by Sylvia Nobel
“Well,” she demanded, folding her arms. “Ain’t ya gonna open it?”
Frowning, I slit it open and a little zing of surprise shot through me when I pulled out the contents. Seven hundred and fifty dollars—the deposit for Tally’s sculpture. I checked the postmark. My God! It had been mailed the day she died. Ginger was agog when I explained what it meant. “Good gravy, so she already knew she was gonna check herself out of this life when she mailed it.” She turned towards the door, shaking her head. “Now I really have heard everything.”
Not five minutes later, I received a congratulatory call from Grant. He’d read an excerpt of my story posted on an Internet news site. “Hot damn, I knew you were right on the cusp of breaking this thing wide open,” he crowed. “Wish I’d been there with you.”
“No you don’t,” I informed him dryly. “With your squeamish stomach, you’d have fainted for sure and I’d have had to carry you out of the place.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Hey, it’s true and you know it.”
He laughed and then his voice turned serious. “That must have been scary as hell.”
“It was definitely…sobering.”
“All right, let’s have it. I know you’re good at what you do, but how did you find out so much incriminating information about Myra Colton considering she’s not around to confess?”
“Fortunately for me and the authorities, she left a meticulous account of her thoughts and activities in her journal.”
“How lucky is that?”
“Very.” It had all been written down, every gory description, every heartrending emotion that ran the gamut from anguish to gleeful satisfaction, how she’d faked insanity while awaiting sentencing, then planned and executed her escape from the mental hospital. She’d moved to Maine and laid low for two years until things died down. All the while white-hot hatred festered in her heart, skewering her thought process and probably hastening the growth of her cancer. Her journal detailed how she’d gone about choosing a new identity and then begun stalking her first victim. The fact that she had the freedom to travel from state to state participating in various arts and crafts shows gave her the opportunity to mail the threatening letters postmarked from other cities. She’d been able to take her time tracking the victims, murdering and mutilating them before disappearing across state lines like dust in a high wind. And leaving a space of three years between each slaying made it difficult for law enforcement officials to make a connection. “Did I mention that she was a crack shot?” I asked, rising to pour myself a fresh cup of coffee.
“No.”
“She and her husband met while they were both in the Army serving overseas. After they were discharged, he became a firearms instructor at a Scottsdale gun club. After the mistrial, he fell into a deep depression and finally took his own life.”
“So, she didn’t have any other family to turn to?”
“No close living relatives. According to her journal, she’d had a lot of trouble conceiving and was thirty-eight when her daughter was finally born. That’s when she was informed that internal complications would prevent her from having any more children, so Sarah became the light of her life. She worshipped the girl and was devastated by her loss. She found some measure of comfort by fashioning her daughter’s face in most of her creations.
“Humph. In an odd way, I can sort of understand her thinking process, but what was the point of cutting off her victims’ body parts and keeping them on ice?”
“To preserve them so she could visit them every now and then and gloat, but you have to realize she’d slipped a cog.”
“No shit.”
“I spoke with my friend Nora Bartoli about it.”
He cut in, “The forensic anthropologist?”
“Right. She said sometimes people keep various body parts around to serve as souvenirs or reminders of their crime.”
Grant let out a low whistle. “Weird. So…besides the judge’s head, did they find the missing parts of the other two guys in the freezer?”
“Uh-huh.” I went on to explain that Myra had begun plotting the judge’s murder when she overheard him making plans for a hunting trip on the day she’d delivered the piece of artwork he’d commissioned, and that reminded me of the statement made by Randy Moorehouse that he’d seen a ‘tall, skinny broad in the lobby’ the day he was there. She’d followed him to Flagstaff, hid her truck on a closed forest service road, walked back and flagged him down, explaining that she’d broken down. He offered her a ride, and after he’d driven her back, she confronted him and shot him in the chest with his own rifle. She wrapped him in plastic and cleaned up the area making sure there were no remaining traces of blood or tissue by scooping up the dirt around him. Fortunately for her it snowed right afterwards and the crime scene simply vanished.
