Canyon Kidnapping
Author
Cindi Myers
Reads
15,3K
Chapters
16
Chapter One
Climbing walls of rock or ice was all about conquering obstacles, Sheri Stevens thought as she watched competitors in the Eagle Mountain Ice Festival tackle the challenging routes up the walls of Caspar Canyon. The realization that she could face tough things that frightened her and emerge victorious had drawn her to the sport four years ago, and in that time she had grown stronger and more confident than she had ever imagined would be possible. She had learned how to carry the pain of the past without letting it defeat her.
She didn’t say these things to the people who stopped by the Picksie Chix booth at the ice festival. They would discover that aspect of the sport soon enough—or not. “Climbing is terrific exercise and a lot of fun,” she told the two teenage girls who approached the booth. They wore matching fake-fur-trimmed parkas and Ugg boots against the February chill. “Once you’ve finished a challenging climb, you’ll know you can conquer anything.”
“We saw you up there earlier,” the taller of the two girls, a high school junior named Monica, said.
“You were amazing,” her friend, Lexie, said. “Didn’t you win a medal or something?”
“I’m in the running for a medal in the time trials,” Sheri said. She had won her class in the annual ice climbing competition last year and hoped to repeat her victory this year. “There is another competitive climb tomorrow and exhibition climbs on Sunday.”
“Good luck.” Monica picked up one of the Picksie Chix brochures.
“I’m teaching a free women’s climbing clinic Sunday at one,” Sheri said. “You should both come.”
“Maybe we will,” Lexie said. “Though I don’t know if my mom could handle it. She won’t even come watch the other climbers, it freaks her out so much.”
“Invite your mom to come with you to my clinic,” Sheri said. “She can see all the safety precautions we take, and she can even try climbing herself.”
Lexie wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t she a little old to take up a sport like climbing?”
“I was thirty before I ever tried it,” Sheri said. “And there are people in their sixties and seventies who are still climbing.”
The girls looked as if they didn’t believe her, but were polite enough not to say so. “Maybe we’ll see you tomorrow,” Monica said, and the two wandered off.
Kim Lazaro arrived to take over manning the booth. “I saw your climb earlier,” she said. “You looked great up there.”
“Thanks,” Sheri said. “I haven’t had as much time to practice as I’d like, but I was pleased with how things went this morning.”
“All that climbing you do for Search and Rescue has to help,” Kim said. “From what I read in the paper, you folks have been busy this winter.”
“It hasn’t slowed down all year,” Sheri said.
“Honestly, woman, I couldn’t keep up with your schedule,” Kim said. “When do you sleep?”
Sheri laughed. “I guess I’m just someone who likes to keep busy.” She checked her watch. “And in a few minutes I’m due over at the Search and Rescue booth.” In addition to answering questions about search and rescue, the booth volunteers handed out applications to potential volunteers and sold T-shirts to raise money for the group, which always operated on a shoestring.
She said goodbye to Kim and headed across the open area at the entrance to the canyon, where various local organizations and businesses had set up booths. She passed the booth for the local barbecue place, a big iron smoker on a trailer filling the canyon with the scent of cooking ribs and brisket. Hundreds of people filled the area, mingling among the booths or gathering closer to the base of the cliffs to watch the climbers make their way up and down the canyon walls, over flows of ice tinted pink and green and blue and orange by minerals in the water.
Sheri paused as a familiar figure—fellow SAR volunteer Eldon Ramsey—started up a route dubbed Free Style. Though relatively new to the sport, he was a good climber, and making a terrific start.
“Mommy!”
The child’s shout stopped Sheri’s breath and she looked around, heart pounding. A little girl raced toward her, dark hair flying out behind her. It isn’t Claire, Sheri reminded herself, and tried to bring her breathing back under control. But this little girl was about the age Claire would be now, and seeing her sent a sharp ache through Sheri.
The little girl stopped short just a few feet from Sheri and looked up at her in obvious confusion. “I was looking for my mom,” she said. She was about eight years old, with straight dark hair that hung past her shoulders, and big brown eyes fringed with black lashes.
“What’s your mom’s name?” Sheri asked. She looked around, hoping to spot a woman who was obviously searching for a lost child. “I’ll help you find her.”
“It’s okay.” A man hurried up and took the little girl’s hand. He was about forty, with thinning brown hair and a narrow face. He wore dark aviator glasses and a blue windbreaker over tan chinos and scuffed hiking boots.
