The Little Tombstone Cozies Box Set

by Celia Kinsey

  Over the phone, Oliver had informed me that my cousin had gone up to Santa Fe to run some errands and left Maxwell in Janey’s care. I had a feeling Georgia was going to have words to say about the state of the living room.

  I’d been standing there for at least a minute, and nobody had even noticed me. I‘d let myself in with my key, but nevertheless, the collective obliviousness of the group alarmed me a little. Janey and Oliver had apparently forgotten that Amatista had a murderer on the loose, and Janey was under threat. On mature reflection, I decided that forgetting for a little while might be a good thing.

  “What have we here?” I was practically shouting to be heard over the din.

  Every head swiveled to look at me, even the piglet’s.

  “We’re having a photoshoot,” said Oliver, looking a trifle apologetic.

  I must have appeared unenlightened.

  “For Earp’s new Instagram page,” Janey said, as if it had only been a matter of time before, of course, he had one.

  “Earp and Hercules,” Maxwell corrected from his lofty heights. I noticed Earp still got top billing, however magnanimous and inclusive Maxwell might be feeling toward the porcine set. “I’m playing the Voice of Earp.”

  “In photographs?”

  “Video clips,” said Oliver.

  “You can put videos up on Instagram, Emma.” Maxwell sighed as if the arduous task of explaining anything to this hopelessly behind-the-times older generation was driving him to the brink of sheer exhaustion, although I’m pretty sure Maxwell himself would have been hard-pressed to explain what Instagram was prior to the crash course Janey and Oliver had obviously just given him.

  Georgia was going to be less than pleased by Maxwell’s—some might say—premature introduction to social media. Despite being lax on the snack foods front, Georgia allows Maxwell only fifteen minutes of closely supervised time on his mother’s tablet each day, and purely for educational purposes.

  Maxwell is not allowed to watch television at all. In fact, when Georgia and Maxwell moved in, we’d moved Aunt Geraldine’s television into the same closet that housed Uncle Ricky’s golf clubs. Despite my initial resistance, I hadn’t missed it much.

  “What’s the concept here?” I asked.

  Earp was wearing a pink sparkly bowtie and a little red fedora he persisted in trying to remove by rubbing his head against the arm of the couch. His efforts to dislodge his headgear only served to further entangle him in the tulle. I anticipated that, at some point, Earp would transfer his animosity from the fedora to the tulle itself and attempt to overcome this ephemeral adversary by biting chunks out of it. I can’t say I blamed him.

  When Frank and I got married, my mother-in-law insisted that we swathe the church in acres of the stuff. Just looking at tulle is enough to wake the sleeping dragon in me, not to mention that tulle has always given me the urge to start scratching.

  “The concept is Valentine’s Day. Holiday-themed content does very well on social media,” Janey explained. “Hercules is playing Cupid.”

  Janey pulled back a mound of tulle to reveal that Hercules had been fitted with a dishtowel diaper—a practical touch, which I fully endorsed if the piglet was to be allowed on upholstered furniture. In addition to the diaper, someone (probably Maxwell) had fashioned a pair of wings from a couple of white foam meat trays. The wings had been tied on with a length of tinsel garland left over from the none-too-tasteful holiday decoration of our living room. The finishing touch was a tinsel halo, which had drooped rakishly over Hercules’ left eye.

  “Where’s cupid’s bow and arrow?” I asked.

  Exhausted, probably by resistance to being fitted for her costume, Cupid had fallen asleep, but she roused herself sufficiently to open her one unobscured eye and look at me reproachfully as if to say, “this never would have happened back at the ranch.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It was just as I was trying to formulate a tactful way of saying that Georgia might be less than thrilled with both the mess in the living room and Maxwell being up well past the usual commencement of his lengthy going-to-bed routine when the woman in question walked through the door.

