Page 25 of Mile High Mystery

“We haven’t decided anything for certain. I’ll let you know.” Was all this concern normal, or merely nosiness? “I’d really rather not talk about it,” he added.

“Of course.” She pressed her lips together. “I am a bit concerned,” she said.

“About what?”

“An FBI agent visited this morning. She said she needed to confirm your whereabouts last Monday. I verified that you worked until noon, when you received a call that you were needed to assist Search and Rescue with evacuating a flooded campground, at which time you were excused from your duties here.”

He stiffened. “Who was the agent?”

“A woman.” She glanced down at the desk, and for the first time, he noticed the business card on the blotter in front of her. “Special Agent Shelby Dryden.”

Why was Shelby checking up on him? “What did she say when you told her I was at work?”

“She thanked me and left.” Kathleen leaned forward. “What is this about? Are you in trouble with the FBI?”

“No, I’m not in trouble.” He gripped the arms of the chair. “Agent Dryden is investigating my sister’s death.”

Kathleen nodded. “If you need anything, be sure to let us know.”

“Thanks.” He stood and moved to the door. Instead of returning to his desk, he went out a side door that opened into the parking lot. Sun beat down, the warmth soothing after the air-conditioned chill of the HR office.

He paced, replaying the conversation with Kathleen. Shelby had been at his job? Why?

He pulled out his phone and found the history of her calls to him—calls he hadn’t answered. He hit the call back button and she answered after only two rings. “Zach? Is everything all right?”

“No,” he said. “I just got called into the HR office and was told that an FBI agent stopped by to verify my whereabouts the day Camille was killed. What was that about?”

“It’s just a formality, Zach,” she said. “I know you had nothing to do with Camille’s death, but I had to eliminate you on paper, that’s all.”

“I didn’t even know Camille was alive!”

“I know, Zach. I’m just dotting all thei’s and crossing thet’s. When we do find the killer, a good lawyer is going to immediately try to detract attention from their client by pointing the finger at family. Eliminating that possibility up front saves us all trouble in the long run.”

He forced himself to breathe more evenly. “One of the Chalk brothers’ defense attorneys tried to say Camille killed the judge.” He remembered almost coming out of his chair at that moment in the trial. His father had pulled him down.

“No one ever believed that, but it’s a way of planting doubt in jurors’ minds.”

He nodded, even though Shelby couldn’t see him. “I would never have hurt Camille,” he said. “Never. If only she had contacted me. She could have been safe with me, instead of at that campground.”

“Or the person who killed her might have killed you both.” Shelby spoke quietly, but he felt the impact of her words. “I’m sorry this happened, Zach,” she continued. “Everything about this is ugly. But you and I are on the same side here. We both want justice for Camille.”

“Okay.” He felt foolish now, blowing up at her. He wasn’t one to put his emotions on display. “I have to get back to work now.”

“So do I. But call me anytime, even if it’s only to complain.” He heard the smile behind the words and pictured her pretty, expressive face. “I’m tough. I can take it.”

She didn’t look tough, but he figured she had to be. Whereas everyone who saw him thought he was strong. They didn’t know how wrong they could be.

SHELBYUNDERSTOODZACHwas annoyed with her for checking his alibi. But she didn’t want him to stay annoyed. It was important that he trusted her. She waited until she thought he would be home from work Tuesday and drove to his townhouse. He was just closing the front door behind him when she arrived. “I can’t talk now,” he said when she approached. “I was just leaving.”

“Where are you going?”

He looked for a moment as if he might not answer. Maybe he’d tell her his destination was none of her business. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been rebuffed before. “I’m going to pick up dinner,” he said.

“Could I come with you?” Before he could object, she continued, “I need to eat, too, and I have information for you about Camille’s belongings.” Someone with the Marshals Service was already in the process of packing everything to ship to his parents, but she could let him know that was happening. Maybe the thought of having her things would be comforting.

He hesitated, then nodded. “All right.”

She could see more of his truck in daytime—the interior cluttered with the belongings of someone who spent a lot of time in his vehicle—an extra jacket, a pack, a water bottle, coffee cups and gas receipts strewn about like confetti. “Where are you staying?” he asked as he turned out of the parking lot.

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