by Sylvia Nobel
CHAPTER
21
Even though I’d stayed up much later than planned discussing the days’ events on the phone with Tally, I rose at the crack of dawn the following morning, energized, filled with hopeful anticipation and was at my desk by six o’clock. In between my daily duties, I made sure to download the maps to my phone per Burton Carr’s suggestion. I’d been heartened by the news that my parents seemed to be having a terrific time. They’d enjoyed the peaceful charm of Flagstaff and were predictably blown away by the ever-captivating beauty of the Grand Canyon. Tally reported that having the time alone with my family was probably the only way he would have ever gotten the opportunity to know them better and vice versa. I wasn’t surprised to hear that my mother and Sean were still feuding, but was elated to hear that Tally and my dad had hit it off big time and that he felt he was making inroads with my mom. But when I questioned him further about Sean, he wasn’t as upbeat. “Hard to tell. He’s been pretty distant with everybody,” he’d told me. “Keeping to himself, not talking much, but doing a fair amount of texting.”
That bugged the ever-loving crap out of me. So far, he’d found time to send me only a short video featuring my parents expressing their awe of the Grand Canyon and two selfies, one picturing him in the process of devouring a substantial hamburger. So, who was he texting? Friends in Pennsylvania? Was he trying to mend his relationship with Robin? Or could it possibly be someone he’d met since arriving here, like the repellant Hinkle brothers? And if that were so, what could be so important that he needed to be in constant contact with them? To obtain more of the hallucinogenic drug he enjoyed tripping out on so much? That sobering thought served to dampen my mood. I had to forcibly banish that line of thinking so I could concentrate on my assignment.
While I sipped a cup of freshly brewed coffee and munched on a sinfully delicious cinnamon roll, I compiled a list of people to interview. The rest of the crew filed in around eight just as vibrant sunbeams slanted through the blinds, blanching the walls a festive, lemony yellow shade. Jim, Harry, Al and Rick all called out greetings before heading to their respective desks. Five minutes later, Tugg strolled in and tossed his coat over the back of his chair. “Well, look who’s up with the chickens, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and raring to go!”
I grinned. “Speaking of chickens, let me tell you about one of the interesting experiences I had yesterday.” He turned his computer on and sat twirling a pen in his fingers while I apprised him of my adventures en route to Raven Creek and the disturbing incident on my way home.
“You do meet the strangest people,” was his thoughtful reply, “but then you love that kind of stuff.”
I smiled ruefully. “Oh yeah. Nothing like the possibility of getting into a gunfight with some mental case to get the blood running hot.” I leaned back in my chair. “So, what do you think?”
In a now familiar gesture, he ran a hand over his balding head and then fluffed the remaining tufts of grey hair above one ear. “Doesn’t sound like you’ve got much to go on.”
“Except four dead people within a few square miles of Raven Creek within the past eighteen months. Now don’t tell me that doesn’t sound just a bit peculiar to you?”
Deep furrows gathered on his forehead. “Definitely peculiar. But, since the authorities have ruled them accidental, where’s your story?”
I shrugged. “I could be just chasing shadows for all I know.”
“Or not. The day is still young. If there’s an angle here, I have no doubt you’ll find it.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I heaved a dejected sigh. “Sure would’ve been easier if Walter hadn’t poisoned himself on chili. I could really use an extra hand.” I pointed at my notepad. “Look at this list of people I still have to interview, Burton Carr, Harvel Brickhouse, Nathan Taylor’s father, Linda Tressick, not to mention that I’ve got to touch bases with Marshall to get more information on those first two guys…”
“I’ll do what I can to help,” he cut in. “What time are you meeting the forest ranger today?”
“Around noon near Raven Creek, which means I need to get on the road no later than ten. And speaking of Walter, I literally have not had a minute to call him.”
The phone jangled and Tugg grabbed the line. When the second line rang less than thirty seconds later, I answered it, lamenting the fact that Ginger’s absence from the reception desk all week was likely to pose a real hardship for everyone. Adept at handling a multitude of problems, she shielded us from annoying sales calls and soothed disgruntled patrons with her quick smile and effervescent personality. I dispensed with the call, headed to the lobby to assist two people, then consulted with Rick and Al before reviewing the day’s assignments with Jim and finally returned to my desk to dial Walter’s hospital room. After several beeps I heard a muffled voice croak, “Hello?”
“Walter?”
“The one and only,” came his weak reply.
“It’s Kendall. How are you feeling?”
“Like crap. Honest to God, I can’t remember ever feeling this bad.”
“I’m really sorry. Tugg gave me the rundown on your condition.”
“Yep, Doc says I got a bad bacteria called camping lobaten jujube or something like that. I still don’t know how I could have gotten such a thing. I haven’t been camping since I was a Boy Scout.”
Camping Lobaten? I was pretty certain that wasn’t how it was pronounced but, unsure as to whether he was joking or not, I didn’t correct him. “Well, take it easy and get well. We miss you.”
“I feel like shit, pardon the pun, deserting you like this. If I could stay off the porcelain pot for more than five minutes you know I’d be there.”
