High Desert Detective, A Fiona Marlowe Mystery (Fiona Marlowe Mysteries) (3 page)

Tillie said, “Where’d you go, Aunt Opal?
 
You seem to get lost more and more these
days.”

Opal frowned. “You notice, too. I worry even myself.”

“You shouldn’t be throwing big wing dings like this,” said
Tillie. “You’re getting up there. You need to take it easy. Retire. Get some of
the nephews to run things around here.”

There’s the problem, thought Opal. “Who would you suggest out of
all the nephews? They have jobs and their own problems or their own ranches to
run.”

Tillie shook her head. “You’re right about that. I wish my Howie
was better suited but he likes the bottle better than anything else.”

* * * * *

Fiona took her glass of wine, walked out the open front door, and
stood on the covered porch, breathing the cool night air. She took a careful
sip of wine. Should she be jealous of Suzie? She knew she was leading Jake on maybe
a little. It was obvious how he felt. But she wasn’t sure she was ready to jump
back into a one-on-one, not after her disastrous relationship with Rob Calloway.
In hindsight it was sheer stupidity to get carried away with Rob, but at the
time her hormones were spiraling out of control and had taken up residence in
her brain. That was long ago and far away, or so it seemed now. But she still
had a hollow feeling where her heart was, which made her dance away from
commitment. Maybe she wasn’t the settling down kind. There were so many people
yet to meet, places to go, experiences to live.

She sighed. Things were not going as she had envisioned. The bunk
house was a mess. Opal was stalling on the house re-design. Maybe she didn’t
have the money. Maybe it had been a fabrication to lure her out here. Maybe
Jake had pressured Opal to get her to come. There were too many maybes. This
country had its attractions though. She liked the big, wide openness of it. She
should explore and enjoy it while she could. And what about those murders?

She went back inside, drawn by the sound of music starting again.
An ensemble of guitar players and fiddlers had struck up a tune. This one had a
loping cadence which put her in mind of the old west and a cowboy meandering
along a dusty trail. It fit this country. Couples did the two-step around the
dance floor. She stopped in her tracks when she saw who was singing. Jake. Jake
Manyhorses was strumming a guitar and singing in a mellow, baritone voice.
Something about his easy stance and the way he closed his eyes when he came to the
chorus told her a lot about this man. He had passion, a passion for life and
living it that she had seldom seen in anyone. She watched, mesmerized. The two
other guitar players harmonized at the chorus. A stand up bass kept the beat,
and the fiddler played a solo. When the song was over she clapped along with
the others.

Jake looked her way and winked. The group played a few more
songs, one a lively instrumental that featured Jake finger picking the guitar.
Fiona had no idea the man had such musical talent.

When the set was over he walked over to her.

“I’m very impressed,” she said with a smile framing the words.

“At last.”
He grinned like a happy puppy.

“No, really.
You sounded great. Where
did you learn to play and sing like that?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been around musicians all my life. That’s what
you do when you don’t have TV or other stuff. You sit around with your buddies
and play songs. I fill in sometimes with the worship team at church.

“You go to church?”

He laughed. “Sure, doesn’t everyone? I don’t go very often. It’s
too hard to get away from ranching.” He shrugged. “I enjoy playing gospel hymns.”

“I’m learning a lot of things about you that I didn’t know
before.”

“We haven’t known each other that long. This is
get-to-know-each-other time. I sure am glad I impressed you. I thought I never
would.”

She laughed. “Would you like to walk me home and sing another
song?”

“You bet.”

They said good night to Opal and everyone they saw on their way
to the door. Where did all these people come from? Looking out from Opal’s
front porch there wasn’t a house in sight.

Some of the men clapped Jake on the back.

“Way to go, Jake,” said one.

“Lucky man,” said another.

She got the feeling they thought something was going on between them.
What was going on anyway? She wished she didn’t feel so conflicted.

“What’s this about ghosts?” asked Jake when they had cleared the
house and were on the dusty, dirt track that led to her fashionable address.

