Murder & The Secret Cave: High Desert Cozy Mystery

by Dianne Harman

  Marty smiled at Lucy’s way with words. “It was a fun one to do. I don’t expect to ever see that many superb Tiffany pieces again. I’m glad I was able to do it. What’s that?” Marty asked, looking down at a notepad in front of Lucy with something written on it.

  Lucy looked down at the piece of paper. “Did I ever tell ya’ I do a thought for the day? Trying’ to be a better person and all. Wanna hear my thought fer today?”

  “Yes, that would be nice. Good for you for doing it. So, what’s your thought for the day?”

  Lucy picked up the piece of paper and read, “If you’re worried, it’s because you’re living in a time other than the present moment.” Lucy looked up at Marty. “So whaddya think? Good words?”

  “Yes, I think there’s probably a lot of truth in them. Problem is, we tend to forget things like that when we need them the most and they could do the best good.”

  “Sure ‘nuf, ain’t no slack in that rope. Was out at the Road Runner last Saturday and instead of me and Luke just enjoyin’ ourselves, I kept thinkin’ ‘bout that husband I kicked outta the house years ago. Waste of time on my part. Dunno why I was even thinkin’ ‘bout him. Haven’t had nothin’ to do with him fer years. Ya’ know, sometimes them thoughts jes’ creep up on ya’.”

  “Yes. I know what you mean. You’re not the only one with an ex-husband who jumps into one’s thoughts from time to time.”

  “Knew ya’d understand. We’re kinda whaddya call it, kinder spirits or somethin’ like that.”

  “Think you mean kindred spirits.”

  “Ya’, that’s what I said. Kinder spirits. Here’s yer’ purties. Oh, by the way, ‘member me tellin’ ya’ ‘bout that guy that’s got all them Injun things?”

  “Vaguely. Why?”

  “His name’s Randy Jones, and he was in earlier today and asked me to give him yer’ phone number. Said he was gonna call ya’ and have ya’ appraise his Injun stuff.”

  Marty felt a cold stab fear race through her body. All she could think of was the conversation she’d had a few hours earlier with her sister about Native American artifacts and the danger of doing an appraisal of them.

  Laura’s uncanny. How could she possibly know that someone was going to call me and ask me to do an appraisal of Native American artifacts? Well, maybe she’s wrong this time.

  “Thanks, Lucy. Anything else go on while I was gone?”

  “Nah, things were pretty quiet. Had some purty boy in here yesterday drivin’ some big black fancy Cadillac askin’ ‘bout Randy. Sure couldn’t figger out why he’d wanna see Randy. Nothin’ ‘bout him looked like he was from around these parts.”

  “Thanks, Lucy. Well, I better get home and match these photos up with what I was working on today, so I can send it to the woman who types up my appraisal reports for me. See you around.”

  “Back at ya’. Lookin’ forward to seein’ them photos from Randy’s stuff. Have a feelin’ he’s got stuff I ain’t never seen. Tell everybody at the compound hi for me.”

  “Will do.” Marty said as she opened the drugstore door. As usual Duke was sitting in the passenger seat of the car, looking towards where he’d last seen her when she’d entered the drugstore. When he saw her come out the door, he stood up, his big tail swishing from side to side.

  “I’m back, big guy. Let’s go home.”

  I can’t get the conversation with Laura out of my mind. I wonder if that’s the Native American things Laura was talking about this morning. From what Lucy’s told me, it sounds like this guy has some pretty spectacular stuff. Anyway, if he should call me, I do think I’d like to see his collection. I can always make a decision about taking on the assignment later. Time to go home and give Jeff a reason to be interested in me.

  CHAPTER 11

  Marty had just walked out the door of her home when the gate leading to the compound opened and Detective Jeff Combs walked in. She ran over to him and hugged him, not caring who saw her. They kissed passionately, but Jeff had to step away when Duke began to bark. Although Duke tolerated Jeff, he apparently decided that this particular kiss had lasted far too long, plus he wanted the dog cookie Jeff always kept in his pocket for him.

