Forbidden Entry (34 page)

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel as I absorbed the information. If this was in fact the last photo Jenessa had taken, it confirmed they had been somewhere in that area the last day or two of their lives. I thought about Jenessa's voice message. The closest mine that I knew of located on private property was the old Thunderbolt Mine, now owned by the Raven Creek Gravel Company. My mind created a likely scenario. Nathan, who seemed to have little regard for rules, had ventured onto the property with plans to snoop around the old mine. He and Jenessa had been caught trespassing and chased off by…someone—someone creepy, she'd said. And then…what? How did knowing this make any difference in the scheme of things?

Totally frustrated, I returned the phone to my purse and sped towards the McCracken Ranch. Now that I felt fairly certain of their last whereabouts, what good did it do me? What did I really know? I could wish, I could hope, but there was still nothing solid to connect Jenessa's photo, her voice message and all the other leads I'd gathered over the past few days to any of the four supposedly accidental deaths. And at this juncture, it was highly unlikely that Harvel Brickhouse could add anything to the disjointed mix, so I was probably wasting my time. Why not just turn around and go back to Castle Valley right now and be with my family? Torn, I struggled to make the right decision, but hard as I tried, I could not ignore the shadowy weight pressing down on me. I glanced up towards the charcoal clouds shrouding the mountaintops. The secret had to be up there somewhere. All I needed was one significant clue to break this story wide open.

CHAPTER

30

Powerful, intermittent wind gusts rocked my Jeep and stirred up massive dust devils alongside the dirt road as I resumed my trip towards the McCracken Ranch. Even with the inclement weather now imminent, the joyriders were still out in force. I pulled to the side to allow two couples on quads and a dirty, white Jeep that had been riding my tail zoom by, followed by a dune buggy and a shiny, black pickup that looked like it was traveling a hundred miles an hour. Left in a cloud of choking dust, I flinched with surprised recognition. What? The Hinkles were here again? I no longer believed it was coincidental that they seemed to show up everywhere I went. But I also had no logical explanation for their blatant and continuing attempts at intimidation.

Nerves on edge, I pushed ahead, but had to swerve suddenly when two dump trucks rounded a sharp curve and roared by only inches from me. Good God! Why did everyone feel compelled to drive like it was the Daytona 500 on this road? What was the hurry? I finally reached the cattle guard that marked the delineation between BLM and Forest Service land. Two vehicles facing opposite directions blocking the road caught my attention. Drawing closer, I realized it was Linda Tressick and Burton Carr seated in their respective trucks visiting through the driver's side windows.

At the sound of my approach, Linda looked over her shoulder, while Burton lifted a hand in greeting. She backed her truck up and then, with a cordial wave in my direction, drove past me heading towards Bumble Bee. I returned her wave and then bumped over the cattle guard. As I passed by Burton Carr's truck, he motioned for me to stop. I did so and powered my window down. “How are you today?”

“I'm good.” He inclined his head towards the thunderheads towering over the mountain. “I'm surprised you came back today with this big storm brewing. I'm going home now and if I were you…”

Grinning, I cut him off with, “I know. I know. I'm not going anywhere near Raven Creek today. Believe me, I trust your judgment.”

His round face flushed pink and he practically preened. “I appreciate that. More than you know.”

“You bet.”

“What brings you back here today? Still hunting for a headline?”

“This is probably my last trip for a while.”

“Did you ever find Harvel?” he inquired, tilting his head to one side.

“On my way to the McCracken Ranch now. I'm hoping to find him.”

“Well, good luck.” He started his engine. “You take care now.” He glanced up at the sky again. “It's going to start snowing here soon. I'd make it a short visit.”

“That's my plan.” He gave me a friendly salute and drove away. I continued on and, within two miles, first a row of mailboxes and then the first few houses in Cleator popped into sight. Cruising by the dilapidated bar, a cursory glance revealed an old white van, two pickups, a couple of quads and a dark, green Hummer parked in front. I frowned and did a double take, thinking that such an expensive vehicle seemed oddly out of place in this setting. Could it possibly be the same vehicle I'd seen cruising by after I'd been run off the road by the two dune buggies? The one which the driver didn't have the courtesy to stop and see if I was all right?

