Sunny was done. She folded her hands in her lap and crossed her legs at the ankles.

Craig Larsen said, “When she called us she reported a possible break-in. I responded, listened to her concerns. When I heard about who her father was and what had happened to him in Boulder, I thought I should call you guys in, let you have a look. That’s where we are.”

Sam said, “Thanks for putting the pieces together so quickly and bringing us on board,” before he rotated in his chair and faced Sunny. “And now, what you suspect, what you feel, is that someone else has been here?”

“Yes.”

“Without your father’s permission?”

“He wouldn’t give it. His permission.”

“If your father came up here alone and just didn’t tell your mother, would he have cleaned up after himself?”

A laugh caught in her throat. Sunny found the thought amusing. “No, my father did not clean. He messed.”

“So, it’s possible he came to the ranch and just didn’t inform your mother? The, uh, lack of order you see is because he had no one to clean up after him?”

“I suppose it’s possible. But if he did, it would have been the first time in ten years he didn’t bring someone along to clean up after him.”

“Is there any sign of anyone breaking into the house? Any broken windows, forced locks?”

Deputy Larsen said, “No. No evidence of forced entry.”

“Anything missing?”

Sunny shrugged. “I don’t know the cabin well enough to inventory it. But I think the electronics are all here. I suppose a burglar would have taken those first. Wouldn’t he take those first?”

Sam said, “Frequently, yes, that’s what’s taken first. Are you thinking that if it wasn’t your father who was visiting the ranch without your mother, that it would have been what, squatters, then? Is that it?”

“I don’t know. I suppose that’s a possibility. I thought this was your specialty.”

At that moment, Lucy turned in my direction, away from the conversation. She was trying to stifle a grin.

Sam was on his game. He said, “It is. It is. But sometimes vics, uh, victims, have a wonderful intuitive sense about these things. I always like to hear their point of view before I speculate.”

Lucy covered her mouth to keep from laughing. I kept my nose buried in an article about the advantages of the new breed of diesel generators for class A motorhomes. The author thought it might be wise for me to upgrade now.

Sam said, “Deputy?”

“Craig.”

“Craig. You looked around? What did you find? What do you think?”

“As I said, no evidence of forced entry. House was locked up from outside when Ms. Hasan arrived. Whoever has been here has a key. Disturbances in the routine she described are limited to the kitchen, the playroom-it’s where Mr. Robilio kept his home theater, a pinball machine, a Foosball table, some other stuff-the master bedroom, and the master bath.”

Sunny said, “Oh, I forgot about that. There are used towels hanging in the master bath. No way Dad would permit that. A fresh towel every time for him. ‘If it’s good enough for Hilton, it’s good enough for me,’ is what he used to say. And even if he allowed someone else to use the cabin, there is not a chance in the world that he would permit them to use his bedroom or bathroom. No. Not a chance.”

“Food? Anything atypical in the refrigerator?”

Sunny responded, “There’s no beer.”

“No beer?”

“Dad always kept local beer up here to impress people. Ten kinds sometimes. There’s nothing, not one bottle, not even in the bar refrigerator.”

“Maybe he ran out?”

“Not Dad, he didn’t drink the microbrewery stuff. He’s an old friend of Peter Coors and that’s all Dad drank, Coors Light. Dad’s loyal to those who are loyal to him. Hershey’s friends don’t run out of chocolate. Dad didn’t run out of Coors Light. The other stuff was for guests, for show.”

“Is there a caretaker? Anybody see any traffic up here that didn’t belong?”

The deputy answered. “There’s one old boy who lives on the ranch. Name’s Horace Poster. He takes care of the horses, gets a free cabin. The horses are kept down by the river, near Poster’s cabin. I interviewed him. He can’t see this house from there. Says he didn’t notice anything unusual the past few days. But then, Horace doesn’t strike me as the type who would notice a pimple on his own nose.”

“Tire marks outside?”

“It’s been dry for a while. There are plenty. Now that you’re here, I’d bet that there are even more.”

Sam was scribbling notes. Lucy was examining titles in a tall bookcase. Sunny was trying to mask her disappointment with how things were going with the consultant from the city. And Craig Larsen was acting like every bored cop I’d ever seen.

Without glancing up, Sam asked, “You get many squatter situations in these vacation homes, Deputy?”

“We get a few each year. It’s not a big problem. It’s usually the truly isolated places, the smaller cabins off by themselves in the woods. Somebody camps out a few days. Eats some food, takes a shower. That sort of thing.”

I wrote out a note to Sam and handed it to Lucy. “Please give this to him.”

She read it first, of course.

Sam took the note from his partner, glanced at it, and glared at me with narrow eyes before he nodded slightly and turned toward Dead Ed’s daughter.

“Sunny? I understand your father has a motor home that he keeps up here at the ranch?”

She swallowed a smile and shook her head. “Half the people I meet who know my father know about that darn thing. Mom tell you about it?”

Sam said, “It just came up in interviews,” as he glanced sideways at me.

He was daring me to say something. I knew better.

“The big red barn you passed on the other side of the woods when you were coming up the hill? Remember seeing it? That’s where Haldeman lives.”

“Haldeman?”

“The motor home, actually Dad preferred the term ‘motor coach,’ is a Holiday Rambler. Initials are H. R. Dad named it Haldeman. Get it? H. R. Haldeman-the Watergate guy. It was way before my time, but Dad’s Republican friends all think the name is pretty funny.”

“Anyone checked it since you came up this afternoon? The barn?”

Sunny said, “No, I didn’t think about it. I suppose we should. I really don’t even know where the keys are. I’ll have to call my mother and see where Dad kept those things. You want me to do that?”

Sam said, “Please. Do you mind?”

Sunny walked into another part of the house to make the call, and Sam’s voice returned to its normal timbre. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this damn motor home before now?”

“I didn’t think it meant anything. Mitchell Crest mentioned the thing to me-said that Dr. Robilio brought it up here after the homeowners association refused to let him keep it on his property in Boulder.”

“Lucy, did you know about it?”

“I knew he had an RV, Sam. I didn’t think there was anything special about it. And I didn’t know he stored it up here. Honest.”

“Anything else I don’t know before I continue with this interview? Huh? Either of you?”

Larsen’s boredom had been interrupted. He was grinning.

I was trying to figure some ethical way to get Trent’s custody evaluation of Robilio’s relatives into Sam’s consciousness. I said, “Dr. Robilio may have had some family in the metro area. Maybe he gave them permission to use the ranch. Did anyone explore that?”

Sam checked with his partner. I could feel his irritation at needing to rely on others for basic information. “Lucy? Any family?”

She thought for a moment and said, “A sister-or sister-in-law maybe-I’m not sure which, in Denver.”

I was also going to tell Sam what Diane had told me, that the motor home was apparently not a pedestrian Winnebago. But Sunny returned before Lucy or I could elaborate. Sam’s voice once again became sweetness and light as he asked her, “Did your mother know where to find the keys?”