“I can see how this issue would cause tension.”
He snorted. “There’s always been competition over water rights. In 1934, Arizona called militia units to the California border to protest the construction of the Parker Dam because it would divert water from the Colorado River. The dispute ended up in court.”
“Don’t regulations dictate who gets what amounts of water from the river?”
“They do, but California and Arizona had to resolve their differences. Arizona asked the Supreme Court for a decision. The case lasted eleven years and cost nearly five million dollars until it was settled. It set a precedent for future battles between the states over unused portions of their water allocations.”
“So you’re saying fights over these resources will always occur?”
“Right now there’s enough water, but it isn’t going to last. As I said, population growth is a problem. So are higher climactic temperatures and diminishing snowfalls in the Rockies. Consider this old refrain: ‘Whiskey’s for drinking, and water’s for fighting.’ ”
“So environmental changes, in addition to increased demand from more people in the area, are contributing to a potential shortage?”
“You got it. Add in the conservation folks who sue on behalf of endangered species, the Native Americans pursuing water rights, and local communities fighting over groundwater supplies, and you have a volatile mix.”
Marla ticked off the problems on her fingers. “Population growth, competition from farmers and ranchers, Native Americans demanding their share, and unfavorable ecological conditions will lead to a depletion of underground aquifers and a financial strain for cities that have to buy more water.”
“That’s it in a nutshell.” The engineer put down his pen and steepled his fingers.
“So with all these strains on local resources, where does the bottling plant get its water?” she said, repeating her original question.
“They lease water rights from the town. The facility obtains its water at the source of a natural mountain spring.”
“And who makes sure they aren’t taking more than their proper allocation?”
“That’s my job. The plant is within its parameters. Why is it a concern of yours, ma’am?”
“The white smoke bothers me. I thought water bottling was a clean industry?”
“I told you, the plume is merely steam. But here comes the owner, so you can ask him yourself.” The door opened and a burly fellow strode inside. “Marla Vail, meet Otto Lovelace, owner of Arizona Mountain High Water Company.”
The newcomer had a receding dark hairline, penetrating slate eyes, and a double chin. He wore a sleeveless vest over his shirt with a fob watch in its pocket. She stood to shake his hand.
His gaze dipped to her wedding ring. “It is a pleasure, Mrs. Vail.” He spoke with an accent she couldn’t place.
“You’re the man of the hour, Otto. We were just talking about you,” Brigham said in a casual tone.
“How so?”
“The lady is interested in water resources in the area. She’s questioning your company’s compliance with regulations.”
Otto shot her a wary glance. “You’re not one of those ecology nuts, are you? Because I run my plant properly, and I have the certifications to prove it.”
“I don’t need you to prove anything, Mr. Lovelace. I’m writing a blog article about my visit to Arizona, and I was curious about the emissions from your factory. I presume your plant has had environmental impact studies?”
“We follow all the legalities. In fact, the reason I’m here is to schedule our next inspection.” Otto swept his arm expansively. “Most people consider us a boon to the community. We provide extra jobs and pay our taxes.”
Raymond said the same thing about his ghost town.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“You’re welcome to visit our facility and see things for yourself.” He handed her a card. “Call me or my manager anytime for an appointment. We’d be happy to give you a tour.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that. I’ve never visited a bottling plant before, and it could be educational. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must be on my way. Thank you both for answering my questions.”
Brigham scraped back his chair and rose. “My office is always open in case you need more information.”
“You are staying nearby?” Otto asked in a curious tone.
“My husband and I are guests at Last Trail Dude Ranch. We’re on our honeymoon, but it’s a great opportunity for me to conduct research while we’re here. Including regional issues will give added depth to my article.”
“Allow me to give you some advice. If you go riding while at the ranch, stick to the proven trails. The territory around here can be treacherous.”
CHAPTER SIX
* * *
What did Otto mean by his warning? She should watch out for rattlesnakes or ditches if she rode one of the trails, or something more? Did they have flash floods in this area?
Something in his tone told her he hadn’t meant environmental hazards.
Silence followed her to the door. Once outside, she peeked in the window and noted the two fellows in a heated discussion. She’d like to be a fly on the wall to hear what they were saying about her. Marla had no doubt she was the topic of their discussion.
Should she have been more subtle? Hopefully, they’d regard her as an annoying tourist. They didn’t know about her connection to Raymond or his family.
Speaking of family, it nagged at her that Annie’s young patient was affected by her father’s job. Anything that bothered Dalton’s clan had become her concern. In this case, gaining information about the water bottling company might prove useful.
As she strode down the street in the hot afternoon sun, she wondered if all bottling plants were located near a natural source like Otto’s place was, or did they reside in cities and use municipal water? She’d have to research the subject later and maybe take Otto up on his offer to give her a tour. And how come he’d shown up in person to make an appointment with Brigham? He could have phoned or had his manager schedule the inspection.
Her musings fled when she spotted Dalton waiting for her at their designated meeting site. His expression brightened at her approach.
“How was your chat with the sheriff?” she said, warmed by his presence.
