High Desert Detective, A Fiona Marlowe Mystery (Fiona Marlowe Mysteries)

by Thelen, Marjorie

  HIGH DESERT DETECTIVE

  A Fiona Marlowe Mystery

  Marjorie Thelen

  Also by Marjorie Thelen

  The Forty Column Castle, 1st Book in the Mystery-in-Exotic-Places Series

  The Hieroglyphic Staircase, 2nd Book in the Mystery-in-Exotic Places Series

  Designer Detective, 1st Book in the Fiona Marlow Mystery Series

  Designer Detective, 1st Book in The Fiona Marlowe Mystery Series

  Story Description

  Fiona Marlowe, interior designer to the rich and powerful, finds her wealthy old client, Albert Lodge, dead on the floor of his library in the posh McLean suburb of Washington, D.C. As the investigation unfolds, Fiona discovers she has detective talent, and her innate curiosity spurs her into sticking her nose where it does not belong. Albert’s eighty year old eccentric sister, Opal, arrives from her ranch in south eastern Oregon to settle the estate. She has talked her cowboy ranch manager, Jake Manyhorses, into the role of private investigator as she is convinced one of the numerous family members murdered Albert for his money. With Opal's encouragement Fiona joins Jake in the investigation as it spirals into the netherworld of betrayal, blackmail and smuggling, none of which Jake or Fiona bargained for when they said yes to helping Opal solve the mystery of Albert’s demise.

  High Desert Detective, 2nd Book in The Fiona Marlowe Mystery Series

  Story Description:

  Designer Fiona Marlowe and cowboy buckaroo Jake Manyhorses meet up again in the high desert of southeast Oregon when she goes west to take possession her bunkhouse on Opal Crawford’s ranch. She doesn’t bargain for the claim the land makes upon her city slicker heart or her increasing attraction to Jake. Mysterious bones in a hot spring pique her detective instincts. Cattle are disappearing from Opal’s ranch, and Jake has to determine if friend, foe or relatives are involved. In helping Jake, Fiona finds herself learning the rhythm of ranch life and enjoying it. But only she can decide if the high desert is a place where she can live and love forever.

  Cover Design by John Burns Illustration: www.johnburnsillustration.com.

  Cover art by Tegin Helton, Sam Van Cleave and Marjorie Thelen.

  High Desert Detective

  Copyright Marjorie Thelen 2013

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or were used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. All rights reserved. The republication or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic or mechanical or other means, not known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law.

  ASIN: B00E5PJ5ES

  www.MarjorieThelen.com

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  There’s a longer list this time. First, thank you Terry Keim for being my novel circle buddy and reading this story as it was written and offering excruciatingly helpful comments that encouraged me to continue on. Second, once again thank you Kate and Ron Copeland for being the bellwethers which helps me to know if I got a good story going. Thank you, Karen Nitz of the Western Room at the Harney County Library, who answers my endless questions and likes my books. Thank you Cheryl, Claire, Barbara, Debbie and Laurie, librarians of the Harney County Library, who put my e-book mysteries on the library Kindles and Nooks without my even asking. A note of appreciation goes to Scott Thomas, District Archaeologist for the Burns District, U.S. Bureau of Land Management, Carla Burnside, archaeologist for the Malheur National Wildlife refuge, and Suzanne Crowley Thomas, archaeologist, who offered helpful opinions on the fate of bones in a hot spring. A special nod of appreciation goes to the Harney Basin Writers, an extraordinary group of writers, who laugh in all the right parts and who have been a wonderful source of support. I am grateful to Patricia Watters, fellow writer, for her cheerleader encouragement and for patiently answering my endless questions about publishing. And my endless gratitude and love goes to John, my incorrigible husband, who reads my books and says “but that couldn’t have happened like that”. What would I do without you?

  One

  Fiona had never been to a party quite like this one. Everyone wore wide brimmed hats and cowboy boots. Even she wore them. She’d bought them at the local ranch store especially for the party. The other folks wore them every day. She spotted Jake across the room immersed in circle of men, probably talking about cows. Talk was getting louder by the minute. And here came Opal, steaming across the room, her eyes fixed on Fiona.

  “There you are,” Opal said. “Don’t stand all by yourself. Come with me. I’ll introduce you around.”

  “I don’t know what to say. These people aren’t talking about anything I know about.”

  “Don’t be silly. You have lots in common. They aren’t aliens from outer space. Don’t talk religion, sex or politics, and you’ll be fine.

  She tugged Fiona’s arm in the direction of a couple of gals who looked like they most recently had been astride a horse. Women here didn’t believe in face cream or SPF. They were tanned and lined and looked comfortable with it. She felt overdressed in mascara and blush.

  “Rosemary. Esme. I want you to meet Fiona Marlowe. She’s the gal I told you was coming to redecorate my house. She’s going to be living in the bunk house and has plans to spruce it up.”

  The two women halted in mid-conversation, but not before Fiona caught Rosemary saying, “He murdered both his wives. They weren’t accidents.”

  Her detective DNA came to full alert.

