Dark Moon Crossing (26 page)

Flat on my belly, I carefully fished the paper rod
through the bars in the door along the floor until I reached my target.
Tensing, I lifted one corner of the coils and netted the phone. Well done,
O’Dell! Basking in jubilation, I pulled the phone towards me only to hear a
sound that made my insides shrink. The low battery signal was bleating. Oh,
no! Not now! Pulse thundering, I reeled in my prize. Half-laughing,
half-crying, I hurriedly dialed 911. Beep! Beep!

“What is your emergency?‌” a monotone voice answered.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out but a tiny
hissing squeak.

“Yes?‌ What is your emergency?‌” the female voice
repeated.

“Help,” I whispered, just as the battery went dead.
Staring at the phone in disbelief, my last hope shattered, I was all set to give
in to total panic again when I heard a dog barking. Stilled by indecision, it
occurred to me that I’d finally found a use for my worthless cell phone. With
fiendish delight, I whacked it against the bars as loud as I could. Bang!
Clang! Bang! The barking grew closer, rising to a wild crescendo and at last
I heard a voice calling, “Attila! Good boy! Did you find that son-of-a
bitchin’ skunk?‌”

I continued my frantic clanging and was praising God
in a hundred ways when I heard the door being wrestled open. Light poured in
as a big black Doberman charged inside and headed straight for me, white teeth
snapping, its unholy howl filling the cramped interior. The silhouette of a
tall, gangly man filled the doorway, blotting out the daylight. “Take ‘er
easy, boy…I’m going shoot that bas…” Seeing me, his voice trailed off and as he
moved out of the shadows, I was actually thankful at that moment that I had no
voice, or I’d have surely screamed. Instead, I gaped in wide-eyed astonishment
as he stared back at me from an unspeakably ravaged face that was more alien in
appearance than human. The skin on the man’s face was puckered and discolored,
his nose a small protrusion with two cavernous holes, and what remained of his
lips barely covered his teeth. A broad-brimmed hat topping shaggy gray hair
completed the disquieting picture. This had to be Russell Greene. Mazzie’s
account of his ordeal in the snow rushed to mind and I could only assume that
his facial disfigurement was the result of frostbite.

“Attila!” he roared. “Leave it.” The dog immediately
withdrew. “Well, who the hell are you,” he growled, “and how the hell did you
get in here?‌”

Reverting to sign language, I shook the bars and
motioned for him to come closer. “Door locked,” I whispered. “Can’t get out.”

His brows plunged in disbelief, but when he reached
for the door and yanked, a look of uncertainty glazed his dark eyes. “Well,
I’ll be damned. How long have you been here?‌”

I tried to speak, but nothing came out, so I held up a
finger.

“One day?‌” Appearing puzzled, he asked, “Where’s the
key?‌”

All I could do was shrug.

“I didn’t think this thing would lock without the
key,” he continued as if his statement somehow nullified my predicament.
Turning, he reached high on the wall and came away with something in his hand,
which he inserted in the lock and magically the door swung open.

My God. The key had been on the wall hook the entire
time. I stumbled past him as quickly as my spongy legs would permit, unable to
get outside fast enough. When the sunlight struck my face, all I wanted to do
was keep running, but suddenly the dog was right in front of me, blocking my
escape.

“Hold your horses a minute,” he demanded, waving his
rifle. “You’ve got some explaining to do. I could have you arrested for
trespassing you know. Didn’t you see the signs on the gate?‌” His penetrating,
yet quizzical stare made me feel as if I was the one who looked out of the
ordinary. “Hey, wait a minute. I’ve seen you before. You were out in front of
the saloon the other day talking with the lady space cadet.”

I nodded, thinking how miffed Mazzie would be by his
description.

His eyes narrowed shrewdly. “So, that means you
probably heard all the juicy stories about me.”

