Avalanche Of Trouble. Cindi Myers
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his responsibility to keep her informed of his whereabouts, but annoying her now was worth a little aggravation later.
Travis answered Gage’s call on the second ring. “What’s up?” the sheriff asked. Two years older than Gage, he had won a hotly contested election two years previously to become the youngest county sheriff in Colorado. Since then, even the detractors who had tried to hold his youth against him had admitted to being impressed with his performance. Gage hadn’t been surprised at all—Travis had always been the more serious and determined of the three Walker siblings. Gage, though equally smart and athletic, preferred a more laid-back approach to life.
But there was nothing laid-back about his current situation. “We’ve got a mess on our hands,” he said. “That abandoned car Milo Werth called in belongs to a young couple who got themselves killed up on Dakota Ridge.”
“Killed?” A sound like Travis closing a door. “How?”
“Shot in the back of the head. Execution-style—hands tied behind their backs. Greg and Angela Hood, from Denver. They were camping on land up there—probably a mining claim.”
“Who owns the claim?” Travis asked.
“I haven’t got that far yet. We need to call in the crime scene techs. And depending on what they find, we may need to get some help from the state. Everything about this feels bad to me.”
“I’ll call CSI as soon as we get off the phone,” Travis said. “You head back up there and guard the crime scene.”
“Dwight’s up there now. I found a next of kin notification card in the woman’s wallet. I figure I’ll make that call before I head back up. Says it’s her sister.”
“Hard,” Travis said.
“Yeah, but it needs to be done. And if it was our sister, I’d want to know right away.”
“Agreed,” Travis said. “Fortunately, I talked to Emily this morning. She was on her way to class.” Their baby sister was working on her MBA in economics at Colorado State University.
“Good to know. Tell the forensics team there’s a pull-off just after mile marker eight. I want it checked for any tire impressions or other evidence. There aren’t any signs near the Hoods’ car, so I’m wondering if the killers parked there and walked up.”
“Will do.”
The call ended, Gage pulled up the number for Angela Hood’s sister. A woman answered the phone. “Hello?” Her voice was raised to be heard over what sounded like a crowd.
“This is Deputy Gage Walker with the Rayford County Sheriff’s Department,” Gage said. “Is this Maya Renfro?”
“Speaking.” A cheer rose up behind her, momentarily drowning her out.
“I can hardly hear you,” Gage said. “Where are you?”
“High school gym. Hang on a minute.” The crowd noise rose again, then was abruptly cut off. “I ducked into the locker room,” Maya said. “This should be better.”
“You’re in high school?” Cold sweat beaded on the back of Gage’s neck. It was hard enough giving bad news to an adult, but to hurt a teenager that way? “Maybe you should get a teacher in there with you. I can wait.”
“I’m a teacher,” Maya said. “Who did you say you were again? I didn’t catch it.”
“Deputy Gage Walker with the Rayford County Sheriff’s Department.”
Silence. He tried to picture her—probably dark-haired, like her sister, with the same green eyes and open face. “Ms. Renfro?” he prompted.
“What’s happened?” she asked, her voice strained. “Why are you calling me?”
“You have a sister—Angela Hood?”
“Has something happened to Angie? What’s happened to her?”
Better to get this over with. There was no way to cushion the blow. “I’m sorry to tell you your sister is dead.”
More silence. No screaming or crying. Gage waited. He could hear her breathing, hard, on the other end of the line. “What happened?” she asked finally, her voice hoarse with unshed tears.
“She and her husband, Greg Hood, were shot and killed at their campsite near here.”
“Shot? I don’t understand? Was it hunters? Some kind of accident?”
“It wasn’t an accident. Did your sister and her husband have any enemies? Anyone who would have wanted to kill them?”
“No! Are you saying they were murdered? While camping?”
“That’s what it looks like. Do you know why they were here?”
“They bought the land a few weeks ago and wanted to spend some time on it. They said it was really beautiful up there. Who killed them?”
“We don’t know yet. Did either of them mention having an argument or disagreement with anyone? Did they mention arranging to meet someone up here?”
“No. It was just a quick trip to get the lay of the land and make plans.”
“What kind of plans?”
“Casey!” She choked out the word. “What about Casey? Is she all right?”
“Who is Casey?” Gage asked.
“Their daughter. My niece. She was with them. Is she all right? Did whoever do this kill her, too?”
Gage felt as if someone had reached into his chest and grabbed his heart and squeezed. “You’re sure she was with them? How old is Casey?”
“She’s five. And yes, I’m sure she was with them. You didn’t see her?”
“No.” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to bring his memory of the scene at the camp into focus. No child’s toys scattered about. Sleeping bags and tote box in the tent. Some clothing—maybe something pink, but at the time he had assumed it belonged to the woman. Women wore pink. But now that he thought about it again, the T-shirt had been a little on the small side for Angela Hood. “You’re sure your niece was with her parents on this trip? Maybe they left her with friends or a relative.”
“They wouldn’t do that. Or if they did, I would know about it. If they needed someone to watch Casey, I would do it.” Her voice rose, pinched with agitation. “What’s happened to her?”
“I promise I’ll find out. I have to go now, but I’ll call you back as soon as I know something.”
Fighting a sick feeling in his stomach, he hit the speed dial for Travis again, even as he started the SUV. “Those two murder victims up here?” he said as soon as Travis answered. “They had a kid with them. We’ve got a missing little girl.”
Maya Renfro gripped the steering wheel of her Volkswagen Beetle so hard her fingers ached, and depressed the accelerator until she was doing eighty. The roads were dry and clear and if highway patrol stopped her, she’d give them Deputy Gage Walker’s number and tell them to take it up with him. Her sister was dead and her niece was missing, and every movement felt as if Maya were swimming through quicksand.
This had to be a bad dream. Real life couldn’t be this horrible, could it?
But of course it could. You didn’t teach high school for four years without seeing a little of that awfulness—kids kicked out of the house while they were still in their teens, colleagues who died of cancer, budget cuts that sliced into the most meaningful programs.
But life that bad had never happened to Maya before. It shouldn’t happen to Angela—or to Casey.
She