  “If I can get a welcome like this every time you come back after being gone for a few days, maybe you better do more out-of-town appraisals.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out Duke’s dog treat. “Here you go, Duke. I know this is what you want. I’d like to resume where I left off with that kiss, but I get the distinct impression from Duke’s reaction that isn’t going to happen,” he said laughing.

  They walked over to where the others were already seated at the picnic table in the center of the courtyard, greeting John and his assistant Max, Les, and Laura. “Sit down, Jeff. We’re having a glass of wine before I get serious with this noodle paella I’m going to make. Once I start, I can’t hold it. One of my teachers once told me that pasta waits for no man, and I don’t think any truer words have ever been spoken,” John said.

  “It’s good to be here. John, I really missed your cooking while Marty was back in Chicago. I’m trying to get Marty to let me move in permanently, but I’m encountering some resistance,” Jeff said, looking at her.

  “I really don’t think this is a subject that needs to be discussed publicly,” Marty said, blushing. “I just need a little more time.”

  “Well, I’d like to put my two cents in,” Les said. “I think I speak for all of us when I say you’d be welcome here when Marty finally makes up her mind.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I appreciate it, but I think Marty holds the power here, so I guess I’ll just continue to enjoy the dinners and the company.”

  “I’m going to change the subject,” Marty said. “Laura, remember the conversation we had this morning about the Native American things? Well, guess what? I got a call today from a man who wants me to appraise his Native American artifacts collection. He says it’s really good. I’m going out to his, as he calls it, shack, tomorrow and he’s going to show me what he wants appraised.”

  Laura put her hand on her chest and with an alarmed look on her face said, “Marty, I really don’t have a good feeling about this. Why don’t you call him back and cancel? I have nothing to base it on, just a gut feeling.”

  Jeff turned to Laura and said, “I’m in the dark here, and the others may be, too. Could you fill us in?”

  Laura told them about the dream she’d had the night before and her conversation this morning with Marty. “Since we talked this morning, my feelings have intensified, and I really wish you wouldn’t go out there tomorrow,” she said as she looked intently at Marty.

  “You made a believer out of me, Laura, when you helped Marty with the Jensen appraisal. If it hadn’t been for you, I’m not sure I ever could have solved the crime and figured out who murdered Mrs. Jensen.” He turned to Marty. “I agree with Laura. If she has a bad feeling about it, I wish you’d pass on this one. If there’s even a chance that something could happen, I’d rather you didn’t do it.”

  “I wish all of you would quit trying to decide what I should and shouldn’t do, from letting Jeff move in to telling me which appraisals I should go on. I really like seeing good Native American pieces, and from what I understand from this collector, it promises to be a superb collection. I’ve made up my mind to go and that’s that.”

  There was silence in the courtyard for several long moments and then Jeff spoke. “All right, I can certainly see where someone who appreciates really fine Native American artifacts would want to see what’s in the collection, but I would ask one thing of you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m off tomorrow, and I’d like to go with you. It would make me feel a lot better if you’d say yes.”

  “Jeff, I can’t do that. There’s a confidentiality issue here. The collector asked me to come. He didn’t ask me to bring someone with me. That would be totally inappropriate, but I will make you a promise.”

  “Swell. Can’t wait to h
ear what it is,” he said sarcastically.

  “I’ll carry my cell phone with me. If there’s even a hint that something isn’t right, I’ll call you. I’ll even go one step better. If I feel threatened or think something is wrong, I’ll leave, and I won’t do the appraisal. I think that’s a very fair compromise.”

  “I don’t think compromises count when your life could be in jeopardy, but I’ve learned one thing. If you’re dead set on doing or not doing something, that’s what’s going to happen. Anyway, I’ll have my phone with me, and I’ll be there as soon as I can if you call me. Where is it? I’d like to be somewhat nearby and not stuck in Palm Springs traffic in case you call.”

  “It’s a few miles outside of High Desert, literally in the desert near a canyon. Thanks for understanding. I appreciate it.”

