A Festival of Murder (13 page)

“He’s
not exactly flying with working radar.”

“If
it is him, why do you think he’s done it again? Some kind of compulsion? An
obsession with you?”

Nicholas
sincerely hoped it was neither of those things because then he’d have to see
about getting a restraining order. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was more of
the same, actually.”

“Same?
You never did explain what happened the first time he broke into your cabin.”

Nicholas
was surprised. “Didn’t I?”

“The
whole episode was awkward and uncomfortable for everyone.” Kevin looked out the
side window. “For once, no one wanted to pry because we were afraid of running
you off. The rumor mill was churning at full force, though.”

Nicholas’s
skin felt itchy, as if he’d broken out in a rash. “What sort of rumors were
going around?”

“One
rumor was that he’d attempted to kill you because you’d managed to meet aliens
before he did. The other rumor was that he broke in because he thought your
cabin contained evidence that would disprove the story of your abduction. No
one believes he was right about that one—don’t worry. We all know your
experience was real.”

Kevin’s
assurances, however, did little to comfort Nicholas. To some degree, they had
the opposite effect, driving home the point that people were willing to believe
anything he said merely because their dreams of extraterrestrial life were
powerful and he was the closest thing they had to a messiah. If he were a
lesser man, he could have easily taken advantage of their hopes and trust.
Unfortunately, someone like Detective Canberry would be well aware of Nicholas’s
potential for influence.

“The
second rumor was close,” Nicholas said. Tension began to creep up his spine. “Captain
Sam did break into my cabin because he didn’t believe me . . . but
also because he did.”

“Come
again?”

“Captain
Sam considers me his archrival,” Nicholas said with no little amount of black
humor. “He’d been down in Loveland eavesdropping on the skies for over a decade
and using his radio to send out his version of an alien welcome message for
nearly as long. Then here I come, an uninitiated heathen, and make first
contact without even trying to or wanting it. Of course, he blows a gasket. To
be honest, if he weren’t so antagonistic I’d sympathize with the man. But I can’t
cut him a break. He broke into my home looking for proof that I’d lied but also
because he wanted to do a little espionage.”

“What
kind of espionage?”

Nicholas
could feel his mouth twisting with familiar anger. “He planted video cameras in
my bedroom just in case the aliens decided to pay me a second visit. He wanted
in on the action if he couldn’t
be
in the action.”

“You
have to be joking.”

“I
wish I was. When I found the cameras in the closet and behind the dresser, both
pointing at my bed—let’s just say it was a good thing Captain Sam wasn’t in the
room because Rocky Johnson would have been Hightop’s
second
murder.”

“That’s . . . very
disturbing,” Kevin said, his voice tight.

“It’s
contributed to my high stress levels, that’s for certain.”

“I
had no idea something like that was possible out here.”

An
odd note in Kevin’s voice drew Nicholas’s attention from the snowy road. “Hightop
is no better than a big city like Denver, Kevin. I know some of us try to
pretend it’s a utopia, but that’s wishful thinking. As soon as people gather
together, they create a chain of action and reaction that’s as inevitable as it
is unstoppable.”

“You
make it sound as though we’re responsible for creating our own Armageddon.”

“Considering
some of the people I’ve encountered up here, I figure Armageddon is right around
the corner.”

“This
changes things.” Kevin, never the most emotive of people, sounded more distant
than ever, as if he’d turned his head and was looking away from Hightop.

It
occurred to Nicholas that just as with Phoebe, he had no idea why Kevin and his
son had moved out here. Was it a reflection of his intense desire for privacy
or a condemnation of his skills as a friend that he knew next to nothing about
them? He liked the majority of people well enough, but he’d learned through his
time in Hightop that every conversation, begun for any variety of reasons,
inevitably degenerated into questions about his abduction, and so he’d stopped
initiating contact and stopped inviting people to approach him.

