PERIL BY PONYTAIL
A BAD HAIR DAY MYSTERY
PERIL BY PONYTAIL
NANCY J. COHEN
FIVE STAR
A part of Gale, Cengage Learning
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Copyright © 2015 by Nancy J. Cohen
Five Star™ Publishing, a part of Cengage Learning, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
No part of this work covered by the copyright herein may be reproduced, transmitted, stored, or used in any form or by any means graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including but not limited to photocopying, recording, scanning, digitizing, taping, Web distribution, information networks, or information storage and retrieval systems, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
The publisher bears no responsibility for the quality of information provided through author or third-party Web sites and does not have any control over, nor assume any responsibility for, information contained in these sites. Providing these sites should not be construed as an endorsement or approval by the publisher of these organizations or of the positions they may take on various issues.
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Cohen, Nancy J., 1948–
Peril by ponytail : a bad hair day mystery / Nancy J. Cohen. — First edition.
pages ; cm. — (Bad hair day mysteries)
ISBN 978-1-4328-3098-4 (hardcover) — ISBN 1-4328-3098-8 (hardcover) — ISBN 978-1-4328-3092-2 (ebook) — ISBN 1-4328-3092-9 (ebook)
eISBN-13: 978-1-4328-3092-2 eISBN-10: 1-4328-3092-9
1. Shore, Marla (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Women detectives—Florida—Fiction. 3. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. 4. Beauty operators—Fiction. 5. Family secrets—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3553.O4258P45 2015
813'.54—dc23 2015008357
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First Edition. First Printing: September 2015
This title is available as an e-book.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4328-3092-2 ISBN-10: 1-4328-3092-9
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Contact Five Star™ Publishing at [email protected]
Printed in the United States of America
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 19 18 17 16 15
I dedicate this book with gratitude and love to my cousin, Janice Sklar, a resident of Arizona and my source of inspiration and knowledge for this story. Many thanks for your personal tour of the region and for your gracious hospitality. This book is a direct result of your encouragement, suggestions, and advice.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
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To the staff at Tanque Verde Ranch (http://tanqueverderanch.com), many thanks for taking the time from your busy schedules to answer my numerous questions: Jim Bankson, General Manager; Andrew Fine, Manager; Jonathan Johnson, Wrangler; Lisa the Bartender; Rick the Naturalist; and Troy from Maintenance. This book wouldn’t have been possible without your input and generous information.
Another book in the Bad Hair Day series can’t go by without thanking Five Star’s dedicated staff—Senior Editor Deni Dietz for her expert guidance and insights, publicist extraordinaire Tiffany Schofield for her enthusiastic support, my creative cover designer, and the rest of the Five Star personnel who work so hard to deliver our books to readers.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
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Alberto Gomez —Construction supervisor at the Craggy Peak ghost town project.
Annie Campbell —Wayne’s younger sister and a registered dietitian.
Carol Campbell —Wayne’s wife and the ranch’s financial manager.
Christine Reardon —Annie’s teenage client and Tate’s daughter.
Dalton Vail —Marla’s husband and a homicide detective from Palm Haven, Florida.
Eleanor Reardon —Tate Reardon’s wife.
Eduardo Rivera —Missing ghost town worker.
Garrett Long —A forest ranger.
Hugh Donovan —Owner of Dead Gulch Ranch and a widower. His sons are Ben and Jake.
Jesse Parker —A wrangler on Last Trail Dude Ranch.
Juanita Martinez —A housekeeper on Last Trail Dude Ranch.
Kevin Franks —A wrangler on Last Trail Dude Ranch.
Luke Beresby —Sheriff.
Marla Vail —Dalton’s wife is a hairstylist and salon owner in Palm Haven, Florida.
Matthew Brigham —An environmental engineer and inspector.
Otto Lovelace —Owner of Arizona Mountain High bottled water company.
Raymond Campbell —Owner of the Last Trail Ranch and Craggy Peak ghost town.
Sherry Long —Garrett’s wife.
Tate Reardon —Manager for the water bottling plant.
Wayne Campbell —Dalton’s cousin and general manager of Last Trail Dude Ranch.
CHAPTER ONE
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“How can everyone be dead?” Marla Vail asked from the rear seat of the car. Weary after a four and a half-hour flight from Fort Lauderdale to Phoenix, she leaned against her husband Dalton’s broad shoulder. Except for the driver, they were the only passengers in the battered Jeep Cherokee.
“I’m just kidding. Craggy Peak is a ghost town,” Carol Campbell explained, her hands on the steering wheel as she navigated through airport traffic. “Most of the people who lived there in the heyday of the copper mine are long gone. Wayne’s dad plans to turn the place into a tourist attraction. I’d hate to see him fail when he’s pouring so much money into it.”
Wayne was Dalton’s cousin who’d invited them to stay on his dude ranch for their belated honeymoon. Although she’d met her husband’s family at their wedding, Marla didn’t remember much about them. She had recalled Carol was a lithe blonde with a perennial tan, and Wayne had a ruggedly handsome face as befit a born and bred rancher.
