by Sylvia Nobel
“Before you get your panties in a twist, you might want to know the second reason.”
“What?”
“Your brother’s sick.”
“Really? What’s wrong with him?”
“I dunno. He’s blaming the Indian fry bread and says traveling in the car is bothering his stomach.”
All the years we’d been together growing up I’d never known him to have motion sickness. Did that mean he would try to opt out of our driving excursion to southern Arizona next week? “I see. Well, what are your plans? Are you coming back tonight?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. Ronda’s going to stay overnight and everybody’s too tired to travel now. I’ll let everyone sleep in a little bit and we’ll head back right after breakfast tomorrow.”
“What time do you think you’ll get in?”
“I’m shooting for noon or so. I’ll drop your family at the motel and go on to Phoenix.”
“We’ll probably pass each other going opposite directions on the freeway. I have one more guy to interview in the Bumble Bee area around two. I’m going to invest a few more hours and then I’m done with this story.”
“That so?”
“Yeah.” Chagrined, I swiftly changed the subject. “Hey, any chance you’ll get back in time to meet us for dinner tomorrow at the Barbeque Pit around six?”
“Can’t say for sure yet. But that’s a good pick. Your family will like the Old West ambiance and the ribs for sure.”
“I wonder if Sean will feel up to going.”
“I wouldn’t count on it. Even if he wasn’t feeling sick, I think he and your mom need a break from each other. They had a pretty big blow-up this morning.”
“What about?”
“Not sure. I came in on the tail end of it.”
“Oh man. Sorry about that.”
“Even with the squabbling, I’ve enjoyed getting to know your family, especially your dad.”
“I knew you two would hit it off.”
Apparently not willing to let go of my earlier pronouncement he inquired softly, “You glossed over it pretty fast, but I gather your investigation didn’t pan out?”
“No, it hasn’t. At least not the way Marcelene and Ginger hoped. Granted, I met some colorful characters, but so far I haven’t been able to come up with a workable theory or even one miniscule crumb of evidence to prove that what happened to Jenessa and Nathan was not accidental.” I blew out a dejected sigh. “Now I have to go in and tell them that I failed.”
“I wouldn’t say you failed, Kendall. It is what it is. They’ll just have to accept the truth.”
“It’s not like there isn’t still a boatload of unanswered questions. Wish I could get the toxicology report from Fritzy now,” I lamented, staring up at the brilliant starlit sky, “instead of having to wait months.”
“Why so long?”
“She’s backlogged with too many cases. Oh well, maybe I’ll learn something new tomorrow.”
“You’re by far the toughest taskmaster of yourself,” he consoled me with a chuckle. “You did your best. That’s all you can do.”
“I’ll get over it.”
“I know one thing for sure,” he added, his tone turning husky, “I could sure use some alone time with you, pretty lady.”
His intimate suggestion sent a surge of warmth coursing through me. “Cowboy, you can count on it.”
After we exchanged goodbyes, I stood there in the cold night air for another minute, savoring the image of his invitation, then headed for the cottage. I rang the doorbell and was still formulating what I should say when the door swung open. “Well, it’s about time you showed up, girl!” Ginger reached out and crushed both the chips and me in an enthusiastic embrace. “Come on into the kitchen. Everybody’s been waitin’ on ya.”
“Sorry, it was a hellish day at work, I got away late...”
“Don’t fret none,” she said, reaching for the plastic grocery bags. “Now that Bonnie and Tom are here to help out, guess what?”
I eyed her with puzzlement. “What?”
She treated me to her dimpled, pixie-faced grin. “I’m gonna be back at my desk first thing in the mornin’!”
“Oh, that’s great news! You have no idea how much we’ve missed you.”
“I figured that might make your day.”
“It sure does.” When we reached the doorway, I asked in a low voice, “How’s everyone holding up?”
