by R. P. Dahlke
Karen looked downhill, “About a mile east, between the Bains’s place and here?”
Detective Tom eye-balled my dad’s dusty clothes. “And how did you happen on the pit, Mr. Bains?”
The Adam’s apple on my dad’s neck bobbed. “I was enjoying my new Jeep you see, driving through gullies and over hills, looking for my uncle’s gold mine. That’s when I saw someone on the property. He must’ve seen me and sped off before I could get there.”
“What kind of vehicle?”
“A truck. White, I think. That’s when I noticed the pit. The old boards covering it looked to have been messed with. I-I thought I saw something below. I took off my jacket and laid it on the Jeep fender, got out some rope, tied it to the bumper and went down the hole. Then the rope broke and … I just don’t know how that,” he said, pointing to the jacket, “got all the way up here.”
“What’re you talking about?” I asked.
“The wind couldn’t blow it this far, could it?” Karen said, looking uncomfortable with the suggestion.
I looked down at the item in question. “Are you saying this is—?”
“—my jacket,” my dad finished for me.
The detective tilted back his head and looked up at the quiet poplars. “I think it would be fair to say that someone brought it here. Leave it, and I’ll have a deputy bag it. I’ll send deputies to secure the pit until the coroner can get here. Karen, could I get you to guide the team for the extraction?”
“Sure.” She shrugged, apparently resolved to a late supper for her husband.
He closed his notebook and motioned for us to take a seat at a picnic table while he went to find Deputy Dumb-Ass.
When he returned, I asked if we could be allowed to leave.
“Yes, but as this is now a murder investigation of two people, we may still have more questions. You will be staying in Arizona for a while, won’t you?”
I mentally groaned. Here we go again.
.
Chapter Six:
It was five in the afternoon, and the dead police chief and the art compound owner had already been carted off to the county morgue for autopsy.
Dumb-Ass, aka Deputy Abel, returned us to the now empty mine pit and our waiting vehicles.
The deputy dumped our cell phones and wallets into our hands, jumped into his patrol car, spun his wheels and departed in a cloud of dust—which must’ve helped a lot after the lecture he got from Detective Tom on the care and handling of a crime scene and its witnesses.
I apologized again to Karen for getting her involved in a murder case.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve never been on a rescue that turned out to be a real murder. I’ll be interested to see how this turns out.”
Dad snorted. “You mean in case one of us ends up behind bars, don’t you?”
Jingling the change in his pockets, he went to inspect the crime scene tape staked around the empty pit.
I tried apologizing for my dad’s rudeness, but she just laughed.
“He says what he thinks, which is pretty standard for this part of the country.”
Dad, his profile in quiet gray shadows, gazed into the dark as if looking for answers. It was getting cold and none of us were dressed for it. I shivered, wondering what he was thinking.
“Did the detective tell you anything about the two dead people?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. Not as long as a case is still open.”
“You mean as long as my dad and I are suspects.”
She laughed again. “I believe Detective Tom so much as said you and your dad have been cleared.”
I should’ve been relieved, but history had a way of circling around until one of my family members was in the thick of it.
“The detective has deep family roots here in Cochise County,” she said. “Before he came here he was a New York Police detective, and I’m pretty sure that if he saw anything that looked like you should be detained, he wouldn’t have released you.”
Karen nodded at my dad’s quiet posture. “Why don’t you go talk to him, see if he’s ready to leave soon. Sorry, but I’m pretty sure I can hear my husband’s stomach rumbling from here.”
“Of course,” I said.
“You keep in touch, won’t you?” She asked, opening the hatchback to the Bronco for Matilda. “Let me know how you’re doing?”
I waved goodbye, then went to see if I could nudge my dad into leaving for home.
“What’re you thinking?” I asked.
He grunted something unintelligible. I was used to his monosyllabic responses, but then he surprised me with a question. “What does the phrase tunnel vision mean to you?”
