Forbidden Entry (8 page)

“He agrees with you, but with the caveat that nothing is definitive until he gets the reports from the medical examiner's office and forensics.”

A few seconds of silence. “Okay, so what is your take?”

“I don't know. Apparently Marshall is sitting on some evidence he wants to keep confidential for now, so naturally I want to know what it is. It's possible Ginger may be onto something.” He didn't respond so I tacked on, “I told her to take today off and maybe a few days next week. They'll need time to plan the funeral.”

“No doubt.” His morose tone matched my flagging spirits. I didn't mention it because it seemed too selfish to even think about, but what was I going to do if Ginger could not continue in the role of our party maven? The engagement celebration had been her brainchild and she had insisted on handling almost every detail. Suddenly I was faced with the daunting task of assuming the reins at the last minute with little knowledge of her preparations. Ruefully, I reminded myself again that compared to her problems, mine were miniscule. “Hey, I've really got to go. I'm stopping by the office to file this piece before picking everyone up for breakfast.” He was silent so long I wondered if we'd been disconnected. “Hello?”

“I thought you were taking some time off?”

“I am.”

“Doesn't sound like it. In fact, this incident is made to order for you, isn't it?”

Was I imagining a whisper of censure in his tone? “What are you talking about?”

“Just admit it. It's past time for your adrenalin fix.”

The pilot light on my fiery temper kicked on. As much as I loved this man, sometimes he could be utterly exasperating. “Why are you being so snarky? Are you trying to pick a fight with me?”

“Are we fighting?”

Ginger often compared our volatile relationship to two bucks clashing antlers and if I objected she would fire back with a wicked laugh, ‘Oh, flapdoodle! I know you two enjoy snappin' at each other. It keeps the sparks flyin' in the bedroom, don't it?' She was right. Makeup sex was pretty hot. Nevertheless, it was really early in the morning for one of our spats. “I'm not taking the bait,” I said, striving to keep my voice placid. “I'm simply filing the initial story. Walter is covering for me next week.”

“Come on, Kendall, I know you too well. If there's a story here, you're going to move heaven and earth to find it. You can't help yourself.”

His droll cynicism rankled me to the point of choking on the last bite of cracker. Why should I give him the satisfaction of knowing that his assessment of me was right on target? In my secret heart, I would like nothing better than to jump on this story, but I snapped back, “You really think I'd abandon my family to go prowling around the Bradshaw Mountains hunting for trouble?”

“Yes, I do.”

I could not think of a suitable comeback and contemplated hanging up on him but instead, sweetened my tone. “I'm going to prove you wrong this time, cowboy. Care to make a sizeable wager?”

His burst of laugher irritated me even further. “Recent history has the odds on my side, so sure, I'll be happy to take your money.”

I let out a groan of frustration. “Tally! How did we get from planning a rendezvous in the barn to here?”

“You started it,” he replied, his teasing response only serving to fan the flames.

“I did not!”

“Face it. You love being argumentative. It's part of your adorable personality.”

“That is not true!”

More laughter. “Are you listening to yourself? You've just proved my point.”

Oh my God. I did sound contentious. Best defuse this before I said something I'd regret. “Well, we'll see who's right this time.”

“That we will. Catch you later.”

CHAPTER

6

The sky had brightened to a soothing powder blue patterned with white waffle-shaped clouds as I slammed out the front door. Damn! Tally was a master at pushing my buttons. I zipped up my coat and marched towards my car. While the bracing dawn air chilled my hot cheeks, the peanut butter snack had become an elephant-sized lump in my stomach.

I jumped into my Jeep and tore out of the driveway. Still teed off, I flew along Lost Canyon Road, leaving a swirling rooster tail of dust behind me. It had certainly not been in my plans to start the day squabbling with Tally and I vowed to put it behind me. Why should I allow our disagreement to color the rest of my day, especially when I would be seeing him in just a few short hours? One second after I filed my article and hopefully spoke with Fritzy, I would be officially off duty for ten days. A whirlwind of fun and sightseeing with my family awaited me and I was determined not to miss a moment of it. In an effort to dispel my blue funk, I tuned in soft music and concentrated on the ever-changing beauty of the desert landscape. The promise of another spectacular day emerged as I watched the pleasing interplay of light and shadow crisscrossing the landscape and rugged mountain ranges.

By the time I pulled into the
Castle Valley Sun
parking lot, my agitation had lessened considerably. “Okay, O'Dell,” I admonished myself, hurrying towards the door, “get over yourself and get busy.”

A sharp pang of sympathy hit me as I passed Ginger's empty desk and I reminded myself how petty my problems were compared to hers and Marcelene's. I would call soon to see how she and her aunt were coping. As I entered the newly renovated office, I stopped short. It was barely seven-thirty and Tugg was already busy at his desk. “Good morning!” I called, shedding my coat. “You're early, so I gather you got my text.”

Tugg glanced away from his computer screen, looking glum. “Yeah, I got it. Hell of a shock,” he muttered, with a sad shake of his head. “How are the girls doing?”

