Terry Odell - Mapleton 03 - Deadly Puzzles (15 page)

One of the reasons Gordon didn
’t share his feelings was because it meant facing them. Fear of being in that small CSR minority, where his vision
wouldn’t
take care of itself, danced through his brain. So did visions of huge blisters forming in his upper airway, despite the tests showing he was clear. He tried to override them with thoughts of identifying the cause of the fire at the Yardumians. A methodical inventory of the facts. His comfort zone.

If this were Mapleton, he
’d know the players well enough to come up with some possible motives. The Yardumians seemed like nice, down-to-earth folks, but he had no idea who might want to bring harm to them. Then again, the fire was in an outbuilding. If someone had wanted to hurt them, why not go for the main house? Or did someone think Raffi was still in the cabin? But who? Mrs. Yardumian thought Raffi was out there, but Gordon couldn’t see her as wanting him dead. Had someone else been watching?

The best scenario Gordon could come up with was a vagrant accidentally setting something on fire. But what had exploded? If there
’d been a propane tank outside, it would have been a huge blast, and a huge blaze. Nothing gelled for him on the fire front.

Hell, accepting Solomon
’s off-the-wall pickup truck murderer made as much sense.

~~~

After a restless night, filled with images of fires, pickup trucks, and bodies—not to mention interruptions from nurses checking on him, and the oxygen tube at his nostrils interfering with lying in a comfortable position—Gordon gave up on sleep at five-thirty. He stared at the ceiling. Wondered if he could shower. Last night, a nurse had said the doctors made morning rounds starting at seven and warned him that he had better not make them wait. He pulled the blanket aside. He could be in and out of the bathroom long before seven.

When he climbed into bed, even though he still wore that stupid hospital gown, he felt as though a layer of worry had disappeared with the grime. He found the remote and hunted for the news, hoping for an update on any of his puzzles. Traffic, weather, and school delays. He flipped to another channel. Nothing different. A commercial for a cell phone reminded him to check his. Per the nurse
’s mandate, he’d turned it off last night—after a nice chat with Angie, who’d promised to pack his things and be at the hospital by eight. While the phone booted, he rummaged in the tote the Yardumians had brought, hoping they’d included his readers. Yes. He slipped them on. A text message. From Solomon. He opened it.

Had to bail. Nothing major. Needed in M. Angie has car keys. Ys ok
.
Vi
c
IDd.

Why would Solomon be rushing to Mapleton? And why hadn
’t he given the victim’s name? Gordon adjusted his readers, tried to make out what time the message had been sent. Five forty-three. While he was in the shower.

He punched in Solomon
’s number. “Hey, Chief. Don’t worry,” Solomon said before Gordon could speak. “Vicky McDermott’s got the flu, and Jost’s wife went into premature labor. Short-staffed is all. I’ll be there before noon. How’re you doing?”

“
Fine. Tell me about the victim. Who was he?”

“
A lead. Not verified. Cops found a cell phone in the cabin. Owned by one Jase Blackhawk from Centennial. They’re checking to see if it belonged to the victim, or if he might have … helped himself … to it. Didn’t have time for much poking last night. Got the name from a Trooper Kennedy. Not for public consumption, though. I had to drop your name to get it.”

Gordon assumed Solomon had to do more than name drop—no doubt Kennedy had verified his identity first.
“Anything else?”

“
No, but Mrs. Y packed me one heck of a breakfast. I tried to tell her I’d grab something on the road, but she insisted. I swear she must have been up long before dawn cracked putting it together. If she and Rose Kretzer ever got together—”

“
I hear you. Keep me apprised.”

“
You got it, Chief. Gotta go—signal’s disappearing.”

Gordon
’s attention was diverted by the same background footage of the fire he’d seen last night. Different reporter, though. He caught something about an overturned camping lantern. Whether it was accidental or intentional was still under investigation. Gordon was beginning to hate those last two words. At least when
he
was doing the investigating—or, to be fair, his staff—he had more pieces to work with.

Gordon knew the Yardumians used propane lanterns. But the light he
’d seen in the cabin after dropping off Wardell at the car rental place had been too bright, too steady for a lantern. If Raffi was working, he’d have gone with electricity. And what had exploded?

Too much for his brain before breakfast. Smiling to himself, he pulled open the night table drawer where he
’d stashed the remains of the cinnamon roll he hadn’t finished last night. Not the same without coffee, but it would take the edge off.

Six-thirty. Too early to disturb Angie.

The news channels were recycling the same basic stories. No Wi-Fi in the room. But he could make notes on his laptop. Not quite a white board, but seeing things written down helped organize his thoughts.