I drove past the few remaining structures and within seconds the tiny community disappeared from sight. I gunned it along the uneven road towards the heart of the Bradshaw Mountains, anxious to reach the ranch, question Harvel and then get home before the storm front arrived with full force. The repeated chiming from my phone signaled incoming texts, so I finally pulled onto the shoulder. I grabbed an apple from the cooler and chewed as I read the messages. The first one from my dad made me smile. FANTASTIC TRIP! CAN'T THANK U ENOUGH! MONUMENT VALLEY IS AWE INSPIRING. BACK @ THE MOTEL. SEAN'S NAPPING. THINK WE'LL GRAB A FEW WINKS 2. DARN FOOT HURTS! SEE U THIS EVENING. LOVE, DAD

The joyous tingle running through me was tempered somewhat by a pang of disappointment. I felt badly that our phone communication had been nonexistent due to the sporadic cell service. I should have been with them on the trip to share in all the fun. Oh well, no use dwelling on it. I swiped to the second message, from Tally. ON THE ROAD 2 PHOENIX. HOSPITAL PLANS 2 RELEASE MA IN THE MORNING. WILL DO MY BEST 2 MEET U FOR DINNER LTR. LUV U.

All right! My postponed vacation was about to begin. Feeling slightly more optimistic, I slid the phone back in my purse and shifted into drive. No sooner had I pulled onto the road than I heard the familiar roaring whine of an ATV behind me. I flicked a look in the rearview mirror and the shock of recognition made the half-eaten apple stick in my throat. It was the same young guy I'd already encountered three times before. Same hat on backwards, same kerchief covering his face. My stomach went hollow when he accelerated around the Jeep and came abreast of me. I fired him a startled look and sped up. He sped up. I slowed down. He slowed down. Then he swerved sharply towards the Jeep, forcing me to wrench the wheel to the right to avoid a collision. My adrenalin kicked into overdrive, catapulting my pulse rate skyward. What kind of an insane game was this idiot playing? Refusing to be intimidated, I powered the window down and shouted, “What the hell are you doing?” I jammed the brakes so hard I almost skidded off the road. He edged a glance over his shoulder at me, floored it and then flipped me off before he disappeared around the bend.

Breathing heavily, my heart thudding in my throat, I had to forcibly calm myself down before continuing the journey. Was this creep just another nut job, or was there something more sinister going on? Was there any question that the guy was keeping me under surveillance? Why? What was going on? Both perplexed and agitated, I reached over and felt around in my purse until my fingers curled around the holster of my .38. The likelihood of ever having to use it for self-defense had always seemed remote, but now it made me feel just a little safer knowing that I had it as a deterrent, if necessary. All the rules I'd learned in my concealed-carry course paraded through my head as I warily rounded a blind curve. The road ahead was clear, but the faint remains of a dust plume rising from a narrow trail snaking its way into the foothills signaled his whereabouts and afforded me only a temporary sense of relief. My stalker might be gone for the moment, but I had a strange feeling that I'd be seeing him again.

Lost in thought, I almost overshot the entrance to the McCracken Ranch. Slowing, I turned right onto a wide, well-maintained dirt road, and within a half a mile passed a corroded stock tank surrounded by at least a dozen head of skinny brown and white cattle. A quarter of a mile later, a low-slung ranch house came into view. I eased to a stop beside an incredibly mud-splattered red pickup and spotted a man seated on the front porch apparently asleep with a shotgun cradled in his lap. I knew I'd found the right person. Harvel Brickhouse fit Burton Carr's description to a T—salt and pepper mutton chops and a ragged brown hat. A yellow Lab rose to its feet and barked. The man's head jerked up and he surveyed me with a look of curiosity laced with suspicion. I slid out into the chill wind and approached the porch, taking note of three empty beer bottles on the chipped wooden table beside his chair. “Are you Harvel Brickhouse?”

“Who wants to know?” he countered slyly, brushing his hand along the barrel of the shotgun in a mildly threatening gesture.

“Kendall O'Dell. I'm a reporter with the
Castle Valley Sun
. How are you today?”

“Still on this side of the dirt,” came his laconic reply while he eyed me with skepticism.

I grinned. “That's always a good thing.”

“Whatcha want?”

“To ask you a few questions about the young couple you found near Raven Creek last week,” I stated, gesturing westward towards the imposing heights.

“I only got a few minutes,” he grumbled, darting a look at his watch.

“That's all I need.”

Apparently pondering my request, he sat in silent reflection for a few seconds before asking, “What do ya wanna know?”

The capricious wind whipped my hair into a frenzy as I walked up the four steps onto the creaky wooden porch, but I froze in my tracks when the dog issued a low warning growl. He rested a hand on the dog's back. “It's okay. Go lay down, Willie.”

Willie did as he was told, but never took his deep brown eyes off me as I pulled out my phone, scrolled to a photo of Jenessa and Nathan and held it out to Harvel. “Ever seen either of these two people around here?”

