Murder, Sonoran Style

by Kathy McIntosh

  Gabe rolled his shoulders back and forth. Might as well get it over with. “I saw Everett again Friday morning—yesterday— before I took off for my scavenger hunt. He raced in, wanting us to stop everything. He got abusive, made some nasty remarks about the team. I got mad, he threw a punch, I threw a better one.”

  The sheriff’s eyebrow lifted.

  “He got up, went to his car, and, as far as I know, drove home. End of my confession.”

  The sheriff touched his elbow and steered him toward Frances. “It’s good you told me now. Better to find out from you than hear it from someone else.”

  “So I figured.”

  “Anything you want to share about the other trainees, their feelings toward the victim? You and Ms. Hunter seem close. What’s her opinion of Everett Poulsen?”

  “Wouldn’t that be hearsay?” Gabe asked. Seeing the annoyance on the sheriff’s face, he hastily added, “She told me at the send-off party that Poulsen had some progressive ideas about preserving the environment in this development.”

  When they approached Frances, she stood. “You look pretty peaked,” she told Gabe, stating the old-fashioned word with two syllables. “Sick, wan, weak. Need I go on?”

  As long as he didn’t look guilty. “Thanks.”

  “Drink this coconut water. Better than Gatorade, with no sugar high.”

  Gabe could use a sugar high about then, but he smiled his gratitude and took the warm drink.

  The sheriff peered at Gabe and shrugged. “Don’t want another dead body on my hands. I’ll have an ATV brought in and you can return to the casita on it, if you’re willing to wait. Might be a while.”

  “And if we don’t want to wait? We can leave?” Gabe asked.

  “Soon’s I have a little chat with Ms. O’Shea. You can rest here.”

  Frances opened her mouth and closed it. “I have very little to share. I’m most concerned about making sure my granddaughter’s okay.”

  “Seems to me every one of you activists, even Tripp Chasen, who claimed to be his friend, had a problem with Everett Poulsen. He was the enemy.” He directed his gaze on Frances. “And you seem to hold a particular, personal, grudge against the guy, which I’d like to understand. So I think we should chat. Now would be best, but later works.”

  Gabe put a hand up and realized he looked like a kindergartner. “I’d say Tripp, and some of us, hated this development. Not necessarily the developer.” After all, Tripp was his new business associate. He couldn’t sell him out like a sock with a hole in it. “It’s complicated, as are most things in life,” Gabe added.

  The sheriff frowned. “Things may seem complicated to the two of you, but to Everett Poulsen, things are simple. He’s dead. Someone stabbed him with a sharp implement. I’m charged with finding his killer. To do that, I need your cooperation and the truth.”

  He hitched up his slacks, which had inched downward from the weight of the items attached to his belt—gun, flashlight, phone, pager and radio. For a man his age, he had very little paunch. Possibly he disliked donuts.

  “Then let’s talk,” Frances said. She marched in the direction the sheriff had led Gabe moments before. Idle shot a quick smile at Gabe, shrugged and followed her.

  While the sheriff and Frances spoke, Gabe finished the coconut water and leaned back on the large flat rock. He closed his eyes.

  He woke to the sound of boots crunching gravel and Frances’s voice. “Can you and your people get in touch with Madrone at the casita? I’d like to know if my granddaughter has gotten back.”

  Weston had returned to stand not far away beneath some shade. He stowed his camera equipment in its case. “When I called in for backup, I also spoke with the woman there at your HQ. Madrone? She reported that no one else had come in, but that her boss, Tripp Chasen, had arrived. I suggested he wait until we got back rather than trek here.” To his boss he added, “Wasn’t real pleased with that.”

  Gabe didn’t know for sure how long it took someone to drive to the casita from Tucson, where he’d told Madrone he was headed, but he thought Tripp’s return awfully quick. Maybe the man had rented a plane.

  “I’d like to head back in,” Frances said. “I know the way. You want to come with?” she said to Gabe.

  I’d rather eat rusted nails and hornet stew. “Sure. If it’s okay with you,” he said to the sheriff.

  “Fine, if you’re up to it,” the sheriff said. “Have Wes take photos of both your boots before you leave. We’ll get prints later.”

