by Sylvia Nobel
“Yep. I was checking on some of my equipment after that big snowstorm. I thought it was kinda strange that camper’d been there in the same spot so long.”
My heart skipped a beat. “You noticed it prior to last Wednesday morning?”
His thoughtful gaze took on a faraway sheen. “Mmmm. Saturday? Maybe Sunday.”
“Really? Weren’t you curious as to why it was parked on the closed road? Why didn’t you check it out sooner? Why didn’t you report it to Burton Carr or contact the sheriff?”
“People camp all over creation ’round these parts,” he griped, irritability smoldering in his light brown eyes. “I mind my own business and don’t much like folks pryin’ into mine.” He heaved his bulk out of the chair and stood up with the shotgun clasped in one hand. Burton was right. He was at least six and a half feet tall. Quite an imposing figure.
“What made you decide to stop and check out the camper that particular day?”
He inclined his head toward the dog. “Willie. He kept sniffin’ around it and actin’ real strange, whimperin’ sort of. I thought maybe someone might be stranded, so I banged on the door and when no one answered I pulled it open and…well…I ain’t never smelled nuthin’ like that before. Putrid, it was.” He paused and swallowed. “The tires was stuck in the mud and snow. There wasn’t no way they could’ve got out. I’m thinkin’ they froze to death.”
“Not exactly.”
His bloodshot eyes reflected surprise when I explained the manner of death. “Carbon monoxide poisoning, huh? Damn shame.” He paused and took a swig of beer. “Seems odd one or both of ‘em didn’t just hightail it down the road. They wasn’t all that far from Raven Creek,” he ruminated, almost to himself.
“That’s the question I’d like answered.”
He looked at his watch again and I suspected he was waiting for Percy Cross to deliver his monthly check. When a loud screeching, grinding sound split the air, I looked around searching for the source.
“If you’re wondering what that gawd-awful noise is ridin’ the wind, it’s coming from the rock crushers over at the gravel company,” he intoned gravely. “Them greedy bastards never stop. Sometimes they even work at night just to hack everybody off.”
His surly tone signified that he was still smarting from losing his bid to re-open the Thunderbolt Mine. I turned back to him, perplexed. Hadn’t Jack Loomis told me they closed at five? “You’re saying they run the equipment all night?”
He downed the remainder of the beer and placed the bottle beside the other three empty ones before picking up a pack of cigarettes. After several tries with his hands cupped tightly, he lit one and I was glad the wind grabbed the acrid smoke and blew it away from me. “Well, no. I don’t hear nuthin’ but sometimes I see lights at all hours of the night up there on the hill,” he said, pointing to a prominent limestone outcropping. “Sorta strange, if you ask me.”
That jacked up my interest level considerably. “You sure it’s the gravel company? Moonlight hikes are pretty popular now. We know from a text that Nathan and Jenessa were doing just that not long before the…accident.”
A puzzled frown crinkled his sun-leathered face. “Imagine that. You’d never catch me trompin’ around the mountain after dark. Too dangerous. Might fall and break my neck.”
I thought about Jenessa’s injury. Had she fallen during their night hike? My gaze returned to the jagged rocks crowning the hill. I could just barely see the outline of some kind of structure. “What’s that up there?” I asked, pointing. “The tall brown thing.”
He peered into the distance. “You must be lookin’ at what’s left of the old head frame. There’s an old vertical shaft up there that connects to one of the main tunnels in the mine.” His eyes hardened. “Damn John Hinkle’s dead hide. If he hadn’t leased it to them people I could’ve pulled a couple million dollars worth of gold out of there.”
I stared at him. An old vertical shaft. What if…? My pulse quickened. Sounded like just the type of thing that would attract a daredevil like Nathan. I quickly found the photo of the painted skull rock. “This was the last photo that we know of taken by Jenessa before she died. Do you know where this is?”
