Valley of Death

by Gloria Skurzynski

  VALLEY OF DEATH

  A MYSTERY IN DEATH VALLEY NATIONAL PARK

  GLORIA SKURZYNSKI AND ALANE FERGUSON

  Text copyright © 2002

  Gloria Skurzynski and Alane Ferguson

  Cover illustration copyright © 2008 Jeffrey Mangiat

  All rights reserved.

  Reproduction of the whole or any part of the contents is prohibited without written permission from the National Geographic Society, 1145 17th Street N.W., Washington, D.C. 20036.

  For rights or permissions inquires, please contact National Geographic Books Subsidiary Rights: ngbookrights@ngs.org

  Map by Carl Mehler, Director of Maps

  Map research and production by Matt Chwastyk and Thomas L. Gray

  Desert bighorn sheep art by Joan Wolbier

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to living persons or events other than descriptions of natural phenomena is purely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Skurzynski, Gloria.

  Valley of death / by Gloria Skurzynski and Alane Ferguson. p. cm.—(Mysteries in our national parks; #8)

  Summary: The Landon family makes a trip to Death Valley National Park accompanied by a mysterious new foster child, fourteen-year-old Leesa Sherman.

  ISBN: 978-1-4263-0971-7

  [1. Death Valley National Park (Calif. and Nev.) 2. National parks and reserves. 3. Foster home care—Fiction. 4. Mystery and detective stories.] I. Ferguson, Alane. II. Title. III. Series.

  PZ7.S6287 Val 2002

  [Fic]—dc21

  2001003618

  For Suzanne Patrick Fonda,

  a great editor and a cherished friend

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The authors are grateful for the

  valuable information provided so generously

  by the staff at Death Valley National Park,

  especially Linda W. Greene,

  Chief, Division of Resources Management;

  Tim Stone, Management Assistant;

  Hank Kodele, Law Enforcement Ranger;

  Nancy R. Wizner, Assistant Chief Ranger;

  Alan Van Walkenburg, Interpretive Ranger;

  and Dick Anderson, Naturalist.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  AFTERWORD

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  He’d been hiding in an abandoned mine shaft, but now it was time for action. The sand whipped his eyes, almost blinding him, but in the distance he could see the girl. She seemed to be searching for something. Good. That meant her guard would be down. If he were careful, she wouldn’t see him until it was too late.

  Circling so that he approached from behind, he poised to strike. In his camouflage fatigues he blended into his surroundings as if he were a ghost. But he was a ghost who could kill. With a .45-caliber Magnum strapped beneath his fatigue jacket and an eight-inch army knife hidden in his boot, no one had better try to stop him.

  Dropping onto the sand, he radioed to his commander, “I see the subject at oh-two-hundred hours. She appears to be alone. What are my orders?”

  “Get her. Now.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Eerie organ music filled the room, floating up to the carved wooden rafters. The music rose and fell, chords crashed and thundered, notes soared to trembling trebles and descended to rumbling bass. No human created the music; no fingers struck the ivory keys. With not a soul near the keyboard, the organ played itself. Ghostly! Jack thought. Like so much else in Death Valley.

  Like the girl Leesa, who looked ghostly, with her pale face and shadowed eyes. She was the latest of the foster children sheltered by the Landon family, and for the first time, Jack knew nothing about her. Always before, his mother and father had told Jack and his sister, Ashley, just why each foster child had come to them, why the child required temporary care, and how long he or she would be likely to stay. But not this time. For some reason, Jack’s parents wouldn’t say anything about Leesa Sherman, except that she was 14 years old and she needed a safe haven.

  Abruptly, the organ recital ended. It seemed strange to applaud a mechanical organ that no one had actually played, but everyone did it anyway. “Wasn’t that cool, Jack?” Ashley asked. “It was so spooky—I mean, seeing those keys go up and down all by themselves.”

  Before Jack had a chance to answer, the tour guide announced, “This was the final stop on our tour of Scotty’s Castle, or Death Valley Ranch, as the real owner called it. You may exit through this door. Be careful going down the stairs.”

