Silence in West Fork: A small town police procedural set in the American Southwest (The Pegasus Quincy Mystery Series Book 5)

by Lakota Grace

“Any formal record of that?”

  “Unfortunately no. She said they gave him an option of resigning rather than being let go. So there would be nothing there, other than the date of last employment. But there’s a family connection. He is Claire Mark’s brother-in-law.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “He went to high school with Jill and Claire.”

  “High school was a long time ago.”

  “Still,” I said.

  “Still. The investigative officers talked to him once, but we can revisit.”

  Cooper took a drink of coffee. “It comes back to Thorn, then. We need to interrogate her properly.”

  “And then arraign her?”

  “If what she says warrants it, yes.”

  “Without bail?”

  “Look,” he said, “I know she’s your buddy’s daughter. But the girl is a flight risk. She’s disappeared twice. Bring her in.”

  “I can’t, at least not right now. She’ll be back in three days. I have her word.”

  Well, I did, sort of, through Ben Yazzie.

  “Three days,” Cooper said. “Without fail. Or I’ll throw the book at her. You know I can, and I will.”

  CHAPTER 18

  THORN MALONE awoke at dawn, cold and sore on Day One of her Vision Quest. For a moment she didn’t remember where she was, and then it came flooding back. The bloody body of Jill Rustaine, the escape from that creepy detective Cooper Davis, and the mad flight up to the Navajo Reservation on Ben Yazzie’s motorcycle.

  Thorn had encountered danger before. After all, she’d lived in big cities most of her life. Once she had faced a disheveled homeless man coming out of a doorway. He brandished a knife at Thorn. She turned and ran. When she reached a lighted corner, she disappeared in the crowds coming out of a movie house. She survived that.

  And once, on the freeway, she’d been behind a semi that blew a tire. Shards of rubber flew back, then webbing and chunks of tread as the entire tire disintegrated. She pumped her brakes, hard, and then just concentrated on steering the car straight, ignoring the humps of rubber that hit the underside of her car. She kept her head, then, even when the windshield was cracked by a stone the semi threw up. Finally safe at the side of the road, she’d called her dad. She survived that, too.

  Thorn drew the dirty sheepskin closer around her shoulders. The cot swayed beneath her weight and she looked at the tin roof overhead. This was no different. She’d survive and have good stories to tell her friends. After all, she had a fire. She did have a fire, didn’t she? In a panic, she jumped up and crossed the hexagon-shaped room.

  She opened the firebox, promptly burning her fingers on the metal handle.

  “Ow!” She licked a reddened forefinger and then poked another stick of firewood onto the dwindling blaze. Using a piece of toweling she closed the door with a bang.

  Feeling the need to relieve herself, she walked outside. A full moon was descending in the dawn sky, and she shivered as she picked her way to the latrine ditch that Ben had pointed out. Coming back, she tripped over a root and sprawled on the dirt path.

  “Ouch!” She held up a bleeding palm. The water barrel was nearby, and she brought out a dipperful. She splashed it over her hand, trying to dislodge the grit and gravel. The moisture wet her sleeve, and she rubbed her cheek with it, carrying away sweat from the hike yesterday.

  Back inside the hogan, Thorn looked at the ceiling. A centipede, warmed by the fire’s heat, walked leg after leg across the ridged metal braces. Terrified, her screams echoed against the tin roof. The centipede dropped to the floor and scuttled into a corner.

  Thorn dug into her pocket and yanked out her cell phone. This was so stupid. She’d surrender. Even jail was better than this. She dialed her father’s number with shaking fingers. She didn’t hear a sound and stared at the screen. “Out of service” flashed at her.

  Thorn threw the phone across the room and dashed out the door once more. If no one would come for her, she’d go to them. Hiking that trail wouldn’t be so difficult, she assured herself.

  But once Thorn reached the trailhead at the edge of the mesa, it looked dark and uninviting. She hesitated. Maybe she’d start out later in the morning when the sun came up. She’d rest awhile longer; that would be a good idea. Retracing her steps, she entered the hogan and, with a cautious eye for the vanished centipede, she jammed the kindling box against the door to stop the wind from entering. Then she retrieved the phone and stuck it in her back pocket.

