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- Herausgeber: WS
- Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
- Serie: A Kendall O'Dell Mystery
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2007
The grisly remains of a prominent judge discovered at a secluded Arizona guest ranch pull flame-haired reporter, Kendall O'Dell into her 4th hair-raising mystery. As details begin to emerge, her fiance' Tally Talverson is drawn into the story which becomes more complex and frightening with each unearthed clue. Kendall's life is further complicated by the unexpected arrival of her ex-fiance'. Her life is jeopardized when she uncover the terrifying secret that sends shockwaves through Castle Valley.
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1
I should have been paying attention. But, I wasn’t. Instead of tuning into the animated chatter of our informal editorial meeting, staying focused on story assignments and considering proposed feature possibilities from my co-editor, Morton Tuggs, and staff reporters, Jim and Walter, my thoughts rolled away like a tumbleweed in a stiff wind.
If I angled the ring finger of my left hand just right, the two-carat diamond caught the luminous rays of November sunlight slanting through the blinds behind me. The mesmerizing collage of radiant colors temporarily resurrected the giddy elation that had consumed me when Tally slipped it on my finger that glorious Saturday evening twelve days ago. A mere forty-eight hours later, my sky-high euphoria had crashed and burned. The very day we’d planned to announce our engagement to his mother, Ruth, came word that Tally’s uncle, Superior Court Judge Riley C. Gibbons, had been reported missing, having failed to return from a weekend elk-hunting trip in the Coconino National Forest near Flagstaff. Despite a rigorous ground and air search conducted by the Yavapai County Sheriff’s Office and Posse, of which Tally was an active member, hopes dimmed that the judge would be found alive in the rugged wilderness after a fierce winter storm slammed into the area. It sent temperatures plunging and blanketed the northern part of the state with more than two feet of snow, while lower elevations endured three days of snow flurries interspersed with icy rain.
Much to my dismay, Tally had suggested that, in light of his mother’s fragile emotional state and her deepening despair concerning the fate of her former brother-in-law and lifelong friend of Tally’s late father, Joseph Talverson, it would be advisable to delay our announcement until there was some news of the judge’s whereabouts. It was hardly a secret that I resided at the very top of Ruth Talverson’s least favorite persons list and even though Tally hadn’t stated it aloud, I knew he feared that the knowledge that I would soon be her daughter-in-law might push his mother to the brink of a mental meltdown, where in my mind the disagreeable woman had never been all that far from in the first place.
I swiveled the chair a few inches to my left and glanced out the window, amazed at the surreal transformation of the normally bone-dry desert now covered with two inches of fresh snow dumped during the second storm in slightly over a week. An anomaly to be sure. A mound of creampuff clouds obscured the craggy mountain peaks while the surrounding foothills looked as if they’d been sprinkled with powdered sugar. Across the street in the vacant lot, the stately saguaro cactus had assumed a rather whimsical appearance, sporting a cap of frosty silver while the tips of its six upturned arms reminded me of white mittens. Snow. I hadn’t thought I’d ever see it again since leaving Pennsylvania last April. After sweating my brains out for the past eight months, the longest, hottest summer of my entire life had mercifully ended. I’d have to check to be sure, but I think autumn consisted of approximately five hours followed by this sudden winter. Bam. No subtlety to the weather here in the desert, no sir. Back East, the first week of November usually ushered in endless months of leaden gray skies. Not here. Today, brilliant sunlight prevailed, promising to bump the temperature up into the 50’s, which to me seemed totally comfortable at last, but had my co-workers scurrying to don winter coats and whine vociferously about the freezing cold. Apparently I still had not yet undergone the magical blood-thinning phenomenon that supposedly affects people who relocate from colder regions to Arizona. Because of the expected warm-up, Tally had informed me that he would not be coming into the office so that he could participate in the search party once again. After spending a blissful night together snuggled in each other’s arms, he’d grimly advised me at breakfast this morning that if the judge wasn’t found by the end of the day, it was likely the search would be called off. Permanently. It was obvious by his anxious glance that he feared such a decision would magnify his mother’s ongoing emotional crisis.
“Which means what?” I’d demanded, eyeing him with suspicion, my tone edging towards petulant. “Are you saying that we postpone telling her indefinitely?”
“Well…um….”
The ensuing hesitation transmitted volumes. “Tally! Our engagement party is less than six weeks away.” His noncommittal shrug combined with his taciturn expression ignited my ultra-short fuse. I inhaled to the bottom of my lungs before responding in a voice that sounded perfectly reasonable to me. “How long do you think it’s going to be until someone tells her that we’ve rented the entire ballroom at the Whispering Winds?”
Appearing pained, he began, “Look, I understand how you feel—”
“Do you? In case you’ve forgotten, you invited half this town, and my whole family is coming, including some cousins from Ireland I haven’t seen since I was in high school!” I smacked my hand on the table for emphasis, causing my new kitten, Marmalade, to leap about three feet in the air. Orange fur spiked on her back and claws scrabbled on the tile for traction as she streaked from the kitchen.
Observing the kitten’s reaction to my outburst, Tally leveled me a perceptive frown and pushed away from the table. “Well, I wondered how long it would take,” he groused, crossing to snatch his fleece-lined Levi’s jacket and black Stetson from the coat rack. “Apparently your promise to practice the fine art of patience is now history. And in less than two weeks.”
“Tally—”
“Look, it’s not going to be a big deal if we wait a few more days. You’re being overly dramatic as usual and just a tad unreasonable.”
I thought my chest would burst. “Come on, Tally, give me a break. I think…I believe I’ve been super patient so far and I know how much you’re dreading this encounter—trust me I am too—but we have to tell her tonight. Delaying is not going to make it any easier. She’s going to hate the idea of us being married whether she finds out tonight, a month from now, or—and please don’t take this the wrong way—whether your uncle is found today or not. So…can’t we just get it over with?”
He jammed his hat on. “Also typical. It’s your way or no way.”
