Silence in West Fork: A small town police procedural set in the American Southwest (The Pegasus Quincy Mystery Series Book 5)

by Lakota Grace

  His voice was matter of fact as though he were reading an annual report.

  Tears numbed Harriet’s cheeks. Jill, gone.

  “I realize we’ve had differences before,” Malcolm went on, “but now is the moment to stand together, for the sake of Jill’s legacy.”

  “Has Claire been notified?”

  “Of course. Didn’t you hear me? Claire called me. Well, not me, exactly. The receptionist put her through to me since I’m the de facto head of the company.”

  And where does that leave me, Harriet wondered? She thought in panic of the fight she’d had with Jill, and the letter she’d chosen to send out this morning.

  Blindly Harriet grabbed a handful of tissues and blotted her eyes. Details, that was what she was good at. Yes, Jill would want that.

  “What about the event tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Cancel it.”

  “Everything?”

  “Everything. Call the guests. Stop the food delivery.”

  “Even the flower arrangements?” Harriet needed to be absolutely sure.

  “Of course. I’m in charge now. This is an unmitigated disaster,” he muttered, hanging up.

  By rote, Harriet’s fingers straightened her legal pad and dialed the number for the florist. When the woman picked up the phone, Harriet informed her the total order was canceled at Malcolm Vander’s direction.

  “You can’t do that,” the woman said. “The flowers are already in the cooler. I can’t send them back.”

  “Then find an Old Folks Home to send them to. Somebody should enjoy them.”

  “And bill the company?”

  “Of course.” Harriet had a small moment of satisfaction. If Malcolm was the “head” of the company, let him worry about it.

  Then the shock hit. Harriet stumbled to her office door and locked it. Then she turned off the lights and sat there in the dark, pushing the side chair back and forth across the rug, its castors leaving ugly marks.

  Jill, dead.

  CHAPTER 4

  I didn’t want to leave Thorn with that detective. But my first priority was to reach Shepherd as soon as possible. I checked my phone again. No reception here. I needed to get out to the main road as soon as possible.

  I picked up the pace. At the second creek crossing, I encountered a pre-teen and his mom. Reckless nosed the boy’s leg, and he jumped back. He paused at the water’s edge, his shirt torn and dirty. Had he fallen? Then he pushed past us, apparently determined to wade straight through the water without rock-hopping.

  The woman grabbed the boy’s arm and yanked him along, her posture stiff and her face averted. The boy waded through the water of the crossing, his jeans turning damp and sticky.

  “Sorry,” I muttered, too late. “My dog won’t hurt you. He’s friendly.”

  By the time I reached the meadow where the Mayhew Lodge ruins were, Reckless was limping badly. I picked him up and got a wet kiss on my cheek in the process. I trudged to the car where I dumped Reckless on the passenger side and rolled down the window six inches for him. Far enough to get some air, not enough he could jump out.

  Down Phoenix way, leaving an animal in a vehicle for any length of time meant possible death as the interior heated. I didn’t want that to happen to Reckless. But it was still cool enough in the canyon. He should be okay for a few minutes.

  I leaned against the vehicle to dial Shepherd for the sixth time. No answer in his hotel room and he wasn’t responding to his cellphone, either. Maybe he was in a workshop with his phone turned off.

  “Call me when you get this message. Important.”

  I grabbed a spare T-shirt out of the back and jogged over to the restroom. I locked the door and switched out of a shirt smeared with bloodstains when I had grabbed Thorn at the murder scene. Then I scrubbed my face and hands as best I could. I’d turn in the shirt later if they requested it.

  I dumped the shirt back in my car, gave Reckless a pat, and jogged to the front of the park to interview the entrance guard. I could start there. I wasn’t on the case, officially, but he didn’t need to know that. I was a law officer, and the more information I could gather, the better Shepherd and I could devise a way to clear his daughter.

  If she was innocent. I pushed that uncomfortable thought away.

  I walked to the entrance kiosk. The shift had changed, and a new ranger manned the booth. He was mid-thirties, with a stocky build, a fleshy face, and ranger hat.

