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

by Thelen, Marjorie

  “Can you join us for dinner around seven at the Animal Head Saloon?”

  Lauren laughed. “Perfect place. They have good food for a saloon. I’ll be there.”

  Back in the car, Olympia said, “Cute store. Maybe I should look into buying a ranch with a big house like Opal’s. Lauren could outfit my house.”

  Fiona looked at Olympia. She never was quite sure on what flower her friend was going to alight next. “How many houses do you have now?” she asked.

  “I’ve lost count.”

  “Right. Maybe you should think it over.”

  Olympia brightened. “I will. We could go in on a place together, Fiona. Then you would have your place in the country while you decide what to do about Mr. Hunky.”

  Fiona shook her head. “I’d have to think about that. But thanks for the offer.”

  “Does Mr. Hunky have any eligible cowboy friends?”

  “You should ask him.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “Right. Let’s find Brewster.”

  Fiona found Brewster’s place at the end of a street lined with old cottage style houses. She knocked at the door. The house looked like it was in a state of prolonged renovation. No one answered. She flipped open her cell phone and dialed his number. The message service came on, and she left a message.

  Back in the car she sat and thought.

  “No Brewster. What next?” said Olympia.

  “I wish I knew more about this town.”

  “It’s tough being a newcomer. But that never stopped you, kiddo.”

  Fiona smiled at her friend. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  She dialed the electrician to tell him not to come back. He didn’t answer, and she left a termination message.

  She remembered that Brewster was working on a B-n-B in town. How many bed and breakfasts could there be in Rocky Point? She called Lauren and got the name of the place where Brewster was working. It was called the Bitterbrush Inn and sat on a huge lot on a tree lined side street in the south part of town.

  Brewster was in the back yard running a saw on a temporary table set up between two saw horses. He frowned when he saw them and kept working. Fiona walked over to where he worked. The warmth of the lingering day stood out in small beads of sweat on his forehead which was encircled with a handkerchief head band. Flecks of sawdust stuck to his clothes and arms. The definition of his muscular arms was nicely showcased in a sleeveless T-shirt. Olympia was right behind her, and she’d be admiring the muscles. They might even make one of her book covers.

  Fiona watched him work the jig saw through an intricate curve with expert hands. She waited for him to finish, then said, “I’m sorry to tell you our job is off. The place burned down.”

  “I heard.” He moved boards and started to set up a new piece of wood.

  “I told the Sheriff about your girlfriend.”

  “I heard.”

  He kept on working.

  His attitude puzzled Fiona. “Is there anything else you can tell me about her? Like her name and where she was from?”

  “What business is it of yours?”

  “You made it my business when you asked me to relay the message to Hoover. I’m trying to help.”

  He turned off the saw and studied at her. “I’ve told Hoover all I know about the girl. She’s not my girlfriend. She was a friend, an acquaintance. I don’t know much about her.” He shrugged. “We hit it off in a bar over in Corvallis. She said she’d stop by to see me some time if she ever got through Rocky Point.”

  “Did she call you before she came?”

  “She called when she was in Bend from her cell phone. She said she was on her way to Rocky Point, and I invited her to stop by. That’s the last I heard from her. It wouldn’t be the first time a female has stood me up. I didn’t think a lot about it at the time.”

  “Do you know what kind of car she drove?”

  He shook his head. “I met her in a bar. We had a drink and exchanged pleasantries. That’s all I know about her”

  “What did you talk about?”

  He sighed. “Art. She’s an artist which is another reason I wasn’t particularly concerned about her not showing. Artists are flaky people. That includes me.” His smile was rueful.

  “What kind of an artist was she?”

  “She said she worked in bronze. She might be connected to Joseph up in the northeast part of the state. They have a thriving colony of sculptors who work in bronze. She never said if she lived in Corvallis or if she was just passing through.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry about your place. I thought it had a lot of promise and that you had good ideas for remodeling it. It might be cheaper to rebuild it.”

