by Sylvia Nobel
“What do you think?”
Tugg absentmindedly fluffed the patches of hair again. “John Dexter wasn’t real well liked. He delighted in digging up dirt on people. Go through some of the back issues and you’ll see what I mean. He had a knack for really pissing people off. But,” he added, “even though he was sort of flaky at times, I can’t believe he’d just up and go with no notice.”
“So, I’ll talk to the police and see what I can come up with. Perhaps there’s a lead they’ve missed.”
“No!”
I jumped as his fist crashed on the desk. Then, noting my obvious shock, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you…it’s just that…I’m not sure giving you this assignment would be the right thing to do.”
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. The major reason for my trip, resurrecting my aborted career, was fading before my eyes. “I’d appreciate a shot at this.”
He swiveled in his chair and stared silently at the poster of Greece. After a minute he said quietly, “If you decide to work on this, it’ll have to be strictly on the Q.T. Nobody else can know, and I’d caution you to be very, very careful.”
His attitude disturbed me. It wasn’t what he was saying, it was what he wasn’t saying.
“Mr. Tuggs, Tugg…” I tried to keep the irritation from my voice. “You’re going to have to level with me on this or I don’t see how I can help. If you suspect foul play, which I gather you do, why aren’t the police pursuing it, and why aren’t you pushing for answers?”
As if struggling mightily with a difficult decision, he dropped his eyes and drummed his fingers on the desk. Abruptly, he pulled open a drawer and extracted a ragged piece of paper. He stared at it, chewing his lower lip. “John called me at home the afternoon before he disappeared. We were having a big get-together for my daughter and it was so noisy I was having trouble hearing him. I wish now I’d paid more attention ’cause I only remember bits and pieces of what he said.” He sighed heavily. “Something about meeting a girl later. Her information would tie into what he’d been working on earlier in the week, and if he was right, it would blow the lid off this town.” He stopped, rubbed his temples as if in pain, then continued. “He’d been going through some files over at the sheriff’s office and told me he’d discovered something weird. I’m not sure if there’s any connection, but, I found this in his desk a couple of days ago.”
I studied the smudged paper he handed me. In between a profusion of doodling, I read the scattered phrases: Med records gone. Both cases. Dead teens. T prof…Connection? Possible cover up?
Before I could speak he added, “One more thing. And, this is a doozy, the part that’s really got me boxed into a corner. The last thing he said before he hung up was, “‘Whatever you do, don’t mention this to Roy.’”
I looked up. “Who’s Roy?”
The pained expression again. “My goddamned brother-in-law.”
It was frustrating having to drag every word from him. “So?”
“He owns half this newspaper and…he’s the sheriff.”
2
I left Morton Tuggs’ office, my head still reeling from his disturbing revelations, and trotted after Ginger, who’d been charged with familiarizing me with the layout. For the moment, I pushed the John Dexter puzzle to the back of my mind.
In the paper-littered production room, I shook hands with Harry, a big, burly man with coffee stains on his T-shirt, and then Rick, who peered at me owlishly through thick, horn-rimmed glasses. Lupe and Al, busy on the phones with classifieds, flashed preoccupied smiles. While Ginger prattled on, filling my head with endless personal statistics about each employee, I strained to maintain an expression of interest. The place was much smaller than I had imagined.
“And this here’s your office.” She gave a grand sweep of her hand.
Inwardly, I cringed in dismay at the sight of the dingy room crammed with several filing cabinets and three scarred desks topped with piles of clutter. Two smeary windows faced east overlooking the parking lot.
“Jim’s out on assignment, but I see Tally’s still here. He writes all the sports goodies.” She nodded toward a man hunched over a desk in the far corner with his back to us, the phone cradled on his shoulder. A playful lilt edged her words as she sang out, “Hey, darlin’! Y’all turn ’round here and say ‘howdy’ to your new roommate.”
