“You are not going to tempt me. This is a spooky place. I’ve heard more about murders, ghosts and dead bodies in one day than I have heard my whole life.”
“You’re getting it all in one dose.”
“What happened to the skeleton in the desert?”
“The investigation continues.” He laughed. “See, you can’t help yourself. Detective Marlowe rides again. Do you want to take a drive tomorrow to see where they found the skeleton? I’ll take time off and show you some of the country.”
“How long will it take?” She had already learned this was an important question in a county of ten thousand square miles and less than seven thousand people.
“Several hours round trip. We could take a picnic lunch and make a day of it.”
She went inside to finish making coffee while she thought it over. She was anxious to start work on the bunk house. Contractors were coming Monday to work on the plumbing and wiring for electricity. A carpenter was to start work on shoring up the walls, installing insulation, and transforming the interior with dry wall. Was she crazy to try to save this old place? But tomorrow she had nothing planned, and it would be fun to see some of the country, which was beautiful if you liked sagebrush and red brown rim rock.
She put coffee singles in two mugs with hot water and carried the mugs outside. They sat in the still night under starry skies.
“This is pretty country,” she said.
“The best,” said Jake.
“Okay, I’ll go. Now how about that song?”
* * * * *
A loose shutter banged against the bunk house. For an hour Fiona had been listening to that banging shutter and something else. She tried to distinguish between the sound of the wind, and the sound that woke her up. Sleep was impossible. What was that sound? All she could think of were ghosts. There were no shadows in the room. Only blackness. She was having trouble getting used to the blackness of the night here. No horns honked, no lights glared outside, no hum of the city. Nothing but black. And the wind. Maybe she should go back to her nice, safe condominium in Northern Virginia.
There it was. A low moan. Her eyes searched each of the east facing windows that looked out over hay fields, herds of cattle, and rim rock. She saw only stars. A strange sight. Stars. In her warm bedroom back home, she saw the lights of the nation’s capital reflected on the walls. She wasn’t used to cold summer nights, the wind, the stars, the dust. She wasn’t used to any of this.
She eased up on one elbow and listened. Something was moaning. Did ghosts moan? They did in Walt Disney movies. Was it a wolf? No, Jake said there weren’t any wolves in this part of the country. Maybe they had moved in unannounced. Coyotes yipped and barked, day or night. But this didn’t sound like a healthy coyote. This sounded like something in distress, hopefully not a ghost in distress.
She was reluctant to leave the relative security and warmth of the cot Opal had lent her. It was a hard bed but she preferred it to a softer one in Opal’s house because she wanted to be in her own place. She needed furniture in this hollow, empty space, which would make the place much more inviting.
The moaning took on a deeper timbre. Maybe it was a hurt varmint. She considered telephoning for help. Jake would come. She held up her watch. The digital glow read 3:30 A.M. She hated to wake up anyone after that party. Maybe the sound would go away. She lay back and pulled the down comforter over her head, hoping sleep would come. It didn’t. The moaning continued. She turned on the flashlight Jake had given her, the only light near the bed. Maybe the light would make the moaning stop. It didn’t. She wondered if light went straight through ghosts.
What finally motivated her to rise and pull on the sweater she’d thrown on the bed for warmth was insatiable curiosity and, some would say, lack of common sense. The bare wood floor was cold, and she slid her feet into the sandals by the bed. The moaning seemed to be coming from the other side of the front door. Some animal must be injured and had crawled up on the porch to get out of the wind. Or maybe it was a person. She hoped it wasn’t Hank Little come to murder another woman. Maybe he only murdered wives. In that case she should be okay.
If she opened the door the culprit might be right there. What if it were something dangerous? She didn’t know all of the animals that lived here, but she was sure they were dangerous. Probably more dangerous if wounded. Jake said there were badgers. She didn’t know what a badger looked like or how big it was but it sounded ugly and dangerous.
