The Devil's Cradle

by Sylvia Nobel

  “Well, she’s definitely mean enough to have done it,” Audrey commented dryly. “But, what about Haston? You think he knew about it?”

  “Who knows? But, picture this scene. The coast is now clear to sign on the dotted line with Duncan, move into the mansion and assume control. Then, out of nowhere, here comes Dr. Orcutt with his questionable disclosure about you. Couple that with the fact that he gives them your phone number which could have prompted Jesse’s first call to you.”

  I could see the realization dawning in her eyes. “Oh! So you think because D.J. was really working for her, that he and his scummy friend Archie had something to do with what happened on Boneyard Pass?”

  “Sounds logical to me. And if Jesse can convince everybody that you and Dr. Orcutt hatched this whole scheme, she could tie things up in court for a long time.”

  Audrey finished chewing what was left of her thumbnail and dropped her hand into her lap. “How? I have my birth certificate now.”

  “She’ll probably contest it.”

  “How can she?”

  “Because, she told me the original documents were destroyed when the courthouse burned down. She could contend that the birth certificate you picked up in Tucson is as phony as the one claiming you were Angela Martin.”

  “But I am telling the truth. Why would my mother lie about such a thing? Why would Dr. Orcutt? And besides, everyone says I look just like my father.”

  It was amazing how she’d come from not even knowing who she was two days ago to passionately defending her new identity. For an inkling the lingering doubt spawned by Tugg’s assertion surfaced again, but I expelled it just as quickly. For my own sanity I simply had to proceed on the notion that she was who she claimed to be. “It’s too bad your father is dead. A simple blood test would prove paternity.”

  “But what if Jesse isn’t lying?” Audrey mused. “Who else could it be?” Before I could reply, she cast a furtive glance at the doorway and lowered her voice to a whisper. “What about Marta? Remember what Detective Kemp said? Maybe she scared Jesse away and hopes I’ll go too so she can keep stealing stuff from the house.”

  “I suppose it’s possible. I don’t know about all of them, but it appears likely that at least some of the calls were made from the pay phone at Toomey’s.”

  I told her about the static and watched her eyes bug out. “So, it is Willow.”

  “Not so fast. Let’s stay with Marta for a minute. Unless there’s a second phone line here at the house we don’t know about, logically, she’d have to go someplace else if she was making the calls to Grady, right?”

  “Yeah. But why a pay phone?”

  While pondering the answer, I listened to the shrill, dinnertime bird chatter outside. “For one thing, it’s fairly close. She could walk, if necessary. In your case, there’d be no record of who made that long distance call to Pennsylvania and the same reason she had to leave the house to call Grady would apply when Jesse lived here, and now you.”

  Her forehead crinkled with doubt. “But wouldn’t someone have seen her?”

  “Maybe. For the daytime calls it’s worth checking on, but it’s unlikely anyone was around there at night.”

  “But...I still don’t understand why she would want to...” pausing, she silently mouthed the words, ‘kill him.’

  “What if he confronted her with evidence of her thievery and threatened to turn her in? She could have made up that whole story about seeing another woman running away to cover her own tracks. And that reminds me.” I rose, pulled my purse from where I’d left it on the marble-topped rosewood dresser and motioned toward the window. “I found this in the grass over there by that tree.”

  Audrey’s look of skepticism remained as I placed the hair barrette in her hand. “You think this fell out of Marta’s hair that night?”

  “It fell out of someone’s hair, but whether it’s related to that night, I don’t know.”

  Unexpectedly, a look of sly excitement sparkled in her eyes. “Maybe we can question her again and somehow find out if it’s hers.”

  “I guess we could,” I said, amused that she was finally getting into the spirit of the hunt.

  She brightened perceptibly. “Okay, but what about Willow? She works right there at the garage. It would be easy for her to do it...” She paused, blinking. “But, wait. How could she have made that first call to me when only Dr. Orcutt and the Pickrell’s had my number?”

