Forbidden Entry

by Sylvia Nobel

  I glanced back toward the group of protesters. Faces ashen with shock, some exchanged looks of wide-eyed disbelief while several of the women wept. The group swiftly dispersed and within minutes all the cars had vanished, leaving discarded protest signs scattered in the road. As my own shock dissipated, white-hot fury took its place. Someone needed to report such reckless, irresponsible behavior to the management. And that someone was going to be me. I marched to my Jeep and without a clearly defined plan of action, accelerated through the gate.

  I’d traveled a mile or so when I encountered a second chain link fence bearing the name of the company and product list. RIPRAP. LEACH ROCK. FLAGSTONE. ABC. ADOT CERTIFIED PIT. Another sign announced: HARD HAT AREA – KEEP OUT. And beneath it a smaller sign read: Authorized personnel only beyond this point. Inside the double gate, an idle water truck sat beside a green storage tank. Nearby loomed a large concrete building with wide double doors. Adjacent to it were several smaller structures, a trailer and several pickups, and beyond that rows of heavy equipment, two dump trucks and cone-shaped piles of various-sized rocks and gravel. In the distance, I could hear the roar of some type of heavy machinery and saw a plume of dust rising into the air. Eyeing my phone, I surmised it must be near closing time. But, the gate was still open, so I parked, walked inside the enclosure and approached the trailer, which bore the sign: OFFICE. I tried the door, which was locked and then knocked repeatedly. No answer. I tried to peek in the window, but the blinds were closed. Consumed with pent-up frustration, I looked around, wondering what to do. Should I drive towards the column of dust in hopes of finding someone I could report the driver’s dangerous behavior to?

  And then I spotted a row of blue modular toilets nestled in the shadow of a hill perhaps a hundred yards away. Was this where the documentary filmmaker had died? My interest in his bizarre death rekindled, I gravitated toward them. Just to satisfy my curiosity, I opened the door of the first one, let go, and it slammed shut. Yep. As anticipated, the door operated as designed. I opened the second one, let go and bang! So how had a swarm of bees flown inside that fast? Why hadn’t the guy simply run out when he realized he was in trouble? Was it possible that the lock had somehow become jammed? I opened a third door and released it to slam shut.

  “You got some kind of a problem, lady?”

  My heart jolted painfully against my chest. Robbed of breath, I spun around to meet the accusatory stare of Jack Loomis. Where had he come from so suddenly? Close up, his six-foot-plus height and beefy frame made him appear even more intimidating than he had during the altercation with Darcy. Before I could speak he seethed, “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you damn tree huggers to quit trespassing on private land.” He nodded curtly towards the toilet. “Do your business and get the hell off this property.”

  Incensed by his churlish conduct, I drew myself up to my full five foot eight height and returned his glare. “You are mistaken,” I informed him coolly. “I’m not part of the protest group.”

  He looked momentarily taken aback before his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Whoever you are, you’re trespassing on private property. Can’t you read?” He pointed to the KEEP OUT sign.

  Boy, talk about testy. “I apologize. I was trying to find someone to talk to. Do you always treat potential customers in this fashion?”

  Unfazed by my bravado, he studied me for a few seconds and then pointed his forefinger at me. “Didn’t I see you yesterday with that bunch near Cleator?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thought so. We don’t serve the public here. This is a commercial enterprise. If you’re interested in buying a finished product, you’ll have to visit one of our retail outlets in either Tempe or Mesa.”

  I dug out a card and handed it to him. “Kendall O’Dell from the Castle Valley Sun.” Of course I knew who he was, but he didn’t know that. “And you are?”

  “Jack Loomis. I’m the foreman here. So what do you want?”

  “I was in the process of interviewing some of the protesters when one of your truck drivers came within inches of plowing into all of us a few minutes ago.”

  He glanced down at my card before saying in a slightly more conciliatory tone, “Sorry about that. He probably didn’t see you.”

