Dark Moon Crossing (Kendall O'Dell Mystery series)

by Sylvia Nobel

  The heavy padlock on the gate latch guaranteed no entry. I sat for a moment debating. I didn’t want to trespass, but I wasn’t about to turn around and go home empty-handed after coming all the way out here. My gaze followed the fence line. It would be an easy enough task to climb through the barbed wire and walk to the house, which looked to be no more than a quarter of a mile away. On a whim, I powered on my cell phone, and then gawked in disbelief. Out here, literally in the middle of nowhere, the roam signal pulsed back at me. That knowledge made me feel a lot more secure as I parked the car beside a Mexican blue oak not far from the gate. I clipped the phone to my waistband and grabbed my jacket and a bottle of water from the back seat.

  Opening my car door against the force of the wind roaring down the slope through the gaps in the canyon walls presented somewhat of a challenge. Man. It had to be blowing thirty or forty miles per hour and the mournful keening increased the sense of utter desolation. Russell Greene must be a real recluse to live voluntarily in such an isolated spot. But, conjuring up the story of his gruesome survival experience, along with having witnessed his cruel treatment by the boys in Arivaca, made such a decision understandable.

  There were no signs of life. Just to be safe though, I locked my purse, camera and laptop computer in the trunk with my overnight bag before setting out. I searched along the fence until I found a section where the wire strands were a little further apart. Even so, I still managed to tear a hole in my jacket and the thigh of my jeans when I squeezed between them. “Crap,” I muttered, pushing uselessly at the frayed material.

  As I trudged towards the white clapboard house, I couldn’t stop staring at the dramatic backdrop of sheer rock looming tall over the last vestiges of this once flourishing mining town. Like a lot of the old ghost towns in Arizona I’d visited with Tally, this place had a palpable haunted feel to it. Was it because the decaying ruins created a somber atmosphere, reflecting the disappointments and shattered dreams of the people who’d once lived here‌ The wind was making my nose run and I sneezed violently a few times as I scaled the hill and marched up disintegrating stone steps to knock on the front door. No answer. I knocked again. Nothing. My spirits plummeted, acknowledging this was my last opportunity to bring home at least a shred of hope for Lupe. I walked around the side of the house and stopped in my tracks at the sight of the gun-metal gray pickup parked in a garage with only half the roof remaining. If he was home, why wasn’t he answering‌ I pounded on the back door, calling, “Mr. Greene‌ Are you there‌ I’d need to speak with you for a few minutes. It’s important.”

  The silence was deafening. I backed away. There were no power or phone wires connected to the house, but a propane tank stood nearby and, on closer inspection, a small electric generator sat inside a small covered enclosure that was probably used to run a well pump located just yards from the house.

  To my right, higher on the slope, I could see the dark cavity of the old Yellow Jacket Mine flanked by a tangle of rusting equipment. Eight or ten dilapidated houses snuggled below in the small valley, but on the opposite knoll stood several intriguing-looking adobe buildings, some with graceful arches associated with early Spanish architecture. I glanced at my watch, noting that I still had a half an hour to kill. Might as well look around a little bit. I wished I had brought my camera because the lighting was spectacular. Amber shafts of sunlight streaming through cracks in the ruptured rock face, contrasted with the violet shadows cast by the amazing jumble of volcanic formations. I craned my head trying to make out the particular configuration Payton had mentioned that gave the place its name, but guessed that I wasn’t standing at the correct angle to see it.

  Returning to the bottom of the hill, I poked around a couple of the shacks, amazed that the remains of frayed curtains fluttered at some of their windows. Inside them, I found bits and pieces of splintered furniture and rusting appliances. The corrugated tin roofs, rattling and banging in the wind, provided an off-key symphony. Like most of the other played-out mining towns in this state, Morita’s remaining structures would one day be only a memory, swallowed up by erosion. But maybe not. If Walter was correct, and mining interests were investing the capital needed to reopen the mine, Morita might have a second chance at life. Starting up the other hill, my goal was a sturdy-looking sandstone building a few hundred yards away. At the top of the embankment, a savage gust of wind almost knocked me off my feet. I arched a look at the darkening band of clouds rising up over the western horizon. Some pretty serious weather must be blowing in. “Way to go, Grandma,” I muttered, thinking that her ‘red in the morning’ proverb might prove to be correct after all. I’d check the forecast when I returned to the car.

