The Kate Jones Thriller Series 1-4 (Boxed Set)

by D. V. Berkom

  Durm's neighborhood banker sat in a booth next to the front door, deep in conversation with a well-dressed guy I didn't recognize. Dave glanced up and gave me a look that said I'm having an important conversation, so don't even think about approaching me, then returned to talking with the other man.

  In his mid-fifties and overweight, Dave chain smoked and drank like a fish, wore a crappy toupee and had delusions of being a player. He helped negotiate a sale of private land east of town for a big developer, and, as a result, turned into quite an asshole. Most of the folks in town decided to take their business elsewhere. I usually didn't let a chance go by to give him a hard time. Mainly because he annoyed me, but also because I'm not that fond of bankers.

  Today I ignored him, paid for my coffee and walked out, headed for the Sheriff's office.

  The possibility the sabotaged brake lines and transmission could be a remnant from my past had me on hyper alert. I glanced down every side street and registered the driver of each car that passed by. Old habits die hard.

  Especially with old friends like mine.

  I walked into the Sheriff's office and Cole's receptionist, Cecelia, took one look at me, announced my arrival on the intercom and buzzed me through to the back. When I reached Cole’s office, he'd already pulled out a chair. I walked in and sat down.

  He leaned back on the edge of his desk, arms folded across his chest.

  "You don't look so good."

  "Thanks for that."

  "Do you have any idea why someone would do this?"

  I considered the question. I'd never told anyone in Durm about my past and I didn't want to start now. The habit of deception had become too ingrained and I'd been safe here, so far. I opted for brevity.

  "Not that I know of. All I can think is maybe somebody didn't like one of my tours." Humor had its uses. Especially when fear was the dominant emotion.

  "I'm asking because a woman who took one of your tours yesterday was found dead in her hotel room this morning."

  My heart rate kicked up a notch and I leaned forward.

  "Who?” It didn’t make sense. The people who'd most likely come after me wouldn't waste their time on a civilian. Unless they were in the way.

  Cole picked up a spiral notebook from on top of the pile of papers on his desk. "Her name was Roxanne Greensborough. A biologist out of Oklahoma freelancing for somebody local."

  "She was on my early tour."

  "That's why I wanted you to come down, see if you noticed anything unusual.” He tapped the notebook, adding, "This is hers. We found it taped under a shelf in the closet in her room. The circumstances surrounding her death are suspicious. We’ll know more after the autopsy report but we’re treating it as a homicide.” His gaze felt like a burn. “Right now, I have two links between the dead woman and your cut brake lines- the tour company and you."

  A shiver danced down my back as I tried to think. "There wasn't anything weird that I can remember." I went over the tour in my mind, but only came up with one thing even remotely unusual.

  "She did get pretty excited when we spotted a bird down by that tributary off the HoHoKam River. You know, the area with all the cottonwoods?"

  Cole nodded. "Yeah." He flipped to a page in the biologist's notebook. "The Speckled Pygmy Twitter?"

  "That's the one. An older couple in the Jeep saw it first and shot a bunch of pictures. Roxanne got a few, too. They said it was on the Endangered Species list, so her reaction didn't seem unusual. I know I'd never seen it before."

  Cole leafed through a couple of pages in the notebook.

  "How many passengers?"

  "Seven. Roxanne, the older folks, and a family of four. Eight people signed up, but Roxanne's boyfriend never showed. She said he wasn't feeling well. How's he taking it?"

  "We haven’t been able to locate him yet. Jason tried the hotel earlier, but no luck. We're running both their names to see if there's anything to go on. Art’s going to fax me a passenger list, along with where everyone is staying. We’ll need to talk to them, too."

  “I’m supposed to meet the older couple for lunch later. Do you want me to ask them to stop by?"

  "That would be great."

  He took a pen and one of his business cards out of his shirt pocket, wrote on the back, and handed it to me. "Here's my cell. If you remember anything you think might be useful, call me. Anytime," he added.

  "I will." I slid the card in my back pocket. Too bad it wouldn't be a social call. He was a divorced father of two girls. Stable. Not my type. There was just something about him that made me think of quiet evenings by the fire.

