Skeleton Canyon

by J. A. Jance

  Don’t stand around dwelling on it, she told herself firmly. Do something.

  Throwing on a pair of jeans and one of Andy’s old khaki shirts, she hurried into the kitchen to start the coffee. Then, after stuffing a carrot into her pocket and with both dogs trailing eagerly behind, she walked out to the corral.

  In the last few months, since Bucky Buckwalter’s horse Kiddo had come to live on High Lonesome Ranch, one of Jenny’s weekend duties had been to ride the horse down to the end of the road to bring back the Sunday paper. Before Kiddo’s arrival on the scene, Joanna herself would have driven down in the Eagle. This morning, while water dripped through the grounds in the coffeemaker, Joanna decided to take the horse herself and go get her newspaper.

  As soon as the nine-year-old sorrel gelding heard the back door slam shut, he came to the side of the corral and peered eagerly over the fence. Ears up, whickering, and stamping his hooves, he shook his blond mane impatiently while Joanna stopped in the tack room long enough to collect a bridle. When she came into the corral, Kiddo gobbled the carrot and accepted the bridle without complaint.

  “I’ll bet you miss Jenny, too, don’t you?” Joanna said soothingly, scratching the horse’s soft muzzle once the bridle was in place. “That makes four of us.”

  Joanna had worried initially that Kiddo would be too much horse for Jenny to handle, but the two of them-horse and child-had become great friends. Jenny had taken to riding with an ease that had surprised everyone, including her mother. She preferred riding bareback whenever possible. Girl and horse-both with matching blond tresses flowing in the wind-made a captivating picture.

  Joanna herself was a reasonably capable rider. For this early morning jaunt down to the cattle guard, she too rode bareback. The sun was well up by then. On the way there, she held Kiddo to a sedate walk, enjoying the quiet, reading the tracks overnight visitors had layered into the roadway over the marks of her tires from the night before. A small herd of delicately hoofed javelina-five or six of them-had wandered down from the hills, following the sandy bed of a dry wash. In one spot Joanna spied the telltale path left behind by a long-gone sidewinder. There were paw prints left by a solitary coyote. She saw the distinctive scratchings of a covey of quail as well as the prints of some other reasonably large bird, most likely a roadrunner.

  Butch Dixon-a city slicker from Chicago-had come to visit the High Lonesome and had marveled at how empty it was.

  It isn’t empty at all, Joanna thought. I have all kinds of nearby neighbors. It’s just that none of them happen to be human.

  Coming back from the gate, with the folded newspaper safely stowed under her shirt, Joanna gave Kiddo his head. They thundered back down the road with the wind rushing into Joanna’s face. It was an exhilarating way to start the morning.

  No wonder Jenny liked Kiddo so much. It was almost like magic. On the back of a galloping horse it was impossible for Joanna Brady to remember to be sad.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Angie and Dennis arrived in the meadow off the south fork of Skeleton Canyon just as the sun came up. Settling into a rocky cleft, Dennis reached into his backpack and pulled out two pairs of powerful binoculars, one of which he handed to Angie. “There’s no real trick to this,” he said. “You just have to be patient. They’ll show up eventually.”

  As promised, the hummingbirds appeared half an hour later. There they were, hundreds of them, hovering in vivid color against an overcast sky. “The dark green ones with the black bills are Magnificent Hummingbirds or Eugenes fulgens,” Dennis explained. “The lighter greens-chartreuse almost with the orange bills-are called Broad-billed or Cynanthus latinostris. The ones with distinct red caps are male Anna’s-Calypte anna.”

  Enchanted but also self-conscious that he knew so much more than she did, Angie held the binoculars glued to her eyes. “And the ones with the purple throats?” she asked.

  “Male Lucifers-Calothorax Lucifer. I spotted some Black-chinned in here the other day, but I don’t see any of them now.

  Angie watched until her arms grew tired of holding the binoculars. When she took them down, she was surprised to find Dennis Hacker looking at her rather than the birds. Nervously, she cast around for something to say. “It doesn’t seem fair that the males are always so much prettier than the females,” she said.

