by Lakota Grace
Rory handed me a tall cup of coffee and a paper bag.
“Thought you might be hungry. We stopped at the hospital McDs while we were waiting for you.”
I opened the bag and sniffed. Ah, sausage egg McMuffin and one of those potato patty thingies, steaming hot. Thank goodness Mickey-D had taken to offering breakfast all day long. I would survive.
The red volcanic cinders crunched under the big tires of the Hummer as Rory pulled onto the main drag and from there merged onto I-17 heading south. The roads were clear, but snow still covered the branches of the ponderosa pines lining the freeway.
I crumpled the empty bag into a ball and dropped it on the floor. Rory glanced at me.
“That goes with you when you leave.”
He meant it. Rory was a neat fanatic which was one of the reasons that we’d never be roommates. My dog Reckless accepted me and my clutter. We got along fine.
Armor and Rory talked politics, they were both Red, and football, Armor was a Cardinals fan while Rory backed the Raiders. Ben stared out the window in a morose silence. The quiet murmur of voices, my full stomach, and the steady purr of the engine lulled me to sleep.
I awoke when the swaying of the big vehicle signaled the hairpin turns up the steep mountain climb to Mingus. Ground fog blurred the distance as Rory shifted to low gear and switched on his high beams. He double-parked in front of the Spirit Bar to let out Armor and Ben, much to the irritation of a California tourist behind him.
Ben shoved a handful of papers at me as he left. “You might want to look at these. Transcripts of what looks to be a second set of financials for Jil-Clair Industries. Talk to Harriet Weaver again. She’s on to something.”
“Ben, if you hack into the police network they can trace you,” I warned. It was an old argument between us, fueled by Ben’s genius-level hacking skills.
“From Cooper Davis’s computer? I don’t think so. Anyway, he shouldn’t have left his password where anyone could find it.”
With that, he slammed the door and followed Armor.
Rory drove to my cabin in Desolation Gulch. He parked and yanked on the emergency brake.
“Want me to come in?” he asked.
“No, I’d rather have some time alone.”
“Another time, then.”
I climbed the front steps to my cabin, stooping to pick up a copy of the Arizona Republic on the porch. The local paper delivery sporadically dropped one on my porch in the hopes I’d start a delivery, and this one was thick with supplements. I tucked it under my arm with the papers Ben had given me and opened the front door.
I hadn’t lied to Rory. I did want time alone—to study the sheets that Ben had just given me. Reckless rose from the snooze he'd been having since my dog-sitting grandfather had brought him home. I let him out and then spread the official balance statements and the profit-and-loss sheets from Jil-Clair Industries on the table. That was nothing new.
But beneath them was a second set of records. In hacking into the company computers, Ben had been able to access what I had suspected was there, a secondary reality that proved the company was nearing bankruptcy. His hastily scribbled note indicated he’d found the records on Jill’s computer in a folder labeled “Personal,” in a file named “Jill’s insurance.”
Just then my dog bayed outside, a sure sign he was getting into trouble. I jumped to my feet and rushed to the door.
“Reckless! Leave the ground squirrel. To me.”
He came loping up, long ears flapping. I grabbed his collar and pushed him toward the cabin before he could bolt again. As I opened the door, the Jil-Clair financial records blew in a scatter across the floor, and the newspaper with its grocery store advertisements and picture magazine supplements slid off the coffee table as well.
Reckless dived for the mountain of white and I dived for Reckless and we landed in a heap on the floor.
“You idiot dog.”
He responded with a slobbery kiss.
I grabbed the papers and started to stack them, and then stopped. The newspaper magazine had fallen open to a striking picture of a new exhibit at the Heard Museum. It was a family of Hopi Clown Kachinas, with their striking horizontal stripes of black and white. Just like a skunk.
Just like Gary Marks! He had the same stripe, a family trait he said. Was that who Thorn Malone had seen in West Fork Canyon, the person who may have murdered Jill Rustaine?
I debated calling Cooper Davis. With definite evidence, the detective would have no choice but to give up on Thorn as a suspect. But I’d need more than a vague hunch to do that. I wanted to check it out, first.
* * *
When I reached the Marks' pecan farm in Camp Verde, it was midafternoon. Although the family sedan was there, the pickup was gone. Inside the house, Midge barked a warning as I walked up the front steps.
I rang the bell. No response. The house had that empty feel of no one at home. When I tried the screen door it opened, and I walked onto the porch. A note was taped to the front door.
Janet,
Thank you so much for being willing to house sit for us at the last minute. Midge’s medicine is in the fridge. She needs it three times a day. She should be fine, but the Vet doesn’t want her running around until that cut heals. We're doing some winter camping at Cave Springs Campground. Silas Wooster has promised Ralphie that he can hunt for bears if we come this weekend. He says one has been spotted in the canyon. I think he’s telling a big fat fib, but Ralphie is excited about the trip. We’ll be back the day after tomorrow!
Claire
This time I played it by the book. I called Cooper Davis and told him where to find Gary Marks. Then I headed out. With luck, I might get there before Cooper did.