  I raised a skeptical brow. “Really? You think he didn’t see eleven people standing there?”

  “I’m sure it was unintentional,” he insisted brusquely, pocketing my card. His cell phone beeped and he muttered, “Excuse me.” He stared at the screen and typed something before looking up to meet my eyes.

  Aware that I’d get nowhere if I remained obstinate with him, I modulated my voice. “Unintentional or not, I’m sure that you don’t need any more bad publicity.”

  “More?” His sun-tanned features crinkled into a puzzled frown. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m sure you’re aware of the body discovered here awhile back,” I said, pointing behind me. “I’m following up on that as well as a couple of other deaths that have occurred in this area. Perhaps you could answer a few questions?”

  “We didn’t have anything to do with that…unfortunate event.” He widened his stance and crossed his arms. “Look, the guy had been hanging around here for weeks stirring up trouble between us and these…uninformed idiots who don’t like the way we run our business. He was trying to promote hatred and manufacture a situation when there isn’t one. Then or now.”

  I fired off the list of infractions inferred by the environmental activists and he bristled. “They’re full of shit. We follow all the rules we’re required to. As far as the EPA, they’ve got no jurisdiction over us because we’re operating on private property. If they come sniffing around, I just tell them to go kick rocks.” He exhaled a long breath and moderated his tone. “Look, we try to be good neighbors, keep the noise down, keep the dust down. Besides providing a product people want, we employ as many of the locals as are qualified. I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

  “Very commendable, but it’s also important for the public to hear both sides of the issue. I thought you handled the situation with Darcy Dorcett yesterday very ah…diplomatically.” I was dying to ask him if he always carried that much cash around, but refrained. My observation appeared to please him and his tense shoulders relaxed somewhat. “But,” I continued, “according to the medical examiner’s report Mr. Campbell had been dead more than forty-eight hours when he was discovered. How do you suppose he got through the gate after hours? Is this property completely fenced off?”

  “Every foot of it. And there are signs posted all over the place.” A giant shrug. “I can only figure he sneaked in here before we closed that Friday and was hiding out someplace. Or, maybe he somehow got through or over the fence, I don’t know.”

  “Why? What would be the point? What would he have been looking for?”

  “Beats the hell out of me.” He rubbed a forefinger along his upper lip. “All I know is he was dead when we found him. There isn’t much else I can tell you.”

  “That reminds me,” I remarked, assessing my notes. “Would it be possible for me to speak to Manuel Dominguez? I understand he’s the person who found the body.”

  “Can’t help you. He’s no longer with us.”

  Rats! I hid my disappointment and yanked open one of the modular toilet doors before releasing it to shut with a bang. “I know the case has been classified as accidental, but I’m still trying to figure out how so many bees could have gotten inside when, as you can see, the doors don’t stay open but a few seconds. And I don’t understand how he could have gotten trapped inside.”

  He cast me an appraising ‘so that’s what you were doing’ look and his jaw muscles twitched repeatedly. When he spoke, I detected a hint of irritation in his tone. “Like I told the sheriff, once a week, the shit wagon…er, the pumper truck comes to empty them. While Lloyd’s got the vacuum hose going in there the door is open for a c
ertain amount of time depending on how much cleanup is required. As to why Mr. Campbell didn’t come out, well, maybe the latch stuck or something. I don’t know. Maybe that’s where he was hiding when he entered the property.”

  His distracted look told me that I’d milked that subject dry, so before he could brush me off, I inquired, “Tell me something, is this the same road the residents of Raven Creek used as a shortcut before you closed it off to traffic?”

  “Yeah.” The hard light in his dark eyes returned.

  I smiled. “I guess you know you’re not very popular with them either.”

  “There’s nuthin’ I can do about that. It’s a safety and liability issue.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “We’ve got a lot of equipment running, and besides that we had to keep people, especially those crazy kids, from snooping around inside the old mine. We had a study done by several mining safety engineers and they declared it structurally unsafe. Plus while old man McCracken was alive, tweakers used it to dump their garbage. It’s a mess and a health hazard. It’s closed off for everyone’s safety.”