  “That may be true for birds,” Dennis told her, “but it certainly isn’t true of humans.”

  Embarrassed, Angie looked back at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He grinned. “It means you’re beautiful,” he said. “You’re willing to hike a mile and a half uphill to watch birds at six o’clock in the morning. You’re interested in my parrot project. What else is there? I think I’m in love.”

  Not knowing how to reply, Angie put the binoculars back to her eyes and said nothing.

  “I’m serious, you know,” Hacker continued. “I told my parents once that I was going to marry the first woman I ever found who was as interested in birds as I am.”

  In the few hours they had spent together, Angie had found Dennis Hacker to be pleasantly likeable, but she could tell from the way he spoke that he was serious. There was no point in letting things go any further.

  “Look,” she said, “this is silly. You don’t know anything about me.”

  “But I do. You’re a hard worker. You’re kind to old drunks. You’re a woman of your word. All day long yesterday, I was afraid you’d stand me up.”

  Angie smiled. “I almost did,” she said.

  “But the point is, you didn’t. You’re here. Maybe you don’t believe in love at first sight, but I do.”

  That was it. “Look,” she said forcibly, “you think I’m a woman of my word, but I already lied to you. When you asked where I went to school, I know you meant where did I go to college. I’ve never even been to Ann Arbor. I went to high school in a place called Battle Creek, but I didn’t graduate. When I ran away from home, I took the name Kellogg after the factory my father worked in back home. I don’t have a degree in teaching. I’m an ex-hooker. The job in the Blue Moon as a bartender is the first real job I’ve ever had.”

  Not knowing what kind of reaction to expect, she stopped and waited. It wasn’t long in coming. A grin creased Dennis Hacker’s face. “You’re kidding!”

  “I’m not.”

  Angie Kellogg couldn’t possibly have anticipated what happened next. Dennis’s initial grin dissolved into gales of laughter. He laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks and he had to hold his sides. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard,” he gasped at last.

  But Angie didn’t think it was funny. She put down the bin-oculars and stood up.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m leaving.”

  “Come on, Angie. Let me explain.”

  Angie Kellogg wasn’t interested in explanations. Without a glance over her shoulder, she bolted away from him, heading back down the mountain the way they had come. Dennis, shaking his head and still chuckling, took his time packing up. He returned the two pair of binoculars to their separate cases and then put them and the bottled water he’d brought along back in his backpack. He had no doubt that he’d meet up with Angie back at the truck. Once she realized what he was laughing about, Dennis knew it would be all right.

  Hefting the pack onto his back, he started after her. On the way up, he had followed a meandering path that had kept the rise in elevation from being quite so steep. For going back down, though, and because he wanted to reach the Hummer about the same time Angie did, he set off straight down the mountain.

  Which was how, half an hour later, Dennis Hacker stumbled onto the wrecked remains of a smashed red pickup.

  After rubbing Kiddo down, feeding him, and returning him to the corral, Joanna went back to the house. By then the coffee was ready. She poured herself a cup and was headed for the porch when the phone rang.

  “Sheriff Brady?” Tica Romero, one of the departmental dispatchers, was on the phone. “W
e’ve got a problem.” “What’s that?”

  “A one-car fatality rollover has just been reported in the Peloncillos. Off the road up in Skeleton Canyon. A hiker reported the incident. Called it in on his cell phone. At least one person is dead, but it’s pretty rough country. There could be more bodies and they just haven’t found them yet. The guy who found it gave me a description and a license number.”

  “And?”

  “I thought you’d want to know right away. It’s a red Toyota Tacoma,” Tica replied. “Registered under the name of David O’Brien. Isn’t that the missing person case-”

  “Yes, it is,” Joanna interrupted. “Any ID on the victim?”

  “Not so far. The body must have been thrown free in the accident. The vehicle fell on top of it. There won’t be any way to tell exactly what’s underneath until we get a tow truck in there to move the vehicle.”

  Joanna’s throat constricted. Her right hand shook so badly that she had to put down her coffee cup in order to keep from spilling it. The O’Briens’ worst fears and Joanna’s niggling premonition were both coming true. Brianna O’Brien was dead, but there could be no notification made to the parents waiting at Green Brush Ranch until after the sheriff’s department had some additional confirmation.

