Murder, Sonoran Style

by Kathy McIntosh

Gabe had no intention of confiding in Tripp. He’d known the man only a few weeks and despite his outward charm and his obvious dedication to the environment, it had quickly become clear that Tripp Chasen always looked out for Tripp Chasen. Before anyone else. Before the truth. Definitely before a discredited ex-professor from Colorado. Gabe flitted through the list of trainees to find which of them would serve as the best fall guy. Fall person? Didn’t sound quite right. Someone had decided that Gabe would be a great fall guy. No family nearby, a rep for unprovoked violence. Shoot. Even to himself, he sounded like a good candidate for suspect number one. Except—a question flashed through his mind—who knew about Gabe’s recent past? As far as he knew, only Tripp, if indeed Tripp had followed up on the information Gabe had provided him about his past employment. It had seemed to Gabe that Tripp had let his delight at finding a new investing partner outweigh caution about Gabe’s reasons for the sudden shift of careers.

  Once they settled into camp chairs, Tripp leaned over to slap Gabe on the shoulder. “I don’t know whether to thank you for getting rid of that vermin or to chastise you for reporting his body. What the hell happened?”

  Gabe flinched at Tripp’s crude reference to Everett Poulsen. Maybe he was kidding, as he’d assured Madrone. Still, Gabe would tell Tripp as little as he could. For now, he’d say nothing about finding the petroglyphs. And of course, nothing that Frances had told him. Her secret, not his. “First, don’t thank me for anything. I didn’t kill him. Just stumbled across his body. Reporting it wasn’t a mistake, however. It was the only option. As to how I came to find him, it’s a long story that the sheriff asked me to hold off on sharing until he’s talked to everyone.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I’m your partner and you owe me. Besides, I wasn’t anywhere near here. I’m not a suspect!”

  Gabe crossed his arms and leaned back. “I can tell you about my scavenger hunt.”

  “Darn tootin’ you’ll tell me about that. And everything else.”

  “Come on, Tripp. Don’t make me choose between you and jail time. I didn’t kill Everett, just saw smoke and found him on my way back to HQ.”

  “If you were an employee instead of my partner, I might fire your ass,” Tripp grumbled. “Now help me put up the emergency balloon. The crew should be headed back by now, but they might dawdle if the assignment was too tough. Let’s get ‘em back here ASAP. After all, if it’s some stranger, some crazy, maybe, it’s not safe out there.”

  Together Gabe and Tripp made short work of raising the emergency “return to camp” signal. By the time the sheriff came into sight, the balloon, with vertically striped neon colors—red, yellow, turquoise—floated above the campsite, spinning slowly in the afternoon breezes. It surprised Gabe that the balloon had no logo, because Tripp never missed a marketing opportunity. Guess he never figured he’d have a need to fly it, and decided to save money.

  The sheriff sat down first with Tripp, then with Gabe, then with both of them together. His questions ranged from their new business relationship to their thoughts on their trainees and their feelings about Everett. Meanwhile the sheriff’s crew set up tents. Gabe felt himself falling into a stupor and feared he’d let slip about finding his knife in the fire. Or something about Kate’s biological father.

  He yawned. “I’m beat, fellas. Can we continue this later?”

  The sheriff thumbed through his small notebook. “That’s enough for now. I may have more questions in the next few days. Mr. Chasen, I’m hoping you’ll be able to house the trainees for a few days, but I’d like you and the others to stay here for tonight and then head to Tucson tomorrow.”

  “For a few days, of course,” Tripp agreed, not looking at all agreeable. “But I can’t house my entire staff for God-knows-how-long, at your convenience. We have a tour planned next week, using some of the guides who pass this final training test. Cancelling a tour can kill our business.” He looked at Gabe for support, but Gabe remained silent. He’d leave the political incorrectness to his new partner.

  The sheriff responded in a restrained, calm voice. “Mr. Poulsen lost his life. It might do well to remember that, Mr. Chasen.”

  Tripp remained immune to political correctness. “My roommate can’t handle all those people in our home. She’s delicate.”

  Gabe almost snorted at that. It was hard to imagine Tripp’s live-in girlfriend as delicate.

  The sheriff remained unruffled. “If you’re anxious about having employees free to work next week, I suggest you find ways to cooperate and make it easy for me to interview witnesses. It’ll save us all time.”

