Peril by Ponytail (A Bad Hair Day Mystery)

by Nancy J. Cohen

  As she moved into the living room where a patterned rug covered a polished wood floor, she noted other antique pieces scattered around. A synchronized ticking sounded in her ears.

  “I like your clock collection,” she said to Otto when he returned, a set of keys jangling in his hand. She wondered if he lived alone. Being unmarried, he might still have companionship. But no other sounds reached her ears except for the incessant tick-tocks.

  A furry white cat with slanted eyes slinked from behind a couch and leaped onto the cushion. It settled down with a purr of contentment. Marla glanced at it warily, being more of a dog lover. A pang of affection hit her for Spooks and Lucky, her poodle and golden retriever.

  “My father was a watch maker in Germany.” Otto’s eyes gleamed. “I remember the smell and sounds of his shop as though it were yesterday. He instilled in me a love for fine timepieces. Their precision is unmatched. Young people today don’t appreciate the artistry involved. They rely on digital devices to tell time.” He glanced at his pocket watch and frowned. “We must move on, or we’ll get off-schedule. It’s important to structure your time, you know. Otherwise, you waste away your life in meaningless activities. Even if you are late for one minute, this is one moment closer to your death.”

  My, aren’t you cheerful.

  “I imagine your work schedule got shot to pieces when Tate Reardon died,” Dalton mused as they trailed their host through a hallway toward the garage entrance.

  “Poor man. Carbon monoxide can be such a hazard. I don’t understand why he didn’t replace the batteries in his smoke alarms.”

  “It’s fortunate his wife and daughter weren’t home.”

  “Indeed. I spoke to the police extensively about the fellow. He’d been a good employee, always on time. It’ll be hard to find a replacement.”

  You don’t sound too sorry, pal. You’re more upset by the disruption to your schedule.

  She kept silent as they climbed into his Mercedes. The drive up the mountain took less than fifteen minutes. They approached a barbed fence with a gate and two guards carrying rifles. As soon as they recognized Otto, they opened the gate and waved him through.

  A complex of buildings rose ahead, stark white against the azure sky. From the far building rose the plume visible from the town in the valley below.

  “Are you sure that’s steam? It looks thicker from here,” Marla said from the back seat.

  “We run a clean operation, Mrs. Vail. We’re dedicated to preserving the environment to the best extent possible. Our facility exceeds government requirements.”

  “Are all inspections conducted by Matthew Brigham?” Dalton asked in an idle tone.

  “Yes, he does a thorough assessment several times a year.”

  “Who’s running the show since Tate Reardon’s death?”

  “One of our section heads. We have an executive search going on for a new manager.” Otto pulled into a reserved space in the employee lot behind the first building. “It’s not easy finding a replacement. Our general manager has to understand and agree to follow our exceptional standards.”

  Noise hit Marla’s ears as soon as they entered the structure. Whirling machinery, rattling conveyor belts, and stamping mechanisms made her head spin. So did a thumping vibration that shook her bones.

  “Where do you get the water?” she asked, impressed by the speeding rows of plastic bottles and the enormity of the place. “Don’t you lease a certain amount from the city?” Disappointed that they hadn’t seen the brook gushing down the mountain, Marla couldn’t imagine how it ended up here.

  “The stream is about three miles from our location. We tap the source through stainless steel underground piping. Our share is less than ten percent of the total flow.”

  “So you don’t use groundwater like the cities?”

  Otto glared at her like a teacher to a recalcitrant student. “We have no need to obtain water from an Artesian aquifer when we have a fresh mountain stream.”

  “Conditions at the Donovan ranch and other properties downstream have gone dry. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” Dalton shot him a sideways glance.

  Otto tugged on his ear. “Of course not. Drought is always a danger in the west. It can have many causes. At any rate, the town holds senior water rights to the source, and they’ve granted us a lease. We take our allotted amount and not an ounce more.”

