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is so not smart of her.”
    Kelly watched the river flow beneath the concrete bridge across the Poudre as the car drove over. “I love to watch that water.” She looked out at the river winding around the bend in the distance. “This is truly gorgeous. Housemann wasn’t exaggerating. No wonder he wants to buy it. Boy, he’s going to be so disappointed if someone else gets it.”
    “Nothing will happen until we have a contract offer from Birmingham. When we do, then I’ll contact Housemann’s agent and ask her if he’d like to make a counteroffer. These guys may get into a bidding war.”
    The car drove through a thick stand of aspens, their winterbare branches crossing above. The road curved and turned into an open pasture setting. Up ahead sat a small rustic log cabin. “That’s not as big as I thought. Is there a bedroom?”
    “Two actually, but they’re tiny,” Jennifer answered as she angled the car into a space beside a black truck that was already parked. No other cars in sight.
    “Well, I guess Birmingham has come and gone. Maybe Turner’s wife drove him away.”
    Jennifer groaned. “Don’t even think that.”
    Kelly stepped out of Jennifer’s compact car and stretched, arms above her head, then down to the dirt beside her cowboy boots. She was used to more legroom for her long legs. Her sporty red car fit her just right. She turned in a circle, admiring the beautiful setting. Canyon walls rose up in the distance behind, the Poudre River flowed peacefully right beside the property, and aspen trees and evergreens were scattered everywhere.
    “Now I know why Housemann fell in love with this place,” Kelly said, following Jennifer toward the cabin’s front porch.
    “It’s beautiful, all right,” Jennifer agreed, glancing around as she walked to the door. “Listen, why don’t you wait on the porch while I find out what’s up with Turner and this Birmingham. Then, I can give you a tour.”
    “Take your time. I’m going to enjoy the view.” Kelly stood by the split-log railing.
    Jennifer knocked on the door once, then pushed it open. “Mr. Turner? It’s Jennifer Stroud,” she said as she entered. “Anita called me and said a Mr. Birmingham had expressed interest in the listing.”
    Kelly watched a red-tailed hawk float on a wind current overhead, obviously searching for some tasty morsel in the brown grasses below.
    “Mr. Turner, where are you?” Jennifer’s voice came from inside.
    The hawk floated for a second longer, then swooped lower, spying something. Kelly tracked the hawk, watching him swoop lower, then lower . . .
    “Mr. Turner! Oh, my God . . . Kelly! Kelly! ”
    Kelly snapped out of her nature watch and ran inside the cabin. She could tell from the sound of Jennifer’s voice that something had scared her. “Jen, what is it?” she cried as she rushed inside.
    Jennifer stood beside a wooden table, her arm outstretched, pointing toward the floor. There was barely any furniture in the cabin. “He’s . . . he’s dead,” Jennifer whispered. “Oh, my God . . . he shot himself.”
    Kelly rushed up to Jennifer and saw what had frightened her friend. There on the bare wooden cabin floor, a man lay on his side, a bloody wound on the side of his head. His eyes were open and stared vacantly. A gun lay on the floor beside his hand.
    “That’s Turner?” Kelly asked, feeling her body and mind react to seeing death up close and personal, yet another time.
    “God, yes . . .” Jennifer whispered, her face drained of all color. Chalk white. “I . . . I think I’m gonna be sick . . . I can’t look at this. . . .”
    “Go outside, Jen, now,” Kelly instructed, pointing to the door. “I’ll check for a pulse.”
    “Oh, God . . .” Jennifer turned away, hand to her mouth, and ran through the door to the porch.
    Kelly approached Turner and slowly knelt beside him, making sure she didn’t disturb his body. She steeled herself and placed two fingers on the spot on his neck where