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

by Thelen, Marjorie

  Jake tried not to scowl as he steered Fiona to his rig. This woman was trouble. She could stir up male testosterone quicker than any woman he had ever met. She sure touched his male hormones in a bad way, and that could only mean trouble for him. Maybe he should take a break from ranching and do a little rodeo-ing to calm down.

  He banged the chain into the truck bed, helped Fiona into the passenger side, and backed around. Dora and Fred tore off in the opposite direction. The ambulance left ahead of them with Caleb and Zeke trailing behind. The Sheriff stayed at the accident scene, guarding the bones.

  It had been an eventful day, but one Jake didn’t want to repeat. They never did get to the site of the skeleton in the desert. Now there was the skeleton in the hot springs.

  * * * * *

  After the day’s events, Fiona was still keyed-up and wide awake. She hoped she wasn’t going to be bothered by ghosts again. Jake had begged her not to spend the night by herself. Opal had insisted she stay in one of the guest bedrooms. But there was something about this old bunkhouse that she was beginning to like. Besides she didn’t really believe in ghosts. Or at least she didn’t think she did.

  An odd thought occurred to her.

  What if someone were trying to scare her off? Where did that rogue thought come from? Why would anyone want this old bunk house? Why would anyone want her to leave? Was there something more valuable about her new acquisition than she knew? Maybe there was buried treasure hidden underneath the bunk house. Now her imagination was really going wild. Easy, girl, easy. Maybe there were vast mineral deposits under this little rise where the bunk house stood. Maybe it was oil. Maybe gold. She’d heard they mined gold to the north of here. That was getting pretty far-fetched. But her brain was in overdrive, and she was beginning to think there might be merit to the bizarre idea that someone was trying to scare her off. She’d run it by Jake and Opal in the morning.

  Tomorrow she’d be back in familiar territory. The contractors would start work on the bunk house. She relished the creative start of a new project. It was like sculpture. She would re-work the walls, pick fabric for curtains, have them made to her specifications, paint the new walls in the amazing colors of the desert with a touch of bright something, tear out the back wall and add a bedroom and sumptuous bath. It would be so much fun, and it would be hers. The house in the country she had always wanted.

  But she was wide awake, and it was midnight. She had had a glass of wine with Jake when they returned. Opal had put out leftovers and listened with rapt interest to their recount of the day. She had had her own opinion about the bones.

  “There was a man came through here looking for work,” she said, “must have been three or four years ago. It was the real dry year, you remember, Jake?”

  Jake shrugged. “I remember the last dry year. I don’t remember any man.”

  “Maybe you were away. Well, this man came up to the house, and I answered the door. He spoke with an accent, but he wasn’t one of the Basque people. You don’t see many Basque looking for ranch work anymore. No, he had a foreign accent, reminded me of a Mexican. Maybe he was one of those fellows from Peru that come to herd because he was looking for sheep work. I said I ran cows but I gave him the names of a few of the sheep ranchers. He thanked me and left and that was the last I heard of him. It might have been him. He might have got lost over there in the East Steens.”

  “This man wasn’t lost,” said Fiona. “He was buried in the bank by the hot spring.”

  Opal raised her eyebrows, and Jake said, “I agree. He had a sheet or something wrapped around him. That to me means it was pre-meditated. Someone put him there.”

  “Maybe this man who showed up was on the run, and someone was looking for him,” said Fiona.

  Opal said, “He didn’t look that type. I think I’m a pretty good judge of people. He seemed very humble and sincere. Maybe he crossed the wrong people or something. It would be worth asking the sheep ranchers I told him about.”

  Jake shrugged. “Maybe. In any case you should tell Hoover about him. He can talk to the ranchers in question. We don’t have to worry about it. I got better things to do, like run a ranch. If you ladies don’t mind, I’m calling it a day.”

  Opal and Fiona had lingered at the kitchen table after Jake turned in. “Why don’t you call up those sheep ranchers you mentioned,” Fiona said.