“Don’t sweat it. Just get back on your feet.”
“Oh, and thanks for the flowers. They’re real pretty.”
“Just hoping to cheer you up. Take it easy.”
“No choice.”
Tugg was juggling two lines when the third one rang and then almost immediately the bell on the front door jingled again. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Al shuffle towards the lobby just as the wail of a siren filled the room. I had the phone in my hand to call Marshall, when more sirens screamed by. Cradling the receiver, I rushed to the window in time to see two fire engines and an ambulance roar past. Uh oh. For Castle Valley, that meant something big was up. Behind me, Jim shouted, “Fire at the high school! I’m on it!” I swung around and had to sprint along the hall to catch him before he got through the front entrance.
“Jim, wait a second! When will you be back?”
His face flushed with excitement, he struggled into his jacket. “Don’t know!”
“I have to leave soon. We can’t all be gone at the same time.”
He paused, scowling at me as if I’d lost my mind. “You want me to cover it or not?”
“Yes, of course,” I replied hastily, feeling foolish. “Just…get back as quickly as you can.”
Without another word, he streaked out the door. For a moment, I just stood there half-listening to Joe Shipman from the hardware store haranguing Al while my frustration level mounted. Now what? Should I continue on with my plans or cancel them? Could I reach Burton Carr in time to reschedule our appointment? Should I rethink the whole idea of pursuing the story at all this week?
“Kendall!” Al’s agitated voice intruded on my thoughts, “you want to handle this matter? I’m done.”
Cognizant of the irate expression plastered on his broad-cheeked face as he stomped from the room, I steeled myself and confronted Joe with a conciliatory tone and cordial smile. “What seems to be the problem?”
Normally a pretty easy-going guy, the owner of Joe’s Hardware proceeded to bend my ear about us running the wrong ad copy for the second time in two weeks. He was unmoved by my attempts to mollify him. “Well, sorry isn’t going to cut it,” he griped, wavin
g the paper in my face. “Your mistakes are costing me a lot of money! Don’t you have people to proofread this stuff?”
“Of course we do.”
Red-faced, he shouted, “Well, then someone here has his head up his ass!”
I bit back a cutting retort and cautioned myself to be patient. This part of the job was definitely not fun. As he continued piling on his list of complaints, I felt the beginnings of a tension headache. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to be someplace else. Anyplace else. My mind wandered away as I envisioned myself escaping from the everyday, mundane details and problems of running a newspaper—a position I’d jumped at, but now wished I hadn’t. Oh, to be free, out on the open road in my Jeep, top down, wind whistling through my hair…
“Miss O’Dell? Are you even listening to me?”
“What? Oh, yes. Yes, I am. I promise you this will be fixed today and we’ll run it an extra three days for no additional charge in both the print and online edition. And I will personally proofread it. Will that make you happy?” Facing his flinty glare, I hoped my ultra-charming smile would pacify him. The angry light in his eyes gradually dimmed and with a curt nod he turned and wordlessly marched out the door. That crisis averted, I returned to my desk where Tugg informed me that Jim had called to say that no one had been injured in the fire, but the gymnasium had been badly damaged, classes suspended and he’d return as soon as he had a few more shots to accompany his copy. Relieved, I dialed the sheriff’s office. “Hi Julie. This is Kendall. I don’t suppose Marshall and Duane are there with the fire still in progress?”
“Right. But Marshall said you’d probably be calling. The two files you want are here on my desk.”
I checked the time. If I left now, I’d have barely half an hour to go through them. “Great. I’ll be right over.” I hung up. “Okay, Tugg, I’m out of here.” I scooped up my notes, laptop and coat, then paused. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay here without me?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You’d better be or your dear wife is going to strangle me.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Listen, I’ve been doing this for thirty-five years, young lady. Long before you were even born.”
I grinned and saluted. “Yes, sir!”
Chuckling, he added, “Hey, listen. I hate to spring this on you at the last minute, but Mary reminded me I’ve got a doctor’s appointment in Phoenix tomorrow. Think you can stick around here?“
Shit. I’d barely begun my investigation. “No problem,” I answered cheerily. “Let’s hope I find the people I need to interview today. If not, I’ll push it to Wednesday.”
“Good. Now get out of here.”
“You’re sure?”
Eyes sparkling with good humor he pointed at the door. “Git!”
“Gone.” I hurried outside into the crisp morning air, once again experiencing a sweeping sense of freedom and exhilaration. It was time I admitted it to myself. As much as I’d tried to convince myself that this was the life I wanted, I really wasn’t cut out to be a newspaper executive anchored to a desk all day, even part time. Tally and my dad were right. I thrived on the excitement of chasing down an interesting story.
It took me all of five minutes to get to the sheriff’s office. After chatting with Julie briefly, I settled down to go through the reports. I set the alert on my phone to remind me when I needed to leave and opened the first file on the documentary filmmaker. Reviewing the cause of death was disturbing enough, but the subsequent series of photos made me queasy. Luke “Skip” Campbell, age 36, divorced father of two, had died from anaphylactic shock after being stung multiple times by a swarm of Africanized honeybees. He’d been found early on the morning of July 10th of the previous year by Manuel Dominguez, a two-year employee of the Raven Creek Sand and Gravel Company inside one of the modular toilets, slumped on the seat, pants down, his face swollen beyond recognition. According to the medical examiner’s report, he’d been dead for at least 48 hours. Oh man. What a ghastly way to die.
