Forbidden Entry (15 page)

“What's going on?”

“Walter's in the hospital.”

CHAPTER

13

My mouth was still hanging open when my dad whipped the door open. “Goooood morning, Pumpkin! Your mother needs a few more minutes…” Noting my obvious distress, his cheery smile evaporated. “What's wrong?”

I put up a silencing finger and continued listening to Lavelle recount the events from the night before and their frantic 3 am trip to a Phoenix hospital after Walter passed out in the bathroom. “He was so dehydrated and getting worse by the minute. He said he felt so bad he wished he could die,” she exclaimed shrilly, “so I decided we shouldn't even wait to pick up his prescription this morning.”

Genuinely worried, my throat felt like I'd swallowed a handful of dry cereal. “What…what do they think is wrong with him?”

“They're not sure yet. He's on fluids. They haven't ruled out food poisoning and have ordered some tests.” Her voice quavered. “Kendall, I'm really scared. I've never seen him so sick. Ever.”

“I'm so sorry!”

“He wanted me to tell you that he feels really bad leaving you in such a bind with your family here and all. I have no idea how long he'll be here.”

“Tell him not to worry about that for a second. We'll manage. Please tell him just to concentrate on getting well.”

But even as the words left my mouth, the serious ramifications of her news hit home. Minus both Walter and Ginger, how could I even think about going out of town on Monday, leaving only Tugg and Jim to handle the entire workload? I felt confident they could muddle through for a few days, but it would create a real hardship. It also meant that my promise to follow up on Jenessa's death was out the window, especially since Walter had not even begun the groundwork. What was I going to do now?

“I'll let him know,” Lavelle confirmed with a morose sigh. “Gotta go now.”

“Keep me posted.” Feeling completely deflated, I tapped the END button.

“Everything okay, kiddo?” my dad inquired, his keen gaze probing mine.

“Um…I've had better days.” This latest catastrophe, coupled with my emotional turmoil over events of the past two days and lack of sleep hammered the final nail into the coffin of my well-laid plans. I blinked away the tears loitering behind my eyes.

He shrugged into his jacket. “How about we sit over there on that bench in this nice warm sunshine and wait for your mother?”

Once we were seated, he propped his booted foot on a nearby rock and turned to me. “You were never very good about hiding your feelings. Want to talk?”

I hadn't planned to, but ended up pouring my heart out to him. I shared my intense frustrations about Ruth, the tragic situation with Ginger, Walter's untimely illness and finally blurted out my worries concerning Sean.

When I'd concluded, my dad laced his fingers together, bowed his head and sat in silence before looking up to stare off towards the distant mountains, his jaw muscles clenched, his eyes filled with anguished melancholy. “Well, you're not telling me anything we haven't suspected. We've all known about his pot smoking since he was in high school.” He turned back to me, a faint glimmer of anger in his eyes. “But, getting himself arrested for dealing it and knowing he's actually experimenting with other drugs and maybe selling them too makes me sick to my stomach.” He shook his head in disgust. “Damn him! His behavior last night is inexcusable and I'm ticked off big time about Robin. She's a nice girl and doesn't deserve to be treated like this.”

“He doesn't seem to have a problem playing fast and loose with the truth,” I remarked grimly. “That seems to go hand in hand with the drug culture and it really worries me that he's twenty-five years old and seems to possess no moral compass.”

His face reddened. “Tell me about it. I had to come up with bail money, hire him an expensive lawyer, and now finding out that he's not even working makes me feel like even more of a horse's rear end.”

“What do you mean more?”

He exhaled an audible sigh and ruffled his hair. “For the past six months, I've also been sending him money for rent and food, plus paying his phone bill to supposedly help him get on his feet.”

“He's just using you, Dad.”

We traded a look of intense exasperation before he echoed my earlier thought. “Let's not mention this to your mother just yet or we'll have World War Three on our hands today, which is the last thing you need right now.”

