Bad Land (4 page)

Chapter 7

Halfway down the paved path that ran from the porch to the front gate, Samantha asked, “Do you think that something happened to the girl? I mean, something other than an accident?”

Marshall looked at her worried face. “I honestly wasn’t sure until today. The way people seem scared and avoided the question, avoided even talking to me. It really makes me wonder.”

The trio had reached the gate and Samantha held Marshall’s gaze. “I’m sorry about my grandfather. He means well, really he does. He’s just had a rough life. I’m sorry neither of us could be of more help.”

Marshall knew she was being sincere. The way she looked straight into his eyes and the manner in which her voice softened told Marshall as much. “It’s okay. Thank you, anyway.”

Samantha nodded and looked past Marshall to where his car was parked on the side of the road. “Is that your car?”

Marshall followed her gaze and nodded. “Yep. That’s the tank.”

“Very cool. What is it, a ‘66, ‘67?”

Marshall looked back at her with newfound respect. “Um, yeah. It’s a ‘66. You know cars?”

Samantha let a wry smile touch her lips. “I guess you could say that. Mind if I take a look at her?”

“Sure.”

The entire time the two were talking at the fence, Marshall could feel Samantha’s grandfather’s eyes on them like lasers. As they opened the gate and walked from the lawn to Marshall’s car together, he imagined holes being bored right through him.

“Have you done any work on her?” Samantha asked at they reached the car.

“No, just a few maintenance issues, like the alternator needing to be replaced and new tires when I first bought him.”

“Her.”

“What?”

“You said ‘him’ when you referred to your car. It’s definitely a ‘her.’”

Marshall couldn’t help but laugh. “And how do you know that?”

“Cause only a woman would have this much patience. How long has your car been in this shape? I mean, you should really take better care of your vehicle.”

Marshall had to figure out how to feel about Samantha’s last comment. It was a mixture of offense and agreement that first came to mind. But after looking at his car again, he really couldn’t argue. Pockets of rust covered his coupe from bumper to trunk, and the fact that his antenna was bent just added validity to her statement.

“How do you know so much about cars?”

Samantha turned and flashed her pearl white teeth. “Oh, I probably should have led with this. I have a garage in town where I work on classic cars and motorcycles.”

Marshall was taken aback. Samantha was the kind of woman that when someone first met her, the first two options for guessing her occupation would be actress or model. Somewhere around guess one hundred, might be thrown out the random speculation of “mechanic”.

“Yeahhhhh…” she said with a frown. “I get that a lot when I tell guys what I do.”

“Oh no,” Marshall shook his head. “I mean, that’s not what I was thinking. That’s awesome, actually. I just—” Marshall had put his foot in his mouth and couldn’t find the words to get it out. “I mean, George has mixed feelings when it comes to girls working on his cars, but I think its fine.”

Samantha laughed as she knelt down again and rubbed George’s ears. “Does he always throw you under the bus like that?”

George gave her a puppy dog look as his eyes rolled. He leaned into her hand. “Well, listen,” Samantha said, standing up. “If you ever do decide to get your car looked at, you should bring it down to my shop.” She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a card.

Marshall accepted it and gave her his own. “And if you or your grandpa do remember anything, here’s mine.”

Samantha took Marshall’s card and bit her lip in a way that made Marshall wonder if she was still thinking about cars. “Is that the only reason I should call you?”

Marshall was still regaining his footing after saving himself from the last foot in mouth situation. “Or I mean if you want to hear more about how George feels about female mechanics.”

Samantha laughed. “Okay. You two drive safe, and there’s an open invitation to visit my garage.”

“Thank you.”

The two waved good-bye and Marshall unlocked the car and let George inside.

Really smooth, dude. Blaming everything on your dog like he’s your wingman? Really? She must think you’re an idiot.

Marshall stuffed Samantha’s business card in his pocket and pulled a U-turn as he headed back into town. He couldn’t help but notice Samantha’s slim figure walking back toward the porch as he felt the old man’s eyes on him.

George had been sniffing the car like it was a new environment to him ever since they had entered. He bounded onto the back seat and Marshall could hear paper rustling. Before he had a chance to look back, George was sitting behind him with a newspaper in his mouth.

