The Devil's Cradle

by Sylvia Nobel

  The look of adoration shining in her huge eyes, combined with my sudden vision of the prince in Cinderella kneeling to tenderly slide the glass slipper onto her foot, made it hard to swallow past the lump in my throat. Now this would definitely make great copy, I thought, mentally framing the scene.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “But, I’m still a little fuzzy. I think maybe I’ll just sit here on the floor for a few more minutes.”

  “Sure, whatever. And if you feel up to it Haston and I thought you might like to take a tour of the mine property.”

  Her eyes remained anchored on him. “I’d like that. If...if I could just have a drink of water and rest a little longer, I’ll be ready.”

  “Of course.” Duncan signaled the request to Haston who moved swiftly into the narrow adjoining kitchen and pulled open a smudged, dented refrigerator that looked like it hadn’t seen soap and water in decades. The room apparently served more as an extension of the office than an eating facility since the table, counters, and most of the floor space were piled high with boxes and folders.

  Returning seconds later with a paper cup, he stared out the front window and his steps faltered at the sound of an approaching vehicle. He whispered, “Shit!”

  I followed his gaze and felt a mild twinge of surprise to see D.J. pull up in the Suburban with Jesse seated next to him. When her gaze fell on my car the usual scowl on her face deepened to outrage and she turned her wrath on D.J. Eyes bulging, she cocked her finger beneath his chin like a switchblade. I wished to heavens, I could hear what she was saying.

  One thing for certain, D.J. appeared to be one cool dude. Seemingly unaffected by her tongue-lashing, he fixed her with a devious smile and shrugged his innocence.

  When she threw open the door, her parting shot of, “I ought to fire your ass!” rang out as she slid to the ground and stomped towards the trailer, her red face distorted, her ample bosom heaving with indignation.

  As D.J. drove away, I looked back at Haston in time to see a look of subterfuge ricochet between him and Duncan. Well, well, I thought with amusement. So that’s why the loveable Jesse had not been present. Apparently her sly-dog of a husband had managed to outfox her. Until now.

  Hastily handing off the cup to Audrey, he managed to put the desk between himself and Jesse before she stormed through the door and slammed a folder down so hard that papers flew. “You lying sonuvabitch! You didn’t really need this report, did you?”

  “Now, sweetie...” he began only to have her snarl, “And D.J. was in on this, wasn’t he? Car trouble, my ass. You were trying to keep me away.”

  “That’s not true,” he sniveled, melting under her flinty glare. “We did wait for you, but...but my cousin isn’t feeling well, so we’re wrapping it up early.”

  Jesse’s thick-jawed face flattened into puzzlement as she spotted Audrey on the floor, and I couldn’t stop myself from fixating on the enormous, brown mole protruding from her upper lip.

  I almost felt sorry for her at that moment. Nature had not been kind in the looks department, and to make matters worse, she possessed the sartorial taste of Bozo the clown. Her orange polka dotted, lime-green blouse clashed stunningly with her overly-tight pink stretch pants, which did nothing except call attention to the unsightly bulges rumpling her thighs. Bleached blond hair, piled high in a dated beehive, added to her overpowering height, and emphasized more than ever the contrast between her and her scrawny husband. “What the hell’s the matter with her?” Jesse asked, pointing a long, blood red fingernail at Audrey.

  Haston cleared his throat. “Nothing much, really. She just had a...little...seizure.”

  “A little seizure?” she mimicked, casting a critical eye at first me and then Duncan before returning her gaze to Audrey.

  “All right then,” he said, his almost non-existent lips expanding in a conciliatory sigh. “It seems that our cousin suffers from epilepsy.”

  Jesse clapped her hands together and barked out a scornful laugh. “Oh, this is rich! Another mental defective in your family.”

  “That remark was completely uncalled for,” Duncan said, eyeing her with disdain before slanting Haston a look that challenged him to do something.

