by D'Ann Lindun
The coroner came around the corner. “Hello. Would you follow me to my office? I’ve asked Sheriff Bodine to join us.”
She entered a small, cluttered office. Sheriff Bodine sat in one of the two chairs in front of her desk. He stood and motioned to the chairs. “Have a seat.”
Mallory hesitated and looked at Mike. What was going on? Her head began to throb. They sat and Bodine moved to the other side of the desk.
Dr. Anson sat in her own chair and steepled her fingers. “I called you here to tell you I have some serious reservations about your father’s death. I did the autopsy early this morning, and there are some things that concern me.” She looked at Bodine. “I think Mr. James was murdered.”
Mallory swayed, then covered her mouth with her hand and looked to Mike.
He squeezed her hand. “Can you tell us why?”
“Yes. Remember, I asked you about cactus in Mr. James’s feet? Specifically under his toenails? That struck me as odd. Most people wouldn’t leave cactus thorns in their skin if they were able to pull them out.”
Bodine reached for his notebook.
Dr. Anson continued. “When we removed the thorns, we were able to determine that the cactus was placed in Mr. James after his death. In other words, he was either dragged through cactus after he died. Or,” she paused, “it was placed in his feet by someone after death.”
Bodine scribbled something.
“What are you saying?” Mallory couldn’t take it in.
“I’m telling you that someone is attempting a cover-up.” She picked up a pen and rolled it between her hands.
“You think someone killed Skeeter because he had cactus in his feet?” Mike sounded skeptical.
“No, I don’t.” She met his eyes. “There’s more.”
“Go on,” Bodine ordered.
“When we removed the thorns from under Mr. James’s toenails, we found needle marks.
Sometimes heroin users shoot their drugs there because they believe no one will notice the tell-tale tracks. We found two such marks although we didn’t find illegal drugs in his system. But what was there was an abnormal amount of insulin.”
“And James wasn’t a diabetic?” Bodine asked.
“No.” Dr. Anson looked at him with troubled eyes. “We know he was not. Sometimes people get it in their later years, but he was a healthy man. He had no symptoms of diabetes.”
“I don’t understand,” Mallory whispered.
“I do,” Mike said. He leaned forward. “If I’m following you right, you’re saying Skeeter has needle holes under his toenails. He wasn’t an illegal drug user or diabetic. But he had an abnormally high amount of insulin in his system. You’re telling us that someone injected him with insulin, then tried to cover the marks with cactus.”
“This is crazy,” Mallory said. “Skeeter wouldn’t just lay still while someone jabbed him under the toenails with needles.”
“He might’ve been overpowered,” Sheriff Bodine commented. He flipped through his notes. “He wasn’t a huge guy. About five-ten and one-eighty. Not small either.”
“He wasn’t small, but he was ill,” Dr. Anson said. “He had an advanced case of pneumonia. He should’ve been hospitalized. It is very possible he was unconscious while this occurred.”
Mallory reeled and if Mike wouldn’t have had hold of her hand, she would’ve fallen. The implications turned her stomach. Skeeter had been so close to his goal. Someone had found out and murdered him. Her head spun and she put it between her knees.
“You okay?” Mike sounded far away.
She breathed deep, through her nose, and the spell began to pass. Dr. Anson touched her shoulder. “Are you coming around? Do you need to lie down for a minute?”
“No.” Her head still spun.
“Take your time.” Dr. Anson continued to touch her shoulder and Mike let go of her hand and wrapped his warm palms around her arm.
After a few minutes Mallory sat up. “I’m sorry.”
“I know this has been a shock,” Dr. Anson said. “But I didn’t want to break the news over the phone. And I wanted the sheriff here to hear this, so he can act accordingly.”
“Thank you,” Mallory managed.
The coroner gave her a quick, awkward pat, then moved back behind her desk.
Bodine straightened. “You two have any idea where the lethal dose might have come from?”
Mallory looked at Mike. His jaw was set and his lips were pinched tight. “Yes.”
