“Mr. Martin, I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but I need your help,” Wilson said when I went to meet him at his SUV. He was too scared to get out of the car.

I grabbed Fred by the collar in an attempt to make Wilson feel safer. “He won’t bite unless you bite him first.” He didn’t even crack a smile, so I continued. “Why don’t you come sit on my porch and tell me what I can do for you? I’d invite you in, but the house is a mess.”

What I really didn’t want him to see was my jury-rigged surveillance system. I hadn’t planned on Bonnie’s security light going on every time the wind blew the branches of a nearby aspen tree. Wilson might want to know why my lamp and radio kept going on and off. Then there was the telltale extension cord running out my back window, which might draw his attention to something not quite right.

Wilson didn’t take his eyes off Fred as he cautiously got out of his SUV. “You sure he won’t bite?”

“Hasn’t bitten anyone in at least a week,” I replied, while trying to count the freckles on the top of his head.

Wilson smiled nervously. It looked like he got my joke. “I’ve never been a dog person, you know. My mother was allergic to pet hair, so I never had any growing up.”

“Wow! Not even a cat?”

“Not until after she passed, bless her soul.” His head turned toward the sky and he crossed himself.

I picked up a stick, threw it as far as I could, and then let Fred go before Wilson could expand on his blessing. “Too bad, I’d be lost without Fred. He’s the best friend I ever had. Shall we head to the porch before he comes back?”

***

“So what’s on your mind? Don’t tell me you’re being sued?” I asked after we’d sat down on my porch chairs.

His pupils grew larger despite the bright sun. “How did you know?”

“That was the last thing you said to me the last time I saw you.”

“Oh, right. Well, the parents of the girl are suing me for two million dollars. They say their daughter would have never gone into that mine if it hadn’t been for my story. I heard rumors you suspect her and her boyfriend, what’s his name, Cory something or other, might have been the ones who murdered the Marine. I’d be in your debt if you can help me prove it.”

“Cory Weston, but who on earth told you I suspected them of murder?” I asked just as Fred came back with the stick and laid it at my feet.

Wilson failed to look at me when he answered. “I’d rather not say other than it’s a good friend.” His eyes never left my ferocious beast, a killer dog that couldn’t so much as catch a squirrel.

He couldn’t be that paranoid of dogs, so he was either extremely shy, or lying. “Right, the mysterious insider who works for the county. How do you expect me to help you, Paul, if you can’t be honest with me?”

Wilson finally looked at me. “I could get into a lot of trouble if this gets out. You have to promise you won’t repeat what I’m about to say.”

I picked up Fred’s stick and threw it again. Fred bolted off the porch, startling Wilson. “Mum’s the word,” I said, purposely avoiding any promise.

Wilson followed the stick with his eyes while shifting in his chair. He seemed to consider for a moment, before continuing without speaking to my face. “My friend works in the sheriff’s office and has kept me up to date on the murders.”

“Murders? You mean murder, don’t you? Or is the sheriff not buying Appleton’s suicide?”

He seemed relieved when Fred tired of the stick game and went off to chase Chatter. Wilson now gave me his full attention when he spoke. “My source tells me you don’t believe Appleton killed himself, and you think those damn kids had something to do with it. So if you’re correct, it is murders with an S.”

Wilson was no longer playing defense, and knew it as he sat waiting for my response while stroking his goatee, and reading my face. Either he had been a psychologist at one time, or spent enough time with one, for it made me consider telling him everything I knew and suspected, but something made me hold back. It was like when a telemarketer calls unannounced and starts asking personal questions. I didn’t know this guy except from the book signing, and I didn’t feel comfortable.

“I don’t remember saying that to the Jeffco deputy. Your source must have got it from Deputy White over in Park County. Is that where your friend works?”

“No, she works in Golden. I can only guess that White and Jeffco are sharing info on the case. White must have reported your suspicions. So it’s true then?”

“So it is written, so it shall be,” I replied.

Wilson cracked a small smile. “You mean ‘So it shall be written. So it shall be done.’ don’t you? The Ten Commandments has got to be one of my favorite movies of all time.”

“Is that where I heard it? Sorry, I’m not as old as you. I think I’ve only seen that movie once or twice on television when I was a kid, but you got my point. If Appleton killed himself, then Moses loved BLT sandwiches.”

Wilson had to laugh. “You have a way with words, Jake. Have you ever considered writing as a career? I’ll have to tell my Jewish friends that one.”

I couldn’t decide whether to thank him or say something sarcastic. Doesn’t this guy know I am a writer?

Fred had returned without his stick or squirrel and lay down by my feet. Wilson didn’t seem as bothered by Fred as he was before. “So will you help me, Jake? I can pay you for your time.”

The mention of pay not only got my attention, it got Fred’s, too. He raised his head and stared at Wilson. It must have been the pleading in Wilson’s voice.

“I’d like to help you, Paul, but I’m a little busy at the moment.” I didn’t bother to confide I’d be busy committing another felony.

“Besides the money, which would be substantial, you might also recover that book Appleton stole from you.”

“My copy of Tom Sawyer? You think those kids had it?”

He knew he had me hooked, I could see it in his Hannibal Lecter smile. “According to my source, Cory’s backpack is still in the cave, and I think you will find both our books in it. That’s what I want you to get.”

“Hold on, pilgrim. Unless I’m losing all my marbles, you were asking me if White mentioned finding anything in the backpack the last time you were here. Now you’re telling me it’s still in the mine?”

“That was before my friend told me it wasn’t recovered. He only knew it existed.” His response was too quick for it to be a lie.

“How would your source know that?” I asked, noting that he was no longer salivating over the thought of fresh meat now that Fred was watching him. “I mean, wouldn’t the rescue team, or whoever pulled the kids out of the mine, have retrieved the backpack too?”

“The backpack wasn’t with the kids. It fell to a lower level. The mine shaft has several levels that were built out of wood and the wood rotted out years ago, making it too dangerous for the rescue team to go after the backpack.”

“But it’s not too dangerous for me?”

Wilson let out a short laugh that sounded more like a snort. “It’s the bureaucracy. They’re so afraid of OSHA and a thousand other rules, they couldn’t go after it without somebody higher up signing off, and that might take weeks. I’m sure someone as fit as you would have no trouble climbing down there on a rope and get the backpack before they do.”

He had trouble looking me in the eyes again, which made me wonder how much of his story was pure fiction. “Well, I suppose it won’t hurt to check it out.”

***

Wilson did all the talking after I accepted his retainer and told him what he needed to know about Cory and Jennifer, leaving out incriminating details like how Fred found Bonnie’s manicure kit in the kids’ trash, and the bloody shirt from Appleton’s cabin.

The five hundred dollar check he gave me would go a long way to catching up my bills and buying dog food. But little did he know I would have gone after the backpack anyway. He had no idea how much Julie’s copy of Tom Sawyer meant to me, so when he told me he wanted me to go back to the mine where the kids fell to their death, I didn’t argue. I did ask what was in the backpack besides books, but all he would say was it would prove he had nothing to do with the kids’ death.