Murder on Sagebrush Lane

Murder on Sagebrush Lane

Harrie McKinsey Mystery #2

by

Patricia Smith Wood

Aakenbaaken & Kent

New York

Murder on Sagebrush Lane

Harrie McKinsey Mystery #2

Copyright 2015 by Patricia Smith Wood, all rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations for use in articles and reviews.

Aakenbaaken & Kent                                                                      New York

[email protected]

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance of the fictional characters to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Author photograph by Kyle Zimmerman.

ISBN: 
978-1-938436-16-1

Dedication

To J. Michael Orenduff, an award-winning, exquisite writer and talented storyteller, who is also a mentor to other writers. He is so generous with his time, and because of him, others like me have a chance to succeed in this crazy writing world.

Mike, you are the best.

1

Monday, June 9

A dark room—a large pool of blood—the body of a man with no face.

And just like that, they were back.

Harrie McKinsey Scott sat on the edge of the bed, taking slow, deep breaths, waiting for her wildly beating heart to resume a more normal rhythm. Each time she thought the dreams were gone for good, and each time they returned. Her brain fought to focus on the real world and leave behind that dimension reached in sleep. She glanced over at her husband, who still slept peacefully. Good. He needed this extra hour.

When the panic had subsided, she grabbed her robe and pushed her feet into fuzzy slippers. She eased the bedroom door open, and Tuptim paced back and forth, meowing pitifully. The sleek Siamese cat bounded down the hall, leading her mistress into the kitchen.

At 5:00 a.m., a hint of the beautiful day to come already painted the predawn sky. Harrie opened the curtains over the kitchen sink. On a clear day like this, the view was spectacular. At this elevation she could see the vast mesa west of Albuquerque, with its three volcanoes, and the splendor of Mount Taylor in the distance. She felt her spirits lift, and the feeling of dread lessening.

She needed coffee—lots of coffee—and the newspaper. Reading about all the world’s problems made hers seem insignificant. She fed the eager cat, took a moment to stroke the animal’s velvety fur, and chuckled. Cats. Two squares a day, a soft place to curl up, people to dominate, and they were happy. Harrie pushed the button to start the coffee maker and slipped out the side door to retrieve the paper in her front yard.

Even at the beginning of summer in the high desert of New Mexico, mornings arrived with a slight chill in the air, and she pulled her robe tighter. As she approached the front of the house, she spied the newspaper in the driveway. Leaning over to pick it up, she thought she saw movement in the front yard. Probably a rabbit. They often nibbled on a bit of grass at this hour. She straightened up slowly and turned her head to look. Much too large for a rabbit.

A small child with long blonde hair, wearing pink pajamas, sat on the edge of the lawn next to the flowerbeds. She looked to be maybe two years old. She was barefoot and seemed intent on what she held in her hand. Harrie walked slowly toward her.

“Hi there,” Harrie said. “What’s your name?”

The little blonde head bobbed up and looked at Harrie with interest, but she didn’t speak. Instead, she held out a stuffed bear for inspection. Harrie moved closer and hunched down.

The bear had a big stain on its head. Harrie noticed a dark smear on the child’s hands and on the front of her pink pajamas. She reasoned it must be mud since the flowerbeds in her yard were still damp from the sprinklers that morning. Irritation flared in Harrie at the carelessness of this child’s parents. How could she be out before sunup, wandering all alone, playing in the dirt? Harrie had no idea who the child might be or where she belonged. She and DJ had lived on Sagebrush Lane only a short time, and she had no knowledge of any small children living in the immediate area. How far could this little girl have walked before she got tired and stopped here?

Harrie looked at the houses across the street and on either side. No apparent activity in any of them. Draperies were still closed, and the only sound came from a neighbor’s sprinklers down the street.

She thought about calling the police. The parents would probably be terribly embarrassed and have to answer many questions. Too bad. Maybe they needed a wake-up call in more ways than one.

She reached for the little girl’s hand and said, “Come with me, Sweetie. We need to find your mommy and daddy. My name is Harrie. Would you like a glass of orange juice?” The child nodded solemnly and reached for Harrie’s outstretched hand.

As she clasped the small, cold hand in her own warmer one, Harrie became aware of stickiness on the child’s fingers. Now Harrie’s own hand felt sticky. She bent down to gather up the little girl, careful to avoid staining her own clothing. Chocolate or syrup?

