by Sylvia Nobel
“No one did,” she said rather smugly, settling back into the plush upholstery.
I finished my inspection, turned the key and the engine purred softly to life. Using extra care, I eased the big car down the drive. “Just to be safe, let’s stop by Toomey’s garage and gas up. We can also find out if this thing is road worthy and make sure we take the right route.” We attracted more than a little attention as we cruised along the downtown streets. The few people we saw froze in their tracks, gawking openly at Audrey who smiled and waved regally as if she were a member of the royal family. I suspected her giddy mood had more to do with her impending date with Duncan than anything else, but nevertheless, it was so contagious we were both laughing hilariously when we pulled up to the pump in front of Toomey’s place. Our arrival caused a similar stir among the small cluster of men sitting idle, still hunched over cards or dice as if they’d never moved from yesterday.
“Maybe we should have chosen something a little less conspicuous,” I said under my breath.
“No way,” Audrey whispered back. “This is way too much fun.”
Just then, Lamar Toomey emerged from the garage, wiping his hands on a rag and strolled up to us. “You two gals look like you’re up to no good,” he said with an ear to ear grin that accented his ruddy cheeks.
“Always,” I answered lightly before introducing him to Audrey.
He touched the brim of his grease-smudged cap. “How do, Miss Morgan. I see you got good taste, just like your pa.” His face glowed with reverent pride as he ran the cloth along the gleaming hood. “You picked the nicest one of the bunch.”
I winked at Audrey. “We decided to travel in style.” “I don’t really know much about these old cars,” she said with a shy smile, “but I guess they’re kind of valuable.”
“Yeah, kind of.”
I was puzzled by his solemn tone and hooded look of consternation. “Kendall says you did a lot of work for my father.”
“Yep, I did most of the restoration on this baby and I know for a fact it’s pretty near impossible to get hold of a ‘36 Packard in this condition.”
“It’s that old? How much would you say it’s worth?” Audrey asked with youthful candor.
Toomey shrugged. “In the neighborhood of a hundred thousand or so.”
Audrey and I exchanged a look of awe. “That’s a very nice neighborhood,” I said at length. “I told you we should have taken the Corvette.”
“I did most of the work on that little beauty too,” Toomey announced with a proud smile.
“But I like this one better,” Audrey said. “And anyway, what could happen? We’re not going to take Boneyard Pass this time, right Kendall?”
“That goes without saying.”
We would have saved a lot of time if we’d taken the car D.J. had already prepped for us. Besides gas and water, the old Packard needed air in all four tires and just as a precaution, Toomey instructed us on how to secure the canvas top in case of rain.
“And rest easy, I’ll have your Volvo ready bright and early Friday morning,” he assured me as I started the engine once more.
“Make sure you bill me for all the damage,” Audrey shouted to him as he waved good-bye.
Armed this time with a clearly marked map we headed up the steep narrow highway. For the first few miles the stress of driving such a grand, not to mention unbelievably pricey piece of machinery, weighed heavily on me as I white-knuckled it around the dizzying curves. But as the road plunged steadily downward and I grew more familiar with the feel of the car I was seized by an intoxicating thrill of adventure when the broad sun-splashed vista of the San Pedro valley opened up before us. When we finally rolled onto level ground and turned onto the state highway that shimmered away into the distance like a long silver ribbon, Audrey’s heightened spirits seemed to mirror my own as she excitedly urged me to greater speed. The drop of two thousand feet jacked up the afternoon temperature, but at least riding in the open car somewhat tempered the furnace-like wind that whipped our hair into a mass of tangles and painted a rosy glow on Audrey’s normally waxy cheeks.
“This is so cool,” she shrieked, holding her hands high in the air as we sped past the turn-off to Tombstone and glided toward the Huachuca Mountains towering above the dusty basin like a gigantic blue tidal wave.
Mindful of Audrey’s euphoric mood, I was reluctant to bring up the subject of D.J., but she had to know and I couldn’t put it off any longer. I slowed the car until the noise of the wind diminished. “Before we get to the lawyer’s office there are a few things I need to tell you.”
