The Devil's Cradle

by Sylvia Nobel

  “Well, it’s about time,” his hearty voice boomed over the line. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten all about us.”

  One fact was established already. There was no trace of static on this phone, so it had definitely come from the other end. “Hardly,” I replied, stifling a yawn. “I’ve just been up to my eyeballs in one crisis after another till now. Listen, if it’s too late, I’ll call you tomorrow at the office.”

  “Sounds like you’re the one who’s tired.”

  “I’m okay. How’s it going there?”

  “I’ll tell you, it was good to be back in the saddle again. I didn’t get home until almost eight,” he said with enthusiasm before confiding, “just between you and me, I think Mary’s kind of tickled to have me out of the house.”

  I smiled to myself, remembering her fervent plea for him to do just that. “Well, I’m glad, Tugg. I’ve been worried about your health and all...”

  “Hey, I’m feeling better than I have for months. In fact, I’ve been doing some thinking,” he added, a sly note entering his voice. “Since you’re obviously happier doing what you’re doing, and if we can get another reporter on board, maybe you’d be open to discussing a...well, let’s say a job sharing arrangement when you get back?”

  That made my day. “Yeah,” I replied, unable to keep from grinning. “I’d be open to that. But getting back to why you called. What’s up?”

  We discussed several work-related problems that had developed and after we’d explored solutions, he said, “Tally reminded me of the Morgan piece we ran last May. Looks like you may be jumping into more than you bargained for.”

  “Things get more complicated by the hour.”

  His merry chuckle rumbled in my ear. “And knowing you, you’re in hog heaven. Got anything for me?”

  “Nothing we can print yet. I’ve got notes and tapes I haven’t even had time to go through.” I gave him a thumbnail sketch of the last two days and listened to his low whistle of amazement. “So, you think this Dr. Orcutt is the brains behind all these shenanigans?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “Well, what about the caller tonight? Sounds like it might be something this Jesse character would do.”

  “Maybe, but the more I think about it the less sense it makes. She’s got an explosive personality, but I can’t believe she’s stupid enough to threaten Audrey right before such an important meeting. It would be more worthwhile for her and Haston to have Audrey on their side, not to alienate her further.”

  “Who’s your second choice?”

  “Could be the lady environmentalist or, it’s an awfully interesting coincidence that Marta just happens to be out this evening, and then there is...” I hesitated as another possibility suddenly surfaced.

  “What?”

  “Well, it’s a long shot, but, there’s also Dr. Orcutt’s wife. I ran into her downtown this afternoon and she gave me a really strange look.”

  “What kind of strange?”

  “Well, it was sort of...melancholy. I got the feeling she was trying to mentally communicate something important to me.”

  “So, you think she might be the caller?”

  “Maybe. She was definitely less than thrilled about Audrey’s sudden appearance, but what reason would she have for wanting to chase her away?”

  “This whole thing is bizarre as hell. How’s the Morgan gal holding up?”

  “So-so. She’s weathered enough shocks to throw anyone for a loop and frankly, she was ready to turn tail and run, but I convinced her to stay and tough things out.”

  “You don’t sound happy about it.”

  “Yes and no. I think it’s something she needs to do for herself, but at the same time, I don’t want to be responsible for placing her in danger.”

  He was uncharacteristically silent for a moment, then asked in a gruff voice, “What was the reason again for not calling the sheriff after this crank call tonight?”

  “She said she was too tired and like you, suspected it was probably just Jesse anyway.”

  “Hmmmm.”

  “What does hmmmm mean?”

  “Oh, nothing, just that you and I both know that anonymous tips are the life blood of any good reporter, right?”

  “What are you getting at, Tugg?”

  He apparently caught the tinge of irritation in my voice. “Now, don’t get your dander up. Let me play devil’s advocate for a minute. How do you know this girl is the genuine article?”

  “What? Of course she is. I saw the birth certificate myself and...”

  “Ah, ah, ah. You told me the doctor devised a fake one for her when she was a kid, right?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How do you know this one isn’t?”

