Double Blind (12 page)

“Your mom loves you. You know that don’t you?”

Shelby looked down at her feet. “I guess.”

“She does. Maybe more than you realize.”

“Then, why does she pick at me all the time?”

“Because she’s afraid.”

Shelby looked up. “Afraid? Of what?”

“Of losing you.”

“What?”

“She believes that you chose your father over her. She fears that you will grow up and go on with your life and she won’t be part of it. She fears you aren’t getting the guidance you need and that you might get in trouble in LA. And she fears Tiffany will become more of a mother to you than she is.”

“That’s not true.”

“Have you told her that? Told her that you love her? Told her that she will always be part of your life?”

“No. But, she knows that.”

“How does she know? Look Shelby, I don’t want to preach at you or anything like that, but look at your mother’s position. Your father left her. Rejected her. For another woman. A younger woman. And you left her to live with your dad.”

‘That’s not it. I just want to stay in LA with my friends. She’s the one that left and came here.”

“She may have left geographically but don’t you see she feels that your father and you left her emotionally? She felt…she feels like a castaway. Can you see that?”

“But, that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” When Shelby didn’t respond, Sam continued. “Just think about it. And give her a hug every now and then. OK?”

“OK.”

Casa Grande.

Casa Muy Grande
would be more like it Sam thought as the huge estate came into view.

The expansive, multilevel, rambling log and stone home sat at the end of and well above Gold Creek Road in the deepest part of the valley. From its perch, it commanded a view of the entire valley floor and in the distance the town itself. A serpentine gravel driveway, curbed by a fence of artfully placed boulders and logs, ascended the slope through manicured grounds and ended at a circular flag-stone parking area and a soaring porte-cochere. A stone stairway led to two massive wooden doors flanked by 20-foot tall stained glass panels that extended upward to a sharply slanted roof.

As they climbed the steps, one of the doors opened and a thin attractive Hispanic woman smiled at them.

“
Hola
,” she beamed, stepping back, allowing them to enter.

If the exterior was impressive, the interior was stunning. The walls of the cavernous entry foyer were of intricately cut redwood marquetry and held several tastefully framed Chagalls, Rockwells, and Remingtons. A ten-foot diameter multi-tiered crystal chandelier seemed to float overhead, while two curving stairways rose to a second floor catwalk.

“I’m Carmelita,” the woman said. “Mr. Eagan is on the back patio.”

They followed her through a dining hall, dominated by a rustic table--a thick slab of polished oak surrounded by twelve chair--and then through a kitchen that was larger than Sam’s house and equipped better than most restaurants. Copper pots of every size and shape hung from the ceiling. French doors and windows welcomed the daylight and opened onto a broad flagstone patio. Beyond lay an Olympic sized swimming pool and a low hacienda style cabana. Further still, a densely treed slope provided a lush background.

Carmelita pushed open one of the doors and Sam, Alyss, and Shelby stepped out onto the patio, which was flanked and partially shaded by two soaring spruce trees.

Burt stood from his chair at one of several circular patio tables and greeted them. “Welcome,” he said.

“Your home is beautiful,” Sam said

“I’ll give you the nickel tour when we get back from our ride,” Burt said. He looked at Shelby. “You look different.”

“Yeah. Aunt Sam dressed me for the occasion.”

“You look like a regular cowgirl,” Burt said. “Can I get any of you something to drink before we take off? Coffee? Soft drinks?”

“No, thanks,” Sam said. Alyss and Shelby shook their heads.

“OK. Let’s go.”

They climbed into Burt’s black Range Rover and drove the half-mile to the stables, where a Hispanic man, wearing a broad straw hat, met them. He stood between two sleek sorrels.

“This is Carlos Juerta,” Burt said. “He runs the stables for us. You met his wife Carmelita at the house.”

Carlos smiled and offered a brief nod.

“Who do you have saddled for us today, Carlos?” Burt asked.

“For the ladies,” Carlos said, “Betty and Chastity.” He extended one set of reins to Sam and laid the other set across Alyss’ open palm. He then walked back into the stables and reappeared leading a muscular, black Arabian with a nearly perfect white diamond on his forehead. “And for the senorita, Storm.”

“Oh,” Shelby said. “He’s beautiful.”

