The knot in her stomach loosened at that statement. She could stop wondering if she was merely being selfish to want to stay put in Deer Creek—maybe.
“You really mean that?”
“You have my word.” He grabbed her hand and leaned over the table to kiss her cheek, since she was still chewing a mouthful of fish. “And I’ve been doing some thinking about my non-proposal as well. All I can say is that I’m an idiot. I haven’t been unemployed since I was 18. This situation rattled me and ruined everything that I’d planned. I was going to sweep you off your feet, and instead I’ve dug a hole for myself.”
“You don’t have to …”
“Wait a minute. I have to apologize and now ask humbly … as in on my knees humbly if a second chance is even possible.”
Gracie fleetingly considered once again if marriage after Michael would work. She was terrified of losing Marc if they married. He put his life on the line every day as a cop. Michael had lost his life in a farming accident. No guns had been involved in his death. But she sternly reminded herself of the one thing she had learned, especially in the last two years, and that was no one had guarantees on life and that fear stopped you from really living. Romantic feelings aside, she had formulated answers that would pass muster for Jim and herself.
“I accept your apology. Now what, Deputy Stevens?”
Marc’s look of relief made her smile.
“Will you join me for dinner tonight and explore our options in a more conducive setting than this one?”
“This setting is fine, but dinner sounds wonderful. What time should I expect you?”
At least she hadn’t booked a flight home tomorrow. Maybe it was providential that there had been no seats available.
“How about six?”
He picked up the soggy plates and napkins, tossing them in a trash barrel. Gracie eased herself from the ridged metal bench, brushing a stray bit of shredded cabbage from her shirt.
“I’ll be ready, on one condition.”
“What’s that?” A look of worry creased Marc’s handsome brow.
“That you improve your communication skills and let me be involved with your life—job and all.”
“That’s actually two things, but I get your drift. There are things I can’t tell you when it’s job-related. However, what I can tell you, you’ll know. Habits of a single guy, I’m afraid.”
“I can work with that. And I’ll try not to overshare my family drama. Like stuff about Isabelle.”
“Agreed. Are you sure Isabelle is really related to you?” His eyes twinkled with humor.
Marc’s phone interrupted Gracie’s response. She took a couple of polite steps away while he talked. It sounded serious. Maybe there was progress on the case. He tapped the phone screen to end the call.
“Sorry, but I have to go.”
“You’ll have to drop me off at the ranch first.”
“Absolutely. Remember, we’re on for dinner.”
CHAPTER 23
Marc followed the CSI tech who’d met him in the parking lot into the cool darkness of the underground chamber. Plant-covered rocks had revealed a narrow opening, high enough for him to stand upright to enter the cave. After a sharp right turn, floodlights illuminated the depths. Agent Galvez greeted him, motioning him back where technicians were examining the pebble-strewn creek banks. The fast-moving water sounded like Niagara Falls, thanks to the layered echoes. The chamber was large, easily accommodating the crew of eight working the area.
“What did you find?” Marc asked, raising his voice to be heard over the water.
“A couple of things. We’re pretty sure Enriquez was killed in the cave next door and pushed down the slope into this area.” Galvez pointed to the incline that was being examined by technicians. “There’s blood trace on several rocks coming down to this area, drag marks, and we found some more fibers as well.”
“Did his body roll into the water, or did someone push him in?” Marc asked. He tried to imagine the amount of strength it would take to pull or push a dead weight into the water.
“Somebody had to put him in. We think it’s too far for the body to have rolled just right and hit the water. It’s more likely some of those larger rocks would have stopped him on the way down. The killer probably didn’t figure he’d show up anywhere above ground. We think the stream winds around and joins the creek that feeds into the pool where Enriquez finally landed. It must’ve been a pretty bumpy ride. A lot of rocks and a lot of water moving really fast,” Galvez added.
“It could be possible, but hard to verify,” Marc observed, wondering about the course of the underground stream and where it would first make an appearance above ground.
