“No, I don’t know who it is. Just . . . it’s not entirely canine, it’s got that little bit of human in it, you know? No, I guess you wouldn’t. I don’t think it’s wolf. I don’t know what it is.”
“Huh,” he said, frowning.
I took the card from him, thinking maybe I could get a scent off it too, but it had been stored with the fur so long both items just smelled like each other. I studied the picture, looked over the back. Blinked. Looked again, just to be sure. Held the card up to Cormac.
“This . . . this is newer than fifty years old.” I pointed out the copyright date on the postcard. Ten years ago. The postcard, and probably the fur, were no more than ten years old.
“So?”
“Rick said he got the key fifty years ago. How can the key be older than the thing it locks? How did this get locked in here ten years ago if Rick already had the key?”
“I’m not here to ask questions. I’m just trying to do this job.”
“Maybe there was a second key? A master key?”
“See, logical explanation,” he said.
I wasn’t convinced. “This is a really weird job, Cormac.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”
“So I guess we’re going to Leadville?”
“Shit,” he muttered.
We told the clerk we were finished with the box. We didn’t tell her we’d emptied it. I had a few questions for her. “Just out of curiosity, do you have information on file about when the box was rented and who rented it?”
She went to her computer terminal. It seemed to be a modern computer with a flat-screen monitor, so at least that was up to date. She typed for a minute, then another minute. “Hmm,” she murmured intriguingly.
“It’s rented under the name of Mr. Crow, and the rent on it was paid in advance . . . well, for a good many years, it looks like.”
“Do you have contact information for Mr. Crow?” I asked.
She gave me her best, most professional customer service smile. It was soothing. “Nothing I’m allowed to give out, I’m sorry.” She really did seem to be sorry.
“Thanks anyway,” I said. “You have a great day!”
“Thank you so much, you too!”
We fled.
I texted Ben to let him know we were going to Leadville, and told him to call Cormac with any questions. When Cormac’s phone rang a minute later, the hunter shut it off.
“He’s just going to call back,” I said. We were already on I-70 west out of Denver. This trip was going to take the rest of the day, at least.
“Then you talk to him, he’s your husband,” he said curtly.
So I called him. “Hey there, you’re on speaker,” I said, and held the phone between me and Cormac.
“Why are you going to Leadville?” Ben asked in a frustrated tone.
I answered, “Because we found a postcard for Leadville in the safe-deposit box.” A long pause followed. “Ben?” Maybe we’d lost the connection.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” he said. “Why is your client sending you on a scavenger hunt?”
“I’d like to know,” Cormac said. “This message is starting to feel like a grenade. I want to get rid of it before it goes off.” The original envelope was tucked in next to the driver’s seat.
Ben muttered a curse under his breath. “I hope you’re getting paid really well for this.”