Remembering the look of wounded agitation darkening his ruggedly handsome features before he’d stomped out the door made my heart shrink with regret. I wished now that I could take back my ultimatum. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to wait until the weekend. When, oh when, would I ever learn to keep my mouth shut?
As if sensing my unhappy thoughts, Walter Zipp piped up, “Hey, Kendall, any more news about Judge Gibbons since they found his pickup on that forest service road?”
I turned back to the group. “Nope.”
Lips pursed solemnly, he murmured, “That’s too bad.”
“Yeah,” I concurred, hoping against hope that a miracle would occur and they’d find the man today alive and well. But, what were the chances of surviving a second storm with sub-zero temperatures?
“Kind of a strange coincidence that he disappeared at this particular time, if you ask me,” Jim Sykes remarked, flicking a lock of bleached blond hair away from his forehead while he eyed us with his usual bratty know-it-all smirk.
All eyes turned to him, so I asked, “What makes you say that?”
He tipped his chair back, laced his fingers behind his neck, and said with an air of self-importance, “Oh, nothing much.” He paused for effect before continuing with, “It’s probably just a fluke, but ah…guess who I heard was back in town?”
“Who?” we all chimed in simultaneously.
“Randy Moorehouse.”
Tugg nodded sagely. “Je-zuss. I wondered if he’d come back here.”
Walter Zipp, who’d hired on less than two months earlier, echoed my own puzzlement. “Who’s Randy Moorehouse?”
Jim threw in, “A real bad-ass dude better known to his old biker buddies as Pig Pen.”
Tugg chuckled. “I’m not sure why he’s called that, but you can ask Tally when you see him. I remember him mentioning one time that he went to high school with Moorehouse and his sister.”
I frowned at Jim and Tugg. “So, what’s the guy’s connection with the judge?”
“Ready for a gruesome story?”
I perked up. “Always.”
“Hmmm. Let’s see, I guess it’s been about ten years ago,” Tugg began, looking introspective. “I was still working at the ArizonaRepublic in Phoenix at the time, but from what I recall Moorehouse was sentenced to Death Row for murdering his old lady.”
“Really? He killed his mother?”
A wry smile. “No. Old lady is biker lingo for girl-friend, right, Jim?”
“Correctomunde,” he replied, a speculative gleam lighting his eyes. “Of course, Randy swore up and down that he’d been framed, but he couldn’t explain why the ax that had been used to chop the poor lady up like a cube steak was found hidden underneath his mobile home two days later.”
“Interesting,” I murmured, repulsed, but oddly intrigued as well.
“Moorehouse had been in trouble a couple of times before. He was a member of an outlaw biker gang called the Desert Devils.” Tugg continued, “Three weeks ago he was released from prison.”
“Why?”
He shook his head in disgust. “You know the drill. One of these zealous anti-death-penalty lawyers got hold of his case and after eight years of appeals finally got him a new trial. The prosecution’s main witness, a woman who claimed she’d seen him and another man standing alongside his motorcycle close to where the body was found that night, could not be located. The blood evidence against him had been misplaced and they could not conduct any DNA tests so…” he palmed his hands upward, “the judge overturned his conviction.”
Jim leaned forward expectantly. “Who do you think put Randy Moorehouse on Death Row in the first place?”
Uh-oh. An uneasy mixture of excitement and cold dread wrestled around in my stomach. “I’m guessing the honorable Judge Riley C. Gibbons.”
Jim clicked his tongue and nodded. “Bingo.”
I sat back in my chair. Well, well. That added a disturbing element to the equation. Thus far, none of our inquiries to the sheriff’s office had netted any hint of foul play. If Tally was aware of the man’s return, he hadn’t mentioned it to me. And now with this evening’s showdown looming, did I dare broach the subject to him beforehand? No. Probably best to wait and tell him afterwards. “Walter, why don’t you see what you can find out about Mr. Moorehouse’s activities since he’s come back to town,” I suggested, jotting it on the assignment sheet. “And it might also be noteworthy to check out some of the judge’s other cases and determine if anyone else may have had a score to settle with him.”
His face fell. “How much time do you want me to spend on this? There are probably hundreds of cases and I’m betting the cops are checking them out right now.”
“I’m sure they are, but they’ve got a lot of fish to fry and we’ve got time.”
“Okay. How far back do you want me to go? It could take months.”
I pondered his question. He had a point. Since the U.S. Supreme Court changed the law, Arizona juries now imposed the death penalty instead of judges. “Concentrate on cases prior to 2002, but I’m also interested in unexpected rulings like hung juries or mistrials, questionable plea deals, anything where either the accused or members of the victim’s families may have felt the judge rendered an incorrect decision. Who knows how many people are out there holding a grudge.”
He saluted. “I’m all over it.”
We nailed down assignments for the next day and then moved on to the following week. “Jim, can you do a piece on the antique car show opening next weekend?” “Can’t. I’m gonna be out of town.”
I had forgotten and made note of it.
“I’ll take it,” Tugg offered, scribbling on his notepad. “A pal of mine’s entering a car he just restored.”
I studied the list of upcoming events. “Okay, well, Walter, if you can cover the bowling tournament and square dance competition, I’ll handle the dedication of the old Hansen House and do a piece on the arts and crafts festival. I have to be out at the fairgrounds anyway since I promised Ginger I’d help her and Nona in their booth for a couple of hours Saturday afternoon.”
Walter scratched his sizeable belly and yawned. “Will do.”
The four of us exchanged story ideas for another fifteen minutes or so and then chairs scraped as everyone rose. I chatted a few minutes longer with Tugg and he’d no sooner ambled out than Ginger appeared in the doorway, her honey-colored eyes sparkling. She tapped the thick pile of folders cradled in one arm and announced with an eager smile, “Sugar, put on your thinkin’ cap. We got a boatload o’ decisions to make about this here shindig. You want to mosey on over to the Iron Skillet and yak over lunch or ya want me to snag us a couple of sandwiches off the roach coach and eat at your desk?”
I made a face at her. “Is it just me, or do the words roach and sandwich not sound terribly appetizing in the same sentence?”
