Terry Odell - Mapleton 03 - Deadly Puzzles (9 page)

Gordon grabbed for his Beretta. The shadowy figure rose.

“
I hope I didn’t startle you.” Raffi Yardumian’s voice. “I wanted to talk privately.”

Gordon slipped the pistol into its holster and tugged his thermal shirt down to hide it. Sweater over his arm, he crossed the sitting room.
“Is this about the text your wife said you sent? I lost my phone, so I never got it. She said the State Patrol called.”

“
I never sent it,” Yardumian said. He obviously wanted to say something, but didn’t seem to know where to begin. Yardumian lowered himself into the chair again, and Gordon took a seat on the sofa. Gordon waited, allowing the man to collect his thoughts, wishing he could yank the words from Yardumian’s throat and get on with that hot shower he craved.

After what seemed like enough time for three hot showers, the man spoke.

“You never said you were the Chief of Police in Mapleton.”

All right. He hadn
’t expected to keep his job a secret forever. “No, I didn’t. I’m here on vacation, and when people know you’re a cop—well, it’s more of a vacation when they don’t.”

“
Kind of like being a doctor, everyone describing their symptoms?”

“
Yeah. They always want you to run background checks on their shifty neighbors,” Gordon said.

Yardumian ducked his head.
“I didn’t tell anyone. Not even Tamara. Yet.”

“
Appreciate that.” Gordon waited, eyeing the bathroom, hoping Yardumian would cut to the chase. When no response was forthcoming, Gordon tried again. “That message—?”

“
Yeah. Trooper wanted me to tell you they’re making headway on the accident investigation. I didn’t know what he was talking about, or why he’d be telling you. Apparently he thought I knew more than I do. He tried to cover his blunder, but he ended up telling me that someone shot the driver of a pickup earlier this morning, which caused the pileup. And that whoever did it might have taken refuge near here. That’s when I Googled you and found out what you do. I don’t want anything to happen to Tamara—or anyone else, of course.” He ducked his head, then met Gordon’s eyes. “I don’t mean to be asking for favors, but is there some way you can check up on our guests?”

“
Me? Not really. Cops don’t have the right to poke around the criminal databases. Every search has to be connected to a case.”

Yardumian nodded.
“Understood.” A pause. “Are you armed?”

Gordon showed Yardumian his Beretta.
“It’s good at short range, but I’d rather not need to use it.”

“
But you would if you had to, right?”

Gordon reholstered the gun.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“
So, even if you can’t check on people, you must have opinions, right? You think someone here could have done it? I mean, we don’t ask where our guests spend their days, and they all have keys to the entrance if they want to come and go. We didn’t see anyone until breakfast this morning. Paula gets up early and runs, and Sam goes sketching. And then Orrin showed up out of the blue.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “And I checked. Nick Metcalf never made a reservation—at least not one we got. We save all emails, confirmations in particular, and if he said he got one—well, it didn’t come from here. I’m beginning to think that Agatha Christie scenario might not be too far-fetched.”

Gordon sighed and explained what had happened while he and Metcalf were looking for Roni.
“He had every chance in the world to do me harm, but he saved my life instead. I don’t know why he claimed to have a reservation. Maybe he thought you’d turn him away if he didn’t. Or maybe he got his B and Bs mixed up. I know I looked at a bunch of places before I chose yours.”

“
So, you think we’re safe here tonight? I’ve got a shotgun, mostly to scare bears. Never had to use it. Was wondering if I should keep it within reach.”

“
I doubt that’s necessary.” All Gordon needed was a nervous, trigger-happy, inexperienced shooter blasting away at the tiniest noise.

“
I’ll trust your instincts, then. See you in the morning.” Yardumian stood. “Sleep as late as you want. We’ll make sure you get breakfast.”

Gordon walked Yardumian to the door and locked it behind him. Hoping the power had been on long enough to heat the water, he stripped and turned on the shower. After a moment, steam billowed above the curtain. With a groan, he let the spray sluice over him until the chill left his bones, ignoring the stinging of the water against his myriad cuts and scrapes.

