The Chupacabra Catastrophe

by Amanda M. Lee

  Her intense gaze made me feel uncomfortable. “I’m not.”

  “It’s okay if you are.” Millie lowered her voice. “You don’t have to share your secrets with the world. You don’t have to be uncomfortable being yourself either. I think you’re pretty great.”

  “Except I talk too much and don’t think before I speak,” I muttered.

  “Is that what Jack said?”

  I nodded.

  “Ignore him. Those are my favorite two things about you. I think they’re Jack’s favorite two things, too, although he’s not ready to admit it.”

  “And I think you’re seeing things that aren’t there.”

  Millie wasn’t about to be dissuaded. “I guess we’ll have to see, won’t we?”

  I ASKED MILLIE IF we could make a stop before heading back, and she was more than happy to oblige. She limited herself to one massive margarita during lunch, and seemed in a good mood, only mildly tipsy. She was flummoxed when I pulled into a jewelry store parking lot.

  “Are you going to buy Jack a promise ring?”

  I ran my tongue over my teeth as I tugged on my limited patience. “No. I thought I’d see what they had to say about this.” I pulled the earring I found the previous day from my pocket. “I thought maybe they could tell us when it was made.”

  “Oh. I forgot all about that.” Millie was suddenly intrigued. “Good idea. You’re getting good at this investigative stuff. Jack would be proud.”

  “Don’t make me hurt you,” I warned. “Just because you’re older and I’m supposed to treat you with respect doesn’t mean I won’t kick you when you deserve it.”

  Millie snorted. “Honey, I could take you with a margarita in one hand and a burrito in the other. We both know it. Age is a state of mind.”

  Sadly, she was probably right. She was made of stern stuff, and I’d never been in a physical fight with another woman. “Just … stop with the Jack stuff. It’s not true and makes me feel icky.”

  “That’s because you know it’s true but you don’t want to admit it,” Millie countered. “Still, if you don’t want me to mention it, I won’t.”

  “Thank you.”

  “For three days.”

  “What? That’s absurd.”

  “I’m giving you a three-day moratorium. Then I’m going to start mentioning it again.”

  “You are un-freaking-believable.”

  “That’s what my business cards say.”

  Millie didn’t bother hiding her smug smile as she followed me into the jewelry store. The woman behind the counter – her nametag read “Sue” – offered us a bright smile.

  “Welcome. Is there something specific you’re looking for?”

  “Yes.” Millie grinned like an idiot. “Where are your watches?”

  “The case at the far end.”

  “Great. While I’m looking at those, Charlie has something she’d like to ask you about.”

  Millie left me and drifted toward the watch case. “Do you take credit cards, by the way?”

  Sue nodded. “Of course.” She turned her bright eyes to me. “And what questions do you have?”

  “I found this earring, and I was wondering if you could tell me a little about it.” I drew out the item in question and held it up for Sue’s perusal. “It looks old to me, but I’m not an expert.”

  Sue took the earring and flicked on a counter lamp so she could study it closer. “It looks like a nice piece. Where did you find it?”

  “Out at Hooper’s Mill.” I saw no reason to lie. It wasn’t as if I stole the earring.

  “Really?” Sue was intrigued. “Well, it’s certainly authentic. These are real diamonds and pearls. Do you think someone dropped it?”

  “We’re there in conjunction with the investigation into Wendell Morrison’s death,” Millie volunteered. “She found it in one of the old hotel rooms. We’re a little curious how it ended up where it did.”

  “Could it be from the original time period when the town was booming?” I asked.

  “This is certainly a beautiful piece – and it looks to be original – but that would be original from the 1920s,” Sue explained. “It doesn’t date as far back as Hooper’s Mill.”

  “Oh.” I couldn’t help being a little disappointed. “So it’s newer but hardly new.”

  “Correct.” Sue chewed her lip as she pulled out a loupe and closed one eye to focus on the gemstones. “The diamonds are not only real, but high quality. The earring itself is probably worth a couple thousand dollars. It would be worth more if the backing was original, but it’s still a good find. Do you want to sell it?”

  The question took me by surprise. “It’s not mine. I found it.”

  “Yes, but I doubt anyone is going back to Hooper’s Mill to look for it,” Sue noted. “What is that saying … finder’s keepers? I think you found it, so it’s yours.”

  “I agree,” Millie said. “But don’t sell it. At least not yet.”

  I had no intention of selling it, mostly because the thought unsettled me. I felt as if I were dealing in stolen goods or something, which was ridiculous, but I was something of a goody-goody when it came to issues like this. I needed to buy time so I could think.

  “You said the backing isn’t original,” I prodded. “What does that mean?”

  “Do you see the metal here?” Sue pointed at the gleaming back of the earring. “That’s much newer.”

  “How much newer?”

  “I would say within the last two years or so, because it’s in really good shape,” Sue replied. “It’s not uncommon to rehabilitate older pieces like this. People have been doing it for years. I like it because it maintains the integrity of the older pieces, but makes it so they’re less likely to fall apart.”

  “Hmm.” I rubbed the back of my neck as I lobbed a gaze toward Millie, who was watching me with a thoughtful expression. “If the earring was updated within the last few years, that means the person wearing it was there within that timeframe.”