He pushed the reading glasses higher, focused on the screen and nodded. “Of course I do. Everybody ‘round here calls it the skeleton rock. It’s just down the hill from the mine,” he informed me, pointing to the northwest. “John Hinkle’s two boys painted it up like that when they was about fourteen. Bad news, them two.”
Unable to keep a note of derision from sneaking into my voice, I remarked dryly, “And still are if you ask me.”
His feathery brows edged higher. “You know them Hinkle boys?”
“We’ve met. Do they still work here at the ranch?”
“Nah. They got a couple quads stored over there in the bunkhouse they ride every so often. Otherwise, they don’t have no interest in being here.”
“I heard that’s why Elizabeth Hinkle hired you to watch out for the place.”
At the mention of her name, his rough features softened, and for a fleeting second, his eyes reflected a fierce yearning. Perhaps the rumor that he was still in love with her might actually be true. My insatiable curiosity had me wondering again what had really happened at the Cleator saloon that would have caused him to beat another man to death. That was a story I’d like to hear someday.
“Yeah,” he confirmed gruffly, “she can’t depend on them to do shit.”
It was obvious he had no use for them either. “The foreman at the gravel company told me they come around once a month or so to collect the lease payment.”
“Loomis?” He frowned his disagreement. “Well, that ain’t hardly true.”
My scalp prickled with irritation. Why would Jack Loomis lie about that? “So, how often do you see them around here?”
“Don’t know exactly, but I see ’em comin’ an’ goin’ in and out of there more than once a month.” He hesitated, then quickly added the caveat, “But then, it’s none of my business.”
Harvel reminded me a lot of Darcy Dorcett. He didn’t want to be known as a gossip, didn’t want people prying into his own affairs or carrying tales about him, but like so many people in small communities, seemed keenly aware of just about everything his neighbors were doing. “So, you don’t think it’s unusual for them to be in this area that often even though Castle Valley is quite a drive from here.”
He shrugged indifference. “They been coming here since they was kids.”
“So, that would mean they’re pretty well-acquainted with most of the people around here, right?”
“Oh yeah. Just yesterday, I seen ’em with their heads together drinkin’ a beer with that quack doctor from Raven Creek.”
“The holistic doctor?”
“Yeah. Gartiner’s his name.”
“You mean the mayor?” I quipped.
A derisive sniff. “That’s what he calls himself anyway.”
“Why do you think he’s a quack?”
“I went up there to his clinic in Prescott one time…” he said, pausing to cover a combination belch and hiccup with his fist before continuing with, “I was sicker ’n a dog and all he did was mix me up a batch of herbs and stuff that didn’t do squat for me.”
Again, I found it curious that the doctor would be so chummy with the likes of the Hinkles. It sounded farfetched, but I detected an aura of evil surrounding the duo. And the fact that they’d befriended my brother really bothered me. I glanced up at the brooding peaks again. Something unholy was going on out here and it bugged the crap out of me that I didn’t have time to delve into it. All I could do was try to conclude my present assignment. “Getting back to this photo,” I urged Harvel, redirecting his attention to my phone, “Can you tell me how to find this place?”
He inhaled deeply on the cigarette, his eyes straying to the road at the s
ound of an approaching vehicle. “I can, but you can’t git to it no more.”
“Why not?”
“Gravel company people put up a fence and gated the shortcut two years ago. It’s sure made my life a whole hell of a lot harder.”
“Because…?”
“Now, I gotta drive all the way around the mountain and up the long way just to get to my cabin,” he groused, gesturing westward toward the snow-dusted peaks.
I shook my head in amazement. “You’re kidding. You work here and you’re forbidden to use the ranch road?”
Scowling, he said, “They control that end of the property now. I used to go around the first little gate they put up, but they caught me and built a bigger gate ’bout a year ago. One of their guys said he’d shoot me if’n I did it again, so I ain’t been over there since.” His features scrunched with annoyance. “But, get this, them squirrelly Hinkle boys got permission to use it.”
“Why would they need to?”