This,
however, was a situation which called for an exception. “Why are you up here,
Kevin? You’re not like the others. I’ve heard you mention aliens only twice
since I’ve known you.”

“Aliens
are fun,” Kevin said, but he sounded notably unenthusiastic.

“Aliens
are not why you’re here,” Nicholas insisted.

Kevin
wound his fingers together and looked out the window. “You’re right and wrong.
Aliens do serve a purpose in my life, but not the way most people probably
expect.” His chest rose and fell with a deep sigh. “My wife Angie, Toby’s
mother, was diagnosed with a tumor in her frontal lobe two years ago. It had
metastasized from her lungs. Her prognosis was five years. The best five years
I could give her.”

The
math made Nicholas’s hands tighten on the steering wheel.

“Last
year, April 24, was a Tuesday. I woke up to find her lying in bed beside me,
her eyes wide open. Angie had had a brain aneurysm during the night while I
slept. Thankfully, it had been quick.”

But
it wasn’t, Nicholas thought. Not for you.

“I
lost a lot of myself when I lost Angie. She wasn’t just my wife.” Kevin used
the tip of his finger to draw a heart in the condensation covering the side
window. “We were best friends in high school and we married straight out of
college. We were supposed to be one of those couples celebrating their fiftieth
anniversary on a cruise ship. When she left this earth . . . so
did I.” He used his palm to wipe the heart out of existence.

“Toby’s
worst off. He lost two parents that day. I checked out of life, Nicholas. Began
flying to Vegas, hitting the tables, the slots, keno—anything with a payoff. I
kept thinking maybe I was due for a big jackpot since my luck had been so
rotten everywhere else in my life. I was due. Angie had been taken from me.
Karma owed me. It owed me big time.” Kevin glanced back at Nicholas, his guilt
evident. “I know I’m not a very good father. I’m selfish. I’m afraid. I keep my
son at a distance because the thought of losing someone else that I care so
much about—I can’t handle it. I rely on aliens to entertain him.” He brightened
his voice. “‘Let’s move to Hightop, Toby, where everyone talks about what’s out
in space and not what’s happened here on Earth.’“ His eyes touched Nicholas
again, shaded with shame. “How pathetic is it that I can’t deal with what’s
happening on my own planet? That I encourage my son to watch for aliens because
I’m too scared to spend time with him?”

“He
seems happy enough,” Nicholas said, although when he placed himself in Toby’s
shoes, a child being raised by strangers and given free roam of a town full of
weirdos, the outcome wasn’t pretty. Things didn’t bode well for future
Thanksgivings at the Lee household.

“Does
he seem happy?” Kevin smiled slightly as if it was his first time hearing the
news.

“Little
kids are tougher than you think. Plus, he loves Winchester. In fact, Winchester
should be yours. You’re better suited to care for him anyway.” Nicholas sent up
a silent prayer.

“I
couldn’t do that. He’s your companion. Without him where would you be?”

“Feeling
much better about life in gen—”

“Besides,
Winchester would grow on me, and I don’t want that. Not another life to lose.”
Kevin palmed his face. “Listen to me. I don’t need Gamblers Anonymous. I need
grief counseling. This isn’t normal.”

“Normal
is overrated,” Nicholas mumbled. “Hightop is as abnormal as can be, but we’re
hanging in there just fine.”

“Are
we just fine, Nicholas?”

“People
will always believe in aliens. Hightop will exist even if it’s as a community
of Winnebagos.”

“I’m
talking about having a killer up here. One of us in Hightop did it.” Kevin’s
face fell slack. “Who’s to say he won’t strike again?”

“Don’t
bet on it,” Nicholas said firmly, drawing a faint smile from Kevin, but the man
worried Nicholas. Kevin had buried his emotions so deeply he had become
completely apathetic to everyday life. He had his reasons, which Nicholas
sympathized with wholeheartedly, but they didn’t change the fact that Kevin was
little more than a ghost, going through the motions for the sake of his young
son. Did Kevin’s lack of empathy make him the perfect killer?

