Murder on Red Mesa Road Read online

  “Two weapons?” I said. “Does that mean two assailants?”

  Dina shrugged. “I can’t make that call yet,” she said. “We don’t have other witnesses and the place has been crawling with people for the past few days. It’ll take a while to dust for prints, run the results through the system and look for other evidence.”

  “Why were so many people out there?” I asked.

  “Happy Home with Bobbi & Brandon,” she said.

  I smiled. “Beg your pardon?”

  “It’s a TV show,” Dina explained. “They go around the country renovating mostly rural properties and filming the whole thing.”

  “Oh, so they’re doing Kelly Stanfield’s old house?”

  She shrugged again. “They were planning to, but the producer told me about an hour ago that they may cancel. He said they always have a backup location, just in case.”

  “For murder?”

  She gave me a sharp look. “You know what I mean, Katie.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Did you talk to the producer here in town or on the phone?”

  “Phone,” she answered. “He’s down in Aspen with the rest of the crew. They were planning on driving up in a couple of days, but now I’m not sure when that will happen.”

  “Can we rewind for a sec?” I asked.

  Dina smiled. “How far back?”

  “To the three people that were shot,” I said. “How were they associated with the Happy House show?”

  “Happy Home,” she said. “And they’re with the production company. I don’t have their titles handy, but they were here in town to meet the trucks, get everything unloaded and then start hiring local folks to handle mundane tasks.”

  “What was on the trucks?” I asked.

  “Actually, that’s the working motive at this point,” she said. “Bobbi and Brandon only use high-end furniture, fixtures, appliances and décor. The two trucks were packed with the stuff.”

  “And what was the motive?” I said.

  “It looks like robbery,” Dina said. “Whoever ambushed the Happy Home crew members left the house on Red Mesa Road with every last stick of merchandise that the production company had shipped from California.”

  “They took it all?”

  “Including the trucks,” Dina said. “Although they had the presence of mind to tear out the GPS tracking devices and leave them in the driveway.”

  I nodded. “So they were diabolical and clever.”

  “That’s right,” she agreed. “My least favorite kind of criminal.”

  CHAPTER 4

  The front door to Eugene Crisp Realtors was propped open with a vintage brass spittoon when I arrived that afternoon. A few seconds after crossing the threshold, I discovered the reason for the curious doorstop: the air was thick with the unmistakable stench of rotten eggs. The namesake real estate mogul stood in the middle of the reception area looking lost and forlorn.

  “Oh, Katie!” Eugene said awkwardly. “I’m very sorry about the odor. I’d hoped that nobody would come by before the office started smelling better. My new assistant just ran to Food Town to buy more air freshener and candles.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “What’s it from?”

  His grin was tinged with embarrassment. “Rebellious teenagers,” he said. “Kids these days have no respect for decorum or civility.”

  “Some adults have the same problem,” I replied. “What happened?”

  As I listened to his explanation, I began to wonder if every strange story that week would include mention of the vacant estate on Red Mesa Road. Eugene told me that the Stanfield family’s previous home had been vacant for so long that teenagers from Crescent Creek and Briarfield had begun to use the guest cottage, barn and stables on the property for late-night parties. While he described the merrymaking and midnight gatherings, the even-tempered realtor’s voice edged toward a dark, brittle tone.

  “They were sneaking onto the Stanfield estate to drink, listen to loud music and carry on until all hours of the night,” Eugene growled. “It’s a wonder that nobody was hurt and they didn’t vandalize the main house. If those folks from Hollywood hadn’t come looking for a place to film their TV show, those hooligans would probably still be out there every night with their lack of morals and limited vocabulary.”

  I smiled at the last point. “Not very adept at erudite conversation?”

  Eugene smirked. “Not very adept at anything,” he hissed. “Especially treating their elders with respect and following the law of the land.”

  “How do you know that kids have been partying at the Stanfield place?” I asked.

  “Because I’ve got these,” he said, pointing at his eyes. “I caught a bunch of punks out there about a month ago. Then I saw two more little troublemakers again last night. And they saw me. But you know what they did?”

  I shook my head.

  “They came here to my office earlier and left a brown paper bag on my desk when I went in the back for five seconds,” he said. “And when I picked it up to look inside, the bottom split open and all hell broke loose. The thing was packed with spoiled eggs!” He grimaced and waved one hand around the large open area. “There were two potential clients in here at the time. Nice people from Salt Lake looking to move to Colorado. And guess what they did?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Did they leave?”

  Eugene cursed under his breath. “They took their business across the street to my competition.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

  He heaved a sigh. “Not as sorry as me. I’d been having a really great month up to that point. Those little runts this afternoon cost me thousands of dollars. Not to mention whatever it might take to repair the damage their friends did earlier in the month to the Stanfield’s barn.”

  “Was it bad?” I asked.

  “Graffiti all over the interior and exterior,” he said. “Plus, dozens of empty beer cans, a bunch of threadbare furniture that they dragged in from who knows where and a—” His face was turning bright red and the vein in his neck proved his pulse was racing wildly in the wrong direction. “You know what?” he said after taking a moment to catch his breath. “We better change the subject unless you want to witness somebody having a coronary.”