“To race them quads, I guess.” A mischievous gleam entered in his eyes. “But, I can tell you how to get to that rock if you ain’t afraid to do a little trespassin’.”
“I’ll take my chances,” I responded, a small flare of anticipation warming my insides.
The roar of the car engine grew louder until Percy “Goose” Cross’s hearse eased to a stop beside my Jeep. He got out and walked up to us just as Harvel finished giving me directions. “Well, hello there, purty lady,” Goose said, flicking me a conspiratorial wink. “Fancy seeing you here.” I returned his secretive grin as he handed Harvel several envelopes. “I’d recommend you head home soon,” he advised me, inclining his head towards the roiling grey clouds. “Betcha a dollar to a donut it’s already starting to snow up top, so I’m done for the day. See ya!” He turned and trotted to his hearse.
“Yep,” concurred Harvel, tucking the envelopes in his coat pocket. “I gotta git down to Black Canyon City.” He stubbed out his cigarette, threw all the bottles into a nearby barrel and whistled for the dog to follow him. As I watched Goose back up the hearse, I wondered if Jack Loomis might be right about Harvel being an alcoholic. But was he also a liar?
“Just one more question before you leave,” I called after him.
Harvel halted and turned back to me. “Yeah?”
“I’m curious as to how you planned to reopen the Thunderbolt Mine. Jack Loomis told me it’s too dangerous to enter and had been boarded up.”
He blinked disbelief. “I don’t know what that guy is smokin’,” he retorted, his face reddening. “You think I’d ’ve had financial backers if it wasn’t safe? I didn’t just fall off a cattle truck yesterday. Sure, it was gonna cost some time and money to bring everything up to code, but that mine’s been sitting there for a hundred years and now I’m supposed to believe the tunnels caved in within the past three?” He jerked the door open. “That’s bullshit.”
Obviously one of the men was lying. Surprised by his forceful response, I concluded with, “I appreciate your time.”
“No problem.” He touched the brim of his tattered hat, let Willie jump into the cab of his truck first and then followed.
I stood there and watched both vehicles disappear into the distance while contemplating what to do next. Logic would dictate that I leave immediately, but a strong premonition glued my feet to the porch. The close proximity of the painted skull rock to the hilltop mine pretty much guaranteed it was the location Nathan and Jenessa had been summarily banished from—by someone creepy, according to her final voicemail. No question that I’d met a number of people these past couple of days who would qualify, especially the two men who had access to the closed road—the Hinkle brothers.
The thundering din from the rock crushers wafted through the air again as I mulled over the new and conflicting information. If the Thunderbolt Mine had been sealed up due to dangerous conditions, what reason would anyone have to be hanging around on the hill in the dark? What would be the motivation for either Jack Loomis or Harvel Brickhouse to lie about it? Conversely, if the mine was indeed still operable, why would gravel company employees be working up there at night? Shouldn’t I check it out for myself? At least I would be able to tell Marcelene that, before admitting defeat, I’d done my best to follow up on every possible lead.
CHAPTER
31
I drove north on the ranch road for two miles, turned west and traveled for another mile or so along an unmaintained road peppered with potholes. Harvel had informed me that I would be able to see the skull rock perched on the east side of the hill and that it was within easy walking distance if I chose to trespass. What was that old axiom my grandmother used to say? It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.
Even though I’d already seen the painted rock in the photo, a little shudder forked through me when the hideous face jumped into view. What kind of mind would create something so repulsive? The black empty sockets set against the white face seemed to stare right through me and the twisted, demonic smile raised a host of goose bumps on my arms. And the really disquieting fact was that it looked freshly painted. Sick. The Hinkles were definitely sick.
Less than a quarter of a mile later, I coasted to a stop in front of the infamous gate where a prominently posted sign screamed out: NO ENTRY! PRIVATE PROPERTY, NO TRESPASSING! VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED!