Averting my eyes, I shrugged. What rotten luck.
Having no voice was definitely going to put a crimp in my plans to interview
him. Pointing to my throat, I felt like a kid in a school play pantomiming my
need to eat, drink, and have something to write on, until his puzzlement turned
to understanding. “I don’t know what the hell you’re up to but come on,” he
said abruptly, inclining his head towards the white house that looked to be at
least ten miles away. Overcome by dizziness, I had to stop once or twice to
rest. Finally, he swung around, asking, “What’s the matter, are you hurt?‌”

I held my throat and head, whispering that I was
sick. When he slowed his pace, gratitude swept through me. It occurred to me
at that moment that no matter how awful my overnight ordeal was, it certainly
couldn’t compare to the torment this man had suffered. Weak as a kitten
doesn’t come close to describing how I felt when we finally reached the
cottage. After ordering the dog to stay outside, he unlocked the door and stood
aside. “You’re welcome to come in…that is, if you’re not afraid.” The
suggestion of bitterness in his soft tone, coupled with the defiant gleam in
his dark eyes, made me hesitate. Being alone with any strange man in such an
isolated setting would be cause for alarm, let alone one with such a disturbing
background. But for some unexplainable reason, I felt no fear of him and could
only hope my feminine instincts were correct as I boldly stepped inside the
small kitchen. Though sparsely furnished with only a scarred card table, two
chairs, an ancient-looking stove and refrigerator, the kerosene lamps adorning
both the table and countertops gave the room a cozy effect.

“Do you have a phone I could use?‌” I whispered,
indicating that mine didn’t work.”

“Nope.”

Of course not. “Water?‌” I croaked, waving my empty
bottle.

He plucked a paper cup from a nearby stack and nodded
towards a rusty sink. While I stood there drinking, refilling it four times,
he popped open a can of soup and emptied it into a saucepan. He caught me
sneaking glances at his horribly disfigured face and wordlessly pointed to
another door before turning his back to me. Apparently conversation was not
his strong suit, but then at that moment it wasn’t mine either.

The cramped bathroom, surprisingly clean considering a
single guy lived here, was certainly one of the more welcome places I could
remember visiting in a long time. One glance at my reflection in the mirror
made it apparent why Russell Greene had been gawking at me as though I were a
freak. My hair looked like a crimson explosion and my face was smeared with
dried blood and black newsprint. The effect was so startling, so clownish,
that I could not control the whispery yelps of laughter that resembled someone
squeezing a squeaky toy. I clamped my hands over my mouth and giggled until
tears forged white trails down my sooty cheeks. Thank God no one I knew was
here to see me.

Using paper towels and soap, I washed up as best I
could, smoothing the tangles in my hair and blotting at the stains on my jacket
before I felt reasonably presentable again. On my return trip to the kitchen,
I noticed that the bedroom, equally Spartan but neat, contained a narrow bed,
throw rug and chest of drawers. On a battered desk in the corner sat a short
wave radio, apparently his only contact with the outside world. Devoid of the
usual amenities, like curtains, flowers and wall decorations, the house seemed
kind of drab, but he’d obviously made a conscious choice to live hidden away from
the prying eyes and cruelly wagging tongues of civilization.

Still standing with his back to me at the stove, he
said, “Have a seat.”

I knew my resistance was at a low point when the sight
of the little table already set with a spoon, bowl, water, a bottle of aspirin,
pen and paper, spawned such a rush of emotion I had to hold my breath to keep
from bursting into tears. When he turned with the soup pan in hand, I
experienced almost as great a shock as when I’d first seen him. A piece of
burlap sacking now covered the lower portion of his damaged face. As he poured
out the hot soup, our eyes met briefly and I was mesmerized by the expression
of profound anguish that seemed to emanate from the depths of his soul.

I wrote on the paper.
You don’t have to wear that
for my sake.

He eyed my message with wary disbelief. “Then you
would be unlike most other people.” He pulled the second chair around
backwards and straddled it. “Eat. I don’t want to have to carry you out of
here.”

He sounded gruff but I felt it was a cover. Men are
so terrible at expressing deep emotion. His reticence reminded me a little of
Tally. I’m sure the vegetable soup was good, I just couldn’t taste it, but the
warmth soothed my throat and restored a modicum of energy. He waited until I’d
taken the aspirin and finished half the soup before asking, “So, who are you
and what are you doing here?‌”

All I really wanted to do was get in my car and go,
but there was no urgency to leave now. Tally had left hours ago so I decided
to take the opportunity at hand. “Kendall O’Dell. I’m a reporter,” I
whispered. “I came here to talk to you about the Mexican national you found
here last summer.”