Giggling, she swiped a hand in my direction. “Oh, flapdoodle, the food ain’t that bad. But, any hoot, I’d just as soon scoot over yonder to the café. A little bird told me today’s special is their signature homemade chicken potpie.”
I grinned. “Say no more.”
“Gimme five and I’ll meet ya out front.” She scurried down the hallway and I smiled to myself and thought as I had many times these past eight months how lucky I was to have found a loyal friend like Ginger King. It had been her idea to have an engagement party in the first place, and she was so pumped that she’d insisted on assuming responsibility for the lion’s share of details involved in the planning—extra details that I couldn’t seem to wedge into my tight schedule.
Chicken potpie. My usually robust appetite, dulled by the tense exchange with Tally earlier, returned with a vengeance that sent my belly into a series of squeaky spasms. Best eat a hearty meal now because I had a feeling I’d be too stressed out to eat again before driving out to the Starfire Ranch for my five o’clock rendezvous with Tally. I shrugged into my windbreaker and hauled my purse from the bottom desk drawer. By the time I got to the reception area Tugg’s daughter, Louise, was positioning the headset over her short, dark curls. She issued me a full-toothed grin while chirping, “Good morning, Castle Valley Sun.” I smiled back. Luckily for us she’d agreed to help out in a pinch by assisting Ginger at the reception desk and temporarily holding down the fort in classifieds until we had news of our absent—and much missed employee— Lupe Alvarez. She’d been deported back to Mexico where she awaited word on her application for legal immigration. I still suffered a measure of guilt knowing that my involvement in the mind-boggling story I’d broken only weeks ago had made me partially responsible for her deportation. We’d all been heartened when our new publisher, Thena Rodenborn, had agreed to hire an immigration attorney to help expedite her case.
My mouth dropped open at the sight of Ginger bundled into a bulky coat, hat, scarf and fur-lined boots. “Good grief, Ginger, it’s not that cold outside. This isn’t Alaska.”
“Speak for yourself, darlin’,” she sniffed, pulling on a pair of bubblegum pink gloves. “Wait ‘til you been here a while longer. Pretty soon when it drops below seventy degrees you’ll be huntin’ for a sweater like the rest of us.”
Once outside, I had to admit it was chillier than I’d expected. When a strong gust of icy wind grabbed a handful of my hair and slapped it across my face, I zipped the windbreaker a little higher and stuffed my hands into the pockets. Watching the parade of fluffy white clouds sail across the sky, I couldn’t suppress a pang of sadness when I thought about the plight of Judge Gibbons. Even though Tally had told me he was in excellent physical shape for age sixty-two, what were the odds that he could still be alive after almost two weeks in the elements? I chastised myself again for appearing to be unsympathetic in Tally’s eyes. I’d make it up to him later.
I found the cold weather bracing, but Ginger’s teeth were chattering like a pair of maracas after we’d walked the three blocks to the Iron Skillet. Pushing inside the double glass doors, a wall of warm air saturated with animated conversation and clanking dishes met us as we threaded our way through the crowded restaurant answering the friendly waves and greetings of local townspeople. The appetizing aroma of oil-drenched French fries lifted my spirits as we slid into a booth. “Aren’t you going to take off your coat?” I asked, peeling mine away and setting it beside me on the red vinyl seat.
“N…n..nnnnot y…yyyyet,” she replied, still shivering as she plopped the files onto the table while eyeing the laminated menu with appreciation. “Besides the potpie, I might just order me a bowl of hot vegetable soup to soak my feet in.”
For the first time that day I laughed out loud. “Ginger, you’re priceless.”
“Of course I am.” She glanced around the room and then turned back to me, her freckled face suddenly alight with mischief. “Here comes Lucy. Quick now, wave your hand around so she don’t miss seeing that big ol’ rock on your finger.”
Crap. I’d forgotten to take my ring off again. Outside of staff members, only a handful of people in town were aware of our engagement. Looking back, if I’d known our announcement was going to be put on hold, I’d have never told my loveable but gossipy pal. True to her character, she was unable to resist the idea of tormenting the sultry-eyed woman who’d spent the past twenty-five years pursuing Tally’s affections. I shot her a warning look. “I know it’s killing you, but you only have to keep this secret one more day,” I whispered, dipping my hand into my lap. “Tomorrow you can hire a skywriter for all I care.”
She gawked at me. “Y’all telling Ruth today?”
“Shhhhh.”
She clamped her mouth shut as Lucinda Johns sidled up to the table, her enormous boobs straining against the buttons of her stained pink uniform as she set silverware and two glasses of water on the table. As usual, she made me feel self-consciously flat, as if I were still wearing my first training bra. “What can I get you girls?” she asked, unsmiling, her voice a sullen monotone. She scribbled our order on the pad, studiously avoiding eye contact with me before turning on heel to slink away. She might as well have worn a sign announcingI’m jealous as hell and I hate your guts.
In the process of extricating herself from coat, scarf and hat, Ginger fluffed her recently dyed strawberry blonde curls and shot me an impish grin. “Man, you ain’t never going to win any popularity contests with her.”
“Ask me if I care what Miss Boobalicious thinks.”
That sent her into another round of giggles. “Okay, out with it,” she demanded, leaning forward, her face alight with anticipation. “I thought you and Tally wasn’t about to spill the beans to his ma about you bein’ betrothed until y’all found out what happened to the judge.”
I hesitated. “We had a bit of a disagreement about that and I kind of insisted we get it over with tonight.”
She rolled her eyes. “Disagreement my size eight foot! For pity’s sake, are you two squabbling again?”
“Not really. I feel like I’ve set a world record for patience, but he thinks I’m being unsympathetic because I don’t think it’s wise to wait any longer.”
“I’m with ya on this one, honey. Time’s a wastin’.”
“I hate to even say this aloud, but…what if the poor guy is never found? He wouldn’t be the first person to disappear into the hinterlands of Arizona. It seems like people vanishing into thin air constitute half the stories I’ve filed since I moved here.”