“So Uncle Ray is renovating this former mining camp?” Dalton asked.
“That’s right. We can use the revenue to supplement our income from the ranch. The resort is open year-round, but it gets quiet in the summer. With the heat, people head for cooler climates. An additional influx of tourist dollars would raise our bottom line. In case you’re wondering, I work as the ranch’s financial manager.”
Half listening, Marla tickled her way up Dalton’s arm. He smiled at her in that special way he had just for her. She hoped they’d have enough privacy at the ranch.
When Dalton’s cousin had offered them a suite at his resort, her husband had leapt at the chance. He’d accepted before informing her. Not wishing to rock the boat after ten months of marriage, she’d bitten her tongue and feigned joy at the prospect. But if he had bothered to ask her first, she would have chosen to spend their romantic getaway in the tropics. Paradise to her meant a lounge chair on the beach and a tall rum drink.
Her brows lifted in surprise as she glanced out the window. The desert had more vegetation than she’d thought. Although the reddish-brown dirt lacked grass, plenty of shrubs and low-lying trees dotted the landscape, along with a variety of cacti. Arizona had another good thing going for it. The highway was in top condition—smooth paving with artistic designs embedded into the walls and bridges. Those creative displays alone impressed her at how well the state maintained its property.
“Who owns the ghost town?”
Dalton’s question jolted her attention back to the conversation.
She tilted her head to listen more carefully.
“Raymond owns title to the land and the buildings, same as he does for our resort. He’s lucky most of the structures are still standing.” Carol glanced at them in the rearview mirror. “I love his idea, but he may have taken on more than he can handle. The site is having problems lately, and I can’t help wondering if they’re related to the incidents on our ranch.”
“What do you mean?” Marla asked, curious to learn more about her relatives by marriage. This being a second time around for both her and Dalton, Marla had vowed to get more involved in his family. Taking on the job of stepmother to his teenaged daughter, Brianna, had been the first step. Already she missed the girl, who had stayed home under the care of Marla’s in-laws.
“Bad things have been happening lately. We’ve had a fire in the kitchen. Someone opened the corral gate and let the horses out. Car tires have been slashed. Then this morning, a water heater sprang a leak and flooded the dining room. That’s why Wayne couldn’t come to the airport. He’s supervising the cleanup.”
Marla elbowed her husband. “Did you know about these problems?”
His sheepish grin gave her the answer. “Wayne mentioned them when we spoke on the phone.”
“I see.” She gritted her teeth, suddenly aware of why they were taking a honeymoon in the desert. Not only had Dalton’s cousin offered them a free stay, but likely he’d asked for her detective husband’s help in catching the culprit. Maybe someone with a grudge was at the root of their problems. “Has Raymond owned the Last Trail Dude Ranch for a long time?”
Carol waited to reply until she’d changed course on the highway. They had a substantial ride to reach the resort, nestled in the mountains a distance away.
“Raymond inherited the property from his father. The original purchase dates back to 1870, when a Mexican landowner purchased the site. After he died, an Easterner took it over and invited his friends to stay on the ranch. This guy extended the business into a resort. Raymond’s dad purchased the property from him in the fifties and expanded the facilities. When he died in ’99, Raymond assumed the reins.”
“How many staff members do you have?” Marla had looked up their site online. The place appeared to be large enough to require a map to navigate.
“We’ve a hundred and twenty employees. Wayne will introduce you around. You’ll have plenty to do if you want to participate in the activities, or you can simply hang out and relax.”
Dalton took Marla’s hand and gave it a squeeze. The look in his eyes told her what he planned to do in their spare time. Her heart fluttered. Even though this might not be her ideal vacation spot, being with her husband was what mattered.
She’d have a discussion with him later about his presumptive decision making.
Settling back in her seat, she watched the desert landscape zoom past. Most noteworthy were the tall, branched stalks stretching toward the sky.
“What are those cacti called?” she asked, still unused to the dry earth and lack of grass.
“Those are our saguaro.” Carol pronounced it sa-wa-ro. “They grow as a single stalk for up to seventy-five years before branching out. The plant can reach sixty feet in height and may live as long as two hundred years. It’s native to our Sonoran desert, and its white blossom is our state flower. They only thrive up to thirty-five hundred feet in elevation, though. Our ranch sits at twenty-eight hundred, so you’ll see plenty of them.”
Marla’s ears popped, telling her they were climbing. While Dalton conversed with Carol, she sagged against the seat cushion. She must have dozed off, because when she opened her eyes, they were navigating the hills. Magnificent vistas opened before them as the road dipped and curved, the pink mountainsides dotted with greenery. Boulders piled by the roadside.
Marla eyed the towering rocks with trepidation. She hoped they didn’t have landslides here. This terrain was so foreign compared to flat Florida.
At the base of another hill, they finally turned down a dusty road toward the ranch, passing several horse corrals and a flower farm along the way.
“Look, there’s two deer!” She nearly jumped out of her seat in excitement.
“Actually, those might have been elk,” Carol said as they sped past. “We spot more of them than deer around here.”
