Murder, Sonoran Style

by Kathy McIntosh

  Tripp snorted. “If we have any guests after this debacle.” Still, he took a photo of Kate’s drawing with his phone. “Might be able to use this in our advertising,” he muttered.

  Gabe stretched. His calves complained about last night’s abuse, squatting beneath Lorraine’s window. “Everyone check their water supply. We have plenty in the back of the van, and more in the casita. You’ve all got lunch, thanks to Madrone and Heather. Cell service is, as you’re aware, spotty. There’s not too many places out there where cottonwoods grow, and that’s where he’ll be, probably high in the canopy.”

  Ben, who’d been squatting while Ben spoke, began to draw in the dirt. “There are really only two main riverbeds out there. If half of us head this way”— he pointed with the stick —”and the rest head over here, we can split up when we reach the riverbeds.”

  “Good thinking,” Gabe said. “But then, you know this area well.”

  Ben nodded. “Pretty much.”

  From the confusion in their expressions, Heather and Jesse appeared to be the only ones who were unaware that Ben had once lived on this land. No one explained and Gabe concluded that the information was Ben’s to share. However, it made sense to put Ben in charge of this search. “You know more than I do. Your foot okay?” He gestured towards the foot that had been scorpion bitten, now in a boot that Ben had laced looser than normal. At Ben’s nod, he continued. “You head up this hunt.” Belatedly, he checked in with his partner. “Don’t you agree, Tripp?” Wimp out much, Gabe? Take a stand and see where Tripp jumps.

  “Yeah. Go for it, Ben. Bring us back a cuckoo feather.” He paused. “Hypothetical one, I mean. This is not your typical Arizona bird hunt, folks. No killing.”

  Ben disregarded Tripp’s tactless faux pas and merely said, “Like I suggested, half of us,” he indicated Gabe, Jesse, Kate and Heather, “head directly east, and the other half, Tripp, Madrone, Frances and me, will go southeast. See you this afternoon.”

  Frances looked apprehensive at parting with her granddaughter, but Kate, Gabe thought, appeared grateful for a break from Frances’s mothering. Smothering, maybe? He didn’t blame Frances, who’d been distraught when Kate failed to return from their scavenger hunting assignment. He wondered if Ben’s choice to have Frances on his team was an attempt to endear himself to the older woman, maybe convince her he had a few good qualities. Gabe’s inner sleuth was glad to perhaps have time to find out more about Heather and Jesse and their possible motives for offing Everett.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE: Heather's Secret

  A fter they’d hiked about 45 minutes, Kate slowed. Gabe and Heather, not far behind Kate and Jesse, caught up. “This looks familiar to me,” Kate said. “After Grandma—I mean, Frances, dropped the ‘Everett Poulsen’s your birth father’ bomb on me, I took off without thinking where I was going.” She shot Gabe an apologetic look. “Not smart, I know. Never again, boss. I promise. Anyway, after an hour or so, I realized what I’d done and hiked to the top of a rise . . . that one, I think,” she added, indicating a hillock with several agave plants and a lone mesquite tree. “I could be wrong, but if we go to the top, I think we’ll be overlooking the wash Ben spoke of.” She flushed. “It took me a while to orient myself. Then I decided to camp even further from the casita. I was distancing myself from Gramm-Frances and, I guess, from Everett.”

  “Let’s head up there,” Gabe said.

  When they reached the top of the hill, in reality only a geological rise of maybe a hundred feet, they could see that Kate was correct. Beneath them lay a broad, dry wash, studded with blue palo verde trees, many still boasting bright yellow blossoms. Beyond those Gabe thought he saw the lighter green of cottonwoods. And of course tamarisk trees, greedy for the scarce water.

  Gabe positioned himself a few feet ahead of the others. “Heather and I will take the north side, and you, Kate, lead Jesse to his first sighting of a yellow-billed cuckoo. Meet back here in two hours and we’ll join the others.”

  “No way,” Heather said. “You and I are going to find one first. I intend to have these two for dinner.”

  “I hope that’s a metaphor,” Gabe said, chuckling. “You’re a great chef, but I’m not much on cannibalism.”

