Zeb Hanks Mystery Box Set 1

by Mark Reps

  “Careful what you’re fishing for,” said Zeb. “You just might get a bite.”

  Doreen, the kind of woman who knew the difference between trolling and teasing, grabbed a cup of coffee, took a seat on the sheriff’s better side and whispered in his ear.

  “So, Zeb, why don’t you make my day and share some of that so called interestin’ stuff with your ever lovin’?”

  Zeb’s ear felt hot as her breath caressed his lobe.

  “I had a special date today.”

  “You ain’t cheatin’ on me, are ya’, sugar dumplin’?” asked Doreen. “That would about break my heart right in two.”

  Zeb paused long enough to let her think about what his answer might be.

  “No, unless you consider a date with a private detective cheating.”

  “What’s a shamus want with the likes of you? I thought real cops and them fake ones hated each other.”

  “That’s only in the movies and on television.”

  “TV and movies is real life for most everybody I know,” said Doreen.

  Doreen leaned with one elbow on the counter, pulled a stashed cigarette from somewhere in her ever-rising, beehive hairdo and waited for Zeb to light it.

  “You sound like you don’t care much for private cops.”

  “Don’t trust ‘em, that’s all,” replied Doreen.

  “Now what did they ever do to you?”

  “You tell me why you like ‘em, and, if you’re reason is good enough, I’ll tell you why I don’t care for ‘em,” said Doreen.

  The acrimony in the statement rolling off her tongue was as sharp as the four-alarm salsa dripping from his Tex-Mex burger.

  “All right, if you insist,” said Zeb. “But I bet I can guess.”

  “Don’t change the subject,” chided Doreen. “We got a deal. You give me your explanation first.”

  “Benjamin Jensen is a detective from Phoenix. He’s looking for a missing girl, a runaway.”

  “How old is the girl?” asked Doreen.

  “Thirteen.”

  “That’s how old I was when I run away the first time,” said Doreen. “Made it all the way from Savannah to Macon. I was trying to make my way up to Washington, DC, to get to my uncle’s place. He’s a priest, you know. He was the only person who seemed to understand me. I suppose the girl that run away had some big fight with her folks and split, huh?”

  “So the story goes.”

  “Let’s see. I bet she was mad because they didn’t like her friends, and they wouldn’t let her stay out late.”

  “That’s about the size of it,” said Zeb. “She been in here talking to you?”

  Doreen shook her head side to side. Her expression turned to a remembered sadness.

  “That poor little child. She could be in a heap o’ trouble. Why’d he think you could help him?”

  “He tracked her down, sort of. A hooker from the Flying J, over by eight and ten, may have spotted her in a car with a bumper sticker from Red’s Roadhouse.”

  “That ain’t good.”

  “He thought I might know something about the owner.”

  “Michael Doerry? He’s a real A-number-1 jerk, I’ll tell you that for sure. I heard more stories about his little perversions than I care to remember.”

  Doreen started to get up from the stool next to Zeb. He gently pulled her back down by putting a hand on her shoulder.

  “What have you heard?” asked Zeb.

  “That freaky-deeky pervert eyes every girl or woman who crosses his path like she’s beef on the hoof. You can see it in his eyes that he’s lookin’ right through your clothes to your nakedness. Don’t take no doctor to tell what kind of a sick puppy he is.”

  “Does he come in here?”

  “Not regular like, but he’s been in here more than once. I hope he never comes this way again. He makes me real dang nervous.”

  Doreen reached over and grabbed a half-empty pack of Marlboros from under the counter. With a flick of the finger against the bottom of the pack, she removed a single cigarette. From behind her ear, she grabbed a wooden match and lit it by scraping it against the counter.

  “Did he ever accost you?”

  “No, but a gal can tell by lookin’ that, given half a chance, he’d sure as hell be a heap o’ trouble in a hurry.”

  Doreen got up, walked behind the counter to the deli case and grabbed Zeb a piece of his favorite homemade apple pie. The sweetness of the dessert on his tongue made Zeb momentarily forget about the dead girls, the runaway and Red’s Roadhouse.