He pulled his computer from the tote the Yardumians had brought and opened a Word document. Questions first. Who was Jase Blackhawk? Should be easy enough to see if the owner of the cell phone was the same man. The fire hadn
’t affected his features. Gordon tried to conjure up an image of the man he’d seen, but beyond the initial shock that it wasn’t Raffi, he couldn’t remember much. White. Unshaven, but not bearded. Maybe five-ten. Hard to say since he was lying down. His shabby clothes supported the vagrant theory, but Gordon knew better than to form a conclusion based on minimal facts.

Timeline. Raffi had been working until lunchtime, then went back to work some more. Had the man been inside the cabin then? Hiding, perhaps? Or had he shown up after Raffi had left the second time? Wouldn
’t Raffi have said something if he’d thought someone was using the cabin? Gordon itched to talk to the Yardumians to fill in the blanks, but he knew the cops would have done it by now.

Could he ask Angie to strike up a conversation, casually bringing up his questions? Yeah, right.

Frustration mounted as he dealt with the fact he could only speculate, not confirm. His hospital room might as well be on another planet for all he could accomplish. He closed his eyes, did his breathing exercises. All he needed was to be trapped here another day because his blood pressure was rising off the charts.

He
’d dozed off when the door opened and a man in a white coat entered. His spirits lifted when the man introduced himself as the doctor responsible for signing him out. The doctor checked Gordon’s charts, took his blood pressure, thumped, peered and listened. “Everything looks fine with your lungs, but there’s always the possibility of edema. Normally, we’d want to watch you for another day, but I understand you need to have your eyes seen to, is that correct?”

“
I’ve got an appointment in Denver this afternoon,” Gordon said.

The doctor
’s eyebrows bunched. “You’re not going to be driving, are you? The snow’s not bad, but with impaired vision—”

Gordon hastened to explain he had a ride coming within the hour.

The doctor nodded, scribbling something on the chart he held. “I’ll arrange your discharge papers.” He lifted his gaze. “With the understanding that if you start wheezing, you’ll get medical attention right away. That signals fluid in the lungs and needs immediate treatment. However, judging from the firefighters’ report, the heat wasn’t extreme, and you weren’t exposed very long.”

The doctor tucked his pen into the chest pocket of his lab coat.
“You were fortunate, you know. Smoke kills faster than fire. The other man wasn’t as lucky.”

“
You saw him?” Gordon asked. “Was smoke inhalation the actual cause of death? Can you tell how long he’d been in the building?” At the doctor’s frown, Gordon added, “I’m a cop. Chief of Police in Mapleton. And since I tried to get him out, I was wondering if I’d been faster, or—”

“
Ah. No, I’m sure there was little else you could have done. His blood alcohol level indicated he was highly intoxicated.”

“
I found him in the bathroom,” Gordon said. “On the floor. The window was open.”

“
Which might have kept him alive a little longer, being below the smoke and intense heat, but frankly, even without the fire, with his alcohol level, death was a strong possibility. And his lungs were in bad shape, not from the fire. If alcohol poisoning and the fire didn’t kill him, his smoking would have caught up with him before too long.”

“
Drugs?” Gordon asked.

“
No. Only the alcohol.”

“
Did you get an identification?”

The doctor shook his head, although Gordon didn
’t know whether he meant they didn’t get an ID, or he wasn’t going to say anything due to privacy laws. Gordon wondered if he could play an
I’m helping the locals
card, but figured this doctor would want paper before he’d release anything more than he’d told him, which was a lot more than he’d have revealed to anyone but immediate family.

Okay, so he could lose the guilt trip about not saving the guy. The doctor gave Gordon one more reminder about monitoring his symptoms and left.

~~~

An hour later, Gordon had changed into his clothes, signed all the paperwork, and recovered his weapon. He was drinking the juice and eating the orange slices on his breakfast tray when Angie arrived.
“Tell me you have something from the Yardumians,” he begged. “They said this stuff was oatmeal, but—” He stirred the soupy mixture and let it glop from the spoon into the bowl. “I think gruel is a more fitting description.”

“
I take it you don’t want some more,” she said. “Never fear. You’ll have plenty to eat on the drive. I think we should leave as soon as we can. They’re saying the weather might get worse before it gets better.”

Angie brought his SUV around to the hospital entrance while Gordon subjected himself to the obligatory wheelchair ride. After reassuring himself that Angie could handle his SUV in the snowy conditions, Gordon relaxed and ate his way through the first twenty minutes of the trip. Two huge biscuit sandwiches, fruits, cheeses, and pastry.
“Not as good as your cinnamon rolls,” he said as he devoured a strawberry Danish.

Angie laughed.
“But they’re better than any Danish I can make. I was tempted to ask her if we could swap recipes.”

