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Karen explained that dirt road we were walking along was taking us into the silver mining district of Bachelor Loop, which I decided was a less daunting name than Widower’s Loop. From the moment we started walking, Flint seemed to be tracking some familiar scent. For my part, as soon as I saw how sandy the soil was along the fairly inclined path, I could see why John didn’t want his dog running to the edge of a steep drop-off. Not to mention me and my stupid fear of heights. I had no intention of going near the thing.
“Does John take Flint on this hike often?” I asked Karen.
“At least three times a week,” she said. She pointed at what looked like a dilapidated building ahead of us. “That’s the Commodore Mine. But that’s another site to avoid. All of those yellowish, jagged boulders are waste rock that’s contaminated Willow Creek with heavy metals. John doesn’t like to have Flint climb on them.”
“I don’t blame him,” I said, even though there was something truly majestic about the site. The view appeared to be broadening into a breathtaking scene. We headed along the trail to the right instead.
Flint was really pulling, whatever scent he was following seemingly stronger here. He clearly wanted me to break into a sprint. Pavlov, too, was not maintaining her heel position, eager to keep up with Flint.
“Do you mind if I hold his leash?” Karen asked. “I really miss Sandy, my Collie.”
Baxter had Pavlov’s leash, so I was going to have both of my hands free, and frankly, that was probably wise. Her mention of a “rim” made me worried that I might need to lie flat and hug the ground at some point. I gave her Flint’s leash. “My mom has a Collie named Sage,” I told Karen.
“Aren’t they just a wonderful breed?” she asked.
“One of my favorites. I have a Cocker and a King Charles Cavalier at home. At my mother’s house, actually. Along with her new husband’s Golden, they have four dogs.”
“Where do they live? Boulder?”
“Berthoud.”
She nodded as if she knew that small town’s location.
“Are you a native Coloradoan?” I asked.
“I am, actually. Born and raised in Denver.”
“I’m a native Coloradoan, too.”
“How about you, Baxter?”
“Moved here from Chicago,” he answered with a grin.
“Did you know anybody in the cast or at the theater before you took the role?” I asked Karen.
“Only by reputation. Both Hammond and Sally are much better known than I am. I’ve been a member of the Actors Guild for longer, though.”
“What about Greg?”
She hesitated. “He was making a big name for himself on the stage as a young actor. Unfortunately, he got into some trouble with the law. Drunk driving. He was a real natural, from what I’ve heard. He’s been remaking his image, though.”
“Huh,” I said. If we knew each other better, I’d have told her that he was the weak link in the play. “From the performances I’ve seen, he gave his best performance last night in the final act.”
“Stage magic,” she said with a nod. She smiled, while keeping her eyes focused on the path ahead of us. “That’s one of the reasons I’ve hung in there with my spotty career. I live for the exhilaration I get when I and everyone in the scene with me catches fire. It’s like nothing else. You no longer feel like you’re reciting lines. You’re simply speaking your mind. You’ve melded with your character so completely, you’re one and the same.”
Our conversation lagged as we made our way around a craggy jag in the path. It appeared to me as if the dogs were leading us off course, but I assumed that was due to John avoiding the rim; Flint was striding with the confidence of a dog on a familiar trail.
“How’s John as a director?” Baxter asked.
Karen peered at him and chuckled a little. “He’s getting the job done, let’s say. I imagine that it’s hard to direct your own work. He’s chosen not to get the perspective of an experienced director.”
“I would imagine getting an outsider’s opinion with lots of experience would have been wiser,” I said. “Just in terms of being logical.”
Karen made no comment.
“There is certainly plenty of backstage drama going on,” I prodded. “Is that typical for stage productions?”
“Thankfully, no. But, drama is the lifeblood of all of us. So things do tend to get blown out of proportion in this business.”
“A jab from a tack actually was an attempted murder,” Baxter said.
“You do know I had nothing to do with that, right?” Karen asked both of us. “I mean, I know you saw my flowers, and the police took them in to their lab to examine them further. But no matter what the tests show, it wasn’t me who tried to hurt John.”
“I’m sure of that,” I said. In truth, I wasn’t completely sure, but of anyone I’d met at the Creede Repertory Theatre, I considered her the least likely to be guilty.
“John’s a personal friend of yours, right, Baxter?”
“He was. I guess he still is. Can’t say I have a whole lot of respect for how he cheated in order to win ownership of Flint.”
“I know. That was pretty disturbing. I don’t think that would have ever come out, except for the police investigation and all.” She gave Baxter a sympathetic smile. “John can be a great guy. When his ambition doesn’t get in his way. It probably has something to do with his childhood.”
“He had a rough childhood?” I asked.
