Forbidden Entry

by Sylvia Nobel

  “Yes.”

  “If you can shimmy up it and park your butt on the first limb and then hold the phone out at arm’s length with your tongue set in just the right place, you might get a decent signal for a few minutes.” Her lips curled up at one corner as she enjoyed her own joke. “Up here we rely on good old-fashioned land lines, and even they sometimes fail us if we get a hellacious storm like the last one. The phones can be out for days at a time.”

  “That must be frustrating. With my job, I’d be lost without my phone.”

  “We’re used to it.”

  Aware that we were fast running out of daylight, I asked, “When those two guys died, did the authorities question any of the local residents?”

  A nod and snort of distain. “You guessed ’er, Chester.”

  “Anyone in particular?”

  Her expression grew furtive. “Ah….that I don’t remember.” Really? Was her memory actually faulty or was she sticking to the Raven Creek code to not rat out her neighbors? But then, she quickly added the caveat, “I won’t lie to you. There are some damaged souls living here. We got a few squirrelly dudes who did some rotten things, but they’ve paid their debt to society and just want to be left alone. There’s also a couple of ex-military guys with pretty severe symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and a few like Daisy, a little light in the brain cell department, mostly harmless, but like I said, folks mainly keep to themselves, mind their own business, keep their mouths shut and leave people to live their lives as they see fit. That seems to suit everybody just fine.”

  I stared at her. “Mostly harmless? So, you never feel concerned for your safety?”

  A perfunctory head shake. “We get a bad apple every now and then, but most know better than to shit in their own nest, if you get my drift.”

  “I see. The honor among thieves principle.”

  “Pretty much. And if someone gets out of line…word gets back to the mayor, and things…well, they get handled. Of course, we can’t do anything about the crazies who camp out in the forest.”

  I peered across the narrow valley dotted with a conglomeration of cottages, shacks and mobile homes tucked in among the boulders and trees. There couldn’t be more than twenty or thirty residents. I turned back to her. “Raven Creek has a mayor?”

  “Well, not officially, but everybody kind of refers to him as that since he owns most of the land. All except this property and one other piece,” she clarified, gesturing towards Daisy who was calling, “Here chicky, chicky, chickies,” as she shooed the flapping hens into the coop. The sharp-eyed rooster, perched atop a rusted-out washer, closely monitored her activities. “Our pappy left us these two acres, so we don’t have to pay rent like everybody else.”

  “Oh, really? I thought this was all part of the Prescott National Forest.”

  “Nope. Besides the McCracken Ranch, our little paradise is one of those few remaining parcels of private land left around here, but don’t you know they’d love to get their grubby hands on it if they could.”

  “So, who owns the third piece of property?”

  “Shitfire, you ask a lot of questions.”

  Hoping to thaw her crusty demeanor and keep the information flowing, I smiled appreciatively. “Just doing my job, and you’ve been very helpful.”

  Apparently unimpressed by my attempt at flattery, she flicked a glance towards the western sky. “I got five more minutes and that’s it.”

  “I really appreciate it.” I paused expectantly, waiting for her answer. “The other landowner?”

  “Oh, yeah. I can’t remember his last name. It’s something long and weird-sounding. Everybody here just calls him Stilts. Guy’s a real loner. Hardly ever see him unless he goes out for supplies or to sell his honey.”

  “He’s a beekeeper?”

  “Uh-huh. But, he’s not the only one who raises the critters now. A couple of other people got hives goin’, including our mayor. He even recommends honey to his patients. Yep, if you got any questions about bees, Stilts is our resident go-to guy.” She pointed across the valley towards the base of the rocky cliff where a sizeable flock of ravens sailed lazily on thermals. “See that goofy-looking house over there?”

  I narrowed my gaze, focusing past her finger. “You mean that big, stone structure without a roof and all the chimneys?”

  “Yeah. He’s been working on that place for the last fifteen years. Never seems to get finished for some reason or another.”

  “Why do you call him Stilts?”

  An extended shrug. “ I dunno. I’m guessin’ because he’s a real beanpole.”