Curiosity danced in her eyes. “Have you two rehearsed how you’re goin’ to break it to her?” she asked, chewing on a soda cracker, obviously relishing the drama of the impending confrontation. “How do you think she’s goin’ to take it?”
I grimaced. “Badly. That’s why I think our announcement should be short and sweet and soon.”
Ginger nodded agreement. “You got my vote. That way Tally won’t have time to change his mind and you can get a runnin’ start out the door before she’s got time to throw somethin’ at ya.”
“That and I think it would be a total disaster if she hears it from someone else first. That’ll really cook my proverbial goose.”
The faint frown lines on her forehead deepened. “At least you’re lucky she don’t drive.”
“That’s true. She doesn’t get into town that often but remember, Jake knows and so does Ronda.” I felt fairly confident that Tally’s longtime ranch foreman would keep his mouth shut, but I wasn’t so sure about Tally’s younger sister, whose best friend just happened to be Lucinda. Ronda was always cordial, but also didn’t seem overly excited about having me for her sister-in-law. Perhaps she was wishing it would be Lucinda instead. “It’s just a matter of time before something slips out. I want to get this squared away tonight, so if his mother decides to go mental on us, hopefully she’ll have time to recover before my family arrives.”
Ginger reached for the pile of folders. “Dumplin’, I’m with you a hundred and fifty percent. Alrighty then. You got a passel of decisions to make so let’s get started.” She pushed the salt, pepper and napkins against the wall and set a book of sample invitations in front of me. “You can take this home and talk with Tally about design, color, paper texture, fonts and how y’all want ‘em worded. Here’s a bunch of menu suggestions. Also, we got to think about what kind of flowers to get, oh, and you need to decide whether to hire a band and if not, here’s the names of a couple of DJs—”
The multitude of details gave me an instant headache. “Ginger, wait. I just can’t make— ”
Ignoring me, she continued, “…and here are some spiffy ideas for cake decorations,” she said spreading a sheaf of papers before me. “Ain’t they purty? And then there’s table centerpieces…Oh! And guess what else? Last night, Doug was talkin’ to me about this lady artist named Myra…” she mumbled, running her finger down one sheet. “Yep, here we go. Colton. Myra Colton. I’ve seen her work and it’s real good! She lives up yonder in Yarnell and—”
“An artist?” I interrupted, unable to quell my rising irritation. “Why are we talking about an artist?”
“Because Doug told me that she also carves knock ’em-dead ice sculptures! So, I was a thinkin’ maybe we oughta—”
“Ginger, stop!”
She froze, gaping in surprise. “What’s the matter?”
“I…listen, I just can’t make any big decisions right at this moment. There’s…well, I’ve got a lot of things on my mind. I’m sorry. I know you’ve gone to a lot of trouble, but…” I pushed my hair back and shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “To be truthful, a big part of me would rather not even bother with this engagement party.”
Ginger’s face went stark white. “Well, geez Louise,” she cried. “What are you sayin’, girl? Have you gone and changed your mind about marrying Tally?”
2
My heart jumped when a couple of nearby diners turned curious faces towards us. “Ginger!” I whispered fiercely. “Keep it down.”
She pinched her lips shut. “Sorry.”
I leaned in closer. “Don’t misinterpret me. I’m not saying I don’t want to get married. I asked him to marry me, remember? The problem is Ruth. She’s a cantankerous old woman and I hate the idea of groveling for her permission. We’re not underage teens, for Christ’s sake. Tally just turned thirty-four and I can’t even believe that I’m going to be thirty next year.”
“I hear ya,” Ginger remarked, appearing thoughtful. “But, sugar pie, you’d best remember what Nona always says, ‘a man who treats his ma like a queen will most likely treat you like one too.’”
I couldn’t help smiling at her grandmother’s homespun wisdom. “I know he’ll be a lot happier if we have her blessing, but don’t you think it would be simpler for everyone involved if we…well, eloped to Las Vegas or something?”
Ginger’s mouth fell open. “But…but what about your folks and the rest of your kin? You’re goin’ to disappoint a whole bunch of people who are all looking forward to this party.”
“Admit it, Ginger, you’re far more enthusiastic about the whole wedding scene than I am.”
“Well, what of it? Listen to me, girl, I’d be down on my knees thanking the good Lord right now if Doug would pop the question. I was kinda hoping that maybe if he sees how happy you and Tally are a little bit of the magic might rub off on him.” She narrowed her eyes. “I think the question of the day is why ain’t you more excited? Is it because you was married before?”
“No, I don’t think that’s it.”
“Okay then, it’s gotta have something to do with you getting your butt kicked by that no good rat, Grant what’s-his-face.”
“Jamerson,” I filled in morosely, staring off into the distance. Heartache and utter mortification returned full force as memories of his sordid, behind-my-back affair with one of my co-workers at the Philadelphia Inquirer came flooding back. Following on the heels of my divorce and the move from my dad’s small hometown newspaper to the big time in Philly, I’d fallen hard for my mentor, Grant Jamerson. Not only did I admire his abilities as a top rate investigative journalist, his blonde good looks and vibrant sense of humor had captivated me from the moment our eyes had locked. I’d been truly nuts about the guy. It was hard to believe that this time last year we’d been engaged. “Look, I can’t think of anything I want more than to be Tally’s wife, but…I still don’t think his mother is ever, I mean ever going to get over the fact that I look so much like you know who.”
She nodded solemnly. “I know it ain’t nice to speak ill of the dead, but Stephanie was a no-good, conniving, two-timin’ little bitch. You ain’t nothing like her at all.”
Her reference to Tally’s late wife mirrored that of most people in town who had ever crossed paths with her. But Tally’s mother harbored a very special, very bitter grudge, believing that Stephanie’s despicable behavior and volatile temper tantrums had been the cause of her husband’s fatal heart attack. “Tally is sticking to his theory that she’ll eventually accept me for who I am, but frankly I think it’s going to be disastrous having two Mrs. Talversons living under the same roof.”
Her brows hiked up in surprise. “So, you finally made up your mind.”
“About what?”
“Changing your name.”
