“Something like that, Dad.”
“Sounds like Trey,” Dani said. “Bombs away.” Both she and Allie smiled.
“Broke an ankle and his wrist to say he’d done it, though. And when it mended he went right back up and tried it again. Don’t blame him much for wanting out of this place. He always lived on the edge. We always said, his first steps were down a flight of stairs. What was it he was into …” He looked at Allie this time. “Jumping off a cliff with a kite.”
“Paragliding, Dad,” Allie told him. “But it’s safe.”
“Sure, safe … Paragliding. Heli-skiing, the rapids … I always knew one day one of those things would catch up to him.”
It was clear no one here was thinking in any way that Trey’s death was anything other than a tragic accident befalling someone who had always pushed the envelope one step too far.
“Allie, I want to talk with you for a second if we can?” Dani took her arm. “Before more people come.”
“Sure,” Allie replied. “Excuse me, Dad, Mr. Hauck.” She pointed to an open bedroom. “Why don’t we go in there? Trey’s old room. Where I’m staying.”
The daughter and Dani excused themselves and Hauck was left standing with Chuck Watkins. “Any chance I can have a few words with you as well?” Hauck asked him. “Just for a second or two.”
Watkins looked at him as if the two requests to talk were a little strange, but shrugged. “Why not.” He led Hauck around near where some soft drinks and liquor were laid out on the dining room table. “Anything I can get you, Mr. …”
“Hauck.”
“Sorry. I’m bad with names. Dani said you were visiting out here …”
“That’s right. I’m from back east. Connecticut. I’m no farmer, but I can see things look tough as hell out here.”
“These last three years …” The farmer shook his head grimly. “It would take an act of God to get something to grow here. Water tables are down eighty percent from what they were. We try to grow sugar beets, onions, potatoes. Maybe some baby carrots and feed corn. You see the result. That river used to be pretty good to us. For decades. Now …” He was about to add something, then stopped. “Now everything’s working against us these days.”
“Any chance of bringing water in? I’ve heard some farmers doing that in drought-stricken areas.”
Watkins just looked at him and smiled. “Well, I can see you’re not from around here, son. Anyway, you said you’re not a farmer, Mr. Hauck. What field are you in?”
“Security,” Hauck said. “And before that, law enforcement.”
“Law enforcement?”
“I was the chief of detectives with the Greenwich, Connecticut, police force for six years. And before that with the NYPD.”
“Did you even know my son?”
Hauck shook his head. “No.”
The farmer regarded Hauck with an evaluating stare, then looked toward Trey’s bedroom. “I’m starting to get the sense you didn’t drive all this way just to come to Trey’s funeral. May I pour you a drink, Mr. Hauck?”
Hauck nodded. “Scotch would be nice.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Hauck asked Watkins if he’d ever heard of Colin Adrian. If Trey had ever mentioned him? If he knew any reason why someone would want to harm his son?
To each question the farmer just stoically shook his head, no, finally looking at Hauck a bit suspiciously, “Harm him …?”
“A person named Colin Adrian drove into the Roaring Fork park directly after Trey the morning he was killed and left a short time later.”
“So …?” Watkins looked up at Hauck and furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Hauck took him through what Dani suspected. Deliberately, as to not upset him. As Hauck’s intent became clear, the lines on the farmer’s face grew deeper and more worn. “You’re saying what, so as I’m clear.” Watkins put down his drink. “You think my son was murdered? And that this man, Adrian, might have done it?”
“I can’t say anything for sure. I don’t know if you heard, but a hot-air balloon went up in flames and crashed the next morning, killing all five who were on board. The operator of the balloon was someone who claimed he saw something the previous day when Trey was killed.”
“Saw what?”
“I don’t know. We never heard. Dani seems to feel strongly that it might have been connected.”
Trey’s father didn’t seem happy and glanced toward the bedroom. “I thought you said she was a whitewater guide.”
“I said I would follow up a lead for her. And the more we looked at it, the more it seemed credible.”
“Credible? And your lead led here? To Templeton?”
“This person we traced led here, Mr. Watkins, Colin Adrian … He’s from Greeley. Which is why I thought you might have known who he is.”
Watkins nodded, glancing toward the bedroom. “And that’s what she’s talking to my daughter-in-law about in there?” His tone closed up like a fist.
“We didn’t mean to intrude upon your family’s grief, sir. We just wanted to see if there was any connection.”
“I met with the police chief back in Carbondale …” Chuck Watkins said.
“Dunn. Yes.” Hauck filled in the name.
“He didn’t mention anything about any possible crime. In fact, he said even the Parks Department seemed to have come to a similar conclusion of what took place. That it was all an accident. And anyway …” He turned back to Hauck, a measure of distrust in his eyes. “Who the hell would want to murder Trey?”