Agent Ren Bryce Thriller Series Books 1-3: Blood Runs Cold, Time of Death, Blood Loss

‘I didn’t want to offend the guy.’

‘Politeness could kill you some day,’ said Bob. ‘“Please sir, would you mind not firing that gun into my temple? And really, you are squeezing my waist a little too tight. But I must say, the tattoo on your forearm is beautifully drawn.”’

‘It’s more I don’t like hurting people’s feelings,’ said Ren.

‘Jesus, you’ll go right up the ranks of the FBI with that stony attitude,’ said Bob. ‘Hey, do you think Jean Transom actually ate her meal?’

‘If she did?’ said Ren. ‘That’s cause of death locked off.’

Chapter 18 (#u8bb60e53-87b4-54e1-a600-62c12d8c99b9)

Ren loved the sound, the resistance, the effort of walking through snow. She made her way down Washington Avenue toward Main Street, looking out at the mountains across the lightening, early-morning sky. Four peaks from the Tenmile Range – seven through ten – made up the Breckenridge ski area and were the draw that boosted the population from three thousand to twenty-seven thousand at peak season.

The Breckenridge Welcome Center was at the corner of the Blue River Plaza on Main Street. Ren walked through the small foyer into the first room of the exhibition on gold and silver mining in the area – eight thousand six hundred acres of shiny economy. And when it all dried up, the only thing that rescued Breck from ghost-town status was the fight put up by the residents.

Main Street used to be dance halls and saloons, and the merchants had Ridge Street. Now Ridge Street was lined with restaurants, offices, inns and homes. Ren studied a photo montage of the change – the same building and its different roles, different smiling people standing outside each time.

She went upstairs to find the display on Quandary Peak. It was the highest peak in the Tenmile Range. Jean Transom’s body had been found off the East Ridge trail, which was a recently carved route – less than ten years old. Ren pulled her camera out of her jacket pocket and took photos of the display.

She ran into Colin Grabien on her way out the door.

‘Having a tourism moment?’ said Colin.

‘I’m actually researching,’ said Ren.

‘Researching is great,’ said Colin. ‘Everything is covered. Do you use coffee as a fuel expense?’

‘I’m getting to know Breck, the …’ This sounds dumb.

‘You think Jean was killed by the ghost of an old prospector? Or maybe, like the Brown, a dead madam rose up for revenge against the right-minded.’

Ren frowned. ‘What?’

‘You haven’t been to the Brown Hotel? A madam was shot dead on the attic stairs. She was going to turn the place into “a house of ill-repute”.’ Air quotes. ‘The owner vanished,’ said Colin. ‘You should go – weird shit happens in the ladies toilets.’

They both paused.

‘And can I ask?’ said Ren, ‘while you’re giving me a hard time, what that has to do with solving this case?’

‘I’m not giving you a hard time,’ said Colin. ‘Who said that?’

‘Yeah, like those people who say, “I’m not criticizing you, but …”’ Why am I having this conversation?

‘I was meeting the owner,’ said Colin. ‘I thought if Jean had paid the place a visit, he could have something for us.’

‘I’m not feeling the whole Jean-in-brothel vibe,’ said Ren.

‘But you’re feeling the whole Jean-in-historic-Breckenridge vibe …’

‘I’m feeling the need to keep on working here. Gotta go.’

‘Dinner later with the guys at Kenosha. Six thirty.’

‘Great.’ I’ll be back at the inn, sticking hot needles in my eyes. She looked at her watch. ‘I’m giving a briefing shortly. So I’ll see you back at the Sheriff’s Office then, anyway.’

He looked at her. She smiled.

‘In Bob’s office?’ said Colin.

‘Like we’re all going to fit in Bob’s office,’ said Ren. ‘The Sheriff’s Office I refer to is the entire building. It covers all the offices, including Bob’s and the one that has been loaned out to us. Bob’s office is Bob’s office. We’ll be meeting in the conference room.’

‘Thanks for clearing that up so slowly,’ said Colin.

‘Aw,’ said Ren. ‘Thanks for listening so loudly.’

Ren was walking the hallway to her office when she heard Mike saying, ‘Oh, good God, she’s a train wreck.’

His voice was coming from Bob’s office. Ren knocked on the open door and walked in.

‘Are you talking about me?’ she said.

Mike turned and smiled. He pointed at the television screen in the corner.

‘Bob, turn that up,’ he said.

Bob grabbed the remote control and the voice of Casey Bonaventure filled the room.

‘… disappearance in February last year of twenty-eight-year-old Mark Allen Wilson, whose body has never been found. Wilson was last seen at the Brockton Filly, a bar five miles outside Breckenridge at the base of Quandary Peak – a mountain that in the past year has cast a shadow over the lives of two families –’

Bob shook his head. ‘Jesus, Casey is something else. I told her to go off and do some research, and she comes back with this non-story again.’ He turned down the television.

‘Hey,’ said Ren. ‘That could have been interesting.’

‘Seriously, it’s not,’ said Bob. ‘Missing guy from out-of-town, drinking all evening at the Filly, gets loaded, gets into a brawl, wanders out in the snow, goes to relieve himself in the trees, falls over, hits his head, gets hypothermia, dies. No body, but, hey, that’s the story of our lives around here.’

‘That’s it?’ said Ren. ‘No trace of him?’

‘Nope,’ said Bob. ‘Last person he was seen hanging out with in the bar was a guy called Terrence Haggart. And when I say “hanging out with”, I mean “getting badly beaten by”. Next thing, Wilson’s reported missing. And never shows up again. So, there you have it.’

‘I see,’ said Ren. ‘Has the family given you guys a hard time?’

‘He was an alcoholic they had no time for,’ said Bob.

‘That’s very sad,’ said Ren. ‘An illness that seems too recreational for people to do anything about until it’s too late.’

‘Whatever,’ said Mike.

‘Has anyone seen Tiny Gressett?’ said Ren.