  Joanna turned at once to the enlarged map of Cochise County that she had tacked to the wall over her living room phone. There were two forks to Skeleton Canyon. The south fork ran virtually north and south and was entirely inside Cochise County. The north fork ran east and west and crossed over into New Mexico.

  “You’re sure this is our deal and not Sheriff Trotter’s over in New Mexico?” Joanna asked. She couldn’t help hoping the wrecked truck would end up being someone else’s problem instead of hers.

  “It’s ours, all right,” Tica answered. “It’s the south fork, not the north. And the truck isn’t all,” she continued. “Mr. Hacker says-”

  “Mr. Hacker?” Joanna asked. “You mean Dennis Hacker, the parrot guy?”

  “I don’t know anything about parrots, but that’s the name he gave. Dennis Hacker. Do you know him?”

  “Yes. What does he say?”

  “That one of your friends is missing up there as well. Her name is Angie Kellogg. Hacker says that in all the confusion of finding and reporting the accident, she wandered off some place by herself. He says she’s out there alone without any food or water. He’s asking for help organizing a search party.”

  Angie missing? Joanna wondered. How could that be? With a sinking feeling, she remembered her conversation with Angie the night before-remembered how Angie had been concerned about going on what had essentially been a bird-watching blind date. Joanna also remembered all too clearly that she, Joanna, had been the one who had urged Angie to put her concerns aside and go.

  “Tica,” Joanna said, “can you patch me through to Mr. Hacker? I want to talk to him.”

  “Sure thing, Sheriff Brady. Hang on.”

  “Mr. Hacker,” Joanna said seconds later, “this is Sheriff Brady. What’s happening?”

  “Angie disappeared,” he said.

  “How did the two of you get separated?”

  “We had a little misunderstanding,” Hacker said. “She took off. I discovered the wreck while I was following her back down the mountain. I thought for sure she’d go straight back to the truck, but I’m here now, and there’s no sign of her. She isn’t here and hasn’t been, as far as I can tell. I tried to back-track up the trail. She must have missed one of the turns along the way.”

  Misunderstanding, Joanna thought grimly. Right.

  “So where are you now?”

  “At the north entrance to Skeleton Canyon. The one off Highway 80.”

  “And where’s the wrecked truck?”

  “Just below the ridge between Hog Canyon and the south fork of Skeleton.”

  “Can we get a wrecker to it?”

  “It won’t be easy. It’s twenty yards off the nearest trail in strictly four-wheel-drive terrain. It’s going to be bad enough just getting the body out, to say nothing of the wrecked pickup. What about Angie, though? Will you notify Search and Rescue? From what Angie told me, I don’t think she’s ever been out in the mountains by herself before. I’m afraid-”

  “Exactly how long has she been gone?” Joanna interrupted.

  “An hour now, maybe more.”

  “Just hold on, Mr. Hacker. I know Angie Kellogg personally. She’s a friend of mine, and one thing I can tell you about her is that she’s got plenty of common sense. We’ve got people on the way. There’ll be sirens and lots of noise out there. I’m sure she’ll be able to follow the sounds and find her way back down the mountain.”

  “But…”

  “No buts. I’m on my way myself. I’ll be there as soon as I can. You wait right where you are so you can guide us in when we get there.”

  Joanna ended the call and then immediately dialed back to the department and shifted into an all-business mode. “Tica,” she said, once the dispatcher was on the phone, “who all have you called?”

  “You were number one,” Tica answered. “That’s the standing order. The detectives are next, and then Dr. Winfield.” George Winfield was Cochise County’s newly appointed coroner.

  “What about Dick Voland?” Joanna asked.

  “I can call him, but are you sure you want me to? He’s supposed to be off today unless there’s some kind of real emergency. I think he has tickets to take his boys up to Tucson for a Toros game this afternoon.”

  “Don’t bother him, then,” Joanna answered. “You notify the detectives. I’ll call Doc Winfield. I have both his home and work numbers programmed into my phone. If I call him instead of having you do it, it’ll save time.”