“I want my mom!” the little girl insisted, and tried to pull out of the man’s grasp.
“Dawn, you need to calm down,” the man said. “I told you I’d take you to your mother, but you have to behave.” He glanced up at Sheri. “Sorry about that.” Then he scooped the child into his arms and walked away.
The little girl watched Sheri over the man’s shoulders, her eyes brimming with tears. Sheri’s own eyes burned, but she blinked rapidly to clear them. This kind of thing had happened before, but it always shook her. When she was fifty, she would probably still be seeing young women and automatically calculating if they were the same age her daughter, Claire, would have been if she had lived. She would never stop wondering what Claire would have been like at eight or eighteen or twenty-eight or forty-eight. There would come a day when no one else on earth would remember her daughter, but Sheri would never forget.
She watched the man and the girl until they disappeared in the crowd, then gathered herself and continued toward the Eagle Mountain Search and Rescue booth. She was waylaid twice, once by a fellow teacher at Eagle Mountain High School, and once by two of her students, who wanted to talk about her climb this morning. By the time she broke free she was already late for her shift at the booth, but consoled herself that the volunteer schedules were staggered, so even if the person ahead of her on the roster had to leave, someone would be there.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, as soon as she approached the booth, which was manned by SAR Lieutenant Carrie Andrews and trainee Austen Morrissey. “I kept getting stopped by people who wanted to talk.”
“No problem,” Carrie said. “We’ve sold six T-shirts this morning.”
“It’s going to take a lot more to pay for the new vehicle the captain wants,” Austen said.
“It all adds up. Plus, every one we sell is one less I have to pack up and take back to headquarters when the festival is over.” Carrie looked past Sheri and smiled. “Good morning, Sheriff,” she said. “Sergeant Walker.”
Sheri turned to see Sheriff Travis Walker and his brother, Gage, closing in on the booth. Both men were in uniform, apparently patrolling the festival. But neither returned Carrie’s smile. “How many volunteers do you have here today?” Travis asked.
Carrie looked around. “There’s me and Sheri and Austen. Eldon is climbing right now and Tony is spotting for him. I think I saw Danny and Ted around somewhere. Why?”
“We’ve had a report of a missing little girl,” Travis said. “I left the parents with Deputy Douglas and thought we could organize a search.”
“Of course,” Carrie said. “We can shut the booth down and I can radio whoever is here.” She picked up a radio from the corner of the booth.
“Tell them the little girl is eight years old, fifty-five pounds, about fifty inches tall, with long brown hair and brown eyes,” the sheriff said. “Her name is Dawn Sheffield.”
The name jolted Sheri. “I think I just saw her,” she said.
“Where?” Gage asked. “When?”
Sheri checked her watch. “About half an hour ago. Halfway between this booth and the one for Picksie Chix. I stopped to watch Eldon begin his climb and this little girl came running up to me. She thought I was her mom, but realized her mistake as she got closer. A man came up and promised to take her to her mother. He called her Dawn.” Her stomach twisted. “I thought he was her father. He certainly acted as if he knew her, and she didn’t seem afraid of him.” Not afraid, just unhappy. Sheri had thought she was a typical tired kid, having a bit of a temper tantrum. Why hadn’t she seen there was more to the girl’s mood than that?
“What did this man look like?” Travis asked.
Sheri considered, wanting to give a clear, accurate description. “He was about forty, maybe five-ten or five-eleven, medium build, thinning brown hair. He was wearing dark glasses—aviator style—a blue windbreaker, tan chinos and hiking boots.”
“Dawn’s father is blond, and six-three,” Gage said.
“I’ve already sent deputies to man the festival entrance and exits,” Travis said. “But if you saw him half an hour ago, there’s a good chance he’s already left. In the meantime, get some of your people circulating among the crowds, looking for Dawn or the man she was with.” He looked at Sheri. “I’d like you to come with me and talk to the parents. I want to find out if they know anyone who fits the description of the man you saw. Particularly anyone who might want to harm their daughter.”
Sheri nodded, her mouth dry. She didn’t want anything to happen to that little girl.
She especially didn’t want to be the person who could have saved her, and didn’t.