As I relayed the story of D.J.’s rendezvous with the dress form and his mysterious conversation with Hannah Morgan’s portrait, Audrey’s expression of puzzled interest dissolved to shock. “Oh, wow. That’s so creepy. Do you think he’s some kind of a psycho?”
“I don’t know but the next chapter is even more disturbing.” By the time I’d run through my encounter with Bitsy, sketched out the scene with Archie and tacked on evidence of possible drug use, she looked positively grim. “What do you think I should do?”
I shrugged. “D.J.’s kinky parlor games may be harmless, but this business with Archie Lawton could be another story.”
She started in on her remaining fingernails. “So, what should I do? Get rid of him?”
“That will have to be your decision.”
Her shoulders drooped and she fell silent for a few minutes, staring ahead vacant-eyed at the mound of clouds floating like fluffy meringue above Thunder Peak. The silence stretched so long, I was beginning to think she was having one of her absence seizures when she finally turned back to me. “What if you’re wrong?”
“About what?”
“About D.J. and Archie. You don’t have proof that they’re doing anything illegal.”
My brief glance at her revealed dark eyes brimming with uncertainty. “But what about the bottle and all the syringes I found at his place?”
“Maybe he has allergies just like Marta said.”
Her underlying note of childish optimism made me suspect that she was taking her usual route to avoid making a decision, but her reservations did cast a shadow of doubt on my theory. She was right, of course. I didn’t have a speck of evidence and had to grudgingly admit that I was relying solely on reporter’s intuition. While the subject of drug running was an interesting side issue, I had to face the unpleasant truth that I may have built it up in my mind because it would add additional drama to her story. Was Tally right? Was I looking for intrigue where there was none?
“I’ve got a gal at my office checking with a pharmacist right now,” I informed her. “And let’s say she comes back with the fact that he’s taking a perfectly legal substance. What about that odd exchange with Archie? And wait, something else just occurred to me. Remember I told you D.J. handed him a box? Well, what if he and Marta are in league together? They seem awfully cozy with each other.”
“What do you mean?”
“What if they’re both stealing things from the house?”
Audrey seemed to melt into the cushions. “Oh, no. What am I gonna do? Jesse and Willow already hate me, and if I fire D.J. then Marta and Bitsy will too.”
“That’s a chance you may have to take.”
“And what about this woman, Bitsy, anyway?” she said with a sudden flare of passion. “Why wouldn’t she tell you anything about my mother?”
“I never got to ask. The minute I mentioned your sister’s name she freaked out.”
“I wonder why?”
“I don’t know,” I said, braking to avoid a scrawny coyote loping across the road, “but Bitsy is not alone. When your sister’s name came up at the Muleskinner the other day, every guy in the place acted positively weird. By the way, I learned something new.”
Her face turned a shade whiter as I repeated D.J.’s assertion that her sister’s death by fire had occurred at the institution. “And speaking of weird, did you have a chance to ask Haston about those miss
ing pictures in the photo albums?”
“No. I was just about to when all the commotion started outside.”
“We’ll definitely take them with us tomorrow to show Ida Fairfield. If Whitey’s right, we may finally get the scoop on what really happened all those years ago and maybe she’ll be able to give us some clue as to why Dr. Orcutt didn’t bother to mention your sister either.”
“It’s probably one of the things he promised my mother he’d never tell.”
Her disheartened tone was disturbing. “But, you do want to find out, don’t you?”
She shrugged. “Do I really want to know that my sister tried to kill my father? What if she really was crazy?”
“What if she wasn’t? Don’t forget the reason your mother left him. He could have very well been beating the crap out of your sister too.”
“If that’s true, where was my mother while all this stuff was supposedly happening?”
“Good question. I’m hoping we’ll find the answer.” “It must be horrible,” she said, rubbing her arms as if she was suddenly cold. “So horrible no one will tell us. And you know, at this point I’m not sure how much more I can stand to hear.”
