Alex Barclay 4-Book Thriller Collection: Blood Runs Cold, Time of Death, Blood Loss, Harm’s Reach

He nodded. ‘It’s very sad. She’s been to rehab a dozen times.’

‘And he’s a doctor,’ said Ren. ‘That’s gotta hurt.’

‘And the son of a very successful man, a war hero, an athlete, one of the founding fathers here … He owns nothing of what his father built up, and everyone knows it. Apart from the house –’

‘That used to be the Cheapshot Inn –’

‘Yup, which obviously didn’t go too well.’

‘No.’

‘He told me he’s thinking of starting the brewery again,’ said Mike. ‘Of making money that way.’

‘Getting into brewing?’ said Ren. ‘That will cost him money. Why doesn’t he just sell the land? That would probably cover his debts. I mean, I don’t know how much they are, but … none of his idea makes any sense.’

‘Charlie is far from dumb,’ said Mike. ‘He is an outstanding doctor, researcher, biochemist … His mind is just not big business.’

‘Yeah, but you hire in the guys to take care of that,’ said Ren.

‘He tried that,’ said Mike. ‘But when the boss is away …’

‘Well, wouldn’t you learn from experience? I mean –’

‘Ren – Charlie saved my son’s life,’ said Mike.

‘Oh,’ said Ren. ‘I’m sorry. I had no idea.’

‘I know,’ said Mike. ‘I just wanted to let you know I’ll fight you to the death to defend him.’ He was smiling as he said it.

‘That’s about done it for me,’ said Ren, smiling back. ‘Is your son doing OK?’

‘He is. Thank you. One hundred per cent OK.’

‘Saving children’s lives versus getting people shitfaced,’ said Ren. ‘You can’t argue with that.’

Even though I would love to keep talking aboutCharlie Barger, because something is not right with thispicture.

Mike looked at her as if he could read her mind.

Ren went back to the inn and sat on the sofa in her room, speeding through the menus in the Gourmet Cabby guide. She went from pizza to salmon to burritos to sushi and back to salmon. When she placed her order, the guy at the other end of the phone said, ‘Hey, Ren. Room number nine, right?’

‘Hello, yes. Thanks.’

They had all her details. Grim. The whole of Breckenridge was going out to party and she was having a thing with Gourmet Cabby. When the food came an hour later, she went downstairs to pick it up. The other guests were drinking wine, watching TV, reading books.

‘Hey,’ she said.

‘What’s up?’ said one cute snowboarder.

‘Not much,’ said Ren, hovering, wanting to stay and talk, but finishing with a ‘Have a good one’ and going back upstairs.

Five hours later, through the window in the darkness, a snowplow moved like a Transformer toward her, mounting inclines, the cab rotating on its tracks, casting golden light across the snow. She couldn’t take her eyes off it as it moved past the church and turned back her way. She sat with a stack of notes and a bottle of water on the table in front of her. Two empty boxes of Mike & Ikes were on the floor at her feet. In the window and by her bed, church candles flickered, the flames coming to life a second time in mirrors and glass.

Her eyes started to close, her neck slowly falling toward the pillow at her back. No, no no. Do. Not.Stop. She sat up. She had Jean’s phone records and bank records in front of her – everything marked with arrows and question marks and Post-Its. Colin Grabien had already been through them; he had good radar and fresh eyes. Ren had too. And if there was anything new in them, her eyes were blind to it.

She had stacks of witness statements. She had maps. She had photos. She had multicolored pens. She had sketch pads. If she hadn’t spent so much time organizing it all, she would have swept the whole lot on to the floor. Instead, without even realizing it was happening, she picked up a coffee mug and pitched it across the room.

‘What is important in all this shit?’ she shouted.

The mug bounced off the wall in one piece, leaving no mark. She shook her head slowly.

I can’t do anything right. Shut up. I can’t. Shut up.

Chapter 43 (#ulink_f07f1427-f463-5e46-9b18-475e568d2aa9)

The next morning, Ren parked outside Caroline Quaintance’s house and sat staring down at the photo of Billy Waites and his intense, intelligent – lying? – eyes.

He could have any woman he wanted. Why did he pick me? She glanced over at the house. When maybe tall, athletic twenty-seven-year-olds werehis thing.

She breathed through an irritating stab of jealousy and got out of the car. She jogged across the street to the house and rang the doorbell. Caroline came out, struggling to find an alternative expression for her disappointed face.

‘I’m Ren –’

‘I know,’ said Caroline. ‘Come in … again.’

‘Thanks. I won’t take up a lot of your time.’

‘That’s OK. I’m surprised to see you, that’s all. I feel like I’m being involved in something I just don’t know much about.’

They went into the kitchen. Ren sat down. Caroline stood looking at her.

‘I know you’re supposed to be asking the questions,’ said Caroline, ‘but are you … OK? You look –’

‘Yes. I’m fine,’ said Ren. ‘Why do you ask?’ Ren was training herself to use this question more. She’d read somewhere that it was the perfect response to a personal question that you didn’t want to answer. If someone couldn’t give you a good enough reason for asking, you could bypass revealing something you didn’t want to. My weakness.

‘Oh … I’m sorry,’ said Caroline, ‘I just …’

Result. ‘I’m here to show you a photograph, to see if you recognize this man.’

‘No,’ said Caroline immediately.

‘Never seen him before?’

‘Should I have?’

‘Well, no. But …’

‘No,’ said Caroline again. ‘Why?’