  “I’m Pegasus Quincy, with the sheriff’s office. There’s been a death in the West Fork Canyon. You’ll need to limit access to the park.”

  “Oh, no!” He stepped out of the shelter. “I’m Buzz Marks, the ranger-in-charge.”

  He took off mirrored sunglasses and offered his hand. His shirt was brand-new, the crisp press lines standing at attention.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “I can’t go into details right now, but a Medical Examiner and other personnel will arrive soon.”

  “Gosh, that’s awful. Did somebody fall into the creek? We had a lady killed here several years ago when a tree fell on her. Nothing like that was it? Or was it murder? Do you need help with the investigation? I’m good at reading people.”

  “Best let the professionals handle it.”

  “Oh, sure, sure. Just wanted to offer my help.”

  His over-eager patter was wearing on my nerves.

  “I guess I better put up the barrier,” Buzz said. “These Phoenix tourists are going to hate me.”

  Buzz waved the next car through but told them they’d have to circle through the parking lot and leave. Then I helped him pull a wooden sawhorse barrier across the road. The SUV next in line honked angrily.

  “Told ya,” he said.

  I didn’t have much time. In fact, I could hear the ambulance sirens wailing in the canyon. That had to be Sidney Morrison, our Medical Examiner. He didn’t need to use the sirens on a DOA case, but often he did. Kept the drivers honest he said. Maybe he was right. Or maybe he just liked the adrenaline rush.

  “Look.” I peered at his nametag. “Buzz. Did you or the guy before you see anything out of the ordinary this morning?”

  I knew Cooper’s crew would talk to both of them, but I had to begin someplace.

  “Like a trespasser or something? A murderer type, say, with slitty eyes and a gat in his pocket?”

  A gat? What in the hell was that? This guy watched too many late night movies.

  “Wish I’d been here. Not my fault I was late,” he said defensively. “My car conked out, and I had to get a ride with my brother. Anyway, my buddy took my place here.”

  “I understand,” I reassured him. Out on Highway 89A, the sirens grew louder. They’d be here soon.

  “Did you see anything out of the ordinary when you arrived here this morning?” I asked.

  He gave a short chuff that wasn’t quite a laugh.

  “You mean other than a zillion tourists? I hate this time of year. But you looking for a troublemaker, like?”

  “Got anybody in mind?”

  “Check out Silas Wooster. That weirdo is always sneaking through without paying the entrance fee.”

  “How does he get in, if the gate’s locked?”

  “Walks in the back way. He’s got an old cabin about a quarter mile from here. Crazy bastard figures this is his park. I’ve threatened to lock him up, but he laughs at me.”

  I’d hit pay dirt.

  “The guy wear a beard?” I gestured down to my waist.

  “That’s him.” Buzz pointed beyond the park boundary. “Go about fifty yards down the highway, take the next exit to the left. The road fords the creek.”

  “Thanks!”

  “Hey, good luck. You need to catch whoever did it.”

  I was already on the move back to my car before I realized I’d never said the accident was a murder. Cooper Davis better do his due diligence with this guy.

  Once in the front seat, I tried to quiet the committee arguing in my mind. Some of them
hollered that I’d screwed stuff up enough, trying to alter evidence. I needed to back off and let the Coconino County arm of the law do their job.

  But would they? I had little confidence in that idiot, Cooper Davis. I’d seen his type before. He’d latch onto the closest suspect to solve the case as soon as he could. Unfortunately, in this situation, that person would be Thorn Malone, Shepherd’s daughter. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to follow this investigation through before it was too late for the girl.

  I sat there in the car, undecided for a precious moment longer, and then I jammed it into reverse and squealed out of the lot. Davis didn’t order me not to investigate. And until he did, I’d try my darnedest to help Thorn, any way I could.

  I exited the park and made an immediate left onto a road hidden by the sycamores fringing the stream. I bumped down a rough path to a creek crossing. The low-water roadway had about five inches of clear water sheeting across it. Then it created a waterfall splashing to the creek in a rush of white.

  I kept the Jetta at an even crawl to ford the crossing in low gear. It was easy to see how the road turned impassable during heavy rains. Sometimes cabin owners built a permanent walking bridge across the creek, but there was none here. People on this far side must have to keep in a good stock of emergency rice and beans during the rainy season.

