by Cindi Myers
“You’d think a prophet would have seen through your disguise,” Jake said.
“I’m sure he’ll have an explanation for his followers.” Her expression sobered. “Though I hope Sophie and your mom will understand why I kept the truth from them.”
“My mom isn’t going to be happy to find out I’m a cop, either.” He glanced at her. “In her past, she had more than a few run-ins with the police, none of them pleasant.” One of the toughest parts of his screening for his job had been admitting that his own mother had a record for drug possession, solicitation and theft. He might have had a tough time in some city police departments but, being a Fish and Wildlife officer, he rarely dealt with drug crimes and prostitution.
“Phoenix gives Daniel Metwater credit for getting her off drugs,” Carmen said. “Whatever else he’s done wrong, we have to applaud him for that.”
“Yeah, good for him,” Jake said. “But she needs to move on now. And she needs to let Sophie move on. Whether her story about Metwater wanting to marry Sophie is true or not, nothing good will come of the two of them staying with him.”
“I agree,” Carmen said. “And I’ll do what I can to help you, though I don’t see how I can have much influence.”
“I want to talk to her first,” he said. “Before we speak with Metwater and Starfall.”
“Sure. It might even be good if they think she’s the reason for our visit. It might cause them to let down their guard.”
No one challenged them as they walked into camp from the parking area. “There’s almost always a guard,” Carmen said. “I wonder why no one is on duty today.”
“Maybe it was Reggae’s turn to keep watch,” Jake said.
Almost everyone in the camp openly stared at them as they moved among the tents and trailers. Jake knew they were focusing on the uniforms more than the people in them—it was both a positive and a negative about the apparel. It marked officers as figures with special power, which some people respected, and most people feared, at least a little.
Starfall jumped up from the folding chair she had been sitting in by the door of the white tent and openly gaped at them, then ducked into the tent—was she hiding or merely going to tell her tentmate, Asteria, about this latest development?
Sophie stared, too, when she opened the door of the trailer she shared with Phoenix. She took in Jake’s dark brown pants and khaki uniform shirt, and the khaki pants and shirt Carmen wore, with her sergeant’s stripes and blue Ranger Brigade patch. “Jake, why are you dressed like that?” she asked. “And Carmen—what’s going on?”
“May we come in?” he asked. “You don’t have to be afraid. You’re not in any trouble.”
She stepped back and let them move past her. Phoenix sat up from where she had been lying on the daybed and pushed a knitted afghan aside. She, too, stared at the uniforms. “Jake, please don’t tell me you’re a cop!” she all but wailed.
“I’m an investigator with the US Fish and Wildlife Service,” he said. “My job is to protect our plant and animal resources.”
His explanation did little to change the expression of disgust on her face. She turned to Carmen. “And you’re one of those Rangers—the ones who are always hassling us. You weren’t here as our friend at all. You were spying on us.”
“I was trying to learn more about the group,” she said. “Trying to understand you.”
“And to think I thought of you as my friend.” She looked away. “You can both leave now.”
“We’re not leaving,” Jake said. “We’re both here because we care about the two of you.” He sat beside Phoenix and took her hand. “Mom, you’re clearly not well. Look at you—having to lie down in the middle of the day. That isn’t like you.”
“I’m not as young as I used to be.” She pushed her limp hair back off her forehead. “I’ve been taking a tonic I’m sure will help me, but herbal medicines take a while to work.”
“What are your symptoms?” Carmen asked. “And what are you taking for them?”
“I’m taking molasses and apple cider vinegar to strengthen my blood, and dandelion root for fatigue,” Phoenix said. “It’s all very healthy, nothing narcotic or illegal.”
“You need to see a doctor, to make sure it isn’t something more serious,” Jake said. “There’s a clinic in town. I could take you.”
“You won’t bring me back here,” she said. “You hate the Prophet—you’re afraid of his power.” She turned to Carmen. “He told me that’s why the Rangers are always bothering us—they know that the Prophet is more powerful than they are, that if everyone followed the peaceful way he preaches, it would put them out of work.”
Jake saw that this twisted logic made perfect sense to her, but Sophie wasn’t buying it. “Some people don’t want to be peaceful,” she said. “Jake and Carmen will always have work trying to protect the rest of us from them.” She touched his shoulder. “Why are you here today?”
“We have some sad news,” he said. “One of your members, a man named Reggae, was killed early this morning. It may be related to a case I’m working on.”
Sophie’s eyes widened. “Reggae?”
He took both her hands in his. “Yes, but you can’t say anything to anyone until we’ve told Metwater. We’re hoping he can tell us how to get in touch with Reggae’s family.”
She nodded, her eyes bright with tears. “He was always nice to me,” she said. “I’m sorry he’s dead.”
“What kind of case?” Phoenix asked.
“An illegal smuggling operation.” He squeezed her hand. “I can’t say more.”
“And you think the Prophet had something to do with this?” Phoenix looked indignant. “Well, you’re wrong.”
“We don’t have any reason to believe he’s involved,” Carmen said. “Why do you think we would?”