Apparently absorbed on the phone, he didn’t acknowledge us, so I told Ginger I’d meet him later. No sooner were the words spoken when he swiveled his chair around and stood to face us. Our eyes met, and my mouth sagged open as a jolt of recognition shot through me. It couldn’t be! There in front of me clad in boots, jeans, and a checkered shirt, stood the tall, lanky cowboy from yesterday. The pig chaser.
Once again, he bowed deeply. “Bradley Talverson at your service…again, ma’am.” His lips twisted in a wry smile as he motioned toward a tiny, metal desk. “I hope you’ll find the…ah…accommodations here in the executive office to your liking.”
With a chill of embarrassment, I remembered my fabricated tale of an important managerial position. So, that’s why he’d acted the way he had. He must have thought I was a complete ass and I had no doubt my face was as red as it felt. The expression in his dark eyes challenged me to react. For what seemed an eternity, I wrestled with disbelief, regret and irritation. There seemed only one right thing to do. I laughed.
A look of surprise flitted over his lean face. “Well,” he chuckled, widening his stance and folding his arms across his chest. “I’m glad to see you have a sense of humor.”
Ginger regarded the two of us with astonishment. “Y’all know each other?”
“In a manner of speaking,” he told her, and I couldn’t help but notice his eyes brushing over me again. We parted on a handshake and my promise to return his thermos in the morning.
As I moved to the front door, I could tell by the look on Ginger’s face that she was dying to know how we’d met. But I’d have to tell her some other time. Tugg had arranged for me to meet his wife, Mary at her realty office, and I was already late.
En route to the address, I thought about the rest of my conversation with Tugg. The newspaper had been owned by his wife’s family for many years and her father had been editor up until four years ago when ill health forced him to retire. Under pressure, Tugg had given up a good position at the Arizona Republic in Phoenix and relocated to Castle Valley. He’d found the Sun in sorry shape and deeply in debt. A large infusion of cash was needed to keep it afloat, but no lending institutions were interested. Help had finally come from within the family. Roy Hollingsworth, recently married to Mary’s twin sister, Faye, had advanced the money.
“You can see why I haven’t been able to pursue this myself,” Tugg had said glumly. “I’m between that rock and hard place you always hear about. Can you imagine what would happen if the paper accused Roy of dragging his feet on this investigation? If he pulls his financial support, we’re sunk, not to mention that Mary would probably divorce me.”
I asked him the best way to approach the subject with his brother-in-law.
“With caution,” he warned. “Roy’s not a man to piss off. He’s got a hard head, a short temper, and,” Tugg emphasized with a scowl, “he carries a gun. Just remember that.” Ushering me toward the door, he’d apologized for placing me in such a delicate spot, but felt with my background I’d be able to dig up something without being discovered. Once again, the opportunity had come for me to declare my amateur status, and, as before, I thought better of it.
“Why don’t you just hire a private detective or something? That way there’d be no tie to the newspaper.”
He looked weary. “I’m barely collecting a salary now. Where would I get fifty bucks an hour to hire one?”
As I parked the car at the Castle Valley Realty office, I had more than a few misgivings about my decision to accept the position.
Mary Tuggs welcomed me with a beaming smile as I stepped inside her office. �
��I’m so very glad to meet you.”
At five foot eight, I towered over her tiny, round frame. “My goodness, aren’t you a sight! You remind me of a young Katharine Hepburn.”
That clinched it. I decided I liked Mary Tuggs a lot. Outside again, I wondered if she’d need a leg up as we approached her red Bronco. Somehow she scrambled into the driver’s seat without assistance. She showed me several unremarkable dwellings nearby, renting for astronomical prices, and then, noting my dismay, suggested a place located five miles north of town. “Morty thought you might like to at least look at it,” she said, swinging onto the main highway. “But I’m not sure you’ll want to be so far from town.”
She told me that the three-bedroom, two bath house was vacant because the elderly owner, Teresa Delgado, was in a Phoenix nursing home recovering from a fall. Afraid of vandalism, she wanted Mary to find a trustworthy renter to occupy it until she returned. “It’s been empty for a month now, so she’s lowered the rent to get someone in there,” she added.