  I tilted my head in question. “Tweakers?”

  “Meth heads.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s different from the story I heard.”

  His mouth twisted into a smirk, he fisted both hands on his hips. “Oh yeah? And what did you hear?”

  “That a local miner was in the process of obtaining permits to reopen the Thunderbolt Mine before you leased the property out from under him.”

  Annoyance colored his heavy features and his nostrils flared so wide I could see the nest of hairs in each. “You mean Harvel Brickhouse? That drunken old fool! He doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.” He dismissed my statement with a flick of his hand. “That’s a pipe dream if there ever was one. That place is a deathtrap. It would take mega millions to shore up that old mine. Hell, the supporting timbers are sagging and half the tunnels are flooded. He could have never done anything with it.”

  My goodness. I seemed to have hit a sore spot. “You’d think being a miner that he would have known that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Are you going to believe him or the experienced engineers we paid to do the study?” he challenged, his eyes glinting with anger.

  “Speaking of that, who is the owner of this company?”

  The barest hesitation. “The Sweetland Corporation.”

  I glanced up at him. Why the hesitancy? “Is that based in Phoenix?” I asked, jotting more notes.

  “I believe so.” He shifted his weight from one foot to another and his eyes darted again to his phone, signaling that he was growing restless.

  “In order to give my readers a fair view of both sides, I’d like to learn a little more about your operation here,” I ventured, “and take some photos to accompany my story.”

  “That’s not happening today. I’ve got too many things to finish up before I go.”

  “Oh. Well, another day then? Perhaps Wednesday?” I issued him a hopeful smile.

  Frowning, he tapped his phone. “No. It’ll have to be later in the week.” His open-handed gesture towards my Jeep confirmed that the interview was concluded. I flipped my notepad shut as he accompanied me to the gate. I stepped through and he closed it behind me with a resounding clang. “Oh, just one more question, Mr. Loomis.”

  “Yes?”

  “What’s your connection with the Hinkle brothers?”

  For a split second, his eyes widened before his thick brows dipped lower. “I’m not sure what you mean by connection.”

  “I saw them turn in the gate earlier, so I’m assuming you know them.”

  “I do,” he growled, securing a padlock on the gate. “Their step-mother sends them here once a month to collect the lease payment from us.”

  “So, you’re saying that you’re not well-acquainted with them?”

  “That’s what I’m saying. And that’s fine by me. I’m not interested in associating with those punks any more than I have to.”

  When his cell phone rang, he whipped it to his ear and listened intently. He nodded curtly in my direction, swiveled around and strode to his truck. As I watched him head towards the distant dust cloud, I could not shake my escalating unease. If I hadn’t overheard the exchange between him and the Hinkle brothers at the Cleator bar, I wouldn’t have known that Jack Loomis was lying through his teeth. But why? What reason would he have to lie about his relationship with the Hinkle twins?

  Intrigued, I slid into my Jeep and continued to mull over the day’s vexing events. Even if I took into consideration everything I’d learned to date, it still netted me nothing more than a series of unconnected tidbits of information that brought me no closer to my goal. I wondered if it was even worth my time and effort to make yet another trip to interview Harvel Brickhouse. He sounded like an interesting character, but could he shed any new light on this perplexing case? At this point, it seemed doubtful.

  All during the drive along the dusty Bumble Bee Road, I chastised myself for failing to come up with anything substantial to report to Marcelene and Ginger. Acutely aware of their high expectations, they were bound to be disappointed. Yes, I had my share of shortcomings, but being a quitter wasn’t among them. Lord knows, I’d followed up on every possibility, interviewed a bunch of quirky people and yet, even considering all the baffling circumstances, Marshall appeared to be right. There was nothing to indicate anything at play other than accidental death. As strange as it sounded, I could understand how it might be easier for them to believe that foul play was a factor rather than having to accept the fact that the young couple had simply made a stupid, fatal mistake.