  “Funny guy,” Heather said. “But I am so ready to see one of those birds. I think I heard one when we were out here before. Just didn’t know what I was hearing.”

  Jesse patted her shoulder. “Grasshopper, there is much you do not understand. But with age, wisdom may come, too.”

  “I keep hoping.” Gabe adjusted his backpack.

  Kate rolled her eyes. “You? I keep hoping Gramm will get some of that much-touted wisdom.” She sighed. “At least she isn’t one of those adults who always tell their kids, ‘you’ll understand when you’re older.’ It’s just that she spent a lot of time sharing, explaining stuff I really didn’t want to know.” After a brief pause, she added, “Except of course the minor fact of my paternity. Heather, if you find the first cuckoo, I’ll do the prep work for you and Madrone. Of course, it ain’t gonna happen.” She grinned and shouldered her pack. “Let’s do it, Jesse, my man.”

  The two headed to the far side of the wash. Heather and Gabe headed straight down the hill, changing into a zig zag pattern when they discovered that the gravel gave way when directly addressed.

  Even though the wash was dry, the temperature dropped once they reached it. The cottonwoods and other trees upped the humidity, decreased the temperature, and provided shade. Their leaves rustled, an underlying rhythm to the humans’ footsteps. Gabe heard no bird calls except the occasional chuckle of a quail. Trying to walk while keeping an eye out for spots of white feathers in the treetops took concentration.

  After a quarter hour of silence, Gabe shortened the distance between them and ventured a question. “How you doing, Heather?”

  “Fine. Don’t forget, I could run this.”

  “I meant my question a little broader. As in, are you, overall, enjoying yourself? Think you’re going to like being an eco-tour guide? Don’t forget this try-out period is a chance for you to decide whether or not you like spending time outdoors, soaking up nature. Seems to me, you prefer helping Madrone with the cooking.”

  She snapped a look at him. “Can’t I like both?”

  “Of course you can. I wasn’t making an accusation, just an observation. Some people who grow up in a restaurant, like you did, can’t wait to escape. You seem to miss it.” Gabe hoped his voice sounded conciliatory, soothing and without judgment.

  “Sorry, Gabe. It’s just that I’m . . . a little touchy about some things. I think my degree in environmental studies combined with my minor in business will stand me in good stead with Adventure Calls.” Her voice was stiff, as if she was on her first interview for the job.

  Back off for now, Gabe. You hit something sensitive. “I’m sure you’re going to be an asset to our team,” he said.

  They returned to their silent walk, now some ten yards separating them. They both started when a roadrunner dashed from under a tamarisk and across the wash. After another ten minutes, Gabe halted and called out, “What’s that?” He pointed to a white spot high in a big cottonwood some twenty yards ahead of them. “Ten o’clock.”

  Heather trotted to his side and peered toward the tree, pulling out her binoculars.

  “Never mind,” Gabe said. “Way too big. I think it’s a hawk. Talk about a false alarm.”

  Heather turned her broad smile to him. “A lot of men would lie rather than admit they’d been mistaken. I think it’s a Cooper’s hawk.”

  “Yeah, must be. Good eye. Think it could be a Gray Hawk?”

  “Maybe. But they’re pretty rare.”

  “At any rate, it’s no cuckoo. I get that designation.”

  She smiled again. “You are as nice as Madrone said. You scared me at first. You seem pretty solemn.”

  “Me? Solemn? I hope not.” He wondered what else Madrone had said about him but refused to ask. It would be totally unprofe
ssional.

  They walked again, this time closer together. Heather cleared her throat. “Look, Gabe, I’m sorry I over-reacted to your question about cooking and the restaurant. You’re right. I loved it. I hated to leave. But I had to.”

  “Family problems?” he asked. “I know my dad wanted me to join the family’s construction company and he’s never completely accepted my refusal.”

  “Not that way, really. I mean, my parents want me to do whatever makes me happiest and they think that’s why I left. But . . . it was more complicated.”

  “I see,” Gabe said, in a way that meant he saw absolutely nothing but wasn’t going to pry. “We can try to get you involved in the tours that need some cooking skills. If that would help.”

  She smiled. “Thanks. What I need is an assignment that will help me grow a pair.”