“We need some way to test the theory. If we had a dummy or a flotation device, we could send it through to see if it’ll end up in the pool.” Galvez walked to a rocky alcove and sat down on a boulder.
“Wasn’t Enriquez mapping underground streams? How about calling the Park Service office to find out?” Marc suggested as he watched the swift, dark water.
There was no doubt in his mind that a body would have been swept away in seconds of entering the churning water. The creek was at least eight feet wide and probably about as deep.
The agent snapped his fingers. “That’s an idea. I’ll send one of the guys down now.”
“Maybe we’ll catch a break if he mapped this stream. And I don’t see Ricky Fuentes managing to push someone as big as Enriquez down here and then dumping him into the water.”
“It’s a stretch, but maybe with adrenalin …”
“I’m not convinced. One or both of our missing treasure hunters might have handled it though,” Marc pointed out.
“True. We’re looking for them. Their vehicle’s still down in the parking lot.” Galvez rubbed the back of his neck, yawning.
“What if they got themselves into some trouble? I’d say let’s activate search and rescue out here to see if we can find them. Amanda and Gracie saw them yesterday headed back toward the Allen Trail.”
Marc was tired of the DEA’s uninspired pace. Agent Galvez looked like he needed a shot of caffeine or some sleep. If Marc had been in charge of the investigation, he would’ve had somebody looking for them last night, especially after the shooting.
Galvez stood and stretched. “If you want to arrange it, that’s fine by me. I think the techs are wrapping it up here anyway. I need to see if Donny’s gotten anything out of Fuentes yet.”
Marc had understood that Ricky Fuentes was off-limits, but apparently Agent Miller already had access. It would have been nice to have known that earlier.
Swallowing a couple of pointed and rude remarks, he said, “I’ll call my contact and get started.”
He was beat too, but it felt like he was close. If he could talk to Ricky tonight, maybe all the questions would be answered.
Marc took a deep breath of fresh air, glad for sunshine and clean oxygen as he stepped out of the musty cave. The glint of metal in the grass caught his eye. Stooping to check it out, he found a gold pinback on the ground. Pulling a tissue from his pocket, he carefully wrapped it up and tucked it in his shirt pocket. The technician who’d led him to the alternate entrance exited the cave, hauling his kit.
“Ken, come here a second,” Marc called to him, taking the tissue-wrapped packet from his breast pocket.
“Did you find something?” the dark-haired young man asked.
“Not much, but bag it and tag it. It was right here.” Marc pointed to the ground in front of him.
“Sure thing. Hey, this looks like the back for a …” Ken started.
“For a collar pin?” Marc offered.
“Yeah.”
Marc nodded and strode off through the trees, searching for a cell signal. Finally finding two bars of signal, he called the search-and-rescue coordinator.
***
Gracie strolled through Old Bisbee, savoring the eclectic mix of art galleries, antique shops, coffee roasters, jewelry, and some s
hops combining all of them together. She’d borrowed Amanda’s VW beetle for a temporary escape from the ongoing drama at the B & B.
A clothing boutique, Gypsy Threads, caught her eye with the promise of a clearance sale. Maybe she would find something new for Tom and Kelly’s upcoming wedding.
Her eyes needed a minute to adjust from the sunny outdoors to the boutique’s softly lit interior. She was pleasantly surprised to find a wide selection of brightly colored, comfortable-looking blouses and tunics. Now if she could find something romantic and alluring.
“May I help you?”
The familiar voice caught her off guard.
“Mistee! Uh … What are you doing here?”
“I co-own this shop,” Mistee answered with irritation.
“Well … I didn’t mean … it’s well … I thought …”
“Are you all right?” Mistee’s wrinkled brow turned to something that looked like concern.
“I am. But I’m surprised to find you working, especially after Hank …”
The blank look on the young woman’s face made Gracie’s heart sink.
“What about Hank? Has something happened? He never came home last night, and he’s not answering his phone.”
“Oh perfect,” Gracie groaned inwardly, wishing she had kept walking by the shop.
“No one’s called you?” she asked timidly, her throat suddenly dry.