“Rosemary and Esme swear the bunk house is haunted.”

“Don’t listen to them. That was years ago. Opal had the place
exorcised so there shouldn’t be any problem. She called in the Catholic priest
in town who performed the ceremony.”

“You’re kidding,” she said, stopping to look at him.

“No, I’m not kidding. She really did and after that there weren’t
any more problems with ghost sightings.”

“That’s a relief. I’m not partial to ghosts.” Exorcism was
extreme in her book, but if it did the job, who was she to object?

“Do you know Hank Little?” she asked as they resumed their trek.

“They told you about Hank
Little
?”

The path took an uphill turn and with the evening of dancing her
new Tony Llama boots started to pinch. How did anyone ever find these things
comfortable?

“They did,” she said, trying not to limp.

“You don’t want to mess with that fellow. He’s a smooth talker
and mean. I wouldn’t trust him.”

“His wives shouldn’t have either.”

Jake stopped and turned to her. “Stay away from him, okay? If he
crosses your path, run the other way.”

He looked so serious that she had to agree. “Sure, I’ll stay away
from him.”

“Good. Anyway, how’ve you been?”

“Decent. I’ve been decent. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Too long.
Why didn’t you come when you
said you were going to?”

She lifted one shoulder. “Things got busy. I went out to
Australia for vacation like I said I would.”

“You didn’t take me.”

“No. I needed time to think after the fiasco back in Virginia.
You made your feelings clear. I wasn’t sure about mine.”

“But you came. I’m glad you did. It’s good to see you.”

She studied his face. The planes of it were stark and strong. It
wasn’t that she didn’t find Jake attractive, it was more she didn’t know what
she wanted. “It’s good to see you, too. I wasn’t sure I’d come. But work slowed
down so I thought now was the time to get the job done for Opal. I’ll admit I
was curious about life here. It’s different.”

He nodded. “It sure is.”

“You look like you belong here.”

“I do. You might come to like it.”

She looked up at the sorry looking bunk house. “I don’t know. My
new home is not what I had envisioned.”

“Opal embellishes things sometimes. She wanted you out here bad.
Keeps talking about how nice the house will look after you get it fancied up.”

She put her arm through his, and they resumed their walk.

“I’ll give this a try. It is 180 degrees from what I’m used to.
I’ve been a city dweller most of my life.”

They reached the sagging
front porch of her new home that looked like a cigar box that’d been in the sun
too long.

“Going to invite me in for coffee?” Jake asked.

She smiled. “Sure, if you sing me that song. There’s no place to
sit outside of two straight back chairs that might give you splinters.”

Jake followed her in. “I can handle that.”

She’d hired Opal’s girl, Queenie, to clean the place since
cleaning was not Fiona’s strong suit. Cobwebs and dirty windows disappeared
with a little scrubbing but the windows remained cloudy and pitted from the endless
grit the wind brought along. The board walls were gray with age. No amount of
scrubbing was going to change that. She could see daylight through the cracks
in the boards. How did cowboys live here with ghosts to boot? She was still worried
about those ghosts.

Jake carried the two chairs out to the porch. She poured water
from a pitcher into a pan and turned on the gas burner to heat the water. There
was no inside running water. She got water from an outside pump. This was way
beyond rustic. Why hadn’t she quizzed Opal on the amenities of the old bunk
house? She should have asked more questions before accepting the bribe in
return for an alibi. But then things were moving pretty fast at the time with
the police asking questions, and there was little time to think.

She joined Jake on the porch. A line of vehicle lights winked off
and on along the dusty road leaving Opal’s house. The party had finally broken
up.

Jake broke the still of the evening first. “I’m glad the Lodge
family disaster is over.”

“Let’s not think about it. I
want to think about designing my new home and Opal’s. That’s all I want to
think about.”

“Right.
Though, you know, I heard they found a guy in the desert to the east of here in
an old rusted car, nothing but bones. The police don’t know if it was murder or
suicide.”

