CHAPTER 13
Within minutes my van was whining up Meadow Drive toward Hymnal House. The air was unusually chilly for an early Colorado afternoon in April, and a bleak sky threatened snow. No law-enforcement types had arrived by the time the van crunched over the gravel of the long conference driveway. Silently I castigated myself for agreeing to bring Arch into a potentially dangerous situation. I wavered about going back. I saw a jogger in my rearview mirror, backed up, and rolled down my window. Yes, the police had been here, he informed me, panting. It was a while ago, maybe half an hour.
I would not go into any of the buildings until they got back, I vowed. I would not put Arch in danger.
I pulled the van up to the split-rail fence by Brio Barn. We jumped out onto ice-slickened grass
