Peril by Ponytail (A Bad Hair Day Mystery)

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “I’ve been here nearly seventeen years now. Hard to believe it’s been that long.” He stroked his grizzled jaw, squinting under his cowboy hat as he walked beside her horse, letting her handle the reins.

  “Have you seen many changes in that time?” She glanced at the mountains in the distance from behind her sunglasses. Saguaro cacti dotted the landscape like aged sentinels on guard.

  “Sure have, ma’am. Raymond brought us into the technical age and raised our visibility on the global networks. Guests from around the world come here now. Plus, he improved on the expansion his daddy started.”

  “Did you see him more often before he got involved with his ghost town project?”

  “Raymond was never one to micro-manage, if you know what I mean. Wayne and Carol take a personal interest in everybody and make us feel like family. Raymond did too, but more from a distance. He was a stickler for safety rules, but that’s to be expected after the tragedy their family experienced.”

  Her ears perked up. “What happened?”

  “You don’t know?” His brows lifted in surprise. “I suggest you ask your cousin for the particulars. It’s not my place to say. Most of them keep mum about it, and I don’t blame them. Why dredge up old hurts?”

  Because it might help to explain why Kate doesn’t speak to her brother, Marla thought. She wouldn’t ask Carol. Marla had promised to visit Wayne’s sister at her nutrition clinic. Annie might know about the events affecting her parents’ generation.

  Thus when she and Dalton drove into town, they split up. Marla had called ahead to verify that Annie would be free for lunch, so Dalton dropped her off and set a time to meet her later. He wanted to stop by the sheriff’s office while she was occupied.

  Stiff and sore from her morning exertion, Marla gave her name to the receptionist inside the tan adobe building. Did Annie own the property or lease it? The waiting area appeared to be well maintained. It held comfortable jade upholstered chairs, a filled magazine rack, a coffee table, and a water cooler. The tile floor appeared spotless.

  A blonde behind a glass partition glanced up at her arrival and smiled. “Hello, can I help you? Do you have an appointment?”

  “My name is Marla Vail, and I’m here to see Annie. She’s my cousin by marriage. We have a lunch date.”

  The receptionist’s expression softened. “I’ll let her know you’re here.”

  Marla took a seat until the inner door burst open, and Annie gestured for her to enter. As she crossed the threshold, a young girl was checking out at the billing desk.

  “Chris, I’ll see you next time,” Annie said. “Call me if anything comes up before then.”

  Figuring this teen must be one of Annie’s patients, Marla’s gaze inadvertently lifted to her straight brown hair hanging down her back. The ends could use a trim, plus highlights would bring out the color in her hazel eyes.

  “By the way, this is my cousin’s wife. They’re visiting us from back east. Marla Vail, meet Christine Reardon,” Annie said.

  “Nice to meet you.” Marla smiled at the girl, whose stick-thin figure could use a few pounds. “We’re staying at the dude ranch. I had my first horseback riding lesson this morning. So if I walk funny, you’ll know why,” she said with a chuckle.

  “Have a good vacation. I’m sure Annie is happy you’re visiting.”

  Annie led Marla down a corridor. She wore her hair in a ponytail and a white lab coat over her street clothes.

  “This place isn’t very big. I don’t need treatment rooms, but I do show videos to my patients in that cubicle over there, and we have a kitchenette and laundry area. This is one of the former historic houses in town. I was allowed to convert the inside but not the exterior design.”

  “Do you own it or rent the premises?”

  “I lease the space. I’d worked for a doctor’s group before branching out on my own. I love being independent. I had built up my clientele along the way, so they followed me here. Rumor says an urgent care center is going to be built over by the drugstore at the highway exit. I might offer them my services for extra income.”

  In such a small town, Marla wondered how she stayed afloat at all. “What’s wrong with that girl who just left? She looked healthy, albeit a bit too thin.”