One brow edged higher. “Which one?‌”

I pulled the paper towards me and, without divulging
any names, wrote a short account of Lupe’s dilemma, Javier’s nightmarish
experience and the possible link to the man he’d turned over to Bob Shirley
last June. Could he tell me exactly what the illegal immigrant said, and if
he, himself, had ever witnessed anything that would shed light on the story of
supposed UFO abductions in the area?‌ Since he didn’t have a phone, how had he
contacted the Border Patrol that day?‌

After reading the questions, he raised now guarded
eyes to me. “I don’t know what he said because I don’t speak Spanish. I found
him, or I should say Attila found him, just like he found you today, hiding in
one of the hoist shacks. When he saw me…saw my face that is, he started
yelling and kicking like a maniac, so I locked his ass inside and flagged Bob
Shirley down about two miles east of here. Luckily, his partner was Hispanic
and he was able to translate what the guy was saying.” His eyes flashed with
self-deprecating humor. “Guess he thought I was one of the bogey men coming to
get him.” He glanced at the sheet again, adding, “I don’t know anything about
the alien abduction story. Trust me, I see lots of aliens around here but
they’re not from outer space and they usually leave a very human trail of
garbage behind for me to clean up.”

“Did you know Agent Shirley personally?‌” I murmured.

“Not really. Just enough to say hello. He patrolled
this area all the time.”

I scribbled quickly on the sheet asking him if he’d
talked to Bob Shirley again afterwards. Had he acted any differently?‌ Did he
know that the agent had died only three weeks after the incident?‌

His
bushy brows collided. “Yeah, I heard. I think maybe I saw him once or twice,
but it was just a ‘hi, how are you’ kind of thing.” The repetitious drumming of
his fingers on the back of the chair was the only indication that he might be
growing agitated and the careful design of his answers revealed nothing
relevant. Intuitively, I knew he was hiding something. I pulled the sheet back
and scrawled,
who is your employer?‌

Hesitating,
his shoulders tensed ever so slightly. “Why do you need to know that?‌”

I
watched his eyes carefully and wrote,
I heard the mine was privately owned
and it might be reopened soon.

The
fact that he appeared to be debating as to whether to answer sharpened my
suspicions. “I’ve never met the owner in person.”

“How
is that possible?‌” I croaked.

He
shrugged. “Simple. I answered an ad in the paper, talked to him by phone a
couple of times and that’s about it. He pays me real well to keep greenhorns
like you from wandering around his property getting hurt or falling down
mineshafts. So, if you’re here hoping for a sensational story, you’re barking
up the wrong tree.”

Undeterred,
I wrote:
then what’s with the yellow caution tape near the jail?‌

“That’s
easy. My dog got bitten by a rabid skunk and had to be quarantined for six
weeks.” He jerked to his feet and picked up the dishes. “Look, I don’t feel
like answering any more questions. What I do or don’t do is nobody’s
business. I don’t bother anybody and I don’t like people pestering me.” He
clanged the dishes into the sink and then turned around and set my refilled
water bottle in front of me. “It’s time for you to go.”

His
sudden change of tone took me by surprise. I stood on wobbly legs and waited
for the woozy spell to pass before heading to the door. Grabbing his rifle
from the corner, he escorted me out, whistled for the dog and carefully locked
the door behind him. In silence, he accompanied me to the gate and after he’d
closed and re-attached the padlock, I smiled at him, whispering, “Thank you so
much for your help. You’re very kind.”

He
stared at me a few seconds with an unreadable expression in his eyes. “Be
smart. Don’t come back here again.”

