Turkey Ranch Road Rage

by Paula Boyd

  Moving back to the west, the aerial view showed a meandering strip of mesquite brush, which you could see from Lucille’s kitchen window. It concealed her view from all but the tops of the pump jacks when they bobbed up. The relatively small area between the oil well and the storage tanks that I remembered, the salt flats, had somehow morphed into sprawling white areas of nothing, with multi-colored mounds of dirt dotted and patches of mesquites. There were several other huge bare areas as well that I didn’t remember at all. I sure wished I had an aerial view from the sixties when I used to play back there. I wonder if it looked the same then. I made myself a note to look up where I could get historical aerials. I put another dollar in the machine and printed, zooming in and out to get the best possible views. The image pixilated and blurred when I got very close in, but I did what I could.

  I never made it to the virtual courthouse, if indeed Bowman County had one, because I’d started to feel shaky. I wasn’t sure if it was from lack of food, lack of sleep or the very real feeling that what I had just found in my view from space was bad.

  I managed to get back to the room and order food, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d found. Technically speaking, it really wasn’t much of anything. I’d learned a few things about cancer and chemicals that might or might not be relevant to anything, and I’d educated myself about Barnett Shale. Damon Saide, Gilbert Moore and AAC were pretty much a bust, but the satellite imagery I’d stumbled on was anything but. And I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  I laid out the aerial photos on the table and tried to think of all the possible reasons the land looked as it did. One possibility was a toxic waste dump, but I had no basis for it. It all could be perfectly normal. The ground may have simply been cleared for campsites. That they would have scenic views of the pump jacks and storage tanks could be the whole idea. People paid good money to go experience ranch life by shoveling manure and castrating calves, so it wasn’t a stretch that they’d pay to pretend they had their own real live oil well out the front door of the travel trailer. The gift shop would be filled with souvenir pump jacks and mini bottles of crude. Black gold. Texas Tea. It was one of those ideas that sounded so stupid it just might work.

  But again, why the strong-arm tactics for Mother? Why kidnap me? Why not say these things up front and get community support? Why not mitigate the horny toad issue with protected habit and viewing areas for tourists? “Good questions, Jolene. Really good questions.”

  I just had no good answers.

  A call to room service got a veggie omelet headed my way, and gave me a few minutes to think. I sat in the room’s wingback chair and propped my feet on the ottoman, sipping on a cup of hot Earl Grey tea that I’d made in the room’s coffee pot. My beloved staple of liquid tar still held no appeal whatsoever and I wondered if I’d ever be able to drink it again. Or maybe it was just the overall bad feeling I had that was making me ill. I sipped a little more tea then let my mind wander where it wanted to.

  Apparently it wandered to sleep because the next thing I knew I was jerking and jumping awake, with some semi-awareness of a knock on the door. It took a couple more seconds of re-orientation and another knock to figure out that there really was someone at the door. The re-engaging brain cells screamed “food” so I hurried over, flipped back the security latches, and swung the door open wide for delivery of my breakfast.

  Jerry, not room service, stood in the doorway, holding his room key as if he’d just swiped it in the reader. At his feet were a pile of shopping sacks. He put the card in his pocket, picked up the sacks and eyed my robe. “I didn’t expect you to be up yet.”

  “Me either,” I said, closing the door behind him. “I like your shirt and jeans.”

  “Didn’t want to take the time to go home,” he said, tossing the sacks on the bed. “Where’d you get the robe?”

  “Room service.” Another knock. “More room service. Food this time.” I smiled. “I could get used to this.”

  Jerry went to the door and got the tray for me then carried it over and set it on the table in the corner. “If you want to just make a snack of that I’ll take you out somewhere.”

  I am generally always ready to go out to eat, but I had Jerry alone with no one to bother us and I liked that a lot. “How about we share it and just spend some time here?”

  “Perfect.”

  I divided the food and set us each a plate on the table with the glass of orange juice between us. Apparently he was as hungry as I was because we both inhaled the food without saying a word.

  Jerry drank half the juice then handed me the glass. “Now, aren’t you going to ask me what’s in the sacks?”