The report stated that he’d last been spotted at the bar in Cleator Friday evening and had told several patrons he was going to take pictures of a strange rock formation he’d stumbled upon the day before. He was not seen again until the discovery of his body. According to Dominguez, the bees flew out when he’d opened the door to enter the toilet. What had the filmmaker been doing at the sand and gravel operation in the first place? What could be worth filming? I continued reading. His car was found parked along the main road near the entrance and inside the glove box authorities found the life saving epinephrine pen. Why would he be tromping around the desert without it? On his person they’d found his driver’s license, car keys, credit cards and cell phone. Investigators found nothing significant in the way of photos or videos on his phone. His Nikon camera was discovered on the floor of the toilet, but there were no photos or videos on the memory card. How peculiar. And how on earth had bees gotten inside the modular toilet? From what I recalled, the doors automatically slammed shut after use. Could they have gotten in through the vents? There were additional pages in the file, but since I was short on time, I set it aside and opened the second one.
Benjamin Thomas Halstead Jr., single, age 27, had worked as a surveyor for the Arizona Department of Transportation for two years. The medical examiner’s report confirmed that he had died of blunt force trauma to the skull when his car crashed to the bottom of a rocky ravine on March 18th of this year. Witnesses stated he’d been at the Crown King Saloon for hours playing pool with other patrons prior to the accident and had exhibited signs of having had too much to drink when he left. Authorities suspect that he may have made a driving miscalculation or fallen asleep at the wheel. My phone alert sounded so I closed the file. “Thanks, Julie,” I said, setting both of them on her desk while slipping into my jacket. “I’ll come back and finish reading these tomorrow or Wednesday.”
She flipped her dark hair behind one shoulder and dragged her gaze from the computer screen. “Not a problem. They’ll be here.”
Outside in the Jeep, I sent a quick text to Ginger before heading out, asking how she and Marcelene were doing. I told her how much we all missed her at work, that I was on my way to check out the location of Jenessa’s death and would give them a full report later. Knowing there would be no place to eat out in the boonies, I stopped to pick up a sandwich on the way out of town and could not resist pulling into the two-minute car wash. It seemed almost criminal to drive my beautiful new Jeep around caked with mud from top to bottom. While waiting in line, I left a voice message for the sheriff. I told him about Walter and that I would now be following up on the story. I asked him if he’d contacted Nathan Taylor’s mother yet and requested that he text me a phone number where I could reach Nathan’s father.
The wind had picked up significantly by the time I reached the freeway, and as I traveled northward, the flotilla of charcoal-bellied clouds pushing over the mountains signaled the arrival of the impending weather change—a prelude to supposedly an even bigger storm forecast for the middle of the week. I remained hopeful that my family’s sightseeing trip would not be spoiled as I’d learned that these dramatic predictions could also fizzle to almost nothing with a change of wind direction.
By the time I reached Black Canyon City, thunderheads stretched along the crest of the entire Bradshaw range, billowing like smoke from a volcano. There was little doubt I was heading into some bad weather and most likely it had been a complete waste of time and money to wash my Jeep. “Flapdoodle,” I muttered, borrowing Ginger’s favorite phrase. Moments later, I swerved onto the Bumble Bee exit and headed down the curving road into the still sun-drenched valley.
As I approached the wide gravel pullout at the bottom of the hill, I recognized Linda Tressick’s vehicle parked among the handful of motor homes and pickups with empty trailers attached. A glance at my clock confirmed that I had about fifteen minutes to spare, so I decided
to take the bird in hand and pulled in behind her white pickup truck. I stepped out into the driving wind and strode to where she stood jotting information from a pickup on a notepad. “Hello again,” I said, walking up beside her. “I was driving by and wondered if you had time for a few questions now?”
She glanced up from her paperwork and acknowledged me with a tight-lipped smile. “Sure. What do you need?”
I explained briefly my assignment, my relationship to Jenessa, showed her the photo of them on my phone and asked if she’d seen or interacted with them prior to their deaths.
She cast me an appraising look. “With the Taylor kid, yes. I’d seen him hiking and tearing around the hills on his quad a couple of times in the past few months. Burton Carr told me he’d stopped him from rappelling down the side of several Indian forts too. Idiotic stuff.”
“Was he acting irrationally? Like, maybe he was hopped up on something?”
She made a face. “Who knows? Pretty recently, I caught him riding off the designated trails out there,” she stated, pointing towards a series of dirt tracks snaking up the mountain into the wilderness. “I informed him he was on BLM land, gave him a warning and less than two weeks ago I issued him a ticket for having an expired OHV Decal.” Her brow furrowed in remembered annoyance. “He went ballistic and started ranting about not having the money to pay the fine or renew the decal.”
