Dead in Hog Heaven (A Thea Barlow Mystery, Book Three)

by Carol Caverly

  I drove with the window down, enjoying the heat and the light breeze ruffling my hair. The pungent aroma of crushed sage drifted in the air as I drove over stray branches. Soon the road dwindled to nothing more than a rutted trail and took all my concentration. My poor Camry was getting rougher treatment than it was used to. I crept along dodging the deeper ruts and wincing at the harsh rasp of sagebrush, dirt clods, and an occasional rock scraping the undercarriage. I didn't know how much farther I wanted to go. Ahead I could see the ground breaking more frequently into arroyos and didn't think I wanted to subject my car to them. The butte was still at least a mile away, if not more. I couldn't see any sign of another vehicle in any direction. There was a flat space a short distance ahead that looked like a good turnaround point. I'd just tell Clyde that the road was too rough for my little car, and I'd wait until he could show me around.

  I was actually getting pretty curious about the place by now. I wasn't sure that Clyde believed in the mystical properties he proclaimed for the place, either. He frequently sounded more like a sly opportunist whose main interest was to make money off those who did. On the other hand, I had read of other sacred spots in Colorado's San Juan Mountains.

  Several religious orders had established communities to be close to them. So maybe Clyde wasn't that far off base. But now his wife was dead and if that was the consequence of his wheeling and dealing—though I could swear he knew nothing about a diamond find—he must have huge regrets. I suddenly remembered something Opal had told me: that Clyde had no interest in the land except for the small parcel by the road where the store sat. That's why she had planned on leaving the majority of it to Ronnie Mae. But now it all belonged to Clyde, I thought uneasily.

  I reached the spot where I planned to turn around and accomplished the maneuver with relative ease. Once headed in the other direction, I got out of the car for one last look. Ignoring the bulk of the butte, I looked to the far western end, or front if you considered that the two hills there made up what passed for the dragon's head. From here you could also see that they were two separate formations.

  Shielding my eyes with my hands, I squinted through the sun, looking for any sign of a dust contrail until a low drone behind me caught my attention. I whirled and saw the Jeep traveling cross-country toward me. The horn beeped, and the driver waved his arm at me. Where had it come from? My first instinct was to jump into my car and hightail it out of there. But that seemed foolish now that they were almost upon me. The Jeep would have outmaneuvered me on this road anyway. My heart began to thud unpleasantly, but there were too many witnesses for me to really be in danger.

  The Jeep pulled to a stop, Pussyfoot at the wheel, spewing up a gust of wind-driven dust. Dan jumped out. "What are you doing out here?" he demanded, furious at the sight of me.

  "Clyde sent me. He wanted me to come out and look at the sleeping dragon formation. This is his land, isn't it?"

  He glared at me, but didn't answer. He wasn't nearly as intimidating without his rifle.

  The two lay brothers got out of the Jeep as well. The older of the two took a healthy swig from his bottle of water and wiped his brow with the coarse sleeve of his robe.

  I smiled at them and said casually, "Have you been having a good time?"

  They laughed in unison and said, "It's hot!"

  "I was just getting ready to turn around and go back myself. My car's not the best on this rough road."

  "But you haven't been to the power spot yet, have you?"

  "No, I'll have to come back another time in a better vehicle."

  "Maybe we could drive you over there." He turned around to look at Pussyfoot, who swung down from the driver's seat. "It's really spectacular."

  "It is?" I found it hard to keep the surprise out of my voice.

  "Oh, yes. You can actually feel the energy when you stand in the confluence. Here let me show you." He whipped out a chart. "I'm quite taken with the spot, aren't you, Michael?"

  "Well, uh, yes, but the soil doesn't look very good for growing. We depend on self-sufficiency gardening."

  "Water works wonders even around here," I said brightly, sounding like I was shilling for Clyde. I had to get out of here.

  Pussyfoot lit up a cigarette and ground out the match with his heel. "I think we should go look at the far end of the butte over there," he said. He pointed to the hills I'd been looking at.