* * *
As I crossed Oak Creek to reach Cave Springs Campground, water lapped at the bottom edge of the crossing bridge. The flash fire two years ago had denuded the slopes of vegetation, and rain skidded down the slick red rock to the creek unchecked.
In addition, as warmer weather returned to the mountains near Flagstaff, there would be a rapid melting of the early snow pack and an increased risk for flash floods here in the canyon. It was no time for any kind of camping, especially with a child who had disabilities.
The camp host directed me toward the Marks’ campsite, and I pulled in next to their pickup truck. The Marks’s two tents of bright orange and blue stood out against the deeper green of the firs and pine trees. I ducked under the tent flap of the larger tent.
“Claire, it’s Peg Quincy.”
“Thank God, you’re here!” She grabbed my hand as though it was a lifeline in dangerous rapids. “Have you found him? Have you found my Ralphie? He’s gone missing.”
Claire’s face was red and tear-ravaged as she stared into every parent’s worst nightmare, the possible loss of a child.
“What happened?” I asked her.
“Last night we pitched the tents, and I got Ralphie ready for bed. Ralphie has always slept with us, but this time he wanted to sleep alone in his own tent. He asked for it, and I let him.”
“And that would have been when?”
“About nine or so. Ralphie had a busy day helping set up the tents and exploring along the creek. We were supposed to meet Silas Wooster this morning to go look for bears.”
“And Ralphie was still there when you went to bed?”
“Fast asleep, already,” she said. “I made sure he had a flashlight, in case he needed to, you know, go, at night. He promised me he’d come wake me up if he had any problems.”
Her voice turned angry with fear.
“I’m sure he was tired,” I said, touching her head with what I hoped was a quieting gesture. “And this morning?”
“I got up early and started breakfast, because Silas said he would be around at first light. Then I went over to wake Ralphie, but he was gone.”
“Claire, I want to help you, but I need to know, were you and Ralphie in the canyon the day that your sister was killed?”
/> She bit her lip and nodded, her eyes shying away from me.
“Did Ralphie have anything to do with Jill’s death?” I asked.
“No, he loved Jill! He would never hurt her. He’d gone hunting for a butterfly and came across her body. By the time I got there he’d put that knife in the backpack. He told me later. Then we both ran. I didn't know what else to do."
"And then lied to me about it," I said.
She hung her head. "Ralphie's still so upset. That’s one of the reasons we came camping. I thought maybe if he had a good experience in the woods it might help erase those bad memories. And now this happened.”
So Ralphie might be a witness to Jill’s murder. If that was true, he was in mortal danger.
Silas Wooster had been in West Fork Canyon as well, the morning Jill had died. He was the one who pointed me toward the murder scene. If Jill had burned down his precious Oak Creek, would he have killed her in payback, and then lured the witness, Ralphie, back to the forest, to silence him as well?
“Have you seen Silas this morning?” Suddenly the question was vitally important.
“He showed up a few moments after I discovered Ralphie was missing. Gary and he went out searching. They haven’t been back. I wanted to go with them, I did. My poor baby!”
Two suspects in the death of Jill Rustaine were out hunting for the witness to that murder. And Ralphie had gone missing by the side of the high-rising creek, in the dark of night. We needed to find the boy, and fast.
Outside the tent, a search-and-rescue team had arrived and was setting up. Somewhere out there would be coffee. Too bad I had nothing stronger, but perhaps the hot drink would settle Claire Marks down.
“You stay here,” I said. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
I caught up with the Rescue Commander.
“How does it look?” I asked in a quiet voice.
“Not good,” he said. “The first responders have searched the entire campground, checking everywhere the boy might hide. Nothing there.”
“What about the creek itself?” I didn’t want to face it until we had to, but drowning might be a possibility.
“I found this near the water.” He held out a small Maglite.
I rolled its ridged sides between my fingers. The small metal cylinder matched the one hanging from Claire’s belt. I touched the small red letters on the side, R.M.
“That close to the creek, if he tripped and fell into the water, the current would carry him downstream,” I said.
“And with the water this high, he could be anywhere.”
“But why didn’t anyone hear him cry out?” I asked.
“Maybe the water noise muffled his cry. Or maybe it sounded like a mountain lion. There are still a few in the canyon.”
If Ralphie were drawn into the current where might he end up? From this Cave Springs Campground, Oak Creek went through a sharp curve and then flattened out when the waters from West Fork entered a half-mile beyond. Because of a drop in elevation, the creek flowed in a series of rapids and swirling water. The child, or his body, could be anywhere.
Above, the clouds glowered against the red canyon walls, hiding the tops of the juniper-covered crags. I shivered in the chilling breeze. Another storm was forming. The first rain drops hit my cheeks.
I poured a mug of steaming coffee and returned to the tent.
“Claire, you need to stay here. I’ll be back to you as soon as we know anything, I promise.” I gave what I hoped was a sincere smile. “With all the commotion out here, I bet Ralphie hears it and finds his way back to you.”
Claire responded with a small smile of her own. Good. She appeared to be rallying.
Cell service was spotty in the canyon which meant I’d need to hike back with the news, good or bad. But I wanted Claire here, out of harm’s way as we made a methodical search of the canyon for her son. I wanted to shield her from the possible trauma of seeing her child’s body floating in cold water. Finding a child that way seared the memory with a wound that never healed.
