Molded 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  I came prepared with decent hiking boots that went well above my ankles. And even though Aunt Ina’s boots were probably substantial, I didn’t want to take any risks.

  “Um, listen,” I said. “I’m thinking it’s probably better if one of us stays with the car. I’ll only be a few minutes. All I’m going to do is walk up that path and see if it leads to anything. Too many small hills and boulders to tell if there’s an old mine.”

  “Fine. I’ll stand here and guard the car. Hurry up.”

  The path was narrow and strewn with lots of small rocks and pebbles, but it was certainly walkable. I moved steadily, listening for the slightest sound of a rattle, just in case. I had read somewhere the best thing to do in case of an encounter with a rattlesnake was to back off slowly and let it slither away.

  A few more steps and I was on a small knoll. The four-wheelers were still cruising all over the place, the hum of their engines echoing off the hills. Behind me, Aunt Ina was leaning against the car. Minutes later, all I could make out was her silhouette. Around me were small knolls, prickly pear cacti, and lots of rocky outcrops. I kept going.

  I looked at my iPhone map. I’d need to step off the path and work my way toward one of those outcrops. Certainly not an entrance to an old mine. If I was going to encounter a snake, this would be the place.

  Against my better judgment, I took the first step off the path. That was when the roar of those four-wheelers got louder and, next thing I knew, two of them were headed straight toward me. If they meant to scare me, it was working. Last thing I wanted to do was start running in case that rustled up a rattlesnake. But it wasn’t as if I had many choices.

  The two four-wheelers were now a few yards from me. They fanned out and came at me, one on each side. Whoever they were, they wanted me out of there and now. Unfortunately, their move had the opposite effect. Usually when people were frightened, it was that “fight” or “flight” thing. For me, it was more like “Freeze in your steps and pray you don’t wet your pants.”

  Thank goodness my aunt was at the car. I stood perfectly still as the four-wheelers circled around me. Not once, but twice before taking off.

  What the heck! I didn’t drive all this way with my aunt to be scared off by a couple of yahoos.

  I took a slow breath and continued to follow the map on my phone. Too bad it didn’t coincide with what I was actually seeing—rocks, cacti, and occasional Joshua trees. I looked at the map again. This time it read, “Destination four yards to the left.”

  What was four yards to the left? All I saw was another outcrop. I shrugged and took a step. That was when the four-wheelers returned. Again, circling me. I tried to get a good look at the drivers, but it was impossible. They were wearing helmets with visors and their vehicles didn’t slow down. In fact, one came so close I thought it was going to knock me over.

  Then I remembered something my cousin Kirk once said. “The next guy doesn’t want to get into an accident any more than you do.” Maybe he’d heard it from his mother, my aunt Ina. In any case, he was right. Whoever was driving that four-wheeler didn’t want to risk an accident by getting too close to the boulders. Within seconds, they had driven off.

  Directly in front of me something glistened in the sun, enough to catch my attention. My imagination went wild. At least for thirty seconds.

  Chapter 16

  I inched my way toward the object and felt like spitting on the ground the minute I realized what it was. Not gold from some mine or any mineral, for that matter. What I had seen reflected in the sun was nothing more than an empty water bottle someone had tossed on the ground.

  It was unlikely it had come from the four-wheelers. No one could drive one of those things and drink water at the same time. Unless the bottle fell from a backpack or something. I bent down and picked it up. Sure enough, there was enough dirt caked on it to tell me it had been laying around for a while. I’d stash it into a recycling bin when I got home. Then I took a closer look.

  The bottle was a custom design, like one of those specialty ones for weddings and graduations. The purple and white logo was unmistakable, and the bottle read, “The Lillian, Forty Years of Graceful, Elegant Living.”

  This was no coincidence. Those markings on Sharon Smyth’s clay jar were coordinates and someone from the Lillian had to be behind her murder and Quentin Dussler’s. I turned the bottle over in my hand and groaned. Damn. It was evidence and now my fingerprints were probably the only viable ones.

