There was a chill in the early day air as Dean drove the topless Jeep north through town as Ouray was waking up. Reminded of Pumpkin Green, he wondered where the young hiker had spent the cool night. He could picture the vampire-shrouded traveler pushing his grocery cart, happy to have the extra covering on this mountain morning.

The Dexter Creek Road departed from the highway a few miles north of town and climbed sharply up the eastern escarpment of the valley. As he turned off, Dean checked the highway in both directions, but there were no other vehicles in sight. The gravel road led past a small subdivision, then a few individual houses and small but beautiful Lake Lenoir, before climbing into the open and leading to a beautiful panorama of the Uncompahgre Valley and the snow-capped mountains to the west. Once past the open vista, the road deteriorated, dropping into the forest on federal land. Dean bumped along, skirting puddles but having no difficulty navigating the seldom-used route. Soon the road opened to the beautiful meadow of Thistle Farm.

A white vehicle was parked at the far end-not a sheriff's vehicle, but a Honda. Lydia Larkin opened the door as soon as she spotted Dean. She was in jeans and a man's dress shirt, her most unrevealing outfit to date. She was smoking, and coughing with each puff.

"Those things will kill you."

She peered behind them, as if searching to see if he'd been followed. "I know. I don't smoke."

"You're doing a pretty good imitation."

"I ripped these off a high school kid. I'm going crazy. I had to do something and I'm not about to drink-too damn early." She combed her fingers through her red hair, forgetting her pushed-back sunglasses and knocking them to the ground. She swore and stooped to pick them up.

"This was a stupid place to meet," she grumbled, moving away from her car. "If he comes in here, there's no way out." Dean wanted to say the obvious-that the location was her suggestion-but held back. She turned abruptly and asked, fire in her eyes, "What did you say to him about Billy's death?"

"Nothing. We didn't discuss it." She wasn't satisfied and waited for more. Finally he said, "I told him to buy a couple of bottles of vodka and drink them himself."

"Why in hell did you say that?"

"I suppose to get his goat. It seemed to do the trick."

"You bet! For some reason he blames me-like you and I are in cahoots to get him. So now he's suggesting I chased Billy down the mountain until he went over the side! God, he was so cute about it-wanting to know if you were a witness, asking all kinds of questions about what you saw and heard. He's out to get you, or to use me to do it, or get both of us."




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