  “Well, I was kind of hoping it was something I could wear since you took everything I had.”

  He reached over and ran a finger along the collar of my robe. “And I was hoping,” he said, his voice dipping into a low rumble, “that you’d still be in bed how and where I left you.”

  That electrical connection shot through me once again. I sucked in my breath and shivered all at the same time. “And I can be.”

  His fingers ran under my robe and slid it off my shoulders. “I want you.”

  And so it was.

  After that, a nap was the natural course of action.

  When I did awaken, it was with visions of white splotches as seen from space. Still snuggled tight against Jerry, his arms wrapped around me and his breath steady and soft in my ear, I didn’t want to move. Ever. But I also knew what I had found earlier was important. And a trip to the bathroom was in order anyway, so I gently scooted out of bed.

  When I returned, Jerry was sitting up in bed looking through my papers. “You’ve been quite busy this morning.”

  I put on my new robe and climbed back in bed beside him. “Just went downstairs to the business center.” I propped up some pillows and settled myself where I could show him things easily. “I really just went down to see if I could find out about mineral rights on the Little property and figured I needed some kind of way to locate the parcel so I went to GoogleEarth. When I did, however, this is what I saw. Never made it to the county records.”

  “Hmmm,” he said, letting out a long and labored sigh. “We have several law enforcement departments working on these cases, competent people, specifically trained in criminal investigations. And yet, you somehow think you can find out things that nobody else can.”

  “Maybe I can. Maybe I have.”

  He sighed again.

  “Now stop that. That was your ‘Jolene thinks she’s discovered something but really hasn’t and I have to listen to it’ sigh.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You got all that out of a sigh?”

  “And my intuition.”

  “More like past experience and guilt.” He reached over and pulled me to him. “You know, I’m a pretty self-confident guy and there aren’t a lot of things that get to me. But even I have limits, and taking jokes from every uniformed yahoo in the two-county region is a little tough on the ego sometimes.”

  He hadn’t actually said “because of you” but he didn’t have to. Even if you didn’t count the fiascos of my previous two misadventures here, the fact that the Redwater Falls Police Department had a betting pool on when I’d show up at a felony this time was a little over the top in anybody’s book. Add to that my own stupidity of last night. I hadn’t deliberately gotten myself kidnapped, of course. But I had indeed shot at a deputy during a high-speed chase, and that couldn’t sound good no matter how you put it, even though it was an honest mistake. Let’s not forget the bathroom confrontation with Sergeant Big Mouth in front of every officer in the building either. “Fine. You might have a point. And if you don’t want to see what I’ve got, that’s fine too.”

  “I didn’t say that.” He gave me a quick kiss then pointed to the top paper. “Hepatocellular carcinoma?”

  “Primary adult liver cancer. That’s what Tiger had.” I saw him cut his eyes toward me so I just confessed without him asking. �
�I called the medical examiner’s office, okay? I didn’t get much else, except that it sounded like he should have already been dead months ago.”

  “It’s rare,” Jerry said, continuing to scan the pages I had printed. “Can be caused by chemical exposure, specifically vinyl chloride, thorium dioxide and arsenic, as well as aflatoxins in foods, whatever those are.”

  He read a bit more then added, “Interesting, yes, but how is it relevant?”

  “I don’t know that it is. Obviously Tiger knew he was dying, and it may have just been a coincidence that this is where it happened, assuming it was accidental.”

  Jerry nodded. “But if it was suicide, why come to Redwater Falls for it?”

  “Exactly. Is there anything in the case that points to him trying to frame someone for murder?”

  Jerry shook his head. “Not that I know of.” He shuffled to the next page and saw the first aerial photo. “What’s this?”

  “I have several. A zoomed out satellite overview of Mother’s house and the Little Ranch with other views closer in.” I showed him where the house was located in proximity to the bare areas. I also told about the possible explanations I could come up with. “I even wondered if it was some kind of mining operation, but what are they mining, dirt?”

  “Maybe they really are just clearing camper pads,” he said.

  “Maybe, although it sure looks like some of those may be mounds, not flat spots. It’s hard to tell.”