I grimaced, remembering how much I’d disliked my former married name. Prigge. A large percentage of people I’d met referred to me as Kendall Piggy. And some of the misspellings on mail I’d received had been downright hilarious. “It remains a major source of friction. Tally insists that I be Mrs. Bradley James Talverson. Period. No keeping O’Dell for professional reasons or even O’Dell hyphen Talverson. To be honest, I’m not sure I’m ready to do that.”
“Why not?”
“I guess it’s an independence issue.”
Ginger’s nostrils flared. “Well, get over it, darlin’. It ain’t like we got a lot of time to plan this party and you sure don’t want to be scrappin’ with your intended the whole time over something as petty as that.”
“Really? Do you think I’m being petty?”
“Just a mite. Here you’ve gone and landed yourself one of the nicest, richest, finest-looking and certainly most eligible men in the whole dang county and you’re busy havin’ a hissy fit over whether or not to change your last name. Well, excuse me, we should all be so fortunate.” Her stern look of censure served to remind me of the promise I’d made to myself to cherish this man’s love and to address my numerous shortcomings.
“You’re right. From now on I’m going to…oh shit, here comes Lucinda.” Ginger tossed me an anxious look before she swept the incriminating evidence of our impending nuptials onto her lap. I had to suppress a chuckle at her attempt to appear nonchalant as Lucinda set the steaming bowls of chicken potpie onto the table. “Can I get you gals anything else?” she asked, hands on ample hips, her suspicious glance bouncing between the two of us.
“I think we’re just hunky dory,” Ginger responded with a happy lilt in her voice. “This smells mighty fine.”
It was more than fine. In was in fact, the best chicken potpie I’d ever tasted. After scooping out the last savory bite of tender crust, it was an effort not to lick the last drops of gravy from the bottom of the bowl. We ran out of time to reach any decisions concerning the engagement party, so I paid the bill, and after stopping to chat with a few of the locals, we pushed outside into the invigorating wind. On the way back to the office, I thanked Ginger for all the work she’d done to date and she seemed mollified when I promised her that we’d get together soon to finalize the details.
The remainder of the afternoon flew by at a record pace, probably because it was so busy but mostly because my heart grew increasingly heavy as the sun dipped towards the horizon. The dreaded face-off with Tally’s mother loomed large. I gave myself a needed pep talk. Stay focused, stay upbeat, and don’t be intimidated by the woman’s hair-trigger temper and erratic mood swings.
Tugg was still at his desk when I waved good-bye and headed home driving the green pickup truck Tally had loaned me. My precious blue Volvo, a casualty of my last assignment, had been stolen, stripped and abandoned in the southern Arizona desert. The incident still pained me. Damn, I’d loved that little car. Babied and pampered, it had served me well throughout four snowy Pennsylvania winters, during the long cross-country drive last spring and since then, the thousands of miles spent traversing Arizona. The scheduled trip to Phoenix last weekend in search of a new car had also been postponed while Tally joined the search for the judge.
Much of the snow had melted during the daylight hours, and now as dusk descended, the remaining patches scattered in the vast desert landscape flanking Lost Canyon Road appeared lavender in the afterglow of the setting sun. I stole a glance at my watch, feeling the crunch of time. If I hurried, I’d have just enough time to shower, change clothes and feed Marmalade. Thoughts of my new kitten cheered me. I had never really fancied myself a cat person until she’d come into my life two weeks prior. Growing up in Pennsylvania, we’d always owned dogs due to my mother’s severe allergy to cats. I’d worried a bit that exposure to cat fur would aggravate my asthma, but probably because of the new medication, it hadn’t. Now, I couldn’t imagine life without my little peach-colored companion and I wondered how she’d fare at the rambling ranch house at the Starfire in the company of two barking Labs, a new puppy and most recently, Attila, the shiny, black Doberman Tally had adopted following the death of the dog’s owner, another victim of the diabolical story I’d scooped during my stay at the Beaumont ranch in southern Arizona weeks earlier. It was but one more hurdle on my growing list. But right now I had to concentrate on the stressful showdown ahead. And on that subject my mind veered to an incongruous thought. What to wear? Exactly what criteria does one apply when choosing the appropriate outfit in which to appear before a person who totally despises you? What color does one wear while bearing the unwelcome news that you’ll soon be moving into that person’s home?
When I pulled into the driveway, an immediate sense of peace washed over me. I cut the engine, lowered the windows and just sat there allowing myself a moment of solace, listening to the solitary whisper of the wind while taking in the shimmering halo of mauve and crimson illuminating the western skyline. Wow. When I turned to the east, the serrated spires of Castle Rock blazed in vibrant shades of copper and coral before slowly fading to pale salmon in the last remnants of light. Double wow. Another award-winning sunset. I had the urge to applaud as I stepped out into the bracing desert air. As I walked towards the house, I was gripped by an odd sense of melancholy. As elated as I was to become Tally’s wife I knew I would forever miss this cozy ranch house. Funny. Even though I was renting, a strong sense of ownership burned inside me.
Marmalade was waiting near the front door as usual, her welcoming cries and rattling purr filling the silence of the house. I knelt to pet her. “Hey, there, pretty girl, glad to see me?” She clawed her way into my arms and I carried her to the kitchen. “How about a treat?” I said, opening the cupboard and grasping a can of tuna. “It’s a special night, so why shouldn’t you be part of the celebration?” She apparently agreed, practically turning the bowl over to get to the contents.