  “Oh, no,” I said. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  He reached for the coffee on his desk, took a long sip and then cleared his throat.

  “Tom Gladstone,” he said. “And Parker Drew.”

  “I’m afraid that I don’t recognize those names,” I said.

  “I wouldn’t necessarily expect you to,” Eugene replied. “They’re snot-nosed punks about half your age. They were at the Stanfield place two nights ago when those two poor souls were gunned down. They’re also the troublemakers that dropped off the eggs earlier. I spotted them on our CCTV video system a few minutes ago.”

  “How do you know their names?” I asked.

  “Because I’m friendly with their parents,” Eugene explained. “The Gladstone boy’s father owns a title search company, so we’ve done business together quite a few times.”

  “And the other one?”

  Eugene scowled. “He’s my nephew,” he said. “Parker’s sixteen, but he acts like a spoiled brat more than a young man. My sister and her husband have a tendency to pamper their kids even though they keep pretty close track of what they’re up to. That’s part of the reason I knew that Tom and Parker were trespassing again at the Stanfield place the other night.”

  “How did you find out that the boys were going there?” I asked.

  “My sister called after she overhead Parker telling his buddies about the plan,” Eugene explained. “He wanted to sneak onto the property again to try and get a glimpse of the TV people before they begin filming next week. I was going to drive out and see if I could catch them in the act like I did the previous time, but I had a last-minute showing for one of my favorite clients. So I called my nephew, warned him to stay away from Red Me
sa Road and left it at that. I didn’t know that he and his friend witnessed the murders until late that night when I talked to my sister again.”

  “What time did your nephew go to the Stanfield house the day of the murders?”

  “Late in the afternoon,” Eugene answered. “I’d guess it was between five and half past.”

  “Okay, thank you,” I said. “Can you tell me more about the other kids that you’ve caught on the Stanfield property,” I said.

  He frowned. “To be honest, I can’t wait until someone buys that property,” said Eugene. “It’s been empty for so long that the teenagers from Briarfield and Crescent Creek have been using it for late-night weekend parties in the last few months. And let me tell you, they’re not mindful of decency, cleanliness or respect for the property of other people.”

  “How so?”

  “They leave trash everywhere,” he said. “They’ve broken windows in the main house, barn and guest cottage to get inside. Once they do, they leave dirt and disaster in their wake along with half-eaten pizzas, wine bottles and just general mayhem. I remember being that age, Katie; never was I so insolent and unlawful.” His cheeks were beginning to redden again. “I mean, trespassing, burglary, destruction of private property, littering and the list goes on and on.”

  I kept my eye on the vein in his neck. I knew CPR, of course, but I didn’t want to prove it again that afternoon.

  “I’ll tell what,” I said. “Let’s put a pin in that for now, okay?”

  He nodded. “Great idea. I keep having flashbacks of my nephew making rude gestures with his two middle fingers.”

  I stifled a laugh. “At you?”

  “The boy has anger issues,” Eugene said.

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear they were so rude to you,” I said. “I would definitely like to talk to Parker and Tom. Would you be willing to make the introductions?”

  “I’ll be happy to call their mothers,” Eugene said, “especially if it helps the police find the culprits that killed those two people. Just say the word, Katie! When would you want to talk to them?”

  “Sooner rather than later,” I said. “There’s a murderer out there somewhere and we need to do everything possible to bring them to justice. Since they witnessed the murders, it’s possible that the boys saw something that could help crack the case.”

  CHAPTER 5

  I met Donna Gladstone and Karen Drew the next afternoon at a new place in town called Hi-Hat Coffee. I didn’t realize it until after we were seated with steaming cappuccinos and a plate of chocolate chip cookies, but the shop was owned by the two women.

  “How long have you been open?” I asked. “This is my first time here.”

  Donna looked at Karen and giggled. “Two weeks,” she said. “We both always wanted to have our own little business, but it wasn’t until I got laid off and Karen decided it was time for a change that we finally decided to stop talking and make it happen.”

  I glanced around the room: cozy armchairs, framed quilts on the walls and a small retail section featuring mugs, coffee canisters and T-shirts emblazoned with the shop’s Art Deco logo.

  “It’s just charming,” I said. “Congratulations on turning your dream into reality.”

  “Thanks very much,” Karen said, pinching her forearm. “It’s still hard to believe that we’re doing it.”

  “I wish you the best of luck,” I said. “It can be a roller coaster, but it’s totally worth it.”

  Donna scooted her chair a little closer. “Can I confess something?” she whispered.

  I smiled. “I’m not ordained, but I’m happy to listen.”

  They both laughed. Then Donna told me that they’d visited Sky High quite a few times during the months before they opened Hi-Hat Coffee.

  “We’re both old enough to remember your grandmother behind the counter,” she said.

  “Really?”

  “For sure,” Karen said. “We went to Briarfield High a few years before you and your sister. Our debate club always stopped at Nana Reed’s place for breakfast on the way to tournaments in Boulder and Fort Collins.”

  “I just love the fact that it’s been in your family for so many years,” Donna added. “That’s what we hope to achieve with our little venture here.”