According to Harvel, the distance to the old mine entrance at the top of the rocky mound was less than a mile from the gate. I’d best not waste a minute.
Serenaded by the song of the relentless wind whipping through the mesquite, scrub oak and nearby palo verde trees, I prepared for my hike, gathering my down jacket, gloves and stocking cap. Primed to get out, my gaze strayed to the creepy-looking skull face and I stopped. How sane was it to wander off alone with a winter storm bearing down? It had always been my nature to be impulsive. I had never shied away from entangling myself in perilous situations in order to scoop an intriguing story. I thrived on the challenge, endorphins and adrenalin rush. I loved it. It was a high like no other. But, should I permit my zeal to overrule common sense?
I pulled my hand away from the door handle, unable to understand my sudden hesitancy. Did this inexplicable restraint have anything to do with the fact that I was engaged to be married now and should begin thinking twice before charging into possibly dicey circumstances? Was Tally’s calm logic and quiet urging to examine my priorities beginning to rub off on me? Should I follow my heart and check out the old mine or use my head and go home? With a deep sigh of disappointment, I made the decision to pack it in.
I turned the Jeep around and headed towards the Bumble Bee road. Whatever was going on out here would have to keep until another time. I’d no sooner passed through Cleator than I heard the familiar drone of quads. I flicked a startled glance in the rearview mirror and sure enough there he was again—my stalker. But this time he had an accomplice who wore an evil clown mask. “Are you kidding me?” I murmured as a feeling of dark certainty consumed me. They had obviously been waiting for me. My apprehension increased when I stepped on the gas. My stalker stayed right on my tail while the second rider sped past me and stayed right in front of me. If I’d had any doubt that someone wanted me out of town, I no longer did.
Part of me wanted to stop and confront them. But how wise would that be? I couldn’t really even report it because I had no idea of their identities. It wasn’t against the law to wear a mask. Could I prove they were harassing me and not just having a little fun? “I’m leaving now!” I shouted. “You can stop following me!”
But they didn’t. I was escorted all the way to the freeway on-ramp. Their mission accomplished, they swung around and vanished around the curve. Grimly, I promised myself that at some point I’d return and delve into this baffling story again. I’d driven no more than a mile when my phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID, surprised to see my mother’s name displayed. She hardly ev
er called me on her cell phone. “Hi, Mom. How are you?”
“Not good.” Her clipped tone put me on alert.
“Is Dad all right?”
“Yes, yes. He’s finally sleeping.”
“You sound upset. What’s going on?” I pressed.
“It’s your brother.”
“Oh my. What’s he done now?”
“He’s gone.”
A little tremor of concern raced through me. “What do you mean he’s gone?”
“I mean he’s gone!” came her harsh reply. “Disappeared. After Tally dropped us off we had a huge fight.” She paused, then added, “I can’t handle these wild mood swings any more. He acts like someone I don’t even know.”
“Mom, you do realize he’s got a drug problem, right?”
“Don’t you think I know that?” she informed me, her voice raising an octave. “Sean said he’s got a job offer here and he’s not coming home.”
“A job offer? That’s crazy! Doesn’t he have to go back and face charges?”
“Of course he does!” She fell silent for a few seconds, and when she spoke again her voice quavered with emotion. “If he skips out on bail it will disastrous! He’ll be in even worse trouble and the authorities will send a bounty hunter after him. He’s going to ruin your father’s reputation!” she shrieked, her voice breaking. “And…this could ruin us financially.”
“What do you mean?”
“We borrowed money and mortgaged the house to post his bail.”
Furious with my brother’s rash behavior, I listened to her heart-wrenching sobs. “Hang in there, Mom. I’ll be back in an hour and a half. He can’t have gone far on foot.”
“He…he wasn’t on foot. I saw him come out of his room with two men. He was stumbling around and talking gibberish. They all left together in a pickup.”
A sickening stomach plunge. Breathlessly, I asked, “What color was it?”
“What?”
“The truck! What color was it?”