Forbidden Entry (5 page)

I opened my mouth to tell him, but then shut it again. Wait. Don't jump to conclusions. Perhaps this wasn't what I feared. “I'll be right back.” I sprang from the car and was inside the door before the rest of the family knew what was happening. The lobby was empty, but I could hear voices coming from the adjacent office. I hurried to the doorway and stopped dead when I caught sight of Sheriff Turnbull perched stiffly on a chair, his expression so glum even his white handlebar mustache seemed to droop.

Slumped on the couch opposite him, Marcelene wept softly, her head bowed, tissues pressed to her nose. Ginger was seated next to her with a comforting arm wrapped around her shoulders. Apparently she heard my whispered, “Oh, Lord, no,” and looked over at me, eyes glistening, mascara smudging her cheeks. When our gaze connected, my stomach clenched and the tamales I'd just eaten rose to my throat. Her slight nod and grief-stricken expression confirmed the worst.

CHAPTER

4

Tears stinging the back of my eyes, I mouthed the words, ‘I'm so sorry,' which seemed incredibly inadequate considering the circumstances. Not wishing to intrude any longer on this very tragic, very private moment, I backed away from the door even though the reporter in me was eager to find out what happened. I heard the squeak of hinges behind me and swung around to see Deputy Duane Potts saunter in the main entrance, clipboard and file folder in hand.

“Kendall O'Dell,” he said, his lips breaking into an ingratiating smile. “Now why am I not surprised to see you here? If there's trouble around, you're bound to be front and center.”

I sighed inwardly. “Hello, Duane.”

“Yes, sirree, I'd recognize that curly red hair anyplace.” As expected, his insolent stare swept over me and it irritated the hell out of me, knowing he had a wife and four kids at home. Smarmy jerk. And that was unfortunate, because he always proved to be a solid contact when I needed information. He was decidedly more forthcoming with confidential details than Sheriff Turnbull. Somehow I managed to conjure up a synthetic smile. “Are you going to be here for a few minutes? I'd like to talk to you about this situation.”

He clicked his tongue and pointed a finger at me. “Where you are concerned, I'm always available.”

My skin crawled. He seemed to be a competent lawman, but as a ‘decent' human being, not so much. “Great. I'll be back in a flash.”

I hotfooted it outside knowing my family must be puzzled as to why I'd bolted from the car. “Sorry about that,” I said, starting the engine again. “I'll drive you around to your rooms.”

My dad, ever the seasoned reporter, eyed me curiously. “So, are you going to tell us what's going on or not?”

It wasn't very well lit at the back of the motel and I peered into the gloom, searching for their room numbers. “Do you remember the bodies I was telling you about earlier that were found dead in a remote area of the Bradshaw Mountains? You know, where Fritzy was called to investigate today?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it appears that the girl was Marcelene's daughter, along with her boyfriend.”

My mother gasped. “You mean the nice lady we just met?”

“Yes.”

“How tragic.”

Sean piped up from behind. “Bummer.”

“I'm going to go back inside and see if I can get more information.”

Dad opened the car door and turned to me, a perceptive glint lighting his eyes. “So, you're going to follow up on this story, right? I know I would.”

“I'll get enough to file the initial story tomorrow, but I can't right now. I'm going to be tied up with you guys all next week so I'll have to assign it to Walter.” It absolutely killed me to say it aloud. But what could I do? I couldn't just abandon my family, scrap all of my carefully thought-out sightseeing plans and then rush off to cover this story, could I? “I'll come by in the morning and take you to the Iron Skillet for breakfast,” I said, sliding out of the car to give everyone a goodbye hug. “You'll love the food and there's lots of it. Afterwards, we'll take a tour around town and then I'll drive you out to see my house. After that, we'll head to the Starfire Ranch, so wear jeans and comfortable shoes.” I grinned at my dad. “Or in your case, shoe.”

“Yeah, don't think I'll be doing all the walking I'd planned.” He edged me a wistful smile and gathered up his crutches.

“Don't make it too early,” Sean said with a wide yawn, slipping the key into the door lock. “I don't plan to be up much before nine.”