“Well as can be expected. Lot of waterworks around here. I know I’ve bawled so much I ain’t got a tear left to shed right now. It was pretty rough pickin’ up Jenessa’s car today and just now Aunt Marcelene got a phone call sayin’ they’re releasing her body to the funeral home tomorrow.” Looking morose, she tacked on, “It still don’t seem real.”
“I know.”
She searched my face expectantly. “Did ya find out anything new?”
I was in no hurry to admit I hadn’t. “How about we eat first. I’m starving.”
“Come on into kitchen. Nona rustled up her famous chicken casserole, I brung that corn bake you like so much and Bonnie’s whipped up a snazzy-lookin’ salad. Oh! And Brian brought ice cream. I think we can get ya filled up.”
“Let’s get started.”
Bonnie and Tom greeted me with animated smiles and hugs, while Brian called out, “Hey, how’s it going?” from across the room. As always, it was a pleasure to visit with their grandmother, Nona, who delighted in concocting a different pronunciation of my name almost every time we met. With her hearing almost gone, she’d pronounced my name as ‘candle’ at our first encounter and, continuing her tongue-in-cheek tradition, she asked with a merry twinkle in her eyes, “How you doin’ tonight, Scandal?”
“That’s a new one!” I grinned and bent down to kiss her withered cheek. “I’m doing okay.” True to staying in character as a former Broadway leading lady, she wore an over-abundance of blush and sported an outlandish feather hat—both endearing aspects of her playful personality.
While everyone ate and conversed, keeping to light topics like the weather, amusing stories about Bonnie and Tom’s baby and the upcoming engagement party, the underlying sadness was palpable as everyone verbally tiptoed around the somber subject matter. For me, conjuring up the image of Jenessa’s cold body lying in the funeral home proved to be an exceedingly effective appetite suppressant. After dinner, while everyone pitched in to clean up, with the exception of Nona, who had nodded off in her wheelchair, Marcelene caught my eye. She and Ginger traded expectant glances before she motioned for me to follow them into the living room. Hating to admit that I’d come up empty-handed, I filled them in on what I’d learned, omitting some of the more depressing details. The entire time, Marcelene sat there shaking her head no and when I concluded with a sheepish shrug, she snapped, “I can’t be wrong. I am certain that something terrible happened to her. I refuse to accept the premise that it was an accident. I…I feel it right here.” She pressed her hands to her middle and her stricken expression turned my heart inside out.
“I do too,” Ginger concurred in a tremulous voice, pinning me with a look of mild reproof. “Don’t you?”
I threw up my hands in frustration. “Yes! I do! Look, I believe there is something weird going on out there, but for the life of me, I can’t logically connect whatever it is with Jenessa. And if there isn’t any evidence, there’s nothing I or anyone else can do. I can’t magically create it.”
My passionate declaration was met with stone-cold silence from both women. I shrank beneath their disapproving stares, unable to remember being this disappointed in myself, and my abilities as an investigative reporter. Marcelene’s crestfallen gaze slid away from mine, but Ginger reached out to pat my knee. “We ain’t mad at ya, sugar. And well, we both feel bad about even askin’ you with your family here and all, but it’s just that we
both feel real strong about this and it don’t seem like Marshall is taking it seriously.”
“He’s in the same boat I am. Listen, I haven’t given up yet. I’m going out there again tomorrow. I’ve got one more person left to interview. He’s the man who found…the…them. I’m hoping maybe he’ll have some new information.” I directed my attention back to Marcelene. “If it’s okay with you I’d like to go through her room one more time in case I may have missed something. But, I could use your help as well.” I repeated my conversation with Stuart Taylor. “He told me that Nathan called him at some point during their trip. Did you have any communication from Jenessa after she left here?”
Marcelene nodded. She called me two…maybe three times.”
“From her cell phone.”
“Yes.”
“Did she say where she was calling from?”
“Not specifically. Out in the forest someplace.”
“Did she say what they were doing?”