  Audrey looked wounded but refused to shrink under the woman’s withering gaze. It cheered me to think that her heightened confidence level was a result of her new station in life, or perhaps it was Duncan’s firm presence beside her

  “Shut up, Jesse,” Haston said, finally taking a stand. “Mr. Claypool and I we’re just about to show the ladies around the property. If you promise to behave yourself, you can come along.”

  “Screw all of you.” She stalked into the kitchen, withdrew a bottle of beer from the refrigerator and pressed it to her mouth. After taking a long swig, she evil-eyed her husband. “How can you allow yourself to be played for such a sucker?”

  He glared a warning at her. “That’s enough.”

  “You spineless coward. I can’t believe you’re gonna just hand over everything we’ve slaved for this past year. What about the woman who called to tell us about her? Have you forgotten that already?”

  Haston’s face grew scarlet and he seemed to be calling upon a higher power to grant him patience as he slowly cracked his knuckles one by one.

  It all made for fine drama, but I was baffled. Haston actually seemed to possess a modicum of intelligence and for the life of me I couldn’t fathom why he had married such a shrew. I could only hazard that she must be dynamite in bed, because to me she didn’t appear to have a single redeeming feature.

  “You heard Dr. Orcutt say he’d vouch for her validity,” Haston insisted. “Whoever made that phone call was obviously trying to stir things up again. Look, we’re going to have to play the cards we’ve been dealt, so you may as well cooperate.”

  The mole rose higher as her lips curled with contempt. “This whole thing stinks to high heaven. Thank God I don’t have shit for brains like you.” She slid her hapless mate one final glare before returning her attention to the beer.

  In a swift exchange of glances, we read the ‘let’s-get-the-hell-out-of-here’ message blazing in Duncan’s eyes as he sharply inclined his head towards the door. Nodding in silent unison we all filed outside.

  With Audrey’s mysterious phone call from last night still uppermost in my mind, what I really wanted to do was query Jesse about hers. The fact that there was really only room in the truck’s cab for three provided a convenient excuse. “Listen, I need to put some film in my camera and then I’ll follow along in a few minutes.”

  They agreed and Haston directed me to meet them at the mine entrance that he indicated was only half a mile further up the road.

  After they drove out, I returned to my car to retrieve the camera. I probably lingered there longer than necessary, but it also gave me a few minutes to gather my thoughts and decide how I was going to approach the nefarious Jesse.

  Chapter 12

  I hadn’t really formulated a specific plan by the time I trudged back to the trailer, but decided the worst that could happen would be she’d throw me out on my head.

  Opening the door warily, I got the surprise of my life when I found her hunched behind the desk, a cigarette burning in one hand, a beer in the other and a trickle of mascara-blackened tears streaming down her cheeks. The expression of unadulterated misery reflected in her eyes caused me to reconsider my firm belief that this blustery woman had no heart.

  “What do you want?” she asked, dabbing her face with the heel of one hand.

  “I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “Go away.”

  Her command seemed to lack real conviction so, ignoring her request, I closed the door behind me, hoping her unexpected vulnerability would allow me to puncture her brittle exterior.

  “I can understand how you feel. It was really unkind of Haston to leave you out of such an important meeting.”

  She eyed me skeptically for a few seconds, took a swallow of beer, then ro
lled the bottle between her hands. “He’s a bastard.”

  I sat down near the desk, trying not to breathe in the cigarette fumes. “Listen, Jesse, maybe you can help me out.”

  “I doubt it.”

  I ignored her remark. “What makes you so positive Audrey Morgan is an imposter? The family resemblance is unmistakable.”

  Her sidelong glare still held suspicion. “I don’t know why I should tell you anything. You’re on her side.”

  “I’m not on anyone’s side. I’m simply here to report a story as objectively as I can. If you have proof to refute her claim, I’d like to see it and I’m sure the authorities would too.”

  “I don’t have any actual proof.” She took a deep drag on the cigarette before smashing it out in the ashtray.

  “Just to clarify things. When did Dr. Orcutt first tell you Haston had a cousin?”