  “And from where you found it, I’m going to guess it was more recent than that,” Millie said. “It wasn’t even dirty when you discovered it.”

  “That’s how I found it,” I said. “That room was dark, and it glinted in the sunlight.”

  “What are you thinking?” Millie asked. “Do you think Wendell Morrison somehow dropped it?”

  “I’m sure it’s not his style, but that doesn’t mean someone he knew didn’t drop it.”

  “Like his daughter?”

  I thought back to Naomi Morrison and shook my head. “This doesn’t seem like her style either. She wasn’t wearing jewelry. But she might know who it belongs to.”

  “Oh, good, another trip. Do you think Jack would approve of us handling this leg of the investigation?”

  That was an interesting question. I had another one. “Do you care?”

  “Not in the least,” Millie replied. “But before we go, I want to buy a watch.”

  “Why do you need a watch?”

  “It’s for you.”

  I balked. “I don’t need a watch. In fact … you don’t have to buy something for me.”

  “I want to, and you do need a watch,” Millie argued. “Look at the rest of the group. Everyone wears a watch. They’re important.”

  “But … .”

  “No.” Millie shook her head. “It’s obvious you’ve been on your own for a long time and you’re used to doing for yourself. This is a gift. You’re going to take it and suck it up.”

  I was both mortified and touched. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Start with ‘thank you.’”

  That seemed simple enough. “Thank you.”

  “Good.” Millie’s smile was benevolent. “I want you to remember this moment when I start bugging you about Jack again. I’ve earned some good will here.”

  Yup. I should’ve seen that coming. It was too late now, though. “I’ll try to remember.”

  “That would be great. Wrap her up, Sue. We’ve got a
grieving daughter to question, and I wouldn’t mind finding some ice cream on our way out of town.”

  Well, at least not all her ideas were bad.

  18

  Eighteen

  Naomi’s ranch was quiet as we drove along the driveway, somber, almost as if the house and land were mourning Wendell Morrison’s death. I was nervous when I knocked on the door. The man who answered seemed surprised to see us. He cocked an eyebrow, almost as if he suspected us of being Texas’ version of solicitors.

  “May I help you?”

  “Hi.” I shifted from one foot to the other and did my best to appear professional. “My name is Charlie Rhodes. I was here the other day and interviewed Naomi. I’m with the Legacy Foundation. Um … I was hoping to talk to her again.”

  “Ms. Morrison is indisposed.”

  “Does that mean she’s crying or drinking?” Millie asked. “I don’t care if she’s doing either – or both, for that matter – but we really only have a quick question, and it might help with the investigation into her father’s death.”

  The man was quiet for a long moment, the only movement his blinking eyes.

  “I swear we won’t take long,” I added. “It’s simply a question she might know the answer to. Um … we don’t want to bother her. We know she’s dealing with a lot.”

  “She is.” The man nodded gravely. “I will discuss this with her and return shortly.” Instead of ushering us inside he closed the doors in our faces, leaving us alone on the front porch.

  “So … do you think he wants us to wait?” I asked, confused.

  “I think so,” Millie confirmed. “He’s not very friendly, is he?”

  “He’s probably just serious about protecting his boss. She is going through a hard time. I mean … think about it. Say your father died in the middle of a ghost town and all his blood was drained and you had no idea if it was the work of man or beast. How would you feel about that?”

  “Like Ripley’s Believe it or Not would be getting a call and I would be getting some money.”

  I slid Millie a sidelong look, dubious. “Do you really believe that?”

  Millie huffed out a sigh. “No. I get it. She’s in mourning. In her position, I’m not sure which outcome would be more welcome.”

  “She seems pretty matter of fact about her father and the way he interacted with her, but … well … he’s still her father.”

  “You’re essentially saying she loved him even though he was a douche nozzle.”

  I blinked back my surprise at the term. “I’m pretty sure I would never use those words.”

  Millie snorted. “I think it’s funny that you have no filter and say whatever comes to your head, but you’re offended by the term ‘douche nozzle.’”

  “I didn’t say I was offended.”

  “You didn’t have to say it. Your face said it for you.”

  I heaved a sigh and blew my bangs away from my forehead. “There are times you make me want to take a nap.”

  “I have that effect on everyone. You’ll learn to live with it.”

  The door opened a second time, the man returning to his previous spot. He looked resigned rather than happy. “Ms. Morrison will see you in the parlor.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  The butler – whether he was really a butler or an assistant, I didn’t know, but he looked like a butler to me – ushered us into the same room Jack and I visited previously. He didn’t offer refreshments or snacks, which I had to figure was by design, and left us to wait for Naomi.

  “I’m starting to get the feeling that he really doesn’t like us,” Millie said once he left.

  “Yeah. That’s pretty obvious. I wish he would chill. It’s not as if we’re going to steal the silver or anything.”

  “He’s paid to be uptight,” Millie noted. “He’s good at his job.”

  “He certainly is.”

  We sat for about three minutes before Naomi walked into the room. She was dressed in simple yoga pants and a T-shirt, her hair swept back in a ponytail. She wore no makeup and her eyes were red-rimmed. She was clearly struggling through her day-to-day responsibilities.