The ring of finality underscoring her words was disquieting enough but as she leaned back and closed her eyes I knew that if she retreated into her sheltered cocoon I’d never learn the end of this story.
More accustomed to her mood shifts now, I relinquished a long sigh and centered my concentration on the road. As we left the tawny grasslands behind and climbed into the smooth contours of the Mule Mountains, I wondered if she was once again pondering the cryptic warning contained in her mother’s letter.
Chapter 19
Unique. Quaint. Enchanting. All worthy adjectives but none of them could even begin to describe my first view of Bisbee, folded snugly between topaz hills blanketed with lush green vegetation that magically transformed it into a desert oasis.
Piloting the big car down into the shady depths of Tombstone Canyon, I couldn’t help but gawk at the remarkable mishmash of houses, shacks, and dilapidated buildings lining the twisty labyrinth of narrow streets and then straggling upward to perch haphazardly against the steep slopes. The whole fascinating architectural stew was interconnected by tributaries of crumbling stone steps that appeared to number in the thousands.
While some dwellings had been lovingly restored, the abandoned remains of others, propped behind multicolored rock retaining walls, brought into sharp relief some of what I’d read this morning about this once-thriving community.
I looked over and smiled at the dreamy expression masking Audrey’s face. Apparently she’d fallen prey to Bisbee’s charm as I had. “It kind of reminds me of Morgan’s Folly,” she sighed. “Except it seems more...alive.”
“It has some other interesting parallels besides the fact that the surrounding hills all have names like Quality, Laundry and Youngblood.”
“Those are strange,” she murmured, listening intently as I relayed the story of a lonely prospector, much like her grandfather, who’d drunkenly gambled away his claims to what would become the ore-rich Copper Queen Mine. And how the valiant citizens of this century-old town had doggedly survived both floods and fires only to have the coffin lid sealed when the mine closed in 1974.
For a while, it seemed that Bisbee would suffer the same tragic fate as Morgan’s Folly, but then a strange and wonderful resurrection began when the influx of artists, craftsmen and retired people reached an uneasy truce with the older mining families. That spawned restoration of the elegant European-style buildings where new shops and restaurants now flourished.
Some of the gracious homes once owned by company officials had blossomed into a profusion of bed and breakfasts and daily tours of the old Copper Queen Mine and Bisbee’s close proximity to the Mexican border also helped breathe new life into the dying town.
“What a totally cool place,” Audrey said, pointing to one three-story Victorian house boasting pots of bright red geraniums. “Why couldn’t Morgan’s Folly be like this?”
“Anything’s possible,” I said as we entered the cluttered downtown business area where we, or rather the car, collected a host of admiring stares and a few enthusiastic thumbs up.
After several wrong turns, I finally pulled up to the curb in front of a blackened brick building in Brewery Gulch bearing the address of both her attorney and accountant. “This is the place. What time shall I pick you up?”
“Wait a minute, aren’t you coming with me?”
“No. I’m going to the sheriff’s office, remember?”
Every speck of color drained from her face. “But...but you have to. What if I don’t understand what he says? I don’t know anything about legal stuff or mining. I don’t know much about…anything.” Her complexion was now pale blue and she was breathing so hard I thought she was going to hyperventilate. “And what if I have a seizure? They’re going to think I’m a retard.”
“No, they won’t. You have your medic alert bracelet, or better yet, you can just tell them at the outset.”
“What if they don’t believe I’m really Audrey Morgan? What will I do then?”
It was amazing. She was like a toddler. Everything was a first for this shut-in woman-child, protected and coddled by her mother until she’d been rendered helpless to survive in the real world. She’d done Audrey no favor and while I wouldn’t have phrased it as crudely as Jesse, it was definitely time she started developing a little hide. “Take it easy. You have the will and a copy of your mother’s letter, and you’re not going to have a seizure because you took your medicine this morning, right?”