Storm snorted and bobbed his head in apparent agreement. Shelby stroked his neck, causing him to nuzzle his cheek against her.

“He seems to like you, too,” Burt said.

They mounted up, Burt riding his stocky roan Allegro, and headed off over the rolling terrain.

For someone who had been on a horse only twice and never in an open range, Shelby had no problem. She and Storm zigzagged through the meadow, racing ahead, before circling back only to trot off in a different direction. Sam, Alyss, and Burt rode at an easy pace, saying little, absorbing the beauty of the valley.

Sam moved ahead of them to keep an eye on Shelby and to allow Burt and Alyss the privacy to talk if they wanted. She could tell from they way they looked at each other that chemistry had begun to work its magic.

Sam crested a rise in the meadow and was rewarded with a view of an expansive meadow of green and gold grasses, dotted with flowers of red, purple, and yellow, and a few hundred yards ahead, a clear blue lake. Its mirror-like surface reflected the few cottony clouds that drifted across the valley.

Burt and Alyss rode up beside her and reined in their horses. “What do you think?” he asked.

“Incredible. Nothing like home,” Sam said.

“That’s why I live here,” he said.

“It is intoxicating.”

“You should think about moving here. Wade could use some help and we can always use another pretty lady.”

“Thanks,” Sam smiled. “You and Chief Wade good friends?”

“Good enough,” he grinned. “I could put in a word for you.”

An invitation to the boy’s club, Sam thought. “It’s tempting. But my boss, Sheriff Charlie Walker, would hunt me down if I didn’t come back.”

Burt laughed. He nudged his horse forward, toward where Shelby sat astride Storm near the lake’s edge. Alyss followed.

Sam watched them move away. Somehow she couldn’t picture Burt and Wade as friends. Burt was obviously educated, worldly, and charming; Wade more a good old boy. A political alliance, money and the law, she could see, but buddy-buddy didn’t seem to fit.

She twisted in her saddle, first one way and then the other, and took in the scenery, every direction another beautiful vista. No, this was nothing like home.

As she admired the multi-colored peaks to the south, a movement caught her eye. Something dark, moving through the forest, high, near the tree line. She looked closer, but whatever it was had melted into the background. Maybe she hadn’t really seen anything. Maybe it was a bear. Or Billy. He had said he was headed up there somewhere.

Sam urged Chastity forward and caught up to the others. “Are there any bears around here?” Sam asked.

Burt nodded. “We see them occasionally. They mostly stay out of sight. Hide in the trees. They’ll come down and hunt in the meadows or drink from the streams from time to time.”

“What kind?”

“Black bears.”

“No Grizzlies?”

“Not in Colorado. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

“Don’t worry,” Burt said. “They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”

“I doubt that,” Alyss said.

“How much of this land is yours?” Sam asked.

“I have about two thousand acres. Hollis Larsen, my business partner, has about a thousand. And we jointly own nearly two thousand more.”

“Quite a spread,” Sam said.

Burt pointed toward town at a rocky outcropping near the base of the northern slopes. “Stretches from that ridge,” he turned Allegro in a tight circle and swept his arm in a 180-degree arc, “to near where that waterfall drops.”

Alyss had been right, Sam thought. Burt did own most of the valley.

“I’m disoriented,” Alyss said. “Where are we?”

Burt laughed. “This valley’s so deep and narrow that unless you know the subtle differences in the surrounding peaks, it’s easy to get turned around in here.” He twisted slightly in his saddle and pointed to a V-shaped groove in the mountains. “See that notch there?”

“The one right above town?” Shelby asked.

Burt nodded. “That’s where Highway 550 cuts through. That’s west.”

Alyss stood in her stirrups and pointed. “So, my place is over there?”

“That’s right,” Burt said. “About a mile as the crow flies over that little rise.”

“Who owns the land between yours and Alyss’?” Sam asked.

“Billy Bear Wingo. He owns about five hundred acres. Left to him by his old man.”

“That explains it,” Sam said.

Burt raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“I jogged through there yesterday.” Sam indicated the area to the west, toward Billy’s ranch. “I bumped into Billy.”

“What’d you think of him?”

“Huge.”

Burt laughed. “He is that.”

