by Julie Weston
MOONSCAPE
A NELLIE BURNS AND MOONSHINE MYSTERY
MOONSCAPE
JULIE WESTON
FIVE STAR
A part of Gale, a Cengage Company
Copyright © 2019 by Julie Weston
Map of craters of the moon, copyright © 2019 by Poo Wright-Pulliam Five Star Publishing, a part of Gale, a Cengage Company
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
No part of this work covered by the copyright herein may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
The publisher bears no responsibility for the quality of information provided through author or third-party Web sites and does not have any control over, nor assume any responsibility for, information contained in these sites. Providing these sites should not be construed as an endorsement or approval by the publisher of these organizations or of the positions they may take on various issues.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Names: Weston, Julie W., 1943-author.
Title: Moonscape : a Nellie Burns and Moonshine mystery / by Julie Weston.
Description: First edition. | Farmington Hills, Mich. : Five Star Publishing, a part of Gale, a Cengage Learning Company, 2019. | Series: A Nellie Burns and Moonshine mystery ; [#3]
Identifiers: LCCN 2018050004 (print) | LCCN 2018052055 (ebook) | ISBN 9781432858230 (ebook) | ISBN 9781432858223 (ebook) | ISBN 9781432858216 (hardcover)
eISBN-13: 978-1-4328-5823-0
Subjects: | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3623.E872 (ebook) | LCC PS3623.E872 M659 2019 (print) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018050004
First Edition. First Printing: June 2019
This title is available as an e-book.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4328-5823-0
Find us on Facebook—https://www.facebook.com/FiveStarCengage
Visit our website—http://www.gale.cengage.com/fivestar/
Contact Five Star Publishing at [email protected]
Printed in the United States of America
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 23 22 21 20 19
For Gerry and Melanie
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
In southwest Idaho lie the strangest geologic remainders of thousands of years of lava flow found anywhere in the continental North America, known as “Craters of the Moon.” For eons, these lands were unexplored except by indigenous peoples. After Europeans arrived in the area, their maps still contained the words “unknown” or “unexplored,” as few people risked wandering into the twisted and contorted heaps of black lava and the forbidding tubes and caves, where roofs and walls might collapse at any time.
In 1920, R. W. Limbert and his fellow explorers traversed the area from south to north over two weeks, climbing into and out of caves, dropping down into spatter cones, and naming many of the formations. In 1924, Limbert penned an article published in National Geographic: “Among the ‘Craters of the Moon’: An Account of the First Expeditions Through the Remarkable Volcanic Lava Beds of Southern Idaho” (National Geographic Vol. XLV, no. 3, March 1924). That year as well, Calvin Coolidge designated Craters of the Moon as a national monument under the Antiquities Act (the same act that Theodore Roosevelt used to preserve other magnificent areas of the country, such as Devils Tower, Chaco Canyon, and others). In 2000, President William Clinton expanded the area included in the monument.
My husband and I have often visited Craters of the Moon, Gerry taking photographs and I noting birds and flowers and stepping carefully on the various kinds of lava. Even though we are familiar with many aspects of the Craters, it was Limbert’s article that guided me while writing this book about the adventures of Nellie, Moonshine, Sheriff Azgo, and Rosy in this most forbidding of landscapes.
Limbert’s article provided information about several of the caves and tunnels no longer accessible, and Todd Stefanic, wildlife biologist with the National Park Service at Craters of the Moon, National Monument and Preserve, furnished maps of several of the caves and a tunnel. The Regional History Department and Mary Tyson of The Community Library in Ketchum, Idaho, also assisted me with articles from both magazines and newspapers. I used my own imagination (and fears) for several aspects of the caves and the specific dangers of this moonscape. Once again, my husband, Gerry Morrison, helped with photography techniques and mechanics. Any errors in the geography, geology, and photography are mine. I should note that in 1969, NASA’s Apollo astronauts learned basic volcanic geology here as they prepared for their moon missions.
As always, other writers and readers helped with my manuscript, including Belinda Anderson, Mary Bayley, Charlene Finn, John Rember, and Connie Loken. Their assistance and advice helped me continue the adventures of my characters in this one-of-a-kind wilderness. Poo Wright-Pulliam, birder extraordinaire and artist-in-residence at Craters, guided us on several explorations for birds and plants. Information I learned from her is also in this story. She is the artist who created the map included with this book, and she, too, used the Limbert map to inform her choices.
My thanks again to Tiffany Schofield and Five Star Publishing for choosing my Nellie Burns and Moonshine mystery and this story of a bleak landscape in Idaho. Hazel Rumney, once more, helped me solve several problems with my story, and her editorial savvy is much appreciated by me. Elizabeth Trupin-Pulli is my able agent and has been encouraging and helpful to me with this latest mystery.
My husband is still my first and last reader. I thank him, as well as my daughter, for patience and love during a difficult year of personal downs and ups and for always being there as my bulwark and support in my writing endeavors.
PROLOGUE
Long black cloaks shrouded the two women. The man with them blended in, his dark suit leavened only by a white shirt with a narrow black tie. Veils on the women’s hats covered their eyes. The man’s hat, also black, drooped low to shade his face. All three paused in front of a stone and mortar church, where a minister raked red and orange leaves off the sidewalk.