“Uh, well, I guess it has two meanings. You know, like when you get dizzy and your peripheral vision disappears until there’s nothing left but a narrow tunnel? The other, I suppose, is a metaphor and it refers to how we tend not to see the whole picture because we’re only seeing what’s right in front of us. I presume you have a point?”
He winced as if he’d just experienced a painful memory. “Tunnel vision. I had that when I had my heart attack. Everything got smaller until there was only this pinpoint of light. When I was down in that hole, I did the only thing I could think of to keep from looking at the dead guy next to me; I stared at the walls. There are bits of quartz between the rock and dirt and they catch the light like a prism. Quartz carries gold you know.”
“Uh-huh, I think you told me that. Tomorrow we can go into town and get some books at the museum or maybe the tourist center. Can we go now? I’m starved and you should be, too.”
“In a minute. I could only look at quartz for so long before my eyes crossed, and since my cellmate had nothing to say, I looked up. Do you know what? I didn’t see one single cloud. I could get used to Arizona if they have blue skies like this every day.”
“Yeah, me too. Can we go now, Dad?”
“Just let me finish. I let my mind shift from one subject to another—the ranch, goats, airplanes, Shirley, you and Caleb, a dog. I was thinking I should get another dog.”
I opened my mouth to object. It was late. I was cold, tired and hungry, but he was still talking.
“That’s when the bird flew over. I thought it must’ve been a really big bird because it completely blotted out the sky.”
My stomach rumbled a complaint.
“You were annoyed because I knocked dirt in your eyes.”
“Exactly. You knocked dirt into the hole because you were standing too close to the edge. But how in the hell could a bird sling dirt into that hole?”
“Are you saying a bird dropped something into the pit?”
He shook his head. “I very much doubt it. And how could I tell that it was a bird in the half second it took to pass over the narrow opening?”
“Karen said you were delusional from dehydration. Or maybe it was some other kind of bird. We can get a birding book tomorrow. Now can we go? It’s late and I’m getting cold.”
His bushy eyebrows rose, daring me to get the punch line he just handed me.
I ignored my stomach and closed my eyes. All I could come up with was that he had been delusional from the dehydration. “I got nothin’.”
He tsked at my lack of imagination. “A bird in flight couldn’t have knocked dirt into that hole. I mistook the dark for a bird shadowing the sun. I was mistaken. It was something else, something big enough to come between the sun and the pit and kick dirt down the hole.
“Like a coyote? He could’ve smelled the dead police chief. Good thing he couldn’t get to you.”
He shrugged. “Do you really think a coyote stole my jacket, ran with it all the way up to the art compound and dropped it where the sheriff’s deputies might find it?”
“Oh. Right.”
“Yeah. It also makes you wonder what kind of person wouldn’t help a poor soul stranded in an abandoned mine pit.”
I hesitated, swallowing hard. My mouth was suddenly too dry to comment.
He no
dded at my slack-jawed expression. “I think the son-of-a-bitch was satisfied I wouldn’t be getting out of there anytime soon, but just in case, he took my jacket to put at another crime scene.”
“To incriminate you,” I said, the implication driving away the cold.
He brushed the dust off on his pants and backed away from the edge. “Either that, or someone’s got a really perverse sense of humor.”
“Oh my God,” I said. “If that’s true, he’ll know you lived. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we have to call Caleb.”
He reached out and tugged on my ponytail, lightening the mood. “Let’s go home, get cleaned up, drive into Wishbone, have supper, and then we’ll call him.”
Caleb would ask how I managed to go from secluded hideout to the middle of a murder investigation so fast. I had no idea on how to answer that question.
.
Chapter Seven:
I was surprised at how many eateries there were in downtown Wishbone. Everything from pizza to a five star restaurant. We chose The Table because we could get in without reservations.
“My chicken tacos were great,” I said, licking sauce from my fingers. “How was your salad?”