“I have a feeling she wouldn't be that surprised,” I said, “but we're definitely going to have to figure out what to do about this situation pretty soon. It's serious. How do you feel about having a family intervention when Pat gets here? See if we can convince him to go into rehab.”

“That's not going to be pretty,” he responded, his expression forlorn.

“I know. And if he refuses,” I added softly, “you have to cut him off, Dad. I mean everything, including his legal expenses. I know it sounds cruel, but if we don't all stand as a unit and employ some tough love and force him to take responsibility for his actions, who knows what will become of him.”

A glum nod. “Yeah, you're right. It's time.”

The motel room door opened and my mom stuck her head out. “Oh, there you are,” she said, looking at my dad and then waving at me. “I'm ready to go now.”

I had just gotten my dad and his crutches situated in the Jeep when Sean finally emerged from his room looking considerably better-groomed than before, but I could tell by his closed, insolent expression that he was still pissed at me. My dad and I swapped a conspiratorial glance as he wordlessly slid into the back seat next to my mother and inserted his ear buds, indicating that he intended to tune us out. My mother murmured hello, but was so busy fiddling with her camera, she didn't appear to notice or perhaps just chose to ignore his boorish behavior.

I started the engine and within minutes we were on the open road. Still agitated, tired and weighed down by the magnitude of problems facing me, I was determined to push them to the furthest regions of my mind and enjoy myself. As we skimmed along the highway, I enthusiastically pointed out local landmarks. We breezed through the sleepy community of Congress and then had to stop while my mother took photos of a giant frog-shaped rock formation that had been painted green and white and sprinkled with black & white dots. When viewed from the proper angle, the sixty-ton boulder did indeed resemble a frog and was whimsically referred to by the locals as ‘Rocky the Frog'.

“I've never seen anything quite like this,” my mother remarked, inclining her head to one side. “It's rather original rock art.”

“From what I've read, a homesteader's wife first painted it green back in 1928,” I informed them. “She and her family continued its upkeep for years and now it's maintained by the townspeople as a tourist attraction.”

Wearing a look of feigned incredulity, Sean deadpanned, “Rocky the Frog? Frogs need water, don't they? Look around, people! Does anybody see anything resembling water around here? Rocky the toad is more like it.”

That brought a roar of laughter from my parents and I couldn't help but grin and nod my agreement. His droll remark sounded like the Sean I knew and it lightened my heart somewhat. After that, we began the steep ascent up boulder-strewn Yarnell Hill. When we reached the crest, I stopped to show them the spectacular view of the valley below and pointed out the exact spot where Tally and I had first met the previous April after he had ‘rescued' me from a herd of javelinas. Smiling, I pulled out my phone, snapped a photo and sent it along to him with a message proclaiming my love and suggesting that we rendezvous at my house after dinner. It was a warm and fuzzy moment. Within sixty seconds he had fired back, ‘YOU'RE ON!' With a thrill of delight, I pocketed my phone, thinking that a little alone time with Tally was just what I needed.

Five minutes later, we drove along the quiet streets of Yarnell and then, within minutes, cruised through the picturesque ranching community of Peeples Valley. My mother, busily taking more photos, seemed happier and more relaxed now that we'd left the prickly, unforgiving landscape behind and entered greener wide-open pasturelands graced with tall trees and scattered herds of grazing horses and cattle. Shortly after that, we breezed through the quirky little town of Wilhoit, and as we headed into the mountains, I deftly maneuvered my new Jeep up the two-lane road that soon turned into a series of dizzying switchbacks. Within a few miles, the high desert scrub gave way to stands of stately Ponderosa pines, and when we entered Prescott my mother exclaimed that its quaint, tree-lined streets and midwestern architecture reminded her of home. She was especially taken with the “jewel” of the mile-high city—the stately columned beauty of the 1916 Yavapai County Courthouse residing in the middle of the tree-framed downtown square. I had felt much the same way when I'd first visited this colorful Western town that bordered the foothills of the rugged Bradshaw Mountains. I decided to take a few minutes to drive around some of the residential streets to show off some of the gracious Victorian homes before heading to the restaurant.