  Quiet evenings by the fire? Where the hell did that come from?

  "You should take some time off until we can figure out what's going on, whether there's a connection between Roxanne's death and the incident with your Jeep." Cole chewed on his lower lip. I caught myself staring and shook it off. "You're pretty isolated out at Art and Barb's. Why don't you consider moving closer to town, so we can keep a better eye on you?"

  I lived in a 30-foot trailer next to the HoHoKam River down the hill from my boss and his wife. It was safe enough, especially with Art and his weapon fetish.

  "Do you think that's necessary?" I said. "Barb’s always in her studio when she isn't at an art show, and Rudy barks at anything. Besides, Art's got a frigging arsenal in that house. I should be fine." I hoped, anyway. I didn't want to move closer in. There's no way I could afford to rent something if I cut back on my hours at work. I had to finish out the season or I didn't get to go somewhere tropical for the winter. In Kate's Religion, that's a Cardinal Sin.

  I'd also found that moving targets were harder to track.

  “Do you at least have a gun?” he asked.

  Not a registered one. “No. But I suppose it would be a good idea.” Okay. So I get a demerit for flat-out lying. It was complicated.

  “I’d feel better if you did. Do you know how to shoot?”

  This one I thought I could cop to. “Yeah. It’s been awhile, but I think I can still handle one.”

  Cole moved to the other side of his desk, selected a key from his key ring and unlocked a desk drawer. He pulled out a 9mm Glock and handed it to me.

  “You’re able to legally have a gun in your possession, right? Any felonies I’m not aware of?” He half-smiled but I noticed intensity in his expression.

  “No, no felonies. And yes, I can legally have a gun.” We both knew he already ran my name to see if I had a criminal history.

  He walked to a metal cabinet, unlocked the doors and removed a box of ammo, then carried it back to where I sat. I gave him the gun. He hit the release on the clip and started to load the magazine.

  “Keep this one as long as you need to- it’s mine. You know how to load?”

  I did, but I let him show me. He moved closer so I could watch. The scent of his aftershave enveloped me like a coastal fog, and I found myself distracted by something other than the pistol. The snap of the magazine into the grip jolted me back to the present. Cole held it out to me. I started to bring it around to the back of my jeans, but thought better of it and instead placed it on the desk.

  “You free later? I thought we could take a drive, go somewhere to test it out.”

  My heart did a tiny flip. Warning signals started going off in my brain. I did my best to ignore them.

  “I’m booked solid with tours the rest of the week. How about Saturday morning?”

  “That works. Meet me here at eight.”

  He got no argument from me. Maybe he’d show me how to hold something other than the gun.

  ***

  Later that day, I walked into the lobby at Mulligan’s Golf Resort, looking for Jack and Alice, the older couple from my tour. We were supposed to meet for lunch, but I waited for half an hour and they never came. My friend Deirdre stood at the concierge table, writing something down on a sticky note. She looked up at the sound of my approach and smiled.

  "Well, if it isn't my favorite tour guide. H
ow's business?"

  She narrowed her eyes at me. I must have looked like shit.

  "Exciting," I replied.

  Deirdre gave me one of her WTF looks.

  "Don't ask," I said. "Do you know if Jack and Alice Mason are still here? I was supposed to meet them, but they never showed."

  "They were on your tour yesterday, right? I gave them directions for the hike up to Mount Delight earlier this morning. I hope they're all right."

  "I'll run out to the trailhead, see if I can catch them. Do you know when they're supposed to check out?"

  Deirdre typed something into her computer and waited a couple of seconds.

  “Tomorrow."

  "What time did they leave for the hike?"

  "About six. They said they were going to Wilma's for breakfast, then to the trailhead.” Her frown deepened. “I'll bet they just misjudged the length of the hike. You'll probably meet them on the trail. I'll put a message in their folder, though, in case you miss them."

  "Thanks, Deirdre. I appreciate it."

  My next tour wasn't until three, so I had plenty of time. My gut told me something wasn't right. They should have been back by now. I got in my beat up yellow Jeep and pulled out of the resort's parking lot.