  Crunching through heavy underbrush, I reached the building and was surprised to note that it was remarkably well preserved. It still had doors and the few windows that weren’t boarded up held wavy panes of glass that looked to be original. Amazing. All but a handful of the other ghost towns in the state had been vandalized beyond recognition. Trying the knob, I was surprised to find the front door locked. Disappointed, I peered inside one of the windows, astounded to see rows of ancient-looking school desks and a blackboard running the entire length of one side. Erasers and chalk sat on the metal ledge. Several brass bound trunks stood along the opposite wall next to a desk with a wooden chair pulled up close. Piles of newspapers, magazines and books were strewn about as well as other items. Squinting, I was able to make out the date on the calendar above the desk. April 1936. Cool. I would have given my eyeteeth to get inside and explore.

  I turned and looked back towards the caretaker’s house. Still no signs of life. Well, he wasn’t doing a very good job of keeping people out, I thought smugly, moving on to the next structure that looked like it may have been a stable. Edging a look over the chest-high wall, spray- painted with odd five-cornered symbols and filthy graffiti, I drew in a sharp breath and stared at the carcass of what seemed to be the remains of a golden retriever. Closer inspection was even more disturbing. It appeared to be only the skin and fur stretched out flat like a bear rug. The skeleton of the dog wasn’t there. Sick. Goosebumps danced on my arms. What happened to the rest of it‌ My mind flashed to the mutilated cattle stories and the disturbing rumor that it might be Russell Greene satisfying his carnivorous lust for flesh. No way. Who could eat a dog‌ More likely, this atrocity could be attributed to the teenagers who’d been accused of practicing witchcraft. All at once, the moan of the wind contained an eerie quality.

  Definitely time to go. I started back down the hill towards the gate. At first, when I heard the muffled sound, I was unsure of what it was and assumed it was the sharp whistling of the wind. But then the distinct timbre of a voice calling from somewhere in the distance stopped me in my tracks and sent tingles of horror skating down my back. “Help! Ken….daaalll! Help me!”

  What‌ Heart racing, my mind rebelled against the possibility that anyone could know that I was here. I spun around, searching, trying to identify where the voice was coming from. All my instincts urged me to run, run back to the car as fast as I could, but the thought that someone was in trouble made me hesitate. What if it was Russell Greene‌ That would explain why he wasn’t around. Had he gotten trapped inside one of the old buildings‌ I cupped my hands, shouting, “Hello! Is anybody there‌”

  No sound but the sibilant wind. I called again. Nothing. Had I imagined it‌

  Suddenly, the landscape wavered before my eyes. I put a hand to my forehead. My fever must be rising. That would explain it.

  I started down the hill only to freeze again. “Heeelllllpppp!”

  Swinging around, I stared at a squat adobe structure partially obscured in a snarl of mesquite trees, the only other building nearby. A flash of bright yellow appeared, vanished, and then appeared again. A distress signal‌ Baffled, I hurried down the hill, only to slow my steps at the sight of a section of yellow plastic caution tape flapping madly in the branches of a stunted tree. Now that was odd. I located the
door around the far side of the structure. “Mr. Greene!” I shouted. “Are you in trouble‌”

  The wind, pushing hard at my back now, made it difficult to pull the door open. I pounded on it. “Hello‌ Anybody in there‌” I tugged harder and it moved a few inches. Man, it was thick, possibly four inches or more. Panting with exertion, I yanked until there was enough space for me to look inside. There was only one narrow window high on the opposite wall and it was barred. The low light made it difficult to see much, but the floor to ceiling iron bars caught my eye. Was this an old jail‌ Fascinating. I kicked away some of the dirt and stones and was able to shoulder the door open fully. Just to be safe, I searched around until I found a boulder, which I wedged against the base to keep it from blowing shut. I stepped just inside the doorway. It was cool. Dank. And really depressing. “Hello‌ Is anybody in here‌” As I stood there in the gloom, trying to imagine what it must have been like to be locked away on this lonely hillside, I felt a violent shove against my back. Thrown forward by the force of the blow, I barely had time to get my hands out in front of me before I slammed into the opposite wall, hitting my head hard against the rough stone. Little pinpoints of iridescent light danced behind my eyelids as I lay face down on the debris-filled floor, my muddled brain struggling to make sense of what had happened. Vaguely, I was aware of first a solid clang followed instantaneously by a heavy thud. Oh, crap.