  “I’m feeling a lot better,” Gabe said, surprising himself because it was true. God knows how long before the ATV got there and the sheriff sent it on back. Gabe wanted to get back to the casita before the other trainees arrived. He had a passel of questions and a lot of people to question. Starting with his new partner.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Long Walk Home

  A fter a quarter of an hour’s hike toward the casita, Frances broke the silence. “Gabe, you need to promise me you won’t tell anyone what I’m going to share with you.”

  “Not sure I can make that promise. A man has been killed.” Probably with my knife, although I’m not sharing that with you. “If you have evidence the sheriff should know . . . ” Frances would unburden herself despite his reply, and Gabe waffled between wishing she wouldn’t and plucking the words from her mouth.

  “Oh, heck. I told the sheriff everything he needed to know already. Regardless of what you say, I know I can trust you, and I have to tell someone. It’s festering like a boil.”

  “Far be it from me to keep you from popping that boil, but remember Everett Poulsen is dead. Who knows, I might have murdered him and here you are strolling with me.”

  She stopped walking. Peered the length of his body. “You didn’t, did you? Of all of us, you probably have the least reason to kill Everett.”

  He tilted his head. “Why so sure? For all you know, I’ve hated the man for decades. It’s not wise to trust blindly right now.”

  She began walking again. “You knew I might have blurted out something about Kate and Poulsen and you stopped me. For that I owe you. And even though I make it a habit to distrust good-looking men, I trust you.”

  “Aww. You think I’m cute.”

  “Don’t fish for compliments. You know you’re a hunk. Now, let me tell you what happened.” She inhaled deeply.

  Actually, Gabe didn’t think of himself as a hunk. And if he were, from what he’d heard, being a hunk was not a good thing in prison. A destination that was seeming more likely if he couldn’t figure out who had it in for him.

  Shoot. Maybe his appeal was stronger to women of Frances’s generation. If everything went sour in Arizona, maybe he’d try his luck as a gigolo on sea cruises—after he did his jail time.

  He caught up to Frances, who in her agitation walked faster. “You have the mic, m’lady.”

  She kept walking at a fast pace, speaking to her shoes more than to Gabe. “I ran into Kate, like I told the sheriff. The thing we argued about? I told her who her father was. She took it hard. Yelled at me for a lifetime of lies, cheating her of a father. Wanted to know if he knew about her, and when I said he did, that made it worse. Took some of the rage off of me, but not so’s you’d notice. Then she stormed off.” She fell silent. Eventually, she added, “And the next day I find out he’s dead.”

  Gabe marveled at the timing. But he knew something Frances didn’t. This murder, or at least arranging for Gabe to take the rap for it, was planned well before Frances dumped the bad news on Kate. “Why tell her out here? Now?”

  She slowed, enough so Gabe saw the tears on her face. “You saw her take on Everett at Tripp’s place. Things are very black and white for Kate. He was the enemy and had no redeeming traits. I was afraid she’d meet him here or after this scavenger crap finished up and chew him out, and he’d confess to being her dearly beloved father. I was afraid, even though we never met, that he’d eventually realize I was Melody’s mother. She was Kate’s birth mother and Kate’s he
r spitting image. She’d never forgive me for letting her be blindsided.” She stumbled on a rock in the path, nearly falling before Gabe grasped her arm to steady her.

  She turned and grabbed both his forearms. “My God, Gabe, what if she confronted him? Killed her own father?”

  Gabe steered her back onto the path, held one arm and kept walking. He wanted to get back to the casita and talk to Madrone. Lord knew she’d be better at comforting Frances than he.

  “Whoever killed Everett must have arranged to meet him before we came out here. This was no accidental encounter.” Before Frances could respond he added, “Besides, although I can imagine, barely, Kate shoving him into a sharp rock, say, in a fit of anger, I don’t see her stabbing him with a ski—knife.” Criminy. He should know nothing about the kind of weapon. He needed to be wary of every word, every action, until this thing resolved itself.

  “She can be quite. . . forceful for a cause she believes in,” Frances said. She took a breath in. “But you’re right. I can’t imagine her doing something so brutal.”