  I won’t say there wasn’t some eyebrow raising, but Georgia remained relatively calm. She merely pointed to the clock over what used to be the tv stand and announced that filming could recommence when it wasn’t past Maxwell’s bedtime. She then started striking the set by winding up the tulle. It was unfortunate that she didn’t realize that she’d rolled up Hercules with it until she tried to lift the net monstrosity from the couch, discovered it was curiously heavy because it contained a juvenile potbellied pig and had to unroll it, release the piglet from captivity, then roll it up all over again.

  “You’re mellowing in your old age,” I couldn’t help saying after Oliver had left, Janey had locked herself in the bathroom, Maxwell was in bed, reading himself to sleep, and Earp was snuggled up next to a snoring Hercules in the pen in the corner of the kitchen.

  “Anything to keep Maxwell’s mind off Chupacabras,” said Georgia.

  It was only as I was lying on the couch, on the brink of sleep, that I remembered I had forgotten to tell Janey that her house had been ransacked. I toyed with the notion of waking her up but decided against it. The possibility of a second burglar coming in through the destroyed back door during the night was remote, and Hugo, having failed to find what he was looking for, was unlikely to return.

  I’d tell Janey first thing in the morning, I promised myself, but first thing in the morning came far sooner than I had anticipated. I felt like I had just drifted off to sleep when I was awakened by someone shaking me and Georgia’s voice, frantic in my ear.

  “Maxwell’s run away,” Georgia said.

  “Are you sure?” I sat up and looked around the apartment, bleary-eyed. “Why would Maxwell run away? That kid’s having the time of his life.”

  “It’s the night of the full moon,” said Georgia, grimly handing me a piece of paper. “I found this on his pillow.”

  The gist of the note, which was remarkably cogent for a six-year-old kid’s “I’m running away letter,” admonished us not to worry if we awakened in the middle of the night to find Maxwell’s bed empty. He’d merely gone out to observe Chupacabras in their natural environment. He’d be back before dawn.

  “I’m going to tie Hank Edwards into a knot tomorrow morning,” said Georgia. “I’m going to turn him inside out. I’m going to—I’m going to—"

  “Boil him with his own pudding? Run him through the heart with a stake of holly?”

  Not very creative, I know, and shamelessly lifted from Dickens.

  “That too!”

  My mouth was dry, so I stood up and stumbled into the kitchen while I processed this startling turn of events.

  I’d just turned on the tap when I noticed that the door of Hercules’ pen was open.

  “I don’t think it’ll be much comfort to you,” I told Georgia, “but Maxwell’s taken Earp and the piglet along for protection.”

  After that, things got a bit chaotic. We woke Janey up, put on our coats, collected what flashlights we could find, and went down to the trailer court to rouse reinforcements.

  It took ten minutes before we’d managed to wake up Oliver, Morticia, Ledbetter, Chamomile, and Katie.

  Georgia insisted that we let Hank sleep through the proceedings. She said, and it was probably true, that if she laid eyes on him in her present frame of mind, she wouldn’t be able to restrain herself from kicking him.

  I figured Hank wouldn’t be much help in a search through the dark desert over rough ground anyway, so I seconded her decision.

  “How long are we going to look before we report Maxwell missing?” I asked.

  I don’t think Georgia had given that much thought.

  “Why don’t we give it half an hour?” said Ledbetter. “If we haven’t found him by then, you should call it in.”

  Katie suggested that as soon as anyone spotted the party of lo
st creatures, they should let us all know, but then Morticia pointed out that cell phone coverage around Little Tombstone was spotty.

  Nobody breathed a word about Nancy’s mountain lion, but I’m pretty sure we were all thinking about her injured horse.

  In the end, it was decided that we would pair off: Katie and Chamomile, Oliver and Janey, Ledbetter and Georgia, and Morticia and me. We’d take off at different trajectories from the trailer court, working on the assumption that Maxwell would have headed up into the hills behind Little Tombstone rather than crossing the highway.

  At the end of half an hour, Georgia and Ledbetter would return to the trailer court, and if no one had shown up with Maxwell, Earp, and Hercules in tow, Georgia would call the police. The rest of us would stay out and keep looking until either the search was called off or a team of professionals came to replace us.