“You want to tell me?”
Mike’s voice went steely. “Brent Fedderson is a friend of mine. He works . . . lives at the ranch. He’s diabetic and he needs insulin to control it. But he wouldn’t kill anyone.”
“I’ll check him out.” Sheriff Bodine snapped his notebook shut. “I don’t think I have to remind you not to leave town.”
He slipped through the door.
Mallory staggered to her feet, Mike with her. They walked in silence to the car and got in. Mike reached for the key and stopped midway. He pounded his hands on the steering wheel. “Damn it.”
“I’m sorry,” Mallory said.
He looked sideways at her. “Why did I tell him Brent is a diabetic? Now the sheriff will be all over him. Brent wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s one of my oldest friends. I trust him with my life.”
She turned sideways. “You don’t know what he might do in extreme circumstances. Maybe he just lost it. That treasure has made a lot of people go nuts. Like Skeeter, for instance. And Sandra Weeks doesn’t strike me as stable.”
“Someone else could have done it,” he insisted.
“Brent keeps his condition pretty well hidden,” she reminded him. “He doesn’t go around broadcasting that he needs insulin to survive.”
“He’s not strong enough to wrestle down a big man. “All the more reason he couldn’t have maneuvered Skeeter. Bodies are dead weight.” Mike stared out the front window.
He had her there. Brent was small, about five-seven and slim. “The coroner thinks Skeeter was maybe unconscious.” She hated pointing out the evidence to him, but it added up. “There was no moving him.”
“Brent didn’t do it.”
“Then who do you think did?” she asked.
“Let’s get the metal detector.” He sounded as if they were headed to the dentist for a root canal.
“Okay.” Something had changed between them and she didn’t know how to put it back.
~*~
Mike drove in to the ranch and eased up to the lodge. Two unfamiliar cars were parked in front of it. One of them was a Blazer with the Forest Service logo on the door. The other was a plain blue sedan.
“I think I have more trouble,” Mike said.
Mallory touched his stiff shoulder. “I’m with you.”
He didn’t reply and climbed out of the SUV. She slid out of her side and accompanied him into the lodge. Standing in the lobby were a man and a woman. The man wore a khaki uniform with the Forest Service patch on his sleeve. The woman wore a suit and a sour face.
“Mr. Malone?” The Forest Service man stepped forward.
“Yes.” Mike met him halfway, but didn’t extend his hand.
“Stu Jones.”
Mike nodded. “What can I do for you?”
Stu motioned to the woman and she came close. “Mary Moore, an attorney for the SRPL.”
Mike again nodded. His gut clenched and he fought to remain calm. These people hadn’t come to bring good news.
Stu spoke. “You are under an injunction which prevents you from taking a guest on public land until the matter is resolved. We have a report that you and a guest were riding on the property adjoining your ranch last night. And this isn’t the first time.”
“I didn’t take a guest on public lands,” Mike denied hotly. “Just Mallory . . .”
Mary opened her briefcase and withdrew a piece of paper. “Were you at the petroglyphs last night around dusk?”
“Yes,” he said. “But that’s my land.”
“Were you alone?” Her tone suggested she knew he wasn’t.
“No, I told you, I was with Mallory.” Mike’s neck began to ache. “But—”
“You were actually with a guest of this ranch, correct?” She tapped a nail on the papers. “Which you are specifically forbidden to do?”
“I’m not a paying guest,” Mallory said. “I’m a friend.”
“You’re not an employee here?” Stu hooked his thumbs in his belt.
“No.” She pushed up her glasses. “But I’m not a regular paying guest either.”
“How long have you been here?” Stu sounded like he was on Mike’s side. But his questions were tough. “Have you been off the ranch? If so, where exactly?”
“Just a few days,” she said. “Mike took me to Mesa, to Tortilla Flat, and Goldfield.” She sent Mike an apologetic look. “Weaver’s Needle. And to the petroglyphs.”