“Good. We had lunch together and swapped stories. Did you enjoy your visit with Annie?”
“It was lovely. I like her a lot. She’s smart and independent, like me.” Marla couldn’t help the broad grin on her face. “Where did you eat? You could have joined us.”
“Nah, we got burgers at the corner grill, and then I shopped around for a hat. Come, I’ll show you the one I picked out.”
She followed Dalton to the store and ended up buying a costly hat for herself, along with a western-style blouse, a leather belt, some souvenirs, and a pack of Arizona Mountain High bottled water to keep in their resort suite.
Marla’s replay of her conversation in Brigham’s office hovered in her throat, but she suppressed telling her husband about it until later. Instead, she addressed the shopkeeper while Dalton paid for their purchases with a credit card.
“I gather this water is bottled right there on the mountain. How awesome. What’s the source, a natural spring?” She spoke in a light, breezy tone like a curious tourist.
“Yes, ma’am.” The man spoke in a drawl as he gave Dalton the charge slip to sign.
“What else have you heard about the place? Have you met its owner, Otto Lovelace?”
“Oh, sure. Dude comes into town to buy supplies every now and then. He’s a strange one. Doesn’t say much and keeps an eye on his watch like he’s in a hurry to be somewhere else.”
“Is that right? Does he come alone or with his family?”
“Ain’t got no family from what I heard. He lives in a fancy mansion all by himself on the hilltop yonder.” He pointed out the window in the general direction of the bottling plant.
“Rightly so. At least, he’s the only one who can get near Lovelace’s operation.” The shopkeeper leaned forward and lowered his voice. “There’s some heavy artillery guarding that place. You don’t want to go anywhere near it.”
“What do you mean?” Dalton said in a sharp tone.
“A couple of hikers got lost on the hillside and met armed guards patrolling the perimeter.”
“That seems a bit extreme for a water bottling facility,” Marla commented.
“Not really, if you consider what some of those environmental nutcases out there will do. Lovelace is right to be wary of them.”
“Why would he be concerned about environmentalists? Have they made a fuss around here?”
The man handed Dalton a receipt. “You can ask the sheriff, ma’am. He’s dealt with them a time or two. Maybe Lovelace is afraid they’ll blow up his place like those eco-terrorists did in Colorado. Those folks can be fanatical in their beliefs.”
They thanked the man and then moseyed on to their SUV to stick their packages inside.
“Now what? Do you want to see the sheriff again to ask him about those armed guards?” Marla said from the sidewalk. “Maybe there’s substance to this radical movement angle. Extremists could be involved in the accidents at the ghost town.”
Dalton checked the time. “I hate to bother him again, but we’re right here.”
“By the way, I met the engineer, Matthew Brigham, who does the water plant inspections. At Annie’s suggestion, I stopped by his office. We were having a nice talk when Otto Lovelace walked inside.” She related their conversations.
“Let’s see what Sheriff Beresby has to say on these issues. We didn’t talk about Garrett’s death. I thought it was best to get to know the sheriff on a personal basis.”
Brushing aside Dalton’s apology for taking up more of his time, the mustached lawman ushered them into his enclave and bid them take seats.
“Those activists are nothing but trouble,” Beresby said from behind his desk, while Marla and Dalton sat opposite him. “Garrett Long had his hands full keeping track of their activities.”
“I know you can’t say much, but did you get any reports in yet?” Dalton asked.
Beresby gave him a grim nod. “I’m calling it a homicide. Garrett didn’t fall off that ledge by himself. He’d know his way around the ridge with a blindfold on. My guess is that someone lured him there and then pushed him.”
“Find any evidence at the scene?”
Marla glanced between the men. Why would the sheriff reveal details of an ongoing investigation to two strangers from out of town?
“I looked you up, you know,” he told Dalton without answering his question. “You have a sterling reputation. Your case closure rate is unusually high.”
“I do my best.” Dalton patted Marla’s shoulder. “And I have a very sharp-witted, albeit unofficial, sidekick.”
“Actually, I’ve heard something that might help in your investigation,” she said to the sheriff. “While we were out shopping, I noticed the white smoke coming from the mountain. I understand the plume is steam issuing from Otto Lovelace’s bottling plant. One of the store cashiers told us that armed guards patrol his property. Is that usual in these parts? Are environmental groups active here and causing trouble?”
Beresby stroked his mustache. “Domestic terrorism is a major concern. Radical animal rights and environmental groups have claimed responsibility for hundreds of crimes, so it isn’t uncommon for them to resort to violence. They’ve caused millions of dollars in damage and even target people who work for companies they believe might be causing harm. Over in Colorado, one of these groups bombed a water bottling facility. So Lovelace’s precautions are reasonable. As they work in scattered terrorist cells, they’re often difficult to trace.”
“Has my uncle mentioned anything to you about strange goings-on at his project?” Dalton said, shooting Marla a sidelong glance.
“Besides the workman who ran off? He never made that report official.”