  "I told you before, there's nothing over there," Dan said.

  "Won't hurt none to look at it," Pussyfoot insisted, eyes hard on Dan's. He'd stuck the end of his cigarette into the vacancy left by his missing incisor and spoke around it freely. It turned my stomach, but he was clearly the stronger man in the battle of wills between the two. "Looks like there might be better access to water over there."

  "Well, there isn't," Danny said, sounding like a whiny child. "Besides, that's my property over there, and it's not for sale."

  "Your property?" Pussyfoot questioned, his voice loaded with disbelief.

  "It was Ronnie Mae's, now it's mine."

  I wasn't the only one to sense the tug of war taking place.

  The older monk broke into the conversation. "It doesn't matter," he said. "I think we've seen enough here to evaluate—"

  A soft ringing sounded through the air. There was a muffled, ethereal quality to it that made me think first of unearthly manifestations. Then another ring. My cell phone! Max! Thankful I'd left the car door open, I raced for the Camry, snatched my purse off the front seat, and fumbled for the phone. Please, don't hang up, don't hang up. I snatched the phone and flipped it open.

  "Hello? Hello?"

  "Thea?" The voice was faint. "Where are you?"

  "Where are you?" Too aware of listening ears, I walked away, out of earshot, I hoped. "Where are you?" I asked again, wanting to rail at him for keeping me waiting so long, to slake my fear, because he sounded awful, or was it just a weak connection?

  I had no way of knowing if my words would drift back to the others, so I made my answers as innocuous as possible. "I'm at Hog Heaven. Out back," I said, hoping he'd know what I meant. "Looking at Clyde's sleeping dragon."

  Silence on the other end. Static. Oh, no, I didn't want to lose the connection.

  I heard what sounded like a strange, guttural oath. "Are you alone?" he asked.

  "No. Not at the moment, but I have my own car. Where are you?"

  "Can you see the dirt works where we were the other day?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm due east of the spot. I'm down in a gully. I've banged up my leg."

  "You what?" I yelped, forgetting to keep my voice down. I turned to face the others, plastered a smile on my face, as if I were indulging in happy talk. It wasn't needed. Pussyfoot and Danny were still fencing about the merits of going to the other location.

  "It's okay," Max said. "Don't worry. I just need some help. Drive out to the straw bale house. Park where we did before. Wait for me there. Don't cross the fence, whatever you do. Okay? Just wait."

  I was bursting with questions, none of which I could risk being overheard.

  "And don't count on the phone to work, Thea. I had to crawl half a mile to find a spot where it would transmit. Don't tell anyone where you're going, okay? Just..." his voice seemed to fade. I thought the connection was disappearing, then his faint voice reappeared, "hurry."

  Chapter 20

  I broke the connection and shut off the phone, so anxious to be on my way that I didn't care if Max were finished or not.

  "That was Max," I said to whoever of the men might be listening. "He's waiting at home for me, so I need to get on my way. Sorry I can't join you for some more sight-seeing."

  "We're about finished here, too," Brother Michael said.

  "There's still time to look at the west end of the site," Pussyfoot insisted.

  "No, there's no need," Brother Michael said firmly, not happy with the pressure Pussyfoot was applying. "Mr. Lorenzo has already said that the land in that area is not for sale. But tha
nk you so much for your help, both of you. It's getting to be dinner time. I'm for heading back to the motel."

  I didn't really care what they were going to do. I got in my car, called out a quick farewell and took off on the rough track as fast as I dared.

  When I passed the Rendezvous encampment, I noted that the campsite was taking shape for tomorrow's opening. The commercial area had blossomed with four aisles of canvas-draped booths. Tepees delineated the Indian village and a rougher camp of crude bough huts and tents was for the mountain men. Teenagers were marking off parking places in a huge lot to one side with ropes and cans of spray paint. I drove past, barely registering the activity, and on through the Hog Heaven compound.

