Big Lake Sinner

By Nick Russell

Copyright 2024 © By Nick Russell

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing by the publisher.

Nick Russell

E-mail Editor@gypsyjournal.net

Also By Nick Russell

Fiction

Big Lake Mystery Series

Big Lake

Big Lake Lynching

Crazy Days In Big Lake

Big Lake Blizzard

Big Lake Scandal

Big Lake Burning

Big Lake Honeymoon

Big Lake Reckoning

Big Lake Brewpub

Big Lake Abduction

Big Lake Celebration

Big Lake Tragedy

Big Lake Snowdaze

Big Lake Fugitive

Big Lake Wedding

Big Lake Ninja

Big Lake Quarterback

Big Lake Massacre

Big Lake Hoarder

Big Lake Shootout

Big Lake Ranger

Big Lake Drunk

Big Lake Assault

Big Lake Accident

Big Lake Sinner

Dog's Run Series

Dog’s Run

Return To Dog's Run

John Lee Quarrels Series

Stillborn Armadillos

The Gecko In The Corner

Badge Bunny

Mullets And Man Buns

Strawberry Slugbug

Sweet Tea And Jesus

Dead Romeos

The Road To Wrinkle Ranch

Fresh Out Of Mojo

Ka-Bar Karma

Pucker Factor

Jackpot

Tinder Street Saga

Tinder Street

The Good Years

Boom And Bust

The Hard Years

A Changing World

The War Years

Standalone Mystery Novels

Black Friday

Nonfiction

Highway History and Back Road Mystery

Highway History and Back Road Mystery II

Meandering Down The Highway; A Year On The Road With Fulltime RVers

The Frugal RVer

Work Your Way Across The USA; You Can Travel And Earn A Living Too!

Overlooked Florida

Overlooked Arizona

The Gun Shop Manual

Author’s Note

While there is a body of water named Big Lake in the White Mountains of Arizona, the community of Big Lake and all persons in this book live only in the author’s imagination. Any resemblance in this story to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1

As Merle drove the backhoe off the equipment trailer, he watched Reggie out of the corner of his eye, waiting for it. What would it be this time? He had halfway expected to find the backhoe’s seat and controls slippery from a thin coat of oil when he got on, but he was wrong. Just like he had been wrong when Reggie handed him a cup of coffee while he filled up the truck at the Town Pump convenience store that morning. He had taken his first sip carefully, expecting to taste an excess of sugar, or even salt, but it was fine. Whatever was coming, he was going to try damn hard not to react, denying Reggie that satisfaction. He just wished he’d get it over with. The suspense was worse than the prank. But Reggie just stood there watching him with that shit-eating grin on his face. What was that devious bastard up to, anyway?

The two men had grown up together and been best pals since kindergarten, and Merle knew that no matter what came up, Reggie would have his back. And he would be there for his friend the same way. No question about that. But what was coming?

Neither of them could say when the pranks started. Probably back in junior high school, when Reggie had slipped a dead squirrel into Merle’s sleeping bag during a camp out. Or maybe it was when Merle filled the fingers of Reggie’s baseball glove with mustard just before their team took to the field, knowing that Reggie had his eye on pretty little Celeste Rogers, the cheerleader who was watching him man first base so intently that sometimes she forgot where she was in the cheer squad’s routine.

However it had all started, it had gone on for the best part of twenty years. Merle couldn’t count the number of times he had been on the receiving end of his friend’s jokes, or how many he had played back in retaliation. There had been the fake turd he left in the back seat of Reggie’s old Pontiac the night he had picked up Celeste for their first real official date, and the Saran wrap Reggie put between the toilet seat and the lid at Merle’s house that Thanksgiving. Last week Merle had managed to hide three little gizmos he had found on Amazon that imitated the sound of a cricket chirping under furniture in Reggie’s house.

That had been in retaliation for the crazy noises Merle’s new Toyota Tundra pickup was making, which only got louder the faster he drove. Fearing it was some kind of bearing about to let loose, he had taken it back to the dealer in Show Low where he bought the truck, demanding they fix it, only to be chagrined when a mechanic found the three cheap harmonicas Reggie had zip tied to the frame of the truck.

Not to be outdone, Merle had been ready when Reggie needed to use the portable toilet when they were working at the construction site on Deer Hollow Road on Monday. He knew Reggie so well that he knew his friend always had to take a dump mid-afternoon, and as soon as the door closed, Merle encircled the little plastic cubicle with several layers of duct tape, trapping his victim inside. Then he had hauled ass to the other end of the job site, leaving Reggie to his odoriferous fate.

So yeah, payback was coming. But what would it be?

Reggie watched as Merle maneuvered the backhoe to the rectangular spot outlined in orange paint on the grass, admiring the pretty setting surrounded by a mix of Ponderosa pine and oak trees, thinking how it was nice to see something going up on the long-neglected piece of land. This had once been someone’s home many years ago, but all that remained of someone’s long ago dream was a few foundation stones.

“Look good?”

“Looks fine to me,” Reggie shouted over the noise of the backhoe’s diesel engine, and stepped back as Merle worked the controls and the long arm with the beak-like toothed bucket on the end reached out and Merle began digging. He knew his friend had been antsy all day long, waiting for the other shoe to drop after trapping him in the outhouse. He had to give Merle credit for that one. It was ingenious. Reggie had something planned, something big, but it wouldn’t happen today or tomorrow, or maybe not even next week. Watching Merle squirm waiting for it was half the fun.

Merle expertly worked the controls, scooping buckets of dirt from the ground and depositing them to the side of the opening that would soon hold a septic tank. It was early enough in the day that they should be able to get the hole for the tank and the trenches for the field lines dug and maybe still have time to hit the lake and try to catch a trout or two before they went home.

He had only been working for a few minutes when suddenly he heard a shout and saw Reggie waving his arms for him to stop. Merle immediately shut the machine down and got out.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re not gonna believe me, but I think you just dug up a skeleton,” Reggie said.

No, Merle did not believe him. This must be the joke Reggie had been waiting to pull all day.

“Yeah, right. Let me keep digging. I’m sure there’s a werewolf or a witch in there someplace, too.”

“No, man. I’m serious,” Reggie said. “You need to come take a look.”

“What are you gonna do? Push me in the hole with it?”

“Just look,” Reggie said.

Shaking his head but playing along, Merle walked up to where his friend was standing, pointing into the hole.

“Okay, it’s a skeleton. Good work, buddy. Not equal to getting locked in the shitter, maybe, but not bad.”

“I’m serious, Merle. Look at it!”

Merle looked down into the hole and saw the half-buried skull grinning evilly at them. The rib cage was caved in and looked like it had been broken by the teeth of the bucket. He had to give Reggie credit. The damn thing looked real enough. No question about that.

“Where did you get that thing? I wanna borrow it for Halloween.”

“Man, it’s real.”

“Come on, Reggie. Nobody can buy a real skeleton unless they’re a doctor or something like that.”

“I’m telling you, Merle, that thing’s real.”

“Bullshit. You put it there.”

“No, I didn’t! How could I have done that when it was buried? Look at the ground, Merle. Nobody’s been doing any digging here until you started.”

Reggie had a point there, and looking at his friend’s face, there wasn’t the slight smirk that always accompanied one of Reggie’s jokes. Merle looked from him back down into the hole and said, “You’re not shitting me, are you?”

“No.” Then Reggie looked at Merle and asked, “Did you do it? Did you put that down there?”

“Hell no. You said yourself, the ground wasn’t torn up at all.”

“What should we do?”

“I guess we’d better make sure it’s real, and then call somebody,” Merle replied.

“Then jump down there and check it out.”

Merle was on the alert again. He didn’t know how Reggie had made the ground look untouched, but he knew that as soon as he got down in that hole, the damn skeleton was going to sit up or something like that.

“You found it, you jump down and check it out.”

“Not me,” said Reggie. “I found it, but you’re the one that dug it up.”

“Okay, let’s do it together.”

The hole was a little more than waist deep, and when they climbed down into it, Merle carefully picked up one of the rib bones and inspected it. He had never held a human bone before and he was certainly no anatomy expert, but it sure looked real to him. He handed the bone to Reggie, who took it gingerly and looked at it and said, “Holy shit, man. It is real!”

They hurriedly scrambled out of the hole and away, as if whatever was in there might come up after them. Then Merle pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed 911, thinking there was no way they were going to be done in time to get any fishing done this afternoon.

***

Standing on the edge of the hole with Deputy Chad Summers, Sheriff Jim Weber watched as Deputies Buz Carelton and Dolan Reed knelt carefully and inspected the skeleton.

“Any idea how long it’s been down there?”

“Hard to say, Jimmy,” Dolan replied. “Could be anything from a settler from back in the old days to an Indian, for all I know.”

Carefully operating with his fingers in the dirt around the bones, Buz said, “I don’t think Indians buried their dead like this back then.”

Using soft brushes, the deputies carefully cleared dirt from the skeleton, trying not to disturb any evidence that might be in the grave that would tell them what they were dealing with. Merle and Reggie stood on the other side of the hole, both looking shaken by what they had found.

“The rib cage is broken all to hell,” Dolan said. “Either the backhoe did that or this guy suffered some kind of major trauma before he died. If that’s the case, it’d be what killed him.”

