In nature’s game of cat and mouse, cats infect mice with a parasite that induces them to take more risks and, thus, become easier prey for hungry cats. Davies had killed Everest in an attempt to “infect” Seth with the burning desire to catch him. This burning desire had taken down O’Shaughnessy and Cavetti. Seth would be damned if Brent Davies was going to lure him into risking himself and his family.
Instead, Seth used promises of good food and a great story to entice his young reporter friend, Barton Gaston, into joining him on road trips around Colorado. Then he put out the word:
“Detective Seth O’Malley is investigating livestock mutilations while he works on a symphony. If you have something to say, you can find him at a piano near you.”
He even talked his agent into making press calls so that local television stations would cover his escapades.
Seth’s goal was to create such a public fuss that Davies wouldn’t have time to wonder what Ava and her lab were up to. Seth packed a bag, grabbed an untraceable cell phone, picked up Barton, and they took off for their first stop—Colorado’s oldest town, San Luis.
They pulled into San Luis around noon. Barton used the GPS on his cellphone to guide them to the San Luis Catholic Church rectory and the piano inside. They turned off Main Street and came to a stop
“Holy crap,” Barton said. Seth grinned.
The road was jammed with cars and trucks. The sidewalks were full of people who had ditched their cars a few blocks back.
“Guess you’re popular,” Barton said.
“It’s the mutes,” Seth said. “No one wants to miss out on a chance to talk about mutilations. They certainly don’t want to miss what their neighbors are saying about them.”
He pointed to his agent, Schmidty, and Lizzie, his first daughter from his first marriage, who were standing next to the door. Lizzie waved as they drove by.
“Hey, that’s Lizzie,” Barton said. Barton and Lizzie had worked on their high school yearbook together. “She looks great.”
“They’ve been in Malibu for the last year,” Seth said.
“It suits her,” Barton said.
“You know, they’re engaged,” Seth said.
“You know, I’m still gay,” Barton said. “Whoa.”
Barton pointed to the line of horse and buggies parked at one end of the parking lot. Seth smiled. He circled the parking lot before heading out to the street. They parked the truck a few blocks away and walked back to the rectory.
“I told Lizzie it was going to be like this,” Schmidty said, as they approached.
“I didn’t believe him, so I had to come,” Lizzie smiled. She held out an arm and hugged her dad. She let go of him to say, “Barton!”
They hugged. Seth raised his eyebrows to Schmidty. The young man gave him a nod. Schmidty’s father had sold Seth’s first symphony when he was eight years old. Forty years later, his only son had taken over as Seth’s agent. This Schmidty was smarter than his father and a more aggressive salesman. He had booked Seth all over the world and always traveled with him.
“It’s hot, crowded,” Schmidty said. “Are you . . .?”
“Great place to play sing-a-long,” Seth said.
Schmidty groaned. Seth loved to play the piano while people sang along. He slapped the young man’s back and they went into the rectory. The priest led them through winding hallways to a large auditorium and a standup piano. Seth sat down to started to play “Waltzing Matilda.” He’d played only a few bars before someone started singing. One singer led to others, and, with Seth’s encouragement, the crowd was singing and laughing in no time.
He was just starting “Piano Man” when Maresol’s nephew, Luis’s middle son, Carlos, arrived with a video camera. Seth played, and Barton interviewed people on camera. Lizzie brought him cold water, and he kept playing. A few hours later, in the middle of a rousing version of “Bohemian Rhapsody,” Barton leaned over to tell Seth that he was done. Seth looked up to see a still-packed auditorium. He stood from the piano.
“Thank you for your time,” Seth said. “I appreciate the generosity and trust it took for you to share your stories with us. We’re off to talk to the folks in Alamosa.”
With that, he and Barton left the rectory, with Lizzie and Schmidty following close behind.
“What did we learn?” Seth asked Barton.
“People are freaks?” Barton asked. Seth laughed. “Actually, it’s not hard to believe that something is going on here. So many people . . .”
“O’Malley!” A man yelled and honked his truck. Seth waved.
“ . . . have these experiences,” Barton said. “Life-changing experiences. ‘My life was never the same’ experiences.”
Seth nodded.
“Something’s going on,” Barton said.
“Government, military . . .”
“Alien,” Lizzie said. “I heard a bunch of alien stories. Did you know there’s an alien base on Mount Blanca?”
“Hmm,” Seth furrowed his brow. “Did you hear about the dock doors that magically disappeared?”
“How did you know?” Lizzie looked shocked.
“That story has been around for . . . twenty, thirty years,” Seth said. “Everybody knows ‘a guy’ who went up Mount Blanca without a camera. He saw a set of two to six foot metal rolling doors, similar to a loading dock, set into the side of the mountain. He raced home, grabbed his film or video or digital camera, but when he went back to the exact location, as determined by a GPS or map or compass, they saw only rock cliffs and the face of the mountain. The loading docks had disappeared completely.”
“Yeah, that’s it,” Lizzie said. “It’s not true?”
“Who knows?” Seth shrugged. “At some point, someone saw something.”
Lizzie nodded. They walked to Seth’s truck.
“That’s the thing with aliens,” Seth said. “People are experiencing something. It’s just hard to tell what they have experienced. Did either of you get Carlos’s tapes?”
“I have them,” Schmidty held up the video camera. “He gave me the camera.”
“That was nice,” Seth said.
“You paid him for it,” Schmidty said.
“Nice of me,” Seth said.
“I thought it was nice of me,” Schmidty grinned.
“I did, too,” Lizzie said. She threaded her hand through his elbow. Seth smiled at them.
“Are you coming to the next gig?” Seth asked.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Lizzie said.
“We’ll meet you there,” Schmidty said.
“Adams State Music Department,” Seth said.
Seth gave Lizzie a hug and said his goodbyes to Schmidty. He opened the door for Barton and got into the driver’s seat. They headed north on Main Street.
“You’re unusually quiet,” Seth said.
“I’m wondering if you’re going to tell me what’s really going on,” Barton said.
“Besides this sideshow?” Seth gestured to couples wearing T-shirts that said “I believe” on them. “Isn’t this enough?”
“For most men, probably even for most police detectives,” Barton said. “But not for Magic O’Malley.”
Seth squinted at Barton.
“It’s not like you to not tell me,” Barton said.
“I’ll make you this promise,” Seth said. “Someday, I’ll tell you what’s going on.”
“Before the nationals get a hold of the story?”
“Before the nationals,” Seth said.
“Deal,” Barton said. “I do have to say . . .”
Seth stopped at a light and turned to look at the young man.
“You do know how to show an honest reporter a good time,” Barton said.
Seth laughed.
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