“Sir, we are looking for the lava fields.” The man took off his hat. His voice rumbled in his chest. “We understand they are here in Arco, Idaho, but, so far, we have been unable to find them.”
The minister leaned on his rake and studied the three people. “The lava lies out of town,” he said, pointing west. “About a dozen miles or so—too far to walk. What do you want the lava fields for? Desolate country and not much to see except black cinders. Looks like someone’s version of Hell if you ask me.”
The man stood a good six inches taller than the priest. “We have God’s work to do.” He replaced his hat.
“In the lava fields?” The minister waved his hand. “What kind of God’s work?” His face flushed.
“I am not at liberty to say,” the man said. He turned to the women and made as if to walk away, one hand on the elbow of each. They were both small, but one was almost round while the other wore her clothes as if she had a broomstick hidden under the folds of the coat.
“If you want to know about the lava fields, you should talk to Mayor Tom,” the minister said. “He has spent considerable time there—even guided an explorers’ party a couple years ago. You can find him at the livery—automobile garage—on Main Street.” The minister gestured to the corner and then returned to raking, shaking his head.
At the gasoline station around the corner, the three dark spectres opened the door and stepped in. A barrel-shaped man stood looking out the window. There was no custom. “Sir, we are looking for
the lava fields. A man in the next block said Mayor Tom could help us. Do you know where we can find him?” The man’s voice had no softness to it, but he was polite enough.
“I’m Mayor Tom. What do you want to know? It’s a stark place and no touring facilities, although that might change in the years to come. Word is, it might become a national monument because it is so strange. Nothing like it, except maybe on the moon.” He motioned the two women to chairs against the wall. They remained on their feet. “Are you visiting here?”
“Are there roads or walking paths into the rocks? We want to visit the caves, and we’ve heard there are petrified trees. These aspects are of interest to us. Is any of the lava flowing?”
“There ain’t no real road, but there is a wagon track part of the way. No auto could travel it. You’d have to leave yours and walk. That wouldn’t be easy. I know some of the caves. I’ve been in most of them. I’ve seen the trees you mention, but they aren’t petrified. They look like they were cast in hot rock. No lava flows any more, but there’s plenty of cold lava of all kinds and some different colors. The blue lava is downright pretty.”
Mayor Tom was curious about such a trio. He looked at their feet. “There’s some Indian trails, but mostly the walking is over lava ropes and cinders. Your shoes wouldn’t be suitable. When I helped a party in there a couple years ago, their poor dog’s paws got cut up, and I doubt he ever walked the same again.”
“God will guide us,” the man said. The lumpier of the two women raised her hand to his sleeve. He shook her off. “Can you explain to me where the nearest caves are and also where the petrified trees can be found?”
“I can draw a rough map, but the trees ain’t petrified, like I said.” Mayor Tom shifted to the cash register desk and pulled out a wrinkled Idaho map. He opened it on the counter. “See here? This is the wagon track, right off the main road. You’d have to leave your auto there. Then you got to bushwhack through this area.” He pointed with his finger. “To go from one area to another might take a whole day. The party I led was in there over two weeks.”
One of the women followed with interest what he was saying and where he was pointing. The lumpier woman had seated herself in a chair and stared out the window. “Can one camp in this area?” the interested woman said. The man let the question stand.
“Wal, you can camp, but you might better take in water ’cause it’s been damn . . . oops . . . darned dry this summer and fall. Sometimes, there’s water at the bottom of some deep holes, but you can’t count on it. It’s gettin’ cold at night now, too. You need tents or a lot of blankets.” Mayor Tom began to fold up the map. “And leavin’ your auto out on the roadway is a little chancy. Thieves and things. Some people don’t want the lava fields to be a monument, so they make trouble when they can.”
“I would like to buy this map from you,” the man said.
“All I got. You can make a drawing of it, iffen you like, but I need the map. There’s wild animals, too.”
“What kind?”
“Mountain lions and bears. Coyotes, too, but mostly smaller stuff like marmots and porkypine. Some deer. They’ll be attracted to any food you take, so wrap it up good and hang it on trees, if you can.” He opened the map again and pointed to another area. “Off past the lava, there are fields with cattle grazing. Don’t fool with those, or you’ll get the cattlemen after you.”
A small noise came from the sitting woman. The man turned his head, and she lowered hers.
“Reckon I could guide you, if you like. I could even take you out and pick you up so’s you could leave your auto here.” So far, he hadn’t seen an automobile, but he assumed they had one. They were strangers in town.
“No, we’ll go on our own. Effie, would you copy out the part of the map he showed to us? I’ll bring our automobile around, and we will travel to the lava fields.” The man buttoned his top coat. “We’ll be back in two days.”
Mayor Tom walked outside with the man. He noticed the women consulting with each other as the one called Effie pulled paper from her bag and a writing tool and worked with the map. He waited outside until a dark automobile pulled up with the tall man driving. It was an older model, dusty, with dents here and there. The two women climbed into it, the plumper woman in back. The man almost shoved her past the front seat. Mayor Tom warned the trio again about needing water, but they drove away.
