Ren walked down Main Street under a blazing sun. The mountain breeze struggled to cut through the heat. The sky was cloudless. She went into the quiet cool of the Crown, put in her order and took the sofa. She grabbed one of the Breckenridge tourist maps that were stacked in businesses all over town. She drew a circle over Reign on Main. It was the place where Jean Transom ate her last meal. Dead woman walking. Ren remembered Jean’s refrigerator, filled with healthy food. And all the snacks in her desk drawer were healthy. The last night she was seen, she ate at five p.m.; too early for Reign on Main to have been a last resort. And if someone who eats healthy wants to have a junk-food blow-out, they’ll pick quality junk. At the very least, they’ll choose McDonalds. Does any of this matter?
Ren wondered if all this thinking, the inability to switch off her brain, was the thing that one day would take her down. Something so terrible would happen that she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it, and she would implode. Shut up. She looked at the map again. On the west side of South Main: Wardwell’s. One block north – Mountain Sports. On the east side of South Main, opposite Wardwell’s, Reign on Main. She grabbed another map and traced the line from Breckenridge south to the Brockton Filly and Quandary Peak. Jean didn’t make or receive any calls on her cellphone from that time, but if she’d had a throwaway phone, this wasn’t relevant – she could have made calls, then dumped it or someone else could have dumped it for her.
Ren ate her Cinnamonster in half the time it should have taken her. She used a sticky thumb to dial Mike.
‘Hey, it’s Ren. Where would I find Salem Swade if, say, I wasn’t quite in the humor for hiking up Quandary?’
‘Easy,’ said Mike. ‘Between nine a.m. and eleven a.m. at the Gold Pan. How lazy are you?’
Ren laughed. ‘Thanks. Gotta go.’ She checked her watch. It was ten a.m.
Salem sat in the Gold Pan reading the Summit Daily News. It was in every bar, restaurant, hotel and inn all over the county. He nodded when she walked in.
‘Hello …’ he said.
‘Hello, Salem. Remember me? Ren? Nice to see you.’
‘My pod is out of juice,’ he said. It lay dead beside his plate.
‘I can charge it for you,’ said Ren, pulling out her laptop.
‘Thank you,’ he said. With suspicion.
‘It’s safe with me,’ she said, plugging it in.
Salem nodded. ‘That’s good news. I’ve a long walk ahead of me.’
‘I could give you a ride.’
‘No thank you. You going to have breakfast?’
‘Just coffee. Mind if I join you?’
‘No, ma’am.’
The waiter came by with coffee.
‘This place is great,’ she said to Salem.
‘This place was built the same year they struck gold in the Blue River,’ he said. ‘Oldest bar around. Never even closed in Prohibition times.’
‘Really?’ said Ren.
He nodded. They sat in silence for a little while.
‘Salem,’ said Ren, ‘I was wondering if you could do me a favor …’
‘Maybe. Go ahead.’
‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘If I ask you some questions about some people, can you keep it to yourself?’
‘You mean not tell anyone you asked me, or not tell them you asked me?’ said Salem.
‘Not tell them and not tell anyone,’ said Ren.
Salem nodded. ‘Not necessarily.’ He paused. ‘Well, if you asked me to kill them, for example, I’d be obliged to let them and your bosses know.’ He fixed serious eyes on her. Then broke out in a laugh.
‘It’s safe to say I have no desire to kill anyone,’ said Ren. She smiled. Then noticed Salem’s faraway eyes.
Oh shit. ‘But I signed up to what I signed up to’ said Ren, and, if placed in a situation, I would have no problem using my weapon and taking the necessary action.’
Come back to me. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said finally.
He turned to her. ‘Me too.’
The breakfast arrived with the silence.
‘So,’ said Salem, when she had finished eating. ‘What is this secret question?’
‘Thanks,’ said Ren. ‘OK, I was just wondering who brings you stuff up to the cabin? Is there someone who comes up with, say, food or clothes?’ Like the Wardwells.
He nodded. ‘Sure. The Wardwells from the store down there.’
‘Together?’
‘Most times.’
‘OK. When?’
‘Could be any day.’
‘Any particular time?’
‘Six p.m. Seven.’
‘Do they stay long?’ said Ren.
‘’Bout an hour.’
‘OK.’
‘That’s it?’
‘That’s it. Thank you.’
‘Can’t see why that’s such a big secret.’
‘Trust me,’ said Ren.
‘I would, if you hadn’t just stood up and grabbed your computer with my pod hanging out of it.’
‘Oops,’ said Ren. ‘Here you go.’ She turned to leave. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘let me get this –’ She took the bill from the table.
He shook his head. ‘Mine’s free. I get free breakfasts here.’
‘Oh. I forgot. I’m sorry.’
He nodded.
‘But I doubt I’ll be extended the same privilege,’ said Ren, smiling.
The waiter was on his way over. ‘This is on me.’
Ren looked back and forth between both of them. ‘But –’
‘No,’ he said. ‘If Salem has a date, we’re going to cover her too.’
‘Well, thank you very much,’ said Ren. ‘Are you sure?’
‘You bet.’
‘If I’d known I could bring a date here for free …’ said Salem.
The parking lot of the Brockton Filly was almost deserted. Ren got out of the Jeep, wondering what had happened to all Billy’s customers. The new green neon sign looked too bright and shiny for a dead bar. She pushed in the door. Apart from the hum of the air-conditioning, it was like being back in January. There were a few people dotted around, mainly dirty-looking truckers.
Ren went up to the bar. ‘Hey,’ she said.
Billy’s face was stony. ‘Hi.’
‘What’s up?’ She looked at him and around the bar.
‘Like you don’t know …’
‘Don’t know what?’
‘I was raided last night for serving alcohol to minors.’
‘What?’
‘Do