  I don’t even think like an investigator. The least I could have done was to pick it up with a tissue.

  The grinding hum from the four-wheelers was getting louder. These guys didn’t give up, did they? Well, I wasn’t about to give up, either. I had to take a quick look at that outcrop and see what the fuss was about.

  At first glance, it looked like a ledge, but there was something odd about it. Too many of the rocks looked as if they had been placed there. I squinted and took a closer look. It was as if I had seen a picture of this in a magazine or maybe even a tour book, but I couldn’t recall when or where. Most of all, I was struggling with the “what” or “why.”

  No time to hash it out. Maybe my aunt would have a clue. Aunt Ina! I told her I’d only be a few minutes and God knew how long I’d been here. At least I was fairly certain those off-road yahoos wouldn’t be plaguing my aunt. She wasn’t the one about to find . . . what? What was it I was stumbling on? It had to be important enough to upset those guys.

  Clutching the plastic bottle under my arm, along with the full one I brought, I got back on the footpath and wasted no time getting to the car.

  “Come on, Aunt Ina. Buckle up and let’s get out of here.”

  I started the engine like Mario Andretti.

  “What did you find? Was it another body? Is that why you’re in a hurry?”

  “No body. Maybe a clue. Check out the empty water bottle I put in the console. Oh, and use a tissue. Don’t get your fingerprints on it.”

  “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

  “The label. The label. It’s from Sun City West. The Lillian, to be exact. Someone from the Lillian was here.”

  “Here? Where? Did you find an entrance to a mine?”

  “No. Not a mine. Something else. An outcrop. Only it didn’t look like the others. Too many rounded boulders all stacked up.”

  “Oh, like those Indian burial grounds?”

  “Indian burial grounds?” It’s like everyone else is doing all the thinking and I’m just along for the ride.

  My mind was processing everything at once. “I don’t think it’s the bodies beneath those boulders that Quentin Dussler was pointing out with those coordinates of his. And someone from the Lillian knew what he was trying to do.”

  My aunt rubbed her back against the seat. “What was he trying to do?”

  “Um, well, that’s the thing. I don’t know. No one does. If we did, maybe we’d know why he was murdered. And that other lady, too. Sharon Smyth. Anyway, I want to put some serious miles between us and Punkin Center.”

  “I know. I’m getting hungry, too. A panini is hardly a meal.”

  “It’s not the food, although I could eat. It’s those four-wheelers back there.”

  “Annoying monstrosities, aren’t they? My ears are still buzzing from the vibration. How can anyone stand that as a form of recreation?”

  “In this case, it was more of a form of intimidation. Two of those vehicles tried to run me off the path.”

  “Shameful hooligans. It’s drugs, I tell you. Those teenagers are all on drugs.”

  “I don’t think they were teenagers, and I don’t think they were messing around. It was deliberate. The drivers didn’t want me to go near that outcrop—I mean, burial ground.”

  But how did they know I would be in the area? Then I remembered the bartender texting someone. Either I was letting my imagination get the upper hand or that woman knew more than she was willing to say.

  “You think that bartender tipp
ed someone off?” I asked.

  “Like a conspiracy?”

  “I don’t know if I’d go that far, but yeah. Maybe whoever killed Quentin Dussler and Sharon Smyth was trying to find the same thing we are. Whatever that is. Not that I’m about to go back and find out. There could be all sorts of snakes and who-knows-what in those rocks.”

  “We could come back next weekend with some large rakes or shovels and poke around.”

  Or we could take a drive to Mexico and cliff dive. “I don’t think that’s such a great idea. Besides, we’re holding on to a decent clue. One Nate and Marshall will want to see.”

  My thoughts immediately switched to Marshall. I pictured him shaking his head and muttering about me taking chances. But taking a scenic drive with my aunt hardly constituted sending up a red flare. And how was I supposed to know about those off-roaders?