Sated, with the swish of the windshield wipers creating a soothing background noise, Gordon
’s lack of sleep caught up with him. With apologies to Angie for not holding up his end of the conversation, he gave up the fight and dozed.

Bright sunlight penetrated his eyelids. Jerking awake, he blinked against the brightness.
“Guess the storm’s passed,” he said.

“
We drove through the worst of it twenty minutes ago. With luck, it’ll be clear going to Denver.”

“
How long was I out?” he asked.

“
Maybe two hours. Keep your eyes open for a place to make a pit stop. Wouldn’t hurt to fill up, too.”

Ten minutes later, they pulled into a mini mart gas station. Gordon pumped gas while Angie used the
restroom. He took his turn, and when he stepped out into the sunshine, everything blurred. A smoky haze filled his peripheral vision.

Relax. This happened before, and it went away.
It’s the shift from the dim light in the men’s room to the bright sun.

But fifteen minutes later, his left eye
’s field of vision had narrowed even more.

Gordon stared out the side window, closing one eye, then the other, comparing their vision. Left was definitely not getting better. Was his right eye having problems, too? He knew the CSR leaks could get worse there as well, and he might have two detached retinas, not one.

“Something wrong?” Angie’s voice cut through Gordon’s mounting panic.

“
Not sure,” was the best he could do.

“
So, tell me,” she said. Although her voice was compassionate on the surface, Gordon didn’t miss the irritation hovering beneath.

“
It’s my eyes. Things got blurry, shadowy at the rest stop. Probably having trouble adjusting to the sunlight.” He forced an attempt at a laugh. “Haven’t seen much of it in days.”

“
Or?” Angie said.

He puffed out a long, slow exhale.
“Or my retina’s detaching even more.”

“
What does that mean?” Alarm replaced the former blend of compassion and irritation in her voice.

“
Drive,” Gordon said. “It means Dr. Demming might have to work a little harder, that’s all.”

He didn
’t need twenty-twenty vision to see the doubt in Angie’s expression. He felt the car accelerating. “And no need to get us killed by speeding.”

“
If I do, maybe a cop will catch us, give us a police escort to Denver.” There was a forced lightness to her tone.

“
We’re doing fine. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll call Dr. Demming.”

If he could read his damn phone well enough to find the number. Wasn
’t there supposed to be some kind of voice activation system? If there was, he’d never tried it. He found his readers in his pocket and tried again. On the plus side, since he’d lost all his former contacts, there weren’t many choices.

He made the call, getting the same,
“Someone will get back to you” response. When his phone burred almost immediately, the speed of the reply created a momentary panic. Was his condition that bad?

Gordon explained his symptoms. When he ended the call, Angie instantly said,
“Tell me.”

“
Dr. Demming said not to break any laws, but not to stop to do any sightseeing, either. He didn’t sound worried.”

“
You’re not being manly-macho again, are you?”

“
No, I’m telling you what he said.”

“
So you won’t go blind if we don’t get there right away?”

“
No, they fix stuff like this all the time. In his office, not even a hospital.” He smiled at her, hoping his worry didn’t bleed through. He added a wink, just in case. “And maybe we can get a room at that hotel again.”

Her attention was clearly on the drive, but she did spare a quick glance in his direction.
“Only if I
personally
hear the doctor say it’s okay.”

He lifted his palms.
“Hey, I didn’t say we had to do anything … strenuous. And that would save you driving to Mapleton tonight.”

“
Let’s wait and see how your procedure goes.”

To keep himself occupied, he engaged Angie in some speculation about who had taken the memory card from his cell phone.

“So, everyone had access to it?” she said.

“
Yep.” He explained what he’d already considered.

Her fingers tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel.
“I agree, a prank seems silly. What fun is pranking if you don’t let the person know you did it? You know, that
gotcha
moment.” Some more finger-drumming. “I suppose it’s
possible
someone’s own cell phone was running out of memory and they wanted your card. I don’t have a memory card in my phone. But I’d put it low on the list.”

“
I agree, that seems far-fetched.” Although that was something he hadn’t thought of. Points to Angie.

After forty-five minutes of discussion, they
’d come full circle, to Gordon’s original assumption that whoever took the card wanted either the photos, Gordon’s contacts, or both. But they couldn’t figure a motive.

“
I’d skip that artist guy,” Angie said. “I mean, he
could
have wanted your pictures to use for his paintings, but from what you said, he does landscapes.”

“
I suppose I should look at his website—see if he does anything like the scene I photographed. I did stop for a few pictures on my drive from Mapleton, though. They might be more up his alley.” Gordon tried to remember how much he’d mentioned to Tyner. That he used his cell for pictures, but he couldn’t recall telling him that he’d taken pictures on his drive. Why would the man want them?

