Purgatory (Colorado series) Read online

  “Hey, George. This is Steve West.”

  “It’s been a long time.” The coroner’s tone lacked warmth. A shame, since he had known George Pendley all his life.

  “I know. I’ll get to the point. I have a copy of Carol’s autopsy report—”

  “Steve, we’ve been over this a million times. There’s nothing in there to suggest that woman was anyone but your wife—”

  He interrupted George’s irritated reply and read the confusing language aloud. “What does that mean?”

  George confirmed the definition Steve had gleaned from the medical dictionary. “It means she had a hysterectomy.” The man’s impatience resonated.

  “Really? My wife was pregnant.” He dropped the bomb with an I-told-you-so tone. Silence confronted him. “Are you still there?”

  “Really? Why didn’t anybody tell me? How far along was she?” George’s growl resonated with a small tremor of apprehension.

  “At least three months.” A fierce pain shot through Steve’s heart.

  “Read it again.”

  Steve reread the section about Carol’s hysterectomy from the autopsy report.

  “It was fully healed.” George’s voice wobbled a bit. The uneasiness on the other end of the line hammered Steve as his former friend in Virginia was obviously trying hard to absorb the impact of what Steve had just discovered.

  He pushed for a conclusion. “So there’s no way that woman was my wife.”

  “No. It appears not…not if your wife was pregnant.”

  Of course, Carol had been pregnant. They cried, laughed, and celebrated upon the discovery of Carol’s impending motherhood. “I’ve got to go,” he muttered.

  “Steve, maybe you should—”

  He hung up, refusing to listen to any of George’s inevitable excuses. His mind reeled, burdened with the ramifications. Even though he had been right all along, confirmation of the truth pummeled his heart and increased the tension in his chest.

  A loud, insistent knock on his door interrupted Steve’s inner turmoil. Jeff probably wanted his input on something that could wait. In no mood for civil conversation, he grumbled in protest and opened the door. His cross comment stalled when he saw Sheriff Parker’s angry face.

  Parker barged into the room without invitation. “I believe you have some explaining to do. I talked to the sheriff in Norfolk, Virginia. Chris couldn’t possibly be your wife. Your wife is dead.” Parker’s words slashed at Steve with the bite of a serrated knife, not attempting to dull the cut.

  When Steve talked to anyone about his suspicions, the reactions ranged from exasperation, to impatience, to outright suspicion, to questions regarding his mental stability. Parker’s anger struck him as something new. The room vibrated with more than righteous indignation. Parker assumed the role of fierce protector. Was there more to his relationship with Chris Smith than official business? The thought disturbed him.

  “Did the sheriff in Norfolk tell you I never believed the woman they found was my wife?”

  “He mentioned that, but he also implied you were prone to distorting the truth. That you were a hothead when no one would listen to your version of the truth. He suggested your behavior was somewhat irrational even considering the circumstances.”

  Was he reliving this nightmare again? He had endured the suspicions he had done something to Carol. The investigation into his background and activities was brutal, making splashy headlines in the local newspaper. Then when they couldn’t pin the crime on him, the sheriff of Norfolk hinted Carol’s disappearance wasn’t forced. That his marriage was shaky. Even suggested he abused her. None of it true. It amazed and confounded him such horrible allegations found their basis in such thin evidence. So they had one public argument. Does that make a man a wife abuser? No.

  He didn’t want to go down that nasty path again. “Why? Because I insisted they were wrong?” He held his anger in check, determined to stay calm in the face of Parker’s scathing accusations.

  “They made a positive identification.”

  Steve knew all about that and it made no sense to him. It never had. He shook his head, trying to rebut the false assumption the woman autopsied was his wife. The words didn’t make it past his lips before Parker pounded him again. “Then tell me why you don’t think the woman they found was your wife.”

  “It was her eyes. They weren’t…right.” Even as he blurted the unscientific basis for his belief, he knew Parker would dismiss his reasoning just as the sheriff in Norfolk had. Parker snorted his opinion as expected.