  Goose. Stilts. The people living here seemed partial to nicknames. Was that to disguise their real names? “I see. The major landowner sounds like someone I might want to speak with. What’s his name?”

  “Gabriel Gartiner. Dr. Gartiner.”

  “Really? What kind of medical doctor is he?”

  “Naturopath. He used to teach chemistry before he started his practice about five years ago.”

  I looked around. “How do patients find him?”

  “He runs a real nice clinic in Prescott.”

  “Does he have a nickname too?” I ventured, unable to suppress an impish smile.

  She grinned back. “Nah. We just call him plain old Doc.”

  I chuckled. “Of course.”

  I definitely hit the jackpot when I ran into Darcy. She appeared to know everything about everyone. As much as I would have loved to keep her talking, I wanted to locate Harvel Brickhouse before I ran out of daylight, which, as the sun slipped behind the peak, plunging the valley into shadow, I realized would happen soon. “I’d really like to ask you a few more questions, but I need to leave if I want to get out of here before dark. Perhaps when I come back tomorrow…”

  Her eyes narrowed with interest. “You’re coming back?”

  “I’m planning to meet up with Burton Carr.” Of course, he didn’t know that yet. I would contact him on the drive back to Castle Valley.

  A speculative gleam entered her shrewd gaze. “What for?”

  “He offered to show me the location where the bodies were found.”

  She nodded approval. “Well, Burton can be a real pill sometimes, but you couldn’t ask for a better guide. He knows every square inch of these mountains.”

  “Sounds like you’re pretty well-acquainted with him.”

  “Oh yeah. Known him a long time. Knew his whole family actually. His mom, Billie, came here from Casa Grande after her first husband died in the service. Burton was just a toddler and never knew his real daddy. She met Calvin, husband number two, when she lived in Mayer and then they all moved to Crown King after they both went to work for the Forest Service.”

  “So, Burton followed in their footsteps?”

  “Sort of. They manned the old fire tower I mentioned earlier for a long time,” she informed me, gesturing westward towards the craggy mountaintop. “That is until Calvin keeled over from a heart attack. After that, Billie stayed on for another four years by herself, but quit the tower when she remarried again.”

  “This must have been a fascinating place for a kid to grow up,” I remarked wistfully, eyeing the fleecy clouds hovering around the peak.

  “Maybe. But I think he was a pretty lonely little boy.”

  “Really? I thought you said he had a brother.” One who bullied him, I recalled.

  “Step-brother, actually. Darren Pomeroy came into the picture with husband number three, who just happened to be Doc Gartiner’s half brother, Chris. He owned a nice motel up there in Crown King. That’s how they met. Anyway, Burton was maybe eight or nine at the time and Darren a couple of years older. I never did care for the Pomeroy boy,” she remarked, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “He bedeviled the hell out of poor Burton.”

  “Why?”

  “I dunno. Burton was a
quiet, sensitive little kid and Darren was aggressive and argumentative. They never got along from day one, but then Burton acted kind of strange sometimes.”

  “How so?” I was itching to get back to my original topic, but before I could steer her in that direction Darcy continued in a confidential tone, “Billie told me he got real sick and almost died when he was four. She said he must’ve had one of those near-death experiences because he kept jabbering about seeing God and angels and stuff. He had an odd fixation with death after that. Anyway, when Chris kicked the bucket five years later, Darren took off for Phoenix saying he had bigger fish to fry. Now he’s a big shot lawyer down there. Poor Billie,” she added with a forlorn smile, “she started calling herself the black widow because she put three husbands in the ground. She was just starting to get her life back together when she got diagnosed with ovarian cancer.”

  “Is that so?” Good grief. She may have been reluctant to talk initially, but she was on a roll now.

  “I was her caregiver those last six months,” she tacked on. “Burton was a real devoted son. He moved her down the road into the stone house so she’d be close by me. And Doc Gartiner too. He checked on her almost every day, but that cold-hearted nephew of his only came by to visit her twice that I know of that whole time. Poor Burton, well, he was a complete basket case after Billie passed away. I’ve never seen anybody so bummed out. And then he had to rely on his stepbrother to untangle the legal mess left behind from all three deceased husbands. Personally, I think Darren Pomeroy monkeyed with the paperwork so he’d inherit the bulk of the inheritance.”