  Frances obviously had more to say, but her face closed down and he had no idea how to urge her to share more. Or if he even wanted to know more. He patted her back, a feeble, useless gesture that Frances seemed grateful for. “Thanks, Gabe. Now all I have to worry about is whether she got disoriented and lost out there in her blind rage at me. And, oh by the way, if we do find her, if she’ll ever speak to me again.”

  “One thing at a time. I’m sure she’s fine. Kate’s resourceful. Strong. Vital. Once she gets back to the casita, you can work this out. She’ll realize your decisions were made out of love.”

  She turned and hugged him with ferocious energy, her nose hitting his sternum. “I should have killed the bastard twenty years ago, when he told Melody he couldn’t be burdened by a family.”

  “Kate’s a vibrant, incredible young woman. You should be proud.”

  She smiled, small, tight, but a smile nonetheless.

  They continued, one step after the other. He called up the mantra countless times in the hour or so it took to get back to the casita. At some point he realized that motto would serve him well as he tried to ferret out his enemy, someone who’d kill Everett Poulsen with such vicious cruelty and who cared so little for Gabe he—or she—would frame him.

  They smelled the casita before they saw it, an enticing aroma of chilies and onions. Gabe’s stomach growled. They increased their pace and as they did Gabe thought more about Poulsen’s murder. Why had the man even been out there? And who had he met?

  “You think this will affect our jobs?” Frances asked out of the silence they’d lapsed into for the past mile.

  “You’re worrying about your job? When a guy’s been killed and your granddaughter’s missing?”

  “Seemed easier to think about.”

  “Unless Tripp and I are both arrested, you’ll have a job.”

  “Unless I’m arrested.”

  “Point taken.”

  “You know,” Frances said, “Tripp’s a possibility. It was weird when he told us to hunt out things to stop Wild Mountain, after his gracious introduction the night before. Maybe there’s history between the two of them?”

  Gabe was too busy putting one sluggish foot after another to pursue that. But he stowed the statement away and knew he’d have to talk to Tripp. Soon.

  * * * *

  The sun had passed its apex when they reached the casita.

  Today was fast becoming a candidate for Gabe’s worst ever. If he could call it over right now, it would work for him. Except, of course, that the aroma of whatever Madrone had cooked enticed him. Plus she’d expect an update.

  “Halloo, the cabin,” he called.

  Madrone walked out the door. “It’s a casita. You will never fit in down here if you can’t learn.” Madrone reared back, staring from Gabe to Frances. “Jesus. What happened? You two look like you could be adding yourselves to the body count.”

  Frances shoved past Madrone. “Nothing a good meal and some sleep won’t fix.” She dropped her backpack on the casita floor and Gabe realized he’d been thoughtless not to offer to carry it. Of course he, and she, had other things on their minds, but still. His mother would weep.

  Gabe gave Madrone a pat on the shoulder as he strode past her. “She’s right. It’s been a hell of a day. And it’s not half over. ” He looked at the stove. “Is there enough for us to join you?”

  Hands on hips, she stared him down. “Silly man. My job is to keep you all fed. Add a few sheriff’s representatives? No problem. I’m resourceful. Of course, we can only hope those leaves I picked and added to the stew are non-toxic.” She waved him into a chair beside Frances, who had already settled in and filled a glass with water from the jug on the table. “I have apple juice and sodas, as well. And a few beers, I think. What can I get you?”

  “Water’s great,” Frances said. “Plus whatever we smelled a mile away.” She inhaled and smiled.

  “Same here,” Gabe echoed. He poured himself water and put his head between his hands, propped up on his elbows, and thought he might nod off right there. His head jerked up. “Where’s Tripp? The sheriff said he’d spoken to you on the SAT phone and that Tripp had arrived.”

  Madrone frowned. “He did. When the sheriff suggested he wait here for them, Tripp didn’t take it well. Stomped and stormed and stewed around here, pestering me, speculating on what will happen now that Everett’s dead. Worse than a vulture.” She plopped two bowls of the fragrant stew in front of them and then settled a large serving bowl on the table. She added a basket of warm tortillas. “Took off to make some urgent calls on the SAT phone. Thank the angels. I was ready to dump the stew on his head.”