  “Ah, but how do we know that? It’s no secret that Willow’s been organizing demonstrations at the mine. Remember Whitey told us that she and a bunch of other people got arrested one day for chaining themselves to the gate?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And, it’s a good bet Willow was in on posting that warning sign we saw this morning.”

  “Okay, but I don’t understand the connection to the phone call.”

  “Let me finish. Let’s say the Pickrells left your number laying on the desk at the office or, if she was there the day Dr. Orcutt came, it’s possible she may have overheard what he told them.”

  Audrey frowned. “It sounds kind of far-fetched, huh?”

  Another headache was lurking and I rubbed a hand over my forehead. I needed to eat and get some sleep. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

  “But then again, from what you’ve said, she had every reason to hate my father...and now me if I don’t give her what she wants. Right?”

  Our eyes locked in silent agreement and I knew there would be no better time to tell her about the rabbit. I braced for her reaction and recounted the event.

  Her face turned white as parchment. “Oh, gross. That is so totally disgusting!”

  “I’ll say.”

  “So, you think she...” The sudden jangle of the phone displaced her revulsion with a look of fear. I knew what she was thinking. Another threatening call.

  But, by the third ring, hope flared in her brown eyes. “Maybe it’s Duncan.” She was off the bed in a flash, almost tripping on her skirt as she sprinted for the parlor. I was right behind her.

  She scooped up the phone and gasped out, “Hello?” Almost at once disappointment overshadowed her flush of anticipation. “What? Oh, yes, of course. We’ll be there in a few minutes.” She replaced the receiver and slumped into the chair. “I knew he wouldn’t call.”

  “Who were you talking to?”

  “Marta.”

  “Marta? Where was she calling from?”

  “From here,” Audrey snapped. “We picked up the phone at the same time. It was for her anyway and she said we should come to dinner now.”

  Even if my tired brain had been too busy to monitor the time, at the mention of food, my stomach rumbled a reminder that I’d never had lunch. “Dinner sounds like an excellent idea to me.”

  Her response to my enthusiasm was to shrink deeper into the chair. All the air seemed to have gone out of her as well as her fleeting zest for adventure.

  “Hey, cheer up. The day’s not over yet. He may still call. Plus that, I thought you were anxious to try your skill as an investigative reporter?”

  After throwing out the challenge, I was positive she was going to wimp out on me then retire to sulk in her room. She surprised me by pushing to her feet. “You’re right,” she said, linking arms with me. “Let’s go eat and afterwards we’ll see if we can pry the truth from Marta.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  We were halfway across the breezeway when I realized I was still barefoot. “I’m going to run back and get my sandals.”

  “I don’t care if you have shoes.”

  “I need my notebook anyway,” I said, grinning. “I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  I retraced my steps to the parlor and had reached the door to my room when I heard a floorboard creak in the direction of the stairway. I stopped and whirled around. No one was there and except for the muffled ticking of the clock, the house was steeped in silence.

  Oh, well. These old places were always sh
ifting and settling. While retrieving my sandals from the rug near the bed, I noticed that in her haste to get to the phone, Audrey had forgotten to take the book on epilepsy.

  I picked it up and fanned the pages thoughtfully. Her violent over-reaction to my having it still puzzled me. And if she hadn’t been in my room as she claimed, how had the book gotten from my nightstand onto the floor? I fingered the tasseled bookmark and thought back to the surprise visit from Princess early this morning. The silky thread would make a wonderful cat toy and it certainly seemed a plausible explanation—assuming that Audrey was telling the truth. But what if she wasn’t? What reason would she have to be in my room?

  A quick peek into the closet and chest of drawers revealed nothing out of order, but as I toed into the sandals, the shadow of doubt still hung over me.

  Even though my intuitive feeling told me she was genuine, tomorrow I would phone my brother to see if he or Margie could shed any more light on her sketchy background—just to put Tugg’s mind at ease, I assured myself. I replaced the book on the night stand with a reminder to return it to Audrey later along with Willow’s brochures.