  “Yes, it is,” he agreed. Jerry went through all the photos again. “I really don’t know what to make of this.”

  “Me either. But as a side note, Bobcat told me that my mother owns mineral rights on the Little Ranch, which is why I went downstairs to get on the internet. I wanted to know if it was true.”

  He looked at me in disbelief. “Really?”

  I shrugged. “I thought that I might be able to confirm that online, or find out how much and when, but I never got that far. I needed to eat. Do you think it could be true?”

  “Bowman County records aren’t online yet so you wouldn’t have gotten far anyway. They are in process though. Just need funding.” He shuffled back through the papers a couple more times. “I’ve got to admit this is worth looking into.” He motioned to the pile of sacks. “See if there’s anything in here that fits. It looks like you have created work for me to do.”

  The first sack I opened had a whole array of black lacey things, including several packages of black silk thigh highs. “Oh, now this looks like fun.”

  He grinned. “And it will be. But better check the other bags for something more practical to wear unless you want to just stay here and wait for me.”

  “Going now to get dressed.” I grabbed all the sacks and headed back to the bathroom. As I set them inside, I turned back and said, “Jerry, thank you. For everything.”

  “You’re worth it.”

  I knew he wasn’t talking about just money either, although it looked like he’s spent plenty. He was talking about our long distance relationship and the trouble with my mother and the ribbing he had to take from his peers. It was a big deal and I wanted to tell him I appreciated it, but I really couldn’t face the reality of it all myself at the moment. And, there really was more information I’d found out that he needed to know about. “I won’t be long, but look at the Barnett Shale paper too. Got that tip from Kimberlee Fletcher, if you can believe that. They could be drilling for gas out there. I told you about the drill rig Mother saw, right?”

  “Gas wells might make sense. Barnett Shale though is closer to Dallas. I suppose there might be an extension up this way. Typically, front men come into a potential area before word gets out and buy the properties and mineral rights for little of nothing, which is what Saide appeared to be trying to do.”

  That part certainly fit, but it was only one part. “I suppose the park could have been a backhanded way to get the land if his first try didn’t work, but it still seems a stretch.”

  “Maybe, but greed is a powerful motivator.” Jerry shook his head. “I’ve seen a lot of things since I took this job that I would have never believed before. If a person gets fixated on something or someone, they can justify anything—theft, murder, kidnapping, arson, you name it.”

  That I could understand, on so many levels. “So what do we really know?”

  He shook his head. “We have a dead guy with a rare liver cancer. You were kidnapped. Bob Little is missing, which we have no leads on, and then there appears to be fresh dirt work behind your mother’s house. Is it from drilling? Or burying a body? Both?” He sighed. “I’ll get someone out to the site to investigate as soon as possible.”

  “Those satellite photos aren’t live though, Jerry, so if there are any burial plots showing up, they aren’t recent ones. There’s no sign of equipment or trucks in the photos either. We need the live version where we can get daily images from the last few months or at least today. Can you get that sort of thing?”

  In answer, he pulled out his phone and dialed.

  I figured he was calling Perez, so I got busy.

  I indulged myself with an inventory of the black lacey things, which I absolutely loved. But that little adventure would have to wait. I could hear bits of conversation and knew we would be heading out promptly, so I went with the best of the basics from what he’d brought me. The black lace bra and matching accessories were duplicated in beige so I went that direction to go with the cream colored top I’d chosen. Basic jeans completed the ensemble. I had my purse, and therefore all three items of makeup, so I lined my lower eyelids, thickened my lashes, concealed my dark circles and used my mother’s eyebrow pencil to draw in the missing piece. So, for a variety of reasons, I felt pretty darned good when I walked out.

  “Oh, honey,” Jerry said appreciatively, looking me over as he pulled on his last boot and stood. “You look just like you did back in high school.”

  Now that was true love, blind and delusional. Still, I appreciated him saying it, and he actually looked like he halfway meant it. “And that is one of the many reasons I love you.”