Nicholas
struggled to find a motive for Kevin and then found one in Toby: if Rocky had
debunked Hightop’s alien connection in his article, the town might have been
called out for supporting a hoax. Toby, young but bright, might have eventually
picked up on that and stopped believing in, and being distracted by, aliens.
Kevin would then have to become a part of Toby’s life again. How badly did
Kevin fear that? Enough to murder someone to prevent it from happening?

Painting
his friend and neighbor in suspicion didn’t sit well with Nicholas, having
experienced it firsthand after Tampa. But until he found the killer, he had no
choice. He’d just have to keep his doubts to himself.

He
drove the last few yards to his cabin in silence. When they neared the drive he
leaned close to the steering wheel to peer up through the windshield. Nothing
seemed out of the ordinary. No busted-in door or broken windows. No alien
residue that he could see. Then again, who used the front door these days when
roofs were just as efficient?

“Stay
in the car while I check this out, Kevin.”

“There
could be someone inside. I should join you.”

“No.
I don’t want to be responsible for you if this goes south.”

Something
flicked across Kevin’s expression. “I understand.”

Regretting
his choice of words, Nicholas exited the car.

Days
after his abduction hit the media outlets, Nicholas had been besieged with
alien watchers and hunters who wanted him to answer their questions, bless
their heads and telescopes, and be in all ways available to them. When he had
responded by locking himself inside his cabin, they began camping on his
property, content to wait him out. So he’d built a fence to keep the looky-loos
away from his doors and windows. The day he’d put it up, out here in the
wilderness, had been a sad one. He’d harbored a nugget of resentment ever
since.

The
gate of the fence was open when he rounded his cabin and approached the yard.
He paused to study the latch for signs of violence but the fastener appeared to
have simply been lifted up and open, which Winston had done on occasion.
However, the alpaca always pushed the gate outward. The gate was now pulled in.

The
possibility of Toby being the culprit was immediately abandoned when Nicholas
spied the two pairs of adult-size boot prints crushed into the snow leading to
the kitchen door. One set probably belonging to Kevin, the other belonging to
the intruder. The tracks reached his kitchen door which gaped open obscenely,
like an unzipped fly on a pair of trousers. He traced the boot prints backward
but they led to the forest, no doubt in a deliberate attempt to hide their
origin.

Nicholas
paused just outside the kitchen doorway, studying the frame and listening for
movement from inside. There were indentations in the wood around the lock,
suggesting someone had noticed the lack of deadbolt and used a screwdriver to
pry the door open. Hearing nothing, he cautiously stepped inside.

It
made Nicholas slightly ill to inspect his home for signs of the intruder. He’d
come to Hightop for privacy, and yet he’d experienced more invasions of it here
than he’d endured while living in populated cities.

He
headed immediately for the bedroom. His head throbbed as he opened the door and
stepped into his most intimate space. The bed was made as he’d left it, the red
snowflake comforter crisp and undimpled, pillows fluffed. At the dresser he
checked behind the tabletop mirror where Captain Sam had previously set up
cameras. Nothing. Pulling the dresser away from the wall and dropping to all
fours to peer beneath the bed also yielded nothing except the compulsion to
vacuum more thoroughly the next time he cleaned. He stood once more and tried
to look at the room the way a stranger would. It was a simple, perhaps lonely
bedroom, but nothing appeared disturbed, so he moved back out to the living
room.

The
remaining rooms were studied for anomalies, but again, he found none. In the
middle of the living room again, he stood with his hands on his hips. What had
the thief been looking for?

“Nicholas?”

Kevin
crept to just inside the broken kitchen doorway, clasping a snow shovel in his
gloved hands. The barest hint of concern tinged his voice as he asked, “Is
everything all right?”

“It’s
fine. You can come in. No one’s here and apparently nothing was stolen.”