Smiling at her antics, I reached for the phone to check for messages. Oh boy, Mom had called again. No time to respond now. I’d have more news later anyway. And it would be good, I hoped. Scrolling back, I noted that there were three calls from a number I didn’t recognize. I punched in the code while rushing to my bedroom to survey my wardrobe. I saved the first message from my mother asking that I call her as soon as possible. Oh man. More than likely, she was still bent on trying to change my mind. Dad and I always got along famously, but my mother and I rarely saw eye to eye on anything. She apparently had a different vision for my future and never passed up an opportunity to voice her opinion on what a mistake I was making marrying an Arizona rancher. It was troubling that both mothers objected to our union. I deleted two more hang-ups before hearing Tally’s voice, sounding far away and indistinct. After the hissing and clicking stopped I made out “…be a little late…wait for me before…something… something…news…tell her…located the…something…of…” some background noise I couldn’t identify, a buzz and then dead air. I replayed it, but still couldn’t make out what he’d said. I tossed the phone on the bed, shed my clothes and climbed into the shower. Cell phones. I viewed them much the same as I did computers—wonderful when they worked, terrible when they didn’t. Tally refused to own a cell phone, so he must have borrowed one from another posse member. It was a relief to know that he was going to be late, so the pressure was off to be there at exactly five p.m. But then, maybe not. Ruth was expecting us, so it might behoove me to arrive on time. No use handing her additional ammunition to add to her list of my apparent inadequacies.
I was ready in record time, dressed conservatively in a plaid western shirt, black jeans and boots. Once again, I slipped off the ring and stuffed it into my pocket, rejoicing in the knowledge that, after tonight, I would no longer have to hide it. I scrutinized my reflection in the full-length mirror, calculating that the heels probably added three inches to my five-foot eight-inch frame. Good. Height is always an advantage in a confrontation. Since my unruly red hair was the most striking similarity to the late, and much despised, Stephanie Talverson, I took care to tamp it down as much as possible, wetting and winding it into a thick braid that hung half way down my back. A little blush and light lipstick finished the job. There. The perfect ranch wife. I grabbed my jacket and headed to the door, stopping to pet Marmalade on the way out. “Be back soon, baby. Slay lots of nasty old spiders while I’m gone.”
In full darkness with only a few lights twinkling from distant ranches, I drove towards the Starfire with dread tightening around my belly like a cold belt, unable to avoid the memories I’d been pushing to the back of my mind all week. Ginger’s innocent remark at lunch had launched them to the forefront. Talk about the irony of ironies. It wasn’t lost on me that had I married Grant last spring as originally planned, I would now be enjoying the company of the most wonderful mother-in-law on the face of the planet. Phyllis Jamerson and I had hit it off from the beginning. Beautiful, refined, and highly educated, she was everything one could wish for. It wasn’t surprising that she and my mother, who taught language arts at the local community college in Spring Hill, had become fast friends while they’d excitedly planned for my wedding. And even after the heartache of returning Grant’s ring, then tearfully disclosing the news to her, Phyllis had remained supportive of my decision. In an odd twist of fate, she and my mother had remained on good terms and I guess that’s why I’d felt compelled to write the note informing her of my engagement to Tally. It seemed only right.
When the lights of the Starfire Ranch came into view, I steeled myself as I pulled in and parked next to Ronda’s blue pickup. I stepped out and stood in the cold night air soaking in the beauty of the ebony sky glimmering with starlight. I lingered there another ten minutes hoping Tally would show up but the road behind me remained cloaked in silence. Casting a last apprehensive glance at the sprawling two-story ranch house, I murmured a little prayer, climbed the wooden stairs leading to the porch, and then paused another moment to gather my thoughts before rapping on the front door. My knock set off a barrage of barking and, as I expected, the door was not answered immediately. It was Ruth’s usual routine—pretending she didn’t know I was there. Wistfully, I looked beyond the pipe fencing towards the long horse barn several hundred yards to my right. Lights blazed from every window, no doubt signifying that Ronda was inside enjoying the company of her horses as usual. Who could blame her? I was going to need all the patience I could muster, knowing full well that the ornery side of me would love nothing better than to smack the crap out of this spiteful woman.
I knocked louder and finally the porch light popped on and the door swung inward to reveal Ruth Talverson in all her glory, or lack thereof. While I’d taken great pains to dress for dinner and the special announcement she was not yet privy to, she appeared disheveled, as if she’d been doing yard work for a week and forgot to bathe. Clad in soiled jeans and a ratty-looking shirt, her iron-gray hair hung limply around her deeply grooved cheeks. Not unexpectedly, she wore an expression of barely concealed irritation. Nice. I’d done quite a few pieces on manic depression, now popularly referred to as bi-polar illness, while working at the Philadelphia Inquirer. This troubled lady certainly fit the bill as far as I was concerned. Tally had warned me about her bouts of clinical depression and Ginger had confided to me that she’d been hospitalized several times in the past, and had suffered a complete nervous breakdown following the death of Tally’s father. I’d expressed my reservations about her reaction to our news, but Tally seemed confident she would soften her stance against me. “Hello, Ruth,” I said, forcing a synthetic smile. “How are you tonight?”
Still standing behind the screen door flanked by the dogs, her deep-set eyes glittered with reproach. Okay. Obviously, she was not happy to see me. “Where’s Tally?” she snapped, her gaze flitting past me to search the darkness.
A naughty thrill of elation flashed through me with the sudden realization that he’d called me and not her. I couldn’t help myself. “Oh? He didn’t call you? He left me a message saying he would be a little late.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure. The message was garbled.”
Her scowl intensified. “I see,” she grumbled, adding with a complete lack of enthusiasm, “I guess you’ll want to wait inside.”
As opposed to what? Standing outside in the cold? I swallowed my annoyance and brushed past her into the kitchen. My entrance sparked a renewed barrage of barking from the two older dogs and anxious whining from the rambunctious puppy. They rushed at me with happy doggy faces, jumped, pawed, and slobbered all over me. “Okay, fellas, settle down,” I finally ordered with a laugh, trying to pet each of them while shedding my jacket. At least they seemed glad to see me.
Wordlessly, Ruth moved to the stove, removed the lid from one of two saucepans and stood with her back to me while she stirred the contents. I wrinkled my nose. Whatever it was didn’t smell terribly appetizing. I already knew that their regular cook, Gloria, who consistently served savory melt-in-your-mouth meals, was in Mexico visiting her sister for a few weeks. That left us to suffer the consequences of Ruth’s culinary endeavors that usually consisted of transforming perfectly fine food into a series of mystery stews, or her signature dish, a casserole containing questionable ingredients and topped with a mound of crushed, burned potato chips. No matter. The tight knots of anxiety squeezing my stomach squelched my normally hearty appetite anyway.
