by Sylvia Nobel
Accelerating along the well-graded road, with the Sunset Point rest stop towering above me to the right and flanked by rolling foothills to the west, I passed by a rusting stock tank on an abandoned ranch and followed the sign towards the little hamlet of Cleator, still having not seen a single soul since leaving the freeway. Just when I was starting to feel like I was the only person on earth, I turned a corner and stared in wonderment at the unexpected scene ahead. The road was completely blocked by a dump truck. A mud-caked red and white pickup, probably at least 40 model years old, sat sideways in front of it, debris all over the ground. A short, rotund woman wearing a floppy brown hat and overalls stood toe-to-toe with a tall, wiry man. She appeared to be shouting and was shaking her finger in his face. And there were chickens—lots of chickens running around in panicked circles. Brimming with curiosity, I eased to a stop and lowered the window. The woman’s angry voice, plus the rumble of the truck’s idling engine, apparently masked my arrival. What in the world was going on?
Upon closer inspection, I determined that the rubble strewn on the ground consisted of damaged wooden cages and scores of egg cartons, the contents now undoubtedly smashed. I pulled out my phone and took a series of photos as I eavesdropped on the fierce verbal altercation.
“What do you mean it was my fault?” the woman shrieked, gesturing at the chaotic scene around her. “You’re the one who hit me, you idiot!”
“How the hell did I know you were gonna slam on the brakes for no good reason? I can’t stop this thing on a dime, you know.”
“I had a reason,” she fired back. “If you people would quit tearing up the road with your damn trucks, I wouldn’t have to slow down every two minutes to avoid all the gigantic potholes!” She threw her hands up, gesturing wildly. “Look at this mess. You, Mister, owe me big bucks for scattering my chickens to hell and gone and breaking all my eggs. And look at the damage to my truck!”
The driver, who I judged to be in his late 40s or early 50s, rubbed the dark stubble on his chin and appeared to be baiting her when he glanced towards her pickup and responded with an insolent, “This shit wagon? How can you tell?”
“It’s vintage,” she squealed, her face now beet-red and contorted with rage, “and happens to be worth a lot of money.”
The man pulled himself up to his full height, towering over the diminutive woman. “I ain’t payin’ you squat. This was your doin’, you dumb bitch.”
“Who are you calling a bitch?” She poked him hard in the chest. “I’ve got a good mind to shoot your boney ass!”
At that his expression turned cautious and he took a step back, palming his hands forward as if in surrender. “Look, Lady, I don’t want no trouble, but I’m warning you. Keep your hands off me!” He fished a cell phone from his shirt pocket and tapped the screen.
I could tell by their rigid body language that the dispute was escalating to a dangerous level. So, what could I do about it? I hesitated. Should I involve myself in yet another dicey situation? Impatiently, I checked the time. While the confrontation was certainly entertaining, and at times bordered on amusing, nevertheless my frustration level climbed. With less than five hours of daylight left, I didn’t have any more time to waste listening to them squabble. Unfortunately, there was no way to get around the truck because of the steep inclines on either side of the narrow road. But, the urgent need to do something to break the impasse persisted and I was all set to get out and try to convince the man to move his rig when the sound of another vehicle approaching from behind caught my attention. It was only then that the two of them looked over and saw me. Their jaws dropped in surprise before they switched their attention to the aqua-blue pickup braking to a stop on the far side of the road.
With interest, I noted the Prescott National Forest emblem on the door. Maybe this guy could get things moving. The ranger or whoever he was had a cell phone pressed to his ear, but within thirty seconds terminated the call and exited the pickup, his lips pressed together in obvious agitation. I judged him to be in his middle-to late-30s, of medium height and build. He had a round, nondescript face and wore wire-rimmed glasses. Shrugging into a jacket, he secured a ball cap over thinning brown hair and, after shooting me an inquiring glance, trudged towards the feuding couple. I sat up straighter when I suddenly recognized him as the same man I’d seen at breakfast in Prescott yesterday. “What’s going on here, Darcy?” His arrival momentarily diffused the volatile confrontation as both of them began talking at once, each of them stating their own version of the story. “Slow down,” he finally ordered. “One at a time, please.”