She shook her head. “That’s just me, playing amateur psychologist. I only met him a few months ago when I auditioned. I know next to nothing about his childhood. Common knowledge about all of us actors is that we felt deprived as kids...that we were so love-starved, we need the fix of an audience’s applause.”
“Do you know Sam Geller personally?” I asked.
“No.” She studied my features. “Why do you ask?”
I gazed at Flint. He was sniffing the ground and the air, happily keeping ahead of us. “For Flint’s benefit. I’d like to know whether or not John’s claim that Sam is the one sabotaging the dog’s performances has any validity.”
“I think someone acted irrationally...in the heat of the moment,” Karen said. “I can picture someone being so mad at John, they grabbed a tack from the corkboard, jabbed it into the stem of the Monkshood, and affixed it to the sleeve. But I honestly don’t have any idea who.”
“Sam never grumbled to you or to your fellow cast members about how little he thought of Sam?”
She shook her head. “He’s not much of a talker.” She grimaced. “He’s more the...silent ogler type.”
“He ogles you?” I asked, alarmed. I’d enjoyed his company today.
“During costume changes. Sometimes you really don’t have much time for modesty. And we’re always wearing underwear. He probably watches because he’s a newbie to theater.”
“Does John strike you as a good dog owner?” Baxter asked, somewhat surprising me. Maybe he was souring on John Morris as much as I was.
“Absolutely,” Karen answered. “He always treats Flint well. In my presence, at least.”
Our incline grew steeper. I was beginning to get nervous. I needed to talk to get my mind off this incline. “Did Flint ever appear to be stressed because John was near?”
“Well, he was panting quite a bit when he was backstage during his performances. But not during his rehearsals. So I don’t know what that was about.” She grimaced. “It seemed like classic stage fright to me.”
“Did he ever appear to be drugged...dazed or anything?”
“No, I just...can’t say. I was in my character’s head. Even when I’m backstage, I’m trying to stay in character. During a performance, I’m always looking at him as if he was my new husband’s fondest other. When—”
She broke off and cried, “Whoa!”
Flint suddenly went into hyper-drive, trying to race up the slope. Karen was jerked off balance and lost her grip on the leash. “Wait! Stop!” she hollered.
“Flint, Come,” I called. “Come, Flint!”
Pavlov, too, started straining against her leash and whining, which was unlike her. Baxter was having to put his full strength into keeping ahold of her leash. She paused to sniff at a rock, near where Flint had decided to bolt.
Karen chased Flint up the slope. I was frozen, helplessly yelling, “Come!” The rim was just a few strides away.
There was a red stain on a portion of the rock that had darkened the sandy ground alongside it.
“Is that blood?” I asked Baxter, as I stared at the reddish splatter on the ground and the rock.
Baxter was too busy holding Pavlov back from charging ahead to look.
“Pavlov, sit,” I said. She stopped pulling and sat down, though she continued to whine. I took the leash from Baxter and wrapped it once around the narrow trunk of an aspen tree, to make sure I could prevent her from pulling free from my grasp.
Flint was barking continuously. He had stopped at the highest elevation—at what must be the rim that John had felt was too treacherous for Flint to get near.
“Karen, wait,” Baxter said. “Let me get Flint. Stay with Allie.”
Flint had stopped just twenty yards or so ahead of us. “Flint, come!” I called once again. He made no move to obey me. He gave me just one glance and then turned his head back to the mine entrance. A second later he took a wide-legged stance and barked at me.
“Something is up there. He wants us to come see,” I said, thinking out loud.
Karen returned, and I had her grab the handle of Pavlov’s leash, in case Pavlov chose to zip around the tree and unwrap it. I followed Baxter partway up the incline, needing to be careful not to get too dizzy.
Baxter raced up to where Flint was standing. He grabbed Flint’s leash and stood staring into the pit below.
“Aw, crap. A man’s down there. I think he’s dead. He’s not moving at all.” He seemed to sag as he continued to stare. “Call nine-one-one,” Baxter called to Karen.
“It’s not John, is it?” I asked, climbing toward him.
He shook his head and took a couple of steps toward me. “Wait there,” he said.
I was confident I could meet him halfway. “It’s not a steep drop off, is it?”
Flint stopped to tinkle. Baxter shook his head. “Less than ten feet, and it’s graded. I need to get down there, though. He could need CPR.”
“There’s no signal—no cell coverage here,” Karen said.
I took a deep breath and strode to where Baxter stood. I took two more steps, and took a glimpse at the supine figure below us, his head cranked to one side, his neck at an unnatural angle.
I returned to Baxter’s side and grabbed his arm. “That’s Sam.”