  Gabe stopped, squinted down at her. What the hell was she saying? “Huh?”

  “I need a backbone. I can run like the wind, I can identify a hawk and—I hope—find a cuckoo, I can balance a budget, I can survive in the desert, but I can’t bring myself to tell my parents and the cops that my uncle molested me.” Her voice quieted at the end of her long confession, so much that Gabe bent close to hear her words. When he did, he backed a step away. “And he’s a partner in the restaurant and I’m afraid of him. Afraid they’ll believe him, not me.”

  Ah, geez. Why hadn’t Heather chosen Madrone to confide this to? What the hell could he say? Gabe swallowed. “That is one heavy load to carry.”

  “Yeah. Which is why when Poulsen came onto me at the ‘launch party,’ I may have overreacted.”

  “Umm, I don’t seem to recall that. Maybe I was out of the room?”

  Heather snickered. Gabe wasn’t sure he’d heard anyone snicker before but the sound came out somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “Maybe because you were busy gazing like a lonely bull at Madrone.”

  Gabe felt his face warm and hoped like heck the tan he’d gained since his arrival in Arizona covered the blush. Was he that obvious? “I’m thinking that watching out for my employees is a lot more important than my scoring points with one of them. I apologize. Heather, you could have come to me. Not that you can’t handle these things, but—”

  “I think you may be one of the good guys, Gabe. Tripp might have laughed at me, told me I was crazy. In fact, that’s about what he said.”

  Gabe stopped. “Okay. Tell me about this. As much, or as little, as you want to share. But the partnership with me and Tripp is new and I’m just learning about some of his biases.”

  “Not a lot to tell. Sometime after Tripp’s introduction and Kate yelling at him, you remember we all ‘circulated,’ per Tripp’s suggestion. I was standing at the food table, and that man came up behind me and grabbed my ass. I stepped backward and stomped on his tennis shoe. Hard. Elbowed him in the gut, too.” She paused. “Not sure he ate much after that. He seemed upset.” She smiled.

  “He grabbed your . . . butt?” Gabe felt sick. “And Tripp brushed it off?”

  “Tripp was on the other side of the table. Said something like, ‘Well, between Kate and Heather, here, I’m afraid we’re not giving you a warm welcome, Everett.’ And then he chuckled. He must have seen the whole thing. Maybe he said something to him later, but I got the feeling he thought I overreacted.”

  Gabe grabbed his water bottle and took several swallows, all obvious stalling techniques, but he needed them. “Tripp is always courting investors, big spenders. Not to excuse him, maybe to explain him. Maybe he spoke to Everett privately later. Whatever. I’ll be sure to discuss his reaction. We need to always be on the side of our employees. I have a feeling you may get similar approaches from some patrons.” He paused. Thought. “In fact, I think we need to arrange a training session on that topic ASAP. I’ll get on it when we’re back in Tucson.”

  “Make sure it’s for women and men.”

  “Will do. Now let’s find a cuckoo.” And if no one in their group did? Would Gabe report his finding of the petroglyphs? He didn’t know. Under his breath he muttered, “Here, cuckoo, here, cuckoo.”

  Another quarter hour passed. Gabe sank into a sort of daze, listening for the sound of birds in the canopy, trying to walk without making a lot of noise, wondering how many people Everett Poulsen had enraged—his wife for his coming on to other women? Possibly. Tripp—for taking Lorraine away while they were married? Ben? Had he been nursing a grudge about Poulsen buying the family land? Banking the fires of his rage for years? Maybe he thought with Everett out of the way, his wife would sell Ben the land.

  Engrossed in his musings, Gabe didn’t notice Heather striding next to him until she touched his arm. He leapt sideways as if she were a striking snake. Heather covered her mouth but her eyes laughed up at him. “Listen,” she said in a soft voice. “Is that a cuckoo?”

  They stood where they were and strained to hear. Gabe grabbed his phone and pressed record, but doubted the faint chirruping song they heard would be captured clearly. He shook his head. “Could be, could also be a jay or a mockingbird imitating a cuckoo. But let’s make a note of where we are.”

  They checked their GPS and made notes then proceeded onward for another quarter hour. “Time to turn back,” Gabe announced. They marked how far they’d gone and crossed down into the wash to gain a different view as they headed back to meet up with the rest of the crew.