  I paused momentarily by the window to watch the evening shadows steal across the valley. The amber hills turned a deep coral and mourning doves warbled a mellow farewell to the blistering sun now cradled between the jagged rocks on top of Devil’s Hill. The effect was mesmerizing.

  Having had almost no contact with the outside world for three days, I had the oddest sensation that I had journeyed backward to a different time zone. Indeed, apart from my call to Tugg, I hadn’t seen a paper, listened to the news or watched television for three days.

  I snapped on the little table lamp and, filled with eager anticipation at the thought of another tasty dinner, started out the door. Another creak, this time from the floor above held me frozen. Was someone in Audrey’s room?

  While my mind fleetingly touched on the irrational concept of ghosts, I shrugged away the sudden twinge of uneasiness. Marta and Audrey were in the other wing, so if it wasn’t the cat, more than likely it was D.J. Instant irritation blossomed when it occurred to me that he’d probably overheard our entire conversation and would now scurry like the loyal spy he was to report back to Jesse and Haston. The jerk.

  Half of me was willing to forget it, but when I turned toward the breezeway my impetuous half intervened. How would he feel if the tables were turned?

  I slipped off my sandals and tiptoed up the stairs, creeping towards Audrey’s bedroom, which stood empty. A quick search of the other rooms on the second floor yielded no answers. Had I imagined the noise? I was beginning to doubt my own ears, when I noticed a scrub bucket and mop on the third floor landing. I crept up the stairway and was rewarded to see dim lamplight streaming through a doorway at the end of the hall. Careful to stay on the carpet, I made a stealthy approach and peeked around the doorframe.

  Just as I thought. D.J. was in the ornate drawing room Audrey and I had explored last night. Whistling tunelessly to himself, he bent over to plug in an upright vacuum cleaner then whipped a cloth from the back pocket of his jeans and began to dust the furniture.

  I stifled a sigh of disappointment and gave myself a mental kick. Great detective work, O’Dell. Pretty exciting stuff. As the aroma of lemon-oil wafted towards me, I stood motionless, the minutes passing slowly. When a cramp flamed in my right foot, I wrestled with pangs of uncertainty. What if he hadn’t been spying on us? What if he was just simply cleaning house as it appeared?

  I turned to look down the empty hallway thinking I’d best get out of there. If he discovered me, no doubt he’d be annoyed and who could blame him? But worse, it might ruin my chances of cooperation when it came time to get his version of the night Grady Morgan died.

  I shifted my weight back, all set to retreat when he suddenly abandoned the dusting chore and crossed to the corner of the room where he began to circle the satin and lace-clad dress form with fluid grace. Moving to an unheard melody, it seemed as if he were performing some bizarre dance routine. He did this several times, then stopped directly behind it. For a few seconds, he stood motionless and then, his expression turning dreamy, he slid his hands around the form’s slim waist.

  I recoiled in breathless shock. Whoa! When his fingers began to glide ever so slowly upward to fondle the breasts, my face grew so hot it could have melted butter. Propriety dictated that I should leave immediately. What right did I have to intrude on this man’s private fantasies? But curiosity glued my feet to the floor.

  Both fascinated and repelled, I continued to watch until he ended his sensual massage. Then, he kissed one finger and tenderly planted it on the face of his imaginary woman before moving across the faded Persian rug to stand beneath the portrait of Hannah Morgan.

  I strained forward as far as I dared and it was a lucky thing for me that he stood opposite the mirror above the mantle piece or I wouldn’t have seen the shrewd smile dawning as he fingered his mustache.

  Silently I cursed the fact that he wore those damned tinted lenses. The smoky-gray color all but obscured the emotion in his eyes.

  In much the same manner as Audrey had done last night, he stared transfixed at the portrait and then reached up to slide one finger along the gilded frame. “Thy will be done, my lady,” he murmured, “Thy will be done.”

  Chapter 16

  I was happy to see Audrey’s spirits revived as she chattered amiably over Marta’s savory lasagna dinner. The accompanying Caesar salad and crisp garlic toast would have normally had me in ecstasy, but the whole weird episode with D.J. had put a damper on my appetite.