  “Murder?” she asked, taking up on the conversation they hadn’t finished. She didn’t like to waste time on niceties when murder was in the air.

  Rosemary smiled. “A guy by the name of Hank Little had two wives disappear on him. I say he killed them. Probably beat them to death, knowing him.”

  “Has he been arrested?” asked Fiona.

  “Not yet,” said Rosemary. “They don’t have enough evidence. The Sheriff hasn’t found the bodies of either wife. Hank said both wives ran off with someone else. That doesn’t say much for his prowess with his pistol.”

  Rosemary snorted and Opal and Esme joined in the laughter. Fiona had to smile. So much for taboo topics. A clanging bell interrupted her quizzing the ladies any further.

  “Time to eat,” shouted Queenie, a large woman wrapped in a butcher’s apron with red checks and flying frizzy hair from a day spent in the kitchen. She carried a tray full of ribs. Another skinnier woman followed with a platter of beef barbecue. Fiona’s stomach leapt in happiness. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and it was now late in the afternoon. She’d taken forever deciding how to put a cowgirl outfit together and hoped the looks the men were casting in her direction weren’t because something was w
rong with her attire.

  Opal’s guests moved toward a table set in the middle of the immense dining room. The two meat platters were only the start of the feast. A table full of potato salad and a parade of other picnic salads, corn bread, corn on the cob, and desserts at the far end made Fiona swoon. More platters of meat arrived as the guests heaped their plates.

  Fiona took a plate and started down the table. Her appetite never failed her.

  “What’s that?” she asked an older gentleman who was loading up with slices of meat. These men did not remove their hats to eat, and this one, besides the hat, the plaid shirt, jeans, and boots, wore a fancy scarf wrapped around his neck which gave him a rakish look. He couldn’t have been much under eighty years old.

  “Goat,” he said with a grin. “Gal, it doesn’t get any better than this.”

  She wrinkled her nose. Goat had to be an acquired taste and since the ethnic in her was Irish and not Latina, she passed. She loaded up on everything else. By the time she got to the end of the table, she could barely lift her plate.

  Opal appeared at her side. “I love a girl with an appetite,” she said. “Tables are outside on the back patio.”

  Rosemary and Esme were in line behind Fiona and followed her out to a table. Opal must have assigned them guard duty. Or maybe they were as curious about Fiona as she was about them.

  “Glad you’re here,” said Esme to Fiona. She had blond and gray hair pulled back in a low pony tail. She wore a sweat stained black hat that looked like it had been trampled by a herd of antelope. “You figure you’ll stay long?”

  “It depends how long it takes me to re-design and decorate Opal’s house. I think that’s what she wants done. She’s been rather vague.”

  “I kind of like it as it is. Has the feel and smell of old money to me,” said Rosemary.

  Esme laughed. “You behave yourself now.”

  “No way,” said Rosemary. “Life’d be no fun.”

  “Tell me more about the guy who murdered his wives,” Fiona said.

  Rosemary smiled. “Let’s get the Sheriff over here. He could give you the gruesome details. There he is.” She nodded in the direction of a table of men, the loudest at the party.

  “I’ll catch him later,” Fiona said, not wanting to make a scene. She wanted more time to see which direction the wind was blowing, politically speaking and otherwise

  “We’ll introduce you,” Esme said, undeterred. She turned and shouted to the table of men. “Hey, Hoover. Come on over when you finish.”

  Hoover looked around to see who had called his name, spotted Esme waving at him and returned the wave.

  “You bet,” he shouted back.

  His buddy elbowed him, said something, and they all laughed.

  “How is it you know Jake?” Rosemary asked. She had flashing dark eyes, shoulder length dark hair, and wore the flat, wide brimmed hat of the buckaroos in the south end of the valley. At least, that’s what the lady at the ranch store told Fiona when she bought the same style hat. Rosemary looked much more authentic than Fiona felt in hers.

  “I met him when he came to Northern Virginia to help Opal settle her brother Albert’s estate.”

  Esme nodded. “I heard about that. Jake said he met an interior decorator out there. That must be you.”

  “Designer. I redesign and improve upon living spaces. That would be me.”

  “I get it, like Martha Stewart. Can’t say we ever see your type out here. Ranchers put their money into livestock, machinery, and irrigation equipment, not pretty houses.”

  “I’m hardly Martha Stewart. I’m more sophisticated than that.” She’d noticed the houses here were not like those in the posh suburbs of Washington, D.C. where she lived and worked.

  Rosemary continued on. “That old bunkhouse’ll be a challenge. Do you know it’s haunted?”

  The bite of lemon meringue pie Fiona just swallowed stuck in her throat. She coughed and cleared her throat. “You’re kidding, of course. You’re trying to scare me off.”

  They weren’t laughing.

  “No, she’s serious,” said Esme. “Opal didn’t mention that?”