“As well as can be expected, “ I answered, switching on my computer. I took a few minutes to fill him in on the details. When I finished, he leaned back in his chair, the speculative gleam in his eyes matching my thoughts. “I'm assuming that you are going to follow up with Marshall?”

“You know I can't right now, but I'll make sure Walter does. And by the way, is Louise going to be able to cover the reception desk?”

His grimace answered my question. “She's in
Chicago with the kids until Wednesday. Didn't I tell you that already?”

My heart dropped. “No, you didn't.” I tapped my fingers on the desk. “It's going to be tough going around here with both Ginger and me gone next week, but there's really nothing I can do about it.” Well aware that Tugg was not in the best of health, I added sheepishly, “Sorry. I know your doctor doesn't want you stressing out. I'm sure Al and Jim can handle the phones.”

“Don't concern yourself. We'll hold down the fort.” He edged me a conspiratorial grin. “I'll be just fine as long as Mary doesn't give me a load of grief about putting in too many hours.”

His doting wife kept pretty close tabs on him since his last medical emergency, and even though I knew he was imminently capable of running the show without me, I couldn't suppress a tiny twinge of guilt as I began writing my article.

By the time I finished and tapped the send button, shafts of bright sunlight streamed through the blinds, enhancing the effect of the lemon yellow paint I'd chosen. The drab, scarred furniture had been replaced, along with the ancient computer equipment, creating an updated working environment that had improved productivity and morale, but we still struggled with the aggravation of being constantly understaffed. Why work out in the sticks when the bustling metropolis of Phoenix offered a seasoned reporter far more challenges?

“Okay, Tugg,” I said, gathering my things, “I'm out of here.”

“Have a great time with your folks! We'll see you later at the Starfire.”

I stepped into the hallway and paused to dial Fritzy's number. I wasn't surprised to get her voice mail and left a message for her to call or text me. When I entered my old office, Jim was at his desk working, but Walter's chair was empty. “Hi, Jim, where's Walter?”

He cocked his head in my direction. “Apparently he's taken up residence in the shitter,” he announced with a devilish smirk. “He's having himself a royal crapathon this morning.”

“Charming.”

“I'm not kidding. He's got a serious case of the squirts!”

“Whoa, whoa! That's more information than I need, but thanks for the visual.” I was poised to leave when Walter shuffled into the room, tucking his shirt into his pants, his thinning brown hair slightly disheveled. “Are you okay?” I asked, concerned by his pallid complexion. “Jim says you're…uh…feeling a little under the weather today?”

“I'm fine,” he insisted with an impatient gesture, easing his corpulent frame into the chair. “Probably that chili I ate for lunch yesterday at the bowling alley.” As if to affirm that, he let out a loud belch. “Excuse me. Sorry.”

“Dude!” Jim admonished him, feigning disgust. “Get it together. You're a festival of bodily noises today.”

“Stuff it, Sykes,” he retorted with good humor, obviously enjoying their customary banter before returning his attention to me. “No worries here.”

I hoped not. “Got a few minutes?”

One hand strayed to his abdomen and he winced, “Sure thing.”

I filled him in on the situation, suggested that he read my article and then contact Sheriff Turnbull or Duane Potts later for more information on the two previous deaths. As I talked, I couldn't help but notice beads of sweat glistening on his forehead and tiny alarm bells clanged in my head. Was he really just suffering from indigestion or something more serious?

“Will do!” Walter concurred with a strained smile. “Now you get out of here and go enjoy yourself. Lavelle and I will catch up with you later at the cookout.”

“See you both there.” I only got about six steps along the hallway when I heard running footsteps from behind. I glanced around just as Walter pounded past me and disappeared into the men's room. Not an encouraging sign. As I slid into my car, I had to counsel myself against giving in to my natural pessimism. Walter was going to be fine, nothing was going to mar my plans and that was that. Clinging to that thought, I dialed my brother's cell number and drove towards the motel. After five rings, I heard his sleepy response. “Wassup, sis?”

“Sean! Don't tell me you're not out of bed yet?”

A loud yawn. “I'm getting there. Wait for me in mom and dad's room while I grab a quick shower.”

“Well, hurry up, bro. It's after nine and I'm starving!”

“When aren't you starving?” he said with a droll laugh. “Give me fifteen.”

It was a pleasant surprise to find my parents sitting on the stone bench in the cactus garden fronting the motel. They waved and smiled as I parked. Even though I imagined the temperature was still in the high fifties, the sunshine felt warm on my back as I walked up to them and exchanged hugs. While we stood beneath a dome of flawless blue sky, my parents once again celebrated the beautiful weather, praised their accommodations and complimented me on my outfit. My picky mother proclaimed that she had slept well, but my dad admitted he'd had a long night after refusing another pain pill. As we made our way to the car, he grilled me for details concerning Marcelene's daughter and expressed surprise that I'd passed on pursuing the story further.