He patted himself dry, and was out as soon as he hit the bed.

~~~

Sunlight crept under Gordon’s eyelids. He discovered the expected aches and pains as he eased himself out of bed. The bedside clock said eight. He’d slept ten hours. Once he was dressed, he limped down the stairs to the dining table, finding Orrin Wardell the only one there.

Mrs. Yardumian greeted him from the kitchen.
“It’s waffles today,” she said. “I’ll have them for you in a jiffy.”

Gordon helped himself to coffee—actually her decaf was pretty good, if you didn
’t mind the lack of buzz.

When he took his seat, he noticed a folded piece of paper with his name on it, held down by a cell phone.
His
cell phone. He gave Wardell a questioning glance.

The man lifted his hands.
“Hey, don’t ask me. It was sitting there when I got down here.”

Gordon opened the note. He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to dislodge the school of floaters obscuring his vision. Plus, he
’d left his readers upstairs. Assuming there was nothing personal in a note left in plain sight on the table, he passed it to Wardell. “Don’t have my glasses. Do you mind?”

Wardell set his coffee aside and read aloud.
“
Found this wedged under your seat in the truck. Must have dropped before you got out. N.M.
”

Gordon checked the phone, which gave him a pleasant surprise by turning on. Battery was on its last legs, but charging it would be easy enough. He was about to go to his room for his readers when Mrs. Yardumian came in and set a bowl of fruit and cheeses, along with a huge glass of orange juice in front of him.
“Your waffle will be up in a second.”

He thanked her and asked if she
’d seen when Nick Metcalf had left the phone and note.

“
No, he left bright and early. Around six, I think. He took some breakfast to go.”

“
Checked out?”

She bobbed her head.
“Yes. Said he’d changed his plans because of the weather.” She turned and gazed out the window. “It looks like it might be a nice day today. But around here, you never know.”

Wardell stood.
“I’d better look into getting a rental car while the roads are passable. Where’s the nearest agency?”

“
Montrose,” Mrs. Yardumian said. “I think they have the one that delivers cars. Or, if you can wait, maybe Raffi can drive you into town.” She cast a questioning gaze in Gordon’s direction. “Paula and Sam both checked out this morning, too.”

Gordon couldn
’t avoid Wardell’s pleading expression. “I suppose I could give you a ride. But first we should be available for the State Patrol investigators.”

“
Let me get the rest of your breakfast.” She picked up Wardell’s empty coffee cup and stepped toward the kitchen.

“
Hey, if it’s too much trouble, I’ll call and see if I can get a delivered car,” Wardell said to Gordon. “I’d have to pass through there on my way, anyhow.”

“
You going back to your uncle’s?” Gordon asked. “You said he lived in Telluride?” Different county, different jurisdiction. And not his problem.

“
Can’t think of anything else to do. Unless you have any ideas?”

“
Let’s see what the troopers say.”

Wardell wandered to the sideboard and picked out an apple from the bowl of fruit Mrs. Yardumian had sitting out. He took a bite, ambled to the window, then to the living room. Gordon heard sounds of the news coming from the television. Mrs. Yardumian returned with a plate filled with a huge Belgian waffle and rashers of bacon, a platter with honey, syrup, whipped cream, a mixed fruit compote, and butter.
“If you need anything more, let me know.”

Gordon
’s appetite caught up with him, and his stomach rumbled. “Looks great.”

He
’d worked his way through half the waffle when the cowbells clanged from the front room. Boots clumped, and Raffi Yardumian and Wardell appeared in the dining room along with a weary-looking State Trooper.

Gordon stood, wiping his mouth. He tossed the napkin on the table.
“I’m Gordon,” he said, hoping to forestall the trooper using his rank.

The compact trooper, knit cap in hand, purple shadows under his eyes, and a stubble-darkened jaw, looked like he
’d been working the night shift, the day shift, and the swing shift. Twice in a row. He handed Gordon and Wardell business cards. “Matt Kennedy. I need to take a report.”

Mrs. Yardumian appeared with a coffee mug in hand.
“Can I get you some coffee, trooper?”

“
I’d appreciate that, ma’am. Black with sugar.”

“
Have a seat. I could make you a waffle if you’d like.”

“
No, thanks, ma’am. Coffee’s fine.”

Mrs. Yardumian whisked over to the sideboard and filled the mug, returning with it and the sugar bowl.
“I’ll let you fix it the way you like it.”

Kennedy set his hat on the table and added two heaping spoons of sugar to his coffee. He stirred, sipped, and sighed.
“Thanks so much.”

Mrs. Yardumian left, and Gordon refilled his own cup and sat while Kennedy took a moment to enjoy his coffee. The trooper raked a hand through his close-cropped cinnamon-colored hair, then pulled out a notebook, pen, and a small recorder.
“This shouldn’t take too long. Mr. Wardell, can you recap the accident for me, please. I know you’ve explained it already, but I want to have everything recorded. It’s a matter of routine.”