  Before Morticia and I headed off in the general direction of the mine, I grabbed my cousin Georgia around the waist and squeezed the stuffing out of her. We’re not a family of huggers. I didn’t even hug Georgia like that after her twin sister died, but I could see she was terrified that something would happen to Maxwell before we found him.

  The chances of Maxwell spotting a Chupacabra were zero to none; the chances of a marauding mountain lion spotting Maxwell and his animal companions were also remote, but hardly out of the question. I tried not to think about what the big cat had done to Nancy’s horse. The horse would recover. A smaller creature would not be so lucky.

  I had a flashlight, and so did Morticia, but the moon was so bright we ended up switching them off. The flashlights helped illuminate what was underfoot, but they ruined our ability to see very far into the distance.

  Every few minutes, we’d stop and take turns yelling for Maxwell, but only silence answered back. We progressed slowly across the flatter arroyo-pocked stretch of sagebrush and cactus behind Little Tombstone until we were on the hillside.

  If we kept going, we’d eventually come down the other side of a gentle rise and hit the rough track Ledbetter and I had driven down earlier in the evening.

  I decided I’d better fill Morticia in on what we might find, should we keep going long enough, so I told her how Ledbetter and I had tailed Hugo.

  “A car hauler?” Morticia asked. She seemed about to say more but didn’t.

  “I think we ought to keep our flashlights off and our voices down when we get over the top of this rise,” I said. I hadn’t told Morticia about the dirty mechanic’s overalls or the burglar’s tools I’d discovered in Jasper’s things, but I had a feeling that if I did, this would come as no surprise to her.

  Morticia did not argue with my prohibition against lights and noise, although searching for a small boy in a dark desert while being unable to call out to him was something of a handicap.

  The half-hour mark on the search passed by just as we reached the top of the rise and looked down the other side. I checked my phone inside my jacket for missed calls or texts, but there were none.

  “I don’t have coverage up here,” I told Morticia.

  Morticia checked her phone. She did.

  “I didn’t know there were any buildings down there,” Morticia said, pointing to the base of the rise.

  “Looks like an abandoned ranch complex.”

  We moved slowly down the other side of the hill in the darkness, taking extra time to look around us, hoping to spot Maxwell and his menagerie.

  I fervently hoped that Maxwell had decided to take another tack away from the trailer court. At this hour, the buildings might well be deserted, but there was no way of knowing what, or who, little Maxwell might stumble upon.

  I peered through the darkness for the hulk of the semi, but unless it was hidden behind the ramshackle barn, it appeared to have come and gone again.

  “It’s them!” Morticia grabbed my arm and pointed down toward the ruins of the small farmhouse.

  It was them. Three tiny figures were standing in the yard. As we watched, Maxwell took off the knapsack strapped on his back, withdrew a blanket, spread it out with a flourish, and sat down on it. The piglet and the pug, undoubtedly exhausted and chilled by their trek, trotted onto the blanket and snuggled up next to him.

  “They followed him all that way?” Morticia said.

  It was like watching some avant-garde creche. Maxwell again delved into his knapsack and withdrew snacks, which he tried to share with the Earp and Hercules. Earp snaffled his down, but Hercules was resistant.

  “What’s he trying to feed that pig?” Morticia asked.

  “Formula and blended bran mash in a bottle, I presume. We’d better break up this party.”

  “Wait!” I followed Morticia’s pointing finger. A faint light had come on inside the barn.

  We watched as the light bobbed in the window.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  We had to do something, so Morticia and I started to creep towards the boy, the pug, and the piglet while keeping a wary eye on the faint light bobbing in the window of the abandoned barn.

  In retrospect, it might have been wise to alert the others to our whereabouts, but we were so focused on removing Maxwell and his companions from harm’s way that it didn’t occur to us. We’d probably have had to go back to the top of the rise to get reception anyway, and based on what happened next, that would have been the wrong choice.

