Forbidden Entry (29 page)

“I appreciate that.” I sat down near the fire.

“So, what is it you'd be wanting to know about old Stilts?” he asked, taking a drink of his cider.

I filled him in on my strange encounter and he nodded sagely. “Yeah, he's an odd bird, I'll give ya that. I don't know a whole hell of a lot about him 'cept I understand he's been living here close on to fifteen years. Keeps to himself, never talks about where he come from, don't seem to have no friends and for some dang reason, never finishes building that house.” He sipped more cider continuing with, “Wish I could help ya out with his real name, but ya see, I don't deliver his mail. He uses a PO Box in Black Canyon City.”

Now I was even more curious. Using a Post Office box is the best way for a person to go underground. “But he must have had mail delivered at one time. There used to be a name on the mailbox, but all that I could make out was a G and a T.”

“A G and a T,” he repeated, stroking his beard. “Well, I jest took this gig over about six years ago after Millard Boggs passed on. The name on that old box might've belonged to someone who lived there before him.” He paused and his eyes lit up. “You know what? I think I remember hearing that Doc Gartiner's brother once owned that property. So, there ya go! There's your G and T,” he announced with a look of supreme satisfaction. “Anything else ya want to know?”

I pulled out my phone, tabbed to the photo of Jenessa and Nathan and after a brief explanation, crossed to where he sat and held it out to him. “I was wondering if you recalled seeing them anytime during the past few weeks and if so, where?”

He grabbed a pair of reading glasses from the cluttered side table and perched them on his beet-red nose. He studied the photo for a long time before looking up to meet my inquiring gaze. “I wish I could help ya, but, ya know, I see so many of these kids tearin' around up and down the roads on their cycles and quads, I'm just not certain. Sorry.”

Well, great. Every path of questioning I started down seemed to lead to the same dead end. I returned to my seat and took a swallow of the cider. Tasty!

“Anything else?” he inquired, pouring more of the amber liquid into his cup.

“What can you tell me about Harvel Brickhouse? You know him, right?”

He made a face. “Yeah, I know him. What do you want to know about the old skunk?”

Skunk? I smiled. “Whatever you want to tell me.”

“I know he works a bunch of mining claims back here in the hills,” he said, thumbing over his shoulder.

“The sheriff told me he was convicted of involuntary manslaughter quite a few years ago. Do you know anything about that?”

“I heard he beat a guy to death with his bare fists down at the Cleator bar a long time back.”

“Do you know who and why?”

He scratched his disheveled hair. “Well, I don't know if it's true or not, but I heard he was once sweet on Elizabeth McCracken. Her name's Hinkle now, and that this feller he coldcocked had made some derogatory remark about her and that's when the fightin' started. When Harvel got out of prison, I think it might've been five years later, Buster McCracken hired him on as a ranch hand and now he's kind of the part-time caretaker when he ain't out workin' his claims.”

“I'd like to talk with him. Do you have any idea where I could find him?”

He let out a humongous sneeze and goose-honked into the dishtowel again before proceeding to have a coughing fit. My stomach churned when he finally hawked something up. He noisily cleared this throat. “Sorry about that. What'd you ask me?”

“Do you know where I could locate him?”

“Harvel's a hard guy to find. He don't stay in one spot very long.”

It was only then that I realized the rain had stopped and even though it was only three-thirty, early twilight was fast descending. I rose hastily. “Well, thanks for your help.” I headed for the door.

“Well now, hold your horses a minute,” came his voice from behind. “I can't tell you where he is at this very second, but I can for certain tell you where he'll be on Wednesday.”

I swung around. “Where?”

He edged me a crafty smile. “No matter how far he roams, he manages to truck it on back to the McCracken Ranch by two o'clock in the afternoon the second Wednesday of the month.”

“Why?”

“I deliver his monthly check that day.”

At last something I could actually bank on. I thanked him for the cider and drove out of Raven Creek with a little prayer that the canyon road wouldn't be a perilous river of mud. Even though I hadn't made much progress on the side of finding any concrete proof to reinforce Marcelene's theory, I was convinced that there had to be something more going on here than met the eye. There just had to be. There were too many unanswered questions, too many suspicious events. All I needed was one small piece of tangible evidence to prove it.

