when he said his name was Bob, but caught myself in time.
Officer White saw through me. “I know, Jake. I’ve heard more jokes about bobwhites than I can count. My parents had a cruel sense of humor.”
Fred scratched at the door, so I went over to let him in before I made a total fool of myself. “Oh, we did find this,” I said reaching down to rub my hand on Fred’s back. I was too tired to give Fred a bath after our failed treasure hunt and was hoping his swim in the lake would clean off the oil. Now I was glad I hadn’t destroyed what might be evidence.
White looked at my oily hand without touching it. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Transmission fluid. We stopped by a snowdrift and when my dog rolled in the snow, he came up with this. Someone with a leaky transmission had parked at the same spot before us. But I don’t think it was the kids.”