“I think I did that with the backhoe before we realized what was in there,” Merle said. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” the sheriff told him. “It’s not like you knew this was somebody’s grave.”

They heard a car pull up and Weber looked to see a slightly chubby young woman with curly brown hair getting out of a red Honda Accord.

“Is it okay if I come closer?”

“Yeah, no problem, Jennifer.”

The reporter from the Big Lake Herald stopped beside Weber and Chad and quickly raised her camera to take pictures of the two deputies working in the hole.

“Any idea who it is?”

“Not a clue,” Weber said. “Dolan said it might be an old settler’s grave, but we don’t know anything yet.”

“Who found it?”

“Those guys over there,” Weber said, nodding toward Merle and Reggie. “They were digging a hole for a septic tank and dug it up.”

“Do you mind if I go talk to them?”

“Help yourself.”

Jennifer carefully walked around the end of the hole and began talking to the two men, then took their picture.

“Didn’t there used to be a house here, Chad?”

“Years ago,” his senior deputy said. “It was falling down when I was a kid.”

“Any idea who lived here?”

Chad shook his head. “No, Jimmy. It was before my time. You might ask Mary. If anybody will know, it’ll be her.”

Mary Caitlin, the wife of Weber’s predecessor, who had come to Big Lake as a young bride and stayed on after her husband retired, was the Sheriff’s Office administrative assistant. Mary was a wealth of knowledge about the small mountain town and its inhabitants. She knew who was married to who, their often complex family lineage, who had been in trouble with the law in the past, and who was doing their best just to get by. Chad was right, if anyone could tell Weber anything about who had once lived on this property, it would be Mary.

“Do you remember that little cemetery they found over by where they were going to build that dentist’s office? What did they find in there, five or six graves?”

“Seven,” Weber replied. “But a lot of people who had been around here a long time knew there was an old lost family cemetery around there someplace, just not where. I’ve never heard anything about this place.”

“Depending how far back it was, they didn’t keep a lot of records,” Chad said. “Maybe no more than a notation in a family bible, if that.”

Their conversation was interrupted when Buz said, “Hey, Jimmy, I found some fragments of cloth.” He held up a small piece of dirty fabric and said, “Don’t know if it was part of the clothing or what.”

Whatever it was appeared to have been underground for a long time and was falling apart as Weber took it from his deputy and slipped it into a plastic evidence bag. The sheriff was marking the date and who had found the item on the bag with a Sharpie when he heard Dolan say, “Oh, shit!”

Turning his attention back to where the deputies were working around the skeleton, Weber asked, “What, Dolan?”

“Don’t know if this was an Indian or an old settler or what, but whoever it was, somebody killed him. Look here.”

Dolan was holding the skull and turned it carefully in his hands to show Weber the round bullet hole in the back.

Chapter 2

They worked until after 7 p.m. when the summer sun began setting, and by then the deputies had carefully photographed the skeleton and grave from every angle. They replaced the skull where they had found it and took statements from Merle McCormack and Reggie Weaver, the men who had discovered the skeleton.  

Word spreads fast in a small town, and a crowd of onlookers had gathered behind the yellow crime scene tape stretched around the area on Larkspur Road. Weber had called the office and asked Mary Caitlin to arrange for members of the Sheriff’s Department’s Citizen Volunteers to guard the property and keep unauthorized people from entering.

After Reggie and Merle had loaded the backhoe onto the trailer and left, Weber sent everybody else home, but stayed at the site until Art McPherson, one of the volunteers, had picked up the marked car assigned to them from the sheriff’s office and arrived, then briefed him on what they knew so far.

Art, who had retired from UPS as a driver down in Phoenix before moving to the White Mountains, said, “When my dad and his brother were kids, they found a skeleton once.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Art said. “According to him, they were digging a hole for an outhouse. Back in those days, nobody where they lived in Michigan had indoor plumbing except in the cities. He said they got about four feet down and found some bones. I guess their dad, my Grandpa Burt, told them they were probably just dog bones. Turned out, he was wrong.”

“Did they ever find out who it was?”

“Nope,” Art said, shaking his head. “I guess the local sheriff came out and looked around a little bit and decided whoever it was had been there a long time, longer than any of them had been alive, and that was about it. Dad said they took the bones away someplace, and he never heard another word about it. Said he was always curious about it until the day he died. I guess his brother, that would be my Uncle Ken, was pretty upset by it and had nightmares for a long time. Dad said they were like thirteen and fourteen years old when it happened. I guess that could affect a kid that way.”

“It sure would if it was me,” Weber told him.

“The way kids are these days, they’d probably want to come and crawl in the grave or take the bones home for souvenirs. I think they see so much crap on TV that something like that doesn’t bother them as much as it did back in my dad’s day.”

Weber nodded his head in agreement and said, “That’s why you’re here, Art. I wouldn’t doubt it if somebody came around, kids or adults. Just make sure nobody gets into the scene and contaminates anything.

“Don’t worry about it, Sheriff. Me and Tony Nelson and Dave Whittaker are each going to do three-hour shifts. We won’t let anybody near the place.”

“I appreciate you guys,” Weber told him. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

Before he called it a day and went home, he stopped by the Caitlin house to ask Mary and her husband if they knew the history of the property or about who might be buried there.

“The place was sitting empty as far back as I can recall,” retired sheriff Pete Caitlin said. “I remember having to chase away kids who would go there to party back in the day. I think it finally caved in somewhere in the early-70s, maybe.”

“There wasn’t much left of it but a foundation back when I was in high school,” Weber said.

Mary brought glasses of iced tea from the kitchen and said, “It’s not often I don’t know something about a place around here, but I was drawing a blank. I talked to Henrietta Kinman, she’s 83 and sharp as a tack, and she remembers a family named Kline who lived there when she was a girl. She said there were three or four kids, and one was a girl about her age and another girl was younger, and there was at least one boy. She doesn’t remember much about them except that there was something strange about the family.”

“Strange? In what way, Mary?”

“She said she couldn’t recall off the top of her head, Jimmy. I told her you might come by and talk to her at some point.”

“I will. Doesn’t she live on Arapahoe Drive?”

Mary shook her head and replied, “She did before she broke her hip last year. She told me after that happened, she couldn’t get around very well, so she moved into Mountain Vista, that new assisted living senior complex they put up over by the library. She seems to like it there.”

“That wouldn’t work for me,” her husband said. “When I get to where I can’t take care of myself, just hit me in the back of the head with a shovel and haul me out to the curb for the trash man to pick up.”

“If that’s the case, I should have done it years ago, Pete.” Turning to Weber, Mary said, “This old fool thinks he takes care of himself. Shoot, he can’t even boil water without burning it. If it wasn’t for me, he’d wear the same underwear two weeks in a row.”

“If you don’t like it, maybe I’ll start going commando,” Pete suggested.

“This is why I don’t retire, Jimmy. I’d rather work eight hours a day than be at home keeping him out of mischief 24 hours a day.”

Pete laughed and said, “Truth is, Jimmy, I make her keep that job. The woman’s insatiable. I’ve got to get her out of the house now and then just so I can get some rest.”

“In your dreams, old man.”

“How can I have any kind of dreams the way you snore at night? The woman sounds like a freight train blowing its horn at a railroad crossing, Jimmy. I have to put a pillow over my head to drown out the noise.”

“Well, maybe I’ll just hold that pillow tight over your head tonight and put us both out of our misery,” Mary threatened.

Weber laughed and drained the last of his tea and said, “If it’s gonna be that way, I’ll just head on home. I don’t want to be a witness to any domestic violence.”

As Weber left his friends, they were still picking on each other. He hoped that when he and Robyn got to be their age, they would still be just as much in love and enjoy each other as much as Pete and Mary did.

When he got home, the delicious aroma of steaks cooking on the grill lured him to the back deck, where he found Robyn and Marsha Perry seated on plastic recliners while his friend, FBI Agent Larry Parks, was manning the grill.

“About time you showed up, Bubba. These women have been drinking margaritas and getting rowdy. I was afraid I was going to have to call the cops on them.”

Weber laughed as he came up on the deck and said, “I’m more worried about you eating my steak as well as yours than I am about them.”

“Don’t listen to him, Jimmy,” Marsha said. “I’ll deny anything he says he says. Ain’t that right, Robyn.”

“That’s right. We’re just sitting here minding our own business.”

Weber bent down to kiss her, and Robyn said, “What have you been up to? You’re dirty. You need to go take a shower.”

“I’ve been crawling around in a grave,” Weber told her.

“A grave? What were you doing in a grave?”

He told them briefly about the skeleton that had been discovered and Robyn said, “That’s just my luck. All the fun stuff happens on my day off. Any idea who it was?”

“Not yet, but we’ll figure it out.”

“Well, go take a shower before the steaks are done and Parks eats yours, too.”

“If he tries to do that, shoot him in the knee.”

“Nope,” Robyn said, shaking her head. “I’m on my second margarita. I’d probably miss or else hit him in the butt.”

“He’s already been shot in the ass,” Weber said, “so it’s not like you’d be the first one.”

Marsha, who was obviously feeling the effects of her drinks, said, “That explains why he’s brain damaged. I forgot all about that!”

