May 21
BURLESON WAS ADAMANT: no horses, no wranglers, nothing.
“We can’t go up there,” he said, still groggy from sleep after being roused by Nora showing up on his doorstep at seven in the morning. “Not in this weather. And we sure as hell can’t be responsible for your well-being.”
He’d been saying the same thing for the past ten minutes, and no amount of begging, threatening, or wheedling could shift him. “But I’m not asking you to go—” Nora began again.
“End of discussion. Sorry, Nora—you’re just going to have to wait it out.”
* * *
Back in town and on her way to the inn for a badly needed cup of coffee, Nora came around a corner and nearly ran into Agent Swanson, headed in the other direction.
Nora frowned and looked away, hoping to dash by. But no such luck.
“Nora,” Corrie said. “Do you have a moment?”
Nora was in no mood to talk to this woman. “What now?”
“There’s one other thing I meant to tell you. The Wiggett homicide is being turned over to the Sacramento Field Office. Special Agent Chen is arriving today to take over.”
Nora gave a brusque nod, then started for the entrance to the inn. Maybe this Chen would be easier to work with.
Corrie turned to follow her. “As soon as the transition is complete, I’ll be headed back to Albuquerque.”
“I wish you the best.” And good riddance.
“Unfortunately, with the storm it may be a few days before I can show Agent Chen the campsite and dig.”
“Unfortunately, you were supposed to hand off the site to me after forty-eight hours. That meant yesterday at two PM. Instead, you didn’t live up to our agreement. You got back after dark—and now we can’t get to the dig, either.”
She walked into the inn, Corrie Swanson still following. “I was late. Sorry. But the fact is, you couldn’t have gone up yesterday afternoon anyway—not with the approaching storm.”
Nora didn’t answer. She knew this was true, given her reception from Burleson just now. But she was in no mood to admit it to this interfering FBI agent.
“I’ve got one last question,” Corrie went on. “It’s just a loose end, but I’m not sure how to write it up in my report. Do you know of anyone who might have been camping near the dig last summer or fall?”
“Nope, sorry.” Nora glanced around the lobby, looking for the urns. Damn, she needed that coffee.
“I ask because yesterday I found a fire ring dating back to last year or earlier, up a side canyon.”
“I didn’t even learn of the site’s existence until December, as you know. It must be just some random camper.”
Corrie frowned. “Okay.”
Nora located the coffee urn and began heading for it, but then something made her hesitate. She recalled her growing feeling that someone had been watching their camp. “Are you sure the fire ring wasn’t more recent?”
“A bunch of pine needles and aspen leaves were lying over the dead coals, along with a stray patch of snow, so I assumed it had to be abandoned before the leaves fell in the fall.”
Nora waited.
“Funny place to camp,” Corrie went on. “No fishing, no scenery, just a dead-end canyon and a big split tree.”
Nora hesitated. A split tree. Why did that ring a bell? “Maybe it was a hunter’s camp?”
“Hunting season starts in late November, after the leaves have fallen.”
This sounded a little strange. “Did you find anything else up there?”
“I scoured the site, but it was pretty clean. Just some trash. A gum wrapper, cigar butt, stray piece of cellophane—that’s it.”
Nora paused. “Cigar butt? Did it still have its label?”
“I didn’t notice. I’d have to check.”
“You saved it?”
“Of course.”
Nora quickly dismissed this as a meaningless coincidence—which, if mentioned to this FBI agent, would only create more unnecessary suspicion. Still, she hesitated, uneasiness tugging at her. “Where was this canyon, exactly?”
Corrie paused to recollect. “If you go down Poker Canyon, cross, um, Hackberry Creek, and go up the canyon on the opposite side—that’s the one. No name on the map.”
Nora took a deep breath. Now she remembered where the memory of the split tree had come from. When they were first riding up Hackberry Creek, before they found the Lost Camp, Clive had mentioned something about a giant tree split in two by lightning. But in what context?
“Where’s the cigar butt?” Nora asked.
“In my room.”
“Can we go take a look?”
Corrie’s gaze turned speculative. “Why?”
“Let’s just check it,” said Nora. “I’ll tell you why later.”
“All right.”
Nora followed Corrie over to the stairs and up to her room. The agent walked over to an evidence case placed on a luggage rack, opened it, and took out a sealed plastic envelope with a few items inside, including the butt end of a fat cigar. She handed the envelope to Nora.
Nora turned it over, feeling an odd tightness in her chest. “Dunhill,” she murmured. She handed it back to Corrie.
“Is that significant?” Corrie asked.
Nora hesitated. Should she tell her? It was only going to lead to more trouble. But she heard herself saying: “Clive occasionally smokes Dunhills.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. He said it calms him when he’s feeling frustrated. And…” Now she feared she was really taking a step she’d regret. “You mentioned a tree split by lightning.”
“Yes. It was right next to the fire ring, one half leaning out like it was about to fall. I’d never camp there for fear of getting clobbered while I slept.”
“When we were looking for the camp, riding up Hackberry Creek for the first time…Clive said something about a split tree.”
“In what context?”
“I can’t fully recall. I think he was joking about the danger of being struck by lightning up in those mountains. He mentioned a spruce he’d seen that was split top to bottom. Very dramatic, he said. Is the tree…visible from the trail?”
“No.”
Nora went silent, thinking.
Corrie asked, “Is Dunhill a common brand of cigar?”
“No idea.” This was precisely what she’d been afraid of, setting off more speculation. “Look, anybody could have left that cigar. It wasn’t Clive. Why would he be camping up there last year? He told me he’d never been in this area before.”
Corrie took a moment to answer. “Looking for the gold.”
“Come on. Really? Then why bring this project to the Institute? Why didn’t he just take the gold himself?”
“Maybe he tried but couldn’t find it. So he enlisted your expertise in locating the camp.”
“That makes no sense. Once we found the gold, how was he supposed to get his hands on it? Steal it from the Institute?”
Corrie said slowly, “Perhaps he’s already found the gold. And that’s why you haven’t found it yet.”
Nora laughed mirthlessly. “You’re hanging this entire theory on an old stogie.”
“And a split tree.”
“There must be dozens of those in the forest.”
After a moment, Corrie took the evidence bag from Nora. “There’s going to be DNA on this. Maybe even a fingerprint. Let’s show it to him and ask if he was camping up there last year.”
“He’ll say no.”
“Of course he’ll say no. But we’ll get a chance to gauge his reaction to our question.”
“Your question. I’m not going to ask him that to his face. He’s a partner in this expedition—and a friend.”
“Fair enough.” And Corrie led the way to the door.