Deadly Sanctuary (2 page)

The dizzy spell behind me, I slumped into the oven-like interior of my car and downed the last of the warm soda, jumping in alarm when a hand reached through the window on the passenger side.

The dark-haired man dropped a thermos on the seat beside me. “You might need this.”

I glared at him. “I’m perfectly fine. And anyway, I would have no way of returning this to you since it’s highly unlikely we’ll ever meet again.” The haughty tone in my voice surprised me.

His slow grin was downright sardonic. “It’s a small world. You never know.” Waving a final salute in my direction, he headed back to the truck. I felt like he’d given me the finger as they pulled away. His bumper sticker read, WELCOME TO ARIZONA. NOW GO HOME!

By the time I reached the sign informing me that Castle Valley was fifteen miles ahead, I’d drunk half the water and was feeling rather foolish. The cowboy had been right after all.

Slowing for a cattle guard, I noticed a girl walking alongside the road. It wasn’t my usual habit to stop for hitchhikers, but when she frantically shouted and waved, I pulled onto the shoulder. She begged for a ride and when I reluctantly agreed, she scooped up her backpack and plopped down beside me, exclaiming. “It’s hotter than hell out here.” I agreed and tried not to notice that she hadn’t been within whistling distance of a shower for some time. “You going to Phoenix?” she asked hopefully.

“No. Just to the next town.”

“Oh.” A look of resignation flickered across her thin face. “No biggie. I’ll get another ride. You mind if I smoke?” She flipped a damp blond curl behind one ear.

“Yeah, I mind,” I answered, trying not to stare at the multitude of tattoos adorning her body, the studs in her nose, eyebrows, and that her ears must have been pierced a hundred times. Every time she moved, the array of earrings jingled when she moved.

“That’s cool. No problem.” There was a hard edge about her. I noted her ragged jeans and faded T-shirt. What in the world was this girl doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Was she a runaway? She couldn’t be more than fourteen. As we continued down the road, she spoke little, staring straight ahead with vacant green eyes.

I dragged my thoughts from the girl to examine my new surroundings. Morton Tuggs had told my father that Castle Valley was a beautiful place and more healthful than Phoenix for me because it had no smog and was higher in elevation. My initial reaction was one of extreme disappointment. What a dinky town. It looked old and dilapidated, not at all what I’d imagined. A sign read: Population 5000. I wondered if that included the wildlife as a prairie dog skipped across the road in front of me.

At least the sunset was gorgeous. The sky boasted a brilliant tapestry of red, yellow and orange hues, tinting the rock wall to the east a vibrant shade of gold.

I stopped near the Greyhound Bus station, pressed a twenty-dollar bill into the girl’s hand and suggested there might be a church or shelter where she could spend the night. She thanked me and got out, saying that the money would come in handy since she was headed for Texas. As I watched her walk away I suddenly felt very fortunate. Unlike her, I’d be staying at a cozy motel tonight and I had a new job waiting for me in the morning.

I slept like a rock and rose late. As I downed my asthma medication, I prayed that the dry weather would restore my health and then I could return home.

When I arrived at the address I’d been given, my spirits fell. How was I going to survive in this place? The newspaper building looked just like the rest of the downtown area—old and weather-beaten.

The receptionist at the
Castle Valley Sun
greeted me with a dimpled smile, and introduced herself as Ginger King. She seemed delighted to hear that I might be joining the staff and took my elbow in a friendly manner while ushering me to Morton Tuggs’ office, which was situated at the end of a short L-shaped hallway.

I couldn’t help but notice the smudged walls and frayed carpet as we reached the open doorway. From inside, a loud voice boomed, “The hell you say?” Hesitating, I turned questioning eyes to Ginger. “Don’t fret none, sugar pie,” she soothed, patting my hand. “His bark’s a mite worse than his bite. You kin set yerself right there in front of his desk.” Giggling, she gave me a little shove forward. The bald, red-faced man seated at the incredibly cluttered desk waved me in while continuing to harangue whomever was at the other end of the phone.

The wooden chair wobbled on uneven legs when I sat. Clutching my purse in my lap, I surveyed the room. It was crowded and shabby, relieved only by bright travel posters plastered on every available square inch of wall space.