“It may have just been an unfortunate accident,” I reminded him, holding the crutches as he eased into the front seat.

He turned and pinned me with a quizzical look. “Always remember to follow your gut, Pumpkin.”

“I do, Dad, believe me.”

Good to his word, Sean strolled up, joking, “Hey, people, what's the hold up? Are we going to eat today or not?”

I felt a measure of relief that everyone appeared to be in good spirits. Following the short drive to the Iron Skillet, we piled out of the car and were greeted by the mouth-watering aroma of frying bacon as we pushed through the heavy glass doors. It was encouraging to note that the breakfast crowd had mostly thinned out as we entered.
Good thing. I was in no mood to wait. Even though I'd hoped to avoid it, well-meaning residents, eager to meet my parents, buttonholed us as we weaved our way among the tables. Another ten stomach-growling minutes passed until we were finally seated at a corner table where my dad could comfortably stretch out his booted foot.

While I adored the café's scrumptious food, the predictable zing of irritation surged through me as Lucinda Johns approached our table, menus in hand, wearing her usual skintight jeans. Sean caught my eye and winked. I'd already told them all about my nemesis—the busty, dark-haired woman who had unsuccessfully pursued Tally for thirty years. I'm positive she'd intended to ensconce herself at the ranch after the death of his wife, but then I'd unexpectedly entered the picture and thwarted her plans. However, I had to give her credit for being tenacious. She'd cleverly befriended Ronda and even gone so far as to board her horse at the Starfire thereby giving her a ready excuse to hang around. More recently, she'd hooked up with one of the new ranch hands, but I wondered if their relationship was genuine or merely a smokescreen so she could continue stalking Tally.

She issued us what I recognized as a synthetic smile and insisted that I introduce her to each family member. I did so reluctantly. “Well, folks, we're mighty glad to have you join us for breakfast at the Iron Skillet!” Leaning over, she provocatively flaunted ample cleavage while passing menus all around. “We got the best food in town and I highly recommend our award-winning biscuits and gravy.”

Dad made a monumental effort to stay focused on her face as he laid his menu down on the red vinyl tablecloth. “Sounds good. I'll take you up on that.”

Her attempt to ingratiate herself with my family really pissed me off and I glared daggers at her when she crooned, “Kendall, it's always so great to see you!” The glint of malice in her dark eyes negated her syrupy demeanor. Redirecting her attention to the others she asked sweetly, “Coffee, anyone?”

I knew her too well. She could go from zero to bitch in five seconds. Fuming inwardly, I forced a congenial tone. “Coffee for everyone, thanks.”

“Oh, and I'll have a double…I mean, a big glass of orange juice, please,” Sean murmured, his mesmerized gaze zeroed in on her enormous breasts. I could just picture her in the kitchen gathering those puppies together, pushing them up and then pulling her top down for maximum effect. Insufferable cow. As she slinked away from the table, waving her substantial behind at us, I turned and caught my mother's narrowed look of disapproval and my dad's expression of suppressed amusement.

“Oh man!” Sean whispered, mischief dancing in his eyes. “She is just like you described her…only better! Please tell me those Winnebagos are real.”

“Apparently they are,” I answered dryly. “Try to maintain, okay? And for your information, baby brother, she's a good ten years older than you are.”

“Whatever. For a cougar, she's smokin' hot.”

I made a face at him. “Shut up.”

My mother glowered at him. “Sean, really? Is this any kind of conversation to be having at the breakfast table?”

“Just asking,” he replied, feigning innocence. “You gotta admit they were hard to ignore.”

“Well, you shouldn't have been staring,” she snapped, her lips pinched white with irritation. “Can't you see that's very demeaning to women?”

Sean eyed her with incredulity. “If she didn't want me to notice her ginormous boobs she wouldn't have put 'em right out there.”

“Ginormous?” she repeated sarcastically. “What kind of stupid language is that anyway? Is it even a proper word?”

Being a language arts professor, she'd always been a stickler for correct grammar usage, and it was obvious Sean was deliberately baiting her. Ever the peacemaker, my dad intervened with a soft sigh of exasperation. “Enough. Sean, stop goading your mother and Alana, we're all aware of how important the women's rights baloney is among your fellow professors on campus, so can you two please knock it off?”

Hiding her annoyance, my mother fluffed her ash blonde hair looking chastened, but Sean's eyes still twinkled with mirth. If there was to be a truce, I feared it would be only temporary.

While waiting for our food, we chatted about safe subjects like the weather, scenery, the engagement party and how my dad wanted to handle the tour of the ranch. When breakfast arrived everyone dug in with gusto, myself included. The western omelet stuffed with ham, cheese and green peppers, topped with a generous portion of spicy salsa went perfectly with three homemade biscuits slathered with butter and jelly. Sheer heaven.

Not wishing to give her the opportunity to flash my brother several more times, I had my credit card ready when Lucinda dropped the bill on the table. She scooped it up and when she returned moments later I could have gladly choked her when she airily informed us, “See you all later at the Starfire.”