“Jesus. So…she sawed his head off right there in the woods?”
“No. That didn’t happen until later. First she froze him.”
“What for?”
“Because it was easier and less messy to remove his head.”
“That’s useful information to know.”
“I thought you’d appreciate that. Anyway, her expertise in ice sculpting made her proficient at using a reciprocating saw.”
“But…how the hell did she get him out of there?” Grant asked.
“Her truck was equipped with a hydraulic lift so she simply rolled him onto it and then kept the body on ice inside the truck for a couple of weeks until she decided what to do with it.”
“Okay, but I still don’t get why she removed his head.”
“It’s pretty convoluted thinking, but from what we can gather from her journal, she kept the tongue of what she labeled the ‘glib defense attorney,’ the hands belonged to the young lawyer who was at the wheel of the car and Riley’s head was severed to avenge the decapitation of her daughter.”
“But, why’d she go to all the trouble to transport the…the torso to Hidden Springs? And how’d she accomplish it by herself? She looked kinda puny the day I met her.”
“She was. I noticed the first time I met her that she didn’t look well. She was dying of ovarian cancer.”
“No kidding.”
“No kidding. She only had a few months to live. She thought Riley was her final victim until she found out about Marissa’s connection to him last week. Anyway, to answer your question, she felt pretty confident in her ability to get away with murder a third time and decided to have a little fun with the authorities. She knew there was a lot of construction going on there and with delivery trucks coming and going she calculated that with all the rain, there’d be little chance the authorities would be able to identify her tire marks. Like I said before, she was very patient, very thorough and thought everything out down to the last detail. There was a notation in her journal describing how she’d designed the incident to cast suspicion on La Donna.”
“Why? She didn’t have anything to do with her daughter’s death.”
“You have to understand her mindset. She was on a mission to destroy anything and anyone the judge cared for. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, tit for tat.”
Seconds passed before he said, “So, the cotton fragment you found in the tree belonged to Myra.”
“Yes. It was purely coincidental that she and La Donna were taking the same pain medication. I think she knew that La Donna and Winston would eventually be exonerated, but it was all part of the game she was playing with the authorities.”
“Clever lady, but there’s one thing she didn’t bank on.”
“What?”
“You.”
“Yeah, well luck definitely played a part. The timing was critical, that’s for sure. I mean, if I hadn’t fallen over that extension cord and Brian hadn’t sent me that picture, the outcome may have been very different for Marissa.”
“Speaking of that, what about all those quotes we were trying to interpret?”
I filled him in on the on
es Riley had given Ruth and the book he’d sent to Tally. “I’ve gone over them a hundred times and I know there’s a message, but so far I’ve come up blank. I faxed copies of all of them to La Donna and Marissa, but I haven’t had a chance to share our theories with them about it yet.”
“I’m sure you’ll eventually figure it out.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“What happened with Marissa anyway? I liked her.”
“She’s still in the hospital recovering from her ordeal and the baby’s okay. In fact, she called me yesterday to thank me for saving her life.”
“What’s she going to do now that her inheritance has gone up in smoke?” he asked.
I leaned back in my chair and twirled the blinds open, inviting the warm sunshine inside. “She told me that as soon as the insurance company pays up she wants to begin restoration on the hotel.”
“Well, you certainly outdid yourself on this one. I’d bet my last dollar you’ll get nominated for a prize.”
“I wouldn’t turn it down.” Poised to hang up, I toyed with the idea of telling him about the supernatural experience, but decided against it. The actual verifiable facts of the Gibbons case were strange enough. “Thanks for your call. I’ve got to get back to work now.”
“Yeah, yeah, me too. And if you ever change your mind—”
I cut in with a firm but kind, “Give it up, Grant.”
“Right.” A pause, then, “Bye, Kendall. Have yourself a happy life.”