  He signaled for them to accompany him down a long hallway lined with wide glass windows. Employees gave him deferential greetings along the way. He nodded to them like a beneficent ruler.

  “How many people work here?” Marla couldn’t begin to guess.

  “Two hundred and fifty.” Otto made an expansive gesture. “We offer generous benefits. I believe in treating our workers as we would our customers—with courtesy, respect, and outstanding service.”

  His speech sounded like a commercial. They needed to rock his foundations.

  “What’s causing that deep vibration and those pounding noises?” Marla asked. It was hard to hear the background thumps over the roar of the machinery.

  “That’s from our subsidiary operation next door. We make carbonated drinks and flavored waters. We’re a diverse company, Mrs. Vail, like many of the better known beverage companies that are household names.”

  He stopped before one window. “When the water first enters our facility, it goes through several purification processes. Particulate and micron filtration remove any sediment or suspended particles. Our product ends up a lot purer than municipal sources that remove mineral content through reverse osmosis. Then we hit it with ultraviolet light as an extra measure.”

  “What goes on in there?” Marla pointed to a microbiological laboratory where workers wore white lab coats and paper caps on their heads as they peered into microscopes.

  “That’s where we test the water. We have ten different production lines, and each one is tested two hundred times per day. That’s sixty times more than your municipal water.”

  He guided them to another window. “See that piece of plastic the size of your thumb? It blows up to become a bottle.”

  Marla watched in fascination as the newly minted plastic bottles slid overhead to an elevated track where they entered a spinning machine. There looked to be a whole row of gleaming stainless steel carousels whirling throughout the cavernous space.

  “Twelve hundred bottles are filled and capped every minute.” Otto’s chest puffed with pride. “Note those giant spools twirling around. They hold the labels, which are snipped off and slapped on the bottles as they pass by. Then we have lasers check for defects, like crooked caps or bottles that aren’t filled all the way.”

  Marla’s gaze followed the rows of bottles moving along a conveyor belt toward wrapper machines, where groups of twenty-four bottles each were packaged by a mechanical arm. It surrounded the cluster with a wrapper that shrank tight. She noticed the labels on the wrapped parcels obscured their bottoms.

  Further along, the packages were stacked high onto wooden shipping pallets. The pallets slid down a roller into a gazebo-type structure. There a rotating head wrapped the tower in a plastic wrapper to prepare it for shipping.

  “Fifteen hundred bottles fit inside one of those pallets,” Otto said, pointing to where men driving forklifts drove back and forth moving the weighty bundles.

  “I’m impressed,” Dalton acknowledged. “But if things are so environmentally sound, why are you afraid of terrorists? Isn’t that why you post armed guards around your perimeter?”

  Otto gave him a dark glance. “Follow me into my office. It’s quieter inside.”

  The neat space must have been sound-proofed, because Marla could hear much better in there. However, it didn’t lessen the teeth-rattling thumps that shook the building. What could be happening in the adjacent structures to be causing that vibration?

  Then again, was it coming from next door or from underneath them? Could that be the piping containing the gushing water?

&
nbsp; Once they’d been seated, Otto straightened a clock on his desk. “So tell me, what is the real purpose of your visit here today?”

  “You invited us,” Marla reminded him. “I like to visit places where we can see how things work. It’s more interesting than the standard tourist attractions and gives you a flavor for the area. Plus it’ll give me a new topic for my blog.”

  “I sense your husband is after more than a guided tour.”

  “What do you know about the E.F.A. member Kevin Franks?” Dalton asked, his manner deceptively casual but his eyes eagle sharp.

  “I’m not familiar with the man.” Otto tugged on his ear lobe. “Is he active in the area? The Environmental Freedom Alliance is a genuine concern. They’ve attacked places like ours despite assurances that we’re doing our best to preserve the environment. They see us in concordance with the government, which puts us on their blacklist. I’d want to know if one of their operatives lived close by.”

