“What happened next?” Marty asked.
“I saw a man approaching the shack and doing what I had done, keeping out of my father’s sight in case he turned around. He had a tomahawk in his hand. I was pretty much in shock between seeing my father and then seeing some man with a tomahawk in his hand…” His voice broke, and he stopped speaking.
“Mr. Peterson, I am so sorry. The last few days must have been horrible for you.”
He coughed and said, “You have no idea. I’ve relived the scene so many times. Anyway, the man quickly walked through the door, and then struck my father in the head with a tremendous blow of the tomahawk. He fell to the floor, obviously dead. Just at that moment, before I could react or scream out, I heard a car on the road below. The killer must have heard it too, because he ran out the door and disappeared. I was in complete shock having just watched someone being viciously killed. It was doubly worse for me because that someone was the father I hadn’t seen for nearly forty years. I was panicked and didn’t know what to do next. After waiting a few minutes to make sure the killer was gone, I made a bad decision. I ran too. I never saw the killer or his car when I drove away.”
“Mr. Peterson, why didn’t you contact the sheriff or someone?”
“I was afraid I’d be arrested for his murder. You know, the disgruntled and abandoned son finds his father and kills him. Who’s going to believe the story of an accused killer? I didn’t think there was any way someone would find me. How did you do it?”
She told him about Lucy and said she had some contacts in local law enforcement that had helped her. She also told him she was an appraiser and had been with his father just before he’d been killed, and that she was the one who had discovered his body.
“Do you think you could identify the man who killed your father?”
“Without a doubt. I’ve thought of going to the police, and see if I could get one of their artists to do a sketch based on what I would tell them, but I’m sure they’d want to know why I was at his shack in the first place.”
“They probably would. I have a friend who’s in law enforcement. Let me talk to him, and I’ll get back to you. Again, I am so sorry for your loss. I hope you have people you can talk to.”
“I have a very good therapist who I’m seeing daily. He’s helping me.”
“Good. You’ve been through so much, I’m glad you’re getting some help. No one should have to go through something like that alone. I’ll be in touch when I know anything.”
“Marty, I’m glad you called. It feels so good to get this off my chest. I suppose this is one of those catch twenty-two situations. On one hand I found my father, but on the other hand, now he’s dead. I really do need to get to my meeting. If you find out anything, please let me know.”
CHAPTER 27
“This is Mary BirdSong,” the voice on the telephone said.
“Mary, my name is Marty Morgan. I’m a friend of your cousin Lucy’s. She suggested that I call you. Let me tell you a little about myself.” She told Lucy about the appraisal and how she came to discover Randy’s body. “Lucy told me that although you and Randy were no longer living together, you still cared deeply for him. I was wondering if I could come and talk to you.”
“I heard that some woman found Randy. I’m glad it was a business thing and not some woman he was involved with. I don’t think I could have taken something like that.”
“I don’t know anything about any other women. As a matter of fact, I haven’t heard anything that even leads me to believe he was involved with anyone else. I feel I have an obligation to see if I can help find the killer, since I was the last one to see him alive, other than the murderer. I need to go into Palm Springs this afternoon and was wondering if you’d have time to see me then. I’m starting an appraisal tomorrow and I’ll be tied up for several days. I really would like to talk to you as soon as possible.”
“I don’t think there’s much I can tell you. I haven’t seen Randy since he told me he didn’t want me to live with him anymore, but yes, I could see you this afternoon. Here’s my address.”
That afternoon Marty drove into Palm Springs and easily found Mary’s address. She lived in a doublewide trailer on the reservation. Bright flowers had been planted in pots in front of her home, and an old green Buick was in the driveway. Clearly Mary cared about where she lived. In contrast to her neighbors, her lawn was neatly maintained, and her car looked like it had just been washed.
Marty walked up to the small porch and rang the doorbell. It was immediately opened by a rather unattractive middle-aged Indian woman wearing jeans and a t-shirt bearing the words, Agua Caliente Tribal Member.
“Hi, you must be Mary BirdSong. Thanks for seeing me this afternoon.”
“Yes, I am, and you must be Marty Morgan,” she said extending her hand to shake Marty’s. “Please, come in. It’s not very fancy, but I don’t need much. I live here by myself, and it’s plenty of room for me. I made some tea. Would you like a cup?”
“That would be lovely, thanks.”
“I’ll be back in a minute. Please have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”
Marty sat down in a large easy chair and looked around the homey little room. Photographs filled every inch of the walls. Tribal photographs, photos that looked like family members, and even photos of early Palm Springs were displayed. As an appraiser of things that were generally from earlier times, Marty was fascinated by them. She stood up, looking at each one, contemplating how they illustrated a different time and a different way of living.
Mary walked in with their tea. “It looks like you’re enjoying my photographs.”
“Very much so. I would think the museum here in Palm Springs would be very interested in these, maybe even having a special exhibit for them. They provide quite a unique look into a very different way of life, both tribally, and for the City of Palm Springs.”
“I keep telling myself I should do that, but I really don’t want to part with them yet. Please sit down. What would you like me to tell you about Randy?”