I smiled to myself, relieved to have the poisonous resentment I’d felt for almost a year purged from my heart, and felt confident the door to that part of my life was now closed. “You too, Grant. Goodbye.”
30
Ruth finally got around to keeping her part of the bargain and the results were every bit as devastating as I’d feared. Tally’s initial reaction of disbelief turned to anger and finally smoldering resentment. Ruth had predicted that he would withdraw from her and she’d been right. Sadly, they were both pissed at me for forcing the issue and I couldn’t persuade him to talk about it with me. But, that was part of his personality. His pride was injured and he wasn’t one to bear his emotions whereas I always felt better talking about my problems with someone.
Ronda reacted much the same as Tally. With understandable dismay, she hid herself away in the barn with her horses, becoming more introverted than ever. Apparently they each had that part of genetics going for them from Ruth’s side of the family and I wondered how or even if they were all going to be able to get it together by the engagement party, which was only weeks away. I approached Tally several times, trying find the right words to comfort him and urged him to lighten up and hear his mother out, but he rebuffed my attempts with a sarcastic, “What? Are you her shrink now?”
So I decided it might be best to withdraw from the tense family drama for a couple of days and let things cool off. In retrospect, I wondered if I’d made a huge mistake. Perhaps this sensitive information should have gone to Ruth’s grave with her.
I should have been on top of the world having scooped yet another sensational story, but instead I fell into the bluest of funks. How was I going to get back into the family’s good graces now? Words from my wise Irish grandmother kept echoing in my ears. “Don’t shit in your own nest.” Apparently I had. It was therapeutic to bury myself in work and hope Tally would come to terms with reality and find it in his heart to someday forgive his mother for her transgression.
On Friday morning, Marissa, now home from the hospital, finally returned my call and granted me an exclusive interview. With all the national media still swarming around town like white flies, I felt an urgency to stay ahead of the pack and hurriedly wrapped up my work. I stopped by Tugg’s office to let him know I’d probably be out the remainder of the day on assignment and by two o’clock I set out for Hidden Springs. I’d been surprised when Marissa had told me that La Donna had apparently experienced a change of heart and invited her to stay in one of the cottages. Perhaps the older woman’s resentment towards Marissa was beginning to mellow. One would have to be incredibly cold-hearted to turn away a homeless, pregnant woman, or, maybe it was just the practical realization that they were still financially bound together. Hopefully, I’d get an interview with her as well. As I bumped along the washboard dirt road in the squeaky old pickup, I decided that come hell or high water, I was going car shopping soon, with or without Tally.
The truck must have been burning oil because it belched blue smoke all the way up the steep incline. Cresting the ridge, I slowed down once again to savor the magnificence of the Praying Nun kneeling alone on the desert floor surrounded by her flowing robes of golden granite as she guarded her secluded enclave. I thought it amazing how much more richly textured the Arizona landscape became with the addition of just a few clouds, the way their shadows created subtle contrasts in the wind-sculpted rock that weren’t visible in the intense glare of the white-hot summer sun. The late autumn lighting made it easier to visualize the two dark crevices as being the nun’s eyes reflecting an expression of reverent longing…I inhaled a sharp breath and whispered aloud, “Good God! I know what he meant!”
I gunned the truck down the hill, the words of Riley’s provocative proverb ringing in my ears. PURE OF SOUL, SHE RESTS IN SOLITUDE, HER LONE COMPANION THE ETERNAL SILENCE OF UNTOUCHED BEAUTY. Of course! It had to be the Praying Nun! But what about her? What was the rest of the saying? THE TREASURE OF THE YEARNING HEART IS REVEALED THROUGH REVERENT EYES. Through her eyes. What was I to make of the revelation? My short-lived burst of elation at having solved the mystery at that exact moment ebbed when I caught sight of the charred skeleton of the old hotel. I relived again the sorrow of that day, Marissa’s near death, the horror of Myra’s final moments and the loss of an irreplaceable local landmark.