The women were laughing, and Parks was whining about how he was being mistreated when Weber went inside and stripped his clothes off and jumped in the shower. The steaks were on the table on the deck when he came back outside and Parks said, “About time. I’m sitting over here starving to death.”

“I was hoping Robyn would come in and wash my back, but you’d have had to wait even longer.”

“I was going to do it for her, but she wouldn’t let me,” Marsha said.

“Hey, I told you, never send a girl to do a woman’s job,” Robyn teased back.

The dinner was pleasant, and the company was even better. After they finished eating, Robyn and Marsha cleared the table and took everything inside. Parks asked Weber about the skeleton and how it had been found, but the sheriff didn’t know anything more than he had already told them.

“And there was a bullet hole in the back of the skull?”

“Sure looked like one to me,” Weber said.

“Any exit hole?”

“Not that we could see. But we didn’t spend much time cleaning anything up. I called the DPS crime lab and they’re going to send somebody up tomorrow.”

“It sounds to me like somebody got murdered here a long time ago. I’d be interested in finding out what that was all about.”

“Oh, I plan to, if I can,” Weber told him. “Depending on how long ago it happened, whoever was behind it might be dead and gone, too, by now.”

“You know, Jimmy, just because the place is old doesn’t necessarily mean the grave dates back to then, does it?”

“It could be from before then, or even later, for all I know. I guess that’s what the state crime folks might be able to tell us. At least I hope so.”

The women came back outside with fresh margaritas, along with a beer for Parks and a Pepsi for Weber, who had sworn off hard liquor years ago when it started to become a problem for him. He could tell that Robyn was feeling the effects of the drinks because, while she was usually the quietest of the four, she was talking more than normal and was acting very animated. She wasn’t drunk, but she obviously had a buzz on. It was the first time he had seen her let loose like that since she had been involved in a fatal shooting the year before. Having experienced the emotional trauma that comes with such an incident himself, Weber knew it was not like on television or in the movies. It wasn’t something one just got over and went on about their lives like it had never happened, even when the circumstances were justifiable.

Later, after Parks and Marsha left, they were sitting together on the deck looking up at all the stars overhead, and Robyn said, “You know what Jimmy? Seeing all those stars up there really puts things in perspective, doesn’t it? We think our troubles are a big thing sometimes, but when you look at all that up there, I realize we’re really not that much overall, in the greater scheme of things. Does that make any sense, or am I just drunk talking?”

“It makes perfect sense to me. I remember one time I asked my dad if he thought there was life on other planets. He said that we would be pretty egotistical to think that, with all of that out there, we would be the only ones that exist, with all our flaws and shortcomings.”

Robyn snuggled up to him and laughed and said, “I remember somebody saying once that Earth is just an insane asylum for the rest of the universe. Sometimes I think that makes sense.”

“It does. So, the question we have to ask ourselves is, are we the inmates or are we part of the staff?”

“Us? Oh, heck, Jimmy, we’re the inmates. No question about that.”

They were silent for a long moment and then she said, “You know the best part about being inmates here on Earth?”

“What’s that?”

Getting up and taking his hand and pulling him after her, she said, “Conjugal visits.”

Chapter 3

At 5’5” tall and 125 pounds, Bonnie Boswell and her partner Rory Curry, who was six inches taller and sixty pounds heavier, were sometimes called Mutt and Jeff by the people they worked with at the Arizona Department of Public Safety crime lab in Flagstaff. But the unlikely pair had worked together for over a decade and were well-respected by their peers and law enforcement throughout Northern Arizona. Weber and Deputy Coop Cooper nodded to them when they got out of their van, and Bonnie said, “Hey good looking. How you doing, Jimmy?”

“I was able to sit up and take nourishment this morning, so I guess I’ve got no complaints. How about you?”

“Well, I didn’t win the lottery, and Hollywood hasn’t called asking me to be their next leading lady, so I guess I’m like always. Overworked and underpaid.”

“I appreciate you guys coming all the way over here to help us out.”

“So, what’s the score?”

“We don’t know much yet, Rory,” Weber replied. “A couple of guys were here with a backhoe digging a hole for a septic tank and found the bones and called us. We tried not to disturb things any more than we had to. Once we found the bullet hole in the skull, we put it back like we found it and got pictures and measurements. I figured you didn’t want us doing too much until you got here.”

They walked up to the open grave and Rory asked, “You guys already took photos and measurements?”

“Yeah, we did,” Dolan Reed said. “But you might want to take your own.”

Looking around, no one could tell this had ever been somebody’s home. Whatever had been here once had been reclaimed by the forest. Rory asked, “What do you know about this place?”

“Not a lot yet,” Weber told him. “There was a family that lived here a long time ago, but I don’t know anything about them. Pete Caitlin, who was the sheriff before me, said the house that was here pretty well collapsed back in the early 70s. When I was in high school, there was just a foundation left and it was all broken. Pete’s wife, Mary, is my administrative assistant. She talked to someone who knows a little about the family from when she was a kid, and there are some other old timers around I plan to talk to.”

“I only saw two other houses on the road, and they looked fairly new.”

“Yeah, the developers haven’t gotten this far out yet, but I’m sure they will,” Weber said. “That’s why they were here digging for a septic tank yesterday. The way they’re building things around here, this is going to be like Flagstaff in a few years.”

“I’d hate to see that,” said Bonnie. “I’d like to think there’s someplace you can still go to and get away from the world.”

“It was like that here for a long time,” Buz Carelton replied. “But it’s changing fast. Too damn fast, if you ask me.”

After taking photographs, Rory got down in the grave and began probing the ground carefully. Buz helped Bonnie lay out a tarp, and as the man in the grave handed the bones up to them, they laid them on the tarp in a close approximation to the way they had been found. Bonnie made notations on a small digital recorder as they went, and once they had had all the visible bones out, she switched places with her partner in the grave, and using a small trowel and wood framed screen, she sifted through the dirt. She found a few more pieces of fabric and then a rusted belt buckle with a small piece of leather still clinging to it.

They spent over two hours in the hole, and once it seemed like they had found everything they could, Rory went to the van and came back with a metal detector. Handing it to Bonnie, she went over the grave again and twice they heard pings indicating metal. Working carefully, she found something round and about the size of a dime, with a stud on the back of it, and then a few tiny pieces of metal. Each item was bagged and marked carefully.

Using a small stepladder from the van, Bonnie got out of the grave and then went over the mound of dirt the backhoe had piled next to it. She got a solid ping, and working carefully, uncovered a metal pocket comb measuring about five inches long. Moving the dirt scoop by scoop and going over it with the metal detector, using the trowel and screen whenever the detector pinged, they uncovered what looked like the nib of an old fountain pen. A while later, there was a louder ping with a different tone, and Weber could see both crime scene technicians looking at something they had uncovered.

“What is it?”

“Looks like a cross,” Rory told him, pointing at the dirt encrusted item in the screen. “The detector made a different noise because it’s a different metal. Probably silver or gold. We’ll know more once we get it to the lab and clean it up.”

“Any idea how long whoever this is has been buried there?”

“It’s hard to say, Sheriff. But making an educated guess, based on the metal comb and what looks like the fountain pen tip, and the condition of the bones, I’d say anywhere from 50 to 75 years.”

“One of my deputies thought it might have been an old settler, or maybe an Indian,” Weber said.

“I don’t think settlers carried pocket combs and used fountain pens back in those days,” Rory told him. “Based on what I’m seeing here, and again, that’s just a guess based on my experience, I think whoever this is and how they got themselves in this grave happened sometime around the middle of the last century.”

Weber heard shouting from where one of the citizen volunteers was standing at the crime scene tape keeping unauthorized people out of the area. Walking out to see what was going on, he saw a man who looked to be somewhere in his 40s arguing with Betty Frome. He had a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses pushed up on his head and his stylish brush cut hair had blonde highlights added. While he was dressed casually in a short sleeve pullover shirt and khaki pants, it was obvious he spent money on his appearance.

“I don’t care who you are or what you say. I own this property and I’ll go where I want,” the man was telling her as Weber approached.

“No, sir,” Betty said, her hands on her hips, stepping sideways to block his path.

“Lady, if you don’t get out of my way, I’m going to walk right over the top of you!”

“Try it,” Betty challenged him defiantly.

“Whoa, what the heck’s going on here?”

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Sheriff Weber, and this is a crime scene. Nobody is allowed in here unless I authorize it.”

“That’s bullshit. You can’t tell me I can’t come onto my own property.”

“And just who are you, sir?”

“Robert L. Bannister. I own this property. I own everything on this side of the road for a mile in either direction.”

Weber had never met the man, but the name was familiar. Bannister Properties was one of the companies cashing in now that the outside world had discovered the charming little mountain town of Big Lake. They were buying up land in every direction, clearing acres of forest to build houses.

“Well, Mr. Bannister, as I said, this is a crime scene, and you can’t come in right now.”

“Are you out of your freaking mind, Sheriff? You do realize this is America, right? Since when can’t a landowner come onto his own property whenever he wants?”

“Since somebody found a grave on the property yesterday,” Weber told him.

“What the hell are you talking about? There was supposed to be a septic tank and drain lines laid out for our model home yesterday. I don’t have time to waste with this kind of nonsense.”

