Cryptid Frontier (Cryptid Zoo Book 7)

by Gerry Griffiths

  “Astuto! Back to your hole,” Camilla said.

  The troll grumbled and wiped his slobbery chin with the back of his hand.

  “You heard me,” Camilla said, narrowing her eyes.

  “Mea ungy,” Astuto mumbled.

  “I’ll feed you when we’re done. Now scoot.”

  “Youa meen.” Astuto jumped down from the bench, scampered across the kitchen, and ducked into a small opening in the wall next to the stove.

  Everyone at the table laughed, Sophia being the loudest. She looked at Camilla and asked, “I forgot, why did you name him Astuto?”

  “Because he’s sneaky,” Camilla replied with a grin.

  5

  SPECIAL PICKUP

  Vera parked her Jeep Gladiator in front of the US Postal Office, a small building constructed of brown brick and a pitched roof. A blue and white banner with the “sonic” eagle corporate logo stretched over the front entrance facing the parking lot.

  A chime sounded as soon as she opened the glass door and stepped inside the lobby. A long glass counter with displays of packaging was in the middle of the room for customers to use as a writing surface and preparing shipments. Next to the postmaster’s window was a large cork bulletin board with postal regulations and public messages.

  She went over to the wall of PO boxes, inserted her key, and opened the compartment. Inside were a couple of bills and the latest issue of Artnews magazine. She flipped through the pages to the article she had been waiting to read that not only raved about her work but also spotlighted one of her landscape paintings. Sharing the same page with six other artists it was a tiny blurb with a thumbprint illustration, certainly not what she had expected.

  Vera rolled the magazine into a tube with the bills inside and locked her mailbox.

  “Ah, I see you got my email,” a voice said.

  “Sorry I didn’t come over sooner,” Vera said, walking up to the postmaster window.

  “That’s quite all right,” Fred Fuller replied. Close to retirement, Fred had been Yucca Basin’s postmaster for the last forty years and was a fixture around town. Even though he never went anywhere but his home or the post office, Fred always seemed to be privy to everyone else’s business. “How is Ben these days? I don’t see him much.”

  “He’s fine. I should have two orders.”

  “That art supply outfit in Albuquerque must love you.” Fred made a habit of checking each sender’s name and address on every piece of mail that came into his office.

  “Yeah, you might say that. There should be a big box filled with canvases. I might have to borrow your cart.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll be right back,” Fred said and disappeared into the back room.

  Vera placed her mail on the counter and the magazine unfurled flat. She heard the front door chime and turned to see who it was. Kane Nez stood in the doorway. He was a brute of a man, well over six feet tall, with dark scraggly shoulder-length hair and a thin rough beard. He was dressed in his usual attire: black T-shirt, black Wrangler jeans, and a pair of leather-worn boots.

  As New Mexico was an Open Carry State, she wasn’t surprised to see the black rubber handgrip of his Colt King Cobra sticking out of the clip-on hip holster on his waist belt.

  “Well, fancy meeting you here,” Kane said in his gruff voice.

  “Run out of stamps?” Vera said snidely. Even though she had never given the man a reason to think she was interested in him, he thought otherwise. There were times when he would appear out of nowhere, at the grocery store or when she would be filling up at the convenient store gas station. She never mentioned it to Ben, afraid of what he might do if he knew Kane was stalking her.

  Kane walked over to the counter and looked down at the front cover of the magazine. “Isn’t that the same rag that blasted you?”

  “They have a new editor.”

  “That was too bad about that columnist. What was his name?”

  “Brad Filcher.”

  “What did he call you? Oh, yeah,” Kane raised his hand like he was writing in thin air. “Vera Lobo, The Paint-By-Numbers Landscape Artist.”

  “Everyone’s entitled to their opinion.”

  “Yeah, well it got him killed, now didn’t it?”

  “He got mugged in a parking lot.”

  “Outside a bar I hear. Must have gone and pissed somebody else off.”

  “What do you want Kane?”

  “Nothing,” Kane said and leaned on the counter. He looked Vera up and down like a movie producer appraising a fledgling star. “No law against wanting to share the company of a beautiful woman, is there?”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Kane Nez,” Fred said, opening the leaf at the end of the counter so he could push the cart through with Vera’s packages. “You can’t wear that in here.”

  Kane looked down at his holstered gun. “Sure I can.”

  “Not in a federal building. I’m going to have to ask you to leave or I’ll be forced to call the sheriff.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Kane, just go,” Vera said.

  “Fine. We can continue our talk outside.”

  “I don’t think so,” Fred said. “Regulation applies to the parking lot. No guns.”

  Kane tapped his finger on the counter and gazed at Vera. “Then I’ll be seeing you.” He turned and strode out the door.

  Vera watched him climb into his Dodge Ram. The suspension on the four-wheeler was raised high so the wheel wells could accommodate the over-sized all-terrain tires.

  Kane fired up his truck and rumbled out of the parking lot.

  “Thank you,” Vera said to Fred.

  “No problem. That whole Nez family is nothing but trouble.”

  “What about Roxy? Is she trouble?” Vera asked.

  “She’s different.”

  “What do you mean, different?”