“I don’t honestly know. This is going to sound very strange to you, but I have a sister who is a psychic.”
She was interrupted by Mary, who said, “Right. We get a lot of them out here in the desert. There’s a group of so-called psychics out in the hills. They say they’re fortune tellers and they read cards and tea leaves and all that junk. I’ve never known where it’s ever helped anybody.”
“Generally, I agree with you, but I will tell you that my sister was part of a paranormal study conducted by UCLA and at the end of the study they concluded that she had a very high level of unexplained psychic abilities. I’ve personally witnessed her ability to foresee things. Anyway, whether you believe it or not isn’t important. What is important is that she told me I should talk to you about Randy’s death.”
“Did she say why?”
“No, just that you might be the key. Let me set your mind at ease. She said nothing to indicate you were involved in any way with the murder, just that you knew something.”
Mary’s eyes filled with tears and they began to flow down her cheeks. “Randy was a good man in many ways. He was good to me. Actually he was the only man who was ever interested in me. It broke my heart when he told me he didn’t want me to live with him any longer.”
“Do you have any idea why?”
She blew her nose and said, “I think he sensed I knew what he had in the cave. You told me you went in there, so it’s no secret a lot of the things in there were illegal to possess, buy, or sell. I think because I’m an Indian he was afraid that I’d tell someone about them. And I did, but not when I was living with Randy.” She looked down at her crossed hands and started sobbing. “I think I’m the one responsible for his death.”
“What do you mean?”
It took Mary several minutes to become composed enough to talk. “I told Richard Sagebrush about the things Randy had in the cave, and I’m afraid he killed Randy.”
&nbs
p; “Who is Richard Sagebrush? I’ve never heard of him.”
“He and I grew up together on the reservation and have done a lot of things together to help our tribe. The older he got, the more concerned he was about the Native American artifacts that were being illegally taken from government lands and from sacred tribal grounds, even burial grounds. He’s become a real fanatic about the subject. He regards it kind of like a holy war, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he killed Randy so legal authorities would become involved, see what Randy had, and then give the stolen artifacts back to the tribes. I know it’s twisted thinking, but I think he’s gone way past the rational state. And it’s all my fault. I know if I hadn’t told him about the cave and all the things Randy had in it, he’d still be alive.” She uncrossed her hands and lowered her head to her hands as if her body could no longer support it, so deep was her grief.
“I don’t know what to do, Mary. I doubt if this Richard that you referred to will talk to me or the authorities.” Marty suddenly remembered her recent conversation with Luke, Randy’s son, and how he was certain he could identify the killer.
“Mary, I have an idea. You have so many photographs here. Do you have one of Richard Sagebrush?”
Mary’s tears had subsided, and she stood up. “Yes, we were honored by the tribe last year for the work we’ve done for the young people of the tribe, particularly with the bird songs. That’s where I got my name. My father was one of the most famous bird singers around.” She walked over to the wall across from where she’d been sitting and lifted a photograph off of it.
“Here. Richard is the one standing next to me. We’re the only two people in the photograph. May I ask why you want it?”
“I spoke with a man who happened to be on Randy’s property when he was murdered. I’m not at liberty to tell you who he is or why he was there. He told me he had a very clear view of the man who murdered Randy. He actually saw the murder take place. May I take this photo with me? I’ll give it back to you in a couple of days. I’d like to show it to this man and see if Richard is the man he saw on the day Randy was murdered.”
“Yes. Whoever murdered Randy did a terrible thing, and if it’s Richard, he should be punished. As much as I’d hate to find out that one of our own tribal members killed Randy, his punishment would certainly send a strong message to our youth that no matter how high your status is in the tribe or anywhere else, you must obey the law.”
“Thanks, Mary. I’ll let you know what happens. And please, don’t blame yourself. Remember, Randy was the one who knowingly broke the law. You didn’t have anything to do with it. As soon as he bought his first illegal artifact, events were set in motion which had nothing to do with you.”
“I feel better after telling you about Richard. It’s all I’ve thought about since I found out Randy had been murdered. Please call me and let me know what you find out.”
“I will,” Marty said and then she walked out to her car, opened the trunk, and carefully put the framed photograph in it.
CHAPTER 28
Marty’s meeting with Mary had lasted longer than she’d planned, and with the other errands she had to run in Palm Springs, it was dark when she drove back to the compound. As she approached it she noticed a car that appeared to be abandoned off to the side of the road and made a mental note to tell Jeff about it. She saw a bumper sticker on the back bumper with words on it that read “Tribal Power.”
She parked in front of the compound and saw Duke waiting patiently for her at the gate. She walked into the courtyard and waved to Laura, Max, John, and Les. “Hey, Marty, we were wondering where you were. Jeff called and said all he got when he called you was your voicemail. He said to tell you he was running a little late. Since you weren’t here, and I got off early, I walked Duke a couple of hours ago, but he’s probably ready for another walk,” Laura said.
“Well, that’s good, because I’m running late, too. I need to get on the computer, and then I’ll walk Duke. See you in a few minutes. Come on, Duke.” They walked into her house, and Duke immediately walked over to his dog bed and fell sleep.