  “Thanks for your concern. I’m still trying to decide what to do.”

  “There are plenty of houses in town that are fixer-uppers, if you like that sort of thing.”

  “Really?” said Olympia, pushing her way into the conversation. “I might be interested. Do you do remodeling work?”

  Brewster looked at her for the first time. Olympia was not an unattractive woman. But she was a lot to handle. He looked like he was assessing whether he wanted to take her on.

  “Yeah. I remodel.” He smiled at her. “I’m not cheap though.”

  Olympia matched the smile. “Can you suggest any house in particular that’s for sale that you’d consider a good buy?”

  He wiped his forehead by pulling his T-shirt up.

  Fiona smiled inwardly at the showy display of perfect abs. The man knew how to work the ladies.

  He let the T-shirt drop then said, “I’ll let you know. Can’t think of anything right now.”

  Fiona said, “This is my friend, Olympia. You can contact her through my cell phone.”

  Olympia fished in her huge purse embellished with a black sequined horse. “You don’t have to bother Fiona. Here’s my card. My cell phone is always on.” She smiled.

  Very little that Olympia did ever surprised Fiona.

  Brewster grinned. He might have decided to take her on. He turned back to his work. “If you ladies will excuse me, I have a job to do.”

  “If you think of anything else about that girl, give me a call,” said Fiona. Maybe the hot sun was affecting Brewster’s memory. He might remember something down the line.

  He nodded and turned the saw back on.

  In the car Olympia said, “My-oh-my, Fiona, what a collection of interesting men friends you have, and you’ve only been here a short time.”

  Fiona looked at her. “Are you going to hit on all of them?”

  “Why Fiona Marlowe, you aren’t jealous, are you?”

  Fiona laughed. “Not me. But you were sure drooling over Jake, then Hoover, now Brewster.”

  Olympia laughed with her. “I just flirt sometimes.”

  “You are too much.”

  “You’ve known that for years.”

  “Let’s check out the Animal Head Saloon and have drink. It must be close to happy hour.”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  They parked on the street and checked out the windows in a few of the shops nearby since it was past closing time. The front of the Animal Head was not what either of them would have called trendy. It had a collection of neon beer signs and a fingerprint smeared glass entrance door.

  “Here we go,” said Fiona, feeling like she was about to enter a scene from a sci-fi movie, and they were the alien invaders. Maybe they were.

  A few construction worker types sat at the bar. Peanut shells littered the floor. They stopped and surveyed the scene. A few of the booths, dolled out in red plastic seats, were occupied.

  The bar waitress shouted, “Seat yourself, ladies.”

  Fiona said, “Let’s see, do we want to see the wide screen TV or the pool tables?”

  “Let’s sit at the bar. This one looks like good material. This is real local color. Maybe these guys know something about bones and fires.”

  Olympia never discriminated about the people she met.
Construction workers or corporate executives were all the same to her. Fiona joined her on the next bar stool over.

  “What’ll you gals have?” asked the bar waitress, slapping down a paper coaster in front of each.

  Fiona said, “Red wine for me.”

  “Same” said Olympia.

  Olympia turned to the guy on her left. “Hi, there. Are you guys local?”

  He shook his head. He was having shots and beer and heaved back a shot. He squeezed his eyes shut while the shot settled in his gullet then slugged down a beer chaser. “We’re passing through. We’re on our way to work a big commercial gold mine down in Nevada near Battle Mountain.”

  “Gold?” said Fiona, leaning forward to see him. “Have you ever heard that they mined gold around here?”

  “Never heard that. Up to John Day and Canyon City and east is where the gold was in these parts.”

  Fiona’s cell phone rang, and she answered while Olympia continued her conversation with the gold miner.

  “This is Brewster. One more thing about that girl. She said she had relations in Rocky Point is the reason she came through here sometimes. She didn’t say who they were.”

  “Are you going to tell me her name? Maybe I can find her relatives and see if she’s gone missing.”