“There have been other incidents. He’d get angry at me for telling you, but you should be aware that apparent acts of sabotage have been happening there and on the ranch. Uncle Ray says Hugh Donovan is at fault.”
“Does he?” Beresby’s expression shuttered.
“I’m stretching here, but Uncle Ray and Garrett Long were riding buddies. Could my uncle be in danger? I mean, what if they’d both come across something on the trail they didn’t realize was dangerous? Garrett may have taken it upon himself to investigate, and he ended up dead. Could it involve one of these terrorist cells?”
The sheriff raised a hand. “I’ll admit eco-terrorists are a possibility. In his job, Garrett might have made many enemies. We’re consulting with the rangers on that angle. But I’m more concerned with looking closer to home. Garrett’s family, friends, and colleagues, for example, aren’t above suspicion.”
Before either of them could respond, a loud knock sounded on the door.
A deputy burst inside. “You’re needed, Sheriff. There’s been an explosion at Craggy Peak.”
Marla’s heart lurched, and she shot to her feet. “Is anyone hurt?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. The rescue team is on its way.”
Dalton was halfway to the door before she collected her wits. “We’ll meet you there, Sheriff. Come on, Marla.”
Her heart raced as they careened up the mountain in their loaner SUV. Was Raymond all right? Had any workers been injured? What had caused the explosion?
Chaos met them along the curving road when they reached the construction site. Flashing lights came from emergency vehicles blocking their path ahead. Dalton diverted onto a side street and found a parking space. The warm afternoon sun beat down on their heads as they emerged and climbed a set of steep concrete stairs to the next level.
Marla’s breath came short, either from the altitude or her anxiety. What would they find among the rubble?
Dust and debris spread everywhere. Men in soiled work clothes milled around a gaping hole that had opened between two buildings. Backed up to a wall of rock, it fortunately hadn’t taken along any of the adjacent structures into the crater. Rescue personnel struggled to extricate survivors while sheriff’s deputies maintained crowd control.
Marla searched people’s heads for Raymond’s tall figure. She identified him by his cowboy hat and heaved a whoosh of relief. A deputy stood by taking notes.
She yanked on Dalton’s arm and drew him in their direction.
“Uncle Ray,” she called. She gave the startled older man a quick hug. “We’re glad you’re okay. We were talking to Sheriff Beresby in town when he got the news.”
Raymond’s face pinched. “We’re going to have to halt operations until we get things cleaned up and inspected again per safety regulations. I lost two men, and several others are injured.”
“What happened?” Dalton asked, his expression grim.
Raymond glared at him as though he should have prevented the collapse. “Looks like we hit a cache of old dynamite left over from the mining days while we were working on this building’s foundation. It’s always been a possibility with all the tunnels underlying the town.”
“You can’t be too careful around here with our history,” Beresby said, approaching with a shake of his head. “It was only a matter of time before you came upon some blasting caps or dynamite waiting to blow.”
“Was it? Maybe we dug too deep and hit a mine shaft, or maybe somebody planted this stuff here and wanted us to believe so.”
“We’ll be able to tell if any modern materials were used to set off the explosion. Consider your site shut down for
now.”
Raymond stamped his booted foot. “This delay is going to cost me.”
Marla was taken aback by his seeming lack of concern for the workers who’d been killed. “I hope you have insurance,” she murmured, wondering what hospital the injured would be taken to in the area. During the mining camp’s heyday, there had been one nearby.
“We have workmen’s compensation, liability, the whole bit. Not to worry there. These boys will be well looked after until they’re on their feet, and I’ll take care of the families for the ones we lost. My gut tells me this wasn’t an accident. We’ve had our heavy equipment out here and haven’t hit a time bomb like this before now.”
Beresby, having waved off his deputy, hooked his thumbs into his belt. “As I said, these hills can be hazardous. You never know what will turn up. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go see how the rescue operation is coming along.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Marla said softly to Raymond after the sheriff left.
His eyes glittered in the late afternoon rays. “Thanks. I’m glad you two are here. Son, you have to get to the bottom of this,” he told Dalton. “Someone’s out to get me. They want me to fail so I’ll have to sell my properties. That’s never going to happen.”
“Do you have any evidence to support your theory?” her husband inquired in the noncommittal tone he used to interview suspects.
“No, whoever is doing this is careful to cover his tracks.”
Like you? What if he’d planted the explosive himself? It would throw suspicion off him, if the sheriff harbored any notions that Raymond might be involved in Garrett Long’s death.
The sheriff must know more about their relationship. Did the two men only go riding together? Or were they friends who confided in each other? Had Raymond told Garrett why he felt such animosity toward Hugh Donovan?
Perhaps the reverse had happened. Garrett told Raymond about a problem he’d encountered at work. Now Garrett was dead. Perhaps the murderer had set his sights on Raymond next to eliminate the threat of exposure.
Or not. Dalton had suggested maybe his uncle and Garrett had come across something related to criminal activity on a riding trail and hadn’t realized its significance.
Peril by Ponytail (A Bad Hair Day Mystery) Page 8