Harrie sniffed at her hand. She felt the hair on the back of her neck rise up, and she shivered. Such a distinctive smell—blood.

2

DJ Scott rose early most days and went for a quick run before showering and dressing for work. Last night’s late return from a taskforce operation had left him tired, so he hadn’t set his alarm. But this morning he jolted awake, his brain struggling to identify an unfamiliar sound. A quick glance at the clock on his nightstand showed 5:18 a.m. He noticed Harrie wasn’t in bed, and logically that could explain the sound. But something told him that wasn’t it.

He got his robe from the foot of the bed and felt for his slippers. In the dimness of the curtained room, he walked to the armoire and briefly considered taking his Glock out of the top drawer. Rejecting that idea he eased opened the bedroom door and listened a few seconds. He heard the faint sound of Harrie’s voice. She spoke quietly, and it didn’t seem like a conversation she’d be having with her cat.

He followed the sound and found her in the kitchen, bending over a chair hidden from his view. She seemed to sense his presence and turned toward him, holding a small glass of orange juice.

“Oh Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

DJ approached, preparing to take her in his arms. Then he noticed the small blonde head attached to a child sitting in the chair. She had a blanket wrapped around her tiny body.

“Uh, who’s your little friend?”

Harrie turned back to the child and handed her the glass of juice before she responded. She took DJ’s arm and led him a short distance away.

“We have a little problem here, and I don’t know exactly who to call about it.” She related what she’d found in their front yard and the condition of the child.

“I cleaned off the blood from her hands and clothes the best I could.”

DJ blew out a breath. “We have to call the police. The authorities should know about a child that small, wandering around by herself, with blood on her clothing.”

Harrie nodded, and she looked over at the child. “I guess you’re right, but couldn’t we wait a little while? She hasn’t said anything. I’m not even sure she can talk. The blood isn’t coming from her, I’m positive of that. She doesn’t seem to be injured in any way. I wanted to warm her up and see if she could tell me her name and maybe where she lives. So far, she’s just sitting there, hugging that stuffed bear and drinking juice. She’s on her third glass.”

DJ lifted Harrie’s chin up to look into her eyes. “Why didn’t you just wake me? Us FBI types are supposed to be good at solving mysteries and dealing with damsels in distress.”

Harrie put her arms around him. “I thought I could figure it out so you could get more sleep. You looked so peaceful. If she’s not injured, and we don’t even know where she came from, where do we start? Besides, you don’t know any more about children than I do.”

She pulled back and looked up at him, her eyes bright. “That’s it! I’ll call Ginger! She’ll know what to do. With twin boys, she must have dealt with every imaginable childhood emergency in the book.” By the end of this speech, Harrie was halfway to the telephone on the built-in kitchen desk.

“Uh, excuse me,” DJ said. “It’s not even 5:30. Let’s don’t go crazy here. Give Steve and Ginger a break.”

Harrie stopped, and her shoulders sagged. “Of course you’re right.”

DJ smiled at her. “I’ll go in the bedroom and call this in. Why don’t you talk to our little friend, and see if you can get her name.” He gave her a hug and left to make the call.

Harrie went back to their visitor and knelt down. “Sweetie, can you tell me your name?” She looked at the empty glass the girl held in her chubby hand. “Are you still thirsty?” The child nodded and held the glass out to her.

Harrie went to the pantry to see what else she could serve her guest, and pulled out a container of cocoa.

“Do you like chocolate milk, Sweetie?” Harrie held out the tin for the little girl to see. The child’s eyes brightened, and she nodded her head in approval.

By the time Harrie prepared the drink and delivered it to her thirsty guest, DJ was back, dressed in his FBI sweatshirt, jeans, and favorite running shoes. Harrie saw that he had concealed his smaller pistol in his ankle holster. She raised her eyebrows in the unspoken question.

“I called the police and found out APD was dispatched a few minutes ago to a multiple vehicle accident on I-25. There’s an eighteen-wheeler on its side, spilling a noxious liquid all over the road. It’ll be at least an hour before they can send anyone to investigate a lost child.”

Harrie opened her mouth to protest, but DJ stopped her.

“Yes, my darling. I told them about the substance on the child’s clothes and hands. I also told them I would see if I can determine the situation and locate her parents.”