“Really?” she said, trying
to keep the excitement from her voice.

Jake started laughing.

She recovered her senses.
“I’m not interested in the least.”

“Of course you are.”

“You are not going to tempt me. This is a spooky place. I’ve
heard more about murders, ghosts and dead bodies in one day than I have heard my
whole life.”

“You’re getting it all in one dose.”

“What happened to the skeleton in the desert?”

“The investigation continues.” He laughed. “See, you can’t help
yourself. Detective Marlowe rides again. Do you want to take a drive tomorrow
to see where they found the skeleton? I’ll take time off and show you some of
the country.”

“How long will it take?” She
had already learned this was an important question in a county of ten thousand
square miles and less than seven thousand people.

“Several hours round trip.
We could take
a picnic lunch and make a day of it.”

She went inside to finish making coffee while she thought it
over. She was anxious to start work on the bunk house. Contractors were coming
Monday to work on the plumbing and wiring for electricity. A carpenter was to
start work on shoring up the walls, installing insulation, and transforming the
interior with dry wall. Was she crazy to try to save this old place? But
tomorrow she had nothing planned, and it would be fun to see some of the country,
which was beautiful if you liked sagebrush and red brown rim rock.

She put coffee singles in two mugs with hot water and carried the
mugs outside. They sat in the still night under starry skies.

“This is pretty country,” she said.

“The best,” said Jake.

“Okay, I’ll go.
Now how about that song?”

* * * * *

A loose shutter banged against the bunk house. For an hour Fiona
had been listening to that banging shutter and something else. She tried to
distinguish between the sound of the wind, and the sound that woke her up.
Sleep was impossible. What was that sound? All she could think of were ghosts. There
were no shadows in the room.
Only blackness.
She was
having trouble getting used to the blackness of the night here. No horns
honked, no lights glared outside, no hum of the city.
Nothing
but black.
And the wind.
Maybe she should go
back to her nice, safe condominium in Northern Virginia.

There it was.
A low moan.
Her eyes
searched each of the east facing windows that looked out over hay fields, herds
of cattle, and rim rock. She saw only stars.
A strange sight.
 
Stars.
In her warm
bedroom back home, she saw the lights of the nation’s capital reflected on the
walls. She wasn’t used to cold summer nights, the wind, the stars,
the
dust. She wasn’t used to any of this.

She eased up on one elbow and listened. Something was moaning. Did
ghosts moan? They did in Walt Disney movies. Was it a wolf? No, Jake said there
weren’t any wolves in this part of the country. Maybe they had moved in
unannounced. Coyotes yipped and barked, day or night. But this didn’t sound
like a healthy coyote. This sounded like something in distress, hopefully not a
ghost in distress.

She was reluctant to leave the relative security and warmth of
the cot Opal had lent her. It was a hard bed but she preferred it to a softer
one in Opal’s house because she wanted to be in her own place. She needed
furniture in this hollow, empty space, which would make the place much more
inviting.

The moaning took on a deeper timbre. Maybe it was a hurt varmint.
She considered telephoning for help. Jake would come. She held up her watch.
The digital glow read 3:30 A.M. She hated to wake up anyone after that party. Maybe
the sound would go away. She lay back and pulled the down comforter over her
head, hoping sleep would come. It didn’t. The moaning continued. She turned on the
flashlight Jake had given her, the only light near the bed. Maybe the light
would make the moaning stop. It didn’t. She wondered if light went straight
through ghosts.

What finally motivated her to rise and pull on the sweater she’d
thrown on the bed for warmth was insatiable curiosity and, some would say, lack
of common sense. The bare wood floor was cold, and she slid her feet into the
sandals by the bed. The moaning seemed to be coming from the other side of the
front door. Some animal must be injured and had crawled up on the porch to get
out of the wind. Or maybe it was a person. She hoped it wasn’t Hank Little come
to murder another woman. Maybe he only murdered wives. In that case she should
be okay.