  Naturally, being in a hurry, one frustration followed another. Due to the Rendezvous encampment, this seldom-traveled road was awash with traffic. I got stuck behind a gravel hauler with just enough traffic coming the other way that I couldn't pass. In a fit of road rage, I finally dared a move around the truck, barely avoiding an oncoming four-wheel drive, for which I got the finger. I didn't care.

  The folks in Garnet Pass had been busy, too. Banners had been strung across Main Street announcing the Business Fair in the school gymnasium, the Mountain Man Rendezvous and a Free Buffalo Barbecue. The block by City Hall was roped off in preparation for something or other, which entailed a detour.

  Two blocks later, I was stopped again while a group of men on horseback herded a frisky bunch of mules, horses and a couple of long-horned steers into the small rodeo grounds. The animals were followed by a string of freight wagons and buggies, and even an ox-drawn Conestoga that I swear took an hour to travel two feet. I could have cried in frustration.

  I hesitated over the need to stop for gas. My tank was approaching the final quarter mark, enough to get where I was going, but if I was off on some kind of rescue mission I didn't want to risk running out. Even if it meant another stop.

  While the tank was filling, I picked out four prepackaged sandwiches from the sorry collection left on the shelf, some chips and two thermos cups, which I filled with coffee.

  Finally back on the road, there was a moment of panic when I realized I didn't know the way to Max's house. I'd been in no shape to pay attention when he drove me out there the other day. Rather than stop again and ask the station attendant, I decided to try my luck. I knew the first step was to follow the road north out of town. That was easy enough. I soon discovered that the good genies of the world had been at work: signs had been posted for tomorrow's Business Fair visitors giving directions to the alternative building methods model homes and then, farther along, to "The Holman Straw Bale House." How lucky could I get? I simply followed the arrows.

  Dusk was setting in now, though it would be an hour or so before it was completely dark. Outside lights illuminated Max's house, but everything was eerily quiet. The workmen were gone, and the gracious adobe structure appeared to be ready for tomorrow's visitors. I didn't stop, but wound around the trail behind the house, confident that this was the way Max had taken me. I wasn't quite as certain about where we had parked before, but followed the fence line to a point opposite the hill we had investigated. Caution kept me from turning the car lights on. I eased the Camry into as concealed a spot as possible, sheltered behind a shrub-covered hillock of considerable size. The only problem was that I couldn't see anything from there.

  I got out of the car and looked for a vantage spot where I could sit with some comfort, yet keep my eye on the hill and its surroundings. There was still enough light to make out the clunky form of the bulldozer. It didn't appear to have been moved since we'd last seen it. I found a spot about halfway up another, sandier hillock that gave me a good view of the area, but wasn't too exposed. Satisfied, I went back to the car, got an old blanket I kept in the trunk for emergencies to use as a cushion to sit on, and one of the thermos cups of coffee. Out of habit, I dropped the car keys into my pocket, but didn't bother to lock the doors.

  I sat quietly, sipping my coffee and eating some of the chips. Max had said to wait, but for how long? How far had Max been able to travel on foot in the amount of time it took me to get here? At least he was probably moving in a relatively straight line, while I had to drive roundabout. I also didn't know if he was alone out there. Was he being stalked by the guy in a monk's robe with a shotgun? Or was it possible that Max had been stalking him before he was hurt? But if he had to stay hidden while he made his way here his progress would be slower. And how much was his banged-up leg hampering him? Knowing Max, banged-up could mean anything from a severe bruise to hanging on by a mere thread.

  These thoughts were unsettling. Nervously, I got to my feet and peered into the darkness. There isn't much dwindle effect to Wyoming sunsets. From dusk to dark can happen in a matter of minutes. But my eyes had adjusted right along with the diminishing light. I could make out the contours of the hill, the black lump that was the 'dozer, and the general contours of the surrounding land. I strained my eyes, watching for the least bit of movement, trying to remember where the deep erosion ditches that Max and I had traveled in began. I had a hunch that when he appeared it would be as a wraith emerging from the earth out of one of these ditches. I returned to my nest, and like a dog, was turning around a couple of times trying to decide where the highest comfort zone might be, when I caught a glimpse of something metallic in the shrubs below. I stared at the spot, faintly illuminated by some vagary of light. Could it be a fender?