  The Jetta crawled up a steep hill, rutted and bumpy. The low front clearance scraped on an exposed rock. Reckless whined at the jarring sound, and I told him to lay back down again. He’d bruised his paw, but not broken it, I hoped. I’d get him to a vet as soon as I could, but talking to this guy before the Coconino sheriff’s deputies did was critical. When Shepherd and I connected, I wanted to give him the good news that Thorn wasn’t the only suspect.

  Silas Wooster’s house was an old log cabin with a wrap-around porch at the end of the road. From the rafters hung dozens of hummingbird feeders. The man in green I’d met in the forest sat in a willow bentwood rocker, smoking a pipe. The aroma of briarwood tobacco drifted toward me as I climbed the steps.

  “We haven’t been introduced,” I said. “Name’s Peg Quincy.”

  The man placed his pipe carefully in an ashtray fashioned from an ancient coffee can and held out a gnarly hand.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Silas Wooster’s the name. Ranger Buzzie send you over?”

  I nodded and took a seat near his rocker.

  “Figured he might. As far as he’s concerned, I’m to blame for everything that happens in Oak Creek Canyon. Did he claim that I set that fire a couple of years ago that nearly burned the canyon down?”

  “Did you?” I raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Not likely.” He snorted. “I live here. This has been my home for going on seven decades. I built this cabin myself.”

  “Nice place,” I said.

  “Offer you some coffee?”

  “No, just stopping by. Great hummingbird feeders. You get a lot?” I asked.

  “In the summer migration, thousands. Calliopes, Magnificents, Rufus. It’s glorious.” He stared at me. “But you didn’t come here about my birds.”

  “No, I didn’t.” I hesitated, not sure how to proceed. I wasn’t officially on the case, but I needed all the information I could get to help Thorn.

  “I work for the sheriff’s office,” I said.

  “Doing what?”

  “I’m a family liaison officer.”

  Did I have to go through this drill again? I was still smarting from Cooper’s derision. But Silas’s response surprised me.

  “Heard of you. You helped my cousin when he had that fire at his trailer. Grateful to you for that.” His keen eyes peered at me. “This an official interview?”

  I shook my head.

  “Yeah, I figured as much. You’re not suited up proper. Good thing. I never trust anybody in uniform. Why don’t you pop the question?”

  “The question.” I stalled.

  “Did I kill that poor girl in the canyon?” he said.

  “Did you?”

  “Nah, if I did I wouldn’t be here. I’d be long gone.” He chuckled.

  “Not a funny matter,” I said.

  “No, it’s not.”

  He took a quiet draw on his pipe, and I waited.

  “I liked Jill Rustaine,” he said. “Oh, I know a lot of people didn’t get along with her, but she appreciated my eagles, and that made her okay in my book. We’ve got a mating pair that has a nest on top of the cliff. She’d sit quiet like, watching them. I’ll miss her.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “I heard something rustling in the trees. Time was, we had mountain lions in West Fork. Bears, even. Now it’s mostly hikers. Or lizards. Maybe that’s what it was, a big lizard.”

  His blue eyes twinkled.

  Another time I would be charmed by his low-key humor. Now I needed information.

  “Seriously,” I said.

  He set his pipe down and leaned forward. I did, too.

  “I heard Jill arguing with somebody and went to check,” he said. “It was all over by the time I got there.”

  “Man? Woman?”

  “I couldn’t tell. An angry person though that’s for sure. Like that young teenager you had with you. That young lady needs to curb that temper a bit. She was whacking through the brush. Disturbed a nest of young chipmunks near that big pine tree.”

  “Do you think she stabbed Jill?”

  “Couldn’t say.” He drew again on his pipe. “I reckon that’s for you folks to find out.”

  I caught the glimpse of a black-and-white patrol car fording the creek below us. Cooper’s men were about to arrive. Buzz-the-Ranger must have sent them.

  Maybe Silas Wooster had murdered Jill Rustaine, but my gut was hoping he didn’t. Good thing I didn’t have to make that call. I’d pass on what he said to Cooper.