CHAPTER 1
Ever since Sheriff Charles Asteguigoiri engaged Nellie to be a crime photographer, she had taken few photos of anything other than people charged with petty crimes or automobile crashes. True, she was paid, but as there weren’t many crimes or automobile crashes in Ketchum and Hailey, Idaho, she did not make much money. On the other hand, the photography provided a base line of income for her. Still, she was bored, feeling a cipher in a world where adventures shied away from her. Perhaps it was time to move on, to Twin Falls or Boise or even farther west. She liked working with Sheriff Azgo—everyone called him that or plain Charlie—but he was all business. She missed the earlier camaraderie they had shared. She missed Rosy, too.
On the days she devoted to portrait photography, she waited in the morning for customers. While she waited, she dusted, looked at earlier negatives that she had developed but not yet printed by holding them up to the window, and wandered around the room. A few leaves like gold coins in the morning sunlight dropped past her view outside. Rosy, her miner friend who had left to retrieve his sons in the East, was framed in a photo with his wife, Lily, who had died of a growth. It was not Nellie’s photo, but she kept it on the piano that was used for a prop.
Mrs. Bock, her landlady at the boarding house, came in with a steaming pot of tea and two cups. “I have news,” she said, as she poured and then sat down in the gossip chair. Nellie picked up a cup and perched on the piano bench. Moonshine, her black Labrador retriever, lay under the chair but only moved his feet and then went back to sleep.
“What news?”
“Rosy is on his way home with Matt and Campbell.” Moonshine lifted his head to look at Nellie, then lay down again.
Nellie perked up. “Wonderful. I can hardly wait to see him and the boys, too.” She glanced at the photo. “How old are they?”
“Let’s see.” Mrs. Bock pondered a moment and counted on her fingers. “I think Matt is eight and Campbell is six. About that.”
“They’re school age. Will they still live out at Last Chance Ranch?” She sipped the tea, savoring the aroma. Thinking of the boys in the deep snow of winter at the ranch was more than she could picture.
“No, they’ll stay here at first until Rosy can find a place to live, probably in Hailey. He needs a job, too.”
“I don’t see how Rosy can cook, wash, and keep house, too. Who will take care of the boys while he works?” And what would he do, Nellie wondered. She doubted his former job at the mine office in Triumph would still be open.
“Rosy’s sister is coming, too.”
Both contemplated the addition of a new member of Rosy’s family.
“Do you think—” They said at the same time. Nellie laughed. “Go ahead.”
“Do you think he still drinks moonshine, was what I was going to ask,” Mrs. Bock said.
“I was thinking the same thing!”
“I kind of doubt it,” Mrs. Bock said. “Where would he get it back East?”
“If he was in Chicago, it would have been no difficulty at all.”
Nellie heard the front door open. Maybe a customer?
A throat clearing and then Sheriff Azgo appeared in the studio door. “Good morning. Ladies.” He removed his Stetson and held it in his hand. A hint of a smile crossed his face, lighting up his dark visage. His black hair was creased where the hat had rested.
“Well, I gotta get back to my baking,” Mrs. Bock said. She nodded and retrieved the teapot and left. Moonshine crawled out from under the gossip chair and sat by Nellie’s side.
“Good morning, Sheriff. Do you need photographs? There isn’t exactl
y a line-up of customers.” Nellie placed her cup on the piano. “Or maybe you would like a portrait.”
“No. No, I need more than just a photograph. I am traveling to the lava fields, past Carey, and I would like you to come with me. There is a . . . situation there that may need your expertise. I will not know until we get there.” His Basque accent had lessened over time, but his formal style of language had not. He turned serious again.
“Lava fields?”
“Some call them Craters of the Moon, near Arco. People think they appear like the moon does upon closer study. Instead of white, the rocks are black lava. Several tourers are missing out there. It is not my county, but there is no sheriff in Butte County, so the federal marshal asked me to go and find out what I can.”
“All right. Sounds interesting. I’ll pack up my camera and tripod. I assume the photographs will be outdoors?” She stood up. Moonie yawned. “How far is it?”
“Yes, outdoors but possibly in caves.” He paused and looked around. “We may be camping out. And we will be hiking unless I can locate some horses.”
Nellie shivered. Caves. It was turning to fall, and the nights were cold. “What about a tent for me?” She began packing clothes in her mind—boots, sweater, pants, jacket. “I can be ready in about an hour. Can we bring Moonshine? Shall I ask Mrs. Bock to pack food for us? Will there be a place to eat?”
Sheriff Azgo’s lips curved again, maybe a slight smile. “Yes, see if Goldie will pack a couple of sandwiches. I am not sure what we can get in Carey or Arco. I expect someone from Arco will be there to guide us into the area. I will return for you, as soon as I telephone the marshal.” At the door, he turned back. “I think your dog might chase animals, which would not be good.”
After he left, Nellie packed up her Premo camera and tripod and closed the studio. She hurried to her room upstairs, changed, and rounded up extra clothes in a satchel, then went to the kitchen to tell Mrs. Bock of her plans.