  I’d just gotten close enough to the blanket to try and get Maxwell’s attention without having to yell when the light in the window of the barn disappeared.

  I sprinted forward, but before I could warn Maxwell to stay silent, he’d sprung to his feet.

  His sudden movement startled the piglet, who let out a squeal, and Earp gave a sharp bark. There was no use staying quiet any longer.

  “Run!” I told Maxwell and pointed to Morticia standing twenty yards away next to a large boulder.

  “Why?” said Maxwell.

  That’s the problem with smart kids. They need lengthy explanations for everything. Georgia was the same way as a child.

  “I’ll tell you later. Run to Morticia!”

  “What about my backpack?”

  “I’ll get it,” I said.

  “You promise?”

  “I promise. Just run to Morticia.”

  I could see the bobbing light rounding the corner of the house. Whoever had been inside the barn had come out to investigate.

  Hercules and Earp had scattered, and Maxwell finally ran.

  I was just reaching down to scoop up Maxwell’s backpack, because after all, a promise is a promise, when whoever was carrying the flashlight shown it in my face, blinding me.

  “Who’s there?” I said to the blinding light.

  I must have looked rather odd, standing there holding a cartoon character plush blanket and a small boy’s backpack. The circumstances could hardly have rendered me a threatening figure.

  The light moved closer until its owner and I were engulfed in a halo of light. I’d been frightened when I’d not known who was approaching, but when I could see his face, I was downright terrified.

  It was Hugo Montrose, and he was far from happy to see me.

  “We were looking for Maxwell,” I said, brandishing the blanket and the backpack like a shield.

  “Who’s Maxwell?”

  “My cousin’s 6-year-old. He ran away.”

  “Then where is he now?” Hugo demanded.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think you’re lying,” said Hugo.

  I guess he thought I’d brought along the juvenile accoutrements as a cover so I’d have an excuse if I was caught skulking around.

  I hoped Morticia had gotten safely to the top of the hill and had succeeded in calling for reinforcements. I tried not to worry about where Earp and Hercules had gotten off to.

  “You followed me last night,” said Hugo.

  I wanted to ask which time he was referring to: the time we’d followed him to Janey’s house or afterward when we’d followed him down the dir
t track.

  “My delivery driver saw you,” said Hugo, clearing up my question, but doing nothing to settle my nerves. “You and that crazy trailer guy were watching us.”

  I considered denying it, but I didn’t think he’d believe me.

  “It had nothing to do with you,” I insisted. “We were looking for Jasper.”

  Hugo moved the light closer to my face as if trying to decide if I was telling the truth or not.

  “That makes two of us,” said Hugo.

  I had just let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding when Hugo pulled a handgun from inside the front of his coat and pointed it at my head.

  It was one of those moments when you can’t quite believe what your eyes are seeing, but there was no time for the full terror of what was happening to sink in because, within a second, Hugo was hit from behind with some heavy object and slumped to the ground.

  Both the flashlight and the gun fell from Hugo’s grip. As my eyes tried to adjust to the darkness, I searched for my savior, but whoever it was had disappeared, taking whatever object had felled Hugo with him.

  I didn’t know what to do with the inert body on the ground. I picked up the flashlight and assessed the damage. Hugo was bleeding, but not heavily, from a gash on the back of his head. I checked his pulse, which was strong and even.

  I was trying to decide whether to climb up to the top of the hill in the hopes I’d still be able to get cell reception or head down the dirt track for the highway when I saw flashing lights coming up the dirt track.

  Morticia must have called the police, and they’d arrived far faster than I could have hoped for. In retrospect, I’d realize that sufficient time had passed for the police to respond to Georgia’s call about Maxwell.

  Officer Reyes and company had been in the dining room of the Bird Cage, taking down a report from Georgia when Morticia had called for help from the top of the rise above the abandoned buildings.

  I looked down at Hugo lying at my feet and back at the approaching patrol cars. I realized I had a decision to make: to tell the truth or not to tell the truth. I decided to go with the truth, no matter how crazy it made me sound.