  The four Landons—mother Olivia, father Steven, Jack, and Ashley—held open the heavy door for one another and for Leesa. Just as they reached the staircase that descended to the courtyard of this unlikely desert castle, chimes began to ring in the clock tower.

  “Bong, bong, bong,” Ashley intoned with the chimes. “Three o’clock, Mom. I’m hungry, and there’s a refreshment stand right over there. Can I buy a smoothie?”

  “Not now, honey,” Olivia answered. “We need to get to Furnace Creek Ranch, and that’s another hour’s drive, or maybe even longer on these two-lane roads. After we’re registered and settled in our rooms, we’ll have dinner.”

  The Landons, plus Leesa, had flown from Jackson Hole, Wyoming, to Las Vegas, Nevada, where they’d rented a Toyota Land Cruiser for the two-and-a-half hour drive to Death Valley National Park. Entering the park right at the California-Nevada state line, they’d come upon Scotty’s Castle, an architectural marvel sprouting so unexpectedly in the bleak desert that they just had to stop for a tour. Designed by a millionaire in the 1930s, the buildings were amazing enough—stucco walls, red-tile roofs, the clock tower, and a Moorish-style minaret. Inside, the castle held even more surprises: Expensively furnished rooms with hollow walls cooled by flowing water, so that in the summer, when the temperature in Death Valley itself reached 120 degrees, Scotty’s Castle was a bearable 85 degrees.

  Throughout the tour, Leesa had stayed silent. In fact, she’d been silent since she came to the Landons two days earlier. If anyone asked her something, like, “Would you like another glass of milk?” she’d answer yes or no. But she never spoke up on her own, not even to say, “Pass the salt.”

  Leesa, the mystery girl. Ashley hadn’t been able to get any information out of her, and Ashley could usually soften up the toughest foster kids. Funny, even though Leesa was 14 and Ashley was only 11, they looked a lot alike—petite, with matching dark hair that Leesa wore in one long braid and Ashley tied back with a scrunchie into a thick ponytail.

  Then—surprise!—Leesa asked a question. Almost in a whisper, she inquired, “How did that organ play like that, all by itself?”

  Jack’s father answered, “Ever hear of a player piano? It uses a paper roll with little holes in it, one for each key of music. The organ works the same way, but since it has more than a thousand organ pipes hidden behind the wall, the sound can get pretty powerful compared to a player piano. Did you enjoy it, Leesa?”

  All the Landons turned toward Leesa, waiting for her answer. She must have used up all the words she was planning to spend right then, because she just nodded. After a minute, Jack’s mother said, “Well then, let’s all get into the Land Cruiser and drive to Furnace Creek.”

  What a name—Furnace Creek! As Jack studied the park map, he found other names that sounded just as harsh: Badwater, Last Chance Range, Deadman Pass, Funeral Mountains, Coffin Peak, Dry Bone Canyon,
Hells Gate, Devils Cornfield—place-names that wouldn’t exactly tempt a person to visit Death Valley. But the Landons hadn’t come on vacation; they were there because Olivia Landon—Doctor Olivia Landon, wildlife veterinarian—had been called to help solve the mysterious deaths of the park’s desert bighorn sheep.

  Once they drove past the leafy green trees and date palms and Joshua trees that surrounded the oasis of Scotty’s Castle, the Landons found themselves in the real Death Valley, the hottest, deepest, and driest place in the U.S.A. They passed miles of desert sand decorated with nothing more than rocks and saltbrush and creosote bushes. Then, ahead of them in all that desolation, something raced across the road.

  “What was that?” Ashley cried. “Stop, Dad!”

  Steven pulled to the shoulder of the highway just as Jack said, “It’s a coyote. Look, he’s standing right there, staring at us.”

  Like a welcoming committee, the coyote faced them, his eyes focusing on the Landons in their vehicle, his big ears straight up like radar.