“I paid you a shitload of money for this goddamned system,” he shouted, thumping the computer monitor. He didn’t have hair one on the crown of his head, but as he listened intently, his fingers absently fluffed, then pressed flat, the tufts of fuzz perched over his ears like gray cotton balls. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what you say, just get the hell over here and fix it!” The phone dinged when he slammed down the receiver.

After a few breaths to compose himself he edged me an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.” He reached out a welcoming hand. “So, you’re Kendall O’Dell? Good to meet you. I see you got Bill’s red hair. Quite a guy your dad. I guess he told you the story?” His brown eyes looked solemn, faraway. I took his hand, knowing he must be remembering the day my dad had saved his life when they’d both been foreign correspondents during the Vietnam War.

“It’s nice to finally meet you too, Mr. Tuggs.”

His other hand swiped impatiently at the air. “Tugg. Tugg. Everybody calls me Tugg.” A hint of humor lit his face. “Except when they’re calling me Tugboat behind my back.”

I smiled, finally relaxing. We talked for a few minutes about what my routine assignments would be, the fact that his wife Mary had located several houses for me to look at and other general subjects.

During a lull in the conversation, I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. Was I wrong, or was Morton Tuggs deliberately avoiding the subject I most wanted to discuss? I cleared my throat. “You said on the phone you needed someone with my investigative background and someone you could trust. Do you want to tell me about this missing reporter?”

A look of anxiety etched his face. Instead of answering, he rose, shut the door, and returned to his desk where he laced his fingers in front of him. “I have to tell you that I’ve agonized for several weeks over how to handle this. It was my intent to have you look into it but, under the circumstances…perhaps it would be best not to pursue the matter further.”

I eyed him suspiciously. He wasn’t behaving very much like the hard-boiled newspaper editor my father had described. “A man doesn’t vanish for no reason. What did the police report say?”

“There was a search. It was called off last week. I’ve pressed, but there doesn’t seem much interest in pursuing the case. The official line coming down is that he probably just got bored with our little burg and skipped.”

“What do you think?”

Tugg absentmindedly fluffed the patches of hair again. “John Dexter wasn’t real well liked. He delighted in digging up dirt on people. Go through some of the back issues and you’ll see what I mean. He had a knack for really pissing people off. But,” he added, “even though he was sort of flaky at times, I can’t believe he’d just up and go with no notice.”

“So, I’ll talk to the police and see what I can come up with. Perhaps there’s a lead they’ve missed.”

“No!”

I jumped as his fist crashed on the desk. Then, noting my obvious shock, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you…it’s just that…I’m not sure giving you this assignment would be the right thing to do.”

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. The major reason for my trip, resurrecting my aborted career, was fading before my eyes. “I’d appreciate a shot at this.”

He swiveled in his chair and stared silently at the poster of Greece. After a minute he said quietly, “If you decide to work on this, it’ll have to be strictly on the Q.T. Nobody else can know, and I’d caution you to be very, very careful.”

His attitude disturbed me. It wasn’t what he was saying, it was what he wasn’t saying.

“Mr. Tuggs, Tugg…” I tried to keep the irritation from my voice. “You’re going to have to level with me on this or I don’t see how I can help. If you suspect foul play, which I gather you do, why aren’t the police pursuing it, and why aren’t you pushing for answers?”

As if struggling mightily with a difficult decision, he dropped his eyes and drummed his fingers on the desk. Abruptly, he pulled open a drawer and extracted a ragged piece of paper. He stared at it, chewing his lower lip. “John called me at home the afternoon before he disappeared. We were having a big get-together for my daughter and it was so noisy I was having trouble hearing him. I wish now I’d paid more attention ’cause I only remember bits and pieces of what he said.” He sighed heavily. “Something about meeting a girl later. Her information would tie into what he’d been working on earlier in the week, and if he was right, it would blow the lid off this town.” He stopped, rubbed his temples as if in pain, then continued. “He’d been going through some files over at the sheriff’s office and told me he’d discovered something weird. I’m not sure if there’s any connection, but, I found this in his desk a couple of days ago.”

