by J. C. Eaton
Grumbling to myself, I took more photos before shoving the phone back in my pocket. It was now 7:17 and the sun was getting lower in the sky. Aunt Ina’s vultures had moved on or maybe they were on the ground eating something. I tried not to think about it as I walked back to the car. Those unsettling desert sounds seemed to be getting louder. Maybe because there were no other noises to drown them out. First, a crunching sound, then something a bit more subtle. Rabbits? Coyotes? Nothing that would pose an immediate threat.
It was only when I heard something rustling behind me that I turned my head. All I saw was scrub brush, cacti, and rock. It had to be a harmless desert animal like a kangaroo rat or something similar. Still, I moved quicker, taking longer strides. If I didn’t think I’d trip over a stone or rock, I might have decided to jog.
Aunt Ina was clearly visible by the car. But instead of standing there with her arms folded across her chest or her body leaning back against the hood, she appeared to be stomping her feet and motioning for me to hurry. Maybe Louis had called and she was in a rush to get home. I forced myself to quicken the pace. As I got closer, I could hear her yelling.
“Hurry up, Phee. Move it! Move it!”
I could hear her screaming from a good twenty yards.
“What? What’s the matter?”
She had already gotten into the car and slammed the door. I flung open the driver’s side door and literally threw myself in the seat. “What’s going on?”
“Start the motor and drive.”
I shrugged and pulled back on the road. “Now will you tell me what’s going on? It’s not those turkey vultures, is it? Oh no, did my mother call you? Is that why you’re in such a state?”
“Of course not. There was someone behind you. I didn’t see them when you first headed to that burial mound, but on your way back, I could see someone following you. I’m sure it was a person.”
“What do you mean you’re sure it was a person? As opposed to what? Anything else that would’ve been on four legs?”
“Don’t get upset. It was a person. Taller than you. Thin.”
“Man or woman?”
“I couldn’t tell. It was shadowy. But I did see one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“They were holding what looked like a gun.”
“A gun? You could see something like that from far away? It could’ve been anything. A cell phone, a candy bar, a—”
“People don’t hold out cell phones or candy bars like they’re going to shoot them. He or she was pointing that thing.”
I looked in the rearview mirror and held my breath. This was always the scene in those police movies where the innocent victim was being followed. All I saw was empty road.
“Are you sure your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you?”
“Of course I’m sure. We may be in the desert, but that was no mirage. If I was going to see a mirage, it would be a lovely turquoise pool with a nice cabana and some wine.”
Only my aunt could think of cabanas and wine at a time like this.
“Okay, okay. Suppose it was a person—”
“No suppose. It was a person. A person with a gun.”
“Fine. A gun-toting person. How do you suppose he got there? No one’s going to hike that far. And I didn’t hear or see those four-wheelers just now.”
“The bartender told us about dirt bikes. You know, those nasty things that always need to be hosed off?”
I laughed. “Yeah, I know.”
Then I realized something. It was quite feasible someone could’ve been in the area on a dirt bike and set it on the ground behind some rocks or scrub brush when they saw me. But to follow me with a gun?
My aunt reached across the console and patted me on the knee. “I think something strange is going on here and I, for one, am even more convinced those clay jar markings were coordinates. But what that has to do with a bunch of old coots at the Lillian and some hoity-toity clay artist is beyond my scope of reasoning. But I do know one thing. . . .”
“What’s that?”
“You may be the next victim.”
“What makes you say that? There’s no one following us and no one knows who we are.”
“Your car was parked in front of that bar long enough for someone to write down the plate number.”
Leave it to my aunt Ina to string together a bunch of unrelated incidents and have them come out sounding rational and, worse yet, ominous. I checked the rearview mirror again. Nothing.
“Why would anyone write down the plate number?” I asked. “That’s nuts. The only people who bother to drive here are those bike riders.”
“With water bottles from the Lillian?”