Weber could tell he didn’t like the man already, but he tried to remain professional when he said, “Mr. Bannister, when the crew was here digging for the septic tank yesterday, they uncovered a grave. And from everything we can tell, the person in that grave was murdered.”

“Oh, come on, Sheriff! Murdered? Don’t you think you’re being just a bit overdramatic? Nobody’s lived here in forever.”

“No, sir. Somebody was definitely buried here. And that person had what looks to be a bullet hole in their skull.”

“Looks to be? So you don’t really know it’s a bullet hole, which means you don’t know if they were murdered. But you’re going to try to hold up my project because you think some crime was committed here? I don’t think so!”

The man raised the crime scene tape to duck under it and Weber put his hand on his arm and said, “Mr. Bannister, I’m too busy to deal with your nonsense right now. I told you before, this is a crime scene, and as such, nobody is entering this property unless they’re part of the investigation. Now, if I were you, sir, I would get in my car and go back to wherever you came from. Once our investigation is finished, I will clear the property for you to have access.”

“If you were me? That’s a laugh. I could buy you and everything you own with my pocket change.”

“Be that as it may, Mr. Bannister, I’m still the sheriff and this is my crime scene. So take your pocket change and leave.”

“Listen, Barney Fife. You need to do two things,” Bannister said. “You need to get your hand off of me and you need to get the hell out of my way. Because if you don’t, I’ll sue you and this whole damn town for everything you ever had or ever will have. Do I make myself clear?”

He tried to brush past Weber, and the sheriff put his hand on his chest and a leg behind him and pushed him backwards, knocking the man to the ground.

“Are you freaking crazy? Do you know who I am and what I’m worth?”

“I know who you are, and I know what you are,” Weber told him. “And whatever you think you’re worth doesn’t mean a hill of beans to me. Now, I’m going to give you two choices, sir. You can haul your ass out of here, or I’ll put you in handcuffs and you can sit in a jail cell until I decide to let you out. Which is it going to be?”

Getting to his feet, Bannister poked a finger into the sheriff’s chest and said, “This isn’t over. Not by a long shot, asshole. I’ll be back with a court order, then we’ll see how high and mighty you think you are!”

He turned and stormed off, giving Weber the finger as he got into a white Range Rover. Betty shook her head. “I guess you showed him what for, Sheriff.”

“If he comes back, give me a shout the minute you see him pulling up,” Weber told her.

Just then, he heard his name called from the gravesite and turned to see Rory waving his arm.

“Keep up the good work, Betty. I appreciate you,” Weber said, then turned and walked back to where the crime scene technicians and Coop were standing.

“What’s up?”

“We may have found the murder weapon,” Rory told him. “There was a gun in that pile of dirt.”

Chapter 4

Squatting down next to Coop, Weber looked at the rusty old gun, which had obviously been in the ground a long time.

“Some kind of derringer,” Coop said. “Used to see them in the old western movies. Gamblers and saloon girls carried them.”

Once Rory finished taking photographs of the small gun, he picked it up and brushed the dirt away. There was a small lever on the left side which would have been used to open the double-barreled pistol, but it was too rusted to move. Pointing it into the dirt, he tried to pull the hammer back, but it was also frozen with rust.

“Hard to say if it’s loaded or not,” he said. “We only found one bullet hole in the skull, so there might still be one in either the lower or upper barrel. I’m not sure if it’s safe or not, but if I can’t pull the hammer back to cock it, I don’t think it could be fired.”

“Mind if I take a look at it?”

The crime scene technician handed the gun to Coop, who looked it over and said, “Hard to say right now, but I bet this is an old Remington. You know who could tell us for sure? Larry Parks.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Weber said. “I’m gonna give him a call.”

“Who’s that?”

“He’s our local FBI agent,” Coop told Rory, as Weber pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “The guy probably knows more about guns than all of us put together.”

Weber put his phone back in his pocket and said, “He’s on his way over here now.”

“Who was that guy you dumped on his ass? I was gonna come see if you needed any help, but it looked like you had it handled,” Dolan said.

“That was Robert Bannister,” Weber replied. “He’s the developer that owns this land and apparently just about everything on this side of the road. He wanted to cross the police line and wouldn’t listen to Betty or me. He’s more worried about his schedule than about whoever this poor guy is down there in the grave.”

“I never met the man myself, but everything I’ve heard about him is bad,” Coop said. “Roberta said he’s been in her courtroom five or six times now demanding she give him court orders for something or other. Apparently he thinks he can throw his financial weight around and do whatever he wants.”

“Well, she may be seeing him again real soon because, according to what he told me, he was going to get a court order right now about what we’re doing here.”

“Yeah, well, good luck to him with that. I guess the last time he was there, he barged past her clerk and right into her office, demanding she issue an injunction against the high school track team.”

“The track team? For what?”

“I guess during the summer, the kids run to keep in shape, and one place they do that is over there at Kessler’s Pond. The kids make three laps around it and that equals a mile, I think. Anyway, he’s building some houses across the street from there and said his crews needed to slow down coming and going because of the kids on the team running out there. He said it was costing him money every time they had to stop because the kids were running across the road.”

Weber laughed, and asked, “What did Roberta say about that?”

“She told him that the next time he came into her office uninvited, she was going to see that he left in handcuffs,” Coop replied. “And as far as the kids, she said they were here a long time before he was, and if it was a problem, she might ask us to put a deputy out there to make sure his drivers were obeying all the traffic laws.”

“Some people’s spoiled children never grow up, do they? We’ve got a homeowner’s association where I live and the woman in charge of that is the same way,” Bonnie said. “She sent me a nasty letter because I have a hummingbird feeder on my front porch and it wasn’t approved by the HOA.”

“Well, this Bannister fool is going to find out real fast that he doesn’t run things around here,” Weber said. “He’s one of those guys that pisses you off the first time you look at him, before he even opens his mouth. And when he does, it just goes downhill from there.”

Bonnie went back to work with the metal detector and found a few pieces of rusted metal in the dirt pile that could have been anything at one time. Then she got a louder ping from the machine and uncovered a buffalo nickel stamped with a 1936 date.

A few moments later Parks arrived, and Weber escorted him in, telling Betty he could come and go whenever he needed to. Examining the gun the technicians had found, Parks nodded his head and said, “No doubt about it, Coop. It’s an old .41 Remington.”

“Any idea how old it is?”

“Hard to say unless we can clean it up enough to find the serial number,” Parks replied. “They made these from just after the Civil War until about the mid-1930s. Even then, the serial number might not tell us much because the company went through some reorganizations along the way, and I believe the serial numbers were repeated sometimes. Do you mind if I look at the skull?”

“It’s fine by me if it’s okay with Rory and Bonnie,” Weber said.

“Help yourself.”

Pulling on disposable nitrile gloves, Parks picked up the skull and turned it over and studied the bullet hole. Carefully replacing the skull, he said, “I bet you dollars to donuts that’s a .41 hole. And since there’s no exit hole, I think when you get the dirt cleaned out from inside of the skull, you’re going to find the bullet in there.”

Just then Weber’s phone rang, and the caller ID showed him it was Roberta Jensen, one of Big Lake’s two judges. “Hello, Roberta. What’s up?”

“I just had a friend of yours in here. Well, maybe not a friend because he certainly wasn’t friendly.”

“No, Mr. Bannister wasn’t real friendly to me either,” Weber said, chuckling. “He said he was coming to see you.”

“This guy is an idiot, Jimmy. At least once a week he’s in here demanding I do something that I don’t have the authority to do. I’ve told him that over and over, but he just shouts and says he’s going to take it over my head. I told him he’s more than welcome to.”

“So, I take it you’re not going to grant him an order making us stop our investigation?”

“Heck no,” Roberta said. “He also wanted me to issue a warrant for your arrest for assaulting him.”

“I didn’t assault him, Roberta. I just stopped him from entering my crime scene.”

“I wasn’t worried about that. I told him he was lucky you didn’t arrest him. Which, of course, made him even madder. He told me he’s going to ask for a judicial review made of me and the way I run my courtroom. I told him he’s welcome to do whatever he wanted, but in the meantime, I had other things to do than to listen to him throw a tantrum.”

“I appreciate it,” Weber told her. “Hopefully he won’t come back out here.”

“Don’t count on that. I get the feeling he’s used to getting his way, and when he can’t, he is too dumb to understand that the world doesn’t revolve around him.”

“Well, shoot, Roberta, you could have explained to him that the world revolves around me, not him. That would have solved a lot of problems, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re a funny man,” the judge said with a laugh. “Don’t keep Coop working too late. Remind him he promised to cook dinner tonight.”

“I don’t know how you managed it, but you’ve done a good job of domesticating that old bachelor,” Weber told her.

“I got tips from Robyn,” Roberta said. “Anyway, I’ve got to get back to work. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

***

The crime scene technicians had finished with the grave and the dirt pile next to it and wanted to spend some time going over the entire property. “I doubt we’ll find anything useful with all the time that’s gone by since whatever happened here took place, but you never know,” Bonnie said.