  “Franks works on the dude ranch where we’re staying. We’ve experienced acts of sabotage there and at the ghost town my uncle is renovating. What’s curious to me is how Uncle Ray and other homesteaders on the mountain have had offers to buy their property. I’m wondering if the potential buyer is causing these incidents.”

  “Is that so?” Otto’s eyes narrowed into two tight beams. “I find this interesting, Mr. Vail, but I don’t see how it’s my concern.”

  “My wife saw Franks in discussion with Matthew Brigham. Wouldn’t you want to know why your plant inspector and a known E.F.A. member were meeting together?”

  “It could have nothing to do with my affairs.” Otto withdrew his pocket watch and gave an exclamation of dismay. “I’m afraid I shall have to cut our time short.” He stood, and they followed suit. “Come along, I’ll drive you back to the house. I mustn’t get a moment off schedule. That’s the only way to get things done, you know. It’s all about precision.”

  Marla mulled over his words once she and Dalton were on their way back to the ranch. “There’s something smarmy about that man. You’d think Otto would be more curious about Kevin Franks. I’m sure he didn’t tell us the whole megillah. And did you notice how many times he tugged on his ear? That’s one of your ‘tells,’ isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I picked up on that. He’s lying about something.” Dalton focused forward during the drive down the mountain. “Did you feel that vibration inside his facility? I doubt it’s coming from a simple subsidiary operation next door.”

  “It could originate below ground.”

  “You may be right. We should return to the mines and investigate further.”

  “Or not? Maybe we should forget about this stuff and enjoy the last few days on the ranch. I didn’t even get to sit by the pool.”

  “You can do that at home. The threat to Uncle Ray’s property won’t go away unless we expose whoever is behind it. They’re my family, Marla. I can’t abandon them.”

  “Well then, we should all get together again and compare notes. I’ll call Carol and ask her when she and Wayne can meet us along with Uncle Ray and Annie. We could offer to treat everyone to dinner at a restaurant in town for a change.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  They were just turning in to the dude ranch when Dalton’s phone rang. Since he was busy driving, Marla answered.

  “Luke Beresby here. I have some news. Kevin Franks has been found dead.”

  “What?” Her heart skipped a beat. “I don’t believe it. How did that happen?”

  “Here’s the address if you can come by. I’d like Detective Vail to take a look.”

  “Of course.” Marla grabbed a pen and paper from her purse and scribbled down the info. When she’d hung up, she told Dalton the latest development.

  “Franks is dead? That’s incredible.” He made a U-turn and headed in the direction she indicated.

  “I know. What do you think this means?”

  “We’ll have to wait and see. How did he die?”

  “The sheriff didn’t say.”

  “Damn, there goes our best lead.”

  They zoomed through town to a seedier section and an apartment where sheriff department’s vehicles were parked amid flashing lights and yellow police tape. People were coming and going from an open door while bystanders gawked.

  Beresby greeted them upon arrival. “Here, you’ll need these,” he said, giving Dalton the standard gear to wear for a crime scene inspection. “Ma’am, you’ll have to wait outside.”

  “That’s fine with me.” She had no wish to view the gory scene. How had the man been killed? Or had he died from natural causes? Maybe the neighbors would know.

  Passing an open apartment that smelled like laundry detergent, Marla wandered toward a woman who’d wrapped her head in old-fashioned curlers. Working at the salon would seem like a balm after this holiday. Her gaze swept past the parking lot to the dry earth beyond and its sporadic plant life. Enough of the desert already. She yearned for the lush tropical landscape of South Florida and her daily routine.

  “Hi, can you tell me what’s going on?” she said to the middle-aged woman who wore a rumpled top and faded jeans.

  “They say Mr. Franks is dead. Nobody heard any shots or other suspicious sounds coming from his place. Maybe his heart gave out, although he was fairly young.”

  “I think it may have been his allergies,” said a young man with a pockmarked face who’d sauntered over. “Whenever we had a block party, he steered clear of foods with peanuts.”

