Page 42 of Peak Suspicion
Ed slammed his empty beer can down on the coffee table. “Mitch’s mother was an artist. That’s all her work. He keeps it up there because of her.”
“Nice,” Carter said. His gaze shifted to a framed photo on the table beside them, a color image of a man and a boy standingtogether on a dock with fishing poles and a large fish. “That’s me and Mitch,” Ed said. “He was eight.”
The man in the photo had the build of a rodeo bull rider—stocky and muscular, and slightly bowlegged. He squinted at the camera from beneath a shock of thick brown hair, one hand on the shoulder of the grinning boy.
“That was a great day,” Ed said. “I didn’t see him again for almost twenty years.” There was no regret in his words. He sounded almost detached.
“Why didn’t you see him?” Carter asked.
“Things happen. Time gets away from you.”
Carter looked at the photo again. Was Ed the one who had kept it all these years, or Mitch? When Mitch looked at his father now, did he see the man he had been that day, or the one who had been absent twenty years?
He turned to look at Ed again, but the old man’s chin was down on his chest and he was snoring.
Moving carefully, Carter stood and crept to the door. He left the can of beer on a table by the entrance and hurried to his Jeep and drove away.
He debated going back to the bar, but decided to go home. His mind was too full of his encounter with Ed. Ed was lucky to have a son like Mitch, but was Mitch lucky to have a father like Ed? Carter hadn’t seen the man at his best, but he doubted a sober Ed would be a big improvement. He had admitted he had neglected his son, and turned to him only when he had nowhere else to go. Had that lack of a father in his life led Mitch to commit the crime of which he was accused?
Or were his friends right and Mitch was blameless?
Smarter people than Carter would try to figure that out. All he knew for sure was that he was glad he had been born into the family he had. For all he sometimes felt smothered or overlooked by his parents and siblings, they had always beenthere for him, and never asked much of him. Did that make him weaker than someone like Mitch? Or stronger in ways he hadn’t yet figured out?
Chapter Thirteen
When Mira arrived the next morning, Shayla was waiting in front of her house, dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt, her hair pulled back and wrapped in a scarf. Her eyes were a little puffy, but she offered a wan smile and a travel mug of coffee as she slid into the passenger seat of Mira’s car. “You still have the rental,” she said.
“Yes. I’m waiting on the insurance check, then I’ll have to get something new. Or something different, at least. I can’t afford new.”
“The sheriff took Mitch’s SUV.” She looked away and sipped her coffee.
“I thought we’d try the Gold Lake Trail,” Mira said, determined to turn the conversation away from Mitch and his troubles. “The scenery up there is spectacular and the weather today is perfect.”
Shayla said nothing. Mira made a few other attempts at conversation as they drove, remarking on a new house being built, and asking Shayla what trails she had hiked in the area. But her friend answered in monosyllables. By the time they arrived at the trailhead, Mira was beginning to think this had been a bad idea. Shayla didn’t want to be distracted or cheered up. Maybe Mira was making things worse.
Two other cars were parked at the trailhead—a camper van and a red pickup. Mira pulled her daypack from the back seat and settled a sun hat on her head while Shayla stood beside thecar, finishing her coffee. “Are you ready?” Mira asked. She half expected Shayla to say she had changed her mind.
“Sure,” Shayla said, and set her coffee mug inside the car. “Let’s go.”
The first section of the trail was steep, and they were both breathing hard within ten minutes. Shayla kept up and made no complaint. Mira focused on the scenery, admiring the sunlight on the slopes and trying to clear her mind.
“Let’s stop a minute,” Shayla said after the first half hour.
They halted and Mira offered Shayla a water bottle. She drank, and when she returned the bottle, offered a smile and an apology. “I’m sorry I’m such a grump. This really was a good idea. I needed to get out of the house.”
“I hope it helps,” Mira said.
“I’m a worrier,” Shayla said. “It’s just the way I am. I’m worried about Mitch, and I’m worried about his dad, too. From what Mitch has said, he does pretty much everything for Ed. He does all the shopping and cooking, and takes him places.”
“His dad doesn’t drive?” Mira asked.
“He does, some. He has an old Jeep he drives around town. But he uses a walker. I’m not really sure what’s wrong with him, but he apparently can’t do a lot of things.”
“How old is he?” Mira thought of her own father, still very active. She couldn’t remember the last time he had even had a cold.
“I’m not sure. Early sixties? But I gather he led a hard life. I think he may have been homeless when Mitch took him in. Which is amazing when you think that Ed wasn’t a part of his life growing up. Mitch told me his mom and dad were never married and he only saw Ed a few times when he was a kid. Which goes to show what a sweet, generous guy Mitch is, to take care of the dad who never took care of him.”
“Maybe tomorrow you can find out more,” Mira said. “Maybe Mitch will be able to get out on bail.”
