more. Damn. At least, it sounded as if the real estate agent hadn’t heard about the murder. Claire carried the heavy baskets from the bench into the garage and stuffed them into the trunk of her car, so she wouldn’t leave the house without them.
As she reentered the kitchen, the phone rang again. I’ve got to get out of here.
Claire threw on some sweats, athletic shoes, and a jacket, and drove to the north parking lot of the Garden of the Gods Park. She got out, pocketed her cell phone, and took a deep breath of the cool, crisp air. A walk among the towering sandstone slabs of the park, uplifted and tilted on their sides, never failed to clear her head. The weather would help, too—piercing blue skies without a wisp of a cloud, the rising sun shooting spear points of light between the rocks, and a temperature in the high thirties. A perfect Colorado February day.
She stopped at Jaycee Plaza, where a plaque explained how Charles Perkins, head of the Burlington Railroad, had donated the land to the city founded by his good friend General Palmer. Palmer had urged Perkins to build a home in the garden, similar to his own castle in picturesque Glen Eyrie canyon, but Perkins had kept the estate natural. Like most of Colorado Springs’ residents and visitors, Claire was grateful he had.
She watched cliff swallows flitting in and out of their nests in tiny holes high in the cliffs and remembered them doing the same during a friend’s second wedding ceremony here. But weddings were the last thing she needed to be reminded of when her own marriage was in jeopardy. She left the plaza and struck out on the Central Loop trail.
After maintaining a brisk pace for a while, she paused in front of the several-hundred-foot-high South Gateway rock to catch her breath. A trio of climbers roped together inched their way up the steep face. Claire felt a woozy tingle in her legs, as if she was there with them. How can that possibly be fun?
She checked her watch. Nine o’clock. Time to call Roger’s office. She took out her cell phone and dialed his private line. After three rings, his secretary picked up.
“This is Claire. I called to explain why Roger missed the dry run of the investors’ briefing yesterday.”
“Oh, Mrs. Hanover, Roger’s lawyer called Mr. Peters last night. Mr. Peters told me when I came in this morning that the police arrested Roger for murder. How awful!”
Claire remembered Ned Peters as a tough, no-nonsense man ager. Although president of the firm, he worked long hours and expected his staff to be just as dedicated. Their personal lives weren’t supposed to interfere with deadlines—ever. She blanched as she imagined what his reaction might be. “Did Ned sound upset?”
The secretary paused. “He looked angry, said he had some major damage control to perform with the investors. He told me to find the briefing Roger prepared.”
“Did you?” Claire watched the middle climber, who seemed to be less experienced and more tentative than the other two, search for a handhold.
“Yes, but I still can’t believe Roger could have killed someone. What happened?”
Claire sighed in dismay. The woman’s morbid curiosity undoubtedly would be echoed countless times over the next few days. “He’s innocent. This all will be cleared up soon.”
The climber’s hand slipped and threw him off balance. He fell.
Claire gasped.
“What! What’s the matter?” the secretary asked.
Frozen in terror, Claire watched the man plunge down, until the rope attached to his harness yanked him short. He swung from a piton anchored to the cliff between him and his mate below him. Stunned, he didn’t move until the other two climbers shouted instructions at him.
Then he swung back and forth until he could scrabble a handhold. He pulled himself to the rock, found footholds, and clung to the cliff like a squashed spider, his chest heaving.
Claire refocused on the phone in her hands. “Sorry I scared you. I’m at the
As she reentered the kitchen, the phone rang again. I’ve got to get out of here.
Claire threw on some sweats, athletic shoes, and a jacket, and drove to the north parking lot of the Garden of the Gods Park. She got out, pocketed her cell phone, and took a deep breath of the cool, crisp air. A walk among the towering sandstone slabs of the park, uplifted and tilted on their sides, never failed to clear her head. The weather would help, too—piercing blue skies without a wisp of a cloud, the rising sun shooting spear points of light between the rocks, and a temperature in the high thirties. A perfect Colorado February day.
She stopped at Jaycee Plaza, where a plaque explained how Charles Perkins, head of the Burlington Railroad, had donated the land to the city founded by his good friend General Palmer. Palmer had urged Perkins to build a home in the garden, similar to his own castle in picturesque Glen Eyrie canyon, but Perkins had kept the estate natural. Like most of Colorado Springs’ residents and visitors, Claire was grateful he had.
She watched cliff swallows flitting in and out of their nests in tiny holes high in the cliffs and remembered them doing the same during a friend’s second wedding ceremony here. But weddings were the last thing she needed to be reminded of when her own marriage was in jeopardy. She left the plaza and struck out on the Central Loop trail.
After maintaining a brisk pace for a while, she paused in front of the several-hundred-foot-high South Gateway rock to catch her breath. A trio of climbers roped together inched their way up the steep face. Claire felt a woozy tingle in her legs, as if she was there with them. How can that possibly be fun?
She checked her watch. Nine o’clock. Time to call Roger’s office. She took out her cell phone and dialed his private line. After three rings, his secretary picked up.
“This is Claire. I called to explain why Roger missed the dry run of the investors’ briefing yesterday.”
“Oh, Mrs. Hanover, Roger’s lawyer called Mr. Peters last night. Mr. Peters told me when I came in this morning that the police arrested Roger for murder. How awful!”
Claire remembered Ned Peters as a tough, no-nonsense man ager. Although president of the firm, he worked long hours and expected his staff to be just as dedicated. Their personal lives weren’t supposed to interfere with deadlines—ever. She blanched as she imagined what his reaction might be. “Did Ned sound upset?”
The secretary paused. “He looked angry, said he had some major damage control to perform with the investors. He told me to find the briefing Roger prepared.”
“Did you?” Claire watched the middle climber, who seemed to be less experienced and more tentative than the other two, search for a handhold.
“Yes, but I still can’t believe Roger could have killed someone. What happened?”
Claire sighed in dismay. The woman’s morbid curiosity undoubtedly would be echoed countless times over the next few days. “He’s innocent. This all will be cleared up soon.”
The climber’s hand slipped and threw him off balance. He fell.
Claire gasped.
“What! What’s the matter?” the secretary asked.
Frozen in terror, Claire watched the man plunge down, until the rope attached to his harness yanked him short. He swung from a piton anchored to the cliff between him and his mate below him. Stunned, he didn’t move until the other two climbers shouted instructions at him.
Then he swung back and forth until he could scrabble a handhold. He pulled himself to the rock, found footholds, and clung to the cliff like a squashed spider, his chest heaving.
Claire refocused on the phone in her hands. “Sorry I scared you. I’m at the
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