“Have there been any strangers in camp lately?” Jake asked. “People with foreign accents?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She folded her arms across her chest and looked away again.
Jake turned to his sister. “Have you seen or heard anything unusual in the past few days?”
She shook her head. “No. No one has visited—just you and Carmen. What kind of foreign accent?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He stood. “We’d better go see Metwater now.”
“You can walk with us to his motor home,” Carmen said to Sophie. “If it’s okay with your mother.”
“I’ll go with you,” Sophie said, jumping up and running out before her mother could object.
“The clinic in town is very good,” Carmen said to Phoenix. “The nurse practitioner is a friend of mine, and the fees are on a sliding scale.”
Phoenix said nothing and kept her gaze fixed out the window. As soon as they were out of the trailer, Jake put his arm around his sister and pulled her close. “How are you doing?” he asked.
“Okay.” She shrugged. “I’m worried about Mom.”
“She doesn’t look very well,” Carmen said. “Is she eating?”
“Not much.” Sophie shook her head. “She said everything upsets her stomach. She sleeps a lot. The Prophet excused her from work duties.” She looked up at Jake. “He even tried to get her to see the doctor. He’s not all bad.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Jake said. “Try not to worry too much. That’s my job.”
“I can’t believe you’re a cop,” Sophie said. “Mom hates cops.” She flushed. “Only because she got in so much trouble with them when she was doing drugs and stuff.”
“Your mom isn’t in any trouble with us,” Carmen said. “We only want to help.”
“I know,” Sophie said.
They reached Metwater’s motor home. “Go back to Mom,” Jake said. “I’ll try to check in with you again tomorrow, but, if you need anything at all, here’s my number.” He took one of his cards from his
shirt pocket and handed it to her.
She studied the card. “We don’t have a phone. No one does. They don’t work out here.”
“Get someone to bring you to Ranger headquarters,” Carmen said. “You can call from there, or I’ll help you.”
She nodded and slipped the card into the pocket of her jeans. “I guess being a wildlife officer is a good job, huh?” she asked.
“I think so.”
“Good enough to support all of us if we came to live with you?”
“Definitely good enough for that.”
She hugged him, then hurried away, back toward Phoenix’s trailer. Jake and Carmen climbed the steps of Metwater’s RV. The door opened before Jake could knock. Asteria looked out at them. “The Prophet wants to know why you’re here,” she said.
“We came to inform him of the death of one of his followers,” Jake said.
She looked startled but said nothing and held the door open wider for them to enter. Metwater sat in a recliner across the room, feet up, posture relaxed. He, too, remained silent as they entered, though Jake could read the contempt in his expression from across the room.
“One of your followers, Reggae, is dead,” Jake said. “We need to know his real name so that we can contact his family.”
“I wondered where he was this morning,” Metwater said. “It wasn’t like him to shirk his duties.”
“Aren’t you curious as to how he died?” Jake asked.
“I assume you’ll tell me.”
“He was murdered,” Jake said.
Still, Metwater’s expression betrayed nothing. It was the face of a statue—handsome and unfeeling. He turned to Carmen. “Why are you here?”
“I knew Reggae,” she said. “I came to tell his friends what happened to him and to find out what I could about him—to try to find the person who killed him.”
“And you think it was one of us, don’t you? That’s what the Rangers always think.” He shifted position, bringing the recliner upright with a thump. “Get out of my house. I welcomed you in because I thought you were a believer, yet it was all lies. You came here as a spy and my enemy. Get out.”
Carmen didn’t flinch, though Jake sensed her tension. He wasn’t sure he could have withstood Metwater’s raging without firing back, but she kept calm. “I have a job to do,” she said. “One that includes protecting all the people in this camp—and you. Do you know anyone who would have any reason to execute Reggae with a bullet to his temple?”
Metwater’s face had been flushed with rage, but now it was drained of color. “Why did you use that word—executed?”
“Because that is what Reggae’s death reminded me of,” she said. “He was shot in the temple with a small-caliber weapon, the gun so close there were powder burns. His hands were tied behind his back. We can’t be certain, but my guess would be more than one person was involved. They probably made him kneel in the dirt and killed him there.”
Metwater looked ill. Asteria moved over to put a hand on his shoulder. “You should go,” she told Jake and Carmen. “The Prophet is deeply affected by violence. It’s because he’s a man of peace.”
“That’s not the reason, is it?” Jake asked. Metwater hadn’t reacted at all to news of Reggae’s death, only to the specific manner of that death.
Metwater shook his head. “Go,” he said, the single syllable a croak. “Just...go.”
They left. Outside the motor home, Jake turned to Carmen. “What do you make of that?”
“He looked terrified,” she said.
“Like someone who got a message he didn’t want to receive,” Jake said. “Let’s see if anyone else in camp can shed any light.”
“Starfall,” Carmen said. “She has a whole file on the Prophet. Almost like a dossier. I found it when I was searching for your badge.”
Starfall had returned to the folding chair outside her tent. “I knew there was a reason you two were so cozy,” she said as they approached. “You’re just a pair of pigs.”
“I thought that slang went out of fashion years ago,” Jake said.