DETECTIVE ERIK LESTER, Colorado Bureau of Investigation, had lost all patience with Carl Westover. He had dealt with tougher crooks than Westover. He had apprehended men who were smarter than Carl, and those who were more devious. Carl wasn’t tough or smart or devious—he was just annoying. He was the type of person who thought he deserved a lot more than he had ever earned. Carl thought life wasn’t fair and wasted most of his time trying to shift the odds in his favor. He did this by manipulating and taking advantage of other people. He had embezzled several hundred thousand dollars from the corporation he worked for, blown the money on fancy cars and vacations, then whined to anyone who would listen about how unfairly he had been treated when he was arrested for his crimes.
Now Carl had skipped town instead of showing up for his court date and Erik had to go after him. As far as Erik was concerned, Carl was wasting his time. The man hadn’t even made his pursuit very challenging. He used his credit card to purchase gas and had made a beeline for the one place he was probably sure he would find refuge—his sister’s second home in Eagle Mountain, Colorado. Erik fully expected to find Carl taking it easy on his sister’s sofa.
Erik didn’t want to be in Eagle Mountain dealing with Carl’s whiny self. But he had a job to do and he was determined to do it well. So he had made the drive from Denver over several snowy mountain passes. He would have enjoyed the winter scenery if he had been headed out on vacation, but right now the trip was one more thing to add to the list of the ways Carl had annoyed him. Midmorning on a Friday in late February found him ringing the doorbell at Melissa and Brandon Sheffield’s mountain getaway, a six-thousand-square-foot chalet with breathtaking views.
No one answered the bell, so Erik knocked. Then he knocked harder. No sound of movement within the house. He moved over to a large picture window and peered inside. The massive great room appeared to be empty. A child’s doll lay on the leather sofa, next to a blanket, and a coffee mug sat on the top of the wooden trunk in front of the sofa, but no fire burned in the fireplace and everything gave the appearance of being unoccupied.
Frowning, Erik turned away from the door and headed back to his car. He’d look up the number for the Sheffields and give them a call. “Are you looking for Mel and Brand?” A slim woman dressed in leggings and a puffy jacket, a yoga mat tucked under one arm, paused next to the SUV in her driveway next door. “I think they went to the ice festival. I saw them leave a little while ago.”
“Do you know if Melissa’s brother is visiting?” Erik asked. “I was hoping to talk to him.”
The woman shook her head, blond ponytail swaying. “I don’t think so. It was just the two of them and their little girl when they left this morning.”
“Thanks.” Erik got into his car and pulled away before the woman could ask who he was and what he wanted with Melissa’s brother. Not that he couldn’t lie with the best of them but it was easier to avoid awkward questions in the first place.
He was wondering how he’d find out where the ice festival was when he spotted a large banner hanging over the street as he entered Eagle Mountain. “Welcome to the thirtieth annual Ice Festival,” it proclaimed. “Caspar Canyon, February 25‒27.” His Toyota’s GPS obligingly provided directions to Caspar Canyon.
He saw the crowd for the festival long before he saw the canyon itself. The road was lined with cars, and adjacent fields had been turned into parking lots. The turnoff to the canyon was closed, and a uniformed officer directed him to turn around and park in a lot. Erik thought of flashing his badge and announcing that he was looking for a fugitive, but that was a good way to panic people needlessly. The last thing he wanted was for Carl to have any warning that Erik was here. With luck, the two of them would have a quiet conversation and Erik would lead Carl back to his vehicle and they’d be on their way. He had handcuffs if he needed to use them, but it would be easier on everyone if he didn’t have to. Carl had no history of violence. He was a dishonest man, but he had never physically hurt anyone, so Erik didn’t expect trouble.
Metal gates blocked off the entrance to the canyon and people were lined up waiting to enter. Beyond the entrance, he could see vendors’ booths and a glimpse of high rock walls coated in ice, ropes dangling from the ice, and people dangling from the ropes. He estimated the crowd in his view at a couple of hundred people, with more farther into the canyon. He hoped he wouldn’t have too much trouble tracking down the Sheffields, and after that, locating Carl.
The line he was in wasn’t moving. “What’s going on?” a man behind him asked.
“They’re not letting people in,” a woman beside him answered. “The cops have closed it down.”
Erik made his way to the front of the line, ignoring disgruntled remarks from a few people he passed. He approached a man in a sheriff’s department uniform and held up his badge. “What’s going on, Deputy?” he asked.