  “I could. You aren’t going to let this one be, are you, Fiona?”

  She smiled. “I’m just curious. I mean, if you happen to run into one of those ranchers or maybe have to talk to them, you could ask.”

  Opal nodded. “I could do that.” She rose to leave then hesitated. “Fiona, you have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to see how much Jake cares for you. You’re not going to break his heart, are you?”

  Fiona froze, taken off guard. She cast her eyes around the room, trying not to make eye contact with Opal, but she knew Opal would not relent. Truth was the only option. She finally met Opal’s eyes. “I’m not sure how I feel. I like my freedom. He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”

  “Still, I worry about him. He’s sweet, and he’s been hurt bad before.”

  * * * * *

  Somehow she made it through the night without any ghosts bothering her. The carpenter arrived late morning. He was going to insulate the walls, cover them with dry wall, and paint. His name was Brewster, and he seemed decent enough though a little odd. He was an artist who did house painting and carpentry to support his artistic habit. His spiked blond hair and earring fit the image. He was a creative type she could relate to, so they got on well and spoke the same language. She got his life history in the bargain. He had discovered Rocky Point several years ago.

  “The town is a well kept secret,” Brewster said, “so don’t tell anyone else. I like the place as it is. It has a nice little arts community, and no one pays much attention to the place because it is a long way from anywhere else. I like it just fine.”

  “I won’t tell a soul,” Fiona said. “Let’s select the interior and exterior colors of paint.”

  That’s when they got into the argument. Brewster declared he had an expert eye for color coordination and had even gone to school for it. Fiona had, too, and considered herself a superb color expert. She tried to keep an even temper and not lord over him her degree from the Rhode Island School of Design. Dropping that name had not fazed him. The air got tense over what color sage was, whether it had more green or more blue. He looked like he was on the verge of walking out. This had never happened to Fiona. She had always gotten on well with her contractors, although they could be undependable, especially when it came to starting and finishing a job on time. She studied the man.

  “All right,” she said in the interest of keeping on good terms with him. “We’ll go with your idea of more blue in the sage than green.”

  “You won’t be disappointed. I know my colors,” he said.

  “I’ll leave you to your measurements. You will start the walls today, won’t you?”

  “Now that you bring it up, I won’t be able to start until next week.”

  “You said you’d start today.”

  “I said I’d start today if I got this other job done, and I’ve run into some delays so I won’t be able to start your job till next week.”

  “But surely you can take the measurements today and start ordering materials.”

  “That’d take a while. I’m meticulous, you see, and I got to get back to this job in town at the new bed and breakfast.”

  With that he rode off in a paint stained white van, leaving Fiona a little steamed. She sank onto one of the old straight back chairs that wobbled under her. This was not a good beginning. She checked the time. The electrician and plumber were late.

  She walked down to the ranch house to look for Opal. Maybe she knew of some other workers who were more dependable.

  “No, honey,” said Opal, “I can’t say I know a single dependable contractor in this valley. You see, most of them are s
easonal because they are haying or irrigating or ranching or calving or lambing or whatever, and the people they work for are, too. So it’s a little hard to keep on a schedule because Nature calls the shots here.”

  Fiona mulled that one over while she sipped a mug of industrial strength coffee Opal had made.

  “I’m going into town today,” said Opal. “Do you want to go with me? Jake says I shouldn’t be driving anymore. Leastways, long distances.”

  “I have to wait for the electrician and plumber.”

  “You better call to see if they are coming.”

  Fiona called them but only got answering machines. “This is very frustrating,” she said.

  “You’re going to have to slow down if you are thinking to live here,” said Opal, busy shredding cabbage in a food processor.

  “I’m not sure this is going to be my permanent residence. I’ve got a big clientele back in the Washington DC metro area that depends on me. I’m reliable at least.”

  “Suit yourself. You can ask Queenie to watch out for those guys while we go to town. They might not make it today.”