Dad reached across the table to steal my last French fry. “Better with fries. I’ll pay the bill if you want to step outside and call Caleb.”
“Do I have to?” It was a rhetorical question since we both knew this call was inevitable. My problem was that I needed Caleb’s help. My dilemma was that I also missed him terribly. I wanted to tell him that I was sorry for taking off without waiting for his explanation, but I didn’t know how to apologize and in the next breath ask for his help. I pushed back my chair and picked up my purse. If anyone deserved to eat humble pie, it was me.
I plodded outside, punched in Caleb’s number and sighed, ready to apologize first, then ask for help.
“Bueno?”
I opened my mouth and then shut it. Was this a joke? “Caleb?”
There was silence on the line then the phone clicked off. What the…? Maybe I didn’t have the right area code. I punched in the ten numbers and got the same answer.
“Bueno?”
“Who the hell is this?”
“Is me, and this my phone now, bitch. Don’ call here no more or I come bust you up.”
My dad sauntered through the exit, but one look at the shock and distress on my face and he stuttered, “Wh-What’s wrong?”
I held out my hand. “Do you have your cell phone with you?”
“I almost never go anywhere without it these days, but not today, or I’d have used it to call for help. Isn’t yours working?”
I handed him my phone. “Just call Caleb, will you? If he answers you can hand me the phone.”
He did as I asked, listened, blinked and closed the phone. “Someone swore at me in Spanish and hung up. Is that what happened to you?”
“Something’s wrong.” I looked at my watch. “It’s late, but maybe I can get someone at the Sheriff’s office.”
I punched in the number and got the night operator.
When I asked for Sheriff Caleb Stone, the woman said he was on vacation.
“Yes, I know that but this is an emergency. I need to reach him right now.”
“If this is an emergency please call 9-1-1.”
“No, it’s personal.”
“Oh honey, you’re about a year too late on that one. The man is on his honeymoon.”
“Yeah, that’s what I heard too.” I thanked her and hung up. “No help there. He’s gone on his honeymoon—without me.”
“Think he lost his cell and some Mexican picked it up?”
“And then swear at the caller when they answer? What the hell is going on?”
“He’s in trouble, then?”
“Don’t say that. Not yet. I’m calling his deputy, Kenny Everett. He might know something.”
Kenny knew the wedding was off, but not Caleb’s whereabouts. “All’s he told me was that he was leaving town. He looked so down in the mouth, I didn’t want to ask where he was going, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. The problem is, Kenny, someone has his cell phone and they aren’t offering to take messages. He may be hurt. Can you put out a locator on the cell phone and see what turns up?”
“Sure, Lalla. Can I reach you at this number?”
I hesitated. We’d planned on returning to the ranch tonight, but with no cell service and still no landline we were stuck in town until we heard back from Kenny. “Yes, please. Call me when you hear something, and thanks.”
My dad shuffled from one foot to the other. “Where do you think he went?”
“I have no idea. Mendocino was my idea, not his. He would’ve been happy with a beach palapa in Ensenada. Regardless, we have to stay in town in case Kenny calls. If we don’t hear from him tonight, we’ll get help tomorrow.”
Dad pointed across the street. “There’s a big hotel. Lights are still on. Let’s try there.”
The Copper Queen Hotel had been renovated to accommodate a burgeoning tourist trade. Gaslights were now wired for electricity and old black and white photos lined the walls to tell the story of fortunes found and lost in the heyday of Arizona mining. Lucky for us, the night clerk had one room left. The honeymoon suite, we were assured, had a sitting room with a pull out couch. I whipped out my credit card before Dad caught a whiff of the expensive bill and insisted we instead find a park bench. I was exhausted, and God knows my dad was fading fast.
I put him to bed in the sitting room, and sat down to call everyone and anyone I knew in Modesto.
I woke up Roxanne, worry in her voice at my late night call. “He lost his phone and someone else is using it? That can be traced, you know.”