“Sounds interesting,” I replied, watching the cactus -covered landscape fly past. There wasn’t another house in sight when we turned east and bounced along a rutted dirt road, leaving a plume of swirling dust in our wake.
“This is Lost Canyon Road,” Mary informed me. “You’ll be quite close to the Castle.”
“Castle?”
She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Silly me. Of course you wouldn’t know yet. That’s Castle Rock,” she said, pointing toward a mammoth, multi-colored rock formation. “It was named ‘Castillo del Viento’ by Spanish settlers. It means castle of the wind, isn’t that pretty?”
I agreed and we’d just dipped into a dry sandy riverbed she called a ‘wash’ and were rounding a turn on the opposite hill, when she suddenly wrenched the wheel to the right. A black Mercedes with heavily tinted windows roared by leaving us in a choking cloud of dust.
My heart racing madly, I wheezed and reached for my inhaler.
“I’m so sorry!” White-faced, she pressed one hand to her chest. “What a maniac. He didn’t even slow down.” She shoved the truck into gear, grumbling, “That had to be someone from Serenity House. Except for the Hinkle Ranch a couple miles south of Tess’s place, no one else lives out this way.”
I took a few deep breaths and let the bitter-tasting medication seep slowly into my lungs. “What’s Serenity House?”
She slanted me a sidelong glance. “Well…it’s a mental hospital.”
That captured my attention. “No kidding? What’s it doing out here in the middle of the desert?”
“The property was cheap. It’s on the site of an old Spanish monastery which was crumbling to ruins. Some developer restored it and tried to make a go of it as a health spa. When that failed, a psychiatrist named Isadore Price bought it about six years ago.” She pursed her lips into a thin line. “That was probably his Mercedes.”
“I hope he’s a better doctor than he is a driver.”
Mary frowned. “He’s kind of a peculiar old bird. Keeps to himself mostly. I’ve only seen him a few times in town at a couple of social gatherings.”
“Have there ever been any problems at this place?”
“To be honest, there was an incident right after they opened. One of the male patients escaped. He’d chopped up his family or something.”
I shivered involuntarily.
“This town’s never seen such excitement!” Her face became animated at the memory. “There was a huge manhunt, and everyone was pretty much on pins and needles until they found him. After that, a real high fence was built, and from what I’ve heard it’s very well guarded. Nothing else has ever happened.”
“How far is it from the Delgado place?”
“About two miles or so. And, of course, that’s the whole idea of having it so secluded.” She glanced at me again. “If it bothers you, I can turn around right now.”
“No. I’d still like to see it.”
“Okay,” she said, steering onto another dirt road named Pajaro del Suspiro. Explaining it was Spanish for ‘Weeping Bird,’ she braked the truck in front of a brick-red ranch-style wooden house surrounded by golden palo verde trees and saguaro cactus.
I got out and took a sniff of the warm, pristine air. Yep. Just what the doctor ordered. I followed Mary up the stone walkway and when she pointed to the giant rock formation, I stopped in amazement. It did resemble a castle and the effect was breathtaking.
While she fiddled with the door key, I listened to the lonesome keening of the wind and wondered if I could stand to live in such isolation. My misgivings faded as she led me through the spacious interior, decorated in bright Southwestern colors and heavy, Spanish-style furniture. It was a gigantic improvement over the cramped apartment I’d just left in Philadelphia, and far cheaper. I expressed surprise that she’d had difficulty keeping it rented.
“The trouble is,” Mary said, showing me through the sunny kitchen, “most renters want a signed lease, and Tess won’t have it because she wants the freedom to return on short notice. That’s the minus, but,” she added with a cheery smile, “here’s a plus. The last tenants left in such a hurry, I never got a chance to refund their deposit. So, if you decide to take it, the first month would be free.”
“I like the free part, but, what does the ‘left in a hurry’ part mean?”
Mary opened the front door. “They called me out of the blue late one night, and announced they were leaving right then and there.”
“Why?”
There was no mistaking her tone of skepticism. “Tess certainly never mentioned it, but…they swore this place was haunted.”