  Tuggs unexpected words sent a shock wave through me. “But… but… I’m sure it’s valid. The lawyer in Tucson gave it to her personally.”

  “Did you see this guy yourself?”

  “Well...no. I didn’t actually meet him.” My answer sounded lame and I fought the cold uneasiness gathering inside me.

  “My point exactly. And how do you know what’s-his-face and Jesse aren’t correct? Maybe Orcutt and this girl are in cahoots. What do you really know about her other than what you heard from your brother and what she’s told you? Hell, she could have lied to him.”

  I thought of the emotion-filled scene I’d witnessed between her and the doctor. Could it have all been an act for my benefit? “Oh, come on, Tugg. Are you trying to tell me that she and Orcutt and this whole town have cooked up some kind of grand conspiracy to defraud her cousin? What about the old photos I saw? She’s a dead ringer for her father, and her grandfather.”

  “Easy enough. The good doctor could have gone out and hired someone who looks enough like the real Morgans to pull it off.”

  “Give me a break. She’d have to be an Oscar-winning actress to pull off a stunt like this. Listen, I’ve spent almost every minute of the last forty-eight hours with her. Don’t you think I’d notice if there were inconsistencies? No offense, Tugg, but I think you’re off the reservation on this one.”

  My exasperation spawned a sympathetic laugh. “Hey, don’t go postal on me. I suppose there’s a chance I could be completely off base, but it sounds to me like you’re on the verge of losing your objectivity.”

  “I am not,” I fired back uncomfortably aware there was a kernel of truth in what he said. Perhaps it was time to back up and take a careful look at everything. “Okay,” I said when he didn’t respond, “I’ll take what you’ve said into consideration.”

  “Good. I have the utmost confidence in you. And remember, you got a hell of a story going here either way.” It took me a few seconds to realize what he was saying and it left me numb. “Gotcha.”

  After promising to call him again, I replaced the receiver and paced the room with nervous energy, eager to dismiss the damning hypothesis as totally outlandish, but, nonetheless, it weighed on my shoulders like a lead cape. Was it possible she’d played me for a fool? For a few seconds, I contemplated rushing upstairs to demand the truth, but decided against opening that can of worms at such a late hour.

  While washing my face at the pedestal sink in the drafty old bathroom, I stared at my anxious reflection in the wavy mirror. How was I going to find out if Audrey was an imposter? It wouldn’t be the first time something like this had happened. In the few months since my arrival, I’d learned the sad fact that Arizona was one of the con artist capitals of the United States.

  Was I being duped into being an accessory to a diabolical scheme? And what about Tugg’s final assertion that even if Audrey was a fraud I’d still have a great story. How did I feel about that?

  The roar of a car engine scattered my thoughts like dry leaves, so I ran to the window in time to see Marta climb from the Suburban before it rolled down the hill. Within seconds, lights glowed inside D.J.’s tiny cottage.

  As I crawled into bed and piled pillows behind my back, I revisited the notion of Marta as a
possible suspect. It seemed logical enough that if she was pilfering items from the house, it would certainly be beneficial for her to have Audrey out of the picture. She knew we’d be here alone tonight. She could have called from anywhere. But for some unknown reason, that theory was as unacceptable to me as Audrey being a fake.

  For the next hour, I sifted through my notes and listened to the recording of Dr. Orcutt’s conversation before setting everything aside in disgust. I was no further ahead now than before I’d started.

  My hand was on the lamp switch when my eyes fell on the epilepsy book. Despite the fact that it was almost eleven o’clock, I began to read and it was close to one before I laid it on the nightstand and turned off the light.

  Considering how tired I was, I expected to drift off to sleep immediately. Heaven knows the setting was perfect. Deliciously so. Snuggling into the soft sheets, I listened to the old clock tick a rhythmic lullaby and watched moonlight filter through the gently fluttering lace curtains and dance across the hardwood floor like dew drops. The effect was utterly hypnotic and still, I could not sleep. Instead, I lay there while a profusion of thoughts bumped and rolled around inside my head like balls in a lottery bin, each one generating new questions that spun off in different directions.

