41
Colcord pulled up to the old mill, a dilapidated building sitting on the edge of the Montenegro Reservoir. A thriving mining community had once been there, but when the gold ran out in the 1890s, the ghost town had been purchased and flooded to make the reservoir. When he saw the car parked next to the ruins, at first, he was confused. It was Reno’s Audi Q3—the red one he was so proud of—with the bumper sticker that readPLEASE BE PATIENT: I’M ACTUALLY THREE DOGS IN A TRENCH COAT. But how the hell had Reno gotten there before he had—an hour from Arvada all the way up some dusty back road behind Uneva Peak?
A horrible feeling wormed its way into Colcord’s gut. Even before he could process it, Cash was pulling up, with Huizinga in the passenger seat. He stepped in front of the Audi with his hands raised. If this was what he thought it was, it was best if he went in first.
“Cash…” he began.
Cash opened the door—all business per usual. “So, what’s the story?” she said.
“Anonymous caller,” said Colcord. “Some kid probably out here smoking pot.” They had gotten minimal details on the phone. Years ago, access to Montenegro Mill had been closed off and chain-link fence put up, but some teens had cut a hole and now used the place to smoke weed, drink, and do whatever else kids get up to. It was secluded and quiet.
Colcord said, “But listen, Cash—”
Cash stopped, staring at the Audi. Colcord could see her brain working fast as understanding dawned on her—eyes wide, mouth compressed, pale. He had never seen that look on her face before, and it scared him.
“Cash, hang on and let me go in the mill first—” Colcord stepped in front of her.
“Get thefuckout of my way!” Cash dodged his arm, ducked through the fence, and half sprinted toward the millhouse. He followed at a jog.
She stormed through the front door of the mill, Colcord close on her heels. They passed a receiving hopper and an old millstone. Parts of the ceiling were hanging down, looking like they were about to collapse. The place smelled of mold.
“Reno!” Cash yelled, stomping around, her feet crunching on broken glass. “Hey, Reno, where the fuck are you?” She ran into the next room, and Colcord followed, ducking through a low entryway. The walls were covered in graffiti, and beer bottles and cans littered the floor.
Cash stopped suddenly. At the far side of the room, next to a broken waterwheel, Colcord could see a figure lying on a bench, dressed in white. As he got closer, his heart dropped.
With a strangled cry, Cash rushed over to the body. Reno was wearing the same white linen gown as Willy Grooms. His eyes—like Grooms’s—were covered in coins. His hands had been arranged crossed over his chest. His left foot was mangled and bloody. He was pale, with a slight discoloration of reddish purple in his lower extremities—livor mortis had begun to set in. There was a hole in his neck accompanied by the sour smell of embalming fluid.
Colcord felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him.
“Reno. Hey,Reno.” Cash felt around his neck. “There’s no pulse. He needs CPR. Colcord!” she yelled, turning to him. “Jesus Christ, don’t just stand there! Help me!”
Before he could find a way to respond, she ceased her fumbling and slumped down on her knees, withdrew her hands, and slowly placed her closed fists on her thighs. Colcord laid a hand on her shoulder. Reno had been dead for a couple of hours at least—but Cash knew that.
It was the first time he had ever seen Cash cry. He said nothing, could say nothing.
“Reno is gone,” Dr. Huizinga said in a shaking voice from the doorway, but nevertheless came over, knelt, and checked his vitals.
After a moment, Cash rose to her feet. She turned her face to Colcord, no longer crying, her gaze suddenly ice-cold. “These motherfuckers will pay for this.”