  After punching the proper number, Joanna waited through the automated dialing sequence and two rings.

  “Hello.”

  Joanna had expected a male voice to answer, but the person speaking into the phone was definitely not Doc Winfield. In fact, the woman who answered sounded very much like Joanna’s mother, but that couldn’t be.

  Quickly, without saying anything, Joanna disconnected the call. Of course, Eleanor’s number, along with several others, was also programmed into the phone. Maybe Joanna had simply punched the wrong button, although that seemed unlikely. She tried again, this time taking special care to punch the right one-George Winfield’s nine rather than Eleanor’s five.

  “Hello,” Eleanor Lathrop answered again, a bit more forcefully this time.

  “Mother?” Joanna asked. “Is that you?”

  “Of course it’s me,” Eleanor said. “Who else would you be calling at this ungodly hour of the morning? The phone rang a minute or so ago, but no one was there when I answered. Was that you, too?”

  “Mother,” Joanna interrupted, “I wasn’t calling you. I was trying to reach George Winfield. What are you doing at his house at seven o’clock on a Sunday morning?”

  “I’m not at George’s house,” Eleanor returned stiffly. “I’m right here in my own bed trying to catch up on my beauty sleep.”

  “But I dialed George’s number and got you. Twice,” Joanna pointed out.

  “Oh, that,” Eleanor said. “I see. Well, he must have forwarded his calls here, then. He does that sometimes in case someone needs to get hold of him.”

  Joanna took a deep breath. “I think this is one of those times. You’d better put him on.”

  Dr. George Winfield was a relative newcomer to town. An attractive widower from Minnesota, he had somehow managed to hook up with Eleanor Lathrop within months of arriving in Bisbee. Joanna knew the two of them had been going out together for some time, but she couldn’t quite imagine her strait-laced mother actually allowing a man to spend the night in her home. It was hard enough for Joanna to picture George Winfield in her mother’s life. To imagine him now in Eleanor’s cozy little house on Campbell Avenue and in the double bed that had once belonged to both Joanna’s parents was unthinkable.

  Still, she h
ad no choice when George’s sleep-distorted voice came on the phone. “Hello? Joanna? What’s up?”

  For a moment she couldn’t answer. Joanna had lectured her-self on the subject more than once. It shouldn’t have been that big a deal. Eleanor Lathrop had been widowed for a long time. After being left to raise a sometimes difficult and headstrong teenager, she certainly deserved to find some personal happiness. And George seemed nice enough. There was no logical reason why Eleanor’s resumption of dating should have thrown her daughter for such a loop, but it had. And, months later, it continued to do so. No matter how hard Joanna tried, she still couldn’t get over or around her own personal objections. Was it a matter of not being able to accept her mother as a sexual being? Or, on a far more basic level, was it nothing but jealousy?

  “Joanna?” George repeated. “What’s going on?”

  “There’s been a car wreck up in Skeleton Canyon,” Joanna said. “A pickup truck. According to the guy on the scene there’s at least one body trapped under it, maybe more.”

  “Where the hell is Skeleton Canyon?” George Winfield demanded. “Is that a real place, or did you make it up?”

  Joanna thought about the complications of trying to explain to a newcomer how to find the entrance to Skeleton Canyon or even how to get to the Peloncillos themselves. She also thought about what Dennis Hacker had said about the rugged terrain. The coroner’s official vehicle was nothing more than a modified hearse. That wouldn’t cut it.

  “Skeleton Canyon is real enough, but I’m not going to try to give you directions over the phone. Meet me at the Double Adobe turnoff on Highway 80 just as soon as you can. I’ll drive you there. That’ll be easier for all concerned.”

  “All right,” George said. “But I’ll need to jump in the shower first.”

  “Fine,” Joanna said impatiently. “I’ll shower, too. But meet me as soon as you can. And bring your hiking boots.”

  “Hiking boots? Why?”

  “Because the body’s twenty yards off the nearest trail down a mountainside,” Joanna said. “We’ll most likely have to do some hiking.”