  “Okay, everybody, now that we’ve worked out the details of the appraisal Marty’s going on tomorrow, I think we better have some sustenance. Max, it’s time for us to shine in the kitchen. Everything’s prepped, so it shouldn’t take more than a half an hour. Can’t wait to hear what you think about this dish,” John said as he got up and motioned for Max to follow him.

  After the two men left, Marty told the others about the appraisal she’d just conducted in Chicago and the “idiot savant.”

  “I’m glad you mentioned it, Marty,” Laura said. “I was talking to Dick today about it, and he said that the man’s personal assistant was so happy with the work you did and your professionalism he wanted to set up a time for you to appraise the items in his house here in the desert. Dick told me it would probably take a couple of days. He’s going to call you tomorrow.”

  “Great. The client has a wonderful eye, and I think he’s acquired some of the best of the best. If you talk to Dick before I do, please be sure and tell him that I definitely want to do it. Thanks.”

  A half hour later John walked into the courtyard carrying a large bowl with steam coming out of it. Max followed with a green salad in a glass bowl and bread sticks. “Time for noodle paella. I’ve never before had it or made it, so you’re definitely guinea pigs. I came across it in a food magazine, and it caught my eye. As always, I want you to be truthful.” He put the bowl on the table and served some of the paella to each of them in smaller bowls. Max passed the salad around. Everyone was quiet for a few minutes as they sampled the new dish.

  Laura was the first one to break the silence. “John, this is not only fabulous, it’s beautiful as well. What’s in it?”

  “Shrimp, clams, chicken, and Italian sausage. What I think’s interesting is how the red pepper, the leek, and the parsley give it texture and color. Of course there are some other things in it, but those are the basics. I’ve made paella a number of times, and I’ve always used wine and chicken broth. This called for clam juice and diced tomatoes. The spaghetti cooks in the juices rather than in a separate pan, and I think it works even better than the traditional way of cooking pasta. What do you think?”

  “From how fast this is disappearing from everyone’s bowl, I think you have a huge hit here. I’d like another serving. The paella I’ve had before had rice in it, and I think the noodles make it even better, but then again I’m a pasta freak. I’ve never met a noodle I didn’t like,” Jeff said.

  “Me too,” John said. “That’s probably what appealed to me in the first place, plus I was fascinated by cooking the noodles in clam broth and tomatoes. That’s a first for me. I’ve got one little problem. I just don’t know if it would be as good if I kept it warm and served it at The Red Pony. I think I’ll have to try it again and see how it is after it’s been held for a couple of hours, because there’s no way I could make it fresh and serve it. It would take longer than my customers’ lunch hour.”

  An hour later John looked at the empty paella bowl and said, “Probably a good thing I didn’t make dessert. Since you ate every bit of it, even if you had a dessert pocket in your stomach, I think that would be full too,” he said, laughing. “Glad you liked it. It’s fun to cook for such an appreciative group.”

  “Trust me, the pleasure is all ours. I never knew when you rented this house from me, that I’d be having gourmet meals every night, courtesy of my new tenant,” Laura said.

  “I’m hardly a new tenant. I think living here ten years qualifies me as an old-timer.”

  “All right. I’ll amend that to courtesy of an old-timer.”

  “Thank you. Max and I need to clean up and get some sleep. That office staff liked the panini sandwiches so much they ordered them again for tomorrow. Not complaining, mind you, just want to make sure I’m bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning.”

  “I need to go, too,” Jeff said. “Even though I’m off tomorrow there’s a case I’m working on that needs some Internet attention. Marty, see me to the door?”

  She stood up and they walked to the gate and out to his car. Duke didn’t have his booties on, so he stayed at the gate, watching them.

