Desert Heat

by D'Ann Lindun

  “In a minute.” Bodine opened the folder and scanned the documents inside. He handed them to the deputy. “Run these.”

  She dashed to her Blazer and picked up the two-way radio. She returned in a few minutes with a frown. “Wendell A. Wallace, sir. Single white male. Age twenty-seven. Missing since January two of this year. The mother put out a missing person’s report on January four. He told her he was going to Apache Junction, then to the desert to check a site and never returned.”

  “What kind of site?” Bodine asked.

  “Buried treasure, sir.” The deputy didn’t blink. “He worked part time at a nursing home. Spent every spare minute looking for lost treasure. He scored a couple small hits. It was in the news last year.”

  “Dig up the body. Let’s see what we’ve got,” Sheriff Bodine ordered.

  The deputy motioned to the EMTs and they joined her at the site.

  The sheriff, Mike and Mallory watched as the deputy and EMTs began to dig with small hand-held spades. First, the feet appeared. The body wore an expensive brand of high-top athletic shoes. Unless this woman had very big feet, these belonged to a man. Moving up, the legs were unveiled next. By the shape, Mike knew they were male.

  Mallory swayed and he put a hand on her shoulder.

  The trio dug more.

  Back pockets. No logo. Then a plain brown belt. This guy hadn’t been dressed to impress. He’d been in work clothes. Slowly, a pale blue work shirt came into view. Slim waist widened into wide shoulders. No doubt about it. This was a man. He rested on his stomach, arms splayed out, hands spread as if to break a fall. No watch and no wedding ring.

  The deputy wavered and looked up at Bodine with questioning eyes. He jerked his head. “Finish it.”

  She took a breath Mike heard two feet away and continued. As the sand lifted, a dark stain covered the collar. Blood.

  Mike wanted to look away.

  He couldn’t.

  He turned his head to see Mallory and she had a deer-in-the-headlights look—big, staring eyes, slightly flared nostrils, pinched lips. Probably much like his own expression. One of the EMTs grunted and Mike turned his head that way. They had finished.

  The first thing Mike noticed was the amount of blood. Gallons of it had spread from the back of the dead man’s head and flowed into the ground under him, staining it black. Mike had to assume the poor bastard had once had a head. He no longer did. Somebody had bashed him with something so strong his skull and brain exploded like a smashed watermelon.

  Mallory gagged. She turned and ran for the nearby palo verdes. The sound of her retching carried over the still air. The female deputy looked green around the gills herself before she staggered to her feet and fled to the bushes.

  Mike’s own stomach churned and he forced himself not to puke along with the girls.

  The two EMTs didn’t seem fazed, nor did Sheriff Bodine. They looked at the body with detached, clinical expressions. Mike tried to copy their attitude but failed miserably. He knew he looked like a sick dog. He felt like one.

  “Take some film,” Bodine told the blonde deputy as she came back. He waved two fingers between the EMTs. “And you two turn him over when she’s done.”

  Flashbulbs lit up the dying light. When the deputy had taken enough shots to satisfy Bodine, he nodded at the EMTs and they flipped the dead man to his back.

  If the rear of his head was terrible, the front was worse. His face was indistinguishable under a thick coating of dried, black blood. Under it, his open eyes stared at them and his mouth was frozen in an O. His shirt, stained almost purple, from neck to stomach, stuck to his bloated body.

  Mike had seen enough. He turned away and walked over to Mallory. She stood by the horses, her hand on Zorro’s neck. “You okay?”

  She shook her head and didn’t speak.

  “Try to stay strong. We’ll be able to leave shortly.”

  Her gaze was riveted on the body as the EMTs rolled him onto a sheet, wrapped him, and carried him to the back of the ambulance and stored him there. They jumped in and pulled away without lights.

  “The only place I’m going is to a hotel, then back to Vegas.”

  Before Mike could reply, the sheriff joined them. “Looks like you discovered Wendell Wallace. We won’t know for sure until we run fingerprints. We found a driver’s license in his pocket, and it’s probably the right guy, but I want to be positive before I call it.”