“No. Well … the sheriff called my phone early this morning. I’m so sick of this business with the cops, I didn’t answer. They only want to harass Hank.” She stopped with a sharp intake of breath. “Something’s happened to Hank, hasn’t it?” The woman sank against the large old-fashioned wooden counter, sliding down the carved surface to her knees.
Gracie dropped to the floor, putting an arm around her thin shoulders.
“I’m so sorry, Mistee. I had no idea.”
“What happened?” Mistee asked, snuffling, her face red and muddy with makeup.
“You really should hear it from law enforcement, not me. I know that Hank was shot last night and he … he …”
“And he’s dead.” Mistee’s voice was matter-of-fact.
“Yes. I’m really sorry. Is there someone I can call or …” she asked, helping Mistee to a standing position.
“No. I’m on my own. What happened? Was it because of Ricky? Oh, Hank, I told you not to get involved …”
“Marc mentioned nothing about Ricky. Was Hank trying to help him?”
“He’d had a call from him. He was still in the mountains and needed help. Ricky’s cell was about dead, which is probably what happened to Ricky too. Oh, I can’t believe it,” she cried, hugging herself and rocking.
Gracie wasn’t quite sure how to proceed in this stunningly awkward moment. Who knew where Marc was, and she had no idea how to contact the DEA agents.
“Why don’t I take you to the B & B? Amanda must have some way to contact the right people for you. You do need to talk to the police. They’ll have all the information.”
***
Mistee leaned her head against the car window most of the way to the ranch. She offered no further conversation. Gracie was glad for the 65-mile-an-hour speed limit, which she used liberally to get them to the turnoff to the B & B. Amanda was weeding the large cactus garden at the entrance. Cochise and Molly enjoyed a small bit of shade under a mesquite tree, lying with pink tongues lolling from their mouths, supervising her work.
Amanda rose stiffly, rubbing her lower back. “What are you doing back so soon?” she asked.
“It’s a long story,” Gracie said, her face grim. She stood by the car door and pointed to the passenger side of the VW.
“Mistee? Why is she with—?”
“She hadn’t been told, and I went into her shop, which I didn’t know was hers.”
“Oh, my gosh! Didn’t the police get a hold of her?” Amanda threw down her gloves and trowel.
“She didn’t answer the phone apparently, and they didn’t try to find her.”
“Unacceptable. The poor girl,” Amanda commiserated.
She marched up to the car and jerked open the door. “Come on, Mistee. I’m so sorry about Hank. Let’s get you inside,” she clucked, like a mother hen. The Little Red Hen B & B was aptly named, Gracie mused.
Cochise and Molly limped and trotted behind them into the Santa Fe.
Amanda opened a small territorial-style cabinet and located a bottle of Johnny Walker. She poured a stiff shot and handed it to Mistee once they were seated in her living room.
“Thanks, Amanda.” Mistee sipped the drink with a shudder.
“I can’t believe the cops didn’t track you down. This is too awful.”
“I was hoping you had numbers for the DEA agents. I tried Marc on the way back and couldn’t raise him,” Gracie said.
“I don’t. I have Armando’s number, but he’s not really all that involved. Oh, maybe he’d have their numbers. I’ll call him,” Amanda offered, reaching into her bra for her phone. She went into the kitchen to make the call.
“Ricky has to be part of this mess.” Mistee began to tear up again.
“Are you sure he called Hank?” Gracie asked.
“I’m sure. Hank felt sorry for him and knew how tough Manny was to deal with. I mean, Manny wanted to help Ricky, but Hank knew personally how Manny …” Her voice trailed off.
“So, Manny and Hank didn’t get along?”
“Not really.” Mistee sniffed. She dug a tissue out of her purse and blew her nose. “Manny ratted on Hank over some dumb junk equipment. He said Hank stole it, but Hank said it was going to be thrown out. He was only … Well, anyway, Hank got in trouble and was doing community service to fix the trails. The judge set it up so Manny could keep an eye on him, which wasn’t right.”