  Steve stumbled forward. The tension winding into a tight coil inside him. “I just discovered this. Right before you came barging into my room.” He shoved the autopsy report under the sheriff’s nose. “I was right. That woman is not my wife. My wife is still out there somewhere.”

  Parker shifted his gaze to the document in front of him and read the yellow-highlighted text. “So? She had a hysterectomy. Why does that make a difference?”

  “My wife was three months pregnant when she disappeared.”

  His resentment at the unspoken insinuations now matched the sheriff’s antagonism. The pain swelled from deep within him, and he had the terrible urge to punch the cop. He drew in a deep breath to steady his nerves, to give himself time to allow the anger to pass. He didn’t want to do something he would regret.

  “I talked to the coroner who performed the autopsy. He confirmed my suspicions. The surgery was fully healed, which meant it was more than three months old. The dead woman is not my wife. Perhaps the woman I married was using that woman’s name. Why? How would I know? My wife had a driver’s license from North Carolina and a birth certificate from Texas that said she was Carol Stone. But she wasn’t Carol Stone.” He ended his explanation out of breath, appalled at the implications.

  Did Chris Smith steal Carol Stone’s identity? Could she have murdered the woman in the shallow grave—the woman who haunted his nightmares? Somehow, he couldn’t believe it, no matter what dark secrets her long-term memory loss concealed, because he had seen the depth of her compassion last night.

  Parker’s eyes widened with dawning comprehension. “What you’re implying…I can’t believe Chris would be involved in anything like that.”

  “I agree. But what other possible explanation could there be? My mind doesn’t work that way.” Steve paused as the two men contemplated the possibilities. “I don’t care what she’s done. I just want my wife back.”

  Chapter Five

  Chris hiked the Purgatory trail as a sort of self-inflicted therapy. She pushed herself at an urgent, cleansing pace, enjoying the simple beauty of nature, and drawing the pine-scent-laden air deep into her lungs. A far off bird chirped good morning. She responded with a tired smile. Outdoors there was no pretense, no posturing, no paranoia. The wide expanse of nature gave her the freedom to be herself, or more importantly, the freedom to define herself.

  The trail began in a thick forest of pine, juniper, and aspens that towered above her, creating a canopy of shade. The well-worn path meandered through the forest for nearly half a mile before it crossed a shallow creek via a makeshift bridge of fallen logs. Two-thirds of a mile down the trail, she saw the Purgatory Flats and the confluence of Lime Creek to her left. She passed through a gate, part of a run-down fence skirting a section of land that was, no doubt, an abandoned mine claim.

  When she reached the site of the miner’s deserted cabin, she sat on a large boulder for a moment to catch her breath. Glancing at the ground beneath her feet, she saw fresh footprints. Someone had already been there that morning.

  The last time she hiked the trail, she found Jeff Osborne at the picnic area near the river. Jeff was a tall man, but he didn’t have the broad shoulders Brian had. Although Jeff appeared fit, he didn’t seem to be the outdoors type. She pictured him playing softball or touch football. He carried himself like a typical jock, constantly wearing a baseball cap and always sporting a smirk.

  She fingered the pull string on her wi
ndbreaker. Jeff made her cringe every time he spoke to her. He was too abrupt, too pushy, too overwhelming. When she first met him, she was friendly. Now she avoided him. She hoped she wouldn’t meet him in the middle of the wilderness again, but since it was a weekday, that wasn’t likely.

  She continued the downhill hike toward the Animas River and the train track beyond, finally arriving at a steep, uneven section of trail that clung to the side of the cliff. The slight breeze had turned into a brisk wind, pushing chilled air over, around, and through her. Wayward blonde tendrils brushed across her face. She shivered and picked up her pace. Far below splashed the rapids of Cascade Creek. The sounds of the rushing mountain stream echoed against the canyon walls.