She massaged the deep frown lines on her forehead. “Um…it was hard to understand her because she kept cutting out, but I know she said they’d been hiking. She said they’d found some Indian ruins with petroglyphs, seen some baby javelinas, deer and some other strange little creatures. I can’t remember what she called them…”
“Sugar gliders?” I cut in hopefully.
Appearing surprised, she said, “Why, yes. I never heard of them before. How did you know that?”
So, Daisy had been right. I hurriedly grappled for my phone. “I have some pictures I thought you’d like to see.” I told them about Daisy’s propensity for photographing everything. “I think these were taken just a few days before Jenessa died and perhaps on one of the days she called you.”
Marcelene stared at them with an inscrutable expression, then solemnly handed the phone to Ginger, who blinked back tears before she passed it back to me. Absently, I swiped to the very last picture. Ah yes. The mysterious Stilts. Hoping to spare her sensibilities, I’d deliberately left out his hurtful diatribe. Why torture her further? But, maybe that was wrong. Every possibility should be explored. She would expect that of me. I leaned forward. “There is one more thing. Did Jenessa ever mention meeting a man who calls himself Stilts?”
She drew back, frowning. “Stilts? Not that I can remember.”
As I recapped the inflammatory conversation, Marclene’s expression of bewilderment switched to horror. Her face turning scarlet, she gasped, “What? What possible reason would that…that monster have to say such despicable things about my sweet girl?” Tears flooded her eyes. “He must be insane!” Marcelene grabbed several tissues from a box.
“Well, that’s one possibility,” I answered dryly. “But, somehow I got the impression that it was more than that. His remarks seemed…calculated and personal.”
I turned the screen to face her. “Have you ever seen this guy before?”
Marcelene squinted at the photo and shook her head. “I don’t think so. Can you make the face larger?”
“Sure.” I expanded his face to fill the screen and handed her the phone again. This time she stared in open-mouthed astonishment and murmured, “Oh my God!”
“What?” Ginger interjected, her startled gaze darting back and forth between her aunt’s stricken face and the phone.
Marcelene’s breathing was so erratic, I was afraid she might be hyperventilating. She looked up to meet my eyes. “Do you remember the story I told you about Jenessa’s friend Kailey?”
“Of course,” I replied. “The little girl who drowned at Lake Powell.”
She pointed a shaky finger at my phone. “This man looks much older, but I’m 99 percent sure this is her father. John Higglebottom.”
CHAPTER
28
Statues. We must have looked like three stone statues, sitting there in frozen wonder. I’m sure I looked especially dumbfounded. Her revelation blew my theory about the Hinkles to smithereens. “Are you positive about this?”
Marcelene let out an anguished wail that made my hair stand on end. “I’m sure! Call the sheriff. This man murdered my daughter!” She sprang from the chair, grabbed my shoulder and I winced when she dug her nails in like cat claws. Her flushed face only inches from mine, she held the phone up and shrieked, “Don’t you see? An eye for an eye! He…he…he’s punishing me for killing Kailey! He did it! He got even with me by killing my little girl!” She shoved the phone into my hands. “Do it! Call Marshall right now! Hurry!”
Her accusation certainly cast a whole new light on Jenessa’s mysterious death and sent my imagination skyrocketing. The callous proclamation made perfect sense to me now. And that also explained the G and T on the mailbox. My mind flashed back to Daisy. She’d told me he had a different name but I had put no stock in her odd statement. Why had he chosen to hide out in Raven Creek all these years? And if he had somehow orchestrated that Jenessa die in the same manner as his daughter, how had he carried it out and left no evidence behind?
Marcelene’s hysterical screams brought Bonnie, Tom and Brian rushing into the room, and for what seemed like an hour, sheer pandemonium reigned. Everyone talked at once, demanding to know what was happening, while Ginger and I tried to calm the situation. “Aunt Marcelene!” she finally commanded in a kind but stern tone, attempting to slide one arm around the flailing woman, “You gotta calm yourself down! You’re scarin’ the bejeezus out of everybody!”
