by Lakota Grace
He called Claire Marks to set an appointment for later in the morning. Then he left the conference room, piled everything onto his desk, and headed out to his car, eager to escape the heat and closeness of the office.
He glanced overhead at gray clouds, white and opaque at their centers. No mountains where Cooper came from, but he recognized snow warnings from watching the Weather Channel. Mount Elden, a big hill on the outskirts of Flagstaff, was entirely shrouded in fog. That wasn’t a good sign.
Time to get a move on. He’d be fine at the lower elevation. Hell, maybe his headache would even disappear. Driving up the mountain on the return trip might be dicey. He’d start before late afternoon. The roads should still be drivable then.
When Cooper reached the switchbacks on 89A, the misting rain had turned to a heavy pelting downpour. The dark pines rimming the edge of Oak Creek Canyon were muted to a soft gray-green, and the tops of the red cliffs were hidden by glowering clouds.
He swung through the tight curves and several miles later approached the entrance to the West Fork parking. Buzz Marks wasn’t there and the ranger on duty responded with a shrug to Cooper’s question.
“Called in sick.”
“Does he do that a lot?” Cooper asked.
Another shrug.
Cooper parked and strolled to the trailhead. Not many hikers on such a foul day, and even with his slicker, his pant legs were dampened when he brushed the rain-wet weeds. Cooper stood on the arch of the bridge crossing Oak Creek, listening to the rain pelt the sodden leaves.
He considered hiking up to the murder site but decided against it. He doubted there’d be much evidence remaining after this weather, and the creek crossings would be slick. No point in spotting his clean uniform with mud.
He returned to the car and drove out of the parking lot, giving a small “we’re in this wet weather together” salute to the ranger huddled in the entrance kiosk. The man was going to have a slow morning if the weather didn’t improve. Cooper’s had been the only car in the lot.
The wind blew debris across the winding road as Cooper drove farther into Oak Creek Canyon. He jerked the wheel sharply to avoid a head-sized rock that dropped onto the road from the cliffs. Then his car skidded against a pile of wet leaves. He slowed to the posted 35 miles per hour and a bright green motorcycle passed him doing 50. That damn rider better slow, or he’d find himself in the ditch.
The rain stopped by the time Cooper reached the Marks’ farm in Camp Verde, but clouds obscured the mountain horizon warning of the pending storm. From the drift of the moisture, the whole valley would be socked in, soon.
Claire Marks greeted him with a warm smile and welcomed him into the farmhouse, taking his wet jacket.
“Don’t worry about your shoes,” she assured him. “These floors have seen much worse.”
“Looks like a real soaker heading this way,” he said, shaking the drops out of his hair.
“We need the rain.” She smiled. “Farmers always say that, of course. But we do. It’s been dry for too long. Here in the desert, every drop is precious.”
She led him to an easy chair, likely her husband’s from the large size. It fit Cooper’s frame comfortably.
“Let me get you coffee before we start,” she said. “We won’t be disturbed. Gary and Ralphie are having breakfast at the casino. They enjoy bowling at the lanes there weekends when the lanes are open.”
When she returned, Cooper took a sip of coffee and then pulled a small recorder out of his pocket.
“This is an informal interview,” he said, “but my memory isn’t the best.” He ducked his head in false modesty. He had a steel-trap mind, but admitting human fallibility put folks at ease. “Okay if I record?”
“Of course, go ahead,” Claire said.
She waited while he clicked on the machine, identified parties present, the location and date, and then set it on the coffee table in front of them. The small LED on the side blinked a reassuring red.
“Claire, may I call you Claire?”
She nodded her assent.
“In order to investigate your sister’s death, I’ll need information on Jill’s personal history. Even a stray fact might help us discover who killed her. So don’t hold back. Tell me what you can recall.”
“I’ll tell you what I remember,” she said. “But I’m not sure what will be helpful.”
“Let’s start at the beginning to give me some background. You aren’t natives to Arizona, I understand. Where did your family come from?”
“The Chicago suburbs. Daddy was in business there. We moved here when Jill and I were in high school.”
Cooper caught the hesitation and his head raised.
“And the reason for the move?”
“For health. My mother wasn’t well and died soon after we got here.”
“That’s too bad.” Cooper paused a sympathy beat. “And your father?”
She paused. Fiddled with her skirt, took a sip of coffee. Tears started, and she blotted them with a Kleenex.
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” Cooper said.
She rose abruptly. “More coffee?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“I think I’ll top mine off.”
She left for the kitchen, and Cooper switched off the recorder. The woman was nervous that was for sure. Maybe there was something here.
Cooper walked around the room while he awaited her return. On a table was a picture of a family grouping, Claire and what he presumed were her son and husband. The boy had a vacant expression on his face.
Claire set her warmed drink on the coffee table. Cooper turned on the recorder again.
“That’s a picture of our special child, Ralphie.” She hesitated.
“He has a disability?”
“Brain damage as an infant. Oh, he’ll mature into an adult, with an adult’s desires and issues, but his mind will always stay very young.”
“That must be a challenge for everyone.”
