Jemimah drove down the six-lane Interstate 70 in Denver—more traffic than in both Santa Fe and Albuquerque combined. She was glad she lived in Two-Main-Road Santa Fe, with no possibility of a freeway ever being built near it. Her exit came up quickly and she found the hotel with ease.
She sat on the bed in Room 118 of Denver’s historic Curtis Hotel, a large eclectic Victorian built in the 1800s. The hotel was small by Santa Fe standards, with only six stories and 150 rooms. But this wasn’t a pleasure trip. She preferred to stay in a central location where she could accomplish what she set out to do and return home.
Her room overlooked a pedestrian park with sandstone sidewalks. The trolley clanked noisily toward the station on the next block. It was early in the evening and a steady rain pelted her window. She didn’t feel much like sitting alone in the restaurant, so she decided to order from room service. She intended to catch a flight back to Albuquerque around seven the next morning.
She called Rick and told him what she had discovered about Brenda. There was no doubt in her mind that Brenda had not only killed each of the women in a jealous rage, but Charlie, too. Their conversation made her more determined than ever to have Brenda picked up for questioning. Romero told her that when she returned to Santa Fe, they would set up surveillance at her residence and at the bar in Madrid. Jemimah told Rick of her theory that Jimmy Fernando’s new girlfriend had probably met the same fate as the murdered women in Santa Fe. She would leave it to Rick to pursue that avenue with the Colorado State Police when the time came.
She reached over and set the alarm clock. Fifteen minutes later she was cozying up to the blankets. She could hear her phone ringing somewhere in the room. Where was it? She emptied her purse as it continued to ring. She finally retrieved it from the zipped pocket of her suitcase. Whitney’s name flashed across its face.
“Hello, Whitney. Long time no hear,” she said, yawning.
“Been waiting for you to return my call, Jem,” he drawled. “Too busy these days?”
“I’ve meant to get back to you. Right now I’m in Denver. Can this wait?” It was an effort to keep the annoyance out of her voice.
“You got a second?” he said.
“Sure,” she gave in. “But make it short.”
“You know that cold case I was asking for your opinion on?”
“The woman in the red corvette, yes, I do.”
Jemimah didn’t think this was something that couldn’t wait.
“Listen, I’ve been reviewing the file. Spoke to a few of the witnesses, and I’m thinking it’s not worth pursuing. Probably cost the taxpayers a whole bunch of money and then turn out to be a dead end.”
Jemimah was surprised. She could feel the pitch of her voice rising. “Not worth pursuing? A woman’s dead under suspicious circumstances. It sounded like a cover-up to me.”
“I just said I did some investigating into the circumstances, and I’m reclosing the file,”
he said.
“Are you sure? I ...” Jemimah stammered.
“Case closed, Jemimah,” he said abruptly.
“Already filed away.”
“Your call, Whitney.” She wasn’t ready to debate the point.
His tone of voice changed to one dripping with honey. “So what you doing this Friday. Want to have dinner?”
“No thanks. I’m pretty involved in this case. I’ll probably be doing a surveillance that night,” she said.
“My, my. Aren’t we moving up the ladder.
Rain check?”
“I’ll think about it and let you know,” she said.
“Getting sweet on the Lieutenant, are we?”
“Put a sock in it, Whitney,” she said, annoyed.
“Pleasant dreams, Jem.” He hung up.
Jemimah thought about the case Whitney had asked her opinion on. Even a cursory examination pointed to a blue wall erected around it. She was sure there was a lot more to it than Whitney was letting on. Maybe he had just used the case as an excuse to get closer to her and then realized she had read more into it than he expected.
Or maybe he had a deeper, darker involvement.