  Her top teeth clamped over her lower lip for a few seconds before she answered. “I dunno. About two weeks ago, I guess. Right after the old man kicked the bucket. Orcutt showed up here and parked his butt right where you’re sitting now.”

  It was obvious there was no love lost there. “What exactly did he tell you?”

  “That he knew Grady’s will specified that the closest living relative inherit the estate, and he was honor-bound to disclose this Angela Martin’s real identity.”

  “But neither of you believed him.”

  “Why should we? Why should we just roll over and accept his word that some strange girl, who he himself told everyone was dead as a doornail, mind you, suddenly came back to life?”

  “Didn’t he offer any background information on why Rita Morgan left town?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I can buy the part about Grady beating the shit out of her but the rest of it, man-oh-man.” She rolled her eyes, tipped the bottle to her mouth again and then croaked out an unladylike belch.

  She was a real class act. Careful not to show my disgust, I asked, “What did you do then?”

  Her grin was sardonic. “Called him a goddamn liar, of course.”

  “I heard.”

  “Yep, he said if we didn’t believe him, we could call the girl ourselves.”

  I raised a brow. “Dr. Orcutt gave you her phone number?”

  “Uh huh. He said that was all the proof he could give us until she got here with her so-called credentials, and that we’d just have to take his word for it.”

  “Did you try to contact her?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  She rocked the chair back on two legs. “Haston planned to but the next day we got that real strange phone call.”

  “Really? From whom?”

  “Don’t know. Some woman. She swore up and down she knew Rita Morgan from years back and that there was no way in hell the girl who would be coming to town could possibly be her kid.”

  “Based on what?”

  “She said, ‘don’t be fooled. Ask the doctor. He knows the truth.’”

  “Did you?”

  “What?”

  “Question him about the phone call?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “He got real uptight, asking us over and over if we knew who it was. We told him no and then he just acted pissed off and said someone out there was just trying to stir up trouble.”

  I repeated what I’d told Tugg about seeing the birth certificate and how Dr. Orcutt had admitted he altered the name and date. “And if anyone in the world can substantiate her real identity,” I went on, “it has to be him. He ought to remember whether he delivered her or not, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe he did, but that don’t prove a shittin’ thing. What makes you think the whole goddamn thing isn’t bogus?”

  She’d hit on the same theory as Tugg and pinpricks of doubt made me hesitate for an instant before saying, “Well...because, he’d have to be an idiot to think that I, or anyone else for that matter, couldn’t easily check it out.”

  Her lopsided smile radiated scorn. “And just how would you do that?”

  “Easy enough. If Audrey was five years old when he altered her birth certificate, the real one will be on file.”

  “Well, good luck trying to find it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The old court house burned down fifteen years ago.”

  “Were all the records destroyed?” I asked hoarsely, trying to ignore the hollow chill invading my stomach.

  “You got it, Sherlock. And the doc knows that.”

  Her inference was damning and took me off guard for a few seconds. “Jesse, the person who phoned you at the Morgan place the other night. Was it the same woman who called the first time?”

  “I don’t know. It was the middle of the god damned night and it was kind of hard to hear what she was saying anyway.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the connection was all fuzzy.”

  My heart jumped with excitement. “You mean static?”

  A careless shrug. “I guess you could say that.”

  Bingo! I finally had something concrete to link her and Audrey’s anonymous calls. My excitement level rose further when it occurred to me that it might be the same woman who’d been tormenting Grady Morgan. “What did she say to you?”

  “Something like, get the hell out of this house. It doesn’t belong to you.”

  For a moment, I chewed on her information, then said, “I’ve heard from several sources that Grady had been getting crank calls months before his accident. Did he ever talk about them to you or Haston?”

  A look of cunning crept into her eyes. “Not directly.”

  “Did Marta mention the calls?”

  She took a sudden interest in reading the label on the beer bottle. “I can’t remember.”