Marshall furrowed his eyebrows. He hadn’t left any newspapers in the car. Pulling over, he took the newspaper from between George’s jaws. His fingers trembled and his heartbeat quickened as he realized what it was. The newspaper was the current morning edition of the
Hermes
. It was turned to page two, where Barbara Summers’ picture stood out against the thin paper. In red marker that looked like blood were scrawled the words,
Leave It Alone.

Chapter 8

Marshall threw the paper down like it was infected and turned all the way around in his seat, searching the entire interior of the car. Someone had broken in while he was talking to the canyon’s residents. Who knew what else they’d done?

The interior of his vehicle was bare. Marshall turned off the engine and sat in his car trying to calm himself. He felt violated. After a few minutes he regained his composure and he let his hands handle the newspaper once again. George sat quietly sniffing the air, sensing something was wrong, but waiting for his roommate to take the lead.

Marshall looked at George and just shook his head. “This is getting weirder and weirder. If you want out now, I won’t hold it against you. Really, I mean who knows what else is going to happen. This can get dangerous. I won’t think any less of you if you decide to leave.”

George sat panting with his head cocked to the side. “Okay, good. I was hoping you would stay.” Marshall smiled more at himself talking to his dog than anything else. But his self-imposed distraction was working. He felt better already. Carefully he looked through the newspaper, starting on the front page and working his way through the entire edition. There was nothing else there. No other messages, nothing circled or highlighted, only the warning scribbled in red ink.

Marshall was no expert on penmanship, but if he had to guess, the person either wrote it in a hurry or wasn’t a great writer to begin with. The words were sloppy and some letters were bigger than the others. Besides that, there was nothing else to work with. “Great, so I’m looking for a male/female between the ages of ten and ninety who has bad handwriting.”

Marshall took a deep breath, tossed the newspaper in the back seat, started his car, and headed back to town. He needed to drop George off at his apartment and then go to work and do what he did best. He needed to dig deep into Wakan Canyon’s history and research what had happened there to make so many people afraid.

It was noon by the time Marshall had dropped off George at the apartment and he hit a drive-thru restaurant on his way to the office. It was a toss up between a hamburger and Mexican, but Marshall ended up choosing a burrito—it was easier to eat while driving. He wondered, not for the first time, how bad his health was if he was on a first name basis with the employees of the Mexican restaurant.

“Oh well,” he mumbled in between mouthfuls of spicy goodness. “Might as well take advantage of this metabolism while I have it.”

Carrying his lunch remains and brown leather satchel with him, he arrived at the
Hermes
and took the elevator to the top floor.

Ann was standing right in front of him as the elevator doors opened and he stepped out. “Well, hello, stranger. Busy at work, I see. Did you have a productive morning out in the field? I’ve been looking forward to the piece you’re preparing on the history of the county.”

“Thanks. Yeah, it was—it was interesting.”

“Oh, really? How so?”

Marshall mentally kicked himself for leaving such an open-ended statement on the table, especially with someone like Ann. “Oh, you know, a lot of interesting characters out there.”

This seemed to appease Ann as she nodded and smiled in agreement.

Marshall seized the moment. “Okay, then. Well, I’m back to work. Have a great day.”

“You too. Don’t work too hard.”

Marshall let out a sigh of relief as he entered his office, glad to be free of any more prying questions. It wasn’t uncommon for reporters to work from home or even be out all day in the field researching or conducting interviews, but his story was in its infancy, and he should be at his desk doing research. If anyone looked too closely, it would be clear that he was out running his own errands.

He tossed the crumpled up Mexican take out bag into the wastebasket like a true fast food pro and plopped down at his desk. It was time to find out the truth about Wakan Canyon, and if those who lived there were unable to cooperate, then he had his own means of finding the truth.

Marshall cracked his knuckles and hit the keyboard. His fingers flew over the keys like a musician composing a masterpiece. Marshall was no stranger to finding answers. Throughout the years as a reporter, he had always been willing to dig deeper until he found the truth. This was no exception.

Marshall visited all the normal county historical sites, the recorder’s office, and the history sites devoted to the state of California. They all said the same generic things. They gave dates when the county was founded, noted how much the county had progressed in industry, and there were more population statistics than Marshall thought anyone would ever need. But Marshall wanted more. After hours of reading the same thing, he decided to focus his search and put in the name Wakan Canyon in a series of search engines. He was shocked at what he found.