  Just outside of town, I turned down the gravel road that led to the trailhead, arriving at the parking lot a few minutes later. Jack and Alice's rented white Subaru sat in the shade of a mesquite. I parked the Jeep and decided against locking my wallet in the dash. Trailhead parking lots weren’t the safest areas to leave valuables. Leaving my Jeep out in the open in a deserted lot didn’t sit very well with me, either, but I had no choice if I was going to look for Jack and Alice. I’d just have to do a fast check when I got back.

  The deep turquoise sky held the promise of a warm spring day. The temperature gauge read seventy-five and rising, so I pulled off my long sleeved shirt and tied it around my waist, leaving me in a blue sports bra. I grabbed my hat and the first aid kit from the backseat and snapped on a fanny pack with a bottle of water in the holder. I learned early on never to go anywhere in Arizona without water, especially hiking. Then I felt under the front seat and pulled out the gun Cole had given me and shoved it into the pack.

  The winter had been mild and there were few trees down. I kept to the shade of the junipers, refreshing my memory on the steepness of the trail, where the large boulders were and where it might get a little tricky for less able-bodied folks. Jeep tours often included hiking segments and this trail was one of the most popular. The climb was well worth the effort, ending with a spectacular view of Sinagua Canyon.

  As I neared the end of the trail with no sign of Jack or Alice, my concern turned to anxiety. The trail itself didn't take that long to hike. I wondered if they'd gone exploring. In rugged country like this, hiking off-trail without the necessary equipment and experience was a big no-no. I didn't have a clue if they knew what they were doing, but in my experience as a guide more often than not most people's idea of hiking didn't include a compass or even drinking water.

  I called their names every few minutes as I scouted for footprints. There were few distinct ones and I was able to pick out what looked like the treads of the gear Jack and Alice had bought the other day; Jack's traditional hiking sole, size twelve, and the newer, amphibious style hikers with the squiggly tracks that Alice had shown me before the tour.

  The prints headed off into the underbrush, around the crest of the ridge and angled downward. The drop to the canyon floor was steep and had no clear routes. I followed the tracks around the ridge, aware of another faint set of prints with an indistinct tread headed back toward the parking lot that at times obscured the ones I followed. What I assumed were Jack and Alice’s footprints didn't have a match coming back, so either they were still somewhere nearby or had found another way to hike out.

  I racked my brain, trying to think of lesser-used trails that led out of the canyon. I couldn't think of any. It was dangerous terrain for anyone, much less a couple of healthy eighty-year-olds.

  The tracks veered right and moved lower into the canyon. I rounded a corner and decided to stop and rest in the shadow of a large rock. I slid the water bottle out of its holder and drank about a quarter of it, then wiped the sweat off my face with my forearm.

  As I scanned the area, I caught a glimpse of something bright blue further down the canyon. I kept an eye on it to make sure it wasn't some brightly colored bird or a butterfly. It didn't move, so I put the water bottle back and started to work my way toward it through the thick undergrowth.

  It turned out to be a square of satiny fabric snagged on the spiky branch of a cactus. Maybe one of them left it there to mark the way back. I eased around the sharp spines and moved through the brush, careful to stay clear of a nearby prickly pear.

  The terrain grew steeper and I had to hold onto tree roots and branches to keep from sliding. I'd begun to wonder if this was such a good idea when the dirt shifted under my feet. I lost my balance and started skidding toward the bottom. Dropping onto my back, I spread my arms, trying to slow the slide.

  I squeezed my eyes shut as sharp rocks tore my skin and branches whipped at my face. Blindly, I grabbed onto the trunk of what I thought was a small tree.

  It wasn't.

  The slide was over before I had a chance to think. Groaning, I sat up and checked to make sure I hadn’t sustained any serious damage. Aside from my neck feeling like it was caught in a vise, I had a few painful scratches along with a handful of cholla spines.

  The cholla cactus produces long, sharp spikes that have the habit of embedding themselves into anything they touch, especially exposed flesh. I wouldn't go near a cholla with full body armor on, much less bare skin. I'd seen them sink deep into steel-toed boots and thick horseflesh without trying hard. Funny thing is, the more you try to pull at them to get them to come out, the more they dig into whatever's available- a hand, a leg, an arm.