“Oh holy hell! You’re right, Aunt Ina. Marshall isn’t going to like this one bit.”
“Marshall? I’d be more worried about your mother, if I were you.”
As if I didn’t have enough on my mind, now I had to add my mother to the mix. I pushed that thought to the back of my mind as I concentrated on the road. Thank goodness it was still daylight. The twists and turns weren’t as bad going uphill on Route 188, but to listen to my aunt, one would think we were making our way through Tibet. At least there were no cars behind us. That changed once I got on the Beeline and headed south.
There were vehicles all over the place returning to the valley from Payson—RVs, small campers, trucks, SUVs, sedans, and motorcycles. Probably weekend campers or casino gamblers headed to Fort McDowell, in Fountain Hills. Sunday nights were apparently popular gambling nights.
I hugged the right side of the road and let anyone and everyone pass me. I figured the last thing I needed was to go careening off a cliff because I was unfamiliar with the hairpin curves. It wasn’t until we reached Mesa that I was able to pick up speed on Route 60.
We made a quick stop at a Circle K, where my aunt and I grabbed some ready-made hot dogs before I filled up the car with gas. An hour or so later, we arrived at her house. Louis must have just pulled into the garage, according to Aunt Ina, because the outdoor motion sensor lights were still flooding the area.
“Come inside, Phee. Louis would love to see you.”
“He’s probably exhausted from that bar mitzvah. Besides, it’s almost ten and I really need to get home.”
Then, for no apparent reason, all sorts of bizarre and worrisome thoughts entered my mind. What if it wasn’t Louis? What if someone else was in my aunt’s house? I knew I was being irrational, but irrational trumped dead any day of the week.
“Um, on second thought, maybe I’ll just come in for a minute and say hi.”
My aunt used her key to unlock the front door and shouted for Louis. Within seconds, I heard his voice. “I hope you’re alone, Ina, because I’m buck naked. I threw my clothes in the washer.”
“Never mind, Aunt Ina.” I raced out the door. “Another time.”
At least she was safe and sound at home. With my uncle in his birthday suit. I tried not to picture it as I drove to my own place. It was ten thirty when I finally walked into my casita and kicked off my shoes. The answering machine light was blinking and it didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out who left the messages.
“Call me the minute you get in. Scenic drive my patootie! What godforsaken place did that sister of mine take you to? Some sort of native witch doctor to make her look twenty years younger? What? Call me. And, by the way, I left Ina a message, too.”
Then there was Marshall’s message. “I don’t care if it’s midnight. Call me the second you get in. It’s no fun worrying about you on those winding roads.”
I knew if my mother didn’t hear from me in what she considered to be “a reasonable amount of time,” she’d be likely to call the county sheriff’s department. Marshall, on the other hand, would exercise some restraint. I called my mother first.
“I’m home. Aunt Ina’s home. We’re all fine. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow, but I need to call Marshall. Talk to you later.”
“Fine. Call me on your break
tomorrow.”
It wasn’t going to be as easy explaining things to Marshall. He’d be relieved my aunt and I made it back in one piece but, deep down, he was probably fuming I decided to trace those coordinates.
“Hey, we’re back in the land of fast food and twenty-four-hour gas stations,” I said.
“Phee, you have no idea how worried I was about you. And before you say anything, I know. I know how your curiosity can get the better of you, but the high desert? My God. Anything could have happened. Geez, I’m sounding like a broken record.”
“You’re sounding dated. It would be an iPod.”
“Don’t change the subject. I’m still pretty miffed. Oh, what the hell. All I really want to do is pull you close to me.”
“Trust me. I want to be pulled, too. Um, about those numbers on the bottom of that jar . . . I think they really are coordinates.”
“Why? What did you find?”
“Some sort of outcrop in the desert that might be a burial mound. But here’s the thing—I found an empty water bottle on the ground next to it. And not any old water bottle. One with a special logo from the Lillian.”