  I went back to my car and fished in the glove compartment for a flashlight. It had been thrown on the floor along with all the other contents when my car had been searched, but, thankfully, it wasn't damaged. I swung the car door shut. The sound of it rang like a shot in the stillness. I jumped, then shrugged at my own foolishness. I'd become so accustomed to the quiet that the slightest noise registered an alarm. Well, I thought, if Max was out there he had surely heard the door slam, and at least knew I was here.

  I made my way to the spot I wanted to investigate without using the light. What I had thought was a fender was indeed that. In fact—I turned on the flashlight and ran the beam over the vehicle—it was Max's pickup. The truck was better hidden than my car, but strangely canted. I shined the light on the ground and groaned when I saw that the two tires on this side had been slashed to the rim in several places. Fear stabbed my gut. I yanked at the door handle: locked. Then I flashed the light through the window into the interior: empty. A rush of relief so intense I staggered washed through me. I think I had feared finding his blood-soaked body stretched across the seat. More calmly, I shone the light around the cab again. Both doors were locked. The keys were not in the ignition, but that could be okay. Max probably took them with him. The presence of his truck comforted me, as if he were near.

  I clicked the flashlight off and stood in the dark biting my lips, trying to figure out what this meant. Did Max know about his slashed tires? Had he wanted me to come here not only because he was hurt and needed help, but because he also needed my car? I didn't think so. He'd most emphatically told me not to cross the fence, which meant he thought I was safe on this side, but was I? Someone up to no good had been here. The question was—when? Hours ago? Or more recently? Was he still around?

  In the stillness I heard a faint rustling. Max? I moved away from the truck, keeping low and as quiet as possible. If it were Max, wouldn't he call out? Unless he, too, was aware of a foreign presence. I inched my way to a position where I could again see the looming shadow of the hill and the vast stretch of land. Nothing.

  Then two things happened at once. A dark shadowy figure of some kind appeared about fifty feet on the other side of the fence. Simultaneously, a flashlight beam came on over to my right and played over my car.

  Acting on pure instinct—certainly not common sense—I rolled under the fence where I found a spot that had a depression, and ran to where I'd seen the dark, blobby movement. Whether I made noise or not, I couldn't have said. A little thought would have told me that what I was running
toward could have been an animal or a tumbleweed, almost anything, but all I could think was Max. I felt certain that only the dreaded unknown could be examining my car.

  I ran, stumbling, low to the ground, and practically threw myself into the first erosion ditch that opened beside me. I landed with a thud, scraping my back full length on sharp spiky branches of a desiccated sagebrush. Tears filled my eyes, but I didn't cry out. I was too damned scared. I lay flat on my back not moving a muscle and watched the play of a flashlight arc across the darkness. But the light was dim. Whoever it was wasn't very close, probably hadn't crossed the fence. Was that what he was doing now?

  Somewhere I'd dropped my flashlight, at least it wasn't in my hand any longer, nor on the ground around me. It was pitch black in the ditch. I needed to get away from this spot where I'd dropped out of sight in case the man had spotted me, but I desperately wanted the light. If nothing else, its heft would make a decent weapon. I groped around some more, trying not to think about rattlesnakes. It was nowhere around me. I couldn't wait any longer. I'd lost any orientation I might have had as far as seeing where the blob—that I hoped was Max—rising out of the earth went. I had no idea if he was ahead of me or behind, but instinct urged me away from the fence and car. And away I went, following the erratic path of the ditch, half running, half duck walking until I stumbled over an inert form, and fell flat.

  "Max?"

  He groaned. I clapped my hand over his mouth and spoke softly into his ear. "Shh, there's someone out there."

  He shook my hand away from his mouth. "My leg," he said in a hoarse whisper. "Get off my leg."