“I'll call first.” I embraced everyone, then drove to the front of the motel feeling a strange mixture of joy and trepidation. I'd been dreaming about my family's visit for weeks and the timing of this tragedy couldn't be worse. I could only imagine how devastated Marcelene and Ginger must be and my mind whirled with possibilities. What could have happened to the young couple? Had they been victims of the unexpected snowstorm and died of exposure? Or, I thought grimly, could it have been the work of a psychopathic killer? My urgent need to find out compelled me to hurry inside, only to feel a twinge of disappointment. The lobby was empty. Damn it. My opportunity to grill Duane appeared to be gone for now. I crossed to the office doorway where I could hear his muffled voice emanating from inside. At that exact instant, I came face to face with Marshall Turnbull, who emitted a startled grunt.

“Good grief, Kendall.” He planted his worn Stetson hat firmly on his head and brushed past me. “Don't you ever sleep?”

“If I did, I might miss something.”

He flicked a shrewd glance over his shoulder. “That might not be a bad thing. Maybe you could actually stay out of trouble for a few hours,” he said, keeping his voice low. Motioning for me to accompany him, I fell into step beside him as he strode towards the front door. His ruddy complexion appeared ashen and the customary twinkle in his light blue eyes was noticeably absent.

“Knowing you, you're primed to ask me a thousand questions, so let's step outside.” When the frigid night wind grabbed my hair and slapped it across my eyes, he grimaced and held onto his hat. “Man oh man, it's too cold to stand out here and talk. Let's go sit in my patrol car.” I gladly agreed and slid into the passenger seat as he laid his hat aside and slumped behind the wheel, huffing out a protracted sigh. “Having to deliver this kind of news to folks is one part of my job that I truly hate.”

I didn't envy him. As it was, I was dreading my forthcoming encounter with Marcelene and Ginger, well aware of how deeply emotional it would be. “So, you're positive it's them?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he replied, looking more somber than ever. “We did a look see before the medical examiner arrived. The boy had ID and…well, I was real sure about Jenessa. Even though there had been some decomposition, she was still recognizable and we also picked up her dental records this morning.”

I sat in mournful silence for a few seconds, picturing the sweet-faced, honey-blonde young woman, my heart aching for my cherished friend and her aunt. Solemnly, I pulled my notepad from my purse. “I'm assuming you guys have checked their social media pages to see what they may have posted?”

“Oh, yeah. I had Duane doing that most of the day and the last time either of them posted photos and comments was the day Jenessa met the boy near Bumble Bee. Someone took a photo of them posing beside the camper, but there's nothing posted anyplace he could find after that. But then, that's not too surprising. We know that there are a lot of places back in those mountains where cell service is nonexistent.”

I made a note to check out their social media pages and other Internet sites as well. “What else have you got?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “We probably won't have a final report from the medical examiner's office until next week and even later for forensics, but it appears they've been dead for about a week.” He turned the ignition key and dialed up the heat before reaching up to snap on the dome lights.

“What was the cause of death?” I braced for the worst.

He shook his head sadly as he flipped through pages on his clipboard. “Dumb kids. From what we can tell they were using a charcoal grill to cook or possibly for heat and it appears they died from carbon monoxide poisoning.”

“Oh my God,” I murmured, penning notes on my pad. “Any thoughts about possible suicide?”

“We didn't find a note, but again, we don't really know yet. I asked Marcelene if Jenessa had given any indication that she'd been despondent about anything. She told us that at times she was still depressed about her father's recent death, but no more than what she would consider normal. In fact, she said Jenessa was really upbeat about the trip and appeared to be crazy about the Taylor kid.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Not a lot yet.”

“Ginger told me they had gone camping. Where exactly were they found?”

“As the crow flies, about half way between Bumble Bee and Crown King and about two miles northwest of Raven Creek.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I searched online earlier and I can't seem to locate a town by that name. ”

“It's not really a town per se. More like a little unincorporated cluster of shacks and mobile homes on an island of private land tucked back in the Prescott National Forest. Used to be an apple orchard there many years ago.”