  Mike waited without comment.

  “Do you have any idea what this Wallace might be looking for out here? This is quite a ways from Apache Junction. About fifty miles from where he was headed. That’s more than a little swerve. Quite a detour.” Bodine spat again.

  “I told you I don’t have a clue,” Mike said. What was Bodine driving at?

  “This is your property, right?” Bodine swivelled his head. “How far?”

  Mike pointed. “To the highway this way, the Salt River the other. The road you came in on is the south border.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “And the north side goes about a mile that way. I’m surrounded by public lands beyond that.”

  “Would you be one of the fellows that environmental bunch is trying to put out of business? What’s your name again?”

  “Mike Malone, and yes, the SRPL has gotten a judge to issue and injunction which keeps me from operating. We go to court in June.” Mike tried to keep the bitterness from his voice and failed.

  “You have any physical run-ins with any of that bunch?” The sheriff’s voice took a hard edge.

  “No. I heard they shredded all of the rafts at the River Adventures place up the road, but so far they haven’t done any vandalism other than sticking a bunch of signs outside my gate.” Mike matched the sheriff’s tone. “If you’re implying I had something to do with this guy being out here you’re way off base.”

  “I’m not saying anything,” Bodine declared. “Just asking questions. Now get your shorts unbunched. You ever have any treasure hunters on your place?”

  Mike hesitated. The minute he mentioned Skeeter, the whole investigation was going to turn. Two gold chasers dead in a month on his land. Odd, but not impossible. There couldn’t be a connection between the two, could there? Hundreds of people traipsed all over the desert grasping for lost gold and buried treasure without being killed for their trouble. Skeeter had been old and sick. No one had killed him.

  “One. Skee– I mean Gary James. He was a desert rat. A full-time treasure hunter. Once in a while he dropped in and stayed a day or two. Then he went about his business. I didn’t know much. He didn’t share a lot, and I didn’t pry.”

  “I want to interview him. Where can I find him?” Bodine reached for his little notebook.

  “He died a few days ago,” Mallory said.

  The sheriff scratched his ear. “That’s mighty inconvenient. Any idea what happened to him?”

  “He passed from natural causes,” Mallory said. “At least that’s what the coroner believes. But she is going to do an autopsy on Friday.”

  “What’s your interest in this?” Bodine wrote something down.

  “He was my father. I came here to bury him.”

  “Sorry, Miss.” He tipped his head to her, then turned back to all business with Mike. “Have you ever heard of any treasure on your place? Is there any way this Wallace could’ve found something and been killed for his trouble?”

  Mike shifted. He had a choice to make. He had to confess. Mallory would hate him when he did. At this point she wasn’t far from it. He drew in a long breath. “I think there’s a possibility that her dad believed that.” Keeping his eyes firmly on Bodine’s, he said, “Skeeter had a map with my ranch marked on it.”

  At Mallory’s sharp, indrawn breath he faced her. “Yes, I took it. I looked it over and put it back in your purse this morning while you went to the ladies’ room in Tortilla Flat.”

  “If you did that, who was in my room this morning?” Clearly she thought he was still lying.

  “I don’
t know.”

  “Could you two sort this out on your own time?” Bodine waved an impatient hand. “I have a dead body on my hands. He was a gold chaser. Somebody else died who was also a treasure hunter. They both kicked the bucket on your ranch. That leads me to believe someone thinks there’s a pot of gold stashed somewhere and they’re willing to kill for it.”

  “That’s absurd.” Mike crossed his arms over his chest. “First of all, I’ve lived here since I was a teenager and I know this land like the back of my hand. If there were any treasure, I’d know about it. Secondly, if there was some kind of windfall wouldn’t I have dug it out by now to pay my legal fees?”

  “Maybe you just found out.” Sheriff Bodine raised his brows. He nodded toward the spot where they’d found Wallace. “Along with him and this Skeeter fellow. Maybe you killed them both to keep it for yourself.”