  She couldn’t get Jeff off her mind. How did someone develop such a nasty attitude? And why would Steve West hire a jerk like Jeff?

  Just a hint of something forgotten flashed across her mind, trying hard to shape itself into a full memory. The sharp pain that preludes a flashback began at the base of her neck and proceeded to build in intensity until it shot out the front of her head. She stumbled toward the cliff wall, grabbing sharp, jagged stone before she fell. The splintered rocks of the trail floor bit into her pants legs and bruised her flesh. As the palms of her hands hit the ground, her sense of her surroundings momentarily vanished.

  She backed away from the cliff’s edge, grateful she hadn’t fallen over the side. She wrapped her jacket tighter, leaning her back against the rocky wall behind her. Drawing in a deep breath, she closed her eyes and considered the still lingering memory. Before now, only vague feelings or remembered smells or indistinct sounds remained from the brief visions. This was a whole memory—intact. She rewound it like videotape.

  Gentle waves slapped the sides of the sloop. A light breeze caressed her face, smelling heavily of brine, blowing her hair in every direction. He laughed and looped a tendril of hair around her ear. The ring on his finger reflected the warm glow of the afternoon sun. Her husband loved her and she knew it. They were happy together.

  She saw everything except his face.

  Who are you? Show me your face. I want to see you. I want you to come find me. I’m tired of being alone.

  She longed to be normal. More than that, she was certain in the depths of her soul she once belonged to someone. It grieved her she might never belong again.

  Why am I remembering this now?

  Was the arrival of Steve West in Purgatory stirring up memories that had remained dormant for five years? Was he someone from her past? Maybe even her husband?

  She slammed her fist into rock and cracked her knuckles. Red seeped out of the cuts and blended with the blood on her palm. She reached into her backpack and withdrew a kerchief to bind her hand, kicking the boulder in front of her in disgust. A sharp pain erupted in her big toe. Her vision blurred, and she thought she was about to pass out or have another episode. But it was only her tears again. She scrubbed the moisture from her eyes with the back of her hand and continued her downward climb, determined to overcome her sadness and despair.

  ****

  By the time Chris reached the picnic area near the railroad track, her panic had diminished. She threw her backpack onto the seat of the nearest picnic table and stretched out on the top, closing her eyes, trying to sort out her feelings, not just about the flashback, but about everything that had happened since Steve West arrived in Colorado.

  As if on cue, a man cleared his throat. Her eyes popped open. The catalyst of her confused feelings stood only two feet away. A warm flush crept up her neck. She rose from her reclining position and pulled her jacket collar closer around her neck, hoping to avoid further embarrassment.

  “What are you doing here?” Steve asked.

  “Hiking.” The only access to the picnic area was by the steep downhill Purgatory trail. She thought it was obvious what she was doing there.

  “You day hike often?”

  “Yes.” She offered him a tight smile.

  He smiled back. “I love the mountains. I go hiking whenever I get the chance.”

  She tried to encourage him to stay without saying so, moving her backpack to give him room to sit. Since her recent experience on the trail, she wanted some human company, any human company would do. His very handsome company might be kind of nice. If he didn’t say anything to push her into a panic attack again.

  He pointed at her bandaged hand. “Did something happen?” His eyes strayed to the tear in the knee of her pants. “You seem a little shaky.”

  “I must always seem shaky to you.” She made a noise, easily misinterpreted as self-deprecating humor.

  He grinned with amusement. “So you have a sense of humor.”

  “I wasn’t being funny.”

  Her reply appeared to dismay him. The smile dropped from his face. “Did you fall?”

  “Yeah, you could say that.” The desire to confide in him overtook her. “I had a flashback.” His puzzled expression urged her to elaborate. “Sometimes I have flashes of memory. It starts with a headache. Sometimes I see bursts of light. I rarely remember what I see. Usually, I only remember a feeling or a smell or a sound, but this one was so real…and I remember all of it. When I came out of it, I was on my knees.”

