Hawk Moon (6 page)

Olsen patted the air. "Oh, I know, Ms. Connors. I've got a daughter who's a freshman at the University of Colorado this fall and a son who's fourteen. Believe me, I know."

She pushed away from the table. "Will, I understand you drive a Jeep Wrangler. Is it the one in the driveway?"

"Yeah."

"Would you mind if I take a look inside it?"

He shrugged, glanced at his mother, then back at Olsen. "I don't mind."

They walked outside, and he unlocked the driver's door of the red Wrangler. He opened it and stepped aside for the detective. There were a couple of notebooks on the backseat, but the vehicle was otherwise empty.

The Jeep had been waiting for him when he'd returned to Aspen at the end of the summer. It was a birthday present from his mother. He appreciated it, of course, and had thanked her profusely, but after several weeks on the Hopi reservation, he couldn't help feeling guilty about the ease with which such costly gifts came to him.

He had come home with a new perspective on his life and his family's wealth. He had never thought of himself as a rich kid, especially since so many kids in town were from families with a lot more money. But after his summer's experience, he knew there was no comparing his life in Aspen with that of a Hopi kid on the reservation.

For a while, he'd actually considered living with his father. At least he'd considered what it would be like, and he knew it would mean leaving behind not only his friends and family but also his way of life. The adjustment would require a commitment that he wasn't ready to make.

Detective Olsen seemed most interested in examining the rugs on the floor of the Jeep and in the rear compartment. Will and his mother watched from a distance. "Does she really think I had something to do with Myra's disappearance? I wouldn't do anything to hurt her."

Marion put a hand on his shoulder. "Of course you wouldn't. She's just doing her job."

"Will?" Olsen called to him.

He walked over, and she asked him to open the glove compartment. "I don't think it's locked," he said. "I usually don't bother."

"I'd like you to open it, please. But you don't have to, if you don't want to, you know."

"It's okay." Will popped it open. Inside was a pack of gum, a receipt from the hardware store, a tire pressure gauge, and an empty leather sheath.

Olsen pointed at the sheath. "What is that?"

"My grandfather gave me a knife, a Buck knife for Christmas. But—"

"Did you take it out?"

His throat constricted. "I don't think so. No, I didn't."

"When was the last time you saw it?"

"Maybe a week ago. I checked the air pressure on my tires when I filled up with gas."

He stared at the empty sheath, and his eyes glazed over as he thought about the dream he'd had while he lay unconscious on the football field. At the end of it, Myra had appeared amid the chaos in the kiva and a knife slashed at her throat.

S
unday morning. Flakes of snow fluttered through the gray, overcast sky making it seem even colder than it was. It was the sort of day that Corey
Ridder
liked to stay in bed late under a heap of blankets and quilts. But this morning she was a volunteer, one of a couple of hundred who had answered the call for assistance in the search for Myra Hodges.

They had gathered in the parking lot at the high school just after dawn, and now, an hour later, she stepped out of a van at Ashcroft on the back side of Aspen Mountain. There were four or five other vans, a dozen cars, and a couple of buses parked in the lot. Clusters of people waited to be assigned to search areas.

Corey moved through the crowd and heard one student, then another talking about Myra. How smart she was, what a good person she was, how she'd helped someone out, how no one who knew her could possibly hurt her. All this was news to Corey. She only knew that Myra was Will
Lansa's
girlfriend.

The truth was she was more concerned about Will. One of the reasons—maybe the main reason—that she'd volunteered was to find out if he was okay. She'd worried all day Saturday without having anyone to turn to. Sure, there were kids she could have called who would've probably known, but they'd be curious about her interest in him. They'd figure out she had a crush on Will and it might get back to him. That was the last thing she wanted.

Then she spotted Will and felt a sense of relief. He looked okay. His short-cropped dark hair was covered by a stocking cap, so she couldn't see if there was a bruise or a bandage on his head. She moved closer. His brown skin, chestnut eyes, and high cheekbones were reminders of his Hopi blood that was so out of place in Aspen.

People were coming up to him, offering their condolences, as if they already knew that Myra was dead. But when one kid congratulated him on his football accomplishments, Will just looked away as if he hadn't heard the comment.
It was the right thing to do, Corey thought.

A man with a bullhorn began organizing groups. She wanted to be in Will's group, but she wasn't standing close enough to him and she ended up in another one. She watched him move off with his group, while hers headed in another direction, away from the ghost town.

They formed a line and moved slowly across a field, looking not only for a body but also for scraps of clothing or anything that might be linked to Myra. A chilly wind blew across the field, and Corey stomped her feet and rubbed her hands to stay warm. She wished she'd worn gloves.

They walked for more than a mile, pausing once when someone found a discarded boot and a couple other times for scraps of cloth. The items looked as if they'd been in the field for months or maybe years, but they were collected anyhow. When a baseball cap was found, the spot was marked and the cap was placed in a separate plastic bag. The cap was in good condition and there was an emblem or a letter on it, but Corey was too far away to see what it was.

Finally, they rested and waited for another group to catch up. Then the two groups joined together and continued across the field. The search went on for the rest of the morning and was coordinated in such a way that when they returned to the parking lot they walked across another field that hadn't been searched.