Weber left them to it and drove to the assisted living facility to talk to Henrietta Kinman. It was the first time he had been in the place since it opened, and he had expected some type of nursing home. Instead, he learned residents had their own small two-room apartments consisting of a living room and bedroom, along with a bathroom. Meals were taken in a dining hall where they could order different items from a menu. Sitting in Henrietta’s living room, he thought if one needed a living situation like that, it seemed rather nice.

When he told her that, Henrietta agreed. “It’s nice, but I have to say I do miss having my own house sometimes. But it just got too hard to keep it up and get around. The staff here does a good job of looking after us. Some residents can’t take care of themselves as much as they would like, so if they need help with bathing or whatever, it’s here for them. Someone comes in every day to make the beds and tidy up a little bit, although I tell them I can do all that myself, and they let me. And it’s nice being with other people my age. Sometimes, when you get up there in years, you find yourself isolated. But here there are so many people here I’ve known forever that I never feel lonely.”

“That’s great, Mrs. Kinman. I’m glad you’re comfortable here,” Weber told her.

“You said you wanted to talk about the family that lived out there on Larkspur Road, where they found the dead body?”

“Actually, it wasn’t a dead body, it was a skeleton,” Weber replied. “Mary Caitlin said you told her that there was a family named Kline that lived out there at one time?”

Henrietta nodded her head and said, “Yes, back when I was a little girl. I’ve been trying to think back and see what I could remember about them. I know there was a daughter named Cynthia who was my age. She was really shy, I remember that. And there was another little girl, gosh I can’t think of her name. I want to say Martha or Margaret or something like that, but I’m just not sure.”

“And Mary said you told her you thought there was a boy, too?”

“I think so. I think he was probably a year or two older than me and Cynthia. For some reason, the name Bud or Buddy comes to mind. I’m sorry, Sheriff, that was so long ago, and I guess my memory’s not what it used to be.”

“That’s all right,” Weber told her. “Sometimes mine’s not so good either. Mary said you thought there was something strange about the family? Can you tell me why you thought that?”

“I was going to vacation Bible school that summer, and I knew Cynthia because we were in the same class at regular school and rode the same school bus, and it seemed like she never had any friends. I asked her if she wanted to come to vacation Bible school with me and she said she did. So I rode my bicycle over there to get her the morning we were supposed to go, and her mother came to the door and told me to go away, they were Catholics and she didn’t want her daughter corrupted. I didn’t even know what corrupted meant. I had to ask my mother.”

“So, did the girl go to Bible school with you?”

“No,” Henrietta told him. “I think the reason I asked her in the first place was because she didn’t have any friends and my mother said I should try to make friends with her. I was upset when I went home because of what her mother told me, and my mom said to just stay away from them if that was the way she was going to be.”

“Can you remember anything else about them?”

Henrietta shook her head and said, “I’m sorry, not really. I know the school bus would drop Cynthia and a couple of other kids off at the end of the road there, and Cynthia always sat alone on the bus and walked home by herself. At that time there were three or four houses on that road, but they’re all gone now. One of the kids who lived on that road was Leroy Nash. I had kind of a crush on him. I think maybe the brother, Buddy or whoever he was, was friends with Leroy because I remember him and a boy walking together when they got off the bus.”

“I don’t think I know any family named Nash from around here,” Weber said.

“They moved away when I was about fourteen,” Henrietta replied. “I remember that because it broke my heart because I had such a crush on Leroy. I used to make believe that he would write letters to me and someday he would come back and we’d live happily ever after. You know how kids are, like that.”

There was a knock on the door and then it opened and a woman with a beehive of garishly dyed red hair poked her head in and then said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company, Henrietta.”

“That’s all right. Come on in. Do you know Sheriff Weber?”

“Oh, yeah. I know this handsome hunk. You still make me breathe hard, Sheriff. You got a hug for an old lady?”

Weber smiled and stood up and hugged her. She smelled of tobacco smoke and some kind of sweet perfume. “How are you doing, Mrs. Loudermilk? It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, but you’re still just as handsome as ever. And me, well, you know what they say about us cougars. We’re always on the prowl.” She winked at Weber and purred.

“You are shameless, Gladys!”

“I know, Henrietta. Ain’t it great?”

Then Gladys sat down on the sofa as close to Weber as she could get and asked, “So how’s it hanging, Sheriff?”

Chapter 5

Gladys Loudermilk had been scandalous as a teenage girl and even more so as a young woman. She had gone out of her way to break every social more of her time, smoking, drinking, hanging out in barrooms, and taking home whatever man she chose at closing time, whether or not they were married. She had gone through at least five husbands, and even when she was married, she always had what would be called in modern terms, friends with benefits. Gladys was never apologetic for her actions, always believing that one should live for today and worry about tomorrow when tomorrow got here.

Her leg pressing against the sheriff’s on the small sofa, she asked, “So, what are you two lovebirds up to? Got room for a third?”

“Gladys!”

“What? I’m just having fun. The sheriff knows that. Right?” She slapped Weber on the knee and left her hand there.

Moving sideways with her hand following, he said, “I was just asking Henrietta about a family that used to live in Big Lake a long time ago. The Klines. Did you ever hear of them?”

“That name sounds familiar. Were they that weird family that lived down the road from the Reynolds?”

“Yes, that’s the name of another family that lived out there,” Henrietta said.

“Now Sally Reynolds, that was a girl that was always hot to trot,” Gladys said. “Me and Sally had some real adventures, back in the day. Do you remember her, Henrietta?”

“Yes. She married one of the Arbuckle boys. I think they moved out to California.”

“You said that the family was weird? What was weird about them?”

“Oh, Sheriff, do you want a list?”

“I want to know anything you can remember about them,” Weber said.

“Well, the mother was crazy. I know that. I’m not talking every day crazy, either. I mean crazy-crazy.”

“Why do you say that?”

“One time, me and Sally Reynolds had stolen a pack of cigarettes from somewhere and we were walking down the road smoking them. She came running out telling us we were sinners, just a couple of little tramps. She told us to not even slow down when we passed her house because she didn’t want us corrupting her children.”

Weber noted it was the second time the woman had told someone about corrupting her children. He wondered what that was about.

“Then, I think we were about thirteen, me and Sally and some boy, I can’t remember who it was now, were hanging out in Sally’s front yard, and me and Sally had shorts on. Mrs. Kline came walking down the road. I don’t remember her ever having a car, and she saw us and she came up and told us we needed to cover ourselves. She said it was sinful to be showing our bodies like that, especially in front of a boy. If that woman would have known me and Sally would show our bodies to lots of boys before too long, she’d have had a conniption fit.”

Gladys’s hand had moved farther up Weber’s leg, and he gently removed it.

“You both mentioned the mother. What about the father?”

“Gee, I don’t ever remember there being a father around. Do you, Henrietta?”

The other woman shook her head and said, “No, I don’t think so.”

“I remember Sally telling me about some guy that was there a lot, but I don’t think it was the father. I know there was something that had people talking about it back then, but they didn’t say much in front of us kids, if you know what I mean. Maybe she had a boyfriend or something.”

“Do you know anybody else who might have known the family back then?”

“Not really,” Gladys said, and Henrietta shook her head. “Hey, Henrietta, do you remember Norma Macpherson? Now she was another one that was hot to trot.”

“Now, Gladys. That’s not true.”

“It is!” The woman looked at Weber and raised her painted on eyebrows and said, “Norma was the kind of girl that would trip you and beat you to the floor. Everybody says I was the bad girl back in those days, but I wasn’t the only one. I just wasn’t a hypocrite who tried to hide it. And you know something else, Sheriff?”

“What’s that?”

She smiled coyly and blinked her eyes at him, and then leaned in and said, “I’m still a naughty girl. Just so you know.”

“Gladys!”

“Hey, it pays to advertise.”

Weber laughed and stood up, saying, “Well, ladies, it’s been fun, and I appreciate all the information, but I had better get back to work.”

“Sheriff, what’s this all about, anyway? The Klines haven’t lived anywhere around here in forever.”

Before Weber could reply, Henrietta asked, “You didn’t hear about it, Gladys?”

“About what?”

“They found somebody buried out there at the old Kline place.”

“When?”

“Yesterday,” Weber told her.

“Do you know who it is?”

“Not yet, but we’re working on it. That’s why we’re trying to find out anything we can about the family that lived there.”

“I wonder if old lady Kline killed her boyfriend, because I remember talk of him being there a lot, and then suddenly he was just gone, from what I remember hearing.”

“Do you remember any talk about anybody coming up missing back in those days?”

“Not that I can recall, Sheriff,” Henrietta said. “Do you, Gladys?”

“No, nobody that I know of.”

“You said old lady Kline. How old was she?”

“Oh, hell, I don’t know.” Gladys said. “Not nearly as old as we are now. I mean, in those days anybody over thirty was old. Right, Henrietta? But she had kids younger than us, at least the one girl was, so it wasn’t like she was really old. That was just a figure of speech.” Then, to get back to her favorite subject, herself, Gladys stood up and bumped the sheriff with her hip and asked, “Speaking of figures, what do you think of this one? Not bad for an old broad, right?”

Weber laughed and said, “I need to get out of here and go take a cold shower.”

“I’ve got a shower at my apartment, right across the hall. I’ll even wash your back for you. What do you say, handsome?”