Not sure whether his final statement had been a threat
or a warning, I watched him and the sleek Doberman tramp up the hill in the
direction of the old mine. In seconds they were lost from sight in the dense
underbrush. All my instincts as a reporter were on full alert. There was
definitely something odd going on here, but whatever it was would have to wait
until another time. I needed to lie down. Fast. Turning, I headed for my
car, only to stop in gut-chilling, mind-bending disbelief. It was gone.
Impossible! Searching frantically in all directions, an air of unreality
settled around me as I circled the empty spot. Was I hallucinating?‌ No matter
how I tried to will it into being, my little blue Volvo was simply not there.
Panic clutched me as I sifted through the inventory of my personal belongings
stashed in the trunk—purse, including wallet, credit cards and driver’s
license, camera, tape recorder, spanking new laptop computer, my overnight bag,
and Lupe’s. It was an effort to not dissolve into tears. What else could
possibly happen to top off this most wretched weekend of my life?‌ With dismal
certainty, the knowledge that my car had most likely been stolen and driven
across the border by now slowly seeped in. Who would believe it?‌ I, too, had
become an unwilling victim of the illegal immigration quagmire. A hard knot of
rage burned in my belly along with renewed empathy for Champ and all the other
innocent people embroiled in the ongoing, unsolvable mess.

Now what?‌ I toyed with the idea of returning to
Russell Greene’s place, but remembered that he’d locked the door. He might be
gone for hours. So, what would I do?‌ Lie at his doorstep waiting until he
came back?‌ How ironic. I was free to go and yet still a prisoner. The
distant roar of a car engine grabbed my attention and I willed my unsteady legs
to carry me towards the main road. Come on, come on. Where was that
adrenaline kick when I needed it?‌ Waving my arms above my head, I arrived at
the mouth of the drive in time to catch a glimpse of Froggy in his pickup as it
sped past. He was singing at the top of his lungs in accompaniment to the loud
music blaring from the open driver’s side window.
Come back!
I shouted
in a whisper, watching in dismay as he vanished around the bend. How strange.
From what I could remember from the map, there was nothing west of Wolf’s Head
but miles of desolate desert encompassing the Tohono O’odham Indian Reservation
bordering Mexico. What the hell was he going to do out there in the middle of
nowhere anyway?‌ Something clicked in my head. Was this the same road Walter
had mentioned, the same lonesome road where Bob Shirley’s body had been found?‌
And if that was so, what business could Froggy have out there?‌ To barter with
the Indians for fruit and vegetables?‌ Not likely. I stared at the dissipating
cloud of dust, straining to make any kind of a connection, but I couldn’t come
up with a single thing that made sense. Frustrated, I turned and set out along
the road in the opposite direction, with no alternative before me other than to
suck it up and hike the three miles to the Pierce Ranch. Avoiding a puddle, it
struck me that only in Arizona could there be mud and dust on a road at the
same instant. Trudging along at a snail’s pace, I heatedly berated myself for
my string of piss-poor decisions. Single handedly, I’d managed to lose my car
and belongings, wreck my vacation, expose myself to the flu, fail miserably as
a reporter, tank my relationship with Tally, not to mention that Dean Pierce probably
thought I was the biggest flake on earth for not showing up to claim the poor
injured kitten. I couldn’t help but ponder the similarities. Last night
Marmalade had huddled injured and alone in her cage, while I’d lain ill and
solitary in mine. “O’Dell, you’re hopeless,” I whispered, taking a swig of
lukewarm water.

On the bright side, the weather was just what I’d been
waiting for. In contrast to the white-hot skies of summer, it was sheer joy to
walk beneath the infinite dome of rich azure blue and feel warm fingers of
sunlight massage my aching back while at the same instant a cool breeze
caressed my feverish cheeks. To take my mind off my dilemma and the miles I
had to cover, I concentrated on the mesquite-covered hills, savoring the
striking beauty of the distant mountain ranges all decked out in afternoon
shades of lavender and coral accented with purple shadows taking up temporary
residence in the deep ravines. A half hour later, my knees the consistency of
overcooked vegetables, I panted up the far side of the rocky arroyo feeling
like I’d trekked halfway across the state. In reality, I’d probably covered no
more than two miles when I heard the roar of a car engine coming from behind.
I swung around expecting to see Froggy’s truck but instead, felt a thrill of
relief at the sight of Payton Kleinwort’s familiar bronze pickup. Waving
frantically, I watched his blank expression turn to eye-popping disbelief as he
pulled up beside me. “Kendall!” he shouted out the window. “What…what in the
world are you doing out here?‌”

I rushed up to the mud-splattered truck, whispering,
“Car stolen.”