  They’d not gone far when Heather spoke. “I didn’t kill Everett Poulsen. But the sheriff may think I did. I told him what happened Thursday night. I’d intended to stay quiet, hope no one else mentioned it, but the man just brings words out of people.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean about Sheriff Idle. He’s quiet and you want to fill the dead air or something. But he’s also smart. If every woman whose ass got pinched killed the harasser, the population of southern Arizona would drop sharply.”

  “And wouldn’t it be a nicer place.”

  Gabe chuckled. “I am so keeping my hands in my pockets from now on. But seriously, you didn’t have to tell me that. I don’t think you’re the killing type. Except for your killer desserts.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  When they met up with Kate and Jesse, they learned Kate had found the spot where she’d seen the cuckoo, but they’d come up with nil-no bird, no nest, not even a feather.

  “Which is why I never leave home without one of these.” Jesse extracted a small camera from his daypack and held it aloft.

  “Not all of us are swimming in money like you,” Heather said. “Of course, if you’re at risk of drowning, I could help you drain the swamp.”

  Jesse shot her a pained look. “No need. My sister gave me the camera to celebrate being clean for a year. So I guess you could say it cost me a lot.”

  “Sorry,” Heather muttered. “Open mouth, insert foot.”

  Jesse smiled his forgiveness.

  “Adventure Calls should spring for them for all of us. You could get a group discount.” Kate looked eagerly at Gabe.

  “We could take photos of the guests and offer them albums after the trip,” Jesse added.

  Gabe straightened his back and shifted his pack. “We may not have found a cuckoo today, but we’ve come up with some great marketing ideas. Heather and I were considering having her teach camp cooking classes.” If only everything didn’t require an investment. Where the hell will we find the money? As if she were beside him, Gabe heard Madrone’s calm voice saying, “One step at a time.” He forced himself to take some deep breaths. “Ready to head back to the starting gates?”

  They struck out four abreast until the terrain forced them into a single file.

  When they met up with Ben, Madrone, Tripp and Frances, Tripp’s dour expression told Gabe they, too, had no luck finding a bird. His partner could borrow some maturity from his younger employees. Gabe shared the recording they’d made, which was mostly garbled noises. Maybe it and Kate’s reported sighting would be enough to spark an Arizona Game and Fish survey
or get Defenders of Wildlife interested.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR: Gabe Meets the Plant Lady

  B en’s sister had agreed to chat with Gabe briefly and suggested they meet at her place of business. As he drove across Tucson to meet Patricia Burtoff, Gabe began to believe those who’d warned him about commuting in Tucson. The city had no freeways except for Highway 10, which skirted it on the west and south. Highway 19 headed to Mexico from the southern outskirts of town. Other than that, drivers used the few major cross streets to make their way around town. Busy, with numerous cross streets and signals, they offered few shortcuts.

  His destination today was on the far western fringes of town, a cactus nursery that at one time probably lay miles from most residences. He took River Road, a road that skirted Tucson’s Rillito River as it meandered its way from east to west. The river ran dry most of the year, except during monsoon season, when water gushed through it.

  He followed the signs to Bach’s Greenhouse Cactus Nursery once he reached Thornydale Road. He turned onto the dirt road and followed more signs to retail shopping. He parked and entered the main greenhouse. A woman wearing shorts, a long-sleeved shirt and a tired Tilley hat that looked to be in its mid-forties like its bearer, stood at the register. She smiled. “How may I help you today?”

  “I’m meeting Patricia Burtoff.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Patsy doesn’t come in until eleven. Maybe there’s something I can do?”

  “She knows I’ll be here. Said she’d meet me before work. It’s . . . not about cactus.”

  That eyebrow rose again. “Pity. Cactus are always so simple to deal with. Feel free to wander. I’ll let her know you’re here.” She returned to her task.

  Since the day remained relatively cool, Gabe opted to wait outside. Dozens of pots, many in the shape of animals, most in Talavera patterns of brilliant reds, oranges, yellows, and blues, were arranged to greet shoppers as they parked and walked toward the greenhouses and the cactus plants.