Under a Desert Sky

by DiAnn Mills

  UNDER A

  DESERT SKY

  UNDER A

  DESERT SKY

  DIANN MILLS

  Summerside Press™

  Minneapolis 55438

  www.summersidepress.com

  Under a Desert Sky

  © 2011 by DiAnn Mills

  ISBN 978-1-60936-138-9

  Published in association with the Books & Such Literary Agency, Janet Kobobel Grant, 52 Mission Circle, Suite 122, PMB 170, Santa Rosa, CA 95409-5370, www.booksandsuch.biz.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Scripture references are from the following sources: The Holy Bible, King James Version (KJV).

  All characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people are purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Chris Gilbert | www.studiogearbox.com

  Interior design by Müllerhaus Publishing Group | www.mullerhaus.net

  Summerside Press™ is an inspirational publisher offering fresh, irresistible books to uplift the heart and engage the mind.

  Printed in USA.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The character of Charlotte Arnold was fashioned after Caroline Bishop Stanley

  Barbara Schmidtzinsky—Program Assistant Ghost Ranch Abiquiú, NM, Kathi Wilson, Nancy Kruckeberg, (Ona) Dell Smith Klein, Dr. Richard Mabry, Lynn Huggins Blackburn, Louise Gouge, Mona Hodgson, and Julie Garmon.

  DEDICATION

  This story is dedicated to all those who know and love Ghost Ranch. The beauty and splendor of New Mexico’s high desert must be experienced to appreciate it fully.

  CHAPTER 1

  October 1935

  Poisonous snakes come in all shapes and sizes. The one towering above me stood over six feet tall and wore a gray, three-piece suit. He straddled the bullet-ridden body of my grandfather and blew out a contemptuous sigh before bending to reach inside the dead man’s suit coat for his wallet. The killer’s right, black polished shoe touched my knee where I’d dropped to help Grandfather. The shoe was neatly tied, the knot and bow perfect. Blood coated the killer’s hand, and he wiped it on the ground as though murder were part of everyday life.

  Gasping, I waited. Terror locked my body onto the soft ground but my heart raced. “Why?” I whispered.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Why did you kill my grandfather, and why am I next? I have a right to know.” My voice sounded faint, distant, not at all fearless as Grandfather would have insisted.

  He smirked. “It’s just a job.”

  With the killer directly above me and the pistol barrel cold against my scalp, I could only try to control my trembling. I was going to die. I knew it. But the answers to why this was happening meant more than another breath.

  The man stepped back and lifted the gun from my head. I sat still, waiting to see if he would explain why he’d chosen to kill. Whatever good his response would do me in the hereafter bewildered my wild thoughts, but I couldn’t let the matter go. Grandfather resented my tenacious nature— My thoughts stopped midstream. Grandfather had resented.

  “I don’t kill women,” the man said. “But others might not feel the same way. Get as far away from here as you can. Don’t stop at the house, and stay away from town and the law.” His voice rose. “Don’t stop for anything. Keep running.”

  Where should I go? My gaze swept to Grandfather’s lifeless face. His clouded gray eyes seemed to stare into my soul as though accusing me of his demise. He’d been a hard man, but I’d never wanted him dead. If now was a time of truth, we’d both disapproved of traits in the other.

  “Did you hear me, Eva? Get yourself away from him.”

  The killer knew my name? Urgency from the man yanked at my senses. Acid rose in my throat, but I forced it back down. Reality was settling in, but I couldn’t allow it. Not yet. The man was sparing my life, and I needed to act.

  “Bennington’s dead, and you’re going to be if you don’t get out of here.”

  I focused on the man holding the gun, the man who had shot Grandfather three times in the chest. A high-crowned gray fedora pulled down over his brow hid his eyes and much of his face. I realized I wouldn’t be able to give a description of him.

  He grabbed my arm and jerked me to my feet while my wobbly legs barely held me upright. His grip tightened, and he pulled me so close that I could smell his cigar-laden breath mixed with Old Spice aftershave. What kind of miserable creature took the time to shave before committing murder?

  “If they come, I’ll have to shoot you. Do you understand?”

  I nodded. “Yes.” My teeth chattered.

  “Get your gumption, girl. Don’t go near the house.”

  He shook me loose, and I took flight like a startled doe. I ran north toward the thick woods, away from the once soothing sounds of nature and the peacefulness of the grass-trodden path that wound from the rippling creek, and away from the summer quarters of Grandfather’s stone mansion.

  “I can stall them for one hour.”

  His words forced blood into my legs. Who were they, and why did they want Grandfather and me dead? I’d heard the rumors about my grandfather being threatened for foreclosing on mortgages. The bullets pumped into his frail body gave credence to the gossip.

  He’d said not to go near the house. But Victoria was there. Surely my dear friend had heard the shots. She’d be worried, pacing the floor and talking under her breath.

  I raced into the cool dampness of the trees, thrashing about like a half-crazed animal, and grabbed an oak sapling. My breath came in heaves, and my legs threatened to give way.

