Stalking Ground Page 12

  Hornsby nodded, taking the card and looking at it.

  Mattie and Stella followed Anya down a pathway between the white canvas buildings. Mattie had seen Anya’s treatment area and a guest yurt during her last visit to the spa. They were utilitarian structures, sparsely furnished, and she thought it more likely that leads would be found in the victim’s sleeping space rather than her work space.

  Anya remained silent while their footsteps crunched along the gravel pathway.

  Stella quickened her step to walk beside Anya while Mattie followed. “Were you and Ms. Howard close?”

  Anya hunched forward, hands in her coat pockets. “I would say yes.”

  “Do you know anything about her love life?”

  Anya glanced at the detective before continuing to walk with downcast head. “Adrienne was a woman in love who loved her career. She didn’t have any enemies that I know of. She had a kind and gentle soul.”

  “In love with . . . ?”

  “Deputy Brody of course. I think you already know that.”

  Stella nodded, giving the woman a slight smile. Mattie knew what she was after.

  “Did she and Deputy Brody seem to be getting along okay?” Stella asked.

  “Yes. Their feelings were mutual.”

  “Could they have had an argument?”

  “Not to my knowledge, at least not as of Tuesday night. It would have had to occur Wednesday, and she was with clients all morning.”

  They came to the doorway of a small yurt. Anya entered, flipping on an overhead electrical bulb to compensate for the lack of natural light through windows. The space was clean and neat with a wooden floor and canvas roof and walls. Twin beds sat across the room from each other covered with maroon comforters. Matching small chests of drawers acted as bedside tables, and a large wardrobe filled the center of the back wall. A space heater glowed, taking the chill off the room.

  “That is Adrienne’s side of the room,” Anya said, gesturing. “But you’re welcome to search my space, too, though I’m aware of nothing I have that could be of help.”

  “Thank you,” Stella said. “We’ll take a look at both.”

  Mattie pulled a pair of latex gloves from a pocket on her belt and tugged them on while crossing the room. She inspected the items on top of the small chest. A stack of books sat by a reading light, and she sifted through them, revealing titles on massage therapy techniques for horses as well as humans.

  One book stood out as different from the others. Moving On: Recovery from Childhood Abuse. Maybe this helped explain Adrienne’s estrangement from her mother. Mattie held the book out to show the title.

  “For Adrienne or for a client?” Mattie asked Anya while Stella turned from her search to read the title.

  “I cannot say.”

  “Don’t know? Or won’t say?” Stella asked.

  Anya remained silent.

  “We’re not asking out of idle curiosity. If Adrienne has a history of childhood abuse, that’s something we should follow up,” Mattie said.

  Anya looked down at the floor for a moment and then up at Mattie. “I am her therapist and healer. There is not much I can say.”

  But her words spoke volumes. “I think we’d better follow up.”

  “Yes.”

  “I can get a warrant for her medical records,” Stella said.

  “There is no written record.”

  Stella shot a disbelieving glance at Mattie before looking back at Anya. “No record?”

  “I’m a body worker. I use many modalities, assessing what the body needs each time I provide a treatment. I didn’t ask for payment from Adrienne, and I didn’t conduct a form of talk therapy in the traditional sense. There was no need to document our sessions.”

  “Anya,” Mattie said. “It’s important we find leads so we can track down the person who killed your friend. You won’t be betraying her confidence by answering our questions.”

  Anya stared at Mattie, her eyes reddened with unshed tears. She nodded in silent agreement.

  “Can you confirm that Adrienne was abused as a child?” Mattie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Was she at a point in her treatment where she might have pressed charges against her abuser?” Stella asked.

  “If she was considering it, she didn’t tell me.”

  “What do you know about her abuser?”

  “Nothing specific. I believe it was parental.”

  That struck a chord that resonated with Mattie’s own past. “Father? Mother?”