  His kinky sexual habits were certainly none of my business, but the episode haunted me nonetheless. One thing for sure, his amorous exhibition had certainly served to squelch any suspicions that he might be gay, but I wondered what Bitsy Bigelow would think of his on-going relationship with the dress form? I’d probably never know, but even more intriguing was his apparent fixation with the portrait of a young Hannah Morgan. His final words rampaged through my mind but I had no clue as to what he meant. Thank heavens the roar of the vacuum cleaner had masked my hasty exit from the third floor. I couldn’t even imagine what I’d have said to him had I been caught.

  I was burning to share my findings with Audrey, but I couldn’t take a chance on being overheard as Marta banged in and out of the kitchen door, delivering each course. Plus that, D.J. could walk in at any moment.

  “Don’t you like the peach cobbler?” Audrey asked.

  Her sudden question sent my thoughts stampeding. “What? Oh, yes, indeed. I love it.” I dug my fork into the flaky, cream-soaked crust and forced down another bite while she eyed me dubiously.

  “You told me you were starving, but you didn’t even finish the lasagna.”

  “I guess I’m too busy thinking about questions for Marta,” I whispered, hoping that response would do for now.

  Her eyes blazed with excitement. “How do we start?” she asked, keeping her voice low. “I mean, how do you get her onto the subject you want?”

  I grinned. “Most of the time, I just let people do what they like best.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Talk about themselves. All I have to do then is guide the questions in a specific direction.”

  “Well, let’s get to work,” she said, giving me a conspiratorial wink as we left the table and pushed through the swinging doors. The kitchen, still warm, and permeated with the pungent aroma of onion and garlic, stood empty, but we soon found Marta outside the back door seated on a weathered rocker. She was busily snapping the ends off fresh green beans.

  “You like Marta’s supper?” she asked hopefully, glancing up at us through Coke-bottle lenses.

  Audrey grinned and patted her flat, almost concave, abdomen. “I’m totally stuffed. Thank you.”

  “It was beyond wonderful,” I agreed, pulling up a lawn chair and motioning with my head for Audrey to sit also. “You really should think about opening a restaurant.”


  Her thick lips stretched wide, revealing crooked, discolored teeth. “This is something I have done already.”

  “No kidding? When was that?”

  “Oh, many years ago. My husband Emilio and me, we have a little place in Nogales. But when he dies, I come to be near my daughter because her husband works in the mine. Soon I take the job here with Mr. Morgan.”

  It was amazing how a simple question like that could open the door. “I’m glad you mentioned that,” I said, meeting Audrey’s eyes briefly. “If you have time, I wonder if I could ask you a few more questions about the night Mr. Morgan died.”

  She snapped a long fat bean and dropped it into the colander in her lap. “If Miss Morgan does not mind if the dishes wait.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Audrey said with an impatient wave. “This is more important.”

  With the lavender sky swiftly fading to deep orchid, I squinted momentarily at my notes before beginning. “Now, you said D.J. brought you home early.”

  She popped a bean into her mouth and crunched it. “Yes.”

  “And you went right to bed.”

  “Yes. My stomach does not feel so good.”

  “I’m a little confused about something. When I spoke to D.J., he claims he wasn’t here until around midnight.”

  The harsh light from the outdoor fixture above her head accentuated her surprised frown. “You mistake his words. He is here when I call him to bring me home. He says that Mr. Morgan drinks very much and he puts him in his bed. He tells me he will go now to the Muleskinner and see his friends.”

  “But, you don’t know when?”

  She shook her head.

  “Okay. When you have dinner at your daughter’s place, what time do you normally get home?”

  She chewed the remainder of the bean and swallowed. “Most times D.J. will come around eleven or eleven-thirty.”

  Audrey piped up, “That’s kind of late, isn’t it?”

  “Friday is my day off. It’s a nice thing to sleep in sometimes.”