“A little girl has gone missing,” the man, whose name badge identified him as Deputy Doyle, said. “We’re not letting anyone in or out while we search for her and the man who may have taken her.”
“How old a child?” Erik asked. “What does she look like?”
“She’s eight. Long dark hair and brown eyes. Her name is Dawn Sheffield.”
Erik felt cold all over. He didn’t believe it was a coincidence that the Sheffields’ daughter had gone missing at the same time Melissa Sheffield’s brother was fleeing criminal charges and known to be headed this way. In his experience, crimes like this were always connected. “I might have information that could help,” Erik said. “Could someone take me to the Sheffields?”
He had thought Carl was too dumb to be a real danger to anyone, but maybe Erik was the one who wasn’t so smart. He, of all people, ought to know that danger could lurk in the most unexpected places, and not realizing that could lead to the worst of all consequences.
SHERIFF WALKER AND Gage escorted Sheri to the first aid tent, where a couple sat with Deputy Jamie Douglas. The woman, her dark hair cut in an asymmetrical style that set off her elfin features, stood when they entered the tent. “Have you found her?” she asked.
Travis shook his head. “This is Sheri Stevens,” he said. “She saw a girl we think may be Dawn. Sheri, this is Brandon and Melissa Sheffield.”
“Where was this?” Brandon Sheffield, a tall, broad-shouldered blond who looked as if he’d be more at home in a logging camp than a boardroom, turned eagerly to Sheri. “Was she all right? Was she afraid?”
“The child I saw was asking for her mother, but otherwise she seemed fine.” Sheri chose her words carefully. She wanted to tell the truth, but she didn’t want to upset this mother and father any more than she could help. “She was a very pretty little girl, with long dark hair, parted in the middle, and big brown eyes. She was with a man with thinning brown hair. He called her Dawn and she seemed to know him, though I never heard her address him by name.”
“That sounds like Dawn,” Brandon said. “And Carl.” He turned to his wife. “Don’t you think that sounds like Carl?”
“Who is Carl?” Gage asked.
“My wife’s brother,” Brandon said. “Dawn wouldn’t be afraid of him. To her, he’s just her uncle.”
“Why would your brother take Dawn without your knowing about it?” Travis asked Melissa.
“He wouldn’t.” She looked up at her husband. “Brand, I’m sure you’re wrong. Carl wouldn’t do something like that.”
Brandon ignored her protest and turned to the officers. “Carl is in trouble for embezzling money from his former employer,” he said. “He asked me for one hundred thousand dollars to pay his legal fees and when I refused, he got angry. Maybe he took Dawn to get back at me.”
“No. My brother wouldn’t do something like that,” Melissa said. “And the whole business with the money—it was just a misunderstanding. I don’t know why you wouldn’t give him the money he needed. He would have paid me back.”
“Right. Like he paid back the money I lent him to buy his last house, or the loan you gave him before we were married.”
Watching these two argue made Sheri’s stomach hurt. They were both afraid and hurting, but instead of coming together to present a united front, they were already pulling away. She wanted to tell them to stop it—they didn’t realize the damage they were doing. She knew too well how easy it was to blame the person you were closest to for all the pain you were feeling—and how the damage hurtful words inflicted could never be undone.
But she was a stranger to these people. The last thing they wanted was advice from her, especially when the counsel came in the form of “don’t make the same mistake I did.”
“Do you have a picture of your brother?” Travis asked.
“Not with me,” Melissa said.
“I think I do.” Brandon took out his phone. “I took a lot of pictures when we were all together at Melissa’s parents’ place last Christmas.” He swiped through several photos, then angled the phone toward them. “Carl is the one in the middle, next to Melissa.”
Sheri stared at the man in the photo. He was smiling, and looked a little younger, but it was the same man. “That’s the man I saw with the little girl,” she said.
Brandon turned the phone toward himself and scrolled once more. “Is this the little girl you saw?” he asked, and showed her a photograph of a smiling child, her long dark hair whipped by a breeze, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, on the deck of a boat.
Sheri nodded. “Yes, that’s her.”
Melissa Sheffield began to cry, and sank into a chair. Brandon hesitated, then put his arm around his wife. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “Now that we know who has Melissa, we can find him. He can’t have gone far in such a short time.”
“I’m sure Carl would never hurt Dawn,” Melissa said. “He loves her.”
“I don’t think Carl is violent,” Brandon said. “He’s greedy and manipulative, but he’s not violent. And he does love Dawn.”