“So…ah…what’s cooking?” I asked in an expectant tone, taking the first plunge into what was usually a conversational abyss.
She turned her head slightly. “You like fried okra?”
Did I? I knew it was green and in the vegetable family, but I wasn’t positive I’d ever actually tasted it before. Nevertheless, I responded with forced enthusiasm, heartened to be engaging in what was as close to a real conversation as we’d ever had before. “Yeah, sure. It sounds…delicious.”
“Good.” She turned back to the stove and lifted the lid on a second saucepan.
I cleared my throat. “Anything I can do to help?”
Keeping her back to me, she answered, “No.”
“I haven’t seen you for awhile. Anything new or interesting going on?” I asked in a bubbly tone, hoping to keep a dialogue going.
“No.”
A heavy curtain of silence dropped between us. I interpreted the rigid set of her shoulders as a return to her usual pattern of non-communication. Stifling a sigh of aggravation, I sat down at the kitchen table and played with the dogs, trying to ignore the fact that she was ignoring me. My impatience level escalated with each passing minute until it was sheer torture to sit and endure her unspoken censure of me, apparently for deeds committed by a woman I’d never met. More than anything, I wanted to break down the stoic façade of this terminally morose woman and initiate a frank discussion. But I had no idea how to begin. As of that moment, things weren’t looking good. I had a sinking feeling her reaction to our engagement, no matter how diplomatically we presented it, would be nothing short of volcanic. I stared at the kitchen clock. Where was Tally?
Struggling for patience, my pulse rate climbed steadily. As I sat there digging deep inside, searching for a character trait I sorely lacked, I had to grudgingly admit that my likeness to the late Stephanie Talverson probably wasn’t the only reason Ruth disliked me. And if I were to be totally honest with myself, she would be right.
Because my all-consuming passion to be the best investigative reporter on earth continually led me to seek out stimulating story possibilities—or, as Tally often described it, my need for a constant adrenaline fix—I’d been involved in a couple of close calls since my arrival at the Sun. Inadvertently, I had dragged Tally into several dicey situations with me. I don’t think he had elaborated to Ruth how close we’d come to disaster this last time around, but she’d obviously read the accounts in the newspaper or learned of it through Ronda or other acquaintances. Even though she’d never verbalized her fears, I sensed that she very much resented me involving her only son in my risky escapades. Serving as the newspaper’s sports reporter these past two years, Tally had most likely never encountered anything more dangerous than the occasional foul ball until he’d gotten involved with me. Even though it was disappointing to me, no doubt Ruth was pleased about his recent decision to resign his present position as of the first of the year to focus his attention on the ranch.
The uncomfortable silence between us lengthened, and my agitation heightened with each tick of the second hand. Apparently even the dogs were bored because one by one they exited through the pet door. I wished I could escape through the pet door with them. Should I excuse myself and wait in the living room? I arched my neck towards the dimly lit room beyond the dining area. It occurred to me that during the few times I’d been in the house, I’d rarely left the kitchen. In fact, I’d had only one quick tour of the entire place. From what I remembered, Ruth and Ronda had adjoining bedrooms and separate baths on the first floor, and Tally occupied a suite of rooms upstairs. Once again the thought of living here with this crabby old woman gave me a royal case of the shivers.
What the hell was taking Tally so long to get here? Damn him for leaving me stranded in this uncomfortable situation. Maybe he wasn’t going to make it at all. I wished I’d been able to understand his truncated message. What was the point of waiting any longer? No sooner had I decided I was out of there than I heard the welcome rumble of his truck accompanied by Attila’s high-pitched yelps that prompted answering barks from the other dogs. Thank heavens! My immediate relief was tempered by a swell of anxiety. With the moment of truth now upon us, it was a struggle to remember our carefully rehearsed words.
I jumped to my feet, raced to the door and jerked it open. Attila yapped joyously. “Hey, big guy, how are you?” I patted his silky fur and grinned with relief when Tally stepped inside behind him. “Boy, am I glad to see you!” Under ordinary circumstances, I would have thrown my arms around his neck and kissed him until I ran out of breath but with Ruth glowering at us, I restrained myself. I sensed something was wrong when I caught his hand. It was icy cold. His smudged clothes looked damp and his complexion had a peculiar grayish hue.
He squeezed my hand, saying to his mother, “Sorry I’m late.”
“Dinner’s ready,” was her bland response. “Did you stop at the Post Office box and pick up the mail?”
“No.”
“Damn it,” she fumed, slamming a spoon onto the counter, “It’s been four days. I want my magazines.”
I was poised to suggest that if she’d learn to drive a car she could quit bitching and get the mail herself, but Tally laid a hand on my arm and said under his breath, “You did get my message, I hope?” He appeared to be signaling me with his wide-eyed stare. “Well, sort of,” I answered, attempting to interpret an underlying meaning in his statement. “I mean, not much of it, but hey, you’re here now and that’s all that matters.” The odd intensity of his steady gaze disturbed me, but I attributed it to the fact that he was probably feeling as anxious as I was. Since I’d long since breached my tolerance threshold, all I could think of was making our announcement as quickly as possible. Why wait until after dinner? I dug into the pocket of my jeans to retrieve the ring before swinging around to face her dour expression. “Ruth, Tally and I have some exciting news to share and we hope you’ll be as happy as we are—”
“Kendall, not now,” Tally cut in harshly, yanking me to his side and almost off my feet.
I gawked at him in amazement. “What?”
“Come outside. We have to talk first.”
I couldn’t believe it. He’d made me wait in agony for over an hour and now it appeared that he was backing out at the last minute. I set my jaw. “No. We’re going to do this now.”
“No, we’re not.” He leaned in whispering fiercely in my ear. “Trust me, this isn’t the right time.”