Bernita answered my knock and gestured to Marissa resting on the sofa in the small, but tastefully furnished living room in the cottage adjacent to the remains of the old hotel. Silvery tears glinted on Marissa’s cheeks as she filled me in on how Myra had called her that day to explain that she had one final piece of artwork to deliver. But after she’d arrived and confirmed that Marissa was alone since it was Bernita’s day off, she’d tied her up, started the fire and left her for dead. “Your call to the sheriff saved me,” she said, taking one of my hands, her eyes moist, her voice filled with wonder. “I can’t ever thank you enough.”
I accepted her gratitude with the caveat that unfortunately Grant’s inadvertent disclosure to Myra about her condition had actually initiated the incident, but she’d waved it away, saying that after she’d read my account in the newspaper she realized that because of Myra’s mad obsession she would have eventually been targeted anyway. She told me that La Donna’s attitude towards her had mellowed significantly after she’d read the quotes from Riley that I’d sent her. “She’s been a whole lot nicer to me,” she marveled. “I guess she accepted your theory about love building bridges.” She tilted her head, pinning me with a perceptive frown. “It’s pretty amazing that you’re so tuned in to what Riley wanted when you didn’t even know him.”
“If you think about it from his perspective you each gain something you lost.”
“What do you mean?”
I smiled at her. “She gains a daughter and grandchild, you gain a surrogate mother.”
She stared at me dumbfounded, murmuring, “Wow, I never thought of it that way.”
“Now if I could only figure out the rest of this puzzle.” I told her about my latest assumption, but she seemed at a loss to grasp the meaning either.
“Who knows,” she said with a poignant smile. “We’ll probably never understand everything he meant.”
We talked more about her plans to rebuild the old hotel and her hopes to revive Riley’s vision for the place. “I feel like I owe it to his memory to do this,” she said dreamily. “He wanted this to be my home…our home,” she said, absently rubbing her blossoming abdomen, “and Winston thinks h
e can do it if we get enough insurance money. Thank God he moved most of the things from the third floor before the fire. We were able to save the furniture, most of his books and even that statue of the little girl chasing the gold bugs.”
I wished her luck, thanked her for her time and was halfway to La Donna’s house when the significance of her closing words sunk in. I stopped dead, my pulse thumping in my temples. The little girl chasing the gold bugs? My mind flipped back to that day in Riley’s library. The statue of the little bronze girl chasing the gold butterflies stood facing the window, the reverent eyes of the Praying Nun fixed right on her. THE TREASURE OF THE YEARNING HEART… If I put that together with the Edgar Allen Poe story, THE GOLD BUG and combined it with the quote the judge had penned in the front of Tally’s book, WHEN YOU HAVE ELIMINATED THE IMPOSSIBLE, WHATEVER REMAINS HOWEVER IMPROBABLE, MUST BE THE TRUTH, everything fell into place. The desire to laugh wildly came over me. What a rush!
In thirty seconds flat, I was back at Marissa’s cottage pounding on the door. When I explained why, her jaw dropped and she quickly led me to the storage area behind the cottage where the bronze statue stood barely visible among the piles of boxes and furniture at the far end of the room. With eager anticipation pulsing through me, I weaved my way through the clutter and gently turned the sculpture on its side. Showtime. Yep. There it was, an envelope with the words BRAVO! taped to the pedestal. “Yes!” With shaking hands I peeled it off as Marissa reached my side.
“What is it?” she asked breathlessly.
“Don’t know yet.” I pulled the flap, fully expecting to find another clue, but the only thing inside the envelope was a business card with the name of Riley’s law firm: MILLS, DAVIS and PAYNE. The office number was circled. I flipped the card over and read the message aloud. “Tis the most tender part of love, each other to forgive. Farewell. I have loved you all dearly. Riley.”
Tears glazed Marissa’s eyes as we traded a puzzled glance. “What do you suppose it means?” she sniffled, pulling a tissue from her pocket.