  Tripp nodded, his face blank.

  Madrone, who had joined them to offer coffee, volunteered to stay at the casita until everyone came in and then help with catering at Tripp’s home when they all returned to Tucson. Gabe offered to be her assistant here at the casita. After all, she’d be feeding the sheriff and his crew. And what better time to scope out the trainees, see if anyone reacted oddly to the report of Poulsen’s death. Duh. Wouldn’t anyone, innocent or guilty?

  The sheriff touched his Stetson. “Works for me. We’ll be in touch.” He walked toward the camp his crew had set up.

  Madrone urged cobbler on Gabe, who didn’t argue.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: What's the Plan?

  W hen the sheriff strode off, Tripp announced that he’d head into Benson for supplies. “If we’ve got to feed their crew as well as ours, we’ll need more food.”

  “I’ll go inside and make a list,” Madrone said.

  Once Tripp had left with Madrone’s list, Gabe told Madrone, “We have to talk, if we can get a minute alone.”

  “You are so smooth. Your plans for a minute alone include talking?”

  “Part of my charm. What can I do to help with dinner?”

  “Nothing. There’s plenty of time and I’ve got it under control. I figured you wanted to hang out here until all the team got back.”

  “Brilliant deduction, Watson.”

  Frances walked outside, stretching. She headed for Gabe and engulfed him in a hug. “Hi, there, cutie pie. You catch any sleep?”

  “Cutie pie?”

  “I’m still looking for my favorite term of endearment. Thanks for being there for me this morning. A cup of java and I’ll be ready to talk to Sheriff Idle.”

  * * * *

  While Frances was interviewed further by the sheriff, Gabe updated Madrone. He told her about the petroglyphs he’d found, and she agreed it wasn’t the time to tell Tripp. They discussed who might have killed Everett. “It’s hard to make a guess,” Madrone said. She moved to the ice box and took out a huge bunch of carrots. She placed them in front of where Gabe sat and handed him a scraper. “Tempers around here can run hot. People know they’re right and the rest of the world be darned. I’d like to say activists value life too much to take one, but we both know that’s a mirage.”

  “Seems to me, it’s more likely to be someone who’s known Everett for a while. How many of our trainees are from Arizona?”

  “Most of them. Since so many of Tripp’s tours are in the Southwest, he likes to hire locally. By the way, do you plan to expand our territory? I like being close to home.”

  “Not sure, especially given the little issue of murder. So far, the plan is to stay on the course Tripp had and make changes and add tours as we can afford them.”

  She sat down across from him with a cutting board and began peeling and slicing onions.

  Gabe nodded at the onions. “You’re determined to make me cry, woman. Why don’t you want to travel the world?”

  “Family, mostly. Also, it’s expensive and I’m cheap.”

  Gabe absorbed her comment, contrasting her attitude with his family’s. His brothers had likely not noticed he’d moved, and his father wouldn’t be happy until Gabe joined the family business. His mother? A woman who moved to France with her three daughters must not want her sons close. “Back to murder. Someone planned this. It wasn’t a spontaneous outburst of rage. Tell me wh
at you know about the other trainees.”

  “Probably not as much as you do. Just what they’ve shared so far and what Tripp’s told me. Frances and Kate lived in Phoenix before they came here. But I get the feeling Frances knew Everett before, but don’t ask me why. Ben’s from Tucson and his sister lives there, too. Used to own a ranch somewhere near here. Jesse? What’d he tell us in the training sessions? He’s kind of a puzzle, isn’t he? I think he’s from Phoenix, Scottsdale, maybe. Heather Begay’s from Flagstaff. Her parents own a restaurant there. She’s got a degree in environmental studies. And she’s an athlete. I think she met Tripp when he spoke to a class at school.”

  “What about Flicker? Tripp’s roommate? He told the sheriff she was delicate.”

  Madrone snorted. “That woman is as delicate as a cholla. Break off a limb and she’ll sprout another. I don’t like her. I don’t trust her. But she wasn’t here when Everett was killed.”

  “We don’t know that. She could have driven out here and offed him. Although I can’t really see her going after him with my knife.” Gabe finished scraping the carrots. “What do I do with these now?”

