Once a bustling hub known for its mining history, the tiny town of Creede, Colorado, now boasted a population of around three hundred. And it was the type of place where everybody knew everyone else’s business, something Alyssa and Cord learned while eating dinner on the heated patio of the only café, where they were informed by no fewer than four locals that Alexander Greene wasn’t expected back from his weekend camping trip until sometime after midnight. It hadn’t taken long to guess that someone – or maybe a few someones – had seen them knocking on Mr. Greene’s door earlier in the day.

Which is why they found themselves early Tuesday morning once again standing on the front stoop of the quaint house with the brilliant red door and purple siding built into the mountainside. Zipping her jacket and wrapping the softest, warmest scarf she’d ever purchased around her neck, Alyssa knocked on the door. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t what she was seeing.

Haunted was the first descriptor that popped into her mind when she saw the man who answered the door. Instead of the late forties she knew him to be, thanks to Hal’s research, the man in front of them looked to be in his early sixties. ‘Mr. Greene?’

‘Yeah, that’s me.’ He kept one hand on the doorknob while the other pulled at the salt and pepper beard that still held a hint of the red his hair had once been. ‘Tamara at the Snowshoe Lodge warned me two “city cops” were headed my way. Then Marcie at the gas station called right after Walter from the coffee shop did and clarified it was two Albuquerque detectives who needed to speak with me.’ He rubbed his palm briskly over his balding head. ‘I reckon since I didn’t give them much to go on, they’ll already be starting up the gossip mill to get things juiced up and going for the real deal. Before you leave town, the truth won’t even matter.’

‘Small-town living, right?’ Cord said.

‘Like most things in life, there’s something to be said for and against it, I suppose. But I suspect that’s not what you drove all the way from New Mexico to talk to me about, so why don’t you both come on in?’ He waved his arm toward a living area that held more rocks and mountain gear than it did furniture or photos. In the corner was an old-fashioned woodstove that reminded Alyssa of the one her father used to keep in the basement of their Indiana home. Sitting atop it was an old cast iron skillet, along with an ancient coffee percolator. ‘Have a seat, why don’t you?’