  “I think I’ve discovered how I can have a little time with you alone. From now on we’ll walk outside the gate, and he’ll have to stay in there,” Jeff said grinning as he wrapped his arms around her. “I really wasn’t kidding about wanting to live here with you. If you’re not comfortable with that, you’re always welcome to move into my condo. Of course I don’t know what Duke would do there, and I sure wouldn’t want to be seen with him outside in his pink booties. That would be your job,”

  “A little more time, Jeff, give me a little more…” His kiss stopped her words and for once, she had nothing to say. She was simply doing what Lucy had talked about earlier that day, “Being in the moment.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Marty spent the next morning researching and reviewing in a general manner, all sorts of Native American artifacts. The beauty of the pieces created by tribal people never failed to touch her. These were items which had transcended their utilitarian purpose and become highly coveted treasures by those who collected them. She was really looking forward to seeing Randy Jones’ collection.

  As she was casually doing the research, she thought once again how lucky she and her sister had been to inherit their mother’s good genes. Her tanned face was relatively unlined and large brown eyes were an accent to the auburn hair which framed her face. At 5’3” she was short, so she always packed a stepstool when she went on an appraisal in case she needed it to reach items in high places. A well-rounded hourglass figure complemented her attractive appearance. She thought she’d pass inspection from an old desert rat. Although her fiftieth birthday was only weeks away, she could still pass for being in her early forties.

  Her meeting with Randy was scheduled for 2:00 that afternoon. At 1:30 she put her appraisal tools in the trunk of her car: notebook, pen, camera, small stepstool, flashlight, and white and black fabric material in case she decided to start the appraisal today and needed a background to photograph smaller items. Around her neck she wore a heavy gold chain attached to a magnifying glass surrounded by gold filigree with diamond insets. Even though her ex-husband Scott had given it to her as a piece of jewelry, and she really didn’t want or need reminders of him, it was so easy to wear it around her neck and it kept her hands free.

  Marty double-checked to make sure the clothes she was wearing were appropriate for appraising items in a shack, a shed, and a cave, whatever that meant. Although the jeans and tennis shoes she wore wouldn’t have been suitable for the appraisal she’d just conducted in Chicago, Marty decided if she was going to be looking at items in a cave, her outfit would be just fine. She wore a crisp white blouse and even though it was warm, she put a jacket in the car. The weather had a way of changing quickly in the desert.

  She followed the directions Randy had given her and soon saw the shack and shed ahead of her on the right. He’d told her to park in the turnout next to his orange truck. When she stepped out of her car she saw the narrow footpath that led up the slope of a ridge to the shack. The path gently sloped upwards, and she was able to easily walk up it.


  When she reached the top of the path she saw that the door to the shack was open, allowing a light breeze to pass through it. In the muted interior light of the shack she saw a grizzled old man with a cigarette dangling from his lips and a full white beard. His worn blue denim shirt and jeans, along with old scuffed cowboy boots, made him look like a caricature from a western movie.

  He stood up when he saw her shadow coming through the open door and said, “You must be Marty Morgan. I’m Randy Jones, but you probably knew that. Come on in. I’ll show ya’ some of my purties here and in the shed before we go to the cave. That’s where I keep the real good stuff.”

  She walked into the shack and stood dumbfounded. Randy hadn’t been kidding when he said he had a good collection. He may have looked like a caricature of a desert rat, but within that grizzled old man was the eye of a collector who just might be one of the most astute she’d ever been around.

  “Randy, would you mind if I just take a few minutes and look at these things? I’d also like to take some notes, and then you can tell me more about them when I actually do the appraisal. I’d also like to take a few photographs, so I can do a little research before the appraisal.”

  “Nah, take yer’ time. Got a couple of people coming out later this afternoon to look at my purties, but fer right now I’m all yers’.”

  Marty slowly walked around the small shack trying to process what she was seeing. She couldn’t believe there could possibly be any better Native American pieces in the cave than what she was seeing. Beaded belts, rugs, pottery, baskets, and other artifacts filled the tiny shack. It was obvious Randy had either traveled extensively or bought pieces from dealers, because most of the items were not indigenous to the tribes of the desert area.

  She turned to him and said, “Mr. Jones, you have some of the best things I’ve ever seen. I feel like I’m in a museum, and I’m the only person allowed in. This collection alone is priceless. How long have you been collecting Native American artifacts?”