  “Pattie Smith is her name.”

  Fiona wrote the name on a napkin. “Smith covers a lot of territory. That’s going to be a hard one. If we can find her relations we might be able to cross her off the missing list.” She was probably chasing the wrong lead, but you never knew when one thing would lead to another.

  Lauren Brooks walked in soon after and sat down beside Fiona.

  “I have something important to tell you about Brewster. The usual for me,” she said to the bartender lady.

  “I talked to him this afternoon,” said Fiona. “He’s a hard guy to figure. Has he ever hit on you?”

  “He hits on everybody. He’s notorious for loving and leaving them. He’s also had a few husbands plenty mad at him.”

  The waitress set a pint of dark beer before Lauren.

  “Brewster’s woven quite a web for himself in Rocky Point.”

  “Yes, and he hasn’t been here that long. Notorious is the word that comes to mind when one speaks of him. I could fill a book with his exploits, but there is one I think you should know about. Rumor has it that he was involved with one of Hank Little’s wives. Have you heard about them?”

  “I sure have. They haven’t found the remains, have they? Or at least that is what I heard at Opal’s get together last weekend.”

  “No, and my bet is that they never will. I never could figure out what his wives saw in that little weasel. Must have had a big pecker.”

  Fiona was in mid-sip on that one and tried to not snort her wine all over the bar. “Now the real story comes out. I can see you are the one I need to talk to.”

  “Honey, you wouldn’t believe what I hear working in the home furnishing business in this small town.”

  “If the wives had such a nice toy at home what’s Brewster’s attraction?”

  “I’m just speculating about the toy. Have you seen Hank Little?”

  Fiona shook her head.

  “He is the ugliest, meanest, poorest excuse for a man, you’d ever seen. Yet he attracts not one, but two pretty women and then they disappear on him. I can understand why they’d want to leave him, but the funny part is, they disappear and no one has heard from them. Like right off the face of the Earth. Brewster’s part is the second wife. He did some work for them out at that big spread Little has. Then the rumors start about the wife going in and out of Brewster’s house.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Maybe mean old Hank found out and canned the second wife. Don’t know why he did away with the first one. Maybe for the same reason.”

  “Do you think he wrapped them in an old sheet and buried them in the bank of a hot spring? There are more bones found than fit one body.”

  “I heard that and I don’t know. I’m just telling you that Brewster may know more than he is letting on.”

  “What’s the name of the second wife?”

  “Bonnie Tucker. She’s from a local family, and she has loads of relatives that want to see old Hank done in.”

  “This is complicated. Brewster hasn’t told me any of this.”

  Lauren laughed. “I guess not. He generates more rumors with his behavior than a Hollywood celebrity.”

  Olympia was now drinking shots and beer with the boys at the bar, and they were getting louder and louder.

  “Excuse my friend,” said Fiona to Lauren. “She gets carried away sometimes. We better leave. Is there another place we could go to dinner?”

  “Across the street is the Old Towne Brew Pub. It’s cute and has a limited menu but decent food, like burgers and salads.”

  Fiona paid the bill. “Olympia, we’re bar hopping this evening. We’re going to another place for dinner. Say good-bye to your new friends.”

  “Hey, these guys are okay,” said Olympia. “Did you know that Nevada is filled with gold mines? These boys make good money. It’s a great set up.”

  “No, I didn’t know that,” said Fiona. “Come, Olympia, we’re leaving.” She gently tugged Olympia from the bar stool.

  “Here’s my card,” said Olympia, giving the shots and beer guy her business card. “You call when you get the next hot tip in the gold market.”

  Olympia danced off the stool and out the door. No music was playing to accompany her.

  The trio made it to the Old Towne Brew Pub but weren’t seated five minutes when the gold mining crew came in and found Olympia. They sat at the next booth, and Olympia joined them. Soon after, a woman in uniform walked in, looked around the room, spotted the rowdy crew and came over.