  Her legs dangled over the edge of the table, and her windbreaker flapped in the breeze. He reached up and brushed the hair from her eyes, looping it around her ear. Didn’t the man in her flashback do the same thing? She turned away from his touch.

  He sucked in a deep breath and withdrew his hand. “Will you tell me what happened?”

  She nodded; she knew what he was asking. “I was crossing the bridge over Cascade Creek.” She shuddered and crossed her arms over her chest. “It was raining hard, and the creek was flooding. You know, I don’t remember any of this. I only know what Brian told me.”

  His eyes remained on hers, apparently absorbing every word. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  She blinked back a tear and ignored his offer. For some reason, she needed to tell this man about the trauma that robbed her of any memories of who she was. “Brian was driving back from Ouray. The roads were very slick. I’m lucky he was there.”

  “Right place at the right time, huh?”

  She nodded. “He saw my Jeep skid across the road onto the service lot. When it stopped, it was hanging halfway over the side of the cliff. He risked his life to pull me out before it fell into the gorge and caught fire. If he hadn’t already been at the scene, I probably would have died. Brian has pretty much taken care of me ever since the accident.”

  The subject seemed to disturb him. Conversation ceased. That was the end of that. Maybe he didn’t want to know too much about her or her wreck.

  He broke into her musings. “Why do you call yourself Chris?”

  “Brian asked me my name. I answered, ‘Chris.’ He asked, ‘Chris who?’ I passed out before I could answer. When I woke up, I couldn’t remember anything, not even that conversation.”

  She stood, needing to expend the tense energy that coiled inside her. “Come on.”

  He followed her without hesitation. She led him a quarter of a mile down the railroad track, stopping in the center of a trestle bridge and pointing upward. “Up there is the highway. You can’t see it from here. Between here and there are a lot of ridges, trees, and rocks. The Jeep crashed through a lot of forest before it came to a stop. Somewhere up there is what’s left of it and my memory.”

  He peered upward into the seemingly impenetrable growth of trees and underbrush, the Jeep hidden from view, possibly miles away in the forest.

  “A climber went up there after the snow melted that year to see if he could find any identification. Whatever I had with me must have blown to the four winds.”

  ****

  Steve studied Chris from across the picnic table. It astonished him she had survived the accident. Her story would have amazed him without the growing conviction the things she told him had happened to his wife.


  She nibbled on a ham and cheese sandwich, her mind apparently elsewhere. Her countenance was placid, but he imagined her inner emotions were rolling. He tried not to stare at her while they ate, reluctant to interrupt her decompression. The relating of his personal trauma always exhausted him and made him anxious, leaving a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach rather than easing the pain in his heart. From his own experience, he knew she needed time to shake off the emotional overload.

  As she finished her apple, she appeared to be more relaxed, her anxiety draining away with every bite. He removed an energy bar from his pack and unwrapped it, turning around on the seat to view the river. “It’s peaceful out here.” He glanced back at her to get her reaction.

  She seemed relieved at his effort to engage her. “Yeah.”

  “Have you done this trail before?”

  “A lot.”

  “Glutton for punishment?”

  “Huh?”

  “Reverse climb.”

  “Oh, that.” She grinned. “Yeah, well, the first time nearly whipped my butt.” He laughed and nodded his understanding. The Purgatory trail would be difficult for a novice or someone out of condition. “I work out my stress this way. When I first started doing this trail, it pushed my limits. But I’m stronger now. I guess I like the solitude.”

  “It’s not safe for a woman to hike alone.”

  “I know. Brian doesn’t like me hiking by myself. But he’s quit arguing about it. I can be pretty stubborn.” She smiled sheepishly at him upon her confession.

  He didn’t want to discuss Sheriff Parker. His suspicions about Parker’s relationship with Chris were growing, causing Steve’s heart to quake every time he thought about it. He recognized the emotion for what it was and pushed it down. Where Chris was concerned, his rights were very limited, if not nonexistent.