“We’re a little behind the times here,” Starfall said. “Haven’t you noticed?”
“I’m afraid we have some bad news,” Jake said.
“The only bad news is that you two are here,” Starfall said.
“Reggae is dead,” Carmen said. “Someone killed him this morning.”
Starfall stared. “No.”
“I’m sorry, yes.” Carmen squatted down in front of her chair. “We’re trying to find out who killed him. Did he ever mention any enemies to you? Anyone who might want to harm him?”
Starfall shook her head. “Not Reggae. He was a nice guy.” She blinked, her eyes shiny. “A really nice guy.”
“This wasn’t an accident,” Jake said. “He had a backpack full of cactus. Was he collecting them for you?”
“For me?” She swallowed. “I told him a guy would pay for cactus, but that was all. He never said anything about wanting to get in on the deal.”
“Maybe he wanted to surprise you,” Jake said.
“That would be just like him.” She gave a ragged laugh. “He was always trying to impress me. If I said I wanted wild strawberries, he’d pick a big bowl full. Or if we needed something repaired, he would always volunteer.” She swallowed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I was pretty awful to him, really, and he was so nice to me.”
“I’m sorry,” Carmen said. “I know he was your friend.”
“How did he die?” Starfall said. “I mean, you said he was shot, but how?”
“A bullet in his temple,” Carmen said.
“You mean, like an execution—like a mob hit or something?”
“Why do you say mob?” Jake said.
Starfall shook her head, as if trying to clear it. “It’s just funny, that’s all.”
“What’s funny?” Carmen asked.
“For him to die that way.” Her eyes, without their usual guile, met Jake’s. “That’s the same way Daniel Metwater’s brother was killed.”
Chapter Ten
A search of Reggae’s tent revealed that his real name was Donald Quackenbush, from Pocatello, Idaho. He had no criminal record, and the only family the Rangers could locate was an older sister who reported she hadn’t seen her brother in five years and didn’t have the time or money to come get him now.
Carmen hung up the phone from that conversation feeling a too-familiar mixture of anger and disgust. At least Starfall had truly grieved the young man’s death, and Daniel Metwater had sent word half an hour ago that he would pay for Reggae’s cremation if the ashes were returned to the Family, so that they could give him a formal memorial.
“The sister says she has no idea what her brother has been doing all these years,” Carmen told Jake. He had pulled up a chair to the opposite side of her desk and was sharing the workspace with her. On the way back from Metwater’s camp, he had revealed that he was no longer assigned to tail Werner Altbusser but would work with the Rangers on the murder investigation.
“I found a couple of articles about David Metwater’s death,” he said, looking up from his laptop. “Starfall is right—he was shot in the right temple with a .22-caliber pistol. His hands were tied behind him, and he was dumped in the river.”
“It could be a coincidence,” Carmen said. “Or maybe the mob is branching out into cactus smuggling.”
“Or maybe someone is sending a message to Daniel Metwater, and Donald was the unfortunate means of delivering the message.”
“Metwater was certainly affected by the news,” Carmen said. “I can see how it would be a shock to hear about someone else he knew dying the same way as his brother, even if Reggae’s murder has nothing to do with Metwater.”
“I’m having a hard time seeing a connection,” Jake said. “David Metwater died almost tw
o years ago. Daniel Metwater hasn’t made any big secret of his whereabouts or what he’s been doing. Why would the mob decide all of a sudden to come after him?”
She ran both hands through her hair. “I don’t know. And I’m too beat to come up with any good theories tonight. Let’s pack it in until tomorrow.”
“Good idea.” He powered down his laptop. “Want to grab a bite to eat?” he asked. “You provided lunch—it’s only fair I should buy you dinner.”
She should say no. Getting involved with a co-worker was a bad idea, even if he was only temporarily liaising with the Rangers. And part of her still wasn’t sure she could trust him. “Okay,” she said. They would talk about work, she promised herself. Two co-workers reviewing the day.
She directed him to a café in town with good soups and salads and a choice of entrées that included, but wasn’t limited to, burgers. “I like this town,” Jake said as he settled into a booth across from her. “I wish I had more time to stick around and explore the area.”
“It’s a lot different from Houston,” she said. “I was there once, visiting cousins. I remember heat, humidity and very flat terrain.”
“It’s great if you like big cities,” he said. “But I’m thinking I should move Sophie and Mom someplace quieter. Maybe where Mom won’t have so many temptations to slip back into her old life.”
The mention of Phoenix sobered Carmen. “She doesn’t look well,” she said. “Even Metwater noticed. Maybe we can persuade him to order her to see a doctor. She might listen to him.”
“I’m willing to try anything at this point.” He set aside his menu. He looked beat—fatigue in his eyes and weariness in the set of his shoulders. She had to resist the urge to lean over the table and squeeze his hand.
Instead, she searched for a safe topic of conversation. “What’s going to happen with Werner?” she asked.
“The other agent will tail him and get the photographs we need for our case. I met the agent—Tony—a couple of times at training seminars. He seems like a good guy—he’ll do a good job.”