Undecided, she watched the door, listening. The moan had a whine to it. Maybe it was a dog. There were dogs over at the main house. If it were a hurt dog, should she let it in out of the wind and cold?
She trained the flash light on the door and tip-toed across the floor, stopping at the window by the door. In a flash of courage she trained the flashlight on the porch floor outside the door. She saw nothing but black, but the moaning stopped and didn’t start again. That was a relief.
She turned to go back to bed. The moan started again. Sound reverberated in odd ways here. The source could be out in the cow pasture or half-way across the valley. If she didn’t check this out, she’d never get any sleep. Garnering her scanty courage, she cracked the door enough to shine the light through. The wind blasted into the narrow opening. She squinted into darkness.
Nothing. There was nothing. She opened the door a hair further, enough to flash the light around on the porch. Nothing. The sound had stopped. She was not about to search outside on a night like this. The wind honed a cold edge to the night. She closed the door. There was no lock. She propped one of chairs under the door knob, a trick she’d learned from TV. They did not teach that maneuver in design school. Under the circumstances that was the best she could do.
Crawling under the warm down quilt, she pulled it over her head. She’d never thought to make a fire in the rusty woodstove. The evening had been pleasant. But the wind had come up, and now it was cold enough to see her breath. She checked her watch again. 4:00 A.M. The sky in the east had a light tinge to it. She curled up in a ball and wished for sleep.
An unholy pounding woke her. Given the paucity of sleep she had gotten, she was in a wicked mood, and worse, it was freezing in the bunk house. She wrapped the comforter around her unhappy body and padded to the door. Of course, she had to struggle to get the chair out of the way.
She yanked open the door and squinted into bright light. “What?”
Jake stood in full buckaroo regalia. “You aren’t ready. We’re going sightseeing today. Did you forget?”
“I had a rough night.” She related the story. “It must have been a ghost. There was nothing, and then it stopped.”
“You should have taken me up on my offer of sharing my warm bed in the big house,” he said with a grin.
She ignored him. She wasn’t in the mood. “It’s freezing in here.”
“You should have started a fire.”
“There’s no wood, and I don’t know how anyway. Are you being annoying because it’s in your DNA or because you enjoy making my life a misery?”
“You’re in a temper. Get your stuff. I’ll take you down to the big house for a shower and a decent breakfast. Then we’ll get on the road. You don’t have to be some kind of heroine, staying up here at night. Opal has plenty of extra beds.” He paused then said softly. “And there’s always mine.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m trying to get the feel for the house so I can make a proper living space out of it.”
“Right.”
Two
Everywhere a body went in this country the preferable means of transportation was by truck or rig, as the locals called a truck or other motorized conveyance. If it wasn’t four wheel drive, you were asking for trouble. If snow didn’t end you up in a ditch, the grease they called roads in wet weather would put you there. That’s what Jake told her as they drove along the improved gravel road that stretched forever into the distance. Not another vehicle was on the road. They could have been driving into a black ho
le.
Fiona wore jeans, a long sleeve white shirt with paisley neck scarf, and her new flat brimmed hat that was starting to grow on her.
“You look the buckaroo,” Jake said.
She smiled. “Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment. I don’t understand why I have to wear long sleeves on a hot day.”
“Because it will keep you from getting sun burn and eaten alive by mosquitoes. They’re bad this time of year.”
“I have a few choice welts to testify to that. Do you always drive this fast?”
“What? Eighty? How else you going to get anywhere?”
Around noon they stopped for lunch at Mann Lake. Jake spread an old blanket on the ground, and Fiona laid out the food Queenie had packed. It was leftovers from the party and smelled more delicious today than yesterday.
“Oh, no,” she said as Jake sat down on the blanket.
“What?”
“I think she put goat in the sandwiches by mistake.”
“No mistake about it. I asked for it.”
“You like goat?”
“You don’t?”