  His private thoughts even went so far as forcing him to stop the fork halfway to his gaping mouth and ask himself, was he falling in love?

  “Lost in space, cowboy? Or daydreamin’ about the wide open spaces again?”

  Doreen placed a light finger on the pulse pumping beneath the crow’s feet at the corner of Zeb’s eye. Experience had taught her a man’s eyes were the windows to his soul. The sheriff’s body was speaking loud and clear.

  “No,” Zeb said clearing his throat. “Just thinking.”

  Doreen’s femininity told her exactly what was roaming around inside Zeb’s head. But that same nature demanded that she hear it directly from Zeb’s mouth.

  “Thinking about what?” she asked.

  Drifting in a sea of private thoughts regarding the beautiful woman whose hypnotic voice had just asked him the simplest of questions, Zeb was wondering if the light airiness he felt all around him wasn’t another signal that cupid’s arrow had struck its mark.

  “What?” said Zeb, stalling. “What did you say?”

  “What do you mean what? You heard me. I asked you what you were thinking about.”

  The sight and sound of a man falling in love was something she understood better than the gossip that got parlayed around the café. His answer was evasive, if not a bit disappointing.

  “I was thinking,” said Zeb. “Would you ride out to Wildhorse Canyon with me in the morning?

  “Now that’s an unusual request, Zeb. Is it official business or a pleasure trip?”

  “It’s sort of official business. It could be nice to spend some time together, too,” replied Zeb. “But mostly, it’s a friendly request from Jimmy Song Bird.”

  Zeb paused and looked down at his plate sheepishly before saying with all the sincerity he held in his heart.

  “And from me, too.”

  “You’re sweet, hon, but it sounds to me like it’s got more to do with Amanda Song Bird’s murder than it does with me. Go ahead, tell me the truth. You ain’t gonna pierce this ol’ gals suit of armor quite so easily as all that.”

  The complexity of his feelings toward Doreen and the need for her cooperation in the case created a conflict of interest. Explaining his dream to her might force him to express his true heart and reveal just how much he cared for her. Plus, there was no telling how Song Bird’s interpretation might figure into things.

  “It does have to do with Amanda Song Bird’s death. But it has to do with a lot of other things too. Things that require more than a little explaining.”

  Doreen didn’t know exactly what he meant, but the look on his face told her it was serious business.

  “Well, pardner, what time does the train leave the station?”

  “Is nine o’clock too early?”

  “I’ll be there with bells on, hon’. Ready and waitin’.”

  The twinkle in Doreen’s eye put a lump in Zeb’s throat.

  “Good, and I’ll bring the coffee,” replied Zeb. “You bring the sugar.”

  Leaving twice his normal tip, Zeb said his good-bye and floated out the door. A full moon lit up the night sky. Overhead, the stars were sparkling like the eyes of a woman in love.

  Doreen took a quarter from the till and slid it in the jukebox. She punched in E9, her favorite song. The orchestral music filled the empty Town Talk as Rosemary Clooney crooned. Doreen put out the lights, took a chair behind the large street-facing window and gazed at the heavens toward the full moo
n.

  Moonlight and love songs, never out of date. Hearts full of passion, jealousy and hate.

  Little could she know what filled the hearts of some men.

  19

  Zeb pulled the freshly washed and vacuumed Dodge Dakota in front of Doreen’s house at exactly nine a.m. Parking behind her Harley Davidson, the sheriff removed his hat and checked his appearance in the rearview mirror. He dabbed his fingers against his tongue, picking up just enough moisture to tame a small tuft of unruly hair. A quick sniff to his armpit assured him that his deodorant was effective and no perspiration marks stained his freshly ironed uniform shirt. Giving himself the all systems go, Zeb put the hat back on and stepped out of the truck.

  The promise of a new day made him feel like a nervous teenager on a first date. Hands deep in his pants pockets, he ambled toward the front door of Doreen’s small house. The brightly painted pink house shimmered in the morning sunlight. Dozens of late blooming asters and azaleas painted a flowerbed that ran the length of the house. Magenta and deep red rose bushes flanked the front door, all of it neatly adorned by a miniature picket fence that demarcated the edge of the perfectly manicured garden.