  I proceeded to twist them out with a utility knife from my pack, sucking at the small holes they left in my skin. Then I finger combed my hair, dislodging the leaves and dead twigs I'd picked up during the death slide, and brushed off as much of the dirt on my clothes as I could. I'd ripped a hole in my jeans and my watch was broken, but otherwise everything else appeared to be intact.

  Wincing, I dragged myself to my feet and glanced at the sky, trying to gauge what time it was. I didn't know how long it would take me to climb out of the canyon or even if I could, and I still had to find Jack and Alice.

  The bottom of Sinagua canyon was a dried up creek bed, also known as an arroyo. Arroyos were dangerous during the unpredictable squalls that blew through the area. Because of the underlying hard-packed earth, small trickles turned to raging torrents in a matter of minutes, especially now during the spring rains. Lucky today was dry with no hint of weather. I decided my best bet would be to follow it out. I still had my cell phone with me, but it didn't do me a lot of good. Reception at the bottom of the canyon was nonexistent. Good thing I still had water.

  Picking my way to the bottom, I started to walk. I’d gone about thirty yards when I stopped dead in my tracks.

  I'd found Jack and Alice.

  TWO

  The helicopter lifted the second body out of the canyon with a thwap thwap thwap of the rotors. The sun arced high overhead and the temperature had spiked. I sat in the shade of a palo verde and watched Cole as he walked over to join me.

  It had taken me over an hour to hike out of the canyon and then another forty-five minutes to get back to my Jeep, check for signs of sabotage and drive into town.

  I'd found Jack and Alice where they'd fallen at the bottom of the steep canyon. Their ripped clothes revealed cuts and bruises over their arms and faces and they appeared to have broken several bones. I'd noticed the bright green of one of Alice's new amphibious hiking sandals a few yards from her body. A deep sadness washed over me. They'd been such vibrant, lovely people.

  Confusion clouded my mind. What was happening
here? One dead body wasn't good, but it didn't suggest a pattern. A sabotaged Jeep and three people from the same tour found dead? Coincidence was a long shot.

  Cole broke into my thoughts. “Okay, so let's work with what we know. Three people are dead. One thing that connects them is that they took a tour of yours a few days ago. One of the company's Jeeps had been tampered with, which just happened to be one you always use with a good chance that you'd take it out for your next scheduled tour. It's common knowledge all the guides have favorite vehicles, right?"

  "Yeah, it's kind of a thing with us."

  "Okay, so we can make a connection between four people on the same tour- Roxanne, Jack and Alice, and you. The difference being, you're not dead."

  Was that supposed to make me feel better? Or did he think I might have had something to do with the deaths?

  "What was the name of the family on the tour?" Cole glanced at me to fill in the blanks.

  "The Harrisons."

  "Right. The Harrisons. I never did get a chance to talk to them. They left town the day after the tour. I waited before I called, but I got an answering machine. They could still be on the road.” He looked up as Jason walked toward us, holding a clipboard. “Jason, you need to try the Harrisons again when you get back to the office."

  "Sure. What do you want me to tell them?"

  "If you get a hold of them, transfer the call to me. I'll be on my cell if I'm not in the office."

  Jason nodded. "What do you want to do here?"

  "I'm requesting autopsies on both of these bodies. The possibility of this being accidental seems slim." Cole turned back to me. “Looks like something else is going on here, Kate. Any ideas?”

  I gave him an innocent look. “Nothing’s coming to me at the moment, Sheriff, but I promise I’ll call you if I think of something.”

  I was afraid to tell him my suspicions. I had too much to lose. Once I let that cat out of the bag, there was no stuffing it back in. Besides, I still wasn’t convinced the dead bodies had anything to do with Mexico. They wanted me dead, not innocent bystanders.What if I said something, it turned out to be wrong and my sordid past ended up becoming common knowledge in town? Word would spread and then I’d have to leave. Once that happened, I’d be easy prey. Rumors had a bad habit of reaching the wrong people.