  I lifted my head up, trying to focus, and when everything stopped spinning, what I saw confounded me. Not only had the wind blown the outer door shut, the iron door to the cell was also closed.

  Fighting a wave of nausea, I stood up and held onto the wall for support. Something was in my right eye. I reached up to wipe it away and my hand came away wet. Uncomprehending, I gawked at the blood for a few seconds before gingerly feeling underneath my hair. “Ouch!” There was a pretty substantial gash.

  “What a jackass you are,” I scolded myself mildly. Why hadn’t I used a bigger rock to secure the door‌ Better yet, I should never have come inside in the first place. Best get out of here pronto. I pushed against the bars, expecting the door to swing open. It didn’t budge. Huh‌ Using my right shoulder, I shoved hard several times and then shook the bars before reaching around them to feel for the lock. When my fingers encountered an empty keyhole, my blood iced up. Where was the key‌ I scrabbled around on the floor searching. Nothing. Springing to my feet, I shook the bars again, hoping against hope to loosen the door. “No, no, no!” I screamed. “Don’t do this to me!” This could not be happening. Suddenly, I couldn’t seem to get enough air. Oh, dear God, no. I hadn’t had an asthma attack for such a long time I’d neglected to bring my inhaler with me. “Get a grip, girl,” I panted. Think. Pressing my face between the bars, I stared into the semi-darkness, my eyes searching the corners near the door. What I saw made my heart shrink. My cell phone, my handy-dandy little cell phone, lay totally out of reach in the far corner, blinking its little green light at me.

  18

  Panic is a destructive emotion. It demolishes cognitive reasoning, rendering perfectly working brain cells useless. For several minutes I raced in circles, scratching and pounding at the solid walls of my cell screaming like a trapped animal before collapsing into a corner. Bawling like a baby, feeling worse than I could ever remember, I huddled there holding my throbbing head. My throat burned like I’d swallowed a jar of jalapeno peppers, my nose dripped and I ached all over, as if I’d been pummeled in a fight. What a time to get sick. Frantic to escape, I scrambled to my feet again and rattled the bars, yelling, “Help! Heellpppp! Someone let me out of here!”

  Icy horror shimmied through me when I realized that I sounded just like the voice I’d heard only moments ago. Had it been real, or an uncanny premonition of things to come‌ Shit! Why did I keep getting myself into these situations‌ Was I terminally stupid‌ It hadn’t been that long since my last brush with catastrophe in Morgan’s Folly. I was still paying the price for that one. Oh, no! Tally! The thought of him standing impatiently in the dawn light waiting for me, believing I’d broken my promise to him, re-ignited my panic. Ginger’s words of warning from Friday night echoed in my head. ‘You’re going to fool around and spoil things with Tally if you ain’t careful!’ No kidding. This could be the proverbial straw that soured our relationship for good. And, as usual, I had no one to blame but myself.

  I slumped against the bars, wallowing in self-pity. I had no food, but at least I had some water, I thought, clutching the plastic bottle protectively to my chest. But, how long would it last me‌ I was locked away in the sturdiest building still standing in Morita, there didn’t appear to be any way out, my goddamned cell phone was lying out of reach and nobody knew I was here. Heart thudding dully against my ribcage, I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing for a few minutes. Inhale deeply. Exhale. Try to think. Relax. Get your shit together and calm down.

  At some point the caretaker had to show up, or at the very least he would see my car parked near the gate and investigate. Even better, Dean was expecting me to come and claim Marmalade. When I didn’t, would he call the sheriff and report me missing, or just assume I’d changed my mind and gone home‌ No, no. Think rescue. Taking comfort in that thought, my mind cleared enough for me to take a careful look around my prison. As illogical as it might sound, my number one fear in the short term was spiders. Positioning myself in the very center of the cell, I did a slow turn, examining the corners of the room for webs. There were a number of deserted ones undulating in the breeze filtering through the window, but none appeared to have a current occupant. That allowed me a small measure of relief.