“I’m waking Nate up. He deserves to hear this. It’s the best clue we’ve had all weekend. Heck! It’s the only clue.”
“It’s covered in dirt, and I think I compromised it with my fingerprints. I should’ve known better.”
“Relax. If there are any additional prints, the sheriff’s department will be able to isolate them.”
“What about DNA?” I asked.
“First off, I don’t think any of that evidence is going to be viable. It’s probably been compromised. And, it’s not as if the bottle was found at an active crime scene. It would’ve been different had it been found next to one of the bodies. But don’t get me wrong. Like I said, it’s the best clue we have.”
“Good. Because I had to put up with my aunt Ina all day in order to find it.”
“I’ll give you an extra hug tomorrow. All right?”
“Yep. And thanks for worrying.”
“For that, you’ll owe me at least half a dozen more.”
I couldn’t wipe the idiotic smile off my face for at least five minutes. Even while I was putting the evidence in a Ziploc bag. This time I remembered to use a tissue.
Chapter 18
I made it a point to get into the office early the next day. As the first person through the door, I turned on the copier, got the Keurig all set up, and even did Augusta a favor by booting up her computer as well.
No sooner did I flip on the lights in my office than I heard someone come through the door.
“Get over here and give me that damn hug before the rest of the crew arrives! Wait! Better still, I’m heading into your office.”
Marshall reached for my hand, all but swung me around, and planted a kiss on my lips before I could say a word. “Next time can you please keep your sleuthing to the dog park or your mother’s neighborhood?”
“If I did that, you wouldn’t have this.”
I walked to my desk where I had tossed my bag and pulled out the empty water bottle from the Lillian.
Marshall eyeballed it carefully through the Ziploc bag. “I’ll show this to Nate as soon as he gets in. One of us will get it over to the sheriff’s department so they can process it. Looks like the circle got a whole lot bigger.”
“Tell me”—I leaned over to boot up my computer—“what were you and Nate able to find out from all those weekend interviews?”
“When we left the Lillian yesterday, Nate was shaking his head and mumbling to himself. Honestly, it was absolute torture.”
“You mean the residents didn’t want to talk with you?”
“Oh, believe me, they wanted to talk, all right. Only it wasn’t about the murder investigation. One guy relived D-Day for me and three others had war stories about Korea. I didn’t have the heart to stop them. It was worse for Nate. Somehow, he wound up with most of the women, and when they found out he was single, they immediately rattled off the names of their unwed children or grandchildren.”
“Yikes.”
“I don’t think it was much better for the sheriff’s deputies who were conducting interviews as well. They left the place looking like the cast from The Walking Dead.”
“So now what?”
“As soon as Nate gets in, we’re heading over to the sheriff’s station in Sun City West. All of us need to compare notes, look for commonalities, and see if there are any realistic leads. It’ll be like sorting through a decade of taxes.”
“Were the interviews with the staff more productive?”
“They were more succinct, but it’s too early to tell until we piece together the information they shared. All I can say is thank God for technology. Imagine what it would be like if we didn’t have laptops. We’d be sorting through handwritten notes for weeks.”
The door opened and Augusta marched in. “I’m not late, am I? What time is it?”
“Good morning, Augusta,” Marshall said as we walked into the main office. “It’s ten minutes to nine. We’ve only been here a few minutes.”
With that, Marshall gave my hand a quick squeeze and headed into his office.
Augusta eyed me with one of her “I know what’s going on” looks. “We’ve only been here?”
“Not what you think. Well, not today anyway. I got in early and Marshall breezed through the door a little while after. Listen, remember the drawing of those numbers and markings on the bottom of that stolen clay jar? Numbers you thought were GPS coordinates. Well, I think they were. I drove to that spot yesterday.”
“By yourself?”
“Of course not. My aunt Ina went with me.”
“Hells bells, Phee! That’s worse. So, what happened? Find anything?”