Her tummy rumbled. She sniffed the sandwiches. “I guess I do now.” She took a careful bite, like the goat might still be alive and snuffling around in the bread. She was prepared to hate it, but after a few careful chews realized the tangy marinade sauce made it palatable, maybe even delicious.
Jake pulled his vest collar up around his neck and slapped down his hat. “Wind’s coming up. Eat up and we’ll high tail it down the road. We got a ways to go.”
In minutes a fine layer of grit drifted over the blanket and settled in everything that wasn’t covered. They passed on the pie, packed up, and climbed into the truck to continue the southward journey. Her teeth felt like she had consumed goat and grit sandwich. She wondered if they’d have that on the menu at one of the fancy restaurants back home.
The sun held, the sky went total blue, and they continued south, along Steens Mountain looming 9,500 feet to the west. To the east appeared an expanse of sand covered desert that looked for all the world like the Sahara. It stretched to the southern horizon. Fiona couldn’t see a stitch of vegetation. Nothing but white sand in a shallow bowl that stretched to a ridge in the east.
“What is that?” asked Fiona.
“It is stark, raving desert. This country was an old lake bed,” said Jake. “But now there are no rivers that flow from the basin. Hence, you get some places that are so alkaline, nothing but nothing grows there.”
Further south, the sky darkened with heavy gray clouds tinged with black that rolled and tumbled off the Steens. The temperature dropped thirty degrees in a matter of minutes. Jake turned on the heat.
“That can’t be snow,” she said. “This is June.”
“Yep, it’s snow. This isn’t unusual. It’s the elevation. We’re over four thousand feet,” Jake said.
The snow turned out to be a rogue squall and was over as fast as it came on. Sudden bright sunshine forced Fiona to put on sunglasses. This was a country of weather extremes. Harsh was the word that came to mind.
Jake started singing On the Road Again, and Fiona kept time by tapping her fingers on her knee.
“I like the one you sang last night,” Fiona said. “What was the name again?”
“Cowboy Lullaby.”
“That was nice. It went with the evening. Do you know anything besides cowboy songs? Like opera? You’re a great baritone.”
“No. I never cared for that caterwauling they call opera. I just sing country and western, some bluegrass, a little gospel. I guess you like opera.”
“Of course. I’ve been to the Met to hear James Levine conduct Rigoletto, my very favorite opera. I sometimes get season tickets for the Washington Opera Company.”
He wagged his head. “You and I are very different.”
“I thought you’d never notice.”
He looked at her and smiled. “Oh, I notice all right. Maybe I could learn to appreciate opera.”
“You could teach me cowboy songs.”
“You bet. Do you know Home on the Range?”
Fiona sang a few bars, and Jake laughed. “You call that singing?” he said.
Fiona laughed with him. “I forgot to tune my voice this morning.”
“It doesn’t matter how you sound. What matters is that you’re making music with your friends and enjoying it. Let’s try Home on the Range together.”
They sang as they rode along, Jake helping her with the words, Fiona enjoying herself immensely. She hadn’t sung in years. There was something about the combination of singing, the endless distance before them, not another person in sight, and Jake’s company on a road trip that made her happy. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this light and free from the cares of the world.
Jake pointed to what looked like mist rising from the grass that bordered the east side of the road up ahead. “There’s a roadside hot spring. We’ll stop, and I’ll give you a tour. We could even take a dip if you want.”
“Swim on the same day we drive through a snow squall?”
He shrugged. “Why not? There’s a little cement pool at the far end, and the water isn’t as hot there. It’d be perfect. You’ll love it.”
He glanced in the rear view mirror. “That’s odd. Someone’s coming up mighty fast behind us.”
“You mean faster than we’re travelling?” she asked.
“I’m not kidding. Maybe he’s going to Fields store for a milkshake and burger and is afraid they’ll sell out before he arrives.”