  Doreen came bouncing through the door and down the steps before he had a chance to ring her bell.

  “Mornin’, pardner,” she said. “Just my luck, ain’t it?”

  “How’s that?” asked Zeb.

  Doreen pointed toward the sky just over Mount Graham.

  “It looks like the good lord above has blessed us with yet another beautiful day.”

  “Amen,” replied Zeb.

  “I seen ya’ catchin’ a gander at my flower beds. You didn’t spot any dirty ol’ weeds in there, didja?”

  “Everything looks perfect to me,” said Zeb, his eye trained on Doreen, not the flowers.

  It had been months since he had seen her in anything except a waitress uniform. Today she wore a brightly colored dress that clung tightly to the contours of her body. Zeb’s mind searched for the correct superlative to describe what he was witnessing. But it was the Apache tear necklace tracing the V of her dress that captured his direct gaze.

  “See somethin’ you like, darlin?” asked Doreen. “Or just playin’ with your imagination?”

  Her sassy hint flustered Zeb, sending his tongue into a stumble.

  “I, uh, I uh, guess we’d better get going,” he mumbled.

  Opening the driver’s door, Zeb held Doreen’s hand as she stepped up into the cab.

  “Better watch yourself,” said Doreen. “Once a gal gets used to this kind of fancy treatment, she might just be gettin’ to believe she’s some sorta fairy tale princess.”

  With the radio preset to WCAW, Doreen’s favorite station, they headed up the state highway toward Wildhorse Canyon. The rising sun peaking over the mountaintop to the east shined a soft light on her face. The pure whiteness of her skin, brightened by the morning sunrays gave her a glow of divine innocence. When he drew back to observe her beauty, the front wheels of the truck slipped over the edge of the road, causing the vehicle to swerve.

  “Whoa, hold on there, cowboy. Better keep your eyes on the road.”

  “Whoops,” said Zeb. “For a minute I forgot I was in the driver’s seat.”

  “You got something on your mind, or just feelin’ a bit scattered this morning?”

  Searching for the right words to begin the discussion on exactly why he was taking her on this road trip gave Zeb a severe case of cottonmouth. He licked his lips for a bit of lubrication.

  “Jimmy Song Bird,” he croaked from a dry throat.

  “Hon’, I know this trip has something to do with Jimmy Song Bird wanting to talk to me about Amanda. But you haven’t told me why he wants to talk to me. Don’t you think now is a good time to clue me in?”

  Zeb’s dry lips stuck together as he began to speak. He swallowed hard a few times.

  “It’s a story I’m not exactly sure I understand myself,” he said.

  Doreen cracked the window on the passenger side to allow in some of the desert morning air. Zeb followed suit. Turning his head slightly in Doreen’s direction but making certain to keep one eye on the road, he was hypnotized by the unkempt and comely look the wind gave her as it disheveled her hair. Slight touches of make-up, enhanced by daylight on her face, made her look radiantly youthful as the sun danced off her skin. Zeb knew he was looking at the most beautiful woman on the planet. The crosscurrent relaxed him enough to make speech possible.

  “I had this dream not too long ago. It was about you.”

  “About lil’ ol’ me,” said Doreen, bringing her hands over her breast. “Well ain’t I the flattered one.”

  Zeb felt a warm tingling that was destined for his heart launching in the pit of his stomach.

  “In my dream you were riding your Harley. I imagined it to be somewhere out on the road past Morenci, where the road straightens out and runs between the mountains.”

  “I know that spot. I love it there. But as busy as I’ve been lately, finding the time to ride my hog up that way is only a dream,” interrupted Doreen.

  “In my dream it was a perfect day. The temperature was perfect, the wind mild and the road didn’t have a bump in it. ”

  “Were you riding with me?” asked Doreen.

  “No and yes. I was seeing you, like I was watching a movie, but at the same time I was riding my Harley. Only I wasn’t with you.”

  Doreen snuggled against Zeb’s arm.

  “If you took the trouble to dream about me, you coulda at least been ridin’ with your little pumpkin.”