  My aunt babbled on and on the entire way back. From lunches she had packed my cousin Kirk thirty years ago to replacing wallpaper, there wasn’t a topic she didn’t cover. And that included the book club and my mother. By the time we’d reached the Greater Phoenix area, I was ready to wave a white flag out the window.

  Unfortunately, the one subject we needed to talk about didn’t cross my mind until we stopped for an early dinner at a diner in Mesa.

  As my aunt scooped some chicken salad on her fork, she said, “We really should’ve figured out what those squiggly lines and arrows under the numbers meant.”

  “Oh geez, you’re right. I should’ve looked closer at that outcrop burial spot to see if anyone had carved something similar on the rocks. There was no graffiti, but I really didn’t take a close look. And I should’ve snapped some photos. I have the iPhone, for heaven’s sake. But honestly, how could I? Especially with those off-road drivers gunning for me.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. If something was scrawled on those rocks, someone else probably saw it first.”

  “We really have no idea what this is all about, Aunt Ina, do we?”

  “It has to be something to do with money. It wasn’t as if that Smyth woman was involved with Quentin Dussler. All you have to figure out is why anyone would kill them.”

  And why they were both found with pieces of paper with my mother’s and Lucinda’s names on them.

  “I think the real answer is back in Punkin Center,” I said.

  “Then what are you waiting for? It’s only five and it won’t be dark until eight.”

  I’d been talked into doing stupid things before. Mainly by my cousin Kirk, and that was when we were kids. He’d have a fit if he knew I was letting his mother coax me into driving an hour back to Punkin Center.

  “If you’re worried about it getting dark and all those desert animals coming out, you don’t have to worry,” she went on. “You’ve got lots of time.”

  “I wasn’t even thinking of that until you mentioned it. Are you sure you’re okay with the drive back? I mean, the winding road sort of freaked you out.”

  “Go slower this time and I’ll be fine.”

  Slower? We’ll never get there.

  Sure enough, my aunt Ina didn’t complain the second time around, although she did close her eyes a few times. I swore I heard her say the Hebrew “final words,” but then again, it could’ve been one of her mantras. We arrived back in Punkin Center a little before seven.

  “See, plenty of time. Take out that phone of yours and get some pictures of those rocks. We didn’t come this far just to get that empty water bottle.”

  “That empty water bottle’s a major clue.” I pulled off the road in the same general area where we had been before. “I don’t hear any noises, so those four-wheelers must be gone.”

  My aunt leaned on the car and gazed at the hills while I reached for my phone. As I turned it on, I saw there were three voice mails. Two from Marshall and one from my mother.

  Marshall’s first call was left at 4:43. “I’m totally wiped out but I should be at your place around eight. Call me. I’ve got a few more interviews left. It’s like extracting teeth or herding cats. Miss you.”

  His second call was left a few minutes ago, at 6:33. “I left you a message on your home phone but haven’t heard back. My brain’s turned to mush. I’ll try you at your mother’s.”

  Oh God no! Oh hell no!

  While my aunt adjusted her canvas hat again, I took a deep breath and listened to my mother’s message.

  “Phee! Where are you? Marshall called. He’s been trying to reach you. Call me the minute you get this message. I also called your home phone.”

  I groaned. “Got to return a call to Mom before she reports me as a missing person.”

  “That would be like Harriet. You know, she could benefit from a nice meditation class.”

  “Uh-huh. Give me a second. I’ll make it quick.”

  I stepped away from the car and pushed the “call back” command.

  “Phee! Where on earth are you? Did you call Marshall?”

  “No. I called you first. You sounded pretty frantic.”

  “Of course I’m frantic. I might be on a hit list. So, where are you?”

  “Um, actually, I’m with Aunt Ina. We’re east of the valley on a nice—”

  “What? Don’t tell me she’s taken you to one of those sweat lodges of hers. Or worse yet, those tribal mud baths. Is it a mud bath? Tell me it’s not a mud bath. That stuff is laden with bacteria.”