  “I suppose I could go with you and look for someone to do the drapes. I need furniture, too.”

  The back door creaked open, and Sheriff Hoover walked in. “You could come for a drive with me. Is that fresh made coffee I smell, Opal?”

  Opal smiled and poured him a mug. “We don’t see you around here much in the course of the day.”

  Hoover nodded. “Only when I got investigating to do and there’s a pretty woman involved.”

  Fiona ignored the obvious flirtation. “What are you investigating, Sheriff, and where would you be driving?”

  “I was in the neighborhood and stopped to see if you had remembered anything else of interest about finding those bones yesterday.”

  “Opal had an idea, didn’t you?” Fiona said.

  “It probably wasn’t anything,” she said and turned the food processor back on.

  “I’m interested,” said Hoover.

  While she worked, she related the particulars about the man looking for work.

  “Have you found any missing persons in your reports?” Fiona asked.

  “We have a few open files. Trail’s gone cold on them though. Not likely the type would end up out in the desert. A man looking for work could end up anywhere. But I’ll ask around.”

  “How are Farley and the little girl?” asked Fiona.

  “In the hospital. They kept them for observation overnight. The man may have a concussion. The little girl has a broken leg.”

  “Poor thing,” said Fiona. “What a traumatic experience for a young child.”

  “They won’t be here long,” Hoover said. “Caleb said the mother’s on the way to pick them up and take them back to Portland.”

  “I’m glad they didn’t get hurt worse,” said Opal. “Accident like that they were plain lucky to make it out alive. Fiona and Jake were lucky they weren’t hurt.”

  “Do you remember anything else, Fiona?” Hoover asked.

  “I told you all I could remember. I did think of something about those bones though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It probably isn’t anything, I mean, I don’t have any facts. When will you have the results of the DNA analysis?”

  “Takes a while. This is a pretty cold case. We’ll have a diver go in there and see what else comes up. What were you thinking?”

  Fiona pursed her lips. “I think it was a woman.”

  Hoover nodded his head. “Why do you think that?”

  “Because of the two women missing in the Hank Little case. Those bones looked small even though the clothes looked like a man’s.”

  “I thought of that, too. Those two women are on the missing persons list. Great detective minds think alike, Fiona.”

  “She’s very good,” said Opal. “She helped solve the mystery of my brother, Albert’s demise back in Virginia. She has natural detective ability.”

  “Is that right?” said Hoover. “We’ll see what the diver finds. Meanwhile, I better get on down the road. Sure you don’t want to go with me, Fiona?”

  “No, thanks,” she said. “I have to wait for the contractors. Besides, Opal and I might drive to town later.”

  After lunch and resigned to the fact that the electrician and plumber weren’t coming, Fiona decided she might as well drive Opal to town.

  “Where’s the car?” asked Fiona.

  “Rig,” said Opal. “We’ll go in Old Faithful. Wait here. I’ll bring her around. I can at least do that much.”

  Fiona waited in the hot sun on the front walk, feeling dejected that her bunkhouse improvement project was going nowhere fast. She had had such hopes for the day. A shopping trip would cheer her up. From behind the house she heard a muffled roar. Old Faithful back fired into sight and rolled to a stop in front of the house on a rough idle. Opal smiled from behind the wheel, a jaunty red cowgirl hat perched on her head.

  “Climb in,” she said.

  Fiona didn’t move. “You want me to drive that?”

  Opal looked puzzled. “Don’t you like her? Isn’t she a beauty?”

  “Does she bite?”

  Opal laughed. “Of course not, honey.” She opened the door and slid off the seat. “Go on and get the feel of her. She’s hell on wheels, this rig is. Hell on wheels.”

  “I don’t know if I can climb up that high.”

  “No problem. Put your foot on the running board and hitch yourself up.”

  Before Fiona could make a move, the truck gave out a great shudder and died.

  “Are you sure this truck is going to get us to town and back?”