  Zeb thought he noticed a hint of disappointment in her voice.

  “Sorry. I wish I had been riding with you. You’ll see why when I tell you the rest of the story.”

  “I’m all ears,” she said, nuzzling Zeb’s shoulder. “Please tell me more.”

  “I saw that someone was riding on the back of your bike. At first I couldn’t make out who it was because your hair was blocking her face. After a moment, the wind moved your hair. It was then I saw your passenger was Amanda Song Bird. Only she was alive and happy.”

  Once he started talking, the details of his dream flowed from his lips like water from a mountain spring. Doreen watched the wrinkly, smile lines around his eyes smooth out as the tone of his voice became calmer. Each minute detail of his dream seemed to lull her into an almost meditative state. Her utter silence caused Zeb to look her in the eye. Doreen seemed to be staring right through him.

  “It was strange...”

  In mid-sentence Doreen’s voice took over his story.

  “…strange,” Doreen said, “because I was driving at high speed, through the desert and an eagle was flying alongside me. My passenger giggled in my ear. Her laughing voice was that of a little girl and, at the same time, like what you’d imagine an angel’s laughter sounds like. I didn’t know who she was. I couldn’t turn around to see her. But I knew she was pure. I also knew exactly where I was taking her.”

  The distant dreaminess of her voice was as stunning as what she said.

  “I had the same dream…last night.”

  Doreen sat up straight in innocent revelation.

  “Zeb, can you believe it? We dreamed the same dream.”

  The soft whir of the wind whispering lazily through the windows said all there was to say. A shared, otherworldly event had passed between them. Zeb, engulfed by a wave of ease, heard only the hypnotic drone of the truck traveling down the road. For a fraction of a second in this strange portal, time ceased its forward momentum.

  Doreen, alive with the hum of human electricity, sighed loudly and began to weep softly, joyously. Zeb reached over with his hand and touched her face. Innately, both knew the moment that had just passed between them, with its sweet, graceful fusion of love, was something even more indefinable, a true blessing that would shape their futures. After several moments of sweet silence, Doreen spoke.

  “Jimmy Song Bird wants to talk with me about this dream we ha
d?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? He doesn’t know I had it.”

  “But he knows you were in it.”

  “Why did you talk to him about the dream?”

  “I thought he could tell me what it meant. I don’t know why I thought he’d know, I just did. None of my thinking is very logical and rational about what’s going on. It’s something I feel. Does that make sense to you?”

  “Of course it does. Don’t forget I’m a woman. What did he say your dream meant?”

  “He told me my dream let him know that his granddaughter was free. Song Bird said the dream told him the Great Spirit had come and taken her peacefully to the world of the ancestors. He said the dream removed sadness from his heart. When I told him the dream, he asked if I knew who the woman on the motorcycle was. When I explained that it was you, Song Bird asked if you would come and talk to him.”

  “Did he tell you what it was he wanted to know from me?”

  “Sort of, but not really,” said Zeb. “Song Bird was rather vague and mysterious about why he wanted to see you. He would only say he wanted to thank you.”

  “Thank me? For what?” asked Doreen.

  “Uh, I don’t really know for sure. I guess I thought that since he’s a Medicine Man and you were in the dream with his granddaughter, and in the dream you helped her, I thought that was reason enough to want to thank you. I just assumed it was the Apache way of doing things.”

  Turning off the main highway onto the side road leading to Wildhorse Canyon, Doreen and Zeb both reached over to roll up the truck windows. The road had been freshly graded, making the ride smoother.

  “I’ve never seen this part of the country,” said Doreen. “I thought it was all flat land and scrub desert. I never dreamed there was a place hidden out here that was this lush.”

  Eskadi Black Robes was standing outside the house when they arrived. As they stepped out of the truck, the pungent aroma of burning sage drifted over them.

  “Eskadi, this is Doreen Nightingale. Doreen, Eskadi Black Robes,” said Zeb.

  “I recognize you from the café,” said Eskadi.

  “Didn’t I see you in there last week with Deputy Kate Steele?” asked Doreen.