Claire took the picture out of his hands and set it firmly on the table.
“We try not to dwell on it. Working together, that’s the meaning of family.”
“Just a few more questions, ma’am, and I’ll be out of your way. Tell me about your farm here. You raise sheep, horses?”
She laughed. “No, just pecan nuts.”
“Make a living at that?”
Her face turned somber. “Not hardly. It’s been hard, sometimes.”
“And not having funds available from your father’s estate makes that worse, I imagine.”
“No, we’re doing fine, just fine. We don’t need any money.”
Cooper started to make a note and then stopped. He wanted her to continue, and the motion of pencil to paper might be a deterrent. Let the recorder pick it up. He checked, but the red light on top continued to flash. “Go on.”
“There’s not much to tell. Jill was entitled to the company, she worked hard for it.”
Claire sat stiffly on the couch and picked nervously at a worn seam.
“Did Jill seem nervous or worried recently?”
The woman shook her head sharply. “We haven’t spoken in years.”
“But you just said…”
“On the phone, that’s all. And just minor, short conversations regarding the family.”
Cooper detected a change in her voice. The woman was lying. He was sure of it. At that point, there was a commotion in the yard as an old pickup wheeled into the drive.
“Where were you the day that your sister was murdered?”
“Here, right here all day. My husband can attest to that.”
“That’s not what my associate tells me. She mentioned seeing you in West Fork.”
“Well, that’s not true!” Claire blinked rapidly. She looked up at the sound of the vehicle in the yard. “That must be Gary and Ralphie,” Claire said.
Cooper noticed with alarm that the red light was no longer blinking on the recorder. When did i
t stop? Had it recorded Claire’s alibi? And what about her denial of contact with her sister?
This case was filled with gremlins determined to cut off evidence at the worst possible moment. Sighing, Cooper closed his notebook, empty except for the scribbled date at the top of the page. He’d been relying on the recorder. He’d have to put the interview notes together as best he could.
There was a rumble of footsteps as father and son pounded up the porch steps. The boy burst into the house and whirled around his mother making unintelligible sounds.
“Go change your clothes," she said. "I’ll have milk and cookies waiting for you.”
Following more slowly after was the father. A middle-aged man, model handsome.
“Cooper Davis, from the sheriff’s office.”
“You’re here about Claire’s sister? But that other woman—what was her name, honey?” he called out to his wife.
“Peg Quincy,” she called from the kitchen.
“Yeah. I thought she got the information the police needed,” Gary said.
His wife re-entered the room, and Cooper caught a look that passed between the two of them, what seemed to be an unspoken question from Gary followed by a short headshake from Claire.
Cooper’s antenna went up. The husband asking if she’d told, and she confirming that she hadn’t. Hadn’t told him what? So something was afoot, which meant Cooper needed to dig further.
Claire waited for him at the door. Cooper reluctantly gathered his things and followed her. He’d have to recheck later. He made his goodbyes and walked out to his car. Before he put it into gear, he switched on the digital recorder, on the off chance that it had captured vital information. The recording accurately listed the time, location and occupants. It clearly picked up Claire’s invitation of more coffee. Then it went dead.
He frantically searched his mind for details and scribbled them down as best he could remember. He’d be back. Or maybe he’d enlist the services of Peg Quincy. She owed him, for not bringing Thorn Malone in for questioning.
Right now, he needed to return to the office. It was still raining here in the Verde Valley, but there was a cold snap to the air. He wanted to drive up the mountain to Flag before the threatening storm arrived in full force.
CHAPTER 23
It was almost noon when HARRIET WEAVER arrived at the office. She wasn’t sure what to expect; in fact, she’d debated whether to call in a sick day. Then she realized that there was nobody to call in to, with Jill being gone. She settled for a very late arrival. How could she interact with Malcolm Vander after that episode the night before and pretend that everything was fine between them when it wasn’t?
Harriet wasn’t sure what to do about the money. If she deposited it in her bank account that would make the blackmail that Lenny had instigated a fait accompli. And she’d be a crook accessory! Harriet had never seen that much money in her whole life. She wanted to savor it for just a little while. Then she’d give it back to Malcolm. Yes, she would. But not yet.
Malcolm’s big fancy car was prominently parked in Jill Rustaine’s CEO spot, and Harriet made a face as she pulled into her space. Any promotion on his part would require a vote by the board of trustees, and that wasn’t likely, especially when she had the journal in her possession that would change his future entirely.
She patted the side of her purse, yanked on the parking brake, and exited the car.
She said hello to the front desk receptionist and then ducked through the lunchroom on her way to the executive wing. Someone had made a fresh pot of coffee. It smelled like Jill Rustaine’s special premium coffee, from the secret stash that Harriet kept hidden.
Whatever. She poured a mugful and headed toward her office. She’d call Malcolm and see what was on the agenda, whether he had decided to reschedule the IPO meeting. Had he already told her that? Her usual mental clarity had sunk into a gray fog since Jill’s death.
She mentally went down the long to-do list that would be waiting for her when she reached her desk.