“Gladys!”

Weber left the two old women and chuckled as he walked down the hall and back outside to his vehicle. Gladys Loudermilk might be scandalous, but she darn sure wasn’t going to let old age slow her down a bit if she could help it.

***

Weber had just gotten back into his vehicle, and before he could pull out of the parking lot, someone knocked on his window. Pushing the button to lower it, he said, “Hey there, Charlie. How are you doing these days?”

“Oh, fair to middling, I guess, Sheriff. It’s been hard to adjust, with Bernice gone. Sometimes I wish I was still working, just to keep my mind occupied.”

Charlie Busthiemer had run his own plumbing company for years, with his wife Bernice manning the office and handling the business end of things. But Bernice had been dead for three years now, and a lifetime of crawling under houses and arthritis had taken a toll on the old man’s body. His gnarled hands were no longer capable of working with tools, and his back was bent and stiff.

“I saw you in the hallway and just wanted to say hi. Don’t mean to take up any of your time.”

Weber’s popularity in Big Lake was partly because he had always made it a point to make time to visit with the citizens whenever possible, and to let them know he was there for them for whatever they needed. Sometimes the citizen was an old person who just needed a friend and someone to talk to.

Getting back out of his Explorer, Weber said, “I’ve got nothing but time, Charlie.”

Cocking his head sideways towards the building, Charlie said, “Yeah, I’m living here now. The old home place just didn’t feel good to me anymore. Too big and too empty and too many memories, I guess.”

“This is the first time I’ve been inside. Seems like they’ve got a pretty nice setup.”

“Oh, I guess it’s okay,” Charlie acknowledged. “There’s always somebody around to help you if you need anything, and the food’s good. At least a hell of a lot better than I was feeding myself at home. It’s mostly old farts about my age that I’ve known all my life.”

“I guess that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

Charlie nodded his head and said, “For the most part. Everybody wants to sit around and talk about the past. I guess that’s because when you get to be our age, you ain’t got much future ahead of you.”

“Maybe you ought to get yourself a girlfriend,” Weber suggested. “Seems like there’s a lot of women there.”

“No, Sheriff, I don’t think so. I know it don’t make any sense, but I’d feel like I was cheating on Bernice, even though she’s dead and gone.”

“I guess I can understand that,” Weber said, nodding his head.

“Tell you the truth, Sheriff, some of those widow women in there scare me.”

Weber chuckled and asked, “Why is that?”

Looking around to make sure nobody could hear him, Charlie leaned closer and said, “There’s some horny old gals in there.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Charlie.”

“At my age, it is. I’m kind of like that old boy that was fishing and found a frog and the frog said, ‘If you kiss me, I’ll turn into a beautiful princess.’ The old boy put that frog in his pocket and took it home and the frog asked, ‘Aren’t you gonna kiss me so I can turn into a princess,’ and the old guy said, ‘Nope. I’m 87 years old. I’d rather have a talking frog.’”

Weber laughed and said, “I guess I can see your point.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, was you here on official business, Sheriff?”

“Well, kind of. I was talking to Henrietta Kinman and Gladys Loudermilk.”

Charlie shook his head and said, “Watch yourself around that Gladys, Sheriff. I call her the octopus ’cause she’s more handsy than a teenage boy on his first date at the drive-in movies.”

Weber laughed and said, “Yeah, I got that impression. Let me ask you something, Charlie. Do you remember a family named Kline that lived way out on Larkspur Road?”

Charlie thought for a minute and shook his head. “Nope. I don’t think there’s more than a couple houses out there anymore.”

“I know that,” Weber said. “This would have been a long time ago. Back when you were a kid, probably.”

“Gee, Sheriff, that was so long ago. I know there used to be a little store somewhere out in that direction, but it burned down in the 60s. I think anybody who lived out there is probably long gone by now. When they put the bypass in, that area kind of got forgotten. Were Henrietta and Gladys able to tell you anything?”

“Not a whole lot,” Weber replied. “They said there may have been a son named Bud or Buddy, back when they were going to school, and at least two girls. One of the girls was named Cynthia and the other might have been Mary or Margaret or something along those lines. According to Gladys and Henrietta, the mother wasn’t too friendly.”

Charlie started to shake his head and then said, “Wait a minute. You said the name was Kline?”

“From what I understand,” Weber told him.

“The sinner lady. I think that was her name.”

“The sinner lady? What does that mean, Charlie?”

“There was a lady buried over at the old Oakdale Cemetery. Her headstone just said the name Kline and then something about asking God to forgive her for her terrible sin. I remember when I was a teenager, some of us were guessing what her sin might have been.” The old man shrugged his shoulders and said, “What can I say, Sheriff? It was a small town, and we didn’t have television in those days. Had to figure out ways to entertain ourselves.”

“Did you ever figure out what her sin was?”

“No. Some said maybe she had a baby out of wedlock, and others had all kinds of ideas. Pete Gibson, I don’t know if you remember him or not, he’s been dead a long time. Pete said she was probably a bank robber like Bonnie and Clyde. And Kathy Morrison, God, she’s been dead forever, too. Kathy thought maybe she cheated on her husband or something like that. Only reason I remember the name is because later on I fell in love with that singer Patsy Cline. Jesus,” Charlie said, shaking his head, “she’s been dead forever, too. Killed in a plane crash. Heck of a loss to the world. Now that’s a woman that could sing, Sheriff.”

Weber’s cell phone rang, and he said, “Excuse me, Charlie. Let me see what this is all about.”

It was Rory Curry calling, saying, “We’re about wrapped up now, Sheriff. We’ve got the skeleton and the other items found in and around the grave, and we’re going to be heading back to Flagstaff in just a few minutes. As soon as we know anything, I’ll call you.”

“I appreciate it,” Weber said. “Thanks for driving all this way.”

“It’s what we do,” Rory told him. “This one kind of intrigues me. I’m looking forward to seeing what we can find out.”

“Me, too,” Weber told him.

When he ended the call, Charlie said, “Well, I bent your ear long enough, Sheriff. I imagine you got better things to do.”

“Always nice talking to you, Charlie,” Weber told him. “If you can recall anything about that Kline family, let me know, would you?”

“I’ll sure do it,” Charlie promised.

Chapter 6

Located at the end of a dirt road on the south side of the bypass through town, Oakdale Cemetery was a long-neglected piece of ground, overgrown with weeds and littered with cigarette butts, plastic soda bottles, and beer cans. It was obvious the place had become popular for teenagers to hang out after dark, away from the prying eyes of adults. Weber made a mental note to have his deputies start cruising by the place on a regular basis. He didn’t mind kids being kids, hell he had gotten into plenty of mischief himself back in the day. But trashing a place like this, what should be sacred ground, was inexcusable.

There were probably thirty or so headstones, some of which had fallen or been toppled over, as well as some grave markers buried flush in the ground and covered with grass and weeds. Those were hard to find because it looked like the place had not seen a mower or any kind of maintenance in years. Reading some of the old headstones, he recognized the names of families that had been around Big Lake forever. It was sobering to see how many children had died in their infancy, and women whose date of death suggested they also likely died in childbirth. It was sad to think that somebody’s life could end up with no more than a piece of concrete or granite in a forgotten plot of land like this.

It took him a while, but near the very back of the cemetery, he found what he was looking for. A simple two-foot-high stone marker with the name Ruby Kline, and a line underneath it that said Lord forgive my terrible sin. There were no other markers nearby with the same last name. Apparently Ruby Kline, whatever her sin had been, had no family members buried with her. Weber stood at the grave for a long time, as if the person buried there might tell him something he needed to know about the unmarked grave found on Larkspur Road.

“What about it, Ruby?” he asked out loud. “Did you kill whoever it was that was found in that grave?”

The only answer he got was the short chirping from a yellow warbler in one of the trees bordering the cemetery.

Weber knew that just because the last name on the headstone was the same did not necessarily mean the woman buried underneath it had had been part of the family that lived there. Was the grave even connected to the Kline family? There was no way of knowing at that point, but the sheriff was determined to find out. He left the old cemetery feeling morose.

***

“I was just getting ready to call you,” Mary said when he got back to the sheriff’s office. “Buz and Dolan said the crime scene people went back to Flagstaff, and they wanted to know what the status of things is for the scene. I’ve got civilian volunteers on call if you want to preserve it for a while longer.”

“Let’s do that, at least overnight, so some ghoul doesn’t go wandering around the property and fall in the open grave and break their legs or something,” Weber replied.

“That’s fine, but just so you know, Robert Bannister has called here three times now wanting to know when we’re going to release the scene.”

“He tried to get Judge Jensen to give him a court order or something, but she turned him down. He’s kind of a jerk.”

“Yeah, I got that impression,” Mary said. “Even more reason to keep the scene closed up for a while, right? Maybe even another day or two?”

Weber smiled at her and said, “You’re kind of devious, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you have no idea, sonny,” Mary replied.

“If the volunteers don’t mind, let’s hold on to it for a while longer. You never know, we might find something else out there. If nothing else, if it keeps this Bannister guy riled up, it’s worth it.”

“I was doing some digging on that property out there. Well not with a shovel, but I was calling around seeing what I could find out about it,” Mary said.