Two of the chickens were clucking and scratching in the dirt around my Jeep, so I pocketed my phone and stepped outside just as a second pickup rolled to a stop. This one was white and belonged to the Bureau of Land Management. A tall, muscular woman with a tight, blonde ponytail emerged, wearing a tan uniform, badge, radio and a sidearm. After pausing to assess the situation, she turned to me. “Any idea what’s going on here?”
I told her what I’d overheard concerning the accident and she inquired, “You a witness?”
“No. This was already in progress when I arrived.” The rising wind was making a complete mess of my long curly hair, which maddeningly kept blowing across my face as I rummaged in my purse and handed her a business card. “Kendall O’Dell. I’m here to do a follow-up story on the recent deaths of a young couple somewhere up the mountain there,” I said, gesturing towards the jagged ridgeline. “You’re probably familiar with it.”
“Very much so.” She studied the card briefly and then fished one from her shirt pocket. “Linda Tressick. I’m the Law Enforcement Ranger for this district.” We shook hands. “You know where you’re going?”
“Ah…not exactly.”
“Well, you’re in luck. That gentleman over there in the green uniform is Burton Carr. He’s with the Forest Service and he’ll be able to provide you with more information since the place where those kids died lies within his jurisdiction. Mine officially ends there at the cattle guard,” she stated with a wry smile, pointing to where the truck’s front tires rested. “Although there’s always cooperation and cross-delegation between the two agencies when need be and it looks like this is one of those times.”
I glanced over at Burton Carr. Was this fortuitous or what? He was another of the people high on my list to interview. At least something right was happening today. “May I ask you a few questions?”
She raised a hand. “Another time. I need to deal with this situation right now,” she said, moving towards the trio. “My number is on the card.” She walked right into the middle of the ongoing fracas, which had fired up again with the irate woman stubbornly standing her ground.
“He’s a lying bastard! He was too close and going way too fast! You need to arrest him for reckless driving!” The tip of her bulbous nose was so red it almost glowed. This was one pissed-off lady.
“That’s horseshit! How about you arrest this wing nut?” the driver challenged, his expression turning surly. “More than likely she’s high on some the of that weed she’s growing up there in her little backyard pot garden.” And in an apparent move to add fuel to the fire, he tacked on, “Or have you moved on to cooking meth?”
Bristling, she pulled herself up to her full height, which was probably about five feet tall at best. “For your information, numbnuts, I’ve got a certificate from the state granting me permission to grow it!” Then she switched gears, modulating her tone, assuming a beleaguered demeanor designed to elicit sympathy, no doubt. “As a caregiver, I need it for my suffering patients.” She turned to Burton Carr, her brow furrowed with disappointment. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you just standing there like a bump on a log?”
Really? This abrasive little woman was a caregiver? She must have a hidden compassion bone not readily evident to me.
The forest ranger managed a conciliatory smile. “It’s not necessary
to use such inflammatory language. What do you say we try a little harder to work this out, okay?”
“Oh, Burton, I’m glad your dear mother isn’t here to see this, God rest her soul. She’d hate to see you acting like such a wimp.” Fisting hands on broad hips, she lamented, “You didn’t like being bullied by that brother of yours, did you?” Without waiting for his response, she resumed, “And I’m not gonna stand here and be bullied by this idiot!”
Eyes bulging, the driver screeched, “Who the hell are you calling an idiot?”
I noted the brief flash of resentment in Burton Carr’s eyes before he shot Linda Tressick one of those ‘what are you gonna do’ looks. “Okay, Darcy,” the woman stated firmly. “Enough. You need to calm yourself down so we can find a solution to this problem. And if you two can’t come to an agreement, I’ll have to settle it for you. We can’t have this road blocked all day while you two continue your pissing match.” She pointed at the driver. “You, sir, need to move that truck out of the way right now.” And in a no-nonsense tone, she addressed Darcy again. “Does your pickup still run or do I need to give you a tow?”