  “No. There’s quite a bit Opal hadn’t mentioned about the bunk house. She said it sat on a knoll with a tree and had a nice view. I came out to take a look.” She didn’t mention that it was payment for being Opal’s alibi in the arson investigation of her brother Albert’s house after it went up in flames. She had envisioned a bunk house a little different than what she got. “I can’t say that a ghost excites me. Does the ghost have a name?”

  “Ghosts, plural,” said Rosemary. She leaned in, warming to her story. “There’s a cross cut into that tree by the bunkhouse. Folks say they found a human skull and a belt buckle from the 1870s under that tree.”

  “What happened to the remains?” Fiona rubbed the goose flesh on her arms though the day was warm.

  “Disappeared. Nobody knows. But in the old days when Opal used that bunk house for the ranch hands, they complained of hearing voices arguing in the wee hours of the morning. Gunshots sometimes.”

  Fiona frowned. Sharing a house with ghosts was not in her plans. She wondered again about the wisdom of coming here. Her new duds itched and that reminded her of what a green horn she was. Her safe, comfortable condo in Northern Virginia beckoned. No spiders or rats. No creatures that bit or stung.

  “Hey,” said Esme, “we’re scaring you. Don’t listen to us. We had too many beers, and our tongues are loose. You be quiet now, you hear, Rosemary?”

  Rosemary grinned. “Fiona’s a big girl. She looks like she can take care of herself. But if I were you, I’d get me a nice looking buckaroo like Jake to keep your bed warm at night, keep you safe from ghosts.”

  They laughed, and Esme said, “Now you know Suzie wouldn’t like to hear you talk like that about Jake. You’ll make her jealous.”

  “Make her jealous? Ha, she was born green with envy.”

  Fiona glanced around. “Who’s Suzie? Jake never mentioned a girl friend.”

  Rosemary shrugged. “Suzie thinks she owns every good looking man in the valley. Don’t pay attention to her, if you’re sweet on Jake.”

  “I’m not sweet on Jake. I hardly know him.”

  That wasn’t entirely true, but Fiona was rattled to hear that Jake might have a sweetheart. They had spent an intense two weeks together last fall. She hadn’t seen him since. Opal was the one who had nagged her to come out to re-do her ranch house and what with Fiona’s other high income projects and the month long trip to Australia, it was June before she hit the high desert.

  Both ladies looked at her and smiled.

  “Really, I’m not interested in him in the least.”

  “We’ll fix you up with someone else then. Maybe Sheriff Hoover. He’s available.”

  Sheriff Hoover strode over to their table as if he’d heard his name mentioned. He tipped his hat to Fiona. “Evening. I hear you are new to these parts. I’ll guard you from the wolves around here.” He smiled at his little joke.

  Fiona wasn’t sure she needed Sheriff Hoover’s protection. He was tall and lanky with a ready smile in a rugged face. He didn’t look threatening, but she had always been wary of law enforcement types. She had too many speeding tickets. There was that problem of the ghosts though.

  “Fiona’s curious about Hank Little and his missing wives,” said Esme. “Any new developments?”

  The Sheriff leaned in. “There’s been bones found in the rubble of a slash pile burn.”

  “No,” said Esme. “Where?”

  “Can’t say right now. We’re investigating.”

  “Might be more. There’s a lot of slash piles up in the mountains.”

  Sheriff Hoover pressed his lips tight and shook his head. He wasn’t sharing any more information.

  Esme said, “Fiona here might need your help with the ghosts up at the bunk house when they start bothering her.”

  Sheriff Hoover turned his full attention on Fiona. “I wouldn’t
listen to these two. There are no ghosts in that old place.”

  “Yes, there are,” said Rosemary. “Sure as my name is Rosemary there are. Opal knows about them.”

  “You listen to me,” the Sheriff said. “Any time you have ghost trouble you call me. I’ll come running.” He pulled out a well-stuffed wallet, drew out a card, and laid it by Fiona’s plate. “My cell phone number is on there. Don’t hesitate to call.”

  He tipped his hat and returned to his rowdy companions.

  “Wow,” said Rosemary. “You made a conquest, Fiona. I do believe the Sheriff’s got eyes for you. Jake’s going to be jealous now.”

  “You two are bad,” Fiona said. She picked up the card and studied it. “You never know when I may need this.” She waggled it in front of them.

  “Don’t look now but here comes Jake,” said Esme.

  Jake stopped by Fiona’s side. “Are these ladies bothering you?” asked Jake, addressing Fiona.

  “No. They are excellent conversationalists and first rate gossips.”

  “Myself, I wouldn’t believe a word they say. Better be careful.”

  She smiled. “I’m always careful.”

  That declaration set Rosemary and Esme into gales of laughter. Fiona found she liked teasing with them. It didn’t take much to amuse these gals.

  “If you’re afraid,” Jake said, “I’ll be glad to walk you up the knoll to your new home when you are ready to leave. But you won’t want to leave yet. The dancing should start soon.”

  Rosemary and Esme grinned.

  “You are brave, Fiona, staying up there by yourself,” Rosemary said. “I think you should take Jake up on his offer. Remember what we told you.”

  Fiona smiled. “You gals can come visit me and the ghosts anytime.”