  Try as I might, I could not banish the sinking sensation Tugg’s words had spawned. Had my feelings of compassion for Audrey blinded me? It just didn’t seem possible that I could be such a poor judge of human nature. But how could she conceivably be acting? Filled with frustration, I went over in my mind the facts I’d just read.

  Apparently there was such a thing as an “epileptic personality” which some psychologists described as selfish, emotionally unstable, fawning and irritating. Well, that was Audrey in a nutshell, I concluded, plumping the pillows for the tenth time. And while some professionals claimed these disagreeable traits were a neurological by-product of epilepsy, others blamed the environment of ignorance, prejudice and fear of rejection created by the constant tension of not knowing when a seizure would occur.

  Certainly her skittish behavior could dovetail into the fact that the powerful drugs prescribed often generate a myriad of side effects, including hallucinations.

  But the paragraph that jumped off the page at me was the one that cited some of the known causes of epilepsy. Besides birth trauma and infectious diseases, it was often attributed to a severe blow to the head. Hadn’t Dr. Orcutt said she’d suffered a concussion from her fall? But if everything else was a hoax he could have manufactured that story too.

  However, the most damaging evidence of all, was that I’d yet to witness what the book described as a tonic clonic seizure, formerly referred to as grand mal. If Audrey had been coached, she could easily be acting out the absence seizures where the person stares blankly for a few seconds, and then appears disoriented. Had she also faked the incident on the plane?

  I stopped the next thought and pressed my hands to my temples. What was I doing? Deliberately driving myself nuts? “Stop it,” I said aloud. It took monumental effort, but I finally rendered my mind a total blank and dropped into a sound sleep.

  A strange noise woke me sometime later. Senses alert I sat up in bed, my eyes searching for the cause. “Who’s there?” I whispered. A sudden movement from the dresser near the doorway made my blood turn cold. A scream rose in my throat as something hurled onto my bed.

  It took me a few heart-thumping seconds to realize the dark shape was only Princess. Giddy relief swept over me when she meowed and pushed her nose against my arm. “You scared the living daylights out of me,” I scolded her in a shaky voice, stroking her silky fur until she threw herself down and rolled onto her back. Feeling slightly foolish, I wondered if it was the cat’s nocturnal wanderings that had spooked Jesse.

  The first faint sounds of bird song surprised me and I turned towards the window. Dawn was already stretching a thin silver thread along the hilltops as the grandfather clock confirmed the time with five resonant bongs.

  I moaned softly. Three hours of sleep was hardly sufficient, but positive that I’d be unable to doze off again, I picked up the purring ball of fluff and padded over to kneel by the open window where the cat and I sniffed the sweet morning air.

  With the expectation of a fiery showdown looming between Audrey and her cousin, I had little doubt this day would be fraught with emotion. Why not take a moment to savor the unfailing splendor of an Arizona sunrise? I wasn’t disappointed. The night sky was quickly eclipsed by a veritable paint palette of pastel pinks and blues, now brushing the eastern horizon. In moments the sun burst over the hill, snuffing out the radiance of Venus, and bathing the surrounding hills in a rosy glow. Was this a good omen for what lay ahead?

  Princess had her own ideas of how to welcome daybreak. She vaulted with feline grace from the window- sill and low-crawled through the grass until she came to the base of a crab apple tree. There she paused, still as a statue, waiting for her winged breakfast to appear. It was then that I saw something lying nearby, glinting red in the early morning sunlight.

  I had a quick flash of Orville Kemp digging around under the bushes searching for clues to Grady Morgan’s death and decided it might be worth while to check it out. Dressing quickly, I let myself out the front door and scurried across the lawn. The bird Princess had in her sights heard me coming and flapped to freedom leaving the annoyed cat glaring at me in disgust. She rose and sauntered away.