  I stuck my face between the bars in the door, trying to calculate how far away the phone was. Kneeling, I reached my arm through as far as it would go, but it was no use. It lay at least a yard beyond my fingertips. I needed to find something long enough to pull the phone within reach. In the dim light, with only the mournful whistle of the wind as my companion, I sifted through piles of discarded junk looking for a useful tool. There were stacks of disintegrating newspapers, bent aluminum cans and broken beer bottles, scraps of clothing…ugh, used toilet paper, and a brittle, rusted mattress spring that looked like it might be a hundred years old. Nothing there. Now what‌ I moped around the cell for long minutes and then rushed towards the narrow window. Standing on my toes, I was just barely able to touch the bottom ledge. Returning to the other end of the cell, I pulled out some of the newspapers and wrapped them around my hands like oven mitts before grabbing onto the sharp metal mattress spring. It screeched and groaned as I dragged it across the concrete floor and shoved it beneath the window. I heaped newspapers on top and then, cautiously balancing myself on the wavering pile, I reached up to grab hold of the bars. I tugged with all my might, but those puppies weren’t going anywhere. Damn! I screamed for help until my voice was ragged. Nothing. Nothing but the wind. Despondent beyond measure, I slid off the papers, zipped my jacket up to my chin and flopped down in the corner nearest the barred door, dismally watching the second hand on my watch tick off the minutes. Two fifteen, two seventeen, two twenty-five. Perhaps I’d just close my eyes for a little while.

  I woke with a start, unable to fathom where I was for a couple of seconds before the reality of my situation pierced me like a cold knife blade. My God! It was four-thirty. If help didn’t come soon, I’d be spending the night in this forbidding place. I could tell by the soreness of my skin that my fever had climbed higher while I’d slept. A few sips of water helped cool the raging inferno in my throat. Could things be any worse‌ The easiest thing would have been to curl up in a ball and give in to despair, but I pushed to my feet and reached around the bars to feel the lock once again. Why wasn’t I able to just push the door open‌ How could it have locked by simply slamming shut‌ As I reconstructed the exact sequence of events in my mind, the tiny seed of doubt inside me blossomed into suspicion. If the wind had blown the outer door shut, where was the rock I’d placed there to secure it‌ I
didn’t know a whole lot about physics, but wouldn’t it have been pushed inside also‌ Was my incarceration in this little hellhole really an accident of nature‌ What if someone actually had called my name to lure me in here‌ But who would do such a thing‌ My mind splayed out, taking several paths at once. Who else besides Hank Breslow knew I was coming here‌ And, why would he do such a thing‌ I hadn’t mentioned this side-trip to anyone except Walter on the phone…oh…my…God! That meant whoever had been listening on the extension certainly knew. Jason seemed the logical culprit but for the life of me I could not figure out what purpose a stunt like this would serve. That it had been designed to frighten me was a given and might be the result of my recent confrontation with him and Cutter. But it could also have been Bethany. What was the motivation behind her apparent animosity, including her nasty little trick this morning‌ My mind did a couple of back flips and suddenly Payton’s worry that Brett might be gaining a new daddy took on disturbing significance. Oh, man. What if she’d planned this‌ Clever bitch. With me out of the way, she’d be free to pursue Tally… Cut! Cut! Don’t do this! Don’t drive yourself crazy conjuring up imaginary scenarios that have no basis in reality. Focus. Focus on the problem at hand.

  Blink. Blink. Blink. I glared at the cell phone. There had to be some way to get hold of that little sucker. And I had to do it before nightfall. Returning to the junk pile beneath the window, I began to sort through it again. Nothing sturdy enough. Nothing long enough. I wracked my brain. What if I rolled newspapers into tight cylinders‌ That would give me the length I needed, but what would I use as a hook‌ I searched every square inch of the cell, but could find nothing useful. Fighting despair, I set about rolling the pages of paper into tubes and then inserting the ends into each other until I had a paper wand about four feet long. Then, with cautious expectancy, I fished it through the bars. It reached the phone, but its weight buckled the paper time and again until my arm ached with exertion. This wasn’t working. “Crap!” I yanked the tube back into the cell and in a fit of fury, grabbed it in both hands and swatted it against the bars until it was torn to shreds. As I watched the pieces waft slowly downward, I slid into a crumpled heap and sobbed into my hands. My little tantrum had solved nothing except to make me feel even more miserable. Relying on the miniscule part of my feverish brain that was still able to function rationally, I gathered some of the newspapers and, in the fading light of dusk, spread them on the cold, hard floor forming a makeshift bed. The remaining ones I tucked over and around me like a blanket. I also used several pieces to blow my nose. “See,” I blabbered to the empty room, “newspapers can be useful for some things.”