Page 41 of Peak Suspicion
“Hey, I ran into some guy today who was telling me that he took up climbing because he had this DNA profile done that said he would be good at it,” one of the climbers said. “I think he got taken because the guy was seriously awful.”
The conversation turned to climbing and Carter excused himself to go to the bathroom. On his way back to the table, he passed the bar. Raised voices stopped him and he turned to see the bartender, a blonde named Cherise, arguing with a customer. Carter moved closer. “I can’t pour you another one, Ed,” she said. “You’ve already had too many. You need to go home. Let me call you a ride.”
“I want another drink!” the older man shouted. He was about five foot seven, thin and bent, with scraggly long gray hair and stubble, a red-and-black-plaid flannel shirt open over a gray T-shirt and baggy jeans.
“You need help, Cherise?” Carter asked.
“I’m just trying to find Ed here a ride home,” she said. “He’s in no shape to get behind the wheel.”
“I don’t want to go home!” Ed bellowed. “I want another drink.”
“Who is he?” Carter asked.
Cherise turned away from Ed and lowered her voice. “He’s Mitch Anders’s father. You heard what happened with Mitch.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s awful. I get that Ed is upset, but he’s had way too much to drink. I’m afraid he’s going to pass out and fall and hurt himself.He can hardly get around as it is. I can’t believe he drove over here.”
“Let me see if I can talk to him,” Carter said.
The barstools on either side of Ed were vacant. Carter slid onto one of them. “Hey, Ed,” he said. “I’m Carter.”
“Will you buy me a drink?” Ed asked.
“How about a Coke?” Carter asked. “Or a cup of coffee.”
“I don’t want any coffee!” He slammed a fist on the bar, making his empty pint glass jump.
“Guess you had a rough day,” Carter said.
“My son was arrested,” Ed said. “They had no right. He’s innocent.”
“I want to hear about your son,” Carter said. He took out his keys. “Let me take you home.”
Ed looked at him with watery blue eyes. “Do you know Mitch?”
“Sure,” Carter lied. “He’s a coach at the high school. A great guy.” He stood. “Come on. I’ll take you home and you can tell me more about Mitch.”
Ed hesitated, and Carter braced for another argument, but then the older man dragged over a metal walker Carter hadn’t noticed. Ed struggled to his feet, then pushing the walker in front of him, started for the door.
Carter hurried to open it for him, then led the way to his Jeep. The old man refused any help getting into the vehicle and despite his bent frame and shuffling gait had a muscular upper body. “That’s my car over there,” he said, pointing to a faded red Jeep.
“It will be safe here overnight,” Carter said. “I’ll play chauffeur for now. What’s your address?”
“Five twenty-eight Moose Way.” Ed closed his eyes and leaned back in the seat. Before they were even out of the parkinglot, he was snoring. He woke with a jerk when Carter pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine. “What? Where are we?”
“We’re at your house.” Carter got out of the Jeep and walked around to open the passenger door. Ed shook off his hand, slid to the ground, grabbed the walker and hurried up the walk to the front door. Carter hastened to catch up with him.
Ed shoved open the door and left it open behind him as he shuffled into the living room.
The house was small and dark—dark wood floors and paneled walls, heavy drapes over the windows. Ed switched on a lamp on a table by the sofa and flopped down onto the cushions. “There’s beer in the refrigerator,” he said. “Get us both one.”
Carter wasn’t sure the old man should be drinking, but he fetched two cans of a cheap domestic beer from the refrigerator and handed one to the old man. He opened his can but didn’t drink it.
Ed drained half his can in one long slug, then looked at Carter from beneath bushy eyebrows. “Mitch is a good son,” he said, his words only slightly slurred. “Don’t tell anybody, but me and Mitch’s mom never married. Not because I didn’t ask her, mind you. But I wasn’t good enough for her family. They didn’t want me around and pretty soon she didn’t, either. I wasn’t in his life much but I tried to make up for it later. When I needed a place to live he took me in. He’s a good son. He doesn’t deserve this.”
Carter tried to think of something to say, but Ed drained the rest of his beer, not seeming to expect an answer. Carter looked around the room, which was decorated in southwestern art—paintings of desert scenes in pastel colors.