  “That’s too bad,” I murmured, struggling to keep from peeking at the time on my phone. “How long ago did that all happen?”

  She fiddled with a couple of disturbingly long white hairs on her chin while she contemplated my question. “Three years ago. Poor lady suffered something awful towards the end. Too bad we didn’t have the medical pot to offer her back then. She’d have been a whole lot more comfortable that last year.”

  That got my attention. “I overheard you saying that you’re able to cultivate a certain amount for your patients?”

  “Yeah, but not for much longer.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because a guy opened a dispensary in Black Canyon City, which means the state will pull my permit soon.”

  “Because…?”

  “If the patient lives within twenty-five miles of a dispensary as the crow flies, that’s where the medical pot has to be purchased.” A sniff of distain accompanied her derisive, “Kind of a stupid law if you ask me, and the rules keep changing. It’s legal in one state, but not in the next, while other states say recreational marijuana is fine. But then, it’s still illegal to possess it at all under federal law. I can’t keep up. Typical government mess if you ask me.”

  “Darceeeeeeeee.”

  We both looked around as Daisy came trotting up, out of breath. “There’s one missing! One is missing!”

  Darcy frowned at her. “One what missing?”

  “Chicken.”

  “No, I got them all.”

  Daisy stomped her foot. “You didn’t! I counted. One is gone.”

  Darcy leveled me a beleaguered look. “I don’t pay much attention to her antics,” she muttered under her breath before turning back to Daisy with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You just miscounted. Now run along. It’s time to feed your sugar gliders.”

  Her chubby face growing pink with frustration, Daisy planted her feet firmly. “No. One is missing. Look in the truck,” she insisted, her mouth set in an obstinate line. “Go look in the truck.”

  Darcy threw up her hands, shouting. “All right! But just to prove you’re mistaken…” She marched to the pickup, yanked the door open and then sprang back in disbelief as a squawking white hen burst from the cab and flapped towards the coop. I had to stifle the surge of laughter. Perhaps Daisy was not as slow-witted as she appeared.

  “What are sugar gliders?” I inquired with a curious smile.

  “Oh! You don’t know? Wait until you see them!” Daisy crowed, clapping her hands. “Just wait. I’ll show you a picture.” She grappled in her pocket and retrieved her camera. “They are so cute! Cute, cute, cutie pies!”

  “Not now,” Darcy interjected gruffly. “I need your help getting those crates out of the truck. We have to get ’em fixed so I can get those hens to Emma tomorrow. Chop, Chop.”

  Daisy’s face drooped with disappointment. “Maybe when I come back tomorrow you could show them to me.” I grinned at her and was rewarded with a toothsome smile before she hurried to the pickup and began pulling the broken crates out of the bed. “So you sell your chickens as well as the eggs?” I asked, returning my attention to Darcy.

  She glared at me. “Don’t you ever stop asking questions?”

  “No.”

  “If you must know, Emma is our cousin from Globe,” Darcy explained. “She’s taking the hens to a friend of hers in Thatcher who wants to start her own flock. Emma’s a part-time cook for a really nice boutique hotel there called Dream Manor Inn and she arranged to have them buy our fresh eggs. Happy now?”

  Globe, Miami and Superior, all historical old mining towns I’d read about located east of Phoenix, were on my list of Arizona places I’d yet to visit. “Darcy, thank you so much for your time.” I pocketed my phone. “Just one more thing. What’s the fastest way to Harvel Brickhouse’s cabin from here?”

  “Keep heading that-a-way.” She pointed past my shoulder towards the east. “It’ll take you about thirty minutes. Watch out though, the road further on got washed out even worse than ours in the last storm, so you’ll need four-wheel drive. But, if I was you,” she advised sternly, “I’d head home now. Nightfall comes pretty quick here in the wintertime and unless you fancy driving those hairpin curves in the dark, I’d skedaddle.”

  “Got it.” I turned to leave, but then hesitated.

  She planted her hands on her ample hips. “Yes?”

  “Daisy said something earlier that puzzled me?”