The sheriff knew she had a long list of connections to tap into when she needed information.

“What did you find out?”

“Not as much as I hoped,” Mary admitted. “Apparently nobody has lived there since sometime in the mid-50s. There used to be about a dozen homes out there on Larkspur Road. From what I can find out, it was pretty much a rundown area where you could rent a house for next to nothing.”

She picked up a notepad from her desk and said, “Andrea Rossi told me that a family named Butterfield lived out there when she was a girl. I guess the father worked with her father. She doesn’t know what ever happened to them, but she remembers that down the road a short distance was an old house where a woman lived that had some kids. She was always told to stay away from them. She can’t remember the names of any of them because she was only a little girl, but she does remember hearing the adults whispering one time about some kind of a scandal out there associated with that house.”

“A scandal?”

“That’s what she said, Jimmy. I guess she was only about eight or nine years old at the most, and that was back in the days when people thought kids should be seen and not heard, and they weren’t supposed to be listening in when grown-ups were talking. She couldn’t tell me anything else about it and doesn’t recall ever seeing any of the kids from there.”

“I talked to Henrietta Kinman and Gladys Loudermilk. Gladys remembered something about the Kline woman having a boyfriend, and then he just up and disappeared. She was speculating whether that might be the skeleton that was found out there.”

“If there was anything about a man, Gladys would know it,” Mary said. “I guess she was pretty wild back in her younger days.”

“Trust me, she still is.”

Mary laughed and asked, “Did you get molested over there, Jimmy?”

“I kind of felt like new meat on a cell block being eyed by all the prisoners when she came into the room.”

Shaking her head and chuckling, Mary referred to her notes again and said, “Frederick Miller’s family used to own most of those houses out there. He said his dad and two uncles put them up during the Depression. He doesn’t remember anything about who might have lived there, but he did say he remembered his parents and uncles talking later on about a woman who had gone crazy out there.”

“Crazy?”

“That’s what he said, Jimmy. He couldn’t remember much about it, but I guess there had been a crazy lady in one of their houses out there.”

“That’s interesting, because Gladys said that Mrs. Kline was a crazy lady. I guess she jumped all over the local girls for wearing shorts and smoking and things like that.”

“Oh, the shame! I wonder what someone like that would think of young people today.”

“Probably not much. Mary, did you ever hear of someone named Ruby Kline?”

“No, is that the woman from out there? The crazy lady?”

“I don’t know,” Weber said, then told her what Charlie Busthiemer had said about the headstone in the grave at Oakdale Cemetery.

“I seem to recall something about a grave with the sinner thing from back when Pete was sheriff. He’s out fishing and he never carries his cell phone, but I’ll ask him when I get home.”

“What do you know about that old cemetery, Mary?”

“Not much. I don’t think anybody’s been buried there in thirty years at least, if not more. Why?”

“It’s just really rundown and overgrown,” Weber said. “I would think somebody would be responsible for it, but if they are, they’re not doing anything to keep it up. It looks like kids go out there to party, and the place is pretty trashed. I want to have deputies rolling by there every so often on the night shift.”

Mary made a note of it and said, “I’ll be sure to have Dispatch put the word out. And I’ll look into the cemetery and see what I can find out about it.”

The office phone rang and Judy Troutman, the dispatcher, answered, then put the call on hold and said, “Sheriff, it’s somebody named Robert Bannister, and he doesn’t sound very happy.”

Weber smiled and reached for one of the phones on a nearby desk, saying, “Well, I’m going to make him even more unhappy.” He pushed the flashing button to connect and said, “This is Sheriff Weber. How can I help you, Mr. Bannister?”

“You can help me by getting your damn people off my property so I can get going on my project, Sheriff. That’s how you can help me!”

“I’m sorry, sir, but as I explained to you earlier today, it’s a crime scene. Until our investigation is complete out there, nobody is going to do anything.”

“Nobody’s doing anything right now but sitting around with their thumbs up their asses! I was just out there and one of those old farts you’ve got sitting there told me I can’t go in. He said he would call a deputy if I tried.”

“Then he’s following my orders, Mr. Bannister. And if you try to go onto the property, he will call a deputy, and you will be arrested. I don’t know why you can’t understand that, sir.”

Weber had to hold the phone away from his ear as the man shouted, “This bullshit is costing me money! I don’t give a rat’s ass about somebody you found in a grave out there. Every minute you fool around, the clock is ticking and I’m losing money.”

“Well, it’s probably not much more than pocket change for you,” Weber said sarcastically.

“I’m going to be out there tomorrow morning with a crew, and if anybody tries to stop us, we’re going to roll right over them.”

“Mr. Bannister, you need to listen to me, and you need to listen carefully. That scene is off limits. If you come out there and step foot on it, let alone bring a crew onto it, you will be sitting in jail. And so will anybody you have with you. And I guarantee it’s going to cost you a lot more money than whatever you think you’re losing now. Do I make myself clear, sir?”

“You can kiss my ass, Sheriff. You have no idea who you’re messing with. I’ve got connections. Big connections. If I have to, I’ll go right to the governor’s office.”

“You do that, Mr. Bannister. And while you’re down there in Phoenix talking to the governor, you might want to see if you could schedule an appointment with an anger management counselor. I really think you need it.”

The man was still cursing loudly when Weber hung up the phone.

“I must say, you certainly know how to win friends and influence people. Old Dale Carnegie would be very proud of you,” Mary said.

“I should hope so.” Weber turned to the dispatcher and said, “Besides having somebody checking out Oakdale Cemetery on the night shift, I want a deputy going by and visiting with our citizen volunteers out on Larkspur Road tonight, just in case that jerk shows up causing trouble. And if he does, I want to be notified. I don’t care what time it is. I would love to put handcuffs on him myself.”

“10-4, Sheriff. I’ll pass along the message,” Judy said.

Chapter 7

As Weber was pulling into his driveway and noticing that Robyn’s silver Mustang was not there, his phone rang with her ringtone. When he answered it, she asked, “Where are you?”

“I’m home. I just pulled into the driveway. Where are you?”

“Did you forget that we’re supposed to be having dinner with Roberta and Coop at the Ming House?”

“Damn it. Yeah, I did. Are you there now?”

“We’re all here.”

“I’m sorry. Let me run inside and change clothes real quick and I’ll be right there. Order me the sesame shrimp, please.”

He hurried inside, pausing to turn off the alarm system from the keypad just inside the door, then quickly emptied his pockets and unpinned his badge from his shirt before taking off his gun belt and uniform. He went into the bathroom to empty his bladder, washed his hands, and looked at himself in the mirror. He guessed he was suitable for the public. He pulled on jeans and a light blue Carhartt shirt, slipped his off-duty Kimber Ultra Carry II .45 semiautomatic pistol and its inside-the-waistband holster above his right hip, pulled the hem of the T-shirt down over the gun, and was out the door after resetting the alarm.

The waitress was just bringing the food to the table when he got to the restaurant. “I’m sorry. I forgot we were having dinner together tonight.”

“A heck of a friend you are,” Roberta teased. “I save you from that Bannister guy and you blow us off like that.”

“That Bannister guy can stick it where the sun don’t shine,” Weber told her. “He called the office right before I left, saying that he was going to be out there first thing in the morning with his crew and he would roll over anybody who got in his way.”

“Bannister? Who is he?”

“He’s the developer that owns all the property on the side of Larkspur Road where they found that skeleton I was telling you about.”

“Oh, him,” Robyn said. “Isn’t he the same guy that called to report Sherman Gillespie for shooting his guns in his backyard?”

“Yep, same guy,” Coop told her.

“I hadn’t heard about that,” Weber said. “What was that all about?”

“He bought some land off of Sunset Road and he was out there doing something, and Sherman was shooting in his backyard. Bannister called to say he was being shot at.”

“Seriously? I can’t see Sherman shooting at anybody and missing, so if he was shooting at him, he wouldn’t have been able to make a call.”

“I know that, Jimmy. Dispatch sent me out to check it out and everything was fine. You know Sherman’s got that backstop of railroad ties he put up, and he’s a very careful and responsible gun owner. He wasn’t anywhere near where Bannister was, but because he could hear the shots, Bannister flipped out. He kept insisting I arrest Sherman. I told him the man’s got a right to shoot in his own backyard if he wants to, as long as he was doing it safely, which Sherman was. And besides, he was shooting into his backstop, which was not even in the same direction as where Bannister was.”

“I get the feeling that guy has pissed off so many people that he might expect to be shot at now and then,” Weber said.

“You got that right.”

“Do we know anything about this guy except that he’s got a bad attitude and he’s buying up land everywhere he can?”

“I had my clerk run a quick check on him after he came into my office the other day,” Roberta said. “Apparently he made a bundle building developments in Las Vegas, and now he’s here, trying to do the same thing.”

“Sounds like he’s just another carpetbagger, here to make a quick buck and move on,” Coop said.

“He’s going to find out pretty soon that this isn’t Las Vegas,” Weber replied. “I put the word out that if he shows up out there on Larkspur Road tonight or in the morning and tries to go past the police line we set up, he is going to be arrested. I told him that myself. So we’ll see what happens.”

“Don’t be surprised if he tries to call your bluff,” Roberta said. “I get the impression he’s used to getting his way.”