She fidgeted with her purse strap and didn’t answer. “Audrey,” I said, unable to suppress a weary tone. “Why didn’t you take it?”
“I told you it makes me feel sick, so I thought I’d wait and take it after the meeting.” She curled her fingers around my arm. “Please, Kendall, I can’t do it. I can’t go in there all alone.”
Inwardly, I was eager to hear every little detail, but I put my hand over her ice-cold one and maintained a reassuring tone. “I know it’s difficult but this is one thing you have to do on your own. Both of these men are going to be discussing very private, very personal family and financial matters that are none of my business. And besides, don’t you think it’s more important for me to see if I can learn more about what might have really happened to your father?”
Her colorless lips trembled. “I suppose so.”
I gave her an encouraging smile. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll tell you everything Detective Kemp says and you can decide what information you want to make public.” I edged a look at my watch. “It’s two o’clock now. If you get finished before me you can call the sheriff’s office and I’ll come and get you. Otherwise I’ll wait for you out here.”
I could tell by her stiff posture and pinched expression that she was waging a fierce inner battle. “You’ll be fine, and plus that when you see Duncan tomorrow I’m sure he’ll be interested to know what you’ve decided.”
The mention of his name seemed to bolster her self-assurance. “You’re right as usual. I have to keep reminding myself that I’m not poor little Angela Martin anymore.” She shouldered her purse and stepped out on the curb smoothing the wrinkles from her red and black print skirt. “I have a big responsibility to all those people.”
“Just one word of advice,” I said, handing her the folder. “If there’s anything in here written by Haston, I’d read the fine print with a jumbo magnifying glass before signing it.”
The impish smile sneaking onto her face relieved the tense lines around her mouth and as she turned and entered the building I felt confident she’d be all right.
With another crisis resolved, I followed the winding road south through town past a deep chasm called the Lavender Pit Mine and arrived at the turn-off in less than five minutes.
As I guided the stately car up the curving drive into a crowded parking area, a ripple of surprise swept through
me. Unlike most of the crumbling structures I’d seen, the Cochise County Sheriff’s Office was housed in a spanking new pink and coral stucco building wedged between a gigantic waste dump and the sharp incline of the Mule Mountains. The only somber note detracting from the cheery scene was the ominous glint of razor wire looped atop the formidable fence surrounding the nearby narrow-windowed jail.
Heavy glass doors opened into a spacious foyer packed with an assortment of people milling about. Passing by a door marked Justice Court, I was thankful I wasn’t among the glum-looking men huddled on long benches awaiting judgment or the cluster of tired-faced women struggling to control energetic toddlers and fussing babies.
On the other side of the room I presented myself to a middle-aged clerk whose remarkably featureless face would make it difficult for me to recognize if I met her an hour later. “Is Detective Kemp in?” I asked, speaking through the wire cage spanning the chest-high front counter. He was. She directed me through double doors past the lively dispatch area. After negotiating a series of short hallways, I finally reached a tiny office halved by two cramped cubicles at the far end of the building where Orville Kemp sat hunched in deep concentration over a small desk piled high with papers.
I rapped on the doorframe. “Hi, there. Got a few minutes?”
Orville Kemp’s blue-eyed gaze above the rim of his reading glasses pinned me with a look of keen speculation. “Been expecting you,” he said, motioning for me to sit opposite a partially open file cabinet stuffed so full it leaned toward him at a precarious angle. “I guess you’ll be wanting to see what we got on the Morgan case.”
“If it’s not too much trouble,” I replied, sliding onto the metal chair as he swung around and yanked open a drawer. He rifled through it and handed me a thick manila folder before settling back in his seat.
“So, Ms. O’Dell, now that you’ve had a couple of days to do some snooping, what’s your take on the fair citizens of Morgan’s Folly?”
I had a feeling he already knew the answer but I accommodated him. “Well, most of them seem as warm and fuzzy as a comfortable old slipper, some I would definitely place in the space cadet category and, as I’m sure you’ve discovered, a few of them appear to be less than forthcoming.”