  “I didn’t.” Mike felt his world spinning out of control. How had he gone from helping out a needy friend to being accused of murdering him? Mallory looked at him like he was a bug. Something to be stepped on.

  “I want to get a look at this map,” Bodine said. “Where is it?”

  “In my purse at the ranch.” Mallory glared at Mike. “At least I think it is.”

  Sheriff Bodine motioned toward his deputy. “Find somebody to take their horses home. Get me the results on forensics ASAP. I’m going to escort Mr. Malone and Miss James to The Jumping Cholla Resort. I have some questions I want answers to.”

  ~*~

  Mallory handed over the crumpled paper.

  The sheriff took it and studied it for a long time. Finally he looked up. “Where’d you get this?”

  “The coroner gave it to me. She found it sewed inside Skeeter’s pant leg, along with a vial of gold dust.” She passed that to him, too. “Here.”

  He took it and lifted it toward the light in the library, where they’d gathered. “This real?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I think so, but I’m not an expert.”

  “You don’t have any idea where this came from?” He held the tiny bottle almost reverently.

  “No.”

  He focused on Mike. “Do you?”

  “Not even a guess.”

  “There’s nothing on this map that gives you an idea?” Bodine held the paper toward him but Mike didn’t take it.

  “No.”

  Why should he want to see it again? He’d probably memorized it. Mallory fought the urge to say so. He might be a liar, but she didn’t think he killed Skeeter or the poor man in the desert. She’d seen Mike’s face when they’d uncovered the guy’s face and he’d been as troubled as she was. Keeping the location to treasure secret was another thing. Why hadn’t he just asked her to look at the map? There really wasn’t a good excuse . . . unless there was something on it he didn’t want her to see. He’d only caught a glimpse of it when she dropped it after the barbeque. She was going to leave in a few days and take it with her. If he wanted to get a good look without her knowledge he had to take it.

  Disappointment coursed through her.

  She knew better than to trust men. Her father taught her that lesson well. For a short time, she’d wanted to forget. Mike reminded her. He was exactly like her father. Willing to walk over anybody, anytime to get what he wanted.

  She couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

  “You said someone was in your room this morning?”

  Mallory forced herself to answer the sheriff. “Yes. Him.”

  “I wasn’t,” Mike insisted.

  Why didn’t he just admit it? She wanted to yell at him. The game was up, she wasn’t playing any more. “Sure you weren’t.”

  “If you weren’t there, do you know who was?” Bodine acted like Mike might be telling the truth.

  “I don’t know. I was tired and I lay down when we got home. I didn’t get up until after lunch.” He sounded so sincere she almost believed him. Almost.

  “What were you wearing today?” The intruder wore a white tee and jeans. She stared down her nose at him. He hadn’t even changed.

  He glanced at his shirt. A cream-colored polo and faded Levi’s. “This.”

  “Exactly what you had on when you came into my room to put back the map.” She wasn’t going to listen to any more of his lies. He wasn’t even good at it. She pushed her glasses firmly in place. “I saw you.”

  “Did you have on your glasses?”

  “Why?” She shifted. So what if she couldn’t see well without them? She could make out colors and shapes. “No.”

  “You didn’t see me.” He didn’t blink or look away.

  A tiny niggle of doubt bit her. Could he be telling the truth? For once?

  “If you two aren’t the only ones who know about this map, maybe somebody else thinks they had to eliminate the competition,” Bodine said. “So tell me. Who else could have seen it?”

  “My employee, Dianna Lewis,” Mike admitted. “I told her about it. But I didn’t show it to her.”

  “Did you tell her it’s no good?” Bodine reached for the creased paper.

  “Yes.” Mike looked surprised. “I told her it was worthless and that I put it back this morning.”

  “Do you think she believed you?” He looked at the evidence again.