  “Chop them crosswise, about a quarter inch thick.” She chuckled at his look of dismay. “About. No need to measure, just guesstimate.” She leaned over to show him, and her hair tickled his face. And smelled like lemons and maybe sage. Yum. “As to Flicker, she might have come out here with Everett to consummate another kind of a deal.” Her tone put quotes around “another.”

  “I thought she was with Tripp,” Gabe said. And immediately felt as naïve as a Mennonite.

  “You’ve heard of opportunivores? Eat whatever’s around? Flicker’s an opportuniwhore. Sleeps with whoever gives the biggest gift.”

  “Whoa. This is not the Madrone I know speaking.”

  “I know. Color me ashamed. Not. Just wait, she’ll come on to you soon enough.”

  Gabe reflected back to their training at Tripp’s home. “She did, sort of. But I was too stupid to realize it.”

  “She’s usually not that subtle.” Madrone sighed. “She brings out the bitch in me. I promise to stifle myself.”

  Gabe laughed. “Promise you won’t. I find her oddly appealing. The bitch in you. Not Flicker.” He paused. “Guess I should be taking notes. What about Poulsen’s wife?”

  “Lorraine? I like her. You know she used to be married to Tripp?”

  “What? That gives both of them a great motive. I’ve got to write all this down. Let me find my notebook.” He went in search of his backpack, thinking how trusting he’d been when he signed the partnership papers with Tripp. The man held way too many secrets, and so, it appeared did a number of the new guides. Here Gabe had thought he was the only one with a past worth hiding.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: The Sleuth's First Venture

  G abe sat in the sun on a folding camp chair making notes on each of the potential suspects in Everett’s murder. The sun’s warmth and the constant drone of the generator that ran the hot air balloon threatened to lull him to sleep. Frances walked by on her way into the casita and reported she’d survived the sheriff’s grilling. Despite her concern about Kate, she told Gabe she’d wait to raise an alarm only if Kate didn’t return with the rest of the trainees.

  “I’m hoping she’ll come in when she sees the balloon, no matter how pissed off with me she is.”

  Gabe agreed with her decision. He wondered if Kate and the other guides would remember to check the sky frequently. He’d forgotten all about that advice in the heat of the scavenger hunt and doubted he was alone. Besides, if someone was in an arroyo or behind a hill, it would be easy to miss sight of the balloon, no matter how big, how bright.

  Gabe jerked awake at the sound of gravel crunching. Heather Begay strode toward him, looking vibrant despite the sweat that streaked her face and soaked her long-sleeved tee. She stopped a few feet in front of him and pulled out the band holding her long, still glossy, black hair in a ponytail. She shook out her hair and ran her fingers through it, fluffing it out. “Hey, Gabe, how’d you get here before me? I wasn’t that far out, and I beat feet to get back.”

  For a second Gabe wondered if Heather was flirting with him. Hair fluffing, intense look. No way, Gabe, old man. She’s the age of your former students. She was a lovely young woman, her skin the tone of a mocha latte, her dark eyes revealing intelligence and curiosity. With a degree from Norther Arizona University in Flagstaff in Environmental and Sustainability Studies, she was a perfect choice as a new guide for Adventure Calls. He hoped she wasn’t a murderer.

  When Heather beat feet, most others fell behind. She’d been a distance runner in high school and college and Gabe had given up trying to stay with her in their training runs. He stood up and offered to take her backpack. “Long story, but I’m sort of the reason the balloon went up.”

  Heather wrinkled her nose but didn’t press. “Whatever. Right now what I want is some of Madrone’s coffee and a real, live shower.”

  Madrone came out of the casita bearing a mug of coffee and a full water glass. “Heard you coming, little one. Caffeine after hydration.” She thrust the glass at Heather.

  Heather obediently drank the water and then snatched the mug from Madrone. “I love you forever, Mama Madrone.”

  Madrone jerked back in mock outrage. “Don’t you call me Mama. I’m not that much older than you.” She gave Gabe a look. He had no idea what the look indicated. She rolled her eyes and continued. “Glad you’re back. Gabe can give you the lowdown.” She grabbed a folding chair from a stack near the door and pulled it to them. “How did your scavenging go? Find all of Tripp’s silly sayings?”