  “You know what I mean. If you hold the door, I’ll push your stuff out for you. Even help you load up.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that.” Vera held the door open while Fred guided the cart onto the walkway. She went around to the back of her Jeep and opened the tailgate so Fred could load the packages onto the truck bed.

  “Well, enjoy the rest of your day,” Fred said.

  “I will.” Vera hesitated for a moment. “What did you mean by Roxy being different?”

  “I don’t know her that well, but I always got the sense she and the rest of her family never got along. Probably why she moved away.”

  “So why did she come back?”

  “Don’t know. Guess because your husband gave her a job.”

  “Thanks again.” Vera gave Fred a wave and got in her truck. She drove out on the main road and headed for home.

  6

  TAKING A STROLL

  Miguel, Maria, and Sophia went behind Camilla’s house and walked along the shale stepping stone walkway toward a small compound of animal pens and a stable covered with a corrugated aluminum roof. Camilla stood by two horses in separate stalls, their chins resting on the top of the fence gates.

  “This is Poco,” Camilla told Sophia and stroked the ear of the gray horse with black leopard spots covering its legs and entire body. “Poco is an Appaloosa.”

  “He looks like a firehouse dog,” Sophia said.

  “She means a Dalmatian,” Maria said and looked at the other horse. “I love the markings on that one.”

  Camilla gave the other horse her attention and rubbed under its chin. It had large white patches on its predominately brown hide. “Scout’s a pinto. If you like child, tomorrow you can go for a ride.”

  “Can I?” Sophia said, looking up at her father.

  “Sure,” Miguel said, giving his consent then glancing over at Maria.

  “Only if one of us goes along.”

  “Hey Poco,” Miguel said and walked up to the horse.

  “Here, give him this.” Camilla reached inside her skirt pocket and took out a hard cookie. She handed it to Miguel.

  �
��What is it?” he asked.

  “It’s a little concoction I came up with: molasses, curly mesquite, some grama grass. They love it.”

  Miguel offered the cookie to Poco. The horse snapped its large teeth, nearly taking off Miguel’s fingers. “Whoa, maybe he loves it too much.”

  Camilla, Maria, and Sophia broke out laughing.

  “Give him another one, Papa,” Sophia said.

  “I don’t think so,” Miguel replied.

  “Come child, let me show you the other animals.” Camilla took Sophia by the hand and led her over to the individual corrals. Miguel and Maria watched while Camilla showed Sophia a feral donkey named Gus she had found near starvation lying out in the desert while a bunch of hungry vultures waited a few feet away for it to die. Next Camilla let Sophia pet her two pigmy goats, a ram and a milking doe.

  When Camilla started to take Sophia over to the chicken coop, Miguel got Camilla’s attention and said, “I think Maria and I are going to go for a walk.”

  “Tread softly,” Camilla said.

  “We will.”

  “What did she mean by that?” Maria asked once they were twenty yards from the house.

  “That we should watch our step. Even though it doesn’t look like it,” Miguel glanced about the barren desert of scattered cacti and shrubs, “there’s plenty of wildlife out here.”

  Maria looked around. “Must be hiding because I don’t see anything.”

  “You will.”

  They had gone maybe a hundred yards when Miguel noticed a pattern in the sand and pointed at the ground. “Know what that is?”

  Maria leaned forward with her hands on her knees and studied the long indentation that went along in the sand and was narrower than her little finger. On either side were little choppy markings. “I have no idea.”

  “Want to find out?”

  “Okay.”

  “Let’s see where it leads us.” Miguel made sure not to step on the impressions. It took them to a small pile of rocks. Reaching down, Miguel removed a few stones then stepped back. “There’s our little tour guide.”

  “Oh my God. Is that a scorpion?”

  “An Arizona bark scorpion to be exact.”

  “In New Mexico?” Maria said skeptically.

  “Go figure.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  Miguel watched the brown scorpion open its pinchers and curl its stinger over its body. “Enough to make you wish you never got stung.”

  “I worry about Sophia.”

  “We’ll just have to keep an eye on her, that’s all. Let’s give this guy back his privacy,” Miguel said and put the rocks back.

  A minute later, Miguel heard a rattling. He spotted something coiled under a tarbush and immediately grabbed Maria by the arm.

  “What is it?” she said, having not heard the sound.

  “Stay perfectly still.” He motioned toward the small shrub.

  “Miguel, that’s a rattlesnake.”

  “A diamondback. Let’s keep our distance.”

  “Maybe we should go back.”

  “Good idea.”

  They gave the snake a wide berth and took another way back to Camilla’s house.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t have brought Sophia out here. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Maria, scorpions and rattlers are everywhere. Even where we live.”

  “It just seems—”

  “Hold on,” Miguel said, spotting a tight group of hoof tracks in the sand made by a small herd.

  “What in the world are those?” Maria asked. “Please don’t say wild boar.”

  “At first I thought they were peccary but they have two-toed hooves. These are different. These have three toes. I’ve seen this before.”

  “When?”

  “The last time Jack and I were near the border hunting down cryptid specimens for Wilde’s zoo.”

  “My God, Miguel,” Maria said. “That was so long ago.”