CHAPTER

25

What a difference four thousand feet makes. By the time I reached the turnoff at the bottom of the hill, the wind had died down considerably and streams of sunlight intermittently punched through the ragged, fast-moving clouds. Amazing. Behind me, the summit was still shrouded in a misty cloud cap of charcoal grey. The mountain did indeed create its own weather patterns.

Back in the land of cell service, my phone started dinging like a pinball machine as message after message came through. I pulled to the side of the road to scroll through them. The first one was from my dad and included several photos of the family standing at the entrance of Monument Valley. REALLY WINDY BUT HAVING A BALL! WISH U WERE HERE WITH US. He wore a cheerful grin, but Sean and my mother were not smiling. In fact, they both looked peeved. Oh boy. No doubt they were still at each other's throats and I wondered again what we were going to do about his destructive behavior and drug use. Should I plan a family intervention after our engagement party? It would be more effective if our brother, Patrick, were present. He was a level-headed, no-nonsense type of guy and would most likely concur with my assessment of the situation. But the mere thought of what could prove to be a volcanic family upheaval with possibly no resolution sent my spirits spiraling downward again. There seemed to be no good solution to the dilemma.

I tapped the next message from Marshall Turnbull. NOT SURPRISED! I NU YOU'D END UP WORKING THIS CASE! ☺ HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE 2 CONTACT THE TAYLOR BOY'S MOTHER YET. WORKING ON IT. He also included the phone number for Nathan's father. Good. At least I could call him tonight or tomorrow.

I scrolled to the next message. CAN'T WAIT TO HEAR WHAT U FIND OUT, GIRLFRIEND! CALL ME LATER. COME OVER 2 MARCELENE'S 2MORROW NITE AROUND 6. POTLUCK. BRING CHIPS & DIP. BONNIE, TOM, NONA AND BRIAN WILL BE THERE 2. WE CAN TALK ABOUT THE PARTY PLANS 2. ☺

Perfect. I always enjoyed visiting with Ginger's sister and especially their colorful grandmother, Nona. Plus that, it would be a good time to find out if Brian would be able to access the information on Jenessa's laptop and there might even be time to go through the rest of her receipts to determine if they contained any significant information.

There was also a text from Tugg reminding me that he would not be in the office until Wednesday morning. Time wise, that would work out well for me. I would make sure I was at the McCracken Ranch that afternoon well before two o'clock. Tally had left me a message commenting on the photos I'd sent, reminded me again to be careful and that he missed and loved me. That alone made my day. Feeling more optimistic, I set the phone down and shoved the Jeep into drive.

Traffic was pretty light on the way towards Cleator, but when I heard the distinctive whine of ATVs behind me, I pulled to the side. Two young guys raced by and bolt of surprise shot through me. Wait a minute. Was the second guy with his hat turned backwards the same one I'd seen twice in the past two days? I was pretty sure it was. A fluke or did he live somewhere around here? A tight, uncomfortable knot formed in my stomach when he briefly glanced over his shoulder at me. I don't know why the notion that he might be tailing me flashed through my mind, but it did. I waited until they were out of sight and then continued on my way.

When I neared the entrance to the gravel company, the unexpected sight of more than a half a dozen cars parked along both sides of the road caught my attention. What was this? I eased to a stop behind a white van plastered with an array of bumper stickers and decals all warning of mankind's destruction of Mother Earth. I counted eight women and two men, arms locked together, blocking the driveway and waving signs protesting the company's alleged desecration of the desert landscape.
SAVE OUR PRISTINE DESERTS, FRIENDS OF THE LAND
and
GREEDY CORPORATIONS DESTROY THE EARTH! THIS COMPANY COLLUDES WITH ADOT!! DELIVER US FROM THIS EVIL!