  I handed Silas my card. “If you think of anything that might help.”

  He gave me a salute with the fingers holding my card.

  “Come back anytime. There’s a back way into the park I can show you. Nice wide path along the side of the cliff, goes right over to West Fork. There’s even a cave. I sleep there on occasion when it’s warm.”

  “Look, call me if—”

  “Up the road about a hundred yards, there’s a nice turnaround. Shoo.” He winked.

  Great. Now I was confederates with a possible suspect in a murder case. But he was right. I was a civilian in this case, at least until I could talk to Shepherd and see how we could spring Thorn. And the patrolmen about to arrive would take care of Silas Wooster.

  I sped to my Jetta and circled through the turnaround. I averted my face as the patrol passed me going to Wooster’s cabin. Then I crossed the creek and drove down 89A, through the curves that hugged the red rock cliffs.

  The whole day had been like a traffic accident you avoided by minutes. Only, in this instance, the accident happened. I’d been too late, and somebody got murdered. If I’d stopped Thorn from eating that apple, if I hadn’t gotten wet in the creek, if I’d chosen to go after her instead of following my dog. Let’s face it, if I’d let both of them fend for themselves and stayed with the body like any reasonable cop would have, we wouldn’t be in this mess.

  I dreaded talking to Shepherd. I’d been charged with taking care of my friend’s daughter, and now she was a prime murder suspect.

  CHAPTER 5

  It was late afternoon when I left West Fork. My next concern was care for Reckless. He whined from his perch in the back seat. There was a new vet who’d opened near the Junipine Resort in Oak Creek Canyon only a few miles beyond the entrance to West Fork. I hoped that maybe he could give Reckless’s paw a quick look over, even though the hour was late.

  I pulled into the parking lot and gave a fist pump of victory at the “Open” sign in the window. The first stroke of good luck I’d had all day.

  The vet appeared from an exam room as Reckless pushed through the front door ahead of me. He was a young
guy in a sharply pressed lab coat over blue jeans. The nametag on his shirt sparkled with newness. He gestured at the empty desk in the reception area.

  “My office clerk has left for the day. Can I help you?”

  “I hope so. My dog caught his foot in the rocks when we were hiking in West Fork.”

  “Amazing place that. Although a bit of excitement up there today? I saw the police cars go by.”

  I gave a noncommittal grunt.

  He ruffled my dog’s ears and gave the paw a quick touch.

  “Looks like a simple tear, but it could use a few stitches. I’m in the middle of an exam right now, but I can get to him next if you want to leave him for a half hour or so.”

  He reached for Reckless’s leash, and the dog wagged his tail. That was a good sign. The pup usually didn’t cotton to strangers, especially males, because of some past abuse.

  The vet seemed to notice my hesitancy.

  “He’ll be fine. Go grab a sandwich at the Junipine Restaurant, and I’ll tend to him as soon as I can. Maybe bring me one, too?”

  He sounded wistful and hungry. The joys of starting out as a sole practitioner. And maybe nobody at home to fix him supper when he got there? I glanced at his hand. No ring. Us single folks had to help each other out.

  “Back in a few,” I said.

  The winds had picked up. It was getting colder, and rain was predicted. I hoped that Cooper got Thorn out of West Fork canyon soon. If the water rose, those creek crossings could be treacherous.

  I jogged across the road toward the Junipine Café. Oak Creek Canyon together with its tributary West Fork created an oasis filled with scrub juniper and majestic red rock formations. Traveling a mere fifteen miles north, the altitude rose to over 7000 feet in a forest filled with ponderosa pine. This restaurant sat in the middle of the canyon, hence the name, Junipine.

  I pushed open the screen door into the log-cabin style interior of the café. At the far end, a stone-covered fireplace lent a welcome warmth to the room. The hostess directed me to a table near the window, and I watched the traffic passing by on 89A. Not many semis traversed this curved mountain road. Most of them opted for the faster I-17 route between Sedona and Flagstaff. Traffic here meant tourist cars heading into Sedona for a relaxing vacation. I could use one of those right now.