  “Sorry, girl.” I looked around, but saw nothing. From this angle, I didn’t have the benefit of the reflection so I got down on my hands and knees, trying to gauge the distance from my bedroom window. I combed the area, crawling around in the dewy grass until the knees of my jeans were soaked. I was about to give up when my fingers encountered something hard and smooth. “Bingo.” From the thick turf, I withdrew a narrow, gold hair barrette adorned with several colored stones. I turned it over in my hand. It didn’t look expensive. In fact, it looked like something one might pick up at a discount store or...perhaps, Mexico?

  I rocked back on my heels and turned to study the house. My bedroom window was probably no more than ten or fifteen feet from the front parlor window where Marta claimed she’d seen the silhouette of a woman run past that moonlit night. Cognizant of how poor her eyesight was, I questioned how accurate her description could be.

  Was the woman’s hair hanging loose because this barrette had been dislodged as she ran? Or...if Marta had fabricated the story, had she herself lost it as she hurried from the scene?

  But wait. I rose and shoved the barrette into my pocket. Grady had fallen into a ravine on the north side of the house. If this little bauble had any connection, why had I found it on the south side?

  I started back towards the house trying to convince myself that it might have no significance whatsoever. Nevertheless, I made a mental note to show it to the sheriff or Orville Kemp in Bisbee tomorrow.

  It was still early, so I decided there was time to enjoy the bubble bath I’d promised myself the night before. The old pipes knocked and whistled as I filled the ancient claw-footed tub. Then, I sank into the lavender-scented water and allowed my mind to drift.

  The past two days had been stressful and crisis-filled, but I knew in my heart that being a free-wheeling reporter suited my disposition far better than being chained to a desk and pushing papers around all day. The more I thought about Tugg’s idea to job share, the more appealing it became, even if it meant a pay cut.

  I couldn’t wait to discuss the news with Tally and hoped Ginger had forwarded my request for him to call me before leaving for Mexico to purchase his stallion. It gave me a rather empty feeling to know he’d be out of touch for five days, but I knew we’d have a great time making up for lost time when we were together again. He was definitely one in a million. In spite of our powerful attraction to each other, there were times when our volatile personalities still clashed, but I felt confident we’d overcome whatever obstacles lay ahead.

  With reluctance, I abandoned
the bath, padded to my room, and chose a short-sleeved, summer suit and low-heeled pumps. Capturing my unruly hair in a matching blue scrunchy, I appraised my reflection thoughtfully. Jeans and a simple T-shirt would have been preferable but it was important that I appear cool and professional.

  Audrey had taken pains with her appearance also. As we sat down to breakfast in the sun-drenched kitchen, I thought she looked very pretty in the simple white sundress sprinkled with tiny yellow daisies. But her apprehension was evident. Makeup didn’t conceal the charcoal smudges beneath her eyes. She fidgeted with her napkin and picked at the Belgian waffle Marta set before her.

  Perhaps she’d slept as poorly as I had, and no doubt she was still troubled by her episode in the tower room last night as well as the crank call that followed. But what if it was more than that?

  Tugg’s misgivings about her identity resurfaced and I couldn’t help but view her in a different light. Was she truly dreading the confrontation or did she fear that Haston and Jesse would expose her carefully concocted scheme?

  “Why do you keep staring at me?” she demanded, catching my eye before I could look away.

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help noticing that you look sort of nervous.”

  She pushed her half-eaten waffle away and rested her elbows on the table. “Can you blame me? I know I promised I’d be strong, but I’ve never been very good at handling stressful situations. I never had to be. Mom always handled them for me.”

  “Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think. Listen, we have almost an hour to kill,” I said, rising from the table. “You want to take a walk before we leave?”

  Her face brightened. “Okay. Maybe that will calm me down a little.”

  Marta stopped us at the kitchen door to ask about lunch and see if it was still all right for her to take her usual Friday off. I felt a smile creep onto my face as Audrey graciously granted permission and then discussed several other household projects including her request for an exterminator.

  “Why?” Marta asked, looking puzzled. “He comes only two weeks ago.”