“He was a dear friend.” Margie’s eyes grew moist. She hiccupped and untied the scarf from around her head, dabbing at her nose. “I visited him on a regular basis. Brought him groceries, sometimes cooked him ameal and read him the Gospel. Harmless ol’ coot. I can’t believe someone would do something like that to him.”
“And you continued to visit him even after the Neander thing? Not worried about that?”
“Not really. I heard they’re gone, moved up the Rockies toward Canada.”
This seemed to be one of the common views in Colorado, at least. Cash scribbled some notes down. “When did you first meet Willy?”
“Samuel, his son, used to keep an eye on him, but he passed. He was a member of our church. When I realized that nobody was seeing after Willy, I felt it was my responsibility as a good neighbor and Christian to check on him. Found him lying on the floor covered in his own… well, I’ll leave that part out. Skin and bones. Mumbling about lake monsters and snakes. He was so skinny, I could circle his wrist with my thumb and pointer touching. When I saw the state of him, I knew the Lord was giving me a task.”
“Was Willy ever threatening or violent?”
“Oh, no, never. But he had all these eccentric ideas—that a monster was living in Keener Lake, that he was the queen of England’s grandson, and that he could fly. The first time I went up there, he talked about how he saw a flying saucer crash up somewhere around Dome Peak. I thought maybe it was a meteor or something, but Paul hiked all around there with our sons and he saw nothing.”
“When were you last up there?”
“I couldn’t rightly tell you,” Margie said, shifting uncomfortably. “I’d have to look at my calendar.”
“Did you know Paul was going out there to speak to Willy today?”
“No. He had no business doing that.”
“Paul didn’t like Willy much, did he?” Cash asked.
Colcord carefully watched Brooksfield for a reaction.
Margie’s broad shoulders stiffened. “My husband had nothing to do with his death, and I won’t hear anything to the contrary.”
“Just asking a question,” said Cash.
Margie eyed her warily but continued speaking. “Well, you’re right. I knew Paul felt I was spending too much time up there. That I was getting too involved. This ranch is a lot of work, and it’s been a tough year. We’vehad some medical issues, and then, of course, he was worried about the Neanders. And on top of that, we have to worry about trespassers. Hikers like to cut across our land, spooking the horses. Paul gets all incensed about that.”
“I understand Willy had money?”
“Yes, he did. He was finding gold—he showed me a nugget the size of a baby’s fist once. There are a lot of abandoned mines in the Flat Tops. When his son was alive and selling his gold for him, he built up quite a sum in his bank account.”
“How much?”
Margie shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that—client confidentiality.”
Colcord now asked a question. “Do you know of anyone else ever visiting Willy?”
“Sure. Our priest, Timothy Moore, at Saint Mary’s. I took Father Moore up there, and he baptized old Willy, to save his soul. I don’t know of anyone else visiting him, and I’m sure he would have told me. Although…” Margie hesitated.
“Anything you can think of would help us,” Cash encouraged.
“Willy sometimes used my sat phone to send texts and calls to someone. Wouldn’t tell me what it was about or who he was contacting, was always secretive.”
“Hang on. Didn’t Willy have a fear of technology?” Colcord interjected.
“Well, yes—he did. But when I asked him, he said it was worth the risk.”
“Can we take a look at those texts and calls?” Cash asked.
Margie visibly tensed, indenting the arm of the sofa with her fingers. “Certainly not. I don’t feel comfortable letting the police go through my phone. Plus, I don’t want to violate Willy’s privacy. Even if he’s dead.”
Cash balked at the sudden change of temperature in the conversation, exchanging a glance with Colcord. No matter—this was something better looked into with a warrant.
The sound of a horse nickering floated through the window, with someone shouting. Brooksfield’s brow furrowed at the gravelly sound of an approaching car.