  Using the towel fragment as a hot pan holder she opened the firebox again. The logs she had placed in there were already burned into coals. She put in two more for good measure and looked at the dwindling supply. How long would it last?

  Her stomach growled, and she prowled the cabin looking for something to eat. She remembered the cloth-covered pantry shelf and went to investigate. The canned goods. Not her first choice for luxury provisions, but they would do. She searched for a can opener but found none. Then her fingers touched the knife in her pocket that Ben had left her.

  Clumsily she scissored the first can open with the hooked appliance on the knife. Tomatoes. She opened the larger blade and used it to poke the tomato pieces out of the can. She captured the salty juice running down her chin with her fingers. Good! Tomatoes had never tasted like this at home.

  She nicked her finger as she pried the remaining can lid open. Peaches. Greedily she ate the slices, licking her fingers in between. Then she drank the sweet nectar.

  Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. She could do this thing.

  She dragged the cot with the musty sheepskin closer to the stove. She set her phone alarm for sixty minutes to put in more logs, crawled on top of the worn canvas and pulled the sheepskin over her shoulders.

  She kept her jacket and boots on for warmth and only left her nose outside. Could centipedes crawl up camp cot legs? She scrunched her face under the cover and drifted into an uneasy sleep. Outside the whispering wind sounded like unknown persons having a conversation about everyday happenings. Thorn dozed, oddly comforted.

  When she next awoke, the sun was streaming in the east-facing windows. She’d overslept! What had happened to the phone alarm? She grabbed the cell out of her pocket. The battery was discharged. And she couldn’t recharge it with no electricity. Her stomach growled in protest. Hungry. Again.

  The fire appeared dead, but as she poked through the coals, she saw a small red glimmer of warmth. Grabbing a piece of paper and a few bark shavings, she carefully worked the fire back to life, and then, when it was burning, added twigs, and then larger branches, until it burned full and strong.

  Her stomach growled again, and she paced the cabin. What did Ben eat when he was up here? He’d bring a pack of food, knowing him. And he’d left her with nothing.

  Thorn wondered what her father was having for breakfast. Maybe flapjacks with maple syrup and applewood bacon. And fresh squeezed orange juice like he’d fix for her on special Sunday mornings. Thorn’s stomach tightened in a knot.

  Her fingers dug frantically through the pockets of her jacket. One held a fragment of corn chip from the fight with Ben the day before. She thrust it into her mouth and chewed greedily, savoring the crunch. And then it was gone.

  In her jeans pocket she found a two-pack of saltines, mere crumbs after the motorcycle ride. Carefully, she opened the package and sitting on the cot ate the bits, one by one. Then she wet her finger and picked up the last salty crumbs in the packet.

  Searching her jacket she discovered another forgotten bonanza, a chocolate bar. She’d slipped it into her pocket when she and Ben were fighting in the mini-mart. And she hadn’t paid for it. Too bad. With eager fingers she pried the wrapping off and looked at the bar, misshapen by her body warmth.

  Twelve small squares with a few almonds. Thorn clutched the candy bar in her fist and walked out into the daylight. She sat on a splintery stump by the front door in the sunshine and spread her feet.

  Carefully she reopened the wrapper and a
te the squares, one at a time, letting them linger on her tongue, melting. Then she ate the almonds, chewing each one thoroughly. Too soon they were gone.

  Thorn rose and drank a dipperful of water from the barrel. And then her stomach turned at the thought of the dead mouse the barrel had once held. Holding her mouth she rushed to the side of the hogan and vomited violently. She wiped her lips.

  And then her stomach pitched at the realization of what had just happened. All the food she’d just eaten, gone. She looked doubtfully at the mess staining the leaves on the ground. No way was she touching that stuff.

  Okay, if she couldn’t eat, she would explore the cabin. She put another log in the firebox and counted the number left in the kindling box. Twelve. Would they last the entire day? Certainly not through the night. She walked back outside. Near the stump was a pile of logs, and an ax. She touched its blade doubtfully and watched the thin line of red appear where she’d cut herself.