  Somehow her answer didn’t ring true, so I acted on a hunch. “Tell me something, Jesse,” I asked, maintaining a pleasant, even tone. “When you were giving D.J. the business a little while ago, I heard you threaten to fire him. Does that mean he wasn’t hired by Grady?”

  Her attempt to look guileless was so pathetically transparent she finally gave me an unapologetic shrug. “We needed someone to be our eyes and ears.”

  I couldn’t mask my surprise. “He was spying for you?”

  The chair lurched forward with a bang. “Listen, O’Donnell...

  “O’Dell.”

  “Um...yeah, well, you don’t know how weird the old man was acting those last months. I mean, he seemed open to Haston’s ideas when we first came to him but, after a few weeks he started acting real bizarre. I’m telling you, the man needed a keeper.”

  The image of D.J. standing silently in the darkened parlor last evening flickered through my mind. Was he still spying for Jesse? “So, it was part of D.J.’s job to keep an eye on things and report back to you?”

  “It was for the old fart’s own good. He’d get so shit faced D.J. would have to hide the car keys. And a couple a times he had to put the old man to bed after he’d passed out on the floor.” Her smile was mocking as she twirled a finger around her temple. “Talk about a loonytoon. D.J. told us sometimes he’d be roaming around the old part of the house at all hours of the night talking to ghosts, for crissake.”

  She eyed the rim of the empty bottle and heaved a sigh. “Haston hates it when I drink before noon. He says I’m going to end up a raving alcoholic like Grady. But he’s full of it.” As if to contradict herself, she rose and crossed to pull another cold brew from the refrigerator. “I can stop anytime I want to. I just...don’t want to. She took a long drink and stared foggy-eyed at a faded watercolor hanging askew near the kitchen window.

  More important than her own admission was her reference to Grady’s erratic behavior that segued into my next question. “I understand you and Grady didn’t get along too well.”

  “That sure as hell wasn’t my fault. He was a waste of skin. One day he’d promise to sign the papers, we’d get our hopes all jacked up and the next day he’d shit on t
he deal.”

  “And time was running out for you and Haston, wasn’t it?”

  Her hand curled into a fist. “He knew how important this was to us. He knew damn well.”

  “Did he refuse again that last afternoon before he died?”

  “He wouldn’t listen to reason. I could’ve wrung his scrawny neck...” She paused and glared red-hot daggers at me. “So that’s what you’ve been up to this whole time. Guess you think you’re pretty clever don’t you, Miss Hot-Shot-Reporter?”

  I managed a thin smile. “Well, you and Willow Windsong were the last people to see him alive.”

  “So what?” She advanced towards me and slammed the bottle down on the desk with such force the liquid rocketed upward. “Did the sheriff put you up to this? The sonuvabitch is still trying to pin this thing on me, isn’t he?”

  The murderous gleam in her eyes propelled me towards the safety of the door. Crap! My habit of asking one too many questions had caught up with me again.

  “Get the hell out of here! And you can tell that skinny little fraud I’m going to haul her ass into court and have her declared mentally incompetent. You hear me? I’m not turning this place over to some retard!”

  I needed no further prompting and hotfooted it outside while she peppered the air behind me with a maze of profanity that would have impressed a Marine. “Why don’t you go do your job and question that nut-case, Willow Windsong. She’s the one who oughta be locked up. That weirdo’s been a thorn in my side since we got here.” She shut the door so hard, the mobile home rocked on its foundation.

  I reached my car in record time and jammed the key into the ignition. As the engine roared to life, I thought that if Grady Morgan was considered a loonytoon, Jesse Pickrell certainly couldn’t be far behind. It wasn’t difficult to envision her shoving the poor old sot off the balcony.

  All along the final stretch of rough road leading to the mine entrance, my thoughts tumbled over one another. If one assumed Jesse was telling the truth, then who was this mysterious woman who’d suddenly surfaced claiming to have known Rita Morgan a long time ago and what did she stand to gain by denouncing Audrey as an imposter? Was she the same person who’d harassed Grady and now Audrey?