  “What a beautiful specimen!” Olivia exclaimed. “That’s just about the healthiest coyote I’ve ever seen.”

  “Let me grab my camera,” Steven said, but Jack had already reached into the tailgate to pass his dad’s camera case forward.

  The coyote’s ears moved forward and then back, as though trying to pick up a signal. His coat—tawny on the head and back, cream-colored on the face and underside—shone thick and full, and rippled slightly in the desert breeze. When he turned in profile, as though posing for Steven’s camera, they saw his tail, hanging long, thick, and bushy.

  “He’s licking his lips like he’s hungry,” Ashley said. “Since he looks so big and strong, he must find plenty of rats and mice and stuff to eat out here in the desert.”

  Olivia answered, “I have a suspicion that the exact opposite is true. The way he’s acting—standing right there, not moving, not the least afraid of us humans—makes me think he’s a little beggar looking for people food. He probably hangs around the road all day waiting for tourists’ cars, and I’ll bet half the visitors who see him open their car windows and throw him a cookie or peanuts or whatever they have.” Olivia shook her head. “It’s a bad, bad situation when wild animals become dependent on handouts.”

  Jack remembered Glacier National Park, where grizzly bears fed by tourists would invade campgrounds to look for food, causing trouble for themselves and the visitors. And Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, where the néné—geese that had almost become extinct—often got run over when they approached cars for handouts. Neither Jack nor Ashley would ever think of feeding wildlife, no matter how tame the animals appeared to be. They’d had that lesson drummed into them by their parents since they were little.

  In a soft voice, Leesa murmured, “My dad says coyotes are varmints and all varmints deserve to be shot.”

  For a moment everyone stayed silent, surprised by Leesa’s comment. Then, gently, Olivia asked, “Do you believe that too, Leesa?”

  “I—don’t know.” Her deep-set, shadowed eyes lowered to stare at the floor. “I’m just saying what my dad thinks.”

  Jack had heard it before, that wolves, coyotes, bobcats, and mountain lions were useless predators that harmed cattle and sheep and sometimes carried off little children—that part of it certainly wasn’t true. “Our mom and dad teach us,” he told Leesa, “that every living creature has its own value, its own reason for being on Earth.”

  Jack was in the backseat next to the open window, with Ashley between him and Leesa. Touching Leesa’s hand, Ashley asked, “You wouldn’t want to shoot something as beautiful as that coyote, would you?”

  Leesa hesitated, then shook her head.

  Starting the engine, Steven said, “We’d better get going. Jack, put my camera back—carefully—where you got it. It’s close to four o’clock now, and I want to have us settled at the ranch in plenty of time to set up for pictures. I’ve heard that the sunsets are spectacular here at Death Valley.” Steven, a professional photographer, usually shot pictures of wildlife, but he was always ready to photograph anything else that attracted him.

  Throughout the rest of the drive, Ashley kept talking about the animals they’d seen at the national parks they’d visited and how each one had its place in the ecosystem. Then she started on the scenery they were driving past. “Look at this desert,” she said to Leesa. “Some people might think it’s ugly because there aren’t any green trees or flowing streams, but to me it has its own kind of beauty. Like the colors in the rocks. The ripples in the sand….”

  Leesa no longer seemed to listen. She stared out through her own window toward the Grapevine Mountains in the distance, dark, sculpted, limestone rock streaked with white calcite. What a strange girl, Jack thought. Where did she come from, and why was she with them? He wished his parents would fill him in on Leesa’s background, but they were as silent about Leesa as Leesa was silent by choice. She didn’t respond at all to Ashley’s nonstop chattering.

  Once more they emerged from sandy desert into an astonishing oasis of grass and palm trees and—a golf course! “This is where we’re staying,” Steven announced. “Furnace Creek Ranch.” Before he finished speaking, a horse-drawn wagon rounded a corner and headed straight toward them.

  “Pull over!” Olivia told Steven, and then, laughing, added, “I think horses must have the right of way.”