  “Perhaps both.” Anya paused, her face drawn with sadness. “Adrienne shed her grief over her past in tears during our treatments and seemed to be gaining a new level of happiness. She said she felt better about it now than she’d felt her entire adult life.”

  Mattie nodded, looking downward to search drawers that contained nothing but clothing while Stella searched the wardrobe.

  Anya brushed her hand across an empty space on top of the chest. “There’s something missing right here.”

  “What’s that?” Mattie asked.

  “Her laptop.” Anya pointed to a power cord left plugged into the wall, as if its loose end proved the laptop’s absence. “It has a zebra-striped cover. It’s gone, and I haven’t been able to find it.”

  “Would she have taken it with her on Wednesday?”

  “I’ve wondered about that. She keeps her own treatment records in it, and she takes it with her when she goes to do massage for horses.” Anya looked troubled. “But I thought she went on a hike.”

  Mattie looked across the room and met Stella’s gaze.

  “Why did you think she went on a hike?” Stella asked.

  “It’s what she usually does on her afternoons off.”

  “Who keeps her horse appointment schedule?”

  “She does.”

  “Do you know where her schedule might be?”

  Anya’s frown deepened. “On her laptop.”

  “Did you look for it in these drawers?” Mattie asked, resuming her search.

  “Yes. At first, I glanced into the bottom drawer to see if she’d taken her purse. When I saw it was still there, I decided to call the sheriff.”

  Mattie opened the bottom drawer and found many things, none of which resembled a computer. It seemed to contain a veritable treasure trove: small rocks and crystals, a vial of something, a stack of brochures, a purse, a stack of opened envelopes addressed to Adrienne Howard, a small pair of ankle weights, a photo album.

  Mattie picked up the vial and showed it to Anya. “Do you know what this is?”

  Anya opened the vial, sniffed. “Peace and Harmony, an essential oil.”

  She held it out for Mattie to smell. The scent contained a combination of citrus and patchouli. It made her nose twitch, and she suppressed a sneeze. A peaceful response to that odor might depend on the individual.

  Mattie opened the purse and poured its contents on Adrienne’s bed. It contained the usual items carried by women: hairbrush, sunglasses, makeup bag, checkbook, and wallet. She looked through the wallet, but there was nothing inside other than a small amount of cash, a credit card, and a driver’s license. The makeup bag contained only the basics: mascara and several types of lip gloss.

  Sorting through the brochures, she saw that most of them advertised massage therapy conferences, including one for horses, all sometime in the future. There were also a few travel brochures on Alaskan cruises and Yellowstone. These seemed to be consistent with what she already knew about the victim.

  Stella picked up the photo album and started leafing through it. “Do you know any of these people in the pictures, Ms. Yamamoto?”

  “You may call me Anya.” She moved near Stella to peer at the photographs. “I don’t know any of these people. The pictures look like they were taken some time ago. Before Adrienne moved here.”

  Stella tapped a salmon-colored nail on a page near the end of the album. “What about this one?”

  Mattie leaned near to look. It sh
owed Adrienne and a good-looking man posed against a pine-forest background, their arms wrapped around each other, both smiling. The man had brown hair so dark it was nearly black, eyes the color of chocolate, and skin several shades darker than Adrienne’s. His skin tone and coloring reminded Mattie of her own, and she wondered if he was of Hispanic descent.

  “I don’t know that man,” Anya said.

  “Did Adrienne ever mention someone who might have fit this description?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  Mattie took the stack of opened envelopes out of the drawer and started looking through them. “We’ll need to take these with us. They’re probably from people we’ll need to contact.”

  Most were greeting cards, postmarked around the same date in September. Birthday cards. There was also one from Brody, and she tried to ignore the mushy words, focusing instead on the intent of the message. He seemed to be truly in love with Adrienne, and it saddened her.

  The last envelope, long and rectangular, appeared to contain a letter, and it didn’t have a return address. It had been postmarked in Willow Springs, Colorado. She opened the envelope and removed the letter from inside, scanning it quickly.

