Forbidden Entry (28 page)

If Daisy was right, that meant only three days elapsed between the day they were here and the day they died. If I recalled correctly, the big snowstorm had indeed blown in on that Friday. “Did Jenessa say anything to you about where she and Nathan were going or what they planned to do before they returned?”

She chewed on her thumbnail, her face a mask of intense concentration. After an extended silence she finally said, “In the morning. She said they would go in the morning to Crown King to rent the…the little car things.”

“You mean an ATV?”

She nodded affirmatively. “ATVs. Yes, ATVs!”

“Did she say anything else? Did she say where they were going on the ATVs?”

She pursed her lips. “Mmmmmmm. Riding on the mountain. I think…to Horse Thief Basin and look for old mines and camp and hike! Hike in the moonlight. Moonlight hiking, she said!”

Hiking around on this rugged mountain terrain in daylight looked to be daunting enough, but attempting it solely by the light of the moon seemed dicey to me. Remembering Nathan's penchant for extreme sports, no doubt meant he would relish the challenge and the risk involved. But why drag Jenessa along on such a perilous journey? I made a note in my phone to find out what date they'd returned the ATVs. But as I tapped the reminder out something occurred to me. If they had planned to be gone for another week, why had they returned the ATVs after only two days? I'd have to double check with Marshall, but I didn't remember him saying they'd found ATVs on the closed road. Just the camper. And if they'd been coming back to Raven Creek, it made no logical sense for them to drive in the opposite direction. The list of questions without answers grew larger by the day. Yeah, I definitely had my work cut out for me. “Daisy, I really have to go now.”

“No! Don't go yet!” she implored. “Stay longer. Just a little longer. I can show you more pictures!” She rushed to the stack of plastic tubs and began to excitedly pile them on the bed. “I have a hundred thousand million pictures to show you! A hundred million!” Her face aglow, she pulled photo after photo out, spreading them out on the bed. Her childlike enthusiasm was contagious, but I had to say gently, “I'd love to look at them another time, but right now I have a lot of things I need to do, okay?”

Her face crumpled in disappointment. “Oh. Darcy says I have too many. Too many pictures. A hundred million zillion is too many, she says.”

She seemed lonely and I felt bad, but time was getting away from me. “Thank you, Daisy.” When I reached the front door to pull on my boots and coat, I added, “You've been a really big help today.”

Expectant blue eyes sparkling with pride, her whole persona seemed to light up. “I can be a good helper! A good, good helper!”

“You certainly can be.” I had the impression that Darcy probably never praised her for anything and that was sad. And then something occurred to me. “Daisy, do you have any more pictures of Jenessa? I know her mother would like to see them.”

She stared at me with a searching look for long seconds and then clapped her hands together. “I do! I do have some! Do you want to see them?”

“You bet! Are they on your camera?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I have real pictures too! Darcy makes me pictures on her…on her…” She paused and her eyes went blank.

“Her printer?” I filled in hopefully.

Her face lit up. “Yes! The printer! The printer! I have lots and lots to show you!” Again like a child, she skipped back to her bedroom and I watched while she rummaged through the plastic tubs, humming a little tune. How she managed to find them so quickly from among the thousands of photos, I'll never know, but within five minutes she exclaimed happily, “Here! Here she is!”

I sifted through at least a dozen photos of a smiling Jenessa holding the sugar gliders and several others of her posing with some of the dogs and cats. I dug out my phone again and recorded them. With a twinge of sadness, it occurred to me that these were probably the last pictures ever taken of her while she was alive. “These are really special,” I remarked, smiling at Daisy. “Thank you.”

“I have more! Bunches and bunches more!” She pulled out handfuls of photos and spread them out on the bed. “Do you want to see pictures of the nice boy too?” she announced in an eager-to-please tone as she continued to rummage through the tub.

“You mean Nathan?”

“Yes. Yes. Nathan. The boy Nathan.”