  As I sped westward towards Castle Valley filled with mixed emotions, I was treated to a spectacular sunset. Awestruck, I watched fiery shafts of scarlet and tangerine shoot skyward from the horizon, illuminating the mound of creampuff clouds, slowly transforming them into a kaleidoscope of iridescent pink, blue and gold. Even though my investigation appeared to be at a dead end, the fact that my family and Tally would be back tomorrow night buoyed my flagging spirits. And best of all, our engagement party was now only four days away.

  CHAPTER

  26

  Anxious to get a jump on the day, I pulled into the office parking lot as the first golden rays of sunlight spilled over the rugged peaks. Instilled with restless energy, I walked inside only to discover there was no electricity. “Are you kidding me?” I shouted, slamming my purse on the desk. “I don’t have time for this!” After the usual, exasperating journey through the automated voice prompts, my call to the power company netted me ten minutes on hold listening to the worst music I’d ever heard in my life. When a live person finally came on the line, I was informed that the power would probably be out for several more hours. I hung up and yelled to no one. “Well, that’s just great!” The office phones didn’t work, we had no heat and I couldn’t even brew a pot of coffee. After a few minutes of useless fuming, I decided that it was actually a good thing that I was here instead of Tugg. He didn’t need this kind of aggravation.

  Needless to say, news of the power outage threw my co-workers into a tizzy as we struggled to figure out how to do business and make our deadlines. Being shy three employees placed a painful strain on our skeleton staff, creating friction and frayed tempers.

  With no working computers, Jim typed laboriously on his cell phone trying to put the gymnasium fire story to bed while Al and I dealt with a host of other issues including impatient advertisers crowding into the lobby. Boy, did I ever miss Ginger and Walter. Four hours later, collective shouts of relief echoed through the offices when the lights and computers blinked on. The outage turned out to be a story in itself, having been caused by a hot air balloon getting snagged in a power line west of town. So, we were down to a staff of two after I sent Jim to cover the story. By four o’clock, Al and I finally got a handle on everything and my tension headache
began to subside. I pulled out my notebook and checked the remaining items on my list. What I’d really wanted to do all day was tie up the loose ends of my investigation before having to face what I suspected would be a long list of questions by Marcelene at the potluck tonight. I asked Al to cover the phones and dialed the number for Nathan Taylor’s father. As I waited for him to answer, I circled the reminder to contact Cal Moreland at the bar in Crown King.

  “Hullo?”

  “Am I speaking to Stuart Taylor?”

  “Yeah. Who’s this?”

  I told him who I was and the reason for my call. A few seconds of silence followed before his wary, “I don’t know what I can tell ya that will change anything. My boy is gone and that’s that.”

  “I’m looking to get a little basic information on you and your late son for my article.” Of course, I wanted a lot more than that, but sensed I needed to proceed slowly.

  “I don’t want my personal business spread all over the Internet.”

  “If there’s anything you’d like me to keep off the record, I’m happy to do that.” He seemed reluctant to talk at first, but I managed to drag out of him that he’d lived in Cottonwood most of his life before moving to Surprise five years earlier and that he owned a small plumbing company. “I understand Nathan had a passion for sports,” I said, hoping to segue into the topic I really wanted to discuss.

  “Oh yeah. From the time he was a little guy. He loved basketball, soccer, hiking, everything. Got a baseball scholarship to college, but he dropped out after only a year when he got interested in this extreme sports craze. I thought it was just plain nuts. I warned him to stop it before he got himself killed. But, he wouldn’t listen. The more dangerous it was the better he liked it. I don’t understand what got into him…” he paused, then sounding grim, he tacked on, “well maybe I do. Maybe he needed the adrenalin lift to get through the day.”