  Thoughts screamed inside my head. Shaking aside the grotesque picture of Grandfather’s death mask, I settled my attention on getting away from the man and whoever was with him. That’s when I made a decision. Victoria, Mrs. Jessop, and Mr. Stiles could be in danger. I had to warn them despite the killer’s demands. Together, Victoria and I could figure out what to do…where to go.

  I skirted the woods and crept up behind the house to the servant’s entrance, shadowed beneath the lilac tree. I raced the several yards toward the door and shoved aside the thought of the killer nearing the house too. With a twist of my wrist, the door opened, startling Mrs. Jessop, who had already started to fill the kitchen with the aroma of fresh rye bread. Normally the smell would have quickened my stomach, but not this morning. Not with the scent of death filling my nostrils. Mr. Stiles sipped a cup of tea.

  “You two have to leave the house.” I stared into Mrs. Jessop’s round face. “Grandfather has been murdered, and the killer might be on his way here.”

  She gasped. “What? We can’t leave you and Miss Victoria here.”

  “Now. I—I demand both of you leave the house immediately. Please drive to the police station and tell them what has happened. Victoria and I are right behind you.”

  I hurried to the library where Victoria, my faithful nanny, spent hours reading and rereading books of every topic.

  “Victoria.” My frantic voice alarmed me even more.

  She appeared in the doorway. Her back stiffened and she frowned, no doubt displeased with my abrupt entrance. Completely unladylike, according to her list of proprieties.

  “Did you hear the shots? Grandfather has been murdered.” I caught my breath and observed the emotions on her face swinging from shock to grief.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was with him at the creek, and a man appeared. He shot him in the chest.”

  Victoria grabbed me and held me close—one of the few times I could remember her displaying affection. “How did you escape?”

  I shook my head, baffled by what I’d experie
nced. “I don’t know. He held the gun to my head and then simply changed his mind.” I pulled myself back from her comforting arms. “He told me to run. Not to come here. Not to go to town. Not to talk to anyone because ‘they’ would be coming.”

  “I feared this,” Victoria whispered. “Your grandfather made too many enemies in foreclosing on people’s homes.”

  “Yes ma’am. But we need to get away now. He gave me one hour, and you could be in danger too.”

  Victoria shook her head and tugged on my hand. She led me from the two-story library and into the massive front hall and up the staircase where the oaken walls had heard hundreds of conversations. “Nonsense. You were the one threatened. We must get you to the train station.” She turned to me on the first step and lifted a brow. “Let’s quickly put together a bag. I think—” She fanned her pale face. “I think sending you to Chicago to your mother’s second cousin may be best. I’ll make the arrangements while we wait for the train.” We hurried up the stairs, the heels of our shoes clicking in rapid succession on the marble steps.

  “Yes ma’am. Is it stealing to take a little money from Grandfather’s safe? I know the code.”

  “No, my dear. Not at all. Give me the code to his safe, and I’ll pull money from there to help you on your journey.”

  I swallowed hard and nearly choked. “I was so afraid.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “I couldn’t tell what the man looked like. He wore his hat too far down on his head. But he had dark brown hair. I’ve already spoken to Mrs. Jessop and Mr. Stiles. They’re driving to the police station.”

  “Oh, yes, let them handle this nasty business. You’re what’s important, my precious girl. I must see that you are tucked away safely until the killer is found.”

  In all my twenty-three years, I’d never seen Victoria so shaken. But then, I was too young to remember her response to my parents’ deaths. The dear woman was all I had, and I was all she had. We’d never been separated except while I attended the university. Even then, I came home often. At the top of the first landing, I squeezed her hand. “Dear Victoria, we shall weather this and be stronger for it.”

  Victoria offered me a feeble smile. “We must believe that.”

  Within fifteen minutes, Victoria and I were in the Ford and driving to the New York Central train station at an outrageous speed even for Victoria, who had a habit of driving beyond safety rules. I should have cautioned against her recklessness, but words failed me. A rarity.

  A thought occurred. “Once I purchase my train ticket, I must call Mr. Murdock.”

  “Oh, no.” Her distress alarmed me. “Please don’t. He could be in on this—this tragedy.”

  I offered her my best reassurance. “Next to you, I trust Mr. Murdock.” If Grandfather believed anything of worth about me, it was my ability to judge character.

  “Promise me you won’t.” Her voice rose to a shrill tone, and I assumed the poor woman was nearing shock. And at fifty miles per hour, that was not wise.

  “All right,” I said. But I believed differently. The Fortier attorney had always managed my best interests, and I had no reason to distrust him.

  A chill settled on me, and I wished I’d remembered my coat. Everything was happening so fast. The late October temperatures were falling. Or perhaps it was the icy fear wrapping its garment around me.

  At the train station on Erie Boulevard East, Victoria insisted upon arranging for the ticket and promised to contact my cousin. I waited inside the depot. With a myriad of thoughts bombarding my senses, I made a decision and hurried into the clerk’s office to use the telephone in privacy. The young man must have seen my distress because he didn’t argue with my request. Within seconds, I was speaking to the kindly Mr. Murdock. Quickly I explained what had happened.

  “Do not board that train. Do not listen to Victoria.” His lack of decorum surprised me. “Eva, I know the safest place for you to be, and it’s not Chicago.” I glanced up and saw Victoria in the doorway. The lines above her brow narrowed, and I could feel the sparks emitting from her eyes.

