Judy Smith was quite pretty. Percy explained that his "wife's people are from Routt County. Mining. Cattle. Old-timers." Lauren asked if he and Judy had any children.
He replied, "Yeah. Two" 0-kay. In Percy's mind, I guessed that covered the topic.
Percy's life didn't fascinate me enough to continue the conversation in the direction it was heading. I changed the subject back to the issue of the two dead girls.
"What about the man you replaced in Steamboat? What was his name? Barrett? What did he think about the way his investigation concluded?"
"I didn't replace Barrett. Barrett was Routt County sheriff. And he left in ninety-two or ninety-three. I replaced Tim Whitney."
"So you don't know Sheriff Barrett?"
"Didn't say that. Phil Barrett still works for Congressman Welle he's some bigwig on his staff and they both still call Steamboat home. We've crossed paths a few times since I've been in town. Played golf with him once. Man has more slices than a deli. Barrett, not Welle. And he can't putt to save his life." Lauren asked, "Have you discussed the case with him?"
Percy scratched himself on the back of the neck but didn't reply.
Her fork in midair, Lauren persisted.
"I have to wonder how he feels about his work being scrutinized by a bunch of strangers."
I was surprised to observe Percy appear thoughtful. After a moment's contemplation, he said, "Nobody would like this case solved more than Phil Barrett. Well, maybe Mr. Franklin. But after him, Phil Barrett wants the answers the most." Lauren said, "I've been wondering about something else. Was Mr. Barrett the sheriff when Raymond Welle's wife was killed?"
Percy Smith seemed to find the change in direction curious. His eyebrows jumped up and caused the shape of eyes to change from narrow ovals to nickel-sized circles.
"What does that have to do with anything?" Evenly, Lauren said, "It has nothing to do with anything as far as I know. I knew her, that's all. Gloria Welle. I'm just asking."
Percy nodded in a manner that said
"I knew that," although it was apparent that he hadn't been aware of Lauren's connection to the Welles.
"That nastiness happened when Phil Barrett was sheriff. Not a pretty chapter in the congressman's life. Thank goodness I don't have to reopen that one." I said, "I'm not sure what you mean by that."
Percy gestured at Hans as though the man was a waiter in a diner. When Hans hesitated, Percy stared him down until he approached. Percy didn't look toward either Lauren or me when he continued.
"Just that it's solved, that's all. That case had all the pieces this other one doesn't. Witnesses who saw something, forensics that mean something, ballistics that handed us a gun, a motive that made sense-the whole nine yards.
I wish we had some of that going for us with the Franklin case."
"And the Hamamoto case," Lauren added.
"Yeah. That, too. Coffee, Hans. I need sugar." Percy reached into a leather carry-on and removed a paperback copy of Tom Clancy's latest. The book appeared to have been through a war that was fought in a humid climate. Percy folded it open, cracking the spine mercilessly. I guessed he was on page 60 or so.
The night was almost moonless when we glided to a stop at the Yampa Valley airport. Hans preceded Percy off the plane and helped him collect his plentiful luggage.
We were airborne again in minutes, the rolling mountaintops of the Routt National Forest quickly yielding to the sharp rock faces and glacial precipices of the Continental Divide. We'd be zooming down the Front Range in minutes, home in bed, I guessed, within the hour.
Adrienne, our neighbor across the lane, heard us drive up and released our dog out her front door. Emily bounded across the dirt and gravel toward our garage with astonishing enthusiasm. She pounced left, she charged right. Before proceeding farther, she lowered her head and scooped up a stick, shaking it with enough intensity to kill it.
From Adrienne's doorway, we heard a little male voice scream, "Emily! Em-i-ly!
Come back. Come back!"
Lauren called, "Hi, Jonas. She'll come back and see you tomorrow, okay? It's late. It's time for her to go to bed."
He lowered his arms as though he were a bird preparing to fly. He stomped one foot.
"She wants to play. She doesn't want to go to bed."
"Tomorrow, honey. Tell your mom thanks for watching her, okay?"
Jonas flapped his arms again and started to cry. Lauren placed the palm of one hand on her belly and looked at the watch on her other wrist. She shook her head and her face looked rueful. She said, "Gosh, sweets, I hope our baby isn't a night person. I don't know what I'll do."
I let our carry-ons fall from my hands and gave her a hug.
"We'll do fine.
You'll do fine."
She was looking back over my shoulder toward Adrienne's house.
"That's not Erin's car, is it?" Erin Rand was Adrienne's girlfriend-partner of quite a few months, and her first same-sex paramour ever.
I looked and said, "No It's not Erin's. Not unless she won the lottery." Erin was a struggling private detective. The car by Adrienne's front door was a cream-colored Lexus.
Lauren mused, "I haven't seen Erin in a couple of weeks. Do you think she's… I don't know. Do you think they broke up?"
"I don't know either. Adrienne hasn't said anything to me about any trouble in their relationship."
Lauren hooked an arm around my back.
"Its funny, don't you think, that if that car belongs to some new love interest of Adrienne's, that neither of us really has a clue what the gender of the driver might be?"
"I bet girl," I said without any confidence.
"That looks like an estrogen-colored Lexus."
"Estrogen-colored? What the hell does that mean? No. That's an androgynous Lexus. And I bet boy," Lauren countered, holding out her hand for a shake.
"Bet?
Let's say the loser cooks and cleans up dinners for a week."
"What about take-out or restaurants?"
"No more than twice."
"Why do you think Adrienne's gone back to seeing a guy? Do you know something I don't know?"
She spun me at my shoulders and pointed me toward the front door.
"Gosh, Alan, I certainly hope so."
PART TWO. The Two Dead Girls
Monday morning came around just when it was supposed to. After some weekends that simple occurrence surprises me. This was one of those.
I drove across town to my Walnut Street office to see my 8:15 patient. Lauren took her own car into town, heading up Canyon Boulevard to the Justice Center for a meeting with the coroner's chief assistant. Their meeting was to discuss his testimony in a trial scheduled for that afternoon. She was doubtful that the case was going to plead out.
My patients all showed up at their appointed times. None of them threw me any curveballs that I couldn't hit and I was home in time for dinner.
Neither Erin's old Saab nor the cream-colored Lexus had reappeared in front of Adriennes house across the lane, and neither Lauren nor I had been brave enough to inquire about the current state of fluctuation of our neighbor's sexual orientation. Lauren and I were still sharing dinner chores, our bet unresolved.
For me Tuesday began like Monday. I had four patients to see before lunch, three afterward. I was hoping to get home early enough to indulge in a long bike ride on the country roads that crisscrossed the rapidly disappearing open prairie of eastern Boulder County. Lauren had given the opening statement in her child-abuseresultingin-death case on Monday afternoon and was due to call her first witness at 9:30 on Tuesday morning. She thought the trial would last through Wednesday at least but had grown more hopeful about settlement and half expected a plea conference during the lunch recess. She considered the first three witnesses in her case to be lethal to the defense and expected to get them all in before noon. She also suspected that her adversary at the defense table would blink.