“I would like to see them,” I answered, thinking it was strange that I was actually becoming accustomed to her odd repetitive sentence structure.

While she hunted, I sat on the edge of the bed absently fingering through the pile, looking at pictures of plants, flowers, animals, bugs, structures and a lot of people I didn't recognize, but deduced that most of them were probably residents of Raven Creek. There were also images of things that I had no idea what they were or where they were taken. She had a sizeable number of photos of Percy Cross's vintage cars, photographed from every conceivable angle, including several of him delivering mail in his hearse. But my breath caught in surprise when I noticed one in particular. I held it closer. There was Percy in his hearse parked beside a familiar black pickup truck. Really? What reason would the Hinkle brothers have to be in Raven Creek? “Daisy, do you know the men who own this truck?” I held up the picture and her round face crinkled with concern. “Oh! Darcy says those are bad, bad boys. I don't like them. No. Don't like them. They are mean. Mean, mean boys.”

Of that, I had no doubt. “I'm not too crazy about them myself. Do they come here often? Who do they visit?”

Preoccupied still searching for photos, she answered vaguely, “Mmmmm. Mostly to see the doctor.”

“Doctor Gartiner?”

“I think they are sick a lot. Darcy says he's a good doctor. Good doctor. Good.” She picked up another photo, stared at it and then let out a sheepish giggle. “He didn't know I took this. He would be mad. Real, real mad.”

“Who? Nathan?”

“No. Mr. Stilts. He told me to never take his picture. Never, never.”

“Let's see.” She handed it to me and just for the hell of it, I took a photo of the print, thanked her again and headed for the door. She trotted along behind me. “Will you come back again to see me?”

“Absolutely,” I replied, shouldering my purse. “And, thank you, Daisy. You really were more help than you can imagine. See you later.” I patted her spongy shoulder and stepped outside. The air smelled amazing, saturated with the musky scents of wet earth, leaves and pines. That part was nice, but I could not help but bemoan the fact that my plans to find Harvel Brickhouse, the person I most wanted to interview, continued to be thwarted by inclement weather. Trudging towards the Jeep, a twinge of surprise zinged through me at the sight of Burton Carr's pickup cruising by the mouth of the driveway. He waved and shouted, “Just checking to see if you were okay. We're going to get slammed by this next storm front. Want me to follow you down the hill?”

I looked up at the mass of gray clouds hovering over the treetops and yelled back, “I'll be fine, but thanks.”

“I'd get a move on real soon if I were you,” he advised sternly, then acknowledged Daisy with a smile and friendly wave. “How are you doin' today, Miss Daisy?”

When she didn't answer, I turned around in time to witness her staring at him in goggle-eyed, open-mouthed alarm. No, actually it was more than that. She looked petrified. Was she worried that I might tell him about the book she'd stolen from his mother's house? She didn't respond to his inquiry and seconds before she darted back inside the trailer, her startled gaze met mine and I heard her mutter, “He sucked up all the air. He sucked up all the air.” Well, that was just plain weird. I glanced back at Burton, but he had already pulled away. Before I could even begin to analyze her peculiar statement, a powerful gust of wind roared down the mountainside, almost knocking me off my feet. Oh brother! I could only hope my family wasn't experiencing the same fate in Monument Valley. I grabbed up my cell phone and then my heart fell when I remembered there was no cell service.

“Crap.” Please don't let their tour be cancelled, I prayed. The excursion had cost me almost a week's salary.

I hopped inside the Jeep and sat there trying to shake off my escalating blue funk. Was it the cloudy weather? Over these past nine months, I had become totally addicted to sunshine and sharp blue skies. My complaining stomach reminded me that I'd never eaten lunch, so, with the insistent wind as my companion, I ate my sandwich and mulled over the day's events.