Wakan Canyon was the site of more gruesome occurrences than he cared to read. The word “wakan” itself meant “altar” in the local Native American dialect. It was like an urban legend fanatic’s dream. There were reports of everything from alien sightings to organized crime. One site even boasted a picture of a large man in a gorilla suit saying that they had finally found the elusive Bigfoot.

Like any good reporter, Marshall was able to sift through the hype and narrow in on the consistent reports. He found those examples that were credible by cross-referencing the facts with actual documented reports.

This quickly eliminated things like Bigfoot and UFOs. The thing everyone seemed to agree on, however, was that the canyon was the scene of violence and bloodshed. Long before the founding fathers of the county had met and started a colony, the site was the battleground of warring Native American tribes.

No tribe lived in the area but it was the location where many battles were fought. Anytime a warrior or group of warriors challenged another tribe, Wakan Canyon was the place they met to settle their differences in blood.

Marshall’s eyes widened as black and white sketched pictures filled his computer screen. They were pictures of war and violence. American Indians held tomahawks, knives, and bows as they met one another, locked in a brutal struggle for life.

Marshall continued to sift through information. Finally, he stumbled across an article that mentioned both founding families by name.

On February 8
th,
1850, two wealthy families settled in the area and decided to build a community. Amongst their numerous duties, while establishing a city, one family took to protecting the settlement. The other family focused on governing the city as well as establishing a newspaper. Marshall’s eyes widened and he struggled to keep his composure as he read the names of the two families.

Chapter 9

Scott Lloyd and Daniel Whitmer were the heads of the founding families and credited with laying the groundwork in the early days of the county. Marshall had to lean back in his chair and make a decision if he believed in fate or chance. Could Lieutenant Tom Lloyd be related to the family who founded the county? And what about his own boss? What about Diane Whitmer, the woman he’d worked for the past six years? Could she also be related to the founding families?

This is crazy. It has to be a coincidence. The odds alone have to be a million to one that two people I know are relatives of the founding families of the county.

The idea of simply asking Diane or Lieutenant Lloyd if they were members of the same family crossed his mind. But what if they were? That didn’t mean anything. Marshall decided to keep researching and reading before he made any hasty decisions or phone calls.

The two families had grown together and created an oasis in the still early and dangerous West. People flocked to the city looking for opportunity, safety, and a new start. According to the article, everything had gone smoothly, both families working together to create a better existence until 1857, when there was a dispute among the families. The article wasn’t specific about what had caused the rift between the two, but soon the argument turned to bloodshed. The Lloyd family took the lead in city affairs and the Whitmers fell out of historical mention.

Marshall scratched at his thick brown hair in frustration.
There were still so many missing pieces. What had caused the families to turn against each other? What had the Lloyd family done to gain the edge and take control of the town?

Marshall spent the rest of the afternoon and evening, searching for any other mention of the two families and what had happened. There was nothing. Besides a few sites mentioning the names of the families, there was no new information as to what had caused the families to feud.

It was becoming increasingly apparent that if Marshall was going to get answers, he was not going to find them staring at a computer screen. He had to get someone to talk.  The old man and his daughter were the only ones in the area he had gotten any response from, and if he was honest with himself, he wouldn’t mind seeing Samantha again. Other than that, there was Lieutenant Lloyd, and his own boss, Diane Whitmer, he could approach. He could at least ask them for his own peace of mind if they were related to the founding families.

Marshall gathered his things and then exited his office. The lights were still on in the large, open room that housed the cubicles, but everyone was already gone. Marshall reminded himself to keep better track of time as he looked out the window. He was greeted by the moon and stars.

A door shut down the hall and his head jerked in that direction.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

There was no answer. Marshall was forced to remember the note scrawled on the newspaper he had found in the back of his car. It had been written in thick red ink, no doubt meant to resemble blood. Marshall could feel his heart beat faster and faster. He faced the direction of the sound and slowly walked backward toward the elevators. He was afraid the second he turned something would move behind him.

If whoever had left the newspaper in the back of his car knew where he worked, then they could have come for him.

He tried to reason with himself as he called out in the direction of the noise again. “Hello?” Still there was no response.