The petite woman folded her arms and planted booted feet. “It runs, but I’m not going anyplace until I get paid for the damages he caused. You can’t just let him off the hook! Someone’s got to pay for fixing my truck. I lost a week’s worth of eggs and somebody’s got to help me find my chickens!”
As I stood there wondering how the scene was going to play out, yet another pickup arrived, this time from the opposite direction. It pulled up behind the gravel truck and a chunky, square-jawed guy clad in jeans, checkered shirt and dark glasses emerged. He raised a hand in greeting and strode purposefully into the fray. “Jack, how you doin’?” Linda inquired while he shook hands with her and Burton Carr.
“I’m good.” Exuding an air of all business, he said crisply, “Rod, let’s you and me have a little confab.” Their heads bowed in conversation, the two men walked to the truck and then Rod climbed into the cab. Jack trudged back and without pretense said to Darcy, “Ms. Dorsett, I apologize for any inconvenience or damage to your vehicle. Besides Linda here, do you want to get additional law enforcement or the insurance companies involved, or do you want to settle this now ourselves?”
She reached up and straightened her hat. “Settle it how?”
“It’s our goal to be good neighbors, and we don’t want any trouble. So, what’s it going to take to make this go away?”
His thin smile struck me as disingenuous and just a touch intimidating, so I shifted my attention to Darcy’s reaction. At first she appeared taken aback and then her eyes narrowed with suspicion as her gaze bounced back and forth between Linda and Burton Carr. “Okay, Mr. Loomis, what are you offering?”
“Five hundred and we all walk away happy.”
A cunning gleam entered the woman’s eyes. “My neck really hurts,” she complained, rubbing it gingerly. “Most likely, I have whiplash.”
Jack Loomis looked like he was chewing a hole on the inside of one cheek. “One thousand.”
“Two,” she countered. “Cash.”
He countered, “Fifteen hundred and that’s my final offer.”
Wow. Fifteen hundred dollars for a little dent and some broken eggs? Quite a generous offer.
While she hesitated, Burton and Linda traded an amused glance before the BLM agent volunteered, “I’ll help you round up the chickens if that will help conclude this matter.”
Darcy gave Jack a curt nod. “Deal.”
He unsnapped his shirt pocket and pulled out a sizeable wad of bills. He peeled off fifteen, but instead of handing them to her, he held the money away from her grasp. “These two government officials are witnesses that you are being paid in full for any and all damages and that this matter is closed forever. Agreed?”
She snatched the money. “Agreed.”
He issued Linda and Burton a two-fingered salute, strode back to the truck, signaled to the driver and then jockeyed his polished bronze pickup until he got turned around and headed back in the direction he’d come. Interesting. I could only gather that he was the owner or supervisor for the sand and gravel company. And no doubt the truck driver had called to alert him of the situation. On the one hand, I had to admire his slick handling of the circumstances, but it struck me as mighty odd that he would be carrying around that much cash.
CHAPTER
18
Things happened swiftly after that. Darcy moved her weather-beaten pickup out of the way, her whiplash having apparently vanished, and Burton walked back to his vehicle while Rod shoved the big gravel truck in gear. He roared by wearing an unpleasant smirk, leaving a thin trail of dust in his wake. As if on cue, a grey van, a battered, orange pickup and two ATV riders, having luckily missed the roadblock, rounded the corner and proceeded along the road. While Darcy and Linda went chicken hunting in the sagebrush, I hurried to catch Burton Carr before he could get away. Phone to his ear once again, he was already executing a U-turn as I sprinted towards his vehicle, shouting, “Mr. Carr, wait!”