Harrie nodded reluctant agreement. She knelt back down beside the little girl. DJ joined them, but had to sit on the floor, cross-legged, just to get down to the child’s level. “Hey young lady. If I took you outside, do you think you could point to your house?”

To their astonishment, the little blonde head nodded, and she reached out her arms to DJ. He picked her up and pulled himself up to his full 6 feet 4 inches. Harrie scrambled up.

“You are an amazing man, DJ Scott. What’s your secret?” Harrie grinned at him and stroked the little girl’s soft blonde hair.

“I don’t know, Ma’am. I guess small mysterious women just take a hankering to me.” He winked at his petite wife. “Why don’t you go put on some clothes, and we’ll see if we can figure out where this young lady came from.”

Harrie dressed and returned in less time than DJ would have believed possible. She had on sweatpants and a shirt similar to his, but she had stuffed most of her hair up inside a lavender baseball cap.

They walked out their front door, and DJ and Harrie surveyed the area. Sagebrush Lane ran north and south, with their house on the west side. Their block ended in a cul-de-sac, and Harrie and DJ’s house sat right next to the house on the curve. It seemed logical to start on their side, scope out the three houses beyond theirs, then cross over and come back down. Harrie said, “If she shows any recognition, I’ll go knock on the door.”

“I’ll do the door knocking,” DJ said. “You will stand with her and wait until I see what’s up.”

Harrie rolled her eyes, but agreed, and they headed south for the first house. She smiled to herself at the picture the three of them presented: a tall man wearing an FBI sweatshirt, holding a tiny blonde child in pajamas, accompanied by a short woman with no makeup, and a funky lavender cap partially covering her auburn hair. Not a great way to introduce yourself to your neighbors.

DJ spoke softly to the child as they walked. As they passed each house, he whispered in her ear, and she would shake her head. When they reached the end of the street, DJ started to cross over to the other side and start back down. But he stopped when the girl spoke for the first time.

“No! Be way down dar way, way down dar way!” She became animated for the first time since she’d held out her arms to DJ.

He looked at Harrie, confusion on his face. “What’s she saying?”

Harrie reached for the child. “Come tell Harrie what you want, Sweetheart.”

But the little girl clutched DJ harder, buried her small head in his chest and sobbed. “Dadoe down dar way. Dadoe boo boo. Way down dar way.”

Harrie said, “I think she wants to go across to the next block.”

“Okay, Kiddo. It’s all right. You want to go down there?” DJ pointed to the next block down Sagebrush Lane. The tiny head bobbed vigorously. She rubbed her eyes and pointed with a stubby finger in the direction DJ indicated.

DJ shrugged. “She seems to know what she wants.”

The sun inched up above the Sandias, bathing the far west side of the city in brilliance. Being this close to the mountain, their neighborhood remained shaded and eerily deserted. Occasionally a car proceeded along a street several blocks away, but otherwise everything stayed quiet. As they walked, their running shoes made almost no sound. DJ repeated the same procedure he’d followed with the child before, whispering to her and waiting for her response. When they’d walked six houses from the corner, the little girl responded. She looked where DJ pointed, nodded slowly, then pressed her face back into his chest. Harrie looked at the house.

“DJ,” she said in a stage whisper, “the front door is open. Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

The house was a two-story southwestern style with a large covered porch area. The front door, painted a deep turquoise, stood open about three-quarters of the way.

DJ’s jaw clenched, and a muscle twitched close to his temple. “Turn around,” he whispered to Harrie. “Be very casual and just turn around. We’re going back home.” Harrie had already started up the walk toward the door, but she stopped at the tone of his voice and turned back.

“Shouldn’t we make sure everything’s okay?” she whispered back at him.

DJ reached for her arm and pulled her toward him. “Don’t look back,” he said quietly but with definite urgency. Harrie stifled any protest when she saw his face.

As they turned to go back up the street, the little girl started to cry, but DJ spoke to her so softly Harrie couldn’t hear what he said. Whatever it was, the child went quiet, clutched the bear tighter, and rested her head on his shoulder.

When they reached the end of the block and were ready to cross back to the cul-de-sac, Harrie said, “Why didn’t we at least check out the place?”

“Because,” DJ said quietly, his head turned away from the child, “you were right. Something is very wrong. I want the two of you safely back in our house.”

Harrie’s skin felt cold, despite the now warmer air. “What . . .” DJ put a finger to her lips.

“I saw someone watching us from a window on the second floor.”