  “Let’s sit a minute, and I’ll tell you. Here’s my office where I interview patients and discuss treatment plans,” Annie said, gesturing inside. “We can go to lunch at noon.”

  Annie sat behind her large mahogany desk while Marla took a seat opposite in a cozy armchair no doubt meant to encourage confidences. She sniffed the eucalyptus aroma scenting the room and relaxed back on the cushioned seat. It felt good after the morning’s exertion.

  Annie folded her hands on the desktop. “Chris is suffering from bulimia. Normally I wouldn’t betray a client’s confidence, but I have a reason in this case. I know you’ve helped Dalton solve crimes, so you must be good at detective work. I need help getting to the bottom of what’s ailing Chris. I’m afraid the source of her problems might relate to our family.”

  “How so?” Marla knew bulimia was an eating disorder that involved food bingeing followed by purging. It seemed to affect mostly women and teenaged girls. The purging segment could take the form of vomiting, extreme exercise, or using laxatives.

  “You know stress can trigger the disorder?” Annie said.

  “So can an obsession with being thin.” Look at the actresses in movies and the models in magazines. Women’s beauty was measured by their weight and their face lifts.

  “Christine’s mother brought her to see me because the girl was too skinny. I interviewed Eleanor first, and it appeared that Christine had some of the characteristic symptoms.”

  “Like what?”

  “She’ll run into the bathroom right after meals. Even when she should be taking it easy, she forces herself to exercise. Plus she often complains about her figure.”

  “So do most women.”

  “Yes, but these patients might hoard food or prefer to eat alone. And they might have swollen cheeks from making themselves heave. It’s dangerous to go without treatment. They can get various ailments such as osteoporosis, heart problems and kidney disease.”

  Marla grimaced. “How do you treat it?”

  “Counseling helps, and sometimes antidepressants are prescribed. Often these people have low self-esteem, but I don’t believe that’s the case for Christine. From things she’s said, I’ve gathered she is troubled because of her father’s frequent absences. According to Eleanor, operations have doubled at the water bottling plant where Tate Reardon is manager. He’s been working overtime, even sleeping at the facility some nights.”

  “Do you think he’s having an affair, and Christine senses it?”

  “This might be something else entirely. What if she’s aware that something funky is going on at her father’s place of work? His facility could be stealing water from the town. That would account for the dry conditions at the Donovan ranch. Mr. Rear-don might either be directly involved or acting under orders from his employer. If he’s conflicted about his role, he might be transmitting these feelings to Christine.”

  “Why don’t you make an appointment to interview him? You have the perfect reason with his daughter’s health at stake.”

  Annie’s mouth compressed. “I was hoping you’d ask around about his facility. Hugh Donovan isn’t right to blame my father for the problems he’s having with his cattle. In the meantime, I’ll make an appointment to talk to Christine’s mother again but in their home environment this time. Maybe you’d like to come along for the drive up the mountain?”

  “I’d love to, thanks.”

  As they headed to lunch, Marla inquired about Annie’s work. The young woman counseled people with any kind of dietary restriction, allergies, or related disease conditions. It was admirable how she’d established her own clientele.

  Marla didn’t get around to broaching the subject of Raymond’s relationship to his sister, Kate, until
they were seated at an outdoor café. She ordered butternut squash ravioli with Portobello mushroom sauce and sat sipping an unsweetened iced tea.

  A fly zeroed in on their bread basket. She swatted it away, determined to steer their conversation. Starting with a lighter topic, she shared the hair-raising adventure of her morning riding lesson. Her description made Annie chuckle.

  “The soreness will go away once you’re used to the saddle. You should ride every day. You’ll be surprised by how quickly you catch on.” Annie buttered a roll as she spoke, her posture relaxed and a half-smile on her face.

  A crumb fell on her patterned shirt. Annie brushed it off, while Marla wondered if she wore a stylish skirt ensemble out of respect for her clients or from personal preference. With nearly everyone in the area wearing jeans and cowboy hats, Marla had become accustomed to the casual western garb.