  “Found every one. I thought his quotes were inspiring. Fact is, I was on my way back in when I saw the balloon.” She shrugged. “So I decided to run.”

  Oh, wow, thought Gabe. This one’s a keeper. Belief in inspirational quotes, desire to win. She’d be a dedicated guide, willing to learn and share what she learned. He jerked upright in his camp chair, nearly upending it. He should be asking penetrating, astute questions of each guide as she or he arrived. Employ some incredible sleuthing skills. Lacking a clue as to what those were, he decided to approach this as a research project, something he indeed knew about. “I loved the time alone, time to just ‘be’ with myself and the desert. I can’t imagine this as some upscale subdivision.” Was his approach too subtle? Maybe, but he’d start subtle and then move to direct if necessary.

  A shadow passed over Heather’s face like a cloud over the Wetmore mountains. “This land is sacred,” she said, her face reddening. “Or should be. Someone needs to stop that pretentious developer, Poulsen.”

  Surprise. Somebody did. Gabe hoped his face revealed nothing. “You find a cuckoo? Something else?”

  “Nothing. Saw a lot of roadrunners and coyotes, quite a few javelina, smelled more of them. But nothing to stop the development.”

  Madrone reached over and rubbed Heather’s stiff shoulders. “Someone will. Have faith.”

  “So,” Gabe said. “You met Tripp up in Flag, at school. Ever meet up with Mr. Poulsen before?”

  Heather finished the coffee and stood. “Nope. Not till he came to Tripp’s party on Thursday. Jerk-off tried to sweet-talk me. Tell me he was all about preserving native plants, keeping the Sonoran desert pristine. Like fucking fake adobe mansions are preservation.” She shrugged. “But I know how to behave, unlike Kate. I just listened and smiled and edged away when he tried to invade my space. My parents taught me that the man with the money has the power, at least temporarily. There are better ways to get back at him than in his face.” She huffed out a breath, closed her eyes. “And then Tripp sicced us on him, told us to find a way to stop the bastard. I was never so glad to hear one of Tripp’s long-winded speeches.” She stretched her arms high, bent over and shook them out, touching the earth. “Shower time.”

  Madrone looked up at her. “Got to wait a bit. No hot water. But you’re first in line. Look, are you telling us that Poulsen came on
to you the other night at Tripp’s?”

  Heather looked from Madrone to Gabe. “What’s with all the questions about Everett Poulsen? He complain or something?” Her brows wrinkled. “I didn’t say anything smart-ass to him, even though I wanted to. Creeps like that deserve—”

  “To be castrated,” Madrone said. Once again, Gabe flirted with worry about where Madrone had been when Poulsen died.

  Heather laughed until tears came down her face. “No kidding. Jeez, Madrone, I didn’t expect that from you of all people. You seem like such a perfect pacifist. Always centered.”

  Madrone smiled. “The trick is to let people believe that. Right, Gabe?” She strolled off toward the casita.

  “Right.” He stood. “Poulsen didn’t complain, at least not to me. And if he did, well, he was in the wrong. However, something’s happened and I need to warn you that right after your shower, you’re going to need to talk to the sheriff.”

  Heather’s face froze. “Why? I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m not talking to any cops.” She gazed away from Gabe and focused on the tents now set up atop the hillock that led to the road. “What’s with the tents? They’re planning to stick around?”

  “Of course you didn’t do anything wrong. The sheriff seems like an okay guy, smart and ready to listen.” He paused for a moment. “Is it general principles or do you have a particular reason to avoid the police?” Smooth, Gabe, really smooth.

  Her face still blank, deliberate, Heather backed away a few feet. “Of course not. I’m a private person, and I don’t see any reason to chat with the cops.” After a few moments’ silence, she added, “I’m sure you’re aware that law enforcement tends to jump to conclusions about people of color, whether it is black, brown or red.” She moved closer and put a hand on his arm. “C’mon, Gabe, what’s going down?” She wrinkled her nose. “You look like old hamburger and don’t smell much better.”

  “Thanks for your kind observation. I’m overdue for a shower.” After a moment, he added, “Everett Poulsen didn’t make any friends in our group, it’s true. I shouldn’t tell you this—at least, that’s what the sheriff asked—but Poulsen’s dead.”