  Madrone seated herself with a third bowl of stew. They all knew that once Tripp finished his calls, there’d be no peace for anyone. They settled in to eat, with a tacit agreement that no mention would be made of Everett Poulsen until after their shared meal.

  After Gabe and Frances devoured their stew, slurping like fighting javelinas, they brought Madrone up to speed. “The sheriff’s called for help,” Gabe concluded. “I don’t know if they’ll rendezvous here or in Benson. I imagine at least some of them live there.”

  “Whatever,” Madrone said. “We’ll deal.”

  “Tripp will want an update,” Frances said.

  “I’ll handle Tripp,” Gabe said. “You take it easy for a while.”

  “I’m too tired to even change clothes. Can I throw my bedroll out in the other room?”

  “You can take my bed,” Madrone said. “I’ll throw another pad on the floor for Gabe.”

  Gabe smiled in gratitude. “Thanks, but even though I could sleep naked on a rock right now, I’ll wait for Tripp. Let me help you clean up.”

  Frances fanned herself and said, “You, naked on a rock. You’re going to up my blood pressure.”

  Gabe’s cheeks flushed. Blushing like a teenager. Jeez. He pointed to the back room. “Go. Get some rest.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Partners

  G abe returned from dumping the wash water outside and heard voices in the casita. “For heck’s sake, Madrone, I need to know what’s going on. The sarsaparilla’s gonna hit the fan when Lorraine finds out. And the media? God knows what they’ll be reporting.”

  Madrone’s calm alto soothed Gabe. “Of course you’re right, Tripp. Gabe will be right back. But please remember he was on the verge of heat exhaustion today and then went out again to the scene. Don’t badger him. And Frances? She’s exhausted. She’s sleeping.”

  “The devil’s in the details, hon. You know that as well as I do. I need every piece of information I can get before the sheriff swoops back in.”

  Madrone chuckled. “Sheriff Idle’s not exactly a swooper. Maybe descends? Like a pendulum, steady, sure, relentless. He’ll find the murderer.”

  “Great,” Tripp muttered. “I’d prefer incompetence, if one of my people offed Everett, bless his or her heart.”

  “Taking a lif
e is not blessed. Life is to be honored. It was evil and someone should be held accountable.”

  “I’m kidding, of course. I don’t see how one of our people could have killed him, but you sound like someone from the friggin’ Old Testament. ‘The righteous shall rule.’ You know Arizona has the death penalty. How you gonna feel about that if it was Gabe who murdered Everett?”

  Gabe inched closer to the door but didn’t enter. He had to hear Madrone’s response.

  “Gabe did not kill Everett Poulsen. This I know.”

  Tripp’s guffaw came through so loud that Frances muttered in her sleep. “Well, hell, Madrone. If you can sense guilt and innocence, we’ll just have you sniff everyone and find the culprit in minutes. Hallelujah. Our truth sniffing guide.”

  Enough with Tripp’s attitude. Gabe strode through the door and placed the bucket beneath the sink. Walked to where Tripp sat finishing off some of Madrone’s berry cobbler. Gabe’s stomach growled, right at a moment of silence between Tripp and Madrone. It wanted cobbler.

  Not now. Later. Just as he promised himself he’d spend some quality time with Madrone, later. Now, deal with Tripp. “Hey, Tripp. Glad you’re here. Wish it were for some other reason.”

  Tripp shot him a grim smile. He had a berry stuck between his front teeth. Gabe suppressed a snort of laughter. Nice to warn Tripp before the sheriff arrived, but why bother? Anyone harassing Madrone didn’t get favors.

  “Yeah, well, it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person,” Tripp said. “Land grabbers deserve to die.”

  Madrone inhaled. Gabe said, “Bull crap. Nobody deserves to die before his time. And definitely not like that.”

  “Sheesh. You and Madrone take me way too seriously. Give it a rest.”

  Madrone smiled at Gabe. “Want some cobbler?”

  “Maybe later. I want to catch Tripp up, even though the sheriff said not to share my information. Let’s talk outside. Don’t want to wake Frances.”