Merely summoning up the unhappy recollection of Jenessa and Nathan's watery grave depressed me even further and made it difficult to swallow. The now-dried-out bread hit my belly like a brick and formed a hard lump. And the unnerving encounter with the very strange ‘bee man' known only as Stilts was as distressing as it was puzzling. For the life of me I could not fathom what could have transpired to cause a display of such intense hatred toward a kind and gentle human being like Jenessa. And his cruel exultation following the announcement of her death totally mystified me. What could possibly be the basis for such shocking behavior? Had Jenessa's confrontation with Stilts taken place the same day she'd visited Daisy? Cognizant of the woman's limited mental capabilities, could I really rely on anything she had told me so far? Was I wasting my time?

I laid my head back and let out a long breath. Either there really was no story here or I just couldn't find it. Besides scratching the paint on my new Jeep, what had I really accomplished driving around the Bradshaws these past two days? I started the engine. Marcelene and Ginger were counting on me to find some answers to the puzzle and so far all I had to report back to them was…nothing—a big, fat stupid zero. Boy, had I made a wrong decision. If I hadn't suffered a weak moment and instead stuck with my original plans, I'd be having fun vacationing with my family right now instead of sitting on this stormy, lonesome mountaintop.

Matching my dismal mood, random drops splattered on the windshield. Of course it was going to rain again. I turned on the windshield wipers and made my way slowly along the sloshy, deeply furrowed road. I was rocking past Percy Cross's place when I glanced over towards the dark spires of the unfinished house. Overcome by a powerful impulse, I turned into his driveway and parked behind the creepy-looking old hearse. I could almost hear my dad's admonishment ringing in my ears. ‘Pumpkin, it's too soon to throw in the towel.' It would be far easier to accept the fact that Jenessa's death was truly an accident, but try as I might, I could not extinguish the lingering sense of doubt.

So, why was I here? Who better than the mail carrier to know something about everyone residing in or around Raven Creek? Why not take just a few minutes to pick his brain? Perhaps he could provide additional information about the mysterious beekeeper. He might even know the man's real name. Couldn't hurt to ask.

I reached beneath my seat, pulled out my seldom-used umbrella and stepped into the driving rain. Sprinting by the jumble of vintage cars in his front yard, I could smell the tantalizing odor of mesquite smoke pouring from the chimney of the small wooden house. Two quick steps up to the porch and I was out of the downpour. I raised my hand to knock when I heard a peculiar sound emanating from within. Honk! Honk! Honk! It sounded like a goose. I rapped on the door and when it swung open, I stood face to face with a watery-eyed Percy Cross, wiping his nose with a dishtowel. Oh. I now understood the source of his nickname.

After I'd introduced myself and told him why I was there, he croaked, “Yeah, I remember seeing you at Darcy's place.” He paused. “Look here, I got me a real bad cold, so I jest thought I'd warn ya, ifn ya don't want to come in.”

I hesitated. I couldn't very well question him with the rain pounding on the roof, but I wasn't thrilled about catching a cold either. Decision time. I told him I wouldn't stay long and he invited me inside, where I stood in front of the crackling woodstove fire warming my cold hands.

“Join me in a cup o' hot cider?” he inquired, his friendly gap-toothed smile lighting up his watery brown eyes while he tightened the belt on his flannel checked bathrobe.

“Sounds good to me,” I answered, gazing around the crowded, unkempt wood-paneled room. It looked like a bachelor pad—frayed armchairs, dusty, dated furniture piled with newspapers and magazines, the remains of frozen meal containers scattered about along with empty beer and soda cans.

A few minutes later, he joined me in front of the stove, handing me the steaming cup of spicy-smelling liquid. “You might want to wait a minute. It's pretty hot.”

“Thank you.”

Blowing his nose with a resounding honk again, he shuffled back to the kitchen, returning with a cup in one hand and a bottle of whisky in the other. “I got me a touch of Jack Daniels in mine. You want a little nip too?”

I smiled wryly. “If I didn't have to conquer that winding road, I would definitely join you.”

“Ya get used to it after awhile.” He moved across the room and settled himself into a chair. “I'm gonna sit over here so I don't give you this creeping crud, okay?”