“Seemed nice enough,” Sam added.

“First impressions can be deceiving.”

“Oh?”

Burt raised his Stetson, ran his fingers through his blonde hair, and reseated the hat with a tug front and rear. “Let’s just say, Billy has always had a little problem with authority. He can be a handful.”

“I hear he’s had a few fights,” Alyss said.

“More than a few,” Burt said.

“I’d suspect a guy the size of Billy attracts challengers often enough,” Sam offered. “You know, guys feeling their testosterone, trying to whip the local bad boy. I see it all the time back home.”

Burt stared off at the peaks as if in thought.

“Do you think Billy had anything to do with Mr. Varney’s murder?” Sam asked.

“Don’t know. Wouldn’t surprise me though. Billy has a legendary temper.”

“So, Varney may have surprised Billy and...”

“Something like that.” Burt eyed her. “I’d bet you’re a good cop.”

“I try.”

“That’s why you should move here and work with Wade.”

“I must admit, I can think of worse places to live.”

They continued their ride, circling the lake. As they reached the apex of a gentle rise, Sam spotted a low cinder-block building with a metal roof. It sat in the deepest recess of the valley, well below Burt’s home, and backed against the eastern slopes. It was partially obscured by a grove of aspen trees, whose leaves scintillated in the wind.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“My lab,” Burt said.

“Lab? For what?”

“Hollis and I built it after we sold our pharmaceutical company. To continue some of the basic research we had going. Dr. Edgar Locke. You know him?”

Sam shook her head.

“Nominated for a Nobel several years back. Anyway, he ran it until he had a stroke about eighteen months ago. It’s been pretty much dead since then.”

“What kind of research?” Alyss asked.

“Fairly basic stuff. We can’t compete with the big boys, but we thought we might be able to contribute something anyway. At least that was the plan.”

“What do you mean by basic stuff?” Sam asked.

“You are the curious type,” Burt said.

“Like the proverbial cat,” Alyss added.

Burt laughed. “Nothing Earth shaking. You’ll probably find it boring, but I’ll tell you all about it when we get back to the house, if you want.”

After they returned the horses to the stables, where Carlos awaited them, they drove back to the house. Burt gave them a tour. A partial one anyway. The rambling home was simply too expansive to take in at one time. Ten bedrooms, 14 baths, a study, a gym, and an entertainment room complete with a wall sized screen, overhead projector, and theater seating.

“I love old movies,” Burt said. “Especially westerns and fifties and sixties sci-fi. Never outgrew either.”

They returned to the patio, now deeply shaded by the spruces. Carmelita appeared with a plate of homemade taquitos and a frosted pitcher of lemonade. The pitcher and the four matching glasses were exquisitely cut crystal.

Sam picked up one of the glasses and examined it. “These are beautiful,” she said.

Burt smiled. “Waterford. They belonged to my parents.”

Sam ran her fingers along the deep grooves, each perfectly cut. She pictured an old Irishman with gnarled and calloused fingers hunched over a workbench, a roaring fire in the background.

Carmelita poured the lemonade. “How was your ride?” she asked.

“Great,” Shelby said as she snatched a taquito from the tray. “We saw some deer and a pair of foxes. Oh, and a bobcat.”

“A bobcat?” Carmelita said. “You are lucky then. They don’t show themselves very often.”

“He was cute,” Shelby said. “Little tufts on his ears and that tiny little tail. I’ve never seen one before. Except at the zoo.”

Carmelita smiled. “Anyone want
cerveza
?” she said.

Everyone declined.

“Let me know if you need anything else.” Carmelita disappeared into the house.

Burt stretched open his hand and then balled it into a fist, frowning.

“Hurt your hand?” Sam asked.

“Arthritis. One of the prizes for getting older. Hands, knees, back.”

Sam flexed her own hands. Still painful and slightly stiff. The thought that boxing might not be healthy for her joints crossed her mind. “I know the feeling,” Sam said.

“You’re too young for arthritis,” Burt said.

“She fights,” Alyss said.

Burt raised an eyebrow.

“Boxing,” Sam said.

“You? You hardly look the type.”

“I’ve been at it about a year. Had three bouts.”

“Won them all by knock out,” Alyss said.