Fiona turned around in time to see the driver swing out and around to pass, take the swing too wide, and plane off the gravel by the side of the road. Stones shot everywhere. The small car lurched side to side, did an impressive three sixty, then skidded sideways some distance before it bounced down an embankment to the left and crashed through a barbed wire fence. Jake swerved to miss the careening vehicle, forcing them into an upward sloping embankment on the right side of the road. They slammed to a stop, but not before digging up a nose full of rabbit brush.
“Are you okay?” Jake asked, leaning toward her and putting a hand on her shoulder.
They looked at each other bug-eyed, blinking. Present time tried to catch up to the surreal time lapse of the accident.
Fiona checked them over. “I don’t see any blood.” She held up her hand. “I’m a bit shaky but in one piece. I’m glad we had our seat belts on.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jake said, as he looked her over.
Fiona nodded. “I think so. Where did that car go?”
Jake released his seat belt and banged on the door to open it. “That’s what I’m going to find out. Looks like he ended up in the hot spring. You wait here.”
Fiona never listened to well-intentioned advice. Her door was against a wall of crushed rabbit brush, so she climbed over the console and followed Jake out his door. On the ground she had to steady herself against the truck door until the ground stopped spinning. It had all happened so fast she was disoriented and a little dizzy.
Jake crossed the road and looked around, assessing the situation. Fiona saw the problem as soon as she joined him. The car had landed with its rear end in a pool of hot spring water. The front end of the car was facing up the embankment.
“I think I can make out two heads in the front seat,” Jake said. “Wait here. I mean it. Don’t follow me down the bank. I don’t know how deep the water is, and it is scalding along here. You wouldn’t want to accidently fall in.”
“I hope whoever is in the car isn’t par-boiled.”
“They’re lucky. I don’t think they hit the water. The way the car is situated, it looks like only the rear end slid into the water.”
Jake picked his way down the steep embankment to the wreck, holding onto brush as he went. Fiona was more than happy to take orders this time and hoped there wouldn’t be any blood. The sight of it made her faint. She couldn’t see any movement in the front seat. The slow moving
muddy water eddied around the back of the car and wound through stands of grass. Fiona could see rocks and slimy looking stuff through the clear sections of the water upstream a little ways. Jake reached the car and made his way around to the driver’s side. Fiona looked up and down the road. She could see a long way in the distance. No help appeared along that forsaken stretch of gravel road.
Jake called to her. “A man is slumped over the wheel. He isn’t in water,” he said. “Looks like there’s a child with him. Neither is moving. Call 911.”
“Right.” She dug her cell phone out of her pants pocket and opened the phone.
“There’s no signal.”
“Walk around till you find one. Go up on that rise.”
The rise was to the west of the road where their truck had ended up. She trudged up the hill through rock and rabbit brush, the sun burning into her shoulders. Two bars on the phone finally lit up. She dialed 911.
“Your name and location, please,” said a pleasant female voice.
“Steens Mountains, I think, at a hot spring.”
“I can barely hear you ma’am. Which side of the Steens?
“East side.”
What is the nature of the call?”
“A car wreck. Driver is slumped over the wheel and there appears to be a child with him. They aren’t moving. The rear end of the car is sitting in the hot spring.” She gave the particulars including Jake’s name.
The dispatcher said, “I know Jake. He’ll know what to do. Stand-by.”
Fiona waited, watching Jake rap on the car windows, trying to rouse the passengers. He seemed to be having trouble getting the driver’s door open. Sound carried amazing distances where there was only the wind and crackle of sun shine to intrude upon the scene. Jake called to the passengers to open the door.
The dispatcher came back on. “We’ll dispatch first responders from Fields. They’ll be there as fast as they can. I can’t pinpoint a time when they’ll arrive, since the responders we have down there are ranchers, and it might take them a while depending on where they are and what they are doing. Can you make out a license number?”
High Desert Detective, A Fiona Marlowe Mystery (Fiona Marlowe Mysteries) Page 3