He leaned out further. “What?‌”

Oh, man. What a bummer trying to communicate. I held
my throat and motioned for him to switch off the engine, which he promptly did
before jumping out to join me. Not unlike my own, his clothes looked soiled
and rumpled as if he’d slept in them all night. Ruefully, I imagined he
probably had. “What happened to you?‌” he exclaimed, looking me up and down.
“I thought you said you were going home yesterday?‌”

Whispering and using sign language, I was able to
convey my plight. He rolled his eyes in disgust. “Oh, my God. No doubt a
bunch of dirt bag Mexicans took it.” He paused, seeming to search for self
control before saying, “What a shitty thing to happen. Listen, I’d call the
sheriff for you right now, but my cell phone is back in my room sitting on the
charger. Sorry.”

Thick-headed and feeling worse by the moment, I
squeaked, “Could you please take me to Dean’s place?‌”

Appearing uncertain, he hesitated several seconds, his
eyes straying to his watch. “Um…sure, but first I’ve got to drop this last
shipment off at the airstrip. My pilot is waiting to take these slippery
little guys to Tucson. It’s not far, just a couple of miles down the road. Do
you mind?‌”

Couldn’t the stupid snakes wait?‌ I sighed deeply.
Beggars certainly couldn’t be choosers and a few more minutes really didn’t
make much difference at this point. Mustering an acquiescent smile, I allowed him
to assist me into the cab. “I’ll make this as quick as I can,” he assured, his
tone solicitous. He rushed around to the driver’s side and we were on our way
within seconds. I could tell by his curious glances that he was dying to know
where I’d been and what I’d been doing since yesterday. But being the
considerate man that he was, he respected my obvious inability to talk and said
nothing.

Keenly aware that the coolers behind me in the camper,
thumping against the plastic window, were packed with live rattlesnakes, I was
just a tad uneasy. But by the same token, that seemed a trivial worry compared
to what I’d just been through. I closed my eyes and laid my head back against
the seat, thinking about the three vital phone calls I needed to make. First,
I’d contact the hotel in California and leave a message for Tally, who was no
doubt at the horse show by now. I could only pray that he would accept my
explanation. Next, I’d report my stolen car to the sheriff. Now that would
prove to be a challenge. I could just imagine someone at the other end trying
to interpret my squeaky whispers. I’d have to impose on Payton to handle that
for me, but he’d need the particulars. Lastly, I’d need to contact Ginger, ask
her to go to my house, find the records of my credit cards and cancel them
pronto. Whoever had my car was probably out on a major shopping spree right
now. And with my driver’s license gone, maybe my identity would be stolen as
well. Thinking about the hassle of phone calls, and paperwork awaiting me to
sort out the mess, sent my spirits tumbling to even lower levels.

As we approached the little airstrip I’d passed
yesterday afternoon, I spotted a spiffy-looking white two-engine plane waiting
on the runway. It was larger and newer-looking than Champ’s faded one tethered
near the shack. A fresh-faced guy who didn’t look like he was even old enough
to pilot a plane was leaning against the side of it smoking. He threw his
cigarette down and opened the plane’s rear door as we pulled up. “I won’t be
long,” Payton said, reaching for the door handle. “Will you be okay for a
couple of minutes?‌”

I nodded, whispering, “Do you have something I can
write on?‌”

“Sure.” He slid out and rummaged around behind his
seat, finally pulling out a white tablet. “I always keep paper around for
Brett. He loves to draw.”

I mouthed ‘thank you’ and watched him run over to
speak to the pilot. After a short conversation, they began unloading the
coolers from the back of the camper and shoving them inside the plane. A glow
of admiration warmed me, knowing that Payton’s altruistic pursuits would
provide the critical antidote needed to help snakebite victims all over the country.
At that moment, the tender memorial to his sister seemed quite in keeping with
his personality.