  “I know. These tracks are old and they’re going away from the house. A migratory pack maybe. I’ll mention it when we get back.”

  “Why, what are they?”

  “Chupacabras.”

  7

  QUICK STOP

  Ben pulled up to the concrete island outside the Quick Stop convenience store, shut off the engine, and got out of the Tahoe. He grabbed the nozzle off the gas pump and stuck it into the filler tube. After running his credit card through the reader, he leaned back against the rear bumper while the meter noisily clicked off the amount of gallons feeding into his tank.

  Having spent more than three hours standing under the scorching sun in ninety-degree heat, Ben was dying for an ice-cold drink.

  He spotted three vehicles passing his way on the main road.

  Ben raised his hand in a casual wave. Roxy gave him a short blast from her car horn, heading up the small convoy in her Mustang.

  A dark blue van—CORONER in bold white letters on the side—was close behind, followed by a flatbed tow truck carrying the Willard’s RAV4.

  As soon as the pump turned off, Ben replaced the nozzle, and went inside the store. He greeted the clerk standing by the checkout counter. “Hey, Macy.”

  “Sheriff,” Macy Brown replied cordially. A single mom with two kids in high school, Macy knew the struggles of raising a family all on her own. Not that her husband had been a deadbeat. Dalton Brown had been a decent hardworking man and loving father. He’d been a pillar to the community and was always willing to help out a stranger. Which was why he ended up dead after picking up a hitchhiker—an escaped convict on the run—and was left on the side of the road and Macy pregnant with their second child.

  “I guess you saw it on the news. He hit another one of your stores upstate,” Ben said, referring to a string of gas station robberies.

  “So, is it true? That he killed the clerk with a hunting knife?” Macy asked.

  “I’m afraid so. He’s no longer just a robber. Headlines are now calling him the Quick Stop Killer.”

  “My God.”

  “You have my number on your phone, right?”

  “I do,” Macy replied.

  “Good. First sign of trouble, you call me.”

  “I will.”

  Ben strolled down the aisle to the refrigerator units in the back. He grabbed a frosty bottle of vanilla root beer off the shelf, and on his way back to the checkout counter, a large bag of barbeque potato chips and packet of beef jerky.

  He knew Vera would have a conniption if she knew. She always scolded him for his poor diet choices. Hey, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

  He was setting his items on the counter when the front door opened and in walked Ethan Nez, Roxy’s brother. Ethan and her other brother, Kane, shared an apartment together in a rundown tenement on the outskirts of town, a lowlife hangout for deadbeats and druggies. Ben should know, he spent more hours than he cared to count patrolling the area, settling family disturbances, and breaking up fistfights.

  “Hi, Macy, how are you?” Ethan said.

  “Doing fine, Ethan. How about yourself?”

  Ben listened to the two bantering back and forth like a couple of infatuated teenagers as though he wasn’t in the room. He’d heard rumors that Ethan was keen on Macy and that they had gone out a few times, mostly to the Mesa Bar just out of town.

  Even though Ben held a high regard for Macy, he knew she wouldn’t have much of a future dating someone like Ethan Nez, who he thought was a lost cause and would never amount to much. He figured for Macy, it was a way to pass the time.

  Once, Ben had voiced his concern to Roxy about her brothers but she let him know right up front that she did not want to have that discussion. Ben knew she favored Ethan over Kane. He also knew she shared something in common with Ethan. They both feared Kane, and rightfully so, as Kane was one mean son-of-a-bitch. Just ask the guys whose jaws he broke or the ones that got stomped half to death. When it came to receiving a beating from Kane, it was always best to keep your mouth shut.r />
  “So Sheriff, how’s my baby sister doing?” Ethan said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is she cutting the mustard?”

  Ben looked at Ethan.

  The man had a grin on his face with a hint of defiance, a trait he picked up from Kane—the intimidating look of a bully.

  “You mean, is she a good officer? Yeah. I think she has a great career ahead of her. Why, does that have you worried?”

  Ethan immediately lost the attitude. “Just asking.”

  Ben gave Macy a twenty and she gave him his change. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to head over to the morgue.”

  “Why’s that, Sheriff?” Macy asked. “Someone die?”

  “Can’t really talk about it. All I can tell you is we found two bodies out in the desert.”

  “What, did they get caught in the storm?” Ethan asked.

  “No, they were attacked.”

  “Attacked?” Macy said. It wasn’t often something newsworthy happened in Yucca Basin.

  “What, like an animal attack?” Ethan said.

  Ben studied Ethan’s face. “What makes you think that?”

  “I don’t know. You said ‘attacked’ and I thought some animal killed them.”

  “Well, we won’t know until after the autopsy.” Ben raised his drink and bags of goodies. “Be seeing you.”

  “Bye, Sheriff,” Macy said.

  8

  ROUTINE STOP

  Kane wanted nothing better than to go back and beat the holy shit out of that little shit, Fuller. Maybe one day he would pay the postmaster a visit and do just that. He was so pissed he hadn’t realized his speed until he heard the siren. He glanced in his rearview mirror and saw Sheriff Lobo’s Tahoe following close behind with the roof rack lights flashing.