While Wardell rambled on about the elk and the ice, and how he
’d trekked through the snow to get to the Yardumians’, Gordon studied the trooper’s technique. The man was young, his excitement for the job surfacing over his exhaustion. His questions were routine, but he maintained eye contact with Wardell, encouraging without leading. Sympathetic, not condescending. Definitely playing good cop—although Gordon doubted Kennedy was role playing.

“
So, the car was on the shoulder when you left?” Kennedy said. “How close to the edge of the embankment?”

Wardell frowned.
“Six inches, a foot maybe.”

“
Facing the road? Angled so an approaching car might have clipped it? Sent it over?”

Another frown.
“I was spinning. Trying to avoid the elk. I didn’t stop and draw a diagram. I couldn’t get the car started. I knew I had to find help.”

“
And you told your wife to wait,” Kennedy said, making more notes.

“
Yes. She didn’t want me to leave her, but I thought it would be better if she stayed with the car. You know, in case someone came by. She could get them to call for help. And since I didn’t know exactly where I was going, I thought she’d be warmer, safer, in the car.”

“
And she was gone when you got there?”

Wardell was growing impatient, and Kennedy once again explained that this was merely routine, getting the facts to help them investigate. Gordon noticed the subtle repetition, the rewording of questions. Good technique—see if Wardell
’s story changed. Kennedy hadn’t been with the man, hadn’t seen how distraught he was. But, if Wardell did have a part in his wife’s disappearance, he could easily channel his fear of being discovered into the role of anxious husband. Gordon tried to use that filter as he replayed everything that had happened. Could he have been wrong?

Yeah, he
’d been wrong before. Undoubtedly would be again. Meanwhile, this was Kennedy’s interview. But Gordon shifted his focus from Kennedy’s questions to Wardell’s answers, paying close attention to Orrin’s eyes. They remained on Kennedy, although they seemed focused slightly above his head.

“
Now, after you arrived here, you and Gordon went to rescue your wife,” Kennedy continued. “But she wasn’t there, is that correct?”

“
Yes. I mean no. She was gone.”

“
Times?” Kennedy asked.

Wardell looked at Gordon.
“We figured between nine and eleven, right?”

“
Right,” Gordon said.

“
So, the car could have gone over the edge any time after nine, and before eleven.” Kennedy made more notes. “And judging from the lack of evidence of your wife when you got there, she probably left before the secondary accident.”

“
There was nothing in the car,” Wardell said. “Her purse was gone. So was our luggage. And we didn’t see anything like footprints, if that’s what you mean. But then it started snowing. Really snowing, so we couldn’t see anything anyway.”

“
Thanks, Mr. Wardell. I think that’s all I need from you. I’d like to speak with Gordon for a few minutes, if you’ll excuse us.”

For the first time, Wardell seemed nervous. Reluctant to leave. But Kennedy simply stared at him, and Wardell shoved his chair away from the table and stood.
“You’ll look for her, right?”

“
Of course,” Kennedy said. “In reality, the Sheriff’s Department will be handling the missing persons side of things. Our job is to investigate the accident.”

“
Do I have to go through this again?” Wardell’s fingers whitened on the back of his chair.

“
We’ve already coordinated with them. If we find any evidence of her whereabouts at the accident scene, we’ll forward it to them. Meanwhile, make sure they can get in touch with you. Do you have contact numbers?”

Wardell gave the trooper his cell phone number.
“But until I charge it, it’s no good. I was going to head to Telluride, where my uncle lives. That’s where we’ve been staying.”

“
Give me his number, and that should be it,” Kennedy said.

Wardell complied, and left the room, with one
last glance over his shoulder.

Kennedy refilled his coffee mug and leaned against the sideboard, positioned so he could verify Wardell had left.
“Your take?”

“
Upset, distraught, but understandably so,” Gordon said. “His story held up—maybe too well. His answers were automatic. But he’s doubtless been thinking of little else since it happened. I don’t know him well enough to know whether this is his normal behavior or not.”

“
I got the feeling it was well-rehearsed, myself,” Kennedy said. “But you’ve spent more time with him. And you’ve had a lot more experience than I have.” He came back to the table. “Chief Hepler.”

Gordon paused at Kennedy
’s mention of his title. “I appreciate you not mentioning I was a cop in front of Wardell.”

“
I knew you were keeping it quiet. But, since you’re a cop, I’d like your take on the scene. We’ll have our own investigators go over it to reconstruct what happened, but with the blizzard, we’re going to lose a lot of information.”

“Nothing looked hinky to me. Just the insides of a car. Pretty much empty, like Wardell said. Maybe some snack or fast food wrappers, normal junk.
I took pictures of the car.” He picked up his phone, opened the photo file.

His pictures were gone
.