Marty changed into dark jeans and a navy blue blouse. She walked outside to the rear of her car and carefully removed the photograph of Richard Sagebrush and Mary from the trunk. While she was doing it, she thought she heard the sound of a car nearby, but she didn’t see any headlights, so she decided it must have been her imagination.
Good, she thought, the photograph’s small enough I can scan it on my computer and send it to Luke.
Marty spent the next few minutes scanning the photograph and composing an email to Luke asking him if he recognized the man in the photograph whose name was Richard Sagebrush. She wrote that she had reason to believe he might be the murderer. She asked him to let her know one way or the other if he recognized the man. She went on to say that if he did recognize the man in the photo he should notify Detective Jeff Combs of the Palm Springs Police Department by email. She ended the message by giving Luke Jeff’s email address. Jeff would know what to do with the information if Luke recognized him. She wasn’t sure the sheriff would take the information from her. She attached the scanned photograph and pressed send. It was on its way.
“Okay, Duke. Time for me to put your booties on and take you for a walk. Might as well do it now before Jeff gets here, and John serves dinner. John’s not happy when his dinners are interrupted.”
She and Duke walked towards the gate that led outside of the compound. Marty turned back to the group who was enjoying a glass of wine in the early spring evening. The weather was perfect in the desert this time of year. “I’m taking Duke for a walk. Be back in a few minutes. If Jeff comes before I get back, tell him I’ll only be a few minutes.”
They walked through the gate, and it swung closed behind them. The night was jet black, and the only things visible were the stars overhead. Marty never put Duke on a leash when they did their nightly walk, because it wasn’t necessary. The compound was on two acres of desert land, and there was no one around.
“Duke, let’s go behind the compound. We haven’t been there for a while and since it’s too dark for me to clean up anything you might do, no one will inadvertently step in something they’d rather not have on their shoes.” They walked along the compound fence, Duke several steps ahead of Marty.
When Marty was about twenty yards from the compound she felt something cold pressed into the middle of her back. She put her hand behind her, intending to brush it away when a male voice said, “We’re going to take a little desert walk. When I kill you with the gun you just felt, no one will hear it because there’s a silencer on it. May be a few days before anyone discovers you out here. It’s a pretty remote place.”
Marty kept walking and the only thing she could think to do was buy time by talking. Maybe it would keep her alive long enough for a miracle to happen. “Who are you, and why are you doing this? I have a boyfriend who’s a cop, and he’ll be here in a few minutes.”
The man didn’t answer her. She glanced over her shoulder and even as dark as it was, she recognized the man behind her from the scan she’d just sent to Luke. It was Richard Sagebrush. The pieces of the puzzle suddenly tumbled together in her head.
“You’re Richard Sagebrush, and you’re the one who murdered Randy Jones. You did it so the artifacts would be repatriated to their rightful owners.”
“Yeah, and you’re next. It really was sheer genius on my part to find a way to get those things back to where they belong, and I didn’t have to wait around for years for it to happen. I’m not sure, but was I worried you may have seen me at the scene of the murder. I got your name and address from the papers I grabbed off the table at the shack. Once you’re gone, no one will ever know it was me, and everything will be returned to the rightful owners, just like they should be. I know there will be more I’ll have to repatriate, but this one is over.”
The night was so dark she didn’t think Richard saw Duke off to the side curiously looking at the man with Marty.
She thought maybe Duke knew at some level that something was wrong, because his tail wasn’t wagging. She knew she was no match for the man who was behind her holding a gun against her back. She yelled, “Duke, go home! Now!” Her only hope was that when Duke got to the compound alone, someone would realize that Marty wasn’t with him, and something must be very wrong, because he was never far from her.
“That’s enough talk. No one can help you now. Keep walking and start saying your prayers. Your time on earth has been reduced to minutes. Saw you walk out with that dog and knew he was no threat. A German shepherd, a pit bull, or a boxer might cause me some grief, but a Labrador retriever wearing pink booties? Don’t think so. It’s so dark out here I’m having a hard time seeing things, but I remember from when I was walking this property earlier today that there are a bunch of palm trees and cactus bushes in this direction,” he said, motioning with his hand out to the side. “We’ll go behind them. Think it would be a good idea if you knelt when we get there. Something kind of fitting about a person being murdered when they’re on their knees. When their body’s found, it will be obvious they were begging for mercy.
“It’s kind of like what the Indian women and children did at Wounded Knee, but the soldiers killed them anyway. Sort of ironic you’re in the same position only the tables are turned. Now it’s an Indian killing a white woman,” he said.
I should have told Jeff how much I care about him. I should have told Laura she’s the best sister anyone could ever have, even if we do argue, and she makes fun of my twitching eyelid. I should have…
“This is the place. Get on your knees, and put your hands together like you’re praying. That’ll look good when they find you if there’s anything to find once the desert animals are finished with you.”
Marty lowered herself to her knees and prayed for a miracle.
Murder & The Secret Cave: High Desert Cozy Mystery Page 11