  Sharp then. And how did you split kindling? She had no idea, but had the uneasy thought that she’d find out. The pantry shelves held a small dented pot, and she filled it at the water barrel and put it on top of the potbellied stove to heat.

  When it was boiling, she retrieved the candy bar wrapper from the corner where she’d dropped it and stuck the whole thing in the pot. When it had boiled for a few moments, she used Ben’s knife to dig out the soggy wad of paper and set the pot on the rough wooden table to cool.

  She dusted out a dirty mug and poured the flavored water into the cup. Warming her hands on the ceramic she blew on the liquid and then took a small sip. The weak cocoa held a faint chocolate taste, not the best she’d ever had, but okay.

  The day seemed endless. Thorn lay on the cot and dozed. By afternoon, the hunger became overwhelming, and she moved outside to sit in the sun. She picked up a pinyon pinecone and rotated it in her hand.

  Then Thorn looked at it closer. Nuts! There were three nuts nestled deep in the center of the cone. She pried them out. Each was the size of a small, dark bean, with a thin, brittle shell. She tried one with her back teeth, ignoring her mother’s voice in her head, “You know how much I paid for that dental work?”

  But despite her efforts, Thorn only dented the tough shell. She pulled out Ben’s knife and opened the instruments. The knife looked like a hedgehog in her hand, but one of the utensils was a small pair of pliers. That might do. She closed the knife except for the pliers and started work.

  One tiny nut slipped from her grasp and disappeared under a big rock. Were there snakes under there? Her dad had cautioned her never to put her hand where she couldn’t see, so she left that nut and attacked the other two.

  One shell broke easily, but shattered the nutmeat inside into dozens of fragments. Thorn put the remaining nut in her pocket, and concentrated on separating the tiny nut pieces from the shell, popping them into her mouth. Tasty. But how long had it taken her to retrieve and eat the small morsels? She checked her watch. Harvesting one pinyon nut had taken her the better part of an hour.

  She surveyed the ground underneath the pinyon. The squirrels had been here before her, and there were only a few pinecones still remaining, plus a few on the outer tree branches. She spent the rest of the afternoon gathering them. From these she harvested a handful of unshelled pine nuts.

  Close to the cabin was a bush with three-lobed leaves. It was covered with tiny, pink-red berries. Carefully she tested one. It had an odd citrusy flavor, sour, like a bitter lemon. She halted when she’d eaten the one. Having learned the issue with eating too fast, she wasn’t about to lose another lunch. She washed it down with the cooled chocolate-flavored water and waited for an hour. Her stomach kept it down, and she breathed easier.

  Thorn gathered more berries and put them in a handkerchief with the pine nuts. She checked her watch. Four o’clock, but getting dark and the temperature was dropping. She shivered. Moving inside the hogan, she shook the lantern to assess the fuel level. At least her dad had taught her about those when they’d gone camping.

  Rummaging through the shelves, she found a box of safety matches. Inside were six matches. She’d have to ration them. Was it worth using a match to have light tonight? Yes!

  She took off the cylinder glass shade and lit the wick, adjusting the length so that it didn’t smoke, and then replaced the shade. She looked doubtfully at the small collection of berries and nuts in front of her. Not much of a dinner, but it was all she had. She set to work cracking the tiny shells.

  When the sun set, the air became chill and wintry with a wind that sent dust swirling across the meadow. Thorn made a quick trip to the latrine, poked the embers of the stove fire, and reset the damper. With no watch alarm, how would she wake to put logs on? She’d just have to do it.

  One by one, she removed the metal decorations she had worn for so long: the small safety pin in her eyebrow, the stud in her tongue, and the five earrings circling her ear edge. Then she filled the small pan with cold water and washed off her Goth makeup. The water turned white, then black, then clear. She scrubbed her face dry with the old towel.

  Sighing, she turned off the lantern, settled on the cot, and pulled the fleece close. She ignored the ping-ping-ping as hard-shelled beetles dive-bombed the tin roof, mistaking it for water in the moonlight.

  Thorn snugged the sheepskin still closer, willing herself to wake when sixty minutes had passed. She pushed away images of blood and confusion that raced through her tired mind and instead focused on how good the sun had felt on her face that afternoon.