  “No. No sweat bath, I mean no mud bath or sweat lodge. We decided to take a nice scenic drive, that’s all.”

  “You’re not telling me everything. Ina doesn’t take nice scenic drives. What’s she up to? Put her on the phone.”

  “I can’t. I don’t want the battery to get low. Look, I’ll call you later tonight. Everything’s fine. Honest. Okay?”

  “It’ll have to be. What should I tell Marshall?”

  “Nothing. I’ll call him.”

  “What about the battery?”

  “I’ll talk fast. Love you, Mom.”

  The next call was going to be trickier. My fingers tapped the “call back” command and I waited for him to pick up.

  “Phee, I’ve been trying to reach you. Where are you?”

  “Um, uh . . . I’m with my aunt and I won’t be home for at least another two or three hours.”

  “Two or three hours? What are you doing?”

  “We took a long drive to—”

  “Please don’t tell me you followed those coordinates.”

  “It was a scenic drive, that’s all.”

  “So, where are you now?”

  “About an hour from Payson, not too far from Roosevelt Dam.”

  “It’s pretty remote out there. Those numbers on the bottom of that stolen jar could be just that—numbers. Let’s talk about it when you get back. We can always have the sheriff’s department check it out if it comes to that. Don’t go traipsing around. Stay in the car.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll call you as soon as I get home.”

  “Be careful. That goes for your aunt, too.”

  “We will. And relax. I already spoke to my mother so there’s one less headache you’ll have to deal with.”

  “Hah! Get home safe.”

  “So you can yell at me?”

  “No, so I can kiss you.”

  I tapped the delete button to end the call. My aunt had walked a few feet from the car and was looking at something in the distance. “What kind of birds are those? The wings are enormous.”

  “Turkey vultures. There must a dead animal out that way. Listen, whatever you do, stay right here by the car. I’ll only be a few minutes. I’m going to follow the path back to that burial mound, or whatever it is, and take a few pictures.”

  “Vultures. They only eat dead things, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’ll make sure to wave my arms around once in a while so they’ll know I’m alive.”

  “I don’t think you have to worry about vultures, and I’ll only be a few minutes. And yo
u were right, by the way.”

  My aunt gave me a funny look. “About what?”

  “Driving back here. It would’ve plagued me all night if we didn’t come back to take those pictures. Those squiggly lines might be the real clue.”

  “Look, Phee. A third vulture joined the other two.”

  “Wonderful. That means the dead thing is way over there and not where I’m headed.”

  Chapter 17

  I didn’t need to hold the map in front of me in order to find the location the second time. Still, I kept my cell phone in my pocket in case I mistook one footpath for another. Occasionally I turned my head to make sure Aunt Ina was visible within a yard’s radius of the car. A few more yards and she’d be out of sight. I bit my lip and sighed. At least she could lock herself in the car if she had to.

  Although dusk was still a good hour away, the sun was starting its descent, turning the sky into a long ribbon of pink and blue. In other, normal circumstances, I might have paused to admire it, but all I could think of were those creepy desert sounds. I figured they had been there all along but I hadn’t noticed due to the noise from those four-wheelers. Thankfully, those jerks had gone home for the day.

  A few more yards on my left and I had returned to the outcrop. I wasn’t sure why, but my fingers were shaking slightly as I reached for my phone to tap the icon for the camera. There was nothing unusual about the rocks, but maybe there was something I was missing.

  I made sure to take at least three panoramic shots of the area before zeroing in on smaller sections. No visible graffiti. No carvings. Only rounded boulders that formed a rock ledge. I wasn’t about to get any closer, but what if I could skirt around it?

  The time on the phone said 7:08. Lots of daylight. I took my chances and walked a good fifteen yards or so past it. From that distance and direction, the ledge looked like squiggly lines. Quentin had drawn squiggly lines and arrows under his name on that jar. The squiggly lines made sense, but what on earth were those arrows supposed to be? I snapped another two photos and stepped farther back. Darn. I should have taken a picture of the drawing Sharon Smyth made.