Melissa pulled away from her husband. “Carl is not greedy and manipulative,” she said. “He hasn’t had the same advantages you’ve had and people always underestimate him.”
“Do you have any idea where your brother might have taken Dawn?” Travis asked. “A friend’s house? Someplace else he’s frequented?”
“We’re the only people he knows here,” Melissa said.
The sheriff turned to Sheri. “What, exactly, did he say when you saw him?” he asked.
She relayed as much as she could remember of the brief exchange. “He told the little girl he was going to take her to her mother. But he didn’t say where or when.”
“What kind of vehicle does your brother drive?” Gage asked.
“The last time I saw him, he had a Lexus, I think?” Melissa looked to her husband for confirmation.
“He drives a Lexus LS. Black,” Brandon said. “Or he did last month. He leases vehicles and switches them out pretty often.”
“When was the last time you spoke to your brother, Mrs. Sheffield?” Travis asked.
“A few days ago. We talk and text regularly. He was getting ready for his trial and he seemed in good spirits.”
“He was out on bail and was upset I wouldn’t give him the money he wanted,” Brandon said. “Apparently, he’d already blown the money he stole on fancy vacations and new suits and no telling what else.”
“He didn’t steal any money!” Melissa protested.
“Did he make any threats to you or your wife, when you refused to give him the money?” Travis asked.
“No!” Melissa jumped up again. “You’re making him sound like some hardened criminal and he isn’t. If Dawn is with Carl, I’m sure he’ll bring her back to us soon.”
“He whined about me not having any faith in him, but he didn’t make threats,” Brandon said. He looked at his wife. “I hope you’re right. All I want is for Dawn to be safe.”
“I don’t believe he did this,” Melissa said. She turned to Sheri. “You may have seen Dawn with Carl, but that doesn’t mean Carl took her anywhere. Maybe he really was taking her to me, but before he could find me, someone else intercepted them. Or maybe Dawn ran away, Carl lost track of her in the crowd and someone else took her.”
“Then why didn’t he come to us and tell us what happened?” Brandon asked.
“Because he knew you’d accuse him of doing something awful. You’ve never liked him and he knows it.”
“Did your brother mention he was coming to see you?” Gage asked.
Melissa shook her head, and hugged her arms over her chest. “Carl is family. He doesn’t have to wait for an invitation to come see me. He’s always welcome. He probably wanted to surprise me.”
“Have you tried calling him?” Travis asked.
Brandon took out his phone again. “There’s no signal down here in this canyon.”
“When you get to someplace with a signal, I want you to call him,” Travis said. “If you reach him, please ask him to stop by the sheriff’s department and give a statement.”
“Of course,” Melissa said. “I’m sure he’ll want to do everything he can to help.” She shook her head. “But I can’t believe the man you saw really was Carl. Lots of men have brown hair.”
“Carl Westover is here, all right.”
They all turned to look at the man who spoke—a tall, dark-haired man with olive skin and a strong jaw. Sheri stared at him, dizzy and disoriented.
He stared back, eyes burning into hers. “Sheri!” He didn’t try to hide his shock at seeing her. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here.” The words came out with more force than she intended. She worked to rein in her agitation. “What are you doing here, Erik?”
Erik looked at the others, and fixed on the sheriff. He held out his hand. “Detective Erik Lester, Colorado Bureau of Investigation,” he introduced himself.
“Sheriff Travis Walker.” The sheriff shook Erik’s hand, then examined the credentials he offered.
“I’m here because I’ve been tracking Carl Westover ever since he jumped bail and failed to appear for his trial yesterday,” Erik said. “His credit card receipts showed he was headed to Eagle Mountain, I presumed to visit his sister.” He looked to Melissa. “Carl didn’t tell you he was coming?”
“No. I already told these people that.”
“I stopped by the Sheffields’ house before I came here,” Erik said. “I didn’t see any sign of Carl and the neighbor I talked to hadn’t seen him.”
“He was seen approximately forty-five minutes ago with his niece,” Travis said.
“Who saw him?” Erik said. “I’d like to talk to them.”
“I saw him,” Sheri said. She really couldn’t believe this was happening. Erik was the last person she wanted to talk to.
“Do you two know each other?” Gage asked.
Sheri stood up straighter, her eyes fixed on Erik. “You could say that,” she said. “Erik is my ex-husband.”