I clung to shreds of hope for Ralphie. If the youngster heard voices, he might come forward from wherever he was hiding, if he was hiding. I’d done what I could to protect his mother. Now it was time to find this boy, alive or possibly dead.
“Which way?” I asked the search-and-rescue commander.
He had a helpless look on his face I didn’t like. “We’ve searched north for a mile or more. He wasn’t there. I’d have seen him. Time to head south, toward West Fork.”
The canyon walls grew steeper and closer after the campground. At times, progress downstream was a matter of working from one boulder to another.
Periodically a yell went out. “Ralphie, Ralphie Marks.” But there was no response from the missing child.
We made steady progress downstream, checking each possibility of a hiding place for a child, or worse, a child’s body. Sometimes there would be a patch of sand beach, but more often, chest-high rocks blocked the way. That meant an agonizing delay climbing up and over.
We tested each backwater in the creek with hiking sticks. Moving among the boulders edging the creek side was slow work. Once my foot slipped, and I plunged knee deep into freezing water chilled by the snowmelt from the mountains above.
The rain intensified, and soon I was soaked. Even the adrenaline of the search failed to warm my blood. But I kept on. Somewhere up ahead, Ralphie had to be there.
My height helped in the rock hopping, and soon I had outpaced the others in the rescue team. Their rescue whistles sounded forlornly behind me. I poked savagely into the water, scaring a small trout. The forest service stocked this creek with fish each year, drawing thousands of fishermen. Maybe if they hadn’t this year, the Marks family wouldn’t have gone camping and maybe Ralphie would still be safe.
Stop it. Pay attention to what you are doing. I steadied my breathing and wiped my face. The way ahead clouded with fog. The color washed out of the scene and trees on either side of the creek faded into vague shapes of gray. The heavy downpour dampened sound. I felt alone and isolated.
My ankle gave way, and I submerged in the frigid water once again. I shook my head, stubbornly. I’d started this journey, and I would see it through to the end, no matter what the outcome. There was a noise to the side, and I looked over.
“Hello, there. I wondered when you’d be coming along,” said Silas Wooster.
CHAPTER 31
“Where’s Gary Marks?” I asked the old forester.
He hopped down from the rock he’d been perched on.
“I sent him that way when I saw you coming. But you and me, we need to go this way, law lady.”
He pulled me into the forest away from the creek.
“But Ralphie,” I protested.
“He’s this way!”
I stopped arguing and hurried after his disappearing form. We entered the deep woods, and then a quarter of a mile later, into a meadow. An old cabin stood at the edge of the clearing, one of the old apple packing sheds the pioneers used.
“There. There’s your boy.”
Silas pointed and then faded silently into the woods again.
From the shed I could hear a boy crying, and above that, a man’s angry voice.
“Tell me. Tell me what you saw!”
I burst into the shed and confronted, not Gary, but Buzz Marks, standing over his small nephew, raising a chunk of wood.
I kicked Buzz’s knees out from under him. As he fell, I grabbed the chunk of wood out of his hand and threw it toward the corner of the cabin. I pushed the child toward the door.
“Run, Ralphie, run,” I cried.
A dark shape appeared in the doorway. Gary Marks had found us.
Buzz got to his feet unsteadily, his ball cap lost in the fall. As the two men stood there, shoulder to shoulder, their relationship became obvious. As close to being twins as possible. Probably wore the same shoe size, even.
But where Gary’s features were handsome, even noble with relief at the resc
ue of his son, Buzz was uneasy in the encounter. And the stripe of white in his dark hair, that family trait, stood out clearly.
Then I knew. Gary hadn’t killed Jill. Buzz had. And now he was standing next to the one person who could incriminate him.
“Stand away from Ralphie,” I ordered.
“What?” Buzz looked confused, but then apparently saw the accusation in my eyes and turned to run.
Gary caught him first.
“You killed Jill. And you were going to hurt Ralphie!”
I moved forward to intervene, but Gary Marks clenched his fingers into a fighting weapon. He drew back and slammed his brother in the jaw. Buzz never had a chance.
Gary kicked again and again at the prone figure on the ground.
I could have charged Gary with aggravated assault. He threw the first punch. But if anyone had a justified cause, he did.
Finally, groans from the prone man shocked me into action. I pulled Gary back from his brother.
“Go see to Ralphie,” I ordered. “Take him to Claire. They both need you.”
We’d gotten there in time. This child wouldn’t haunt my dreams at night. I yanked Buzz to his feet and cuffed him.
“Why? Why did you do it?” I asked.
Buzz’s face was contorted and ugly.
“I loved Jill, I’ve always loved her, since high school. She left me for Gary, then. And when the company got into tough times, she chose Gary again. Just like she did before. I couldn’t stand it. I asked her to meet up in the canyon where we’d first made love. I wanted to apologize, start over. But she laughed at me. She laughed at me. Well she won’t be doing that anymore.”
“Guess not. But neither will you.”
Cooper had his killer. And Gary Marks was left with the difficult job of making a family again. I hoped he was up to it.