  I raised my cappuccino. “Here’s to many decades of success!”

  They both lifted their cups and touched them to mine before taking a little sip.

  “Thank you again for meeting me,” I said. “It’s a delicate situation, and I appreciate your willingness to talk about your sons.”

  “Of course,” Donna said. “When I got your message yesterday, I went into the back right away and told Karen that we had to help.”

  “And I agreed,” Karen said. “That’s why our boys are working this afternoon. Normally, Tom and Parker are only here on the weekend, but we had them come in so you can ask any questions you’d like to about what they witnessed.”

  “Do they understand that I’m consulting for the Crescent Creek PD?”

  Karen smiled. “Let me put it this way,” she said. “They both understand that their mothers asked them nicely to talk to a friend about what they saw the other evening.”

  We shared a relaxed laugh about her remark. Then Donna asked if I was ready to meet Tom and Parker.

  “I’d love to,” I said. “Do you both want to sit in while I talk with your sons?”

  “That’s so funny,” Karen said with a grin. “Donna and I discussed that earlier. We decided it might be best if we keep out of that part. We’ve both talked to our boys about the situation. They’re very clear that we’re disappointed about the fact that they trespassed onto someone else’s property, but we’re glad they’re both willing to come forward and help the police.”

  “Willing to come forward?” Donna said, making a face. “Dave and I didn’t give Tom a choice. And we took away his car privileges for a month. When I heard that they were at that empty house on Red Mesa at the same time two innocent people died, I just…” She stopped and took a breath. “It still makes my heart race. That could’ve been our boys on the ground.”

  Karen leaned over and squeezed her friend’s hand. “Slow and steady breaths,” she said quietly. “Take a deep one, hold it for a few and then let it out.”

  Donna followed the other woman’s instructions. I sat quietly and waited for the moment to pass.

  “Sorry about that,” Donna said, running one hand along her chin. “I still can’t quite believe that Tommy and Parker came that close to…” She paused again, blinking a few times and rubbing her face some more. “Well, that they came so close to whatever. But the important thing is, they were spared.”

  “Amen,” I said. “Spared and able to walk away with an important lesson about the fragility of life.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Parker Drew looked like a younger, thinner and less stressed version of Eugene Crisp. The resemblance was uncanny; they had the same nose, chin and mouth. While his uncle’s hair was speckled with strands of gray, Parker’s short cut was dark as night. But his gray-green eyes sparked with the same lively playfulness that reminded me of the Crescent Creek realtor whenever he told a joke or celebrated the sale of another property.

  “My uncle is a good guy,” Parker said after he and Tom sat down across from me at a small table in the Hi-Hat office. “Kinda stuffy and old-fashioned, but pretty chill.”

  I nodded in silent agreement.

  “I think he’s okay,” Tom said. “But he should’ve kept his mouth zipped.”

  Parker glared at his friend. “Back off,” he said. “We came close to getting shot the other night. If my uncle hadn’t told me about the back entrance to the property, we might be stone cold dead right now.”

  The other boy shook his head. “Not even. That jerk had no clue that we were there when he shot those people.”

  “So?” Parker’s voice crackled with annoyance. “He could’ve found us a second later.”

  “You don’t know
that,” Tom said, glancing at me out of the corner of one eye. “And she doesn’t either.”

  I smiled. “If you mean me,” I said, “then you’d be right. I don’t know much about what you heard or saw. That’s why I’m here today.”

  “What’s the deal anyway?” Tom asked. “You’re not a cop. Is this even legal?”

  “Perfectly legal,” I said. “And if you’d rather not do it, then I can leave.”

  His gaze ricocheted around the room. “As if my mother would be cool with that.”

  “Well, it’s really your choice,” I said. “And I don’t want to force either of you to talk about what you saw if it’s going to make you uncomfortable.”

  “I’m comfortable,” Parker said. “And so is he. Tom just needs to whine.”

  Tom laughed. “Yep. That’s right. But it’s only because I’m trying to be like you, bud.”

  I sat up in the chair and squared my shoulders. My twin nephews in Denver were a few years younger than Tom and Parker, but spending time with them taught me how to navigate potentially barbed interactions with teenagers.

  “Here’s the deal,” I said, thinking about a similarly tense chat that I’d had with my nephews when they misbehaved while I stayed with them when Olivia and Cooper were on an overnight trip. “I’d like to ask you guys a couple of simple questions. If, at any point, you want to stop, I’ll go. But I really appreciate your help with this.”

  Parker nodded; a solemn and thoughtful response. “It’s okay,” he said. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Before we discuss what you heard and saw that evening,” I began, “tell me how you escaped after the two people were shot.”

  “It’s like I just said,” Parker replied. “My uncle caught us there once before. But we weren’t planning on doing anything bad. We were just curious about where all the other kids had been partying.”

  “Tell her the truth,” Tom said with a sneer.

  Parker glared at the other boy. Then he slowly turned his gaze toward me. “Okay, so maybe we were scoping it out because we were planning to have a party there before the TV thing really got going. A bunch of us have birthdays real close together, so it seemed like a cool idea.”