“I really hope he does,” Weber said.

As they ate, Weber filled the others in on what he had learned so far about the family who had lived on the property where the grave had been found.

“So, if this crazy lady who lived out there, Mrs. Kline, or whatever her name was, had a boyfriend and killed him, wouldn’t there have been some kind of missing person report filed back then?”

“You would think so, Roberta. I’m going to ask Mary to see if she can find anything in the records from back in those days. She was going to talk to Pete and see if he could remember anything about the people who were out there, although I get the impression most of them were gone even before he became sheriff.”

“I wonder what defined crazy in those days,” Robyn said.

“What do you mean?”

“Just that, Jimmy. There are all kinds of crazy and we’ve dealt with most of them at one time or another. But who defines what is crazy? I mean, take my mother, for example. As far as I’m concerned, she’s batshit crazy. But that doesn’t meet the legal definition of it just because she’s a bitch.”

“Back in the early part of the 20th century and before, a husband could have his wife declared insane and locked away if he wanted to get rid of her,” Roberta said.

“You keep that in mind, Robyn. I’m not saying I would do it, but…”

“So then, if I smother you when you’re asleep some night, it’s okay because I’m crazy, right?”

“Watch it, Jimmy. She’s scheming,” Coop warned.

“You’ve got a point, Robyn. Sometimes we see somebody walking through the aisle of the grocery store talking to themselves and we think they’re crazy, but for all we know they’ve got one of those damned ear things and they’re talking on the telephone. And even if they are talking to themselves, does that make them crazy?”

“I don’t know, Roberta. Does it?”

“No, it doesn’t meet the legal definition on its own. I guess one man’s crazy can be another man’s quirk.”

“So then, was the Kline woman really crazy, or was she just an oddball of some kind? And if she was crazy, was she crazy enough to kill somebody and then bury their body out in the backyard?”

“The problem with any of this is that it happened so long ago that it’s going to be darned hard to find out anything about who’s in that grave or who put them there,” Coop said.

“I know. But I don’t care if he was buried yesterday or last week, or a hundred years ago. We need to at least see if we can bring the man some justice.”

“How do you know it was a man?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that,” Roberta said. “Couldn’t it be a woman instead?”

“Yeah, I guess it could be. Does that mean I’m sexist?”

Roberta laughed and said, “You are so many things, Jimmy, but I don’t think sexist is one of them.”

“Judging by the belt buckle we found and the metal pocket comb, I tend to think it was a man myself,” Coop said.

“Yeah, and we found some scraps of cloth that look like it was denim,” Weber added, then quickly said, “But that doesn’t mean women don’t wear Levi’s.”

“Do you have any timeline at all on when he or she was buried there?”

“Not yet, Roberta,” Coop replied. “The gun they found was made, up into the 1930s, so who’s to say? But given the belt buckle and the comb, I don’t think it was an old settler like somebody said at first.”

“If you can come up with any kind of rough timeline at all, maybe I could have my clerk do some research on any old open cases,” Roberta suggested.

“Mary’s going to ask Pete if he knows anything about an old case like that from before his time, and she’s going to see if she can find any information in the old files,” Weber said. “But that was so long ago I don’t know where they would even be.”

The waitress came by to refill their drinks and asked if they needed anything else and Robyn told her they were fine.

“On another subject, I guess the Town Council is going to approve my full-time position as a judge,” Roberta said.

“Really? That’s awesome. Is Judge Ryman retiring completely?”

“Not completely,” Roberta said. “Ever since his health issues, he’s been stepping back more and more. He asked the Town Council to make him the interim judge. Basically, we’ll swap positions. He said he wants to enjoy life a little more.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Coop said, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. “You’ve accomplished so much.”

“So what’s next?” Robyn asked. “The Supreme Court?”

Roberta laughed and said, “I don’t think so. I’m quite content with what I’m doing right now. Ever since I became an attorney, one of my goals was to be a judge someday.”

“And you did it,” Coop said proudly.

Weber knew what a challenge it had been for Roberta, who was blind and had difficulties walking, to even go to law school as a single mother back when she did, let alone graduating magna cum laude, then running her own family law practice in Tucson before she moved to Big Lake. And she didn’t even poke him too hard with her white cane when he made jokes about justice being blind.

***

When they left the restaurant, Weber told Robyn he was going to run by Larkspur Road to make sure everything was okay, then he would be home.

“Don’t be too late. You need some downtime, too.”

“I promise. I’m going to go by and make sure things are okay and I’ll be right home.”

“I was thinking about making some chocolate chip cookies.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll see you soon,” Weber promised.

Orvil Hazelton was sitting in the Citizen Volunteer car when Weber stopped beside it and rolled down his window.

“How you doing, Orv?”

“I’m doing great, Sheriff. How about you?”

“I’m good. I just wanted to check on you before I call it a night. Anything going on?”

“No, sir,” Orv said, shaking his head. “I was just reading a book on my Kindle.”

“Did you get the message about a fellow named Bannister? He’s the developer that owns this property.”

“I did, and don’t worry. If he shows up, I’ll call dispatch right away.”

“Good, Orv. Don’t take any crap from him.”

“Don’t worry about that, sheriff. I won’t.”

“Okay,” Weber said. “I appreciate you sitting out here playing babysitter to the place.”

“Always happy to do my part, Sheriff. You have a good night.”

Weber was greeted by the delicious smell of cookies coming out of the oven when he got home.

“Just in time,” Robyn said.

Kissing her, he said, “I told you I wouldn’t be long.”

He took his pistol from his belt and went into the bedroom and put it on the nightstand, then came back just as Robyn was pouring glasses of cold milk. They took them into the living room and turned on the television, snuggling on the couch as they watched an old sitcom.

Robyn said, “I wonder what the little people are doing tonight?”

It was an old joke between them, and Weber responded as always, “No matter what they’re doing, they’re not having as good a time as we are, baby.”

Chapter 8

After a breakfast of homemade waffles and sausage links, Weber was in the bathroom shaving when he heard the telephone ring. A moment later, Robyn came to the door and said, “It’s Dispatch. Apparently, that Bannister fellow turned up out on Larkspur Road just like you said he might do.”

“Did a deputy respond yet?”

“Deputies are on their way now,” Robyn said. “So is an ambulance.”

“Oh, no. Please tell me that idiot didn’t hurt anybody?”

Smiling and shaking her head, Robyn said, “No. Betty Frome gave him a face full of pepper spray when he tried to push his way past her.”

“You’re kidding!”

“That’s what the dispatcher said, Jimmy.”

Weber shook his head and said, “Okay. I better get out there.”

“As soon as I get the dishes washed and put away, I’ll be right behind you,” Robyn told him.

***

An ambulance was parked on the side of the road, along with two police cars and a truck with a flatbed trailer with a backhoe on it. When Weber got out of his Explorer, he saw Merle McCormack and Reggie Weaver sitting on the edge of the trailer with cardboard cups of coffee.

“Morning, Sheriff. Long time no see,” Merle said.

“I don’t know why you guys are out here. I told Bannister yesterday that nobody was coming on the property today,” Weber said.

“Don’t matter to us,” Reggie told him. “We get paid either way.”

Deputies Dan Wright and Berto Truax were on the scene, and Weber saw Robert Bannister sitting on the back bumper of the ambulance as the paramedics flushed his eyes with water. He was cursing at them as they did, and Ann Duchamps, one of the paramedics, looked at Weber and shook her head.

“How are you are doing, Mr. Bannister?”

“How am I doing? How does it look like I’m doing, Sheriff? That old bitch sprayed me in the face with pepper spray!”

“What did you do to cause her to do that?”

“Not a damn thing. All I did was tell her to get out of my way, and she attacked me!”

“Didn’t I tell you not to come back out here, Mr. Bannister?”

“And I told you I’m not putting up with this bullshit of yours. I’ve got a project to get done.”

“Unfortunately, your project takes a back seat to a criminal investigation.”

“I’m warning you right now, Weber. I’m suing you and I’m suing that bitch who sprayed me, and this whole damn town for everything you have.”

“You need to understand a few things, Mr. Bannister,” Weber said sternly. “Number one, you need to watch your language. Number two, I’ve known Betty Frome a lot longer than I’ve known you, and if she thought she had cause to blast you with pepper spray, I’m sure she did. And number three, you’ll find that I’m a man of my word. I told you yesterday if you came out here, you were going to jail. As soon as the paramedics are finished with you, that’s where you’re going.”

Pushing Ann Duchamps out of the way, the man jumped up and shouted, “Are you freaking crazy? I’ve been assaulted and you’re taking me to jail? For being on my own property?”

“Yes, sir. I am. And I just saw you push that paramedic,” Weber said. “That’s assault, and if she wants to press charges, and I’m really going to urge her to do so, I’ll add that to the charges against you, too. You’re already in enough trouble as it is, but it doesn’t bother me at all to keep adding more charges.”

“You can’t be serious. I’m under arrest for going onto property I bought and paid for?”

“No, Mr. Bannister. You’re under arrest for hindering a police investigation and disobeying a lawful order,” Weber told him. “And if you put a hand on Betty, I guarantee you I will lock you in a cell and throw away the key.”

“I’