“That's interesting.”

“Yep. But, it's a strange little place. And you sure don't want to be caught nosing around or you're liable to get a load of buckshot in your hind end. Nobody in law enforcement is crazy about having to answer calls there.” His mouth twisted in a sheepish grin. “In fact, we have nicknames for it, Felon Creek and Spooksville to name a couple.”

My interest level ticked up. “Why's that?”

“Because it's populated with a bunch of ex-cons, people with mental disorders, drug addicts, people who flat don't want anybody knowing what they're up to, like hoarders, survivalists, some disabled ex-military along with other ne'er-do-wells and weirdos of all stripes who just don't want to be bothered. Off the grid, so to speak.”

“What do these people live on?”

“Government checks, gold panning, gold mining, odd jobs. There's also a sand and gravel operation nearby that employs a few of them and,” he tacked on, lifting his bushy brows, “I suspect half the town is cooking meth, which is not unusual in these out-of-the-way places. We just busted two guys and a woman in Black Canyon City a couple of weeks ago for running a meth lab out of their garage.”

“I remember reading about that. Well, Raven Creek sounds like an intriguing place to me.”

“Humph! Maybe to you, but I'm serious, Kendall. It's a place spooks go to hide away from the general population for whatever reason.” He eyed me severely. “So take heed, if you plan to go poking around over there.”

“Gotcha.” I paused. “Could you give me the correct spelling of their names for my article? I know…knew Jenessa, of course, but who was her boyfriend?”

He glanced at the page in front of him. “The full names of the deceased are Jenessa Ann Wooten, age 22 and Nathan Brice Taylor, age 25. We found her car in a staging area near Bumble Bee.”

“What do you mean staging area?”

“You know, where folks park their motor homes and trailers while they're out in the boonies riding off-road vehicles or horses.”

“I see. Go on.”

“Marcelene told us Jenessa planned to meet up with the Taylor boy there and then take his pickup with the camper shell. We recovered driver's licenses for both of them and the pickup is registered to Stuart Taylor, the young fellow's father, whom we have notified. His parents are recently separated and we're trying to locate the mother. She moved to the Seattle area and is now apparently off at some out-of-the-way retreat in Alaska with her new boyfriend.”

As I jotted down names and details, the sick feeling returned to my stomach full force. It was only a slight relief to know the young couple had not met a violent death at the hands of a psychopath, but had passed away in their sleep. But even that fact would be of little consolation to Marcelene and Ginger. “And who found the bodies?”

He flipped the page over. “Guy named Harvel Brickhouse.”

“Odd name.”

“Yeah, well, he's kind of an odd bird. I had Julie check him out and he served time for involuntary manslaughter.”

“Really. How recently?”

“Twenty years ago and I don't know any details yet.”

I continued writing. “Where does he live?”

“He's got a cabin outside of Raven Creek, where he's working a couple of mining claims. He's also the caretaker at the old McCracken Ranch.”

I looked up from my notes. “Why would the owners be employing an ex-con?”

A shrug. “Maybe he didn't tell them, or maybe they don't care. It was a while ago and it's probably hard to find people to stay out there. Who knows? He may have been the only game in town.” He studied his report momentarily and then continued. “Anyway, according to Brickhouse, he was out riding his snowmobile, checking on his mining equipment, when he noticed the sun reflecting off something. He went to check it out and came across the camper half buried in the snow on a closed Forest Service road. He called out, banged on the door and when no one answered he yanked it open to see if anybody was there. That's when he found the bodies. He said it smelled so putrid he lost his breakfast.”

The mental picture made me cringe inwardly. “No doubt,” I remarked dryly. “So, he's the one who called you?”

“Nope. He doesn't have a phone. Told us he didn't want to be bothered and there's no service out there in the sticks where he's mining, so he made his way out to the main road where he flagged down…” pausing, he ran his forefinger across the sheet of paper, “a fellow by the name of Burton Carr. He said Carr couldn't get a good signal on his cell phone, so he drove down the hill and met up with a gal named Linda Tressick somewhere around Cleator.”