Mike opened his mouth to speak and the woman wagged a finger at him. He snapped his mouth shut and ground his teeth. Mallory answered truthfully, and he wouldn’t have her lie, but each answer dug him in a little further.
“All that is fine, but what about last night? Did you use the trail from the petroglyphs to the ranch, the one on public land? The one you are not supposed to use until the injunction is lifted?” Stu hiked up his pants.
Mike’s neck muscles bunched. He resisted the urge to rub them.
“Yes. It was dark and we came down that way. Were we not supposed to?” She sent Mike a confused look.
He wanted to groan.
“Mr. Malone, in light of this infraction, we I am going to recommend closing you down permanently.” The woman smiled and he thought of a vulture.
“But he didn’t do anything wrong,” Mallory cried.
“I’m afraid he did,” the woman said. “He willfully disobeyed the rules of the injunction.”
Stu nodded somberly. “’Fraid so.”
“But it was just me,” Mallory cried.
“Rules are rules.” Mary snapped her briefcase shut. “I’m going to make a report of this. It will be reviewed at your hearing in June. Good day.”
Stu’s expression resembled a hound dog’s. “I’m sorry about this, but there’s nothing I can do.”
Too numb to reply, Mike watched them leave. Who had turned him in? Mallory said she saw something by the gate as they came through it. He should have listened.
Chapter Twenty
“Mike?” Mallory wanted to touch him, to hug him, but she didn’t know if he would welcome her.
He turned toward her and he looked like he had been pole axed. “I need to call my attorney.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” she asked. Maybe her presence would be enough support.
“There’s no need. I’m going to be busy on the phone for a while.” His voice was flat.
Her insides felt all crumbly, like they couldn’t be put back together. “This is all my fault.”
“It’s the SRPL. Not you. They’ve been looking for an excuse. We gave them one. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.” He moved by her. “But they’re not going to win without one hell of a fight.”
“What can I do?” Somehow she had to help him fix this. He might not blame her, but she was the reason he’d been on the trail. This mess was her fault. If he didn’t resent her now, he would sooner or later.
“Nothing, thanks.” His determined look came back. “I have to get the attorneys on this right away. I’ll figure out a way to beat them somehow.”
“I have some savings—”
“No way. This is my battle. I’ll take care of it.” His jaw jutted out at a stubborn angle.
Mallory watched him walk away, sick at heart. There had to be something she could do. If only the treasure existed, maybe that would help. Mike was tied up for a while, but all she had was time on her hands. There wasn’t any reason she couldn’t go back to the courtyard and do another search. During broad daylight, and with Brent in custody, she should be fine.
After she drove to the dig site and parked, Mallory hauled the metal detector out of the back of the SUV. She walked over to the spot where they’d spent the morning digging and turned it on. Almost immediately it began to make a clicking noise. Her heart jumped before she realized it was just the regular sound.
Moving the machine in a slow arc, she waved it over the holes they’d left behind.
When the metal detector’s clicking changed to a shrill beeping, she jumped and dropped it. Grabbing the nearby shovel, she began to dig like crazy. In a few minutes, she found the source of the metal. A rusty nail.
Laying it on the adobe wall, she continued to search.
The shrill whine rent the air again.
This might be it.
Pulse pumping, Mallory picked up the shovel and dug in the sand. The tip of the shovel hit something solid. Her nerves exploding in little bursts, she fell to her knees and began to dig with her hands. Consumed with reaching the item, she didn’t look up when someone drove up and parked. Mike had probably finished his phone calls and come to help.
“Did you find it yet?”
Mallory looked over her shoulder just in time to see a shovel coming at her head.
~*~
Mike hung up the phone as Brent walked in early during the evening. “You’re back. Did Bodine come to his senses and see that you didn’t murder Skeeter? Or Wendell Wallace?”
Brent sat on the edge of his desk. “Yeah. I have an airtight alibi. You didn’t think I did it then?”