I glared back at him. Not the right time? There would never be a right time to tell her. “Tally, you promised me—”
Before I could finish my sentence, he barked, “Ma, we’ll be back in a minute.” Then, amid my storm of protests, he unceremoniously dragged me outside onto the porch, slamming the door behind us.
Angrily, I wrenched my arm from his grasp. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing? First, you leave me twisting in the wind with—”
“Kendall, will you shut up for a minute! Please.”
Stunned by his outburst, I suddenly realized the stern light in his eyes conveyed not anger, but distress. My inner radar clicked on. “What’s going on?”
He hesitated before placing a hand on each of my shoulders and looking deep into my eyes. “Kendall, do you remember the promise you made me two weeks ago?”
“Which one?” I’d had a fairly extensive list.
“The one where you promised to chain yourself to your desk instead of jumping head first into another…possibly dangerous assignment.”
My interest level shot skyward. “What assignment would that be?”
His grip tightened. “I mean it.” He drew in a deep breath. “Look, I can’t ask you not to do your job…but I’d prefer you didn’t go anywhere near…what I’m about to tell you.”
It’s questionable as to which was more powerful, my exasperation with his cryptic behavior or my mushrooming curiosity. “Come on, Tally. How can I promise you something when I don’t know what you’re talking about?”
He paused a few more maddening seconds before saying in a somber tone, “We found the judge’s body a couple of hours ago.”
“Oh no. That’s what you were trying to tell me. I’m really sorry.”
“Damn cell phones.” He pulled me into his embrace. “It’s not your fault,” he said, gently stroking my back. “But, I’m sure you understand now why this is not the most opportune moment to tell my mother about our plans.”
I drew back and searched his eyes. “Tally, I’m making a titanic effort to be more sympathetic when it comes to your mother’s fragile temperament and all, but this isn’t entirely unexpected. After all, the poor man had been exposed to the elements for almost two weeks. Listen, why don’t we just tell her like we rehearsed and then you can gently break this…this other news to her in the morning.”
He removed his hat and raked a hand through his thick hair. “It’s not going to be that simple.”
“Why not?”
“Because he didn’t die from exposure.”
“What do you mean?”
“He had a bullet wound in his chest.”
“Uh-oh. A hunting accident?”
“Doubtful.”
An acute sense of apprehension gripped me. “What are you getting at?”
“Kendall, we didn’t find him near Flagstaff where the truck was located last week.”
It felt like cold fingertips tickling the back of my neck. “Where did you find him?”
“The handyman discovered his body floating in one of the natural springs on his own property this afternoon.”
“Oh, my God!” My mind did a quick back flip. I vaguely recalled Tally mentioning that the judge and his present wife had, within the past year, purchased the old Hidden Springs Guest Ranch, which in its heyday had served as an exclusive hideaway for celebrities, royalty, politicians and the affluent. “So…what are you saying? He died from a gunshot wound or he drowned?”
“We don’t know for sure.”
I eyed him with growing suspicion. “Tally, quit beating around the bush.”
He slumped onto the bench beneath the amber porch light and twirled his hat in a furious circle, always an indication of distress. When he finally looked up at me, the ominous expression on his face chilled my gut. “We weren’t even sure it was him until I recognized the watch I’d given him for Christmas about ten years ago. Whatever the cause, there is no doubt that he was murdered.”
My mouth went dry. “Wait a minute. Didn’t you say he was just found a few hours ago?”
“Yep.”
“Then, how can you make a definitive statement like that before forensic tests have been performed?”
“Easy. His head is missing.”
3
News of the grotesque decapitation shook Castle Valley to the core of its foundations. The site where the judge’s body had been discovered was cordoned off while a swarm of local law enforcement personnel and a forensic specialist, called in from the Maricopa County Medical Examiner’s office in Phoenix, pored over every inch of soil within a half mile of the crime scene. Divers combed the waters of the pools. By the time a full week elapsed, no definitive clues had been discovered. The pall hanging over the town was as thick as the unusual cloud cover that had blanketed the state for several days. The result of everyone’s efforts produced only one serious investigative lead or person of interest—ex-convict Randy Moorehouse. If the authorities did have any significant information, they were sitting on it. Who and why anyone would have committed such an atrocity dominated every conversation and had everyone wandering around in a profound state of shock. For me, the judge’s death held far more personal significance due to my relationship with Tally. While shaken up as much as anyone by the hideous nature of the crime, I was doubly disturbed that yet another tragedy had befallen the Talverson family. Ruth had been so traumatized her shrink had sedated her for three days and Tally seemed withdrawn and deeply troubled. He’d been insistent that I not be alone at my isolated house in the desert. When he’d been unable to stay for several nights because of his mother’s delicate emotional state, I’d acquiesced and stayed two nights with Ginger. After that, if he couldn’t stay overnight, he’d arrange to have a couple of his ranch hands patrol the grounds of my place until dawn. While I appreciated his concern, I felt no hint of impending danger. To me, the circumstances did not suggest a crime of passion or the attack of a madman. By its very nature it appeared that this had been a carefully premeditated crime aimed directly at Riley Gibbons. Of course, I wondered along with everyone else what kind of a sick mind had been at work, but secretly had to admit that it had ignited my sense of morbid fascination.
Everywhere I went it seemed as if people were looking over their shoulders. Time after time, I encountered townspeople clustered together, whispering in hushed tones, their eyes dark with apprehension. A byproduct of the blood-curdling murder was the land office sales of deadbolt locks and home security systems—both concepts at odds with this peaceful desert town where nothing of consequence usually happened.
By the time we gathered in my office for our usual Friday morning editorial meeting, additional details about the judge’s life and mystifying death had begun to emerge. With Tugg taking a vacation day and Tally gone to drive his mother to her shrink’s appointment in Phoenix, there were only three of us present. Whereas I would normally be right in the thick of things, I was instead relegated to the sidelines. And it was killing me. But in deference to Tally’s wishes that I not be professionally involved, I concealed my frustration and agreed to assign the story to Walter Zipp. It took every smidgen of willpower I possessed to go along with Tally’s request.
Needless to say, I was now persona non grata