  “Who are you talking to?” She lifted her chin.

  “Mr. Murdock.” I turned my back to her, knowing how she felt about the man.

  “I will be there within the half hour,” Mr. Murdock said. “Promise me you’ll remain in the clerk’s office until I arrive.”

  The second promise someone wanted me to make. “Yes, sir. I’ll wait for you.”

  The moment I looked at Victoria, she burst into tears. How could one person change her mood so quickly?

  “He’s coming?”

  “Yes ma’am.” I sat in the clerk’s chair behind his desk. He probably wouldn’t be happy with me for taking up his small, messy office until Mr. Murdock arrived. But I’d spent the last forty-five minutes attempting to please a killer, my beloved Victoria, and my attorney. And the clerk could call his employer for all I cared.

  True to his word, Mr. Murdock made his entrance in twenty-four minutes. I rose from the chair and rushed into his arms. I wanted to sob until nothing was left, but I couldn’t. Did I not care one iota for Grandfather? What was wrong with me?

  Mr. Murdock gently pried the train ticket from my hand. “I’ve made travel arrangements for you.”

  “I’ve already purchased her fare.” Victoria’s voice held the familiar disdain in which she held for Mr. Murdock.

  “Return it.”

  I stepped back from him. “Where are you sending me?”

  “New Mexico.”

  “Why New Mexico?” Victoria said. “Nothing but rattlesnakes and desolation exists there. Not at all a suitable place for a refined young woman.”

  I had to agree. And I’d already experienced one snake today.

  “The perfect place,” he said. “The train leaves at dusk, and Eva will be in my company until then.”

  Did he not know I was there? “What awaits me in New Mexico?” I studied first his face and then Victoria’s.

  “I’ll explain while we wait for the train.” He turned his attention to Victoria. “I’ll take over from here. The police have been notified and will need you for questioning. I’ve also made arrangements for Mr. Bennington.”

  Grandfather. In my haste for my own protection, I’d neglected to ponder what his death meant to all of us. How horrible that I wouldn’t be here for the funeral.

  “Are you dismissing me?” Victoria glared at him.

  “Yes, I am.” Mr. Murdock took my arm and led me from the clerk’s office where two policemen immediately stood at our side.

  I whirled around for my parting glance of Victoria. “I’ll be fine,” I said. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Write me.” Tears pooled the woman’s eyes.

  “I will. I promise.” That was a promise I intended to keep.

  CHAPTER 2

  The countryside sped past me, too fast and still not fast enough. While I observed the brittle yet colorful remains of summer, I relived every moment of Grandfather’s murder. At first the events leading up to his death disappeared, as though someone or something had swept them from my mind. Then as I forced myself to concentrate, bits of conversation and happenings slowly emerged.

  Our daily morning walk had been delayed due to a chilling rain, which led me to believe that the killer knew our habits and had been waiting for us to leave the house.

  “Come along, girl,” Grandfather had said. “Life goes on. A little rain opens the mind, cleanses the thoughts.”

  Umbrella in hand, he sheltered me down the narrow path that wound around a wide hill, under two black walnut trees, and down to the fall garden where the rich hues of gold and orange mums hung their heads in the crisp shower. My galoshes sloshed in the softened earth in time with Grandfather’s heavy steps. During the middle of his lecture about how FDR needed to rethink some of his strategy for helping the country recover from economic despair, the killer stepped into our path.

  Startled, I could only stare through the sheet of ra
in. The man asked Grandfather if he was Richard Bennington.

  “I am. What do you want?”

  The killer didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled a gun from inside his coat and fired three times. Grandfather jumped, as though startled, and fell onto his back. I shuddered in memory of the blood…. The bullets had released a river of life that mixed with the rain and sank into the earth. I wanted to scream, but my dry throat refused any resemblance of sound. Grandfather must have died instantly because not a whimper came from him either. No final words of wisdom or love. I tore off my coat and attempted to wipe the blood from him. That’s when the killer interrupted my pitiful nursing.

  I closed my eyes and listened to the lull of the train and hoped its rhythmic sound would put me to sleep. Soon we’d be in Chicago, where I’d change trains to the Sante Fe and travel on to Albuquerque. Ah, to forget the last few days and then waken to realize this all had been a wretched nightmare.

  The train pushed down the track while I attempted to shove aside the tragic scene. I forced myself to focus on anything about the killer that would help the police identify him. He’d been much too clever for me, and I confessed my recollections were useless. The whys rumbled through my mind like the train speeding over the rails, and the hours confined to my car provided my imaginative thoughts time to play out one scenario after another with no believable conclusions.

  In the past, I’d lived my adventures vicariously through books and the stories I’d heard from others. I admitted to naïveté, but I longed for so much more. Especially now when the identity of Grandfather’s killer rested on my ability to recall something identifiable about him. Grandfather had insisted on my learning responsibility, and I’d failed him one more time. Weren’t the police trained for this sort of thing? But they hadn’t been in the killer’s presence and heard his voice. Again, why rang through my mind like the clanging of a shrill bell.