Mesozoic Murder
Page 27
Dorbandt’s face brightened. “All right, but I can’t stay too long.”
“Let me grab my things, and I’ll meet you outside.”
“Hokay.” Dorbandt opened the front door and disappeared into the sunshine.
Ansel moved her aching body over to the kitchen counter and grabbed a temporary leather purse. Pond water had ruined her fanny pack. A stack of four days’ worth of mail fell off the counter onto the floor. She bent down with difficulty and retrieved the splayed envelopes and circulars. A nine-by-twelve-inch mailer had fallen right at her feet. It was from the law offices of Gabrielson and Zim. Preston Opel’s attorneys.
Placing the other mail on the counter, Ansel opened the packet. Between her bandaged hand and her shaking limbs, it was slow going. She dreaded what might be waiting inside. Had Preston’s sister filed a claim against the will bequeathing the Pangaea Society three hundred thousand dollars? Inside she found a thin stack of paper-clipped sheets. She read the top page.
Unbelievable. The law firm was notifying her that the memorial gift funds had been transferred to the Pangaea Society, Inc. banking account as per the terms of Preston Opel’s last will and testament. All county, state and federal filings were completed. It was finally over. The POP Center could be built.
Ansel set down the package. She could hardly wait until the other members knew the good news. Suddenly an immense weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She quickly grabbed her father’s truck keys. At the front door she punched a security code into a new alarm keypad before leaving. Dorbandt was leaning against the hood of his unmarked car, a flat brownish packet in his hands.
“Oh, no. We’re not going to lunch in a cop car,” Ansel said, marching toward an old black pickup. She tossed the keys to Dorbandt. “You drive. I’m injured, remember?” She held up her swaddled wrist.
“Like a pygmy rattler,” Dorbandt mumbled, remembering McKenzie’s statement about Phoenix bloodlines.
Ansel went to the borrowed Arrowhead truck and opened the passenger door. “What was that?”
“I wondered if this rattletrap will make it to the ranch?” Dorbandt replied, climbing behind the wheel. The inside smelled like sour hay and cigarette smoke.
Ansel donned her sunglasses. “What’re you talking about? It’s only got a hundred and fifty thousand miles on it. Where I come from, we don’t ditch a truck unless it won’t run long enough to cook brown salmon wrapped in foil on the engine block while we make the twenty-minute ride between towns.”
“Terrific. Here, this is for you. The forensic techs are done with your car. This was clipped to a sun visor. Thought it might be important even if it is all muddied up.”
Ansel took the wrinkled, discolored thing from his hands and realized that it was the postal envelope containing Rodgers’ check. It felt stiff and thick. The inside looked almost black with dried scum. She’d assumed that she’d never see it again or that it would be totally ruined from a dowsing in the pond. She’d intended to request another payment from Folsom Publishing.
“It looks worthless,” she said, disliking the very feel of the packet.
Dorbandt started the engine. It grated like a gas-powered tree clipper. “Do whatever you want with it.”
Ansel forged ahead, pulling the gritty, smelly letter from the envelope and opening it slowly. The correspondence had been typewritten on good quality bond and was surprisingly legible. The check looked worse for wear, but she still might be able to deposit it even though it looked like it had been run through a washing machine, dyed black and eaten on by hungry mice.
Dear Ansel,
I have enclosed your second cash advance as per our contractual agreement. I look forward to working with you on future Science Quest projects. Your work is of outstanding quality and merit and is an asset to this publication. I have received several requests for your artwork by other distinguished contributors and would like to discuss available projects for you to consider taking on. Please contact me at your earliest convenience.
Best regards,
Phillip Rodgers
Editor, Science Quest Magazine
P.S. I have enclosed a small fossil which Dr. Andreasson believes is yours. The printer found it in your mailing box.
Her Iniskim. But how?
Ansel tossed the check and letter aside. At the bottom was a small, tissue-wrapped object. She scooped up the bundle and tore away the wrapping. The blue stone looked perfect. The star design on the fossil sea urchin’s top shell was unbroken and unmarred.
This meant that the amulet had been inside the truck cab the entire time she and Tim had fought to the death. The charm had traveled across the country and returned to her just when she needed it to protect her from being shot or drowned.
“Everything all right?” Dorbandt scrutinized her carefully.
Only then did Ansel realize that he’d been sitting there watching her the whole time, the vehicle idling in the driveway. “I’m great. Let’s get going.”
Dorbandt shrugged, adjusted the air conditioning knobs, which had absolutely no effect on the air puffing weakly from the vents, and switched the manual gear into drive with a gut-wrenching squeal of transmission gears. Dorbandt shook his head.
“I’m telling you this pile of junk will never make it to the Arrowhead,” he griped.
Ansel dug through her purse and noticed the envelope she’d addressed to Karen Capos. She’d tucked in the check from Gunther Osgoode and a brief note explaining that the money came from the last items sold from Nick’s fossil collection. About fifty dollars. If Karen cashed it. The check had been saturated with urine. And it smelled. Somehow that made sending the money to Karen quite appropriate. She’d mail it on the way to the ranch.
“We’ll get there. You worry too much, Dorbandt.”
She pulled out her leather cord, threaded it through her Iniskim and hooked the clasp behind her neck. The stone fell into the crook of her throat. It felt wonderful. She grinned from ear to ear as the truck jolted down the drive.
“If we’re going to lunch with your friends, I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Reid.”
“Okay, I’ll try, but I don’t think of you as a Reid.”
“Try real hard,” Dorbandt said.
“Gee, I can’t wait to introduce you to my friends.” A sly grin covered her face.
Dorbandt glanced at her suspiciously. “I’m kind of curious about them myself.”
“I have a really close friend that can’t wait to meet you.”
“Who’s that?”
Ansel giggled. “Cute little devil. His name is Freddy Wing.”
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