“That sounds pretty tense,” Gracie agreed.
Now she understood Hank’s “friend” statement when they’d found Manny’s body. Their bad blood would have immediately made him the prime suspect. It was also interesting that Amanda and Gary had never mentioned it. The next question popped out before she thought twice.
“Why would Ricky call him and not Manny?”
Because he knew Manny was dead was her guess. The teenager could very well be a murderer. And it was also interesting that the police hadn’t mentioned Ricky this morning. Amanda hadn’t made any references to the teen either.
“Ricky wasn’t happy living with Manny and his wife,” Mistee continued. “He’s going to be 18 in a couple of months and out of foster care. Hank tried to help him by giving him a job, but Manny didn’t want Ricky working with Hank. He was a bad influence, Manny said.”
Amanda rejoined them, frowning at the phone.
“I got a number, but Agent Galvez isn’t answering either.” Amanda stuffed the phone back into place. She wriggled and adjusted her bra strap. “I left a voicemail. We’ll see if he calls back. Now, what’s this about Ricky?”
CHAPTER 24
Max easily jumped from the truck, whining as Marc snapped on a leash.
“You sure he’s up to this?” Craig Ames, the search-and-rescue coordinator, asked.
“Yeah. The cut healed quickly. He’s got a protective boot for rough terrain, just in case.” Marc reached into the truck’s front seat.
Max reluctantly allowed the cushioned leather paw protector to be fastened. He sniffed at it, dancing sideways.
“He’s going nuts at home. He needs to be working. We’ll see how he does. I’m not going to push it.”
“All right, but it could be tough going in some parts,” Craig answered, checking a clipboard. He turned to address his team. “Okay, everyone, you’ve got your areas. We’re searching from Trail 829 to the Rufous Loop and the Allen Trail fork up to Trail 89. There are some washes and ravines they might have gotten caught in.”
He grabbed the leash of a rangy chocolate Lab. “Marc, why don’t you and Max partner up with Gravy and me.”
Marc nodded, following Craig and Gravy into the
forest, while the rest of the team, six men and two women with their dogs, dispersed onto the web of trails.
Max showed no signs of limping and eagerly kept up with the Lab. Gravy was an old hand at search and rescue, sniffing and steadily working his way up the trail. Marc kept a firm hand on the shepherd’s leash. He was taking a chance allowing the dog to be back in action so soon. Another injury could sideline Max again. He didn’t want him to overdo it in the first 30 minutes. They could be searching for hours.
Craig’s walkie-talkie crackled with updates from the three other teams. No sign of the missing treasure hunters so far. Marc was anxious to locate the fork where Gracie and Amanda had seen the two from their position in the bushes. Once they were well away from the parking lot, he was on the lookout for the pile of stones Gracie had placed as a marker, indicating the direction the missing men had gone.
“Here it is,” he said, catching sight of the pile of three flat rocks with a round stone on top under a squatty, misshapen juniper.
“All right, let’s head this-a-way.” Craig hung a quick left with Gravy.
Max continued without any sign of tenderness, sniffing the ground intently, pulling hard against Marc’s strong grip.
“Max might have something,” Marc called to Craig, who’d moved off the trail toward a wash. He gave the dog more slack, and the leash was instantly pulled taut as Max lunged forward.
The shepherd whined, focused on the scent, easily scaling a small cluster of rocks and plunging down into a small wash. Water flowed at a trickle, and Marc jogged behind his dog, splashing through the stream. Looking over his shoulder, he spotted Gravy and Craig following at a brisk clip.
“I think Gravy’s picked up something too,” Craig yelled.
The Lab dug his paws into the ground, leaping to clear a low barrier of scrub and sending stones scattering into the water.
The ground softened and became grassy with only a few trees and bushes. Max slammed on the brakes, yipping.
“Oh, great! Did you hurt yourself, boy?” Marc bent to examine the dog’s paw.
Max shied away, working himself toward a gravelly slope.
Washed Up (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 4) Page 10