“Yes,” I said. “Kenny Everett is on it, but for now, if someone in town knows, or thinks they know where he went, it sure would help alleviate my fear.”
Roxanne waited a beat, letting me know my fear wouldn’t be riding shotgun if I hadn’t run off to Arizona.
Rushing to my own defense I stupidly blathered a silly line, “It is what it is, Roxy.”
“Nonsense. I left you all those messages. Texted you, too, didn’t I? How was the man to know that his five minute pit stop at a 7-11 would put him between a needle junkie and a scared Pakistani shop owner? Still, you could’ve taken a phone call from him—or your friends.”
My head hurt, my stomach hurt worse, and I didn’t think I could say another word without breaking down completely. I knew my voice trembled when I rushed to end the call with a promise to let her know if I found out he was okay. I closed the cell and rested my head between my hands. Oh God, what have I done? I’d stupidly left him with no recourse but to take his paid vacation time some place where, at the very least, his cell phone would fall into the hands of thieves.
Unable to sleep, I trolled through the mini bar looking for candy then turned on the TV.
I had half a Mars bar in my mouth when my cell phone rang. I answered and a growly voice asked, “Is this Miss Lalla Bains?”
I spat the candy into my hand. “Yes, this is she. Who’s calling?”
“This is Deputy Simon from the Cochise County Sheriff’s office, we got Caleb Stone here and he’d like for you to pick him up.”
“Did you say Cochise County?”
“Yes, ma’am. Sierra Vista substation.”
Sierra Vista was an hour away, tops. What the hell was he doing in Arizona?
“Yes, of course I’ll come pick him up. Has he been in an accident? Is he injured?”
“Oh no, ma’am, though he wasn’t wearing anything but his skivvies when we found him. At first, we thought he was drunk, staggering along the highway, but the EMTs looked him over and he was just suffering from exposure and dehydration, the victim of some darn coyote.”
“An animal?”
His growly voice rumbled with laughter.
“Oh, no ma’am. These’re smugglers. Every once in a while they highjack a car or a truck.” The depu
ty seemed pleased to educate someone new on the subject. “They get one of the women to lie out on the road and when an unsuspecting driver stops, the men run out and snatch the car and keys. Evidently, this one had a gun and got not only your friend’s truck, but his wallet and boots. I think he’s madder about his boots than anything. He said they were expensive.”
This was Caleb all right. He loved those boots, and had them worn in just right and I knew the thought of losing them would annoy him to pieces.
I was dumbfounded but relieved that Caleb was here in Arizona. “Where do I pick him up, at your county jail?”
“Yes ma’am. Like I said, he’s at our substation in Sierra Vista. You familiar with the town?”
“Give me an address.”
“East on Highway 90 to Colonia de Salud. It’s a short street, and we’re on the right. He’ll be in the lobby.”
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” I said, wedging the cell between my shoulder and my ear while I dragged on my boots.
“And one other thing?”
“Yes?” Another man who likes to drop one other thing on me.
“Sheriff Stone will be wearing one of our two piece suits and plastic flip-flops, but you’re not going to want to take him out in public, if you know what I mean. Oh, and I’d appreciate it if you’d return the gear.”
“I’ll be sure to do that, Deputy. See you soon.”
I closed the phone and took a deep breath. If only I’d nailed my feet to the floor at Roxanne’s Café for fifteen more minutes, Caleb and I would be married, and on our honeymoon right now. But because I couldn’t handle the embarrassment, my dad spent most of today cozied up to a dead police chief, while Caleb got car-jacked, robbed of his wallet, cell phone and clothes and spent his first day in Arizona wandering half-naked in the desert. Fifteen minutes. Fifteen lousy minutes and a chain reaction rolled downhill to become a catastrophe.
Karma had once again spun around and kicked me in the head. Maybe it was just relief from the tension of today, but suddenly it all struck me as terribly funny.
