MURDER IN THE MOUNTAINS

K & D Mystery

Tyler Mallone

Fall is my favorite time of the year, okay, except for ski season. The temperatures drop into the twenties at night, the aspen and birch trees compete in a frenzied color contest. The heat of summer had ended abruptly and I could smell change in the air; the reduction of sunlight caused plants to release chlorophyll, and dried leaves mingled with moist pine needles. I wasn’t sure what flooded my olfactory senses, but I had the feeling that something exciting was about to happen.

I had been gone most of the day, driven all the way to the Lupine Valley to check out two listings there and was returning to the subdivision of Eagles Nest to check the rest of our listings. The air was heavy with the smell of wood smoke. And the afternoon sun, slanting through the tall pines, cast long cold shadows across the road, causing a strobe effect. I blinked as I tried to read my watch. As I bounced down the narrow winding road, the tires of my small Jeep squealed when I rounded the corner too fast. It had been a long day, and I wouldn’t finish all the houses on my list.

My watch showed 3:30 p.m. and I pictured David, in the office, pacing, worrying about me. I probably should call and check in. Since we had first heard of homes being broken into, he’d practically demanded that I not check on our listings alone. But I’m a Realtor. That’s what I do for a living.

My name is Kelly Madison. I’m a real estate broker and my husband David and I own K&D Realty. Today I was performing my weekly task, collecting business cards of Realtors who had shown the houses so I could report back to the owners.

The October morning had been cool and I was dressed in jeans, long-sleeved white shirt, leather vest under a light jacket, and leather boots. Throughout the day a breeze had picked up, the temperature had dropped and the sting on my nose told me it was already close to freezing. Pine needles showered from the trees like snowflakes in the moderate wind. All indications were that a cold front was moving into the area.

Darkness arrives early this far north and since we were surrounded by mountains, the sun would sink out of sight by 4:30 p.m. dragging the temperature down with it.

I’d never considered inspecting houses to be dangerous. Independent by nature, my self-confidence had been instilled in me by my elderly parents. I’d even taken a self-defense class. Of course, I promptly forgot all of the swift moves for out-maneuvering my opponent. But I felt I could handle just about anything. I didn’t know it then, but before the day was over, I wouldn’t be so cocky.

As I drove to my next listing, I reflected on David’s remark. It was his lack of confidence in me that hurt. I could still see his brooding face. Sure, I had to admit that having someone worry about me invoked a warm and fuzzy feeling. On the other hand, if your partner doesn’t believe in you, self-doubt sets in.

Located on a sparsely populated street, the A-frame cabin, wooden exterior with a rock chimney holding up one side, sat nestled in tall pines. The owners used the cabin only a few times a year for vacations. The rest of the time it stood empty.

I parked in the driveway, shuffled through pine needles, and looked up when I heard a crackling in a nearby tree. A pinecone bounced off branches of a tall tree and fell to the ground with a thump. I let my eyes reverse the path it had taken and spotted a squirrel hanging over a branch looking down at his prize. He had kicked it loose and would race down the tree to strip the petals and collect the pine nuts to stash away for the long winter ahead. But now, he glared at me through big brown eyes and screamed threats to warn me not to even think about getting into his territory. I smiled, reached the house, retrieved the key from the lockbox, unlocked the first door and threw open the second door of the air-lock entry.

Homes in the mountains have a mudroom at their entrance with doors at each end to keep the storms from following you into the house. I stepped inside and stopped. Something caught my attention.

I sensed a movement in the room, or was it a noise? I listened. The living room was small, but the vaulted pine ceiling made it feel cavernous. The walls, too, were covered with pine. Any sound would have echoed loudly. I waited. The only movement was from particles of dust trapped in a holding pattern in a shaft of sunlight that cut across the room. A deadly silence filled the room, and surrounded me with the chilling feeling of being very alone.

My promise to David echoed in my brain. “I’ll be careful.” Okay, so I wasn’t careful when I came barging in through the front door. Earlier, he had given me a can of pepper spray. “In case you encounter a bear,” he said. I had laughed and informed him that I had no intention of getting close enough to a bear to spray him. The pepper spray was probably buried in my glove compartment, and I’m not in the habit of carrying my mobile phone; the reception is from poor to no-service in this area. I’m not tall, five-foot-four, but I like to think that I’m athletic, capable of handling just about any situation; of course I’ve never put that to a test. Now I wished David were here.