Tables had been set up in the parking lot, and several women were handing out sandwiches, soft drinks, and coffee. Corey walked up to one of the tables, and a middle-aged woman told her there were ham and cheese and tuna salad sandwiches. She took one of the tuna salads and was peeling away the plastic wrapping when the woman asked where she was from.

Sometimes people asked that question because they were curious about where she had grown up. But when they didn't know anything about her at all, she suspected they were thinking that she didn't belong here.

She looked up and smiled. I'm from God, just like everyone else.

That was what her mother, who was black, always told her to say in such situations. But she couldn't bring herself to say it. "I live in Aspen and go to school with Myra."

"Well, that's good," the woman blurted. "Let's hope they find her alive and soon."

"I hope so, too."

Corey walked away and had just finished half the sandwich when she noticed one of the organizers conferring with two sheriff's deputies. He looked excited and was pointing toward the field behind the town. Immediately one of the men unclipped a two-way radio from his belt and spoke into it. She started to move closer in the hopes of overhearing him, but he abruptly put the radio away. Then the three of them headed for the field.

She walked over toward three girls who had been standing near the men. "Did you hear that?" one of them asked in an excited voice. "He said they found something with blood on it."

Myra was dead. Corey was sure of it. She turned away, and that was when she saw Will again. He was standing apart from everyone else and looking toward the entrance to the parking lot. She followed his gaze and saw that he was watching a man in a leather jacket who was standing next to a motorcycle and observing the activity. Corey guessed the biker was nineteen or twenty.

Will started walking toward him, then stopped about ten yards away and called out to him.

"Jerry, is that you?"

As soon as Will spoke, the man swung a leg over the seat of the motorcycle and revved it to life. Will took a couple more steps toward him before the biker sped away.

Corey gazed after him, wondering why he was in such a hurry.

T
hat evening over dinner, Will told his grandfather Ed Connors about the day's events. The search teams had covered the entire area in and around Ashcroft, but the search had been called off at dusk. The big news of the day had come around lunchtime when one of the adult searchers had discovered something. The area had been quickly marked off with yellow crime scene tape, and none of the kids, as far as Will knew, had seen what it was. The rumor was that it was a blood-stained undergarment—a bra or panties—but the police weren't saying, and no one he talked to seemed to know for certain.

Will had another idea about what the searchers had discovered. "I'm kind of worried that they found my knife. You know, the one that was stolen from my Jeep." He shook his head. "I should've listened to you and kept it locked."

Ed Connors stabbed his fork into his baked potato. His hair had once been red, and while it was still thick it had faded to white. He was thin and wiry with pale blue eyes, which now looked up at Will. "Too late to think about that now. Maybe you should call the shop and tell your mother the latest."

"She probably already knows all about it by now."

Besides tending her clothing shop, Will's mother was active in civic projects and knew all the town's leaders. His grandfather liked to say that between her and Tom Burke, the two of them knew all the politicians and all the actors in town, and Connors didn't seem to like any of them. In fact, he was certain that there was a conspiracy between government officials and movie industry moguls to destroy the town—or at least what he thought the town should be like.

"Yeah, you're right about that," Connors said. "She's no doubt staying right on top of it."

As Will finished eating, his thoughts drifted back to the image of Jerry Wharton in black jeans and a leather jacket, straddling a Harley. Last year, Wharton had spent his senior year sulking on the bench after Will, a sophomore, beat him out for halfback. Jerry had once grabbed Will by the back of his neck and whispered that he just might have to shoot him in the kneecaps to get back into the starting lineup. He had said it jokingly, but Will knew it was intended as a threat. Will had ignored it, and Wharton had remained on the bench. They'd barely talked the rest of the year, but Will had always felt Jerry wanted to pay him back.

But if Jerry had something to do with Myra's death, why would he show up at the search area, allow himself to be seen, then ride off when Will called to him? It didn't make sense. But there was something about Jerry Wharton, something Will knew about him, that he was forgetting.

Just then the doorbell rang and Will answered it. Detective Olsen stood on the doorstep. "Will, I want you to come down to the station with me."

"Why?"

"What's going on here?" Connors asked, placing his hands on Will's shoulders.

"I need Will to come to the station."

"What's it about? Did they find the girl?"

"Let's just go to the station. The sheriff wants to talk to Will again. You can come along, if you like, Mr. Connors."

"You bet I will. I'll drive. We'll follow you."

En route to the station, Will wondered if they were going to show him Myra's body. Would they show it to him to see if he acted guilty or confessed?

At the station, Olsen led them into a carpeted room with a table and comfortable chairs, then she left. Ten minutes later, she and Sheriff Bower Kirkpatrick walked into the room. Olsen was dwarfed next to Kirkpatrick. Tall and rangy, he looked like an older version of his son, Claude. He shook Connors's hand, then nodded to Will.

"Thanks for coming in, Will. I appreciate it. This shouldn't take too long."

He set a paper bag on the table and reached inside. "Does this look familiar?"

It was a Los Angeles Dodgers cap. Will had one just like it, but now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen it for several days. "Can I take a look at it?"