Each night, before she left, Harriet crossed off the completed items, started a new page, and rewrote a fresh list. There was a certain satisfaction in drawing a line through everything she’d done that day. But that joy dimmed, now that Jill wasn’t here to compliment her effectiveness.
Her production and efficiency had suffered in these days since Jill’s death. Understandable, of course, but unforgivable in Harriet’s eyes. No excuse. She squared her shoulders and took a look around the big central office. Jill had assured her that once the refinance of the company took place with the IPO, there would be massive hirings.
Harriet had even sat in on planning meetings for future staffing where the president of the Chamber of Commerce and the Provost of the community college were present. Big things were ahead for Jil-Clair Industries. But perhaps all that was gone now. Was it her imagination or were more desks empty in the big room?
As she rounded the corner to her office, she saw one of the security guards sitting in a chair tipped back against the wall. He created ugly divots in the carpeting and marred the paint with his greasy hair. She opened her mouth to ask exactly what he thought he was doing, and then she noticed the banker’s box resting next to him.
That was it. Malcolm had fired the man, and he was waiting for severance papers. Didn’t Malcolm know those would be in the personnel office? Not that she would mind this man’s leaving. He was coarse and overbearing. Not the type that reflected well on the company. She’d complained to Jill several times when he put smelly food in the lunchroom refrigerator.
Jill would listen and pat her hand in that way she had and say, “It’ll be all right, Harriet, just let it go.”
Well, Jill would be proud of her, because Harriet pasted on her brightest smile.
“How can I help you this wonderful morning?” she asked.
“Ma’am, I’m here to get your keys and escort you out of the building.”
“What? Why would you need to do that? I hired you, you idiot man.”
She smiled so that he’d know she was introducing some levity into the situation. He needed to lighten up. Never mind. She had her keys ready, opened the door efficiently, surprised that the man followed her in, uninvited.
He frowned and shook the banker’s box at her. She took it and opened the lid. It was empty.
“For your pictures and stuff,” the man said awkwardly. “Mr. Vander said you wasn’t allowed to take company files or anything, just your personal belongings. I’m supposed to watch you.”
“Watch me what? You think I’m going to steal a box of paper clips?”
Fired! That had never happened to Harriet, not in all the years she’d been an executive assistant. Tears welled in her eyes, and she willed them away. Never let them see you cry. Her mother had warned her. Tears were the start of that downhill slope into depression, and Harriet was never going there again.
“Let me call Malcolm,” she said with a nervous laugh. “I’m sure this is all a terrible mistake. I just talked to him yesterday.”
And last night as well. She refused to revisit that ugly scene and instead, dialed his extension. There had to be some mistake! Harriet’s fingernail skipped off a key, and the wrong number showed up. She slammed the phone down.
“Never mind. I’ll go see him in person. You wait right here.”
Harriet started toward the door, but the guard blocked her path. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. She’d catch up with Malcolm later, but first, she must get rid of this horrible man in her way. She threw objects in the box.
Her extra box of Kleenex. One purchased with her own funds. Here she glared at the guard. There was a picture of her and Lenny on the only vacation they’d ever had, to Las Vegas last year. He’d won a slot jackpot and taken her out to celebrate at the casino restaurant. She needed some of that cheer right now.
She slammed her steno pad and her to-do list in the box, then added a set of stone bookends. She tossed in a dictionary she’d gotten as an awar
d for being first in her class at the junior college.
She looked doubtfully at the pothos vine trailing around the filing cabinet.
“Would you,” she began and then stared at the man. She doubted he even knew the difference between a pothos and a philodendron. “Please give this plant to Milly in the secretary pool.”
“I will, ma’am.”
Was that sympathy in his eyes? She didn’t need sympathy. She needed this whole mess to go away and life to return to normal like it was only a few days ago when Jill, her beloved Jill, was still here.
Slamming the lid on the box, she grabbed her purse. She saw the mug of coffee sitting with no coaster on the desk. Should she take it back to the lunchroom?
She would not! She hefted the box and made a shoving motion with it.
“Move,” she said, shifting the box to one hip.
“I can carry that for you if you want,” he offered.
She didn’t respond but slung her purse over her shoulder. Keeping her head high and ignoring the startled looks of other employees, she stormed to the front of the building and out the door that the guard held open for her.
When she reached her car, she dropped the box to the pavement so that she could unlock her door. Her keys and those for Jill’s private office glinted on her key chain. In her rush to leave, she’d forgotten the guard’s request to surrender them.
Too bad. Harriet wasn’t about to go back and give them up. She’d never set foot in this awful place again. She’d earned those keys the hard way. The company could send a messenger for them if they were that important.
Harriet drove home, five miles under the speed limit, her hands rigid on the steering wheel. Her eyes stared straight ahead, and her mind was blank. She felt nothing at all, in contrast to the adrenaline that had raged through her system moments ago.
When she pulled into her driveway, she sat there for a moment. She and Lenny would work this out together. It would be a good opportunity for both of them to connect like they used to. It was just an unexpected shock. And they had the money from Vander to tide them over. Things would work out.