  “Good evening,” said the woman in a neatly pressed uniform, who wore a badge with the name Sgt. King, Rocky Point Police. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to break up this happy scene. We got a call that you are disrupting business and upsetting customers.”

  Fiona gathered her purse and rose. “I was just taking my friend Olympia home. She gets very exuberant in the right crowd. Sorry Lauren, we best be going. I’ll be in touch and thanks.”

  “No problem, Fiona, good luck,” said Lauren.

  Sgt. King said to the miners, “You boys need to move the party someplace else, preferably to your hotel room to sleep it off.”

  Grumbling, the boys threw money on the table to cover their drinks. Sgt. King motioned them to the door. Fiona and Olympia followed, the latter singing Pistol Packing Mama at opera house volume.

  At the racy red car Fiona unlocked the doors and helped Olympia in while she blubbered and gushed over how much fun those miners were. Fiona would have preferred that Olympia not be quite so exuberant.

  “Thank you, Officer, for your help. I apologize for my friend here.”

  Standing on the sidewalk by the car, Officer King said, “Are you sure you’ll be able to drive home? How much have you had to drink?”

  “Me? Only a glass or two. I’ll be fine.” She hurried to get in the car.

  “May I see your license, please?”

  Oh, no thought Fiona. Not again. How could she have another run-in with law enforcement in such a short period of time? Of course, her license was expired. She dug in her purse for her wallet.

  “Officer,” she said, pulling out her expired license, “I need to explain.”

  Officer King smiled. “They all do.”

  “My license is expired.”

  The officer looked at the license. “Yes, it has. And it is out-of-state. Are you ladies just passing through?”

  “I’m here on a contract job and my friend is visiting. We’re staying at Opal Crawford’s place out in Harney Valley.”

  The woman nodded. “I see. I’m going to have to give you a citation on the license. You gals have a ways to go to get home. I’m not sure you should be driving.”

  “I’m perfectly ok
ay, Officer.”

  Lauren came out of the brew pub and walked over to where they were standing. “Hi, Ann. I see you’ve met my new friends.”

  “Your new friends? Well, then, do you think you could give these ladies a ride home?”

  She smiled. “I’ll do one better. They can stay at my place tonight and sleep it off.”

  “Then I won’t do a breathalyzer test on the driver whose license has expired.” She pulled out her ticket book and proceeded to scratch away.

  Lauren said, “Fiona, leave your car here. I’ll give you a ride over to my place. I might even make you dinner since we never got around to ours.”

  Fiona accepted the ticket with resignation. By the time she left Harney Valley, she was going to owe a million bucks in fines.

  * * * * *

  Jake and Hoover rode most of the day, tracking faint outlines and broken brush. By the time they made camp close to sundown both were too tired to talk. The wind was blowing so hard they didn’t try to make a campfire. They both toted hip flasks and were enjoying a whiskey and beef jerky dinner.

  “I have the uncomfortable feeling we’re being watched,” Jake said, as he finished off the jerky. His eyes searched the rim rock ridges that crowded the narrow valley.

  “You’ve been saying that all day, enough so you have me worried,” said Hoover.

  They leaned against their saddles on the ground while the horses grazed what scant grass could be found. The last spring they had passed was nearly dry, and the horses hadn’t had much to drink.

  “Why would anyone be tracking us?” asked Hoover.

  “That’s what I would like to know. The rustlers are long gone. If they were smart, they’d a kept on going. If they weren’t smart, they might be back for more. It’s a good thing we moved what was left of the herd closer to the ranch.”

  “Their easy pickings are gone.”

  Jake nodded still eyeing the ridges. “We might want to sleep with our rifles tonight.”

  Hoover nodded, watching the ridges himself.

  The horses snorted and came to attention, ears up, nostrils flaring, sniffing the breeze.

  “They sense something, too,” Jake said, “though this stiff wind makes them nervous. I might have a walk around before it gets too dark.” He tucked the flask inside the down vest he wore and rose.