“
So, we didn’t eliminate anyone, did we?” she said.

“
No, but it’s good to talk things out, to get other points of view.”

“
That mountain man guy— Nick Metcalf? From what you said, he sounded a cupcake short of a box. I’d rank him at the top.”

“
He saved my life,” Gordon said.

“
But he also found the phone. He had the best chance to take the card without anyone seeing.” Seconds later, Angie jerked, as if Gordon’s words had taken a roundabout route to her brain. “He
what?
I don’t remember you saying you needed your life saved.”

Gordon fumbled his way through an explanation of falling into the tree well.

“And you thought you’d mention this
when?
”

“
Metcalf helped me out. No harm, no foul.”

She glared at him.
“And if he hadn’t been there?”

“
He was, so it’s over.”

Her silence kept him company until they got to Denver.

Gordon was escorted to a treatment room as soon as they arrived. Dr. Demming’s assistant settled him into a chair and put drops in his eyes. “These will dilate your pupils so we can do the exam,” she said. “But you’ve been here enough times to know what’s going on. Once we locate the problem area, we’ll numb your eye for the procedure.”

“
What if it’s both eyes?” Gordon asked.

“
Then we’ll do both. You should be out within an hour or so, and normally, you can resume all your regular activities by the next day. You do have a way home, right?”

“
Yes. She’s waiting. And, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell her that I’m not going to need a seeing eye dog or a cane when this is over.”

“
I’ll explain everything to her. You can relax while the drops take effect.” She dimmed the lights and left him with his damn thoughts again.

Gordon wondered why doctors expected you to be able to relax. If you were in a doctor
’s office, odds were, the conditions that brought you there weren’t conducive to relaxation.

~~~

Late the next morning, after an enjoyable but not
too
strenuous night, Gordon dropped Angie off at her apartment above Daily Bread. He leaned across the console to brush a kiss on her cheek. “Thanks again. For everything.”

“
You sure you want to go to work right away?” she said before getting out of the SUV.

Which was the seventy-eleventh time she
’d tried to get him to stay away from work. And his answer was the same. “I’m going to check in at the station. Let Solomon prove that he ran a tight ship while I was gone. I promise I’ll leave as soon as the third shift comes on board. Don’t you have your own things to catch up on? Baking cinnamon rolls? Catering Valentine’s Day parties?”

“
I had my work covered,” she said. “Since I started working with Megan, I’ve delegated more of the Daily Bread duties. And Megan and I have everything under control for our Valentine’s Day events.”

“
My point exactly.”

She rolled her eyes, then grabbed her things and jumped out of the SUV. He watched her jog up the staircase to her apartment.

Using his private entrance to his office, Gordon paused after stepping inside. He ran his fingers over the smooth surface of his desk. Breathed in the burnt coffee, lemon furniture polish and disinfectant. Listened to the phones ringing and footfalls from the hallway. Now
this
was a place where he could relax.

His vision was vastly improved, and his right retina had been fine. The CSR had finally diminished in that eye, and Dr. Demming had said all should be well in a couple of weeks. In fact, he
’d said unless symptoms worsened, he didn’t need to see Gordon again for six months. However, he recommended Gordon stick with the blood pressure meds and keep his caffeine consumption down to one cup of regular coffee a day, a price Gordon was willing to pay.

Gordon reached into his desk drawer and strapped on the watch he
’d left there. Nice to be able to read the time again. He even looked forward to reading reports and searching databases. A quick perusal of Solomon’s daily summaries left him with mixed feelings. Good to know things ran smoothly without him, but there was that niggling of
Didn’t anyone miss me?

And why would he expect otherwise? He
’d insisted Solomon not tell anyone about his procedure, and hadn’t told anyone he was coming back today. He wasn’t due until Monday, and a week’s vacation certainly didn’t warrant a welcome home party.

And, since he wasn
’t expected, everything should be covered. Gordon booted up his computer, eager to do a little of what Solomon called poking around.

Easy one first. He found Sam Tyner
’s website, and was disappointed to find only “natural” landscapes. Nothing man-made in any of his works, so using the photos Gordon had taken of Wardell’s car made no sense. Tyner’s work was infinitely better than any of the pictures Gordon had taken with his cell phone, so why would Tyner have wanted them? Gordon felt comfortable removing the artist from his list of potential memory card thieves.

Next up. Orrin Wardell. Google was little help, so he moved up a level to more private databases. Orrin had said he was from New Mexico. He accessed the New Mexico DMV database and plugged in Wardell
’s information. He looked again. Now
that
was curious. And, with his curiosity piqued, he dialed Matt Kennedy’s number.