  And then she went back to the beginning to read it again.

  Hair prickled at the base of her neck. It was another love letter, but this one wasn’t sappy like Brody’s. “Read this, Detective,” she said, putting the letter down on top of the chest of drawers.

  Anya diverted her gaze while Stella read, pursing her lips in concentration, an expression familiar to Mattie. Stella shared a pointed look with Mattie before turning to Anya.

  “Please read this, Anya, and tell me if you know who might have sent it.”

  Mattie studied the chilling letter again while Anya read.

  Adrienne,

  It’s been a month since you left, and I feel like my chest is hollow. I love you no less today than I did then, and I believe that in your heart, you love me, too.

  I don’t know why you ran.

  Please, call. Please, talk to me. Please, come home. If you don’t, I can’t be responsible for what I’ll do next.

  Yours forever

  Anya’s fingers trembled as she moved them to her throat. She looked at Mattie with tear-brimmed eyes. “There was a boyfriend in Willow Springs, but I don’t know his name.”

  “Was she running from him?”

  “I didn’t have that impression. Adrienne said she had a relationship with someone in Willow Springs, but they broke up. That’s all I know.”

  “Have you heard the name Kevin Conrad?” Stella asked. “He lives in California.”

  “Yes, her old high school boyfriend. She speaks of him fondly. The last boyfriend . . . well, she doesn’t say much about him.”

  With gloved fingers, Mattie picked up the letter and placed it in a plastic evidence sleeve to protect it. She put the envelope inside a different transparent sheet. It had been postmarked on May twenty-fifth, about a month after Adrienne moved to Timber Creek.

  “If you remember anything at all that would help us trace this man, please call,” Stella said, handing Anya one of her cards.

  Tears spilled and etched fluid tracks down her cheeks as Anya took the card with one hand and wiped her face with the other. “I will.”

  “We need a list of Adrienne’s clients,” Mattie said.

  A look of concern crossed Anya’s face.

  “You can call them to get permission to release their names to us, or we can get a separate search warrant to go through your medical records,” Stella said. “Either way, we’re going to talk to these people. Your help will let us get to them sooner rather than later.”

  “I’ve contacted everyone once to ask if they knew where she went,” Anya said. “I’ll call each one again and get back to you as soon as I can.”

  Mattie and Stella finished up in Adrienne’s living quarters, and then followed Anya to the yurt where she worked. The peaceful space, set up for optimal client relaxation, clashed with the reason they were there: a homicide. Mattie tried to disturb the furnishings as little as possible while she searched through cabinets that held soft linens, massage oils, and a set of tuning forks of various sizes. It took only a few minutes for Stella and her to decide that the room held no information for them whatsoever.

  After saying good-bye to Anya, they went back to Mattie’s SUV.

  “I’m going to send that letter and envelope back to Byers County by courier to see if the crime scene techs can lift any prints,” Stella said as they climbed inside. “We need to track down who sent it. This photo album and Adrienne’s mother might be our best sources.”

  Turning the key to start the engine, Mattie nodded.

  “Let’s head over to Hightower to talk with her. Maybe she can tell us the names of some of these people. Especially the mystery man there at the end,” Stella said.

  “Okay,” Mattie said. “I need to check in on Robo when we go through town, but we can get to Hightower in under an hour.”

  They rode in silence for a few minutes, Mattie thinking about the letter. She hoped they could track down the writer; she suspected it would lead them to Adrienne’s killer.

  Stella interrupted her thoughts. “Mattie? Did Hornsby actually say they select employees by having Anya read their auras?”

  “That’s what he said,” Mattie replied.

  “Well . . . I’ll be damned.”

  Chapter 15

  Cole headed toward the stable call at Dark Horse with Angela in the passenger seat beside him and Sophie and Belle in back. Belle sat strapped into the seat beside Sophie with a large-dog seatbelt Angela had found on the Internet. Having the dog along as a passenger kept Sophie from squabbling with her older sister over who got to ride shotgun, making Cole consider the belt well worth the investment.