  “You must have started riding when very young. Ranch life would be born and bred in you. How come you didn’t want to stay and help Wayne run the place when your father’s interests turned elsewhere?”

  Annie’s brow crinkled. “I wanted to live in the city. I’d had a taste of it in college, and I loved the frenetic lifestyle. But a year in L.A. convinced me to come back home. Plus, I felt I could really help folks here. There weren’t that many registered dietitians who counseled people in rural parts like this one. With obesity reaching almost epidemic proportions and diabetes on the rise, nutritional advice is badly needed.”

  “So you opened your own office after working with a doctor’s group?”

  “That’s right. I had enough clients that I felt I could make it on my own.”

  “Did you father support your decision?”

  “Of course not. He’d rather I take on a role at the ranch. Now he’s trying to get me involved in his ghost town. He says with my college education and computer skills, I should design their marketing campaign.” She shrugged. “I can help out in my spare time. One thing I’ll say about my dad. He keeps up with technology. Dad wired up the ranch as soon as the Internet became available.”

  “The wrangler, Tom, started working there when your dad ran the daily operations. He gives Raymond credit for publicizing the resort overseas.”

  “Dad can be very focused. When he’s dedicated to a project, he’ll go all out and won’t let anything stop him.”

  “Yet I got the impression from Tom that your father’s management style was more casual than Wayne’s.”

  Annie’s eyes glinted. “My father hired competent people and let them do their thing. Wayne has more of a direct approach. He wants to know what’s going on minute-by-minute. It’s not because he’s obsessive, but because he cares about our employees.”

  Marla didn’t miss her use of the word our. Perhaps Annie was more attached to the ranch than she realized.

  “We’re very grateful that Wayne invited us to spend our honeymoon there.”

  Annie frowned and gripped her water glass. “Yeah, well, he has an ulterior motive. He’s hoping Dalton can delve into these mysterious incidents that have been happening lately.”

  “Do you feel they’re coincidental, or might someone be deliberately causing them?”

  “I’m not sure, but I wouldn’t be so quick to blame Hugh Donovan. The animosity between him and Dad goes way back. It’s easy for Dad to target him when things go wrong.”

  “Why is that?” Marla leaned back as the waitress delivered their meals. The rich smell of cooked mushrooms made her eager to eat. She picked up her fork.

  “I don’t know the details, but something nasty happened between them. It’s a shame. From early photos I’ve seen, he and Hugh used to be close friends when they were young.”

  “I’ve wondered why your father and Dalton’s mother don’t speak. Might this have involved Kate as well?”

  “It’s possible. Dad doesn’t talk about it. I just know there’s bad blood between him and Hugh Donovan.”

  “Yes, but it’s a shame that he and Kate are estranged.”

  “I haven’t been successful in getting Dad to fess up. Maybe you can coax him to talk.”

  “Your father isn’t the only one casting blame. According to Raymond, Hugh is trying to convince the town council that his renovation project is causing environmental damage. The cattle on his ranch are suffering as a result.”

  “I told you, look into the water bottling plant on the mountain. It might be the source of his problems.”

  “I’ll do that, thanks.” And why was it her business? Because she was part of this family now, and she wanted to see Raymond’s tourist attraction succeed. Craggy Peak had a lot of history, and it would be wonderful if people could appreciate its value.

  Annie swallowed a piece of her grilled veggie sandwich. “I’m still wondering how Dad was able to purchase the ghost town property without needing a mortgage,” she said, voicing one of many thoughts in Marla’s head.

  “Since the buildings were in such bad shape, he must have gotten a terrific deal.”

  “You’d think so. Rustler Ridge should have been glad for someone to take that eyesore off their hands.” She pointed to the hills. “Look, you can see smoke from the bottling facility. Isn’t it odd how it sits there above Hugh’s place, which is suffering from dry conditions?”

  “Yes, that’s true. Who would know about their water rights?”