Apparently everyone else in Prescott had heard about the mouth-watering breakfasts being served up, so finding a close parking space became a vexing challenge. After circling the block five times, I finally slid into a spot adjacent to three aqua-green Prescott National Forest vehicles. The sight of them reminded me of the puzzle of the closed Forest Service road that became the frozen deathtrap for Jenessa and Nathan, along with my desire to be working on this case.

The tantalizing aroma of frying bacon, coffee and pancakes met us as we stepped inside the warm, crowded restaurant, where we were informed by our cheerful hostess that we'd have to wait a few minutes until a table became available. By that time my belly was rolling with hunger, so it was encouraging when a party of five green-uniformed Forest Service employees all pushed back their chairs, stood up and filed past us towards the door. Focused on the bus boy clearing away the dishes, I wasn't paying too much attention to the hostess bidding them goodbye until I heard her say, “Take it easy, Burton.”

Burton? I swung around in time to see a middle-aged guy with thinning brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses waving as he pushed out the door. I searched my memory. Wasn't that the name of the forest ranger Marshall had mentioned in his report? Burton was not a common first name, so I felt pretty confident it must be him. Though the urge to follow him and pepper him with questions was intense, I willed myself to stay in the moment and followed the hostess to our table. Nonetheless, after we were seated, the haunting questions as to why and how the young couple ended up dead on the deserted road lurked in the corners of my mind, overshadowing the cheerful banter with my family.

My dad must have been channeling my thoughts because during the sumptuous breakfast, consisting of waffles, bacon, eggs, hash browns and coffee, he began to grill me for additional details regarding Ginger's cousin. I filled him in on the latest developments. The more I talked, the more his eyes glittered with speculative interest. When I finished, he let out a low whistle. “So, I'm guessing you're thinking the same thing as this old newshound?”

“Something's definitely not adding up,” I replied, careful to keep my tone light, hoping they wouldn't fathom just how much I yearned to investigate this intriguing case further.

“Bet you wish you were out working on this story instead of sitting here with us, don't you?” Sean ventured, apparently only half kidding and sounding far more perceptive than I would have given him credit for.

“Shut up! That's not true and you know it,” I snapped back, immediately regretting my dismissive tone when I noticed the startled look cross my mother's face.

“Everybody okay here?” Her bemused gaze bounced between the two of us.

“Absolutely.” I wrestled the bill from my dad, paid it, and after posing for several photos in the courthouse gazebo, we continued towards our destination, winding our way through golden grasslands dotted with antelope herds and then up the serpentine road leading to the once-bustling copper mining town of Jerome. The mishmash of charming old houses and buildings, now home to art galleries, coffee houses, shops and top-rated restaurants, sat perched atop Cleopatra Hill, which overlooked the broad Verde Valley and coral-colored cliffs surrounding Sedona. The snow-capped San Francisco Peaks could be seen in the distance.

While my folks chatted amiably, asking non-stop questions about the various locales, Sean appeared withdrawn and spent the time alternately listening to music, fiddling with his phone and napping. I tried not to be annoyed that he showed no interest in the sightseeing trip I had so carefully planned out weeks in advance. When it came time to get out and explore Jerome, he opted to stay in the car and sleep. My mother, raising a skeptical brow, questioned his odd decision. Deliberately avoiding eye contact with me, he lamely explained how late he'd been out the night before and his subsequent fatigue. Without a word, she turned away and cast a suspicious glance at my dad who just shrugged. Me? I was seething inwardly. Because of his actions, I'd had no sleep and yet he was so tired he had to take a nap.

We left him there curled up on the back seat and began our slow walking tour of the old mining town. An hour later, my dad, pale-faced and breathing hard, most likely from the higher altitude plus increased pain in his ankle, proclaimed that he could not walk another step, so the two of us found a nearby bench and sat chatting and munching on nut-infused fudge while my mother continued her exploration of the remaining shops and art galleries along the main street.