  “You’re back.” Naomi spoke it as fact rather than recrimination or excitement. Her affect was flat and she looked largely disinterested in our visit.

  “I am, and I’m sorry.” I rubbed my hands over my knees as my nerves returned. “I don’t want to take up a lot of your time – I know you’re really going through it right now – but I do have a few questions.”

  “You know I’m really going through it right now?” Naomi’s response was dull. “I see. Did you lose your father to the Chupacabra?”

  “No, but I lost both my parents in an accident when I was eighteen and was left completely on my own from that day forward.”

  Naomi relaxed a bit. “I’m sorry. That was an awful thing to say. I don’t know why I said it. I’m simply exhausted. That’s no excuse for taking my grief out on you.”

  I waved off her apology. “It’s fine. I know you’re dealing with a lot. We really don’t want to take up much of your time.”

  “Fair enough. Why are you here?”

  “We heard about the silver legend,” Millie replied, getting straight to the point. “A lot of people in town say that your father was obsessed with buying Hooper’s Mill because he believed the legend and wanted the silver.”

  If the statement upset Naomi, she didn’t show it. “My father believed the legend, but that’s not why he wanted Hooper’s Mill.”

  “He believed the legend? Did he tell you that?”

  Naomi nodded. “I was raised on the legend. He kept calling it my birthright, but I learned pretty quickly when I got older that not everyone believed the same story.”

  “He thought it was your birthright because his ancestor was one of the original founders of the town, right?” I asked.

  Naomi’s eyes widened. “I’m impressed. How did you know that?”

  “We pulled the land deeds for the town. There was a Morrison listed,” I replied. “It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together. Apparently Donald Morrison sold his share of the town to Richard Hooper a few years after, right?”

  “It was more like a year later, if I’m remembering it right,” Naomi corrected. “I’m familiar with that story, too. My father is convinced that Richard Hooper scammed his great-great-however many greats it is-grandfather. He’s been obsessed with righting that wrong ever since.”

  “Scammed how?” Millie asked. “I thought the original Morrison sold the property.”

  “He did.” Naomi rubbed her cheek, weariness evident. I felt bad for bothering her, but it was necessary. “I’ve spent a lot of time researching this. To be fair, I believed my father’s stories when I was younger. I thought that we were somehow swindled and was righteously ticked off on behalf of our entire family.

  “Then, when I was about fourteen, I went to this event at the library,” she continued. “It was all about the history of Hooper’s Mill. I’d always been interested because of the things my father said – and he took me there from time to time when I was a kid – so I went to this talk to learn more.

  “Imagine my surprise when the historian started talking about a bunch of things that I didn’t know about,” she said. “I thought he had to be making it up. I asked my father about it, and he said that there were all kinds of lies being bandied about regarding Hooper’s Mill. That only frustrated me more, of course.

  “I decided to do some research. I was going to write that historian an angry letter when I was done, because I thought that would somehow show him – I was naïve at that age – but I actually uncovered a lot of things that made me realize my father was the one spinning tall tales,” she said. “I don’t think he meant to. I think he honestly convinced himself they were true. You couldn’t talk to him about Hooper’s Mill. He was absolutely crazy when it came to talk of that place.”

  “Do you believe the stories about the silver?” I asked. “A lot of people
we’ve talked to say the legend is true and that Richard Hooper died not long after leaving town and couldn’t return to reclaim the silver. I did a little research, though, and found that’s not true. I have trouble believing that he would purposely leave a small fortune in silver behind.”

  “And I’m right there with you,” Naomi said. “I do think there’s still room for debate, but if there was silver there – and I’m not ruling out the possibility – I think it was a much smaller quantity than what’s been reported. And it was probably discovered and removed from the property a very long time ago.

  “The thing is, the areas surrounding Hooper’s Mill are poor, so even the thought of five stray hunks of silver sitting around is enough to entice people to head out there and take a look,” she continued. “When you’re struggling to put food on the table, you’re more willing to believe wild stories.”

  “I can see that.” I dug in my pocket and retrieved the earring. “The other thing I wanted to ask is if you recognize this.”

  Naomi accepted the earring, her eyebrows coming together as she stared. “Am I supposed to recognize this?”

  “No, but it’s a distinctive piece. I found it in the hotel yesterday,” I explained. “At first I thought it had been there since the town was abandoned. It’s an antique, after all. But we took it to a jeweler, and she said the setting is antique but not old enough to date back to the days when Hooper’s Mill was in operation.”

  “I still don’t understand why it’s important,” Naomi said.

  “The backing on it is new and refurbished,” I supplied. “She thinks it was done within the last year or two. It was out in the open when I found it, no dust or anything. I think that means it was discarded or lost recently.”

  “I guess.” Naomi dropped the earring in my hand. “Teenagers are running around Hooper’s Mill all the time.”

  “They are, but this isn’t something a teenager would wear,” I pointed out. “It looks like an heirloom of some type. I’m sure if we take it to the right people, a historian maybe, we might be able to drill down and figure out the family it came from.”