He fished reading glasses from the pocket of his sheepskin coat and studied the photo for a long time before meeting my gaze. “I ain't never seen that girl, but I sure seen this young fellah before,” he replied, pulling the reading glasses lower on the bridge of his blotchy nose. “I had to run him off after I caught him gettin' ready to do a swan dive down a vertical mine on one of my claims.”

“When was that?”

He puckered his lips up until they met the end of his nose. “Mmmmm…about a month back, six weeks maybe?”

“Any other time?”

A shrug. “Seen him tearing around the hills on his quad a number of times.”

I tapped the screen. “Are you aware that these are the people you found in the camper last week?”

His jaw dropped. “No. They…uh…didn't look like…that when I found ‘em,” he muttered, obviously shaken by my statement.

I relayed all the information I'd learned from Marshall and Burton Carr. “So, you just happened to be riding by on your snowmobile when you discovered the camper, is that correct?”

“Yep. I was checking on some of my equipment after that big snowstorm. I thought it was kinda strange that camper'd been there in the same spot so long.”

My heart skipped a beat. “You noticed it prior to last Wednesday morning?”

His thoughtful gaze took on a faraway sheen. “Mmmm. Saturday? Maybe Sunday.”

“Really? Weren't you curious as to why it was parked on the closed road? Why didn't you check it out sooner? Why didn't you report it to Burton Carr or contact the sheriff?”

“People camp all over creation 'round these parts,” he griped, irritability smoldering in his light brown eyes. “I mind my own business and don't much like folks pryin' into mine.” He heaved his bulk out of the chair and stood up with the shotgun clasped in one hand. Burton was right. He was at least six and a half feet tall. Quite an imposing figure.

“What made you decide to stop and check out the camper that particular day?”

He inclined his head toward the dog. “Willie. He kept sniffin' around it and actin' real strange, whimperin' sort of. I thought maybe someone might be stranded, so I banged on the door and when no one answered I pulled it open and…well…I ain't never smelled nuthin' like that before. Putrid, it was.” He paused and swallowed. “The tires was stuck in the mud and snow. There wasn't no way they could've got out. I'm thinkin' they froze to death.”

“Not exactly.”

His bloodshot eyes reflected surprise when I explained the manner of death. “Carbon monoxide poisoning, huh? Damn shame.” He paused and took a swig of beer. “Seems odd one or both of ‘em didn't just hightail it down the road. They wasn't all that far from Raven Creek,” he ruminated, almost to himself.

“That's the question I'd like answered.”

He looked at his watch again and I suspected he was waiting for Percy Cross to deliver his monthly check. When a loud screeching, grinding sound split the air, I looked around searching for the source.

“If you're wondering what that gawd-awful noise is ridin' the wind, it's coming from the rock crushers over at the gravel company,” he intoned gravely. “Them greedy bastards never stop. Sometimes they even work at night just to hack everybody off.”

His surly tone signified that he was still smarting from losing his bid to re-open the Thunderbolt Mine. I turned back to him, perplexed. Hadn't Jack Loomis told me they closed at five? “You're saying they run the equipment all night?”

He downed the remainder of the beer and placed the bottle beside the other three empty ones before picking up a pack of cigarettes. After several tries with his hands cupped tightly, he lit one and I was glad the wind grabbed the acrid smoke and blew it away from me. “Well, no. I don't hear nuthin' but sometimes I see lights at all hours of the night up there on the hill,” he said, pointing to a prominent limestone outcropping. “Sorta strange, if you ask me.”

That jacked up my interest level considerably. “You sure it's the gravel company? Moonlight hikes are pretty popular now. We know from a text that Nathan and Jenessa were doing just that not long before the…accident.”

A puzzled frown crinkled his sun-leathered face. “Imagine that. You'd never catch me trompin' around the mountain after dark. Too dangerous. Might fall and break my neck.”

I thought about Jenessa's injury. Had she fallen during their night hike? My gaze returned to the jagged rocks crowning the hill. I could just barely see the outline of some kind of structure. “What's that up there?” I asked, pointing. “The tall brown thing.”

He peered into the distance. “You must be lookin' at what's left of the old head frame. There's an old vertical shaft up there that connects to one of the main tunnels in the mine.” His eyes hardened. “Damn John Hinkle's dead hide. If he hadn't leased it to them people I could've pulled a couple million dollars worth of gold out of there.”

I stared at him.
An old vertical shaft.
What if…? My pulse quickened. Sounded like just the type of thing that would attract a daredevil like Nathan. I quickly found the photo of the painted skull rock. “This was the last photo that we know of taken by Jenessa before she died. Do you know where this is?”