  Talk about his night away in the mountains, the mountain lion, and Sophie’s camping stories dominated the conversation all the way up to the stable. Everyone avoided speaking about the reason for the night’s stay: guarding Adrienne’s corpse. Angela seemed quieter than usual, but maybe she just couldn’t get a word in edgewise around her chatty little sister.

  “Sophie,” Cole said as they drove toward the red metal barn. “I need you to keep your mouth zipped while we’re inside, sweetheart. Too much talking spooks the horses.”

  “Okay, Dad,” Sophie said, not appearing to mind. Being told to keep quiet was a common enough occurrence.

  At the front of the barn, the Doberman lunged against a chain.

  “Oh, yeah,” Cole said. “I forgot to tell you about the guard dog. I want you girls to keep your distance.”

  Angela got out of the truck and started to help her sister out of the backseat while Cole retrieved supplies from the vet box in back.

  Sophie had unfastened Belle’s seatbelt, and the dog jumped up to await her turn at the door. “Belle needs to stay here,” Cole warned the kids, not wanting to infuriate the guard dog even more.

  Belle’s ears flattened and she hung her head.

  “Poor Belle,” Sophie said. “I’ll come out and check on her later”

  “Don’t come out here by yourself, Sophie,” Cole said. “I think that chain will hold the dog, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “I won’t,” Sophie said, looking at the Doberman fascinated. When they passed by, she spoke to him using baby talk. “It’s okay, doggie. We’re not going to hurt you.”

  The Doberman stopped barking and stood stock-still, staring hard at Sophie. Then he dropped into a “let’s play” position before rising up to bark again.

  “I wonder if he was raised around a little girl,” Angela said.

  Cole placed a hand on Sophie’s head and smiled. “Either that or this one’s a dog whisperer. I still don’t want you coming out here by yourself though, Sophie. You understand.”

  “Okay,” she replied, looking disappointed.

  Carmen met them inside the barn. She wore snug riding breeches and a sweater th
at accentuated her slender shape, and her long, black hair had been woven into a braid that trailed down her back. She leaned forward with a soft smile as Cole introduced his children. “I’m so happy to meet you girls,” she said. And then to Cole: “You have gorgeous daughters.”

  Cole knew that to be true. “What do you say, girls?”

  They both echoed “thank you” while Cole glowed in his proud moment.

  “What’s your doggie’s name?” Sophie asked as she shook hands with the woman.

  “Bruno. He’s very fierce, don’t you think?”

  A serious expression consumed the girl’s face. “Maybe. But I think he might be nice, too.”

  Carmen shook her head. “I don’t think so. I want you to be careful around him. Don’t go near.”

  “That’s what Dad said.”

  “Your father is right,” Carmen said, smiling at Cole. She extended her free hand toward Angela who took it. “And you’re a beautiful young woman. Do you resemble your mother?”

  Frowning, Angela looked down at the ground. Cole could tell the comparison disturbed her. He jumped in before she could answer. “She does look like her mother, but she’s her own person, that’s for sure,” he said before changing the subject. “How is Diablo today?”

  “I’ll let you see for yourself.” Carmen turned and led them to his box stall.

  The kids stood at the half-door to watch while Cole and Carmen went inside. He was shocked by the horse’s condition. Diablo stood hunched in pain with tremors coursing through his muscles in waves. Sweat stained his black coat, and he looked gaunt, his eyes hollow and haunted. The stallion had lost ground since he’d last seen him.

  He approached the horse, murmuring soothing sounds and running his hands over tight muscles, palpating around the spine and down the legs. He took his temperature while Carmen held him still.

  “Is he eating anything?” Cole asked in a quiet tone.

  “A little. Not much today.”

  “I brought some insulin, and we’re going to get him started on that. I’ll draw another blood sample so we can see if we’re making any progress. I would have expected him to feel better than this by now.”