I looked up and down the empty road. Since there were so few passersby, whom were these people attempting to influence with their inflammatory signs? Obviously, this demonstration was meant solely for employees and management of the sand and gravel company. I shook my head. They were wasting their time, but I shouldn't waste mine. Adversity always presents a good story opportunity. I smiled to myself. Tugg's sage prediction that I'd find some angle to write about echoed loudly in my ears. Okay. Since I wasn't making much headway on the exposé I was hoping for, why not take advantage of the human-interest story right in front of me? What did my dad always say? When life hands you lemons, make lemonade or, better yet, a lemon meringue pie.

I grabbed my notepad and approached the group. After my introduction, they eagerly seized on the publicity aspect for their cause, posed for pictures and passionately voiced their opinions regarding the grave environmental impact of the gravel company. There were vociferous accusations that the company was systematically destroying the landscape, flora and fauna, birds, bats, lizards and toads, plus a flagrant disregard for EPA safety rules. In regards to the impending freeway construction and the supposed collusion between Raven Creek Sand and Gravel Company and the Department of Transportation, they uttered a barrage of words I could not print. I was happily jotting down their concerns on my notepad when I felt first the vibrations and then heard the roar of one of the big gravel trucks fast approaching.

The group quickly hoisted their signs and locked arms again. Well, this ought to be interesting. I swiped to my camera icon fully expecting the truck to reduce speed and stop for the chanting chain of humanity. Not only did the driver not slow down, to my horror, he accelerated and bore down on us. I barely had time to leap to the side of the driveway. “Run!” I shouted, scrambling up the side of the knoll. “He's not kidding!”

Screaming like banshees, the protesters scattered like frightened sheep in all directions. From my awkward position on the embankment, I managed to raise my phone and tap the screen multiple times as the giant vehicle rumbled through the gate in a choking cloud of dust. Good God! What was he thinking? He could have killed all of us. Short of breath, heart thundering in my ears, I sat down on the sloped ground to collect my thoughts. Was it possible he'd been blinded by the late afternoon sunlight and hadn't seen us? Surely, he wouldn't have intentionally mowed us down? I scanned my photos but they were backlit and out of focus except for the blurry outline of the man's profile. Could that possibly be Rod, the surly driver who'd been in the dust-up with Darcy, or was it the young Hispanic guy? I enlarged the photo, but could not nail down the driver's identity.

I glanced back toward the group of protesters. Faces ashen with shock, some exchanged looks of wide-eyed disbelief while several of the women wept. The group swiftly dispersed and within minutes all the cars had vanished, leaving discarded protest signs scattered in the road. As my own shock dissipated, white-hot fury took its place. Someone needed to report such reckless, irresponsible behavior to the management. And that someone was going to be me. I marched to my Jeep and without a clearly defined plan of action, accelerated through the gate.

I'd traveled a mile or so when I encountered a second chain link fence bearing the name of the company and product list.
RIPRAP. LEACH ROCK. FLAGSTONE. ABC. ADOT CERTIFIED PIT
. Another sign announced:
HARD HAT AREA – KEEP OUT
. And beneath it a smaller sign read:
Authorized personnel only beyond this point
. Inside the double gate, an idle water truck sat beside a green storage tank. Nearby loomed a large concrete building with wide double doors. Adjacent to it were several smaller structures, a trailer and several pickups, and beyond that rows of heavy equipment, two dump trucks and cone-shaped piles of various-sized rocks and gravel. In the distance, I could hear the roar of some type of heavy machinery and saw a plume of dust rising into the air. Eyeing my phone, I surmised it must be near closing time. But, the gate was still open, so I parked, walked inside the enclosure and approached the trailer, which bore the sign: OFFICE. I tried the door, which was locked and then knocked repeatedly. No answer. I tried to peek in the window, but the blinds were closed. Consumed with pent-up frustration, I looked around, wondering what to do. Should I drive towards the column of dust in hopes of finding someone I could report the driver's dangerous behavior to?

