Murder In Black Canyon. Cindi Myers
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to interrupt, but I have to ask you a few questions.” He took a step toward her. “I’m Lieutenant Dylan Holt, with the Ranger Brigade task force. I wanted to ask you about the body that was brought to your camp earlier today.”
Andi looked away. “I didn’t see anything. I didn’t want to look. It was horrible.”
Kayla moved up beside Dylan, her voice gentle. “We don’t want to upset you, Andi,” she said. “We just have a few questions and then we’ll leave you alone.”
“All right.” She motioned toward the rug across from her. “You might as well sit down.”
The room was furnished with a cot and several folding camp chairs, but Dylan lowered himself to the rug. The coolness of the earth seeped up through the rug’s pile. Kayla sat beside him. “Tell me what you saw this morning,” he said.
Andi shrugged. “I didn’t see much. There was shouting, and Abe and Zach came in, dragging something on a tarp. I thought they had killed an animal at first—there was so much blood. Then I saw it was a man and I looked away. I ran back here and hid.” She rubbed her hand across her stomach. “I didn’t want to see any more.”
“Do you know a man named Frank Asher?” he asked. “He works for the FBI.”
“Frank?” She stared at him, eyes wide. “What about Frank?”
“Did you know him?” Dylan asked.
“No!” She shook her head, hands clutching her skirt. “No,” she repeated in a whisper, even as tears ran down her face.
“I think you did know him,” Dylan said. “Frank Asher is the man who was killed—the body Zach and Abe found this morning.”
Andi covered her mouth with her hand. “I told him not to come here,” she said, the words muffled. “I told him not to come and now look what happened.” She collapsed onto the rug and began to sob, the mournful wailing filling the tent and making Dylan’s chest hurt.
Kayla knelt beside Andi, alarmed by the speed at which the beautiful, defiant young woman had dissolved into this wailing heap of grief. “I’m so sorry,” she said, rubbing Andi’s back. “Please sit up and try to calm down.” She looked back over her shoulder at Dylan, who looked as if he wanted to be anyplace but here at this moment. “Would you get her some water?” She pointed toward a large jug that sat on a stand at the back of the tent.
He retrieved the water and brought it to her. “What was your relationship to Frank Asher?” he asked. “When was the last time you were in contact with him?”
The questions brought a fresh wave of sobs. Kayla glared at him. Did he have to act like such a cop right now, firing official-sounding questions at this obviously distraught woman? “You’re not helping,” she said.
Frowning, he backed away.
“Drink this.” Kayla put the cup of water into Andi’s hands. “Take a deep breath. You’ve had a shock.”
“What’s going on in here? What are you doing to her?”
The outraged questions came from one of the women Kayla had seen with Andi earlier—a slight figure with a mane of brown curly hair and a slightly crooked nose. She rushed over and inserted herself between Andi and Kayla. “Asteria, honey, what have they done to you?”
“What’s your name?” Dylan joined them again.
The brown-haired woman glared at him. “Who are you, and why are you upsetting my friend?”
“Lieutenant Holt.” Dylan showed his badge. “I’m investigating the death of the man whose body was brought into the camp earlier today. What’s your name?”
“Starfall.”
Kayla thought Dylan was about to demand she tell him her real name, but he apparently thought better of it. “Were you here when Abe and Zach brought him in?” he asked.
Starfall wrinkled her nose. “They should have known better than to pull a stunt like that. It was awful.”
“What do you mean, ‘a stunt like that’?” Dylan asked.
“The man was dead. I mean, half his head was gone. We couldn’t do anything for him. They should have left him where they found him and not involved us in whatever happened to him.”
Andi began keening again, rocking back and forth. Starfall wrapped her arms around her friend. “You need to go,” she said. “You’ve upset her enough.”
“Do you know a man named Frank Asher?” Dylan asked.
“No. Now go. You have no right to harass us this way.”
Kayla touched Dylan’s arm. “Give her a chance to calm down a little,” she said softly. “You can question her later.”
He nodded and led the way out of the tent.
The camp was just as deserted as it had been before. “Looks like nobody wants to take a chance on running into a cop,” Dylan observed.
“Or maybe they really are taking a siesta.” She pulled the front of her shirt away from her chest, hoping for a cool breeze. “It’s baking out here.”
He glanced back at her. “You should wear a hat.” He touched the brim of the fawn-colored Stetson that was part of his uniform.
They left the camp, back on the trail to the parking area. “What are you going to do next?” Kayla asked.
“There’s so much that feels wrong here it’s hard to know where to start.” He gave her a hard look. “What’s Andi Matheson’s relationship to Frank Asher?”
“How should I know?”
“Her father hired you to find her. You must have looked into her background, talked to her friends and people who knew her.”
“I did, but none of them ever mentioned a Frank Asher.” No one had mentioned any men in Andi’s life, outside of her father and a few very casual acquaintances. None of the photos and articles Kayla had viewed online linked Andi with a man. At the time, Kayla had thought it was a little unusual that a woman as attractive and seemingly outgoing as Andi didn’t have a boyfriend, or at least an ex-boyfriend.
“Maybe he wasn’t a friend of hers then,” Dylan said. “Maybe her father knew him. It’s not unreasonable to think a senator would know an FBI agent. Maybe you weren’t the only person the senator had tailing his daughter. Maybe he sent the Fed after her, too.”
“Or maybe Asher is the father of Andi’s baby.”
Dylan stopped so abruptly she almost plowed into him. “She has a baby?”
“She’s pregnant. Didn’t you notice?” Kayla gestured toward her own stomach.
He flushed. “I thought maybe she was just a little too fond of cheeseburgers or beer or something.” He patted his own flat belly.
She stared at him. “I can’t believe you said that.”
“What did you expect? I’m a cop and a rancher—two professions known for plain speaking.” He started walking again, long strides covering ground quickly so that she had to trot to catch up with him.
“You’re a rancher?” she asked.
“My family has a ranch near here. In Ouray County.” He pulled out his keys and hit the button to unlock the FJ Cruiser.
That explained a lot—from the way he seemed so at home in this rugged landscape, to the swagger in his walk that was more cowboy than cop.
He climbed in and started the engine even before she had her door closed. “If