  “Of course,” Opal said. “Don’t you worry. Old Faithful has made many a trip to town.”

  Fiona walked around the truck, trying to think of a way to beg out of the trip. The truck sported huge wheels and looked more like it belonged in a demolition derby than on a ranch. The paint job had long ago faded and now looked silvery pink more than the red it must have been in its heyday. Fiona came back to where Opal was standing by the driver’s door.

  “She may not be much to look at,” Opal said, “but she’s never let me down.” She paused and smiled. “Well, hardly ever. I got all we need in the tool box in the bed of the rig if we run into trouble, and we got our cell phones. There’s plenty of room to store our purchases.”

  “Is it automatic?” Fiona asked.

  “Sure is,” Opal said. “She handles like a dream. You’ll see. Climb in and start her up.”

  Fiona looked in the cab. The bench seat was covered with a furry leopard skin print.

  Opal grinned. “Don’t you love the seats? I recovered them since the original plastic was tearing open in places.”

  Fiona couldn’t recall ever using leopard skin pattern in anything. She steeled herself and hopped up into the cab.

  “Atta girl,” said Opal. She slammed the door and went around to the passenger side. With a yee-haw and a mighty pull on the door bar, she catapulted onto the seat.

  Fiona turned the ignition key, and Old Faithful roared back to life. The gear shift was on the steering column, and the black metal steering wheel was pencil thin. She wasn’t going to ask what year the truck was, but she was sure there were no computers in the engine of this vehicle.

  “Okay,” she said. “Here we go.”

  The old truck didn’t handle quite like the dream Opal imagined. There was no air conditioning, so they hand rolled the windows down. The long drive out to the paved road stirred up a whirlwind of dust, but once they got to the main road, they sailed along. Opal turned on the local radio station that played classic country and western with a little bluegrass thrown in. They didn’t talk much since it was hard to hear above the roar of the wind and the scratchy radio.

  Fiona found herself enjoying the drive. The landscape was fresh and new with many different impressions to take in. She must be in the high desert phase of her life because the sage and rabbit brush landscape
looked good to her. The endless blue sky put a smile on her face. She was looking forward to shopping and spending money. That always cheered her up.

  Brewster was right. Rocky Point was a well kept secret. Its six block main street in the old section of town was lined with art galleries and shops. There was an outdoor café with tables under one lone tree. Fiona wondered where the people came from to shop in them. Yet the shops looked prosperous.

  “There is only one furniture store in town,” Opal said. “After we visit the ranch supply store, we can stop in.”

  “I’d like to look in some of these shops.”

  “Sure thing,” said Opal.

  Shopping in Rocky Point was an experience. They spent over an hour in the ranch store, not shopping but talking to people. Opal knew everyone in the store, and they all knew her and greeted her with warm hugs. Of course, Fiona had to be introduced all around, and she had to tell her story over and over, which she kept shortening in the re-telling.

  The big talk of the town was the accident at the hot springs and finding the bones, and everyone had an opinion which Fiona listened to with interest. Several of the ladies were of the same mind as Fiona, that it was one of Hank Little’s wives. Rosemary and Esme strolled in and offered their opinions.

  “It was murder, for sure,” said Rosemary. “No doubt about it. People have been known to get drunk and drown in hot springs, but the sheet that came up with the bones is your clue right there.”

  Esme agreed. “Yes, ma’am. You better believe it. There’s lots of unsolved murders in this valley.”

  “I think it was a woman,” said Fiona. “When I saw how small the bones were, and the small shirt and pants, it lead me to believe it was a woman.”

  “Which side did the shirt button on?” asked Rosemary.

  “I didn’t think to look. But we could ask the Sheriff,” said Fiona. “He would know.”

  Rosemary elbowed Esme. “Hear that, Esme. She has an excuse to see the Sheriff.”

  “I already saw him today. He stopped by the ranch this morning.”

  “Is that right?” asked Rosemary. “Hear that Esme? I wonder what he was investigating.”