I studied the smudged paper he handed me. In between a profusion of doodling, I read the scattered phrases: Med records gone. Both cases. Dead teens. T prof…Connection? Possible cover up?

Before I could speak he added, “One more thing. And, this is a doozy, the part that’s really got me boxed into a corner. The last thing he said before he hung up was, “‘Whatever you do, don’t mention this to Roy.’”

I looked up. “Who’s Roy?”

The pained expression again. “My goddamned brother-in-law.”

It was frustrating having to drag every word from him. “So?”

“He owns half this newspaper and…he’s the sheriff.”

I left Morton Tuggs’ office, my head still reeling from his disturbing revelations, and trotted after Ginger, who’d been charged with familiarizing me with the layout. For the moment, I pushed the John Dexter puzzle to the back of my mind.

In the paper-littered production room, I shook hands with Harry, a big, burly man with coffee stains on his T-shirt, and then Rick, who peered at me owlishly through thick, horn-rimmed glasses. Lupe and Al, busy on the phones with classifieds, flashed preoccupied smiles. While Ginger prattled on, filling my head with endless personal statistics about each employee, I strained to maintain an expression of interest. The place was much smaller than I had imagined.

“And this here’s your office.” She gave a grand sweep of her hand.

Inwardly, I cringed in dismay at the sight of the dingy room crammed with several filing cabinets and three scarred desks topped with piles of clutter. Two smeary windows faced east overlooking the parking lot.

“Jim’s out on assignment, but I see Tally’s still here. He writes all the sports goodies.” She nodded toward a man hunched over a desk in the far corner with his back to us, the phone cradled on his shoulder. A playful lilt edged her words as she sang out, “Hey, darlin’! Y’all turn ’round here and say ‘howdy’ to your new roommate.”

Apparently absorbed on the phone, he didn’t acknowledge us, so I told Ginger I’d meet him later. No sooner were the words spoken when he swiveled his chair around and stood to face us. Our eyes met, and my mouth sagged open as a jolt of recognition shot through me. It couldn’t be! There in front of me clad in boots, jeans, and a checkered shirt, stood the tall, lanky cowboy from yesterday. The pig chaser.

Once again, he bowed deeply. “Bradley Talverson at your service…again, ma’am.” His lips twisted in a wry smile as he motioned toward a tiny, metal desk. “I hope you’ll find the…ah…accommodations here in the executive office to your liking.”

With a chill of embarrassment, I remembered my fabricated tale of an important managerial position. So, that’s why he’d acted the way he had. He must have thought I was a complete ass and I had no doubt my face was as red as it felt. The expression in his dark eyes challenged me to react. For what seemed an eternity, I wrestled with disbelief, regret and irritation. There seemed only one right thing to do. I laughed.

A look of surprise flitted over his lean face. “Well,” he chuckled, widening his stance and folding his arms across his chest. “I’m glad to see you have a sense of humor.”

Ginger regarded the two of us with astonishment. “Y’all know each other?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he told her, and I couldn’t help but notice his eyes brushing over me again. We parted on a handshake and my promise to return his thermos in the morning.

As I moved to the front door, I could tell by the look on Ginger’s face that she was dying to know how we’d met. But I’d have to tell her some other time. Tugg had arranged for me to meet his wife, Mary at her realty office, and I was already late.

En route to the address, I thought about the rest of my conversation with Tugg. The newspaper had been owned by his wife’s family for many years and her father had been editor up until four years ago when ill health forced him to retire. Under pressure, Tugg had given up a good position at the
Arizona Republic
in Phoenix and relocated to Castle Valley. He’d found the
Sun
in sorry shape and deeply in debt. A large infusion of cash was needed to keep it afloat, but no lending institutions were interested. Help had finally come from within the family. Roy Hollingsworth, recently married to Mary’s twin sister, Faye, had advanced the money.

“You can see why I haven’t been able to pursue this myself,” Tugg had said glumly. “I’m between that rock and hard place you always hear about. Can you imagine what would happen if the paper accused Roy of dragging his feet on this investigation? If he pulls his financial support, we’re sunk, not to mention that Mary would probably divorce me.”