“Are you joking? Of course not. I never doubted your innocence.” Mike indicated the phone. “As a matter of fact, I just got off the phone with my attorney. I told him you might need him to defend you, if it went that far. I knew it wouldn’t.”
“Thanks, man.” Brent’s chin wobbled.
“You’re not a killer,” Mike told him. “I’ve known you since college, and I think I’d know if you were going around whacking people. But somebody’s raising hell around here, and I need to get to the bottom of it. When you were being questioned, the Forest Service and an attorney for the SRPL showed up and told me they’re going to recommend permanent closure.”
“Why? What did you do?” Brent’s mouth gaped open and he snapped it shut.
“I took Mallory down the trail from the petroglyphs,” Mike admitted. “I didn’t consider her a guest since she’d not paying, but they didn’t see it that way.”
“Who saw you?” Brent asked.
“I don’t know. Mallory said she saw something by the gate when we came in, but I didn’t so I wasn’t worried about it. But someone was lurking there and turned me in to the Forest Service.”
“Doesn’t that bunch usually run in packs?” Brent asked. “I’ve never seen them work alone.”
“Yeah,” Mike admitted. “They usually don’t hide out in the bushes either. A direct confrontation is more their style.”
“There’s sure been a lot of weird stuff going on around here.” Brent held up his fingers. “One, Zorro’s saddle being messed with, two, the rafts being shredded. And three, whoever killed Skeeter took some of my insulin.”
Mike jerked out of his chair. “What? Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because I don’t talk about it, that’s why. But if I’m going to be accused of murder, it’s time to bring it out in the open. Mike, somebody took four tubes of my meds.” He looked around, then lowered his voice. “And I think it was somebody here. All of it.”
“What are you saying?” Mike’s chest felt too tight.
“I’ll spell it out. I haven’t seen any of those river wackos around, have you?” He paused. “But I have seen somebody else around some of those times. Dianna.”
“No way.” Mike shook his head.
“Think about it, man. She’s in love with you. If she thought she could save the ranch by finding the treasure, she’d do it. The chick’s been obsessed with you for a long time. Even before Elisha left.” Brent shifted his weight. “I don’t l
ike saying it, but look at the facts. I saw her in the raft office just before they were shredded. And she could’ve found time to cut Zorro’s cinch before she came to pick me up at the repair shop.”
“Skeeter was killed with an overdose of insulin,” Mike said. “She couldn’t know to inject him under the toenails like that. She’s small, too. It would’ve been really hard for her to wrestle him around if he were awake,” Mike said. Brent was making sense. Too much sense. Mike couldn’t force himself to face the fact that one of his closest friends had killed two people for the love of him. He wanted to hurl something through the window.
“She’s a physical woman,” Brent said. “Believe me, man, after the interrogation I just went through, I’m not going to throw around accusations without thinking about them. I’ve done nothing but work this over in my head all day. She’s the only one who makes sense.
“Like I said, Di wouldn’t know how to use insulin.” Mike clung to that belief. He had to. Anything else was impossible to believe.
“All she had to do was ask me,” Brent said. “Or Shelby. She’s a nurse. She’d know.”
“Did she?” Mike dreaded the answer. “Ever ask you?”
“No.”
“Then let’s go talk to her, and then Shelby.” Mike headed for the door, determined to put this crazy talk behind him.
At Dianna’s house, he pounded on the door, but no one came to the door. Something was wrong. His skin tingled and his gut clenched. “Di, open the door.”
No one answered.
“Maybe she’s with Shelby,” Mike suggested. He walked across the yard and knocked on the door. “Nobody’s here either.”
“Not unless they drove out in the desert together,” Brent said. He pointed toward the old courtyard. “I saw one of the Suburbans go that way when I drove in.”
Mike stomach plunged. “Have you seen Mallory?”
“No.”
He was already moving, kicking himself with every step. He hadn’t kept Mallory safe. He said over his shoulder, “Call Bodine. Tell him to get out here right now. Mallory’s in danger.”