  He rubbed the back of his neck while he thought. “I guess not. She was convinced this was the answer to find money to fight the SRPL group.” He shot Mallory an apologetic look. “She came up with a plan to lure Mallory out of her room so I could get ahold of the map. When I told her it wasn’t any good she was angry.”

  “Mad enough to look for herself?”

  Mike shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Mad enough to kill?”

  Mike sat up straight. “No way. There’s a big hole in this theory of yours. We didn’t know about the map until I saw Mallory drop it. Skeeter had already died. No one killed him for it. And the guy out there in the desert has been missing for a month or more. Dianna had no way to know he was searching for gold, if he was. She couldn’t have killed him a month ago to stop him from beating her to some lost treasure.”

  “Are you sure she didn’t know?” Bodine let his question hang. “You say you didn’t know about this map. But if Wendell Wallace found out about it, then maybe this Dianna did, too.”

  Mike felt his face go numb. “No way.”

  “I’m going to need to do some checking with this woman.” The sheriff stood. He picked up the map and vial of gold dust. “I’ll be back tomorrow with some more questions. I’ll expect to find both of you here. If I were you, I’d lock my doors.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mike flinched as Mallory looked at him with contempt, but she couldn’t make him feel worse than he already did. Now, on top of everything else, his friends were being looked at on suspicion of murder. There was no way he’d ever consider the possibility of Dianna killing anyone. He’d known her for more than ten years and she wasn’t capable of offing anyone.

  “I’m going to take Sheriff Bodine’s advice and go to bed,” Mallory said. She rose to leave.

  “Wait a minute,” Mike said.

  She pinned a steely glare on him. “What is it?”

  “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

  She continued to stare at him without responding.

  “What I did with the map was wrong. But I swear to you, I wasn’t in your room this morning.” He ran a hand across the back of his knotted neck. “And there’s more.”

  “Yes?” She held on to the back of the chair as if she needed it to hold her up.

  He couldn’t find the right way to tell her he had taken the other half of Skeeter’s map. What he had already done had been so despicable, adding more was too much. The map was worthless. But he had to come clean. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  He ran to his suite and found the map he’d taken from Skeeter’s knapsack and stuffed it in his back pocket. He ran back to the library and found that Mallory had moved to stand in front of t
he shelves. She ran a finger down the spine of one of his books and winced. Her jammed fingers. He had completely forgotten about them in all the excitement. He moved beside her and took her hand in his. “Let me see.”

  She hesitated for a moment, then relaxed.

  “You need to see a doctor to make sure these aren’t broken.” He smoothed his thumb over the middle joint of her index finger and she winced. “I’ll get Shelby. She’ll know what to do.”

  “I’m fine.” But she continued to let her hand rest in his.

  “You’re not fine,” he said. “These last two days have been hell for you.”

  She took her hand back. “They haven’t been great, but I’ll recover.”

  Would she? Could she ever bounce back after all that had happened to her? He wouldn’t blame her if she never crossed the Arizona state line again. Her father’s death, the flood, being bucked off a normally gentle horse, finding a dead man . . . the way he’d lied to her. He held back a sigh. “I hope so.”

  “I just want to go home as quickly as possible.”

  “There’s one more thing you need to know.” He reached toward his back pocket.

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to hear it. I can’t take any more. Please, just save it, whatever it may be. All I want to do is pack and go to a hotel and wait for the coroner to call so I can go home.”

  “You can’t go.” His hand, halfway to his back pocket stilled. “You heard the sheriff. He wants us here when he comes back in the morning.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t have anything more to add. He can find me at the hotel if he needs me.” She pushed up her glasses.

  “At least rest until morning. I’ll take you in to a hotel myself.” He didn’t want her to leave like this. The first woman he’d cared about since Elisha, and she hated him. If he could convince her to stay, maybe, just maybe he could straighten things out. “You’ve got to be tired and sore.”

  She wavered. “I am worn out.”

  “And hungry? Breakfast was along time ago.” The sausage and eggs Faye served that morning seemed a lifetime ago.