  Annie gestured down the street. “The engineer has an office here. He does the approvals for plant operations, so you could start with him. I’ll look up his address, but first you have to buy a pair of boots.” And their discussion melded into a shopping talk about which brand to get.

  After lunch, Marla shopped with Annie and then phoned Dalton to find out where he’d parked the car. He wasn’t ready to meet her yet, so she stashed the packages inside using the extra key he’d given her. Annie had already returned to work. With time to spare, Marla headed over to the office of the district’s environmental engineer.

  Matthew Brigham’s name was emblazoned on the outside of a brick building further along the main row, where the shops and restaurants gave way to a business section.

  Marla stepped into a spacious office holding a desk strewn with papers, a couple of armchairs, file cabinets, and office machinery. Stacks of papers filled the windowsills and other available surfaces. A rectangular table by a wall held blueprint-type documents, but what caught her eye was the model train set occupying one corner.

  “How can I help you?” said a man with white hair and a matching beard from behind the desk. He studied her with steely gray eyes under wire-rimmed glasses.

  “Are you Matthew Brigham?” At his nod, she approached and held out her hand. “I’m Marla Vail. I have a few questions for a blog article I’m writing, and I wonder if you can help.”

  He rose and accepted her handshake. “Sure, have a seat.”

  She didn’t give the real reason for her visit, figuring it might not be wise to reveal Annie’s suspicions about someone stealing water from the town when this man was responsible for permit inspections. Better to sound him out in a more general manner to see where he stood on environmental issues. Her glance flicked to the photos mounted on the walls. Some of them showed the engineer as a member of a costumed four-man troupe.

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Those look pretty recent. Are you a performer?”

  “It’s a hobby of mine. I sing in a barbershop quartet. We’re quite popular during town events.” He resumed his seat and grinned, exposing a row of even teeth.

  “And I see you’re a train enthusiast.”

  “Don’t get me started, ma’am, unless you want to hear about every railroad line that existed in this territory.”

  “I’m sure the history is quite fascinating. My husband and I are guests at the dude ranch. It’s our first visit to Arizona. We’ve noticed the white smoke on the horizon. Should we be concerned about forest fires?”

  He looked at her as though she’d sprouted elk horns. “Certainly not, that’s steam coming from th
e water bottling plant on the mountain. It isn’t anything for you to worry about.”

  “I thought resources were scarce in the west. Where does the plant get its water?”

  “Where are you from, Mrs. Vail?”

  “South Florida. We have issues with drought in the winters but nothing like you experience.”

  Hunching forward, he folded his hands on the desk. “Arizona gets its supply from the Colorado River via a system of canals, pipelines, and reservoirs. Plus we have storage basins for groundwater. There’s plenty to go around if we don’t waste it on lawns like you do.”

  “This is still a desert. You might have a few lakes but not an abundance of fresh water streams and rivers. The only greenery is cacti plus scattered trees or plants.”

  “I beg to differ. The Sonoran grows lots of vegetation despite the drier climate. At higher elevations, you’ll see evergreens and many tall trees. And we have our monsoon season. Nonetheless, we get enough flow from the Colorado River to supply our population under current conditions.”

  Putting her purse in her lap, she crossed her legs. “Colorado lets you share their water?”

  “The Colorado River Compact of 1922 divided the resource between several states. Once the water arrives, it still has to be distributed. CAP—the Central Arizona Project Canal—uses pipelines to move the water to the far reaches of our state. That can be costly, which is why many of our cities get their water supply from underground aquifers. Groundwater is our cheapest and most available resource.”

  “But that won’t last forever, will it?”

  “Population growth is our main problem. Plus, some cities don’t have the infrastructure to utilize the CAP water. They can tap into the Salt River Project that uses water from the Salt and Verde Rivers, but ranches and farms compete for those resources.”

  “So increased demand is causing a shortage?”

  He picked up a pen and twirled it. “Yes, along with a strain on city finances.”