A sign for the Last Trail Dude Ranch came into view. Carol entered a private driveway that led to the main lobby. This building stood apart from the others. Single-story pink adobe structures dotted the property. Flowering plants and attractive shrubbery provided splashes of color against paved walkways.
Carol pulled into an empty space and shut off the ignition. “What’s the sheriff doing here? It’s Sunday. He should be home relaxing.” She shoved her door open and exited.
Marla had noted the labeled black SUV parked in the main lot. So had Dalton, judging from his springy step as he emerged from the rear seat. He reminded her of a hound who’d just picked up a scent, especially when she sniffed a distinctive aroma in the air.
Outside, her gaze zeroed in on the animals milling inside a fenced corral. “Look, horses!”
“We are at a dude ranch,” Dalton said with a grin.
“Yes, but I didn’t realize they’d be so many different colors.”
“They’re beautiful creatures. I would have liked to visit here when I was younger, but Mom rarely spoke about Uncle Ray. I knew little about him and his family until we researched them for our wedding.” He lowered his voice so Carol wouldn’t overhear his last remarks.
Carol popped the trunk, and Dalton lifted out their luggage. He set their bags on the pavement until they got their room assignment.
“I’d better see what’s going on.” Carol cast a worried glance at the sheriff’s car.
“Maybe Wayne is reporting the latest incident to him,” Dalton suggested. “Is there evidence the leak was anything other than wear and tear on the water heater?”
“I have no idea. Either way, Wayne hasn’t told any of our problems to Sheriff Beresby before now. He likes to keep things in the family.”
“That’s why he invited you, isn’t it?” Marla said, poking her husband.
“He invited us to stay here and enjoy the facilities. Let’s see what this is all about.”
They followed Carol up the front steps and into the building. A fragrant floral scent pervaded the spacious lobby. It came from a bouquet of fresh flowers set on a central round table. Marla observed the western décor with a sense of pleasure she hadn’t expected. Dark brown leather couches in an L-shape faced a huge stone fireplace, while carved wood tables and accent pieces enhanced the space. Indian art, metal sculptures of cowboys and horses, and other knickknacks added to the theme. The tied-back drapes had a bright southwestern design that matched the colors in a large area rug.
An attractive redhead at the front desk glanced up at their approach. “Carol, I see you’ve brought our guests. How was the drive?”
“Not bad. Marla and Dalton Vail, meet Janice Sklar. Jan is Director of Reservations.”
Janice flashed them a smile. “I expect you’ll want your room keys. You have Hacienda Number Seventy-Five. Here’s a map.” She circled a few buildings and offered a quick review of their room location and other highlights. “Do you need help with your luggage?”
“I’ll get it, thanks.” Dalton stepped up to the counter to complete the formalities. That included the key to a loaner car from Wayne.
“What’s happening, Jan? Why is the sheriff here?” Carol asked.
The fortyish lady thumbed her finger at an inner door. “Ask your husband, hon.”
“This way,” Carol told her guests. She led them through a door marked Private.
They entered a long corridor with offices on either side. Marla spied a conference room, sales department, catering office, and a collection of computer equipment.
“Here’s where I work.” Carol indicated an office marked Accounting. “And next door is Wayne’s place.” She led them to a corner s
uite from where male voices emanated.
Two men stood as they entered. Marla recognized the tall man behind the desk. While Dalton’s ebony hair was peppered with silver, Wayne’s dark brown head hadn’t changed. She couldn’t recall how many years younger Wayne was from Dalton’s forty-five. He was even more imposing than she remembered with his square jaw and massive shoulders. Seeing him in the context of the ranch, she knew how he’d gotten his name.
Move over, John Wayne. Your replacement is here.
“Dalton, it’s great to see you. Marla, what a pleasure.”
Wayne circled his desk to greet them personally. They exchanged embraces before Wayne formally introduced Sheriff Beresby.
“Luke, this is my cousin, Dalton Vail, and his wife, Marla. Dalton, I’d like you to meet Sheriff Luke Beresby. I’ve been telling him how you’re a top-notch homicide detective back home.”
The men shook hands. The sheriff’s somber face was lined with ridges like a dry riverbed. He had a thatch of gray hair and a droopy mustache. From his paunch and general features, Marla estimated his age to be in the mid-fifties.
“Wayne has high praise for you.” The sheriff’s keen gaze scrutinized Dalton.
“He’s been known to exaggerate,” Dalton said with a grin.
Marla stood by, feeling as though she’d suddenly entered a men’s club. The leather furnishings, bookshelves full of bound hardcovers, and paintings of Indian battle scenes on the walls added to the ambiance.
“What’s going on?” Carol asked, glancing between her husband and the sheriff.
Wayne clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Luke came to tell us that Garrett Long is dead.”
Carol gasped and jerked away. “What? How?”
“He was found by a couple of hikers on the Snakehead Trail,” Beresby replied. “Looks like he took a tumble off a hillside, although I’ve yet to determine what he was doing out on that ledge by himself. Garrett Long was a ranger with the national forest service,” he explained to Marla and Dalton.
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