Appearing distracted, he flicked me a startled look as I rushed up to his window. He lowered the phone and thumbed the OFF button when I handed my business card to him. “Kendall O’Dell. I’m a reporter with the Castle Valley Sun. Linda Tressick said you’d be able to help me.”
He stared briefly at my card before looking up. “Help you with what?”
“Find the spot where the two bodies were discovered last week.”
Fixing me with an expression of genuine puzzlement, he absently smoothed his uneven mustache. “What for? There’s really nothing to see now.”
“I’m working on a possible story angle and I thought I’d get a few photos and talk to some of the people involved, such as yourself.”
Apparently considering my request, he continued to stare at me questioningly for additional seconds. “Personally, I think you’ll be wasting your time. The officials have concluded their investigation, the vehicle has been towed and just this morning I relocked the gate.” He glanced upward. “In addition to that, I’d be wary of venturing up the mountain today considering the weather conditions.”
I shaded my eyes against the bright sunshine, following his gaze to the ragged clouds swirling around the top of the peaks. “Looks pretty nice to me. I checked the forecast online earlier. The storm front isn’t supposed to move in until tomorrow or maybe the next day.”
His look of disdain cancelled out his indulgent smile. Apparently, he didn’t appreciate me challenging his prognostication. “I’m more than familiar with this area,” he responded coolly. “Believe me when I tell you that the mountain tends to generate its own weather patterns. They can sometimes be unpredictable and take people by surprise…like those two young folks unfortunately discovered.”
Duly chastised, my face warmed with chagrin. “I came prepared for bad weather.”
He heaved a sigh and consulted his watch. “I’d normally be happy to escort you there, but I’ve got a mandatory meeting in Prescott within the hour.”
I squared my shoulders. I hadn’t come all this way to turn back now. “If you’ll point me in the right direction, I’m sure I can find it myself.”
His brows dropped lower as he tapped his fingertips on the steering wheel. “I’d really feel more comfortable showing you the spot myself. Is there any chance you could come back tomorrow?”
“Not really. My plan is to go there today.”
“Can’t you wait one day? I’ll be in this general area and could meet up with you at your convenience.”
I pondered his suggestion for long seconds. My agenda for Monday was packed. “Thanks, but it really fits my schedule better today.”
A quick flash of exasperation crossed his face. “I hope you’re prepared to take a hike…literally. That road is closed for a reason and has been for quite a while. It’s in terrib
le condition and unless you know where you’re going, I’m not sure you’ll be able to find the exact location anyway. There’s nothing much left there to see except a bunch of muddy tire tracks from all the emergency vehicles and everything.”
Was I mistaken or did it seem like he was trying to discourage me? “Well, yes, I am prepared to walk. Approximately how far is it from the junction?”
He reached into the door’s side pocket and pulled out a map.
“I won’t need that,” I stated breezily, holding up my phone. “I’ve got GPS…”
He waved away the end of my sentence. “Lots of dead zones up there, so you can’t always count on it unless you’ve already downloaded the area maps. Have you done that?”
I’d meant to, but had run out of time. “No, not yet.”
A tight, humorless smile. “Well then, it’s always smart to have an old-fashioned paper map as a backup. Trust me.”
“I have one. Thanks.”
“Really? You have a Forest Service motor vehicle use map and an interactive travel map?”
I hesitated. “Well, no. Is that really necessary?”
“You may not think so, but I happen to know what I’m talking about.”
I felt a bit taken aback by his curt, defensive demeanor. Either he was super-sensitive and had misconstrued my responses as criticism, or he was still ticked off about Darcy’s wimp remark and taking it out on me. Whatever, I really didn’t have the time or patience to be lectured. “I’ll take your advice and download the maps.”
“Good.” He snagged a pen from his shirt pocket and began marking the map anyway. “The online maps are good, but my directions may differ just a bit.”
I decided that alienating this guy would not be smart, so I graciously thanked him, tacking on “Oh, one more thing before you go. I understand you’re acquainted with Harvel Brickhouse?”