  It was an authentic, old-fashioned buckboard wagon, the kind people used for transportation a long time ago. Two patient horses pulled the wagon that rolled along on tall, metal-spoked wheels. Even though the Cruiser’s windows were closed, Jack could hear the clop, clop, clop of the horses’ hooves. The driver raised his whip in a salute to the Landons—or maybe he was warning them to stay on their own side of the road.

  As they swerved to the right, the Cruiser hit a speed bump, knocking Leesa into Ashley. “Sorry,” Leesa said, and giggled a little, the first time Jack had heard anything like laughter coming from her.

  When they finally found their rooms and got all their luggage inside, they discovered that their sliding doors opened right onto the golf course. “Hey, I could go out scouting for lost balls and sell them back to the golfers,” Jack joked.

  “Check over there in front of the golf course,” Ashley said. “It’s a stable. That’s where all the horses are. Can we go riding, Mom? Please?”

  “It’s too late now,” Olivia answered, “and I don’t know what my schedule will be like tomorrow. But it sure is perfect weather for riding.”

  Luckily for the Landons, they were visiting Death Valley during the mild month of February rather than in the searing heat of summer, when hiking became dangerous and tourists often got into trouble. As always, when the family traveled during the school year, the kids had to bring along their homework and write papers about the park and its flora and fauna. That was an easy price to pay for the chance to see some of the greatest scenery in the United States.

  “Which room is mine?” Leesa asked, picking up the shopping bag that held her clothes.

  “Ours, you mean,” Ashley answered. “Whenever our foster kid—uh, I mean, our guest—is a boy, he shares a room with Jack, and I sleep on a cot in Mom and Dad’s room. If the guest is a girl, we share a room, and Jack stays with Mom and Dad. So you and I will bunk together while we’re here, Leesa.”

  “Don’t worry, Ashley doesn’t snore—at least not too loud,” Jack teased.

  Ashley punched him in the arm, but Leesa didn’t even smile. She just stared through the window at the gathering darkness.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “What the heck is borax?” Jack asked. “I keep seeing it on the map: Eagle Borax Works Ruins, Borax Museum, Harmony Borax Works, Twenty Mule Team Borax….”

  Jack, Ashley, and Leesa were wandering through a collection of old wagons, machinery, and an actual locomotive on display in the Furnace Creek Ranch complex. In the restaurant nearby, Steven and Olivia still lingered over their breakfast coffee—Jack could see them th
rough the window, their heads together, talking.

  “Jack, if you’d bought the booklet in the museum like I did, you wouldn’t have to ask,” Ashley said. “It only cost me a dollar.”

  “Why should I waste my money buying one when you already did? So tell me what borax is.”

  Leafing through the pages, Ashley answered, “It says here that borax aids digestion, keeps milk sweet, gets rid of dandruff, improves your complexion, cures epilepsy, dissolves bunions—”

  “Give me a break!” Jack hooted. “Nothing could do all that.”

  Ashley laughed. “That’s what people were saying about it back in 1890. Too bad you can’t get some for your complexion, Jack. I noticed that zit on your cheek….”

  Jack grabbed the booklet and swatted Ashley with it, but it was too flimsy to have any effect. Then he opened it and got interested in the story of borax, a white mineral mined in Death Valley. The best part was about the 20-mule teams—actually nine pairs of mules and a pair of horses—all lined up with a 120-foot-long chain running down the middle of them. The chain connected the team to two huge wagon loads of borax, plus a big iron water tank, with the entire load totaling 36 tons. Jack could imagine those poor mules hauling all that weight out of the valley in the boiling heat of summer. Even worse, sometimes the brakes on the wagons would fail, and the heavy load would thunder downhill on top of the panic-stricken mules trying to stay ahead of it.

  “Hey! Give me back my book,” Ashley demanded.

  Since Jack was now five feet seven inches tall, he had no trouble holding the book too high for his shrimpy little sister to reach. She kept jumping up to slap at his arm.