While they worked, I jotted down a short version of
yesterday’s events, omitting the UFO sighting, but including all the statistics
on my car and Ginger’s home number. Following another brief conversation and a
quick handshake, the young man climbed into the cockpit and Payton trotted back
to the truck. I handed the pad to him and watched his eyes widen as he read.
“You were shut in the old jail at Morita all night?‌ What an awful thing for
you to have to experience,” he commiserated with a sympathetic shake of his
head, reading on. “Oh, man. If I’d known you were planning to go there I’d
have warned you about Russell. It’s a bit shocking if you’re not prepared
for...well, I’m sure you know what I mean.”

I gave him a tired nod and whispered, “Do you know
much about him?‌”

He hesitated. “His family owned the ranch adjacent to
ours. We palled around as kids, but he was always a loner and ever since his
accident he keeps pretty much to himself for obvious reasons.”

Recalling his final words of warning to stay away from
Morita, I reminded myself that I still needed to find out who his employer
was. A sudden attack of sneezing overtook me and Payton cast me a sympathetic
look as he handed me his handkerchief. “I’m so sorry you’ve had such a rotten
time during your stay here. You’ll probably never want to come back this way
again, huh?‌”

“Not likely,” I croaked.

“Well, I can’t blame you,” he said, shifting into
gear. He eyed me curiously several times before saying, “Boy, that was some
storm last night. I thought I was going to get washed away a couple of times.
It was actually lucky for you that you were inside the jail. That’s one of the
few places left with an intact roof.”

I nodded agreement and my mind slipped back to Froggy
flying past me in his truck. “What’s beyond the road after the turnoff to
Morita?‌” I murmured.

Payton frowned. “What do you mean?‌”

The pain of swallowing made my eyes water, so I held
my throat for a moment before answering. “Is there a town?‌”

“Not for a long way. San Miguel is the closest, I
think.” He glanced at me again. “Why?‌”

I grabbed the notepad again and then handed it to
him. He balanced it on the steering wheel and read as he drove. “How on earth
did you meet Froggy McQueen?‌” he asked, question marks shimmering in his
sea-green eyes.

“It’s a long story,” I whispered back.

He shot me a fleeting look, but didn’t press me to
continue.

By the time we reached the main dirt road, the plane
was in the air. Sunlight flashed off the fuselage as it banked to the right
and headed in a southerly direction. Odd. Tucson was north. But then, didn’t
planes always take off into the wind?‌

Moments later, Payton swung onto the narrow lane
leading to Dean’s ranch. “I’m assuming your insurance will provide for a
rental car until…or, and I hate to say this,
if
yours is ever located,”
he remarked, catching my eye. “I was planning to pick up Brett at the Sundog
and spend the afternoon with him, but I can change my plans and drive you to
Tucson so you’ll have a car to get home today.”

I wasn’t sure I could even rent a car without a
driver’s license or proof of insurance. The grim reality was that without all
those little pieces of paper and plastic, I was essentially a non-person. I
beamed him an appreciative smile anyway, whispering, “I couldn’t ask you to do
that.”

He grinned. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

His selfless offer cheered me, and when Dean’s ranch
house came into view, my morale improved even more. Soon this dreadful chapter
of my life would be a distant memory. Eager to get to a phone, get my cat and
go, I pushed my steps faster to keep up with Payton’s as he strolled to the
front door and knocked. Almost immediately, Inez swung it open, then put out a
hand when he stepped forward. “Meester Dean is not here. His sister calls
from the big house and he goes in a hurry, saying there is much trouble.”

“Trouble?‌” Payton parroted. “What kind of trouble?‌”

She hitched her wide shoulders. “Somebody is shot.”

“Shot?‌” He turned to me, paling with alarm. “Oh, my
God! Brett! Come on.” He grabbed my hand and yanked me back to the truck so
fast I almost lost my footing several times. Spewing gravel behind us, he
rocketed down the road, taking the curves so rapidly I feared we’d roll over.
When we reached the cutoff, he jammed on the brakes and we both watched in
astonishment as an ambulance, lights pulsing, barreled past towards the main
road.