  Chapter

  Eighteen

  Jerry had given me quite a few clothing options to pick from, but I’d chosen a cream-colored peasant-type top with a lace-up front. It was fairly low cut with a wide band at the bottom that tied at my hips, giving it a blousy but fitted look. I loved it. I admit I would have never bought the jeans he had—they were way too low cut in the front—but they actually fit perfectly and the fact that I had hardly eaten any food in days helped considerably. It also helped that the shirt picked up where the jeans left off and no skin was exposed. The outfit was indeed very much like what I’d worn in high school—when I wasn’t wearing stylish dresses or coordinated polyester pantsuits. Yes, most of the time I looked like I was going to a board meeting not a high school classroom. I’ve gotten over it.

  In spite of Jerry’s obvious appreciation, I still had the uneasy feeling that I looked like a pathetic forty-something geezer-in-denial. But Jerry was thrilled and that was absolutely all that mattered. A couple of appreciative looks in the hotel lobby bolstered my confidence as well—but since they didn’t know me I was compelled to look back after we’d passed them to be sure they weren’t laughing. Thankfully, they hadn’t been.

  As we made our way to the sheriff’s car, I assumed we would be heading to either Kickapoo or the courthouse. In spite of my exceptional intuitive and psychic abilities, my assuming skills apparently sucked since we went directly to the city morgue. As we parked and walked into the side entrance, I couldn’t help but wonder if Philosopher Travis would still be there and if so, if he’d recognize my voice. Odds were heavily weighted toward “yes.” That could complicate things a bit, but I would at least be in a better position (i.e. not masquerading as an airhead) to deal with his pithy comments. I knew stuff too. He wasn’t the only thinker in town.

  The morgue didn’t shock me as it had the first time I’d been there, but the house of the recently dead is still
creepy. Jerry signed us in and we headed down a long sterile hallway. A young Asian man in a long white lab coat waited for us beside a set of stainless steel double doors. The guy on the phone hadn’t had even a hint of an Asian accent, or Texan for that matter, so I relaxed a little. If I got lucky, I might avoid Travis completely, and in doing so also avoid the need for any unpleasant explanations.

  “Hello, Sheriff,” the young man said.

  “Hi, Travis.”

  Oh, crap. I don’t think I said it out loud, but the young man turned toward me as if I had.

  Jerry seemed not to notice the fact that Mr. Medical Examiner dude was staring at me like I was under a microscope or my unease over it. “This is Jolene Jackson,” he said.

  He nodded in my direction and I nodded in his. I kept my mouth shut for obvious reasons. I don’t know why he did. The whole thing was disconcerting. The things he said, the way he looked at me, well, it just felt weird. And then there was his general physical appearance. I don’t know what I’d expected Travis-from-the-morgue to look like, but the Asian Mario Lopez leading us down the hallways definitely wasn’t it.

  “I have nothing more than I did this morning, Sheriff. Although I did get another call regarding the case.” He glanced in my direction, although there was no reason why since I hadn’t said one word and there was no way he could know it had been me. “A woman from the newspaper.”

  Apparently he was psychic too because he continued to stare at me as if he did know. Or I could have just been feeling extremely guilty. Lucille did a stunning job in instilling that. So, figuring confession was the best plan at this point, I said, “That was me. And I apologize for the misrepresentation. I do write for a paper, however. In Denver.”

  “I know.” Then, he said something I would have never guessed would flow from the lips of anyone living in Redwater Falls, Texas, “We are where we want to be though, aren’t we, Jolene?”

  Now why would he say that? Oh, I knew very well what the phrase meant. God knows my best friend Tanya said it to me enough times when I was unhappily married to Danny, adding that “If you wanted it to be different, it would be.” It had really pissed me off until I finally realized she was right and got myself a divorce. Still, I’d argue that the morgue in Redwater Falls, Texas, was not where I wanted to be. Ever. The only reason I was in town was because I’d been forced to come tend to my mother. All right fine, nobody dragged me onto the plane and strapped me in. I made the choice. I knew all that. I say such things every day myself. And quite frankly I prefer it when I am the one pointing these things out to other people. “Yes, we all have free will and choice,” I said, and probably not all that Zen-like either. “So then it follows that Tiger was where he wanted to be, dead in Redwater in a cheesy motel.”