3
Fascinated by Mary’s intriguing remark, I chose to put aside my misgivings and move in. The proliferation of insects that trooped in and out of the Delgado house the first few days bothered me more than the supposed phantom. I’d always considered myself fairly brave for a woman, having no particular fear of snakes, mice, or bats. But, when it came to insects, spiders especially, I turned into a shivering coward. There seemed to be an abundance of the eight legged creatures about, plus scorpions, centipedes, and humongous roaches. At my request, Mary sent the exterminator.
On his second visit in three days, overall clad, grizzle-faced, Lloyd “Skeeter” Jenkins of the Bugs-BeGone Exterminating Company, told me all I needed to know, and more, about the insects and rodents indigenous to the great state of Arizona.
“Now I kin git rid o’ them pesky mice fer ya, an’the powder I’ll lay down’ll keep them centipedes and scorpions on their toes, so to speak. Spiders is something else again. Them suckers kin walk right over the stuff with them long legs o’ theirs.”
He left me with the sage advice to “never put yer shoes on in the mornin’ till you’ve whopped ’em good. There’s no tellin’ what kinda critter mighta moved in an’ set up housekeepin’ durin’ the night.”
I wondered if I’d ever get used to the bugs, the dust, and the scalding sun. The calendar said it was still April but I could have sworn spring had been canceled and we’d gone right into summer as it was already in the 90’s. My asthma had improved, but I was miserably hot.
“Don’t you worry, sugar,” Ginger had soothed hearing my complaint, “as soon as your blood thins, y’all will git used to it.” I wasn’t sure I wanted my blood to thin.
My first week on the job was an exercise in frustration and adaptation. The Sun, a sixteen page tabloid, was published only twice weekly, Wednesdays and Saturdays. I sorely missed the daily deadlines, the lively newsroom chatter, and stimulation of the big city. I knew I couldn’t go back to damp, cool Pennsylvania and face a life of being incapacitated, yet I didn’t want to stay either.
My other co-worker—young, blond, brash and not overly bright Jim Sykes—didn’t sympathize with my position. He grabbed all the interesting assignments while I got the leftovers. If I had to cover one more banquet, Ladies Club function, or write one more article about who was visiting whom from out of town, I felt I’d g
o nuts.
After banging my knee on the narrow desk for the third time that morning, I grumbled, “I hate this damn thing.”
Bradley Talverson swiveled around at my remark, and taunted me with a crooked grin. “Welcome to the club. We all started at the rookie desk. Now it’s your turn.”
“Yeah,” young Sykes joined in. “Now that Johnny boy’s split, you’re low man on the totem pole.”
I glanced swiftly from one to the other. Neither man seemed particularly disturbed by his disappearance, and I reminded myself again that even they could not know of my secret assignment. I phrased my question carefully, trying to sound indifferent. “Oh, yeah. What was he like? John Dexter, I mean?”
Bradley’s eyes narrowed. “All hat and no cattle.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Come again?”
“He was a pain in the ass. Interested only in trash journalism.”
“But he was real popular with the ladies. Married or single, right Tally?” Jim’s eyes gleamed wickedly.
I knew there was some significance to the remark by the deadly expression on Bradley’s face before he turned his back to us. His constant mood swings puzzled me. Sometimes he was cordial and friendly. At other times, withdrawn, angry almost, as if he were struggling with some inner demon. More than once, I’d caught him looking at me with an unreadable expression in his dark eyes.
Anxious to pursue the subject of John Dexter, I had just formulated my next question when Ginger stuck her head in the doorway. “Come on, sugar, let’s shake it. Time for lunch.”
Damn! If only she had waited five minutes. Bradley and Jim resumed their work; my chance for more questions gone for now.
As we walked the three blocks to the Iron Skillet, I silently thanked God for Ginger King who’d unabashedly inserted herself into the vacant slot in my life marked: friend. Short and round with light brown hair and sparkling ginger-colored eyes, she bubbled over with good humor. She was also a hopeless gossip. Endearing, but hopeless.