  “Really? Just one?”

  She didn’t do a very good job of masking what seemed a deep-seated animosity towards her sister. It had to be a heavy responsibility to care for her sister’s welfare. “What did she mean when she said you sucked up all the air?”

  “Oh, good Lord,” she said with an exasperated head shake. “According to our mother when we were born…”

  “You were delivered twelve minutes before her,” I interjected with a mischievous grin.

  “Right. Daisy got herself tangled up in her own umbilical cord and was oxygen deprived, which accounts for her…slowness, which she blames on me because I came out okay and she didn’t. Are we done now?”

  “For today, yes.”

  “Well, thank God for small favors.” She stepped inside and shut the door behind her, leaving me a bit nonplussed. Okay. Obviously our conversation was over. I wondered how much of Darcy’s crotchety behavior was for show.

  With the sunlight gone and the temperature dipping fast, how smart was it to be tromping around alone in the forest hunting for Harvel and then trying to navigate those grueling switchbacks at night? The time spent questioning Darcy had netted me far more material than I’d originally expected, so I decided my interview with him could wait until tomorrow. Plus that my stomach was growling with hunger pangs and I had to admit that I was tired. A good night’s sleep was definitely on my agenda.

  After calling goodbye to Daisy and petting all my animal admirers, I turned the Jeep around and headed out. Munching on a protein bar, I made it almost to the junction when I came upon a strange sight. Directly ahead, right in the middle of the narrow, rutted road, a raw-boned guy sporting dirty-looking blonde dreadlocks and wearing camouflage, struggled to peddle a bike with a makeshift, junk-filled trailer attached. It looked like he had everything he owned in it. How he wa
s managing to move at all along the muddy track was nothing short of miraculous. The scruffy-looking brown dog trotting beside him kept looking back at me apprehensively. With no way to get around the duo, I slowed to a crawl.

  Come on! The guy glanced furtively over his shoulder at me several times, but made no attempt to let me pass. Irritated, I followed him another half mile or so before my patience ran out. I leaned out the open window and shouted, “Excuse me! Would you mind moving over so I can get by?”

  His response was to flip me off. What? My temper now fully ignited, I nudged the Jeep a little closer and tapped the horn. He ignored me. What was it with people blocking the roads today? Fuming, I honked again. That caused the dog to let out a couple of sharp yelps as I continued to follow him at an agonizingly slow two miles an hour. Finally, the road widened slightly. I calculated that there was just enough room for me to squeeze by on the right hand side, so I quickly pulled even with him. When I glanced over, I instinctively recoiled at the crazed light reflected in his deep-set eyes. His gaunt face contorted with rage, he shook his fist at me, screaming, “Why are you tailing me? You’re here to kill me, aren’t you? Are you gonna kill my dog too? I won’t let you kill my dog!” I stared back at him in open-mouthed shock as he jumped off the bike and began rummaging around in the trailer, shrieking, “I’ve got a gun! I’ll kill you first, I swear I will!”

  Holy crap! What the hell was wrong with him? Was he psychotic? Strung out on drugs? Or both? For a fleeting second, I considered pulling my own weapon in self- defense, but wasn’t really prepared to get into a gun battle with my limited firearms training. Exit time! Hopped up on adrenalin, my heart thundering madly, I hit the accelerator and rocketed down the winding road as fast as safely possible, certain that I had just encountered one of the damaged souls Darcy had described. After a harrowing, seemingly never-ending drive down the mountainside, foolishly checking the rearview mirror for any sign of a deranged man pursuing me on a bicycle, I turned onto the graded road with a huge sigh of relief, still shaken, but now able to think more clearly. My concealed carry training class had taught me that I had the right to pull my weapon if I feared for my life and I had definitely felt threatened. Perhaps he’d only been bluffing and could be placed in Darcy’s ‘mostly harmless’ category, or perhaps not. Under the circumstances, I felt confident I’d made the right decision to get out of there rather than engage him. That kind of bizarre behavior might not concern Darcy Dorcett, but it certainly bothered me. When I returned to Raven Creek, I vowed to heed all prior warnings I’d been given and remain vigilant.