“It’s a remote spot in the high desert south of Payson. Lots of outcrops, cacti, and scrub brush.”
“Get to the point.”
“The spot was a strange-looking outcrop but with rounded boulders. My aunt thought it might be an ancient burial ground. Of course, she didn’t actually see it up close since I made her wait at the car.”
“Good move.”
“And I found something—an empty water bottle. And get this, the place was teeming with off-roaders who kept circling around me. Either they were a bunch of idiots or they wanted me to get the hell out of there. So, we left. But we came back later. After we drove all the way to Mesa.”
“You’re kidding me? You drove back? What on earth for?”
I told her about my stupidity in not snapping any photos the first time around.
“Yeah, I suppose that makes sense. So, what about the water bottle?”
“Oh, that’s the best part! It’s one of those commemorative ones they use for special occasions, and this one was from the Lillian.”
“Holy cow! You really did find a clue.”
At that moment, my boss walked in. “Morning, ladies. Don’t mind me. I’m still reeling from yesterday’s delightful sojourn at the Lillian. Marshall in yet?”
“In his office,” I said.
“Guess he told you we’re about to spend the day with the sheriff’s department. I’m going to make myself a cup of coffee, check my e-mails, and head over there with him. Anything comes up, call me.”
“I found a clue, Nate. Not any old clue but one that proves those numbers on the bottom of Sharon Smyth’s stolen clay jar were really GPS coordinates.”
My boss looked as if I had sprouted wings. “Don’t tell me you did something stupid or dangerous.”
Augusta took a step forward and held up her palms as if she was stopping traffic. “She had her aunt with her. It was fine.”
“Oh brother. This I need to hear. But coffee first.”
By the time I was done telling Nate about the encounter at Punkin Center, the four-wheelers, and the water bottle, he was absolutely speechless. The one piece of information I did leave out, however, was that bit about being followed by someone who might or might
not have been holding a gun. No need for him or Marshall, for that matter, to get into a tailspin.
“Marshall has the water bottle,” I went on. “Guess the sheriff’s department will be glad to get it. I mean, it wasn’t as if they were about to trek all the way to that spot on their own.”
Nate didn’t say a word but smiled and shook his head.
“I have the photos I took of that outcrop. I’ll send them to your e-mail.”
“Promise me you won’t go out there again. With or without your aunt Ina. That’s something for the sheriff’s department. And not the one in our jurisdiction. The Gila County Sheriff’s Office. Lucky them. These two murders are like a net that just keeps getting wider and wider.”
“But Phee caught you a fish in that net, didn’t she?” Augusta asked.
“She was lucky that’s all she caught.” Then he looked right at me. “Can you please keep it to Sun City West? Surely there’s enough there to occupy that inquisitive mind of yours. Okay, kiddo?”
“Yeah. Sun City West.”
Marshall and my boss headed off to the sheriff’s station a few minutes later. Augusta and I got right to work.
Around midmorning, as I was preparing to take a break and have my third cup of coffee, Augusta knocked on my door frame.
“Your mother’s on the phone.”
My mother. I had totally forgotten I’d told her I’d speak with her during my morning break. There was no escaping it.
Her voice boomed the second I said hello. “I’m glad you’re in one piece, Phee. I talked to your aunt this morning and all she would say was that the two of you took a scenic drive. If that’s the way you want to be about it, fine. But don’t call me if you wind up at some New Age retreat with a bunch of crazies.”
“Don’t be upset with Aunt Ina. She was only covering for me.”
I went on to tell my mother about Sharon Smyth’s drawing and how Augusta thought the numbers might’ve been coordinates. When I was done, I got the third version of “don’t drive there again.”
Then she changed the subject. “I ran into Cindy Dolton at PetSmart yesterday. In the grain-free section, where I get Streetman’s special food. She’s changing Bundles’s diet. Anyhow, she asked if you ever contacted Lon and Mary Melhorn about Quentin Dussler.”