  “Really?” Marla glanced with interest at the victim’s door. Could that be the case? He’d been alone and eaten something tainted? But if he had a known allergy, he’d have kept epinephrine at hand. Maybe he couldn’t get to it in time. What an awful way to go.

  Dalton stayed inside for an inordinately long period. Marla chatted up the other neighbors but didn’t learn much of value, except Franks didn’t appear to have a girlfriend and kept to himself most of the time. He seemed amiable enough when he encountered anyone.

  Finally, Dalton emerged and signaled her over, his face grim. “You won’t believe what’s inside. Franks had a whole wall with photos pinned up.”

  “Photos? What do you mean?” Clutching her purse under one arm, she accompanied him toward their car.

  “It’s E.F.A. stuff. He’s got pictures of the ghost town and the ranch as well as the bottling plant, maps of the buildings, a journal where he’s ranted at length about his beliefs. He had photos of us, too, plus Wayne and Carol and Uncle Ray.”

  A shudder gripped her. “How did Franks die?”

  “The coroner believes he may have gone into anaphylactic shock. He was lying on the bathroom floor, an epi-pen in his hand. We’ll know more after the autopsy.”

  “Why did the sheriff summon you here? To confirm his observations?”

  Dalton nodded, his jaw resolute. “His techs seem competent. He said he’ll contact me later with more information.”

  “Do you think Franks was part of a domestic terrorist cell in the area?”

  “It’s too early to tell. Luke has a paper trail to follow, phone calls to trace.”

  “How about the offers to buy people’s properties? Surely the wrangler wouldn’t have had the financial means to be the buyer?”

  “His bank accounts will have to be examined. But it’s a valid point.”

  “Who alerted the police to check his apartment?”

  Dalton held the car door open for her. “Jesse Parker.”

  “No kidding? He’s another man on our person of interest list.”

  “Jesse got concerned when Franks didn’t report in to work, since the guy rarely missed a day. He notified the sheriff’s office.”

  “Wouldn’t it be nice if this wrapped up the case so we could enjoy our last few days here?” She slid into the vehicle, sniffing its leathery scent.

  Dalton shut the door and strode around to his side. After they hit the road, he shot her a regretful glance. “We still need more answers. Th
e only option is to pay another visit to the copper mine. Somebody is running a covert operation there, and the sheriff didn’t seem impressed when we told him. If we could trace the ore’s route, and it surfaces near Lovelace’s facility, this might give Luke adequate cause to get a search warrant for the bottling plant.”

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “One of the stores in town sells historical costumes. It has outfits similar to those worn by the miners. That’ll provide a disguise for me to blend in with the workmen, at least on first glance.”

  “You’re not meaning to go alone?”

  “I’ll call the sheriff to see if he can spare one of his deputies to accompany me. Luke might be busy with his current investigation, but he could send someone else in his place. We need proof about what’s going on. It’s the only way to identify who’s calling the shots behind the scenes.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  * * *

  Downtown in Rustler Ridge, Dalton searched for a parking space while Marla phoned Annie to see if she could join them for lunch.

  “Sure, I’d love to meet you. Where shall we go?”

  Fifteen minutes later, their cousin arrived and plopped in the seat they’d reserved for her at a popular café. She wore a patterned brick-red top over slim black pants with a colorful scarf around her neck.

  “I’m so glad you called. I haven’t seen you guys nearly enough.”

  Dalton cupped his coffee mug. “I know. We’d like to invite the family out to dinner at a restaurant when both you and Uncle Ray are available.”

  The brackets framing Annie’s mouth deepened. “Dad won’t leave his project until it gets dark outside every night. He’s afraid something bad will happen if he’s not there. And the workers think the town is jinxed by ghosts. It’s supposed to be a ghost town, isn’t it?”

  “He should hire a security force.” Marla took a sip of iced tea, while her companions stared at her as though she’d reinvented electricity.