It wasn’t unheard of for other reporters to stay late, but they usually responded when you shouted at them. Marshall dared not turn away from the noise, even for a second. That’s when a firm hand grabbed his shoulder.

Marshall wheeled around in panic. He found himself looking into the stoic eyes of his employer, Diane Whitmer.

She let go of his shoulder as she raised her eyebrows at the brown leather satchel Marshall had lifted above his head, like a club, ready to strike.

“I hope you’re not always this jumpy. Mind lowering your weapon?”

Marshall let a huge breath escape as he looked at his own raised arm, shocked that violence would be his first response to this situation.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought I heard a noise down the hall and—yeah, it’s silly.”

Diane cocked her head. “No, there’s no one else here but me. I was just about to leave. How’s the new piece coming?”

The way she asked him. The look she gave him as if she was searching for the truth made Marshall think she was hinting at something more than just wanting to know about the article.

“It’s great,” he said as he readjusted the satchel on his shoulder. “I’m finding out things about the county I would have never guessed.”

Diane looked at him, not even blinking. “Oh really? Like what?”

Marshall bit his lip and searched for the right words. He had never been good at verbal sparring. It was a trait he admired in others. “The founding dates, what the area had been used for before the city was founded…”

Diane nodded. Marshall was sure she saw right though his façade. “Well, don’t hesitate to ask if you have any questions. You know I’ve lived in this area for a very, very long time now.”

There was an awkward silence as Marshall bit his tongue. He didn’t trust himself to say a word. Instead he smiled and nodded. 

“Shall we share an elevator?”

“Sure,” Marshall agreed.

Soon the elevator chime dinged and the metal doors slid open. Employer and employee entered the small, box like container, the doors closed, and they descended to the bottom floor.

Marshall turned his head as he heard Diane stifle a laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry, but you realize that you almost tried to hit me with your bag a few minutes ago, right?”

Marshall did a half grin, half grimace. “Oh yeah, I’m so sorry again. I—”

“Marshall, please—it was a mistake and nothing happened. I’m just surprised that in the event of danger, attack is your first instinct. I wouldn’t have thought that until now. You strike me as more of the flight instead of fight type.”

Marshall’s dark eyebrows scrunched as he tried to figure out if he was being given a compliment or taking a jab at his manhood. At the same time, he was wondering if this was the longest conversation he’d had with his boss that was not related to work. The elevator doors opened on the lobby floor and Diane said goodbye.

“Have a restful night and be careful out there. You never know what may happen.”

Diane walked out, leaving Marshall more confused than ever. He had to right his head, which was cocked to the side as the doors began to close with him still inside. He shot out a hand to keep from riding the elevator up again.

The walk to the car was plagued with a tag team of worry. Would he find another note threatening him in his car? And what was Diane hiding, if she was hiding anything, about her family’s past?

Marshall was relieved to find his car just like he had left it, with no extra additions. He made sure to check the backseat before he got in and even inspected the trunk, just in case. When he got home, George was lounging about the house without a care in the world. Apparently there would be no dark shadows lurking the corners of his patio tonight. Marshall let out a deep breath as he poured himself some cereal for dinner.

He was on edge more than he’d thought. With all the new discoveries piling up, he needed answers. Real answers, not the potential information he found online. He needed to visit Samantha’s grandfather again, and possibly even Samantha. Her strongly feminine figure and invitation to visit came to the forefront of his mind.

All this was technically still work, he reasoned. He was researching the county’s past and Samantha and her grandfather were perfect people to interview. He had to keep his priorities straight. He was doing all of this to find out what had really happened to Barbara Summers. But what if everything was tied together somehow? What if Barbara had been a casualty in some kind of feud that had started with the American Indians centuries ago and was still going on today?

As Marshall went through the motions of feeding his roommate and getting ready for bed, he let his mind wander to her and what had happened. It was a memory that was so far repressed he didn’t even have to try to avoid it. Ninety percent of the time, he just did.

But things with Barbara had hit too close to home for him not to bring back memories of the past. It was still early to go to bed, but Marshall was exhausted and he knew he had another long day tomorrow, so he let himself sink into the soft mattress. Eyes closed, he was plagued by the memories of the sister he once had.