When I climbed out of the car, it was in jeans, a T-shirt, and low hiking boots that were flexible enough for running. Simon was leaning against the hood, still whistling. “Did you hear from Quinn?” I asked him, heading to the back of the Subaru. Simon followed me.
“No, I figured he’d call you first,” he answered.
“I left a message at Magic Beans, but he hasn’t called back. Maybe he just hasn’t gotten it yet.”
I glanced over at Simon in time to see an uneasy look flicker across his face. “Quinn’s usually pretty good about returning messages right after sunset,” he said hesitantly. “Do you think he’s still cleaning up the mess from the thing at the Walrus?”
I hadn’t thought of that, but I supposed it made sense. “That’s probably it.”
“Did you really have tea with my sisters?” he said disbelievingly. “All of them?”
“I really did. Hold this for a second.” I handed him the light knee-length jacket I’d packed with my clothes—although the day had been warm, the temperature was dropping with the sun. After looking around for cameras or witnesses, I unlocked my new safe, loaded the Smith & Wesson revolver, and secured the weapon in the quick-draw holster, which I strapped around my waist. Then I picked up the Ithaca shotgun, loaded it, and attached the three-point sling to the mounts at the bottom of the grip. I slipped the sling over my shoulder and took my jacket from Simon. After shrugging it on, I shoved extra rounds into all the pockets and tied the strap closed at my waist. There were buttons on the jacket too, but if I secured them, I wouldn’t be able to get the shotgun out quickly. Finally, I tugged out my earrings, tossed them into the trunk, and snapped the trunk shut. I looked at Simon and held out my arms. “Well?”
“Um, you look really good?”
I rolled my eyes. He obviously had a lot of sisters. “No, dummy. How obvious are the guns?”
“Oh.” He studied my jacket. “Everything’s covered. You’ve got some suspicious lumps, but I’m sure it’ll be fine from a distance.”
“Cool. Ready to go?”
He nodded. “I stopped by the ranger cottage today while you were at work, talked to some of the cops,” he said. “They didn’t want to let me into the park while they were investigating, but given my previous involvement they were willing to talk to me.” He dug a map out of his jacket pocket, unfolding it on the trunk. I used the flashlight function on my phone to illuminate the map, which turned out to be a satellite view of the park. I knew the trails, of course, but it was good to see the bird’s-eye view.
“Based on the dogs’ reactions, they think the kid disappeared about here,” he said, pointing to where the Flatirons Loop intersected with the Royal Arch Trail. “And the pellet was found over here”—his finger slid down close to the trailhead, just off the Bluebell Mesa Trail—“which is also where I found the displaced dirt when I stopped by yesterday.”
I studied the map. The two spots were relatively close together, which was good for us. “So you just want to kind of hang out in between the two?”
“More or less. The police have the parking lot and the trailhead closed off, but there’s not much they can do about us walking into Chautauqua itself. If we go in south of the trailhead, through this neighborhood, we’ll end up at Bluebell. If I’m remembering right, there’s an outcropping of rocks where we could wait.”
I nodded absently. Chautauqua is right on the edge of the busiest part of the city. This whole stakeout idea had seemed like a smart move on the phone, but now that I was standing next to a heavily populated area, running around at night wearing lipstick and two guns, well, I felt more than a little ridiculous.
On the other hand, what was the harm? If we got caught by the police, I’d say I was there to protect Simon, who was investigating the sandworm. If there really was a sandworm.
Then I realized I was thinking about using the word “sandworm” with regular humans, and decided we better get moving before I came to my senses.
We had to go slowly because of Simon’s cane, but I tried to keep my body language relaxed so he wouldn’t think I was impatient. Still, I couldn’t help checking on him out of the corner of my eye. It was getting darker every second, but there was still a little light from the setting sun, and the glow in the sky from Boulder kept the area around us more or less visible as we hiked in. As soon as we got farther from the main roads, I switched on the red-lens flashlight I’d stuffed into my jeans pocket, illuminating the path in front of us. I also opened up my jacket to make the shotgun more accessible.
After about half a mile, Simon caught me looking at him and grunted with frustration. “I know, I know. I’m slow.”
“It’s not that, I just . . . I worry about you doing more damage to your nerves.”
Simon snorted. “Don’t be. I’ve got enough people fussing over me already. I was counting on you to be the one who just had my back.”
“If I’d had your back two weeks ago, it might not have gotten messed up in the first place,” I muttered, but he didn’t hear me.
We walked a little farther, and then I checked my phone for the thirtieth time since sunset. I was getting reception, even up here, but there were no missed calls from Quinn or Maven. “I’m gonna try the coffee shop again quick,” I told Simon.
He nodded, and I listened to the phone ringing at Magic Beans. After half a dozen rings, a recording of Maven’s voice kicked in. “Thank you for calling Magic Beans, located in Boulder’s historic Pearl Street district. We are either closed for a private party or unable to come to the phone . . .”