“It’s my prints too, Jake. I can’t take the chance you’ll miss anything.”

“Please, Bon. You’ll slow me down and I need you to be my lookout.”

She let go of the door handle and sat back without saying a word. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was pouting.

“I’m sorry, Bon Bon. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It’s just that I really need you to watch my back.”

A cigarette and lighter appeared from nowhere. “I’m not a cripple, Jake. Just because I’m old, doesn’t mean I’m slow,” she said, before flicking on her lighter.

***

The cabin looked the same as when we were here yesterday. I knew I had to be quick for it was only a matter of time before someone showed up, so I started at the sliding door then worked my way toward the bedroom, wiping everything we might have touched with a rag coated with lemon oil. I had seen on some TV show where prints couldn’t be lifted from an oily surface. It sounded logical, whether it was true or not, but too late I realized how stupid I’d been. Maybe Bonnie should have come with me after all. I’m sure she would have known better.

Appleton had been a slob. The place looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in months, so my attempt to wipe prints became all too obvious when I went to clean off the table where my shotgun had lain. I needed to wipe the whole table or even a rookie cop would see someone had tried to remove finger prints. It would be like leaving little sticky notes saying ‘look here’.

If only moving the clutter to clean under it was so simple. My brilliant idea to wear latex gloves was stupid, because they were now coated in lemon oil. I couldn’t touch anything without staining it with oil from the gloves, and if I took them off, I’d be leaving more prints than I started with.

Appleton had inadvertently solved the problem for me. Among the mess on the table was a dirty dish towel. Using the towel as a makeshift pair of gloves, I could now move a stack of books that included Forrest Fenn’s book and several overdue library books on lost Rocky Mountain treasures. There was also a Lakewood phone book and a printout on paper with holes punched on the sides. I was in still in high school the last time I saw that kind of paper; it had to be thirty years old, but wasn’t. Thirty-year-old paper should be yellow with faded ink, and this looked like it was printed yesterday. A quick glance told me it was a copy of the Rocky Mountain News article Paul Wilson had mentioned at his book signing.

More clutter was stacked on top of a small tin box. My heart nearly stopped when I went to move the box heard the distinctive sound of coins. Sure that Julie’s ring would be there, I tore off the top of the box, but all I found were my coins and a flash drive.

Where was her ring? Did he sell or hock it? I wanted to throw the tin box across the room, and probably would have if not for Fred. He was sitting on the other side of the table wearing a grin on his face.

“What are you doing here, Freddie?” The question was really meant for Bonnie, for she was standing behind him at the sliding-glass door.

“Jake, I think we better leave.” Her wrinkled forehead and frown spelled worry.

“I’m almost finished, Bon. Give me another minute and I’ll be right out.”

“You don’t have another minute. Someone has driven by a couple times in a fancy SUV, and I’m sure they saw my Cherokee.”

“I can’t leave yet, I’m not finished. Keep an eye out for me while I check the bedroom.”

She surprised me when she didn’t argue. I thought for sure she would have come in to help, or should I say snoop. Evidently, she took the SUV seriously.

I quickly finished with the table then had a brilliant idea. I put most of my coins and the flash drive in my pockets, but left a few quarters. Somewhere in my twisted logic, I thought the police wouldn’t suspect anyone had been here when they saw the coins. Any self-respecting burglar wouldn’t leave cash money behind.

Pleased with my clever subterfuge, I hurried to the bedroom door to wipe its frame and knobs, and anything Bonnie or I might have touched or leaned against. Two minutes later, I joined her at the door.

She pointed toward the kitchen. “You missed those paw prints by the fridge, Jake.”

I followed her finger and saw where Fred had sniffed for food. There was no way I could clean those without doing the entire floor. “It’s too late now. We’ll leave the door open and hope they think a neighbor’s dog made them.”

She was gone when I turned back to the sliding door. I made one last wipe of the jamb where she had been resting her hand, and followed her to the car with Fred one step behind me. I couldn’t help but wonder if the FBI kept track of dog prints.

Bonnie was behind the wheel, and I wanted to leave the scene of our crime quickly, so I didn’t argue about her driving. “I think all we did was dig a deeper hole,” I said while watching out the rear window for the mysterious SUV once we were back on the road.

She looked over at me as she turned onto 285. “Why’s that, Jake?”

Suddenly, the blare of a semi truck’s horn made us nearly jump out of our seats. Bonnie had cut off the big rig and it missed us by inches when its driver swerved into another lane.

I subconsciously crossed myself. “He’s probably calling the sheriff this very minute.”

She started pouting again. “He shouldn’t be going so fast down this hill, and that’s what I’ll tell the sheriff if he does report me.”

“Not the truck driver, Bon. The guy in the SUV. He’s probably reporting us right now.”

“Oh, him. Well, I doubt if he got a license number. That would have been impossible the way you parked next to the side entrance.”

She was probably right and her Cherokee was as common in the foothills as pine beetles, so telling the cops what we were driving would narrow the suspect list down to a few hundred thousand. Still, it wouldn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to track us down; even Inspector Clouseau would be able to do it in time.

***

We stopped at the lake in Evergreen before heading up the canyon to our homes. Fred had been cooped up too long, and needed to stretch his legs. Bonnie needed a cigarette to calm her nerves, and I needed to think.

“That was close, Bon,” I said once we found a bench away from the lake house where Fred could water some trees.

She paused with her cigarette in midair. “I feel like a little girl again, Jake. That was fun.”

“Are you sure your last name isn’t Parker?”

“You’ve got to admit, Clyde, that was exciting,” she answered before taking a deep drag.

She waited long enough to feel the nicotine then exhaled. “I’m sorry you didn’t find your book or ring, but I’m glad you at least got your coins back.”

Watching the smoke circle in front of her, she continued. “I would have never thought to look in that box. But you should have taken all of them. Your prints must be on the ones you left behind.”

I had told her about finding my coins on our trip back from Pine Junction, and I couldn’t resist mentioning how clever I’d been to leave a few behind. Leave it to Bonnie to burst my bubble.

Fred came back and sat by my feet, listening to every word we said. “All the more reason we need to find out who killed Appleton,” I said.

Instinctively, I reached out to pet Fred. It was more for my comfort than his. “Now both of us will be murder suspects. They might take pity on a little old lady, but you can bet they’ll throw me and Fred in jail first and ask questions later.”

Bonnie started to say something, but coughed instead. Once she recovered, she flipped her cigarette into the lake. “You really think someone murdered Sleeveless?”

Fred lost interest in our conversation and went off to bark at some ducks in the water. I kept one eye on him while I answered Bonnie’s question. “Appleton wasn’t the kind to sit in his truck and watch us break into his house. I think he was already dead and his killer came back for evidence that would connect him to the murder.”