Undeterred, Marcelene shook her off. “He killed her! He killed my baby!” Eyes brimming with anguish, she glowered at me. “Tell Marshall to arrest this man for murder!”
Even though I knew calling him would be a wasted effort, I soothed her with, “Okay, Marcelene. Calm down. I promise I will call him.”
Her whole body shook with uncontrollable sobs as we all stood there wondering what to do. As her cries grew louder and more frantic, Bonnie burst into tears, Squirt began to howl and the men shrank into the furthest corner watching in helpless horror. Apparently Marcelene’s shouts were shrill enough to awaken Nona, who rolled into the doorway and sat in bleary-eyed puzzlement, surveying the chaotic scene. “What the hell is all the commotion about?” she demanded, banging her hand on the arm of her wheelchair.
“Aunt Marcelene is havin’ a nervous breakdown.” Ginger turned startled eyes on me. “I got some sedatives Dr. Garcia prescribed for her nerves. I’d best go get one!”
“Better get two,” I urged as she hurried from the room.
Ginger finally got her settled down enough to get the pills down her throat, and to everyone’s relief, her sobbing began to gradually subside to shuddery moans as we helped her onto the sofa. Poor little Squirt nervously whirled in circles, his little face scrunched in concern while Bonnie clasped Marcelene’s hand and Ginger tucked a blanket around her. When I looked around for Brian, I caught him charging towards the front door. I sprinted across the room to intercept him. “Hey, don’t go yet! I need your help.”
“I don’t do family drama real well,” he said, his lips twisting with chagrin as he struggled into his jacket. “I’m outta here.”
“Wait!” I pulled him aside and explained what I needed.
“If you just need photos and files I can take the hard drive out and connect it to my computer and pull the files off as long as the drive is not encrypted.”
“So, I’ll be able to log in?”
“Sure. I can run a utility on it that will change the password.”
“What about her emails?” I inquired, glancing over my shoulder, relieved to see that Marcelene seemed under control.
“Depends on if it’s password protected. Most times it isn’t. I can go get it and take it home with me to work on if you like.”
“That would be great.” Hurrying towards her room, I could hardly wait to pull out the old photo in the nightstand to verify Marcelene’s allegation.
When we arrived at
the bedroom door, my heart ached at the sight of the lonesome cat still crouched in a tight ball on the floor. “Hello, Fiona,” I said softly. She looked up at me and we made immediate eye contact. Approaching with stealth, I knelt down and experienced a mild twinge of surprise when she allowed me to pick her up and stroke her luxurious black fur. Within seconds, her rumbling purr filled the hallway. “What’s going to become of this poor kitty?” I murmured as Brian ambled across the room towards the desk.
“I dunno,” came his disinterested answer. “Aunt Marcelene’s allergic to her long hair and wants to get rid of her.”
“Really? That’s a shame.”
He unplugged the laptop. “Yeah, I overheard her telling Ginger that she’s going to have to go back where she came from.”
My heart contracted with pity. The cat had obviously bonded big-time with Jenessa and even though I felt certain she would be in good hands with Daisy, somehow returning her seemed cruel.
He grabbed up the power cord and laptop and swept past me. “I’ll let you know when I get into the files.”
“Thank you, Brian,” I said, setting the cat on the bed. “I’m mainly interested in any photos, messages or emails within the past month.”
“Gotcha.” He disappeared around the corner, and as the same gloomy silence I’d experienced before settled over the room, I made a beeline for the nightstand and pulled out the faded photo. I pointed my phone flashlight directly on it and gasped in disbelief. There was no mistaking that crooked nose, that gangly frame. Marcelene was right. Marshall should know immediately about this embittered, vindictive man who possessed the motive, means and opportunity to have committed this vengeful crime. It was clear to me that he was a man consumed with unending hatred for those responsible for his daughter’s death. I could only conclude that the unfinished house served as a reflection of his unfinished life, or perhaps unfinished business?