  She wasn’t that hungry. Surely she wasn’t.

  She ignored the thought of the dead woman that intruded on her uneasy peace. She wasn’t here to think of that. Only two days more. Ben promised.

  CHAPTER 19

  HARRIET WEAVER visited Jill’s office late when everyone had left for the day. It had been her custom to draw the curtains and put things to rights before going home. A hard habit to break. She pushed the desk chair in and straightened the desk. As she moved Jill’s antique desk cigarette lighter, she noted the dust settling on its base. She’d have to talk to the cleaning staff.

  Harriet regretfully touched the space where Claire’s picture had rested. She’d hoped to keep the photograph as a reminder of happier days. But it wasn’t as though Jill had been on good terms with her sister most of the time.

  That was to be expected with Jill, a high-power executive, and poor Claire, a high school dropout. There was another difference between the two sisters. Claire put family first, just as Harriet did. Lenny would be lost without her. She knew that. Sighing, Harriet pulled out her cellphone to call the takeout place for lasagna, Lenny’s next favorite thing after pizza.

  Lenny was waiting impatiently as she entered their house.

  “Where’ve you been?” he asked. “I’m starved!” He grabbed the box out of her hands and opened the lid like a greedy little boy.

  “Looks great!” He whirled her into the kitchen. “See, I set the table and everything. Want a beer?”

  The smell of his breath indicated he’d already had several. Her fault for not arranging to be here earlier. Usually Harriet was more careful, but since Jill’s death, she wasn’t. No excuse. She’d just try harder.

  “Wait until I get my clothes changed,” she said, “and I’ll be right with you.”

  When she rejoined him at the kitchen table, he’d put two big slices of lasagna on his plate.

  He gestured to the counter, his mouth full.

  “Box is over there. I didn’t know how much you wanted. What’s going on at the old shop now that the boss isn’t there?” he asked over a mouthful of pasta.

  A glob of cheese fell to the floor and Lenny scooped it up with one finger.

  “Five second rule,” he announced, popping it in his mouth.

  Harriet cut a small piece of lasagna, put it on a plate and sat at the table near Lenny. “That lady officer from the sheriff’s office was in this afternoon.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’d she wa
nt?”

  “The picture of Claire’s Ralphie. But I shared some issues at the company as well.”

  “What, problems? Your job’s secure, right? That company can’t exist without you. Hey, though, I noticed the bank account is down a little.”

  Harriet started. She had hoped he wouldn’t notice, but she should have known better. Lenny was like a hawk fixated on a field mouse when it came to money. She couldn’t even leave a dollar bill lying on the dresser without him scooping it up. Maybe it was his insecurity at not working.

  Harriet had awful daydreams sometimes, of Lenny stepping in front of a bus and she’d be free. She shuddered. Not that she’d want anything bad to happen to him, but it was hard to save with Lenny and his get-rich-quick schemes.

  “I can finish the rest of this later for seconds.” Lenny crammed the last bite into his mouth and shoved his plate back.

  “We have to plan. I took the first step in our retirement today.” He beamed at her.

  “That’s good,” Harriet said encouragingly. Finally! He’d landed a job like he always promised he would.

  “I sent a letter to that high muckety-muck at your company, Malcolm Vander.”

  “What, what did you write?”

  “Well, it’s an insurance policy, like. I told him we had access to some interesting information that the public should know about unless he wanted to take other actions. I named a price.”

  “What have you done, Lenny?”

  “Hey, not to worry. I didn’t mention Jill’s fancy diary. I’m smarter than that.”

  “But how would he think you knew anything incriminating?”

  “Oh, that was easy,” Lenny said. “I signed your name.”

  “What you’re proposing is blackmail! That’s against the law.”

  Her mind whirled, searching for a solution.

  “I’ll call Malcolm,” she said, “and tell him to disregard the letter when it arrives, that it was a big mistake.”

  “No, it’s insurance, babe.” Lenny looked at her earnestly. “And anyway I didn’t mail it, I sent it special delivery. I had to drive to the mailbox store to do it. Malcolm should have got it this afternoon while you were meeting with that law person.”