And then I spotted a row of blue modular toilets nestled in the shadow of a hill perhaps a hundred yards away. Was this where the documentary filmmaker had died? My interest in his bizarre death rekindled, I gravitated toward them. Just to satisfy my curiosity, I opened the door of the first one, let go, and it slammed shut. Yep. As anticipated, the door operated as designed. I opened the second one, let go and
bang!
So how had a swarm of bees flown inside that fast? Why hadn't the guy simply run out when he realized he was in trouble? Was it possible that the lock had somehow become jammed? I opened a third door and released it to slam shut.

“You got some kind of a problem, lady?”

My heart jolted painfully against my chest. Robbed of breath, I spun around to meet the accusatory stare of Jack Loomis. Where had he come from so suddenly? Close up, his six-foot-plus height and beefy frame made him appear even more intimidating than he had during the altercation with Darcy. Before I could speak he seethed, “I don't know how many times I have to tell you damn tree huggers to quit trespassing on private land.” He nodded curtly towards the toilet. “Do your business and get the hell off this property.”

Incensed by his churlish conduct, I drew myself up to my full five foot eight height and returned his glare. “You are mistaken,” I informed him coolly. “I'm not part of the protest group.”

He looked momentarily taken aback before his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Whoever you are, you're trespassing on private property. Can't you read?” He pointed to the
KEEP OUT
sign.

Boy, talk about testy. “I apologize. I was trying to find someone to talk to. Do you always treat potential customers in this fashion?”

Unfazed by my bravado, he studied me for a few seconds and then pointed his forefinger at me. “Didn't I see you yesterday with that bunch near Cleator?”

“Yes.”

“Thought so. We don't serve the public here. This is a commercial enterprise. If you're interested in buying a finished product, you'll have to visit one of our retail outlets in either Tempe or Mesa.”

I dug out a card and handed it to him. “Kendall O'Dell from the
Castle Valley Sun
.” Of course I knew who he was, but he didn't know that. “And you are?”

“Jack Loomis. I'm the foreman here. So what do you want?”

“I was in the process of interviewing some of the protesters when one of your truck drivers came within inches of plowing into all of us a few minutes ago.”

He glanced down at my card before saying in a slightly more conciliatory tone, “Sorry about that. He probably didn't see you.”

I raised a skeptical brow. “Really? You think he didn't see eleven people standing there?”

“I'm sure it was unintentional,” he insisted brusquely, pocketing my card. His cell phone beeped and he muttered, “Excuse me.” He stared at the screen and typed something before looking up to meet my eyes.

Aware that I'd get nowhere if I remained obstinate with him, I modulated my voice. “Unintentional or not, I'm sure that you don't need any more bad publicity.”

“More?” His sun-tanned features crinkled into a puzzled frown. “What do you mean?”

“I'm sure you're aware of the body discovered here awhile back,” I said, pointing behind me. “I'm following up on that as well as a couple of other deaths that have occurred in this area. Perhaps you could answer a few questions?”

“We didn't have anything to do with that…unfortunate event.” He widened his stance and crossed his arms. “Look, the guy had been hanging around here for weeks stirring up trouble between us and these…uninformed idiots who don't like the way we run our business. He was trying to promote hatred and manufacture a situation when there isn't one. Then or now.”

I fired off the list of infractions inferred by the environmental activists and he bristled. “They're full of shit. We follow all the rules we're required to. As far as the EPA, they've got no jurisdiction over us because we're operating on private property. If they come sniffing around, I just tell them to go kick rocks.” He exhaled a long breath and moderated his tone. “Look, we try to be good neighbors, keep the noise down, keep the dust down. Besides providing a product people want, we employ as many of the locals as are qualified. I don't think that's a bad thing.”

“Very commendable, but it's also important for the public to hear both sides of the issue. I thought you handled the situation with Darcy Dorcett yesterday very ah…diplomatically.” I was dying to ask him if he always carried that much cash around, but refrained. My observation appeared to please him and his tense shoulders relaxed somewhat. “But,” I continued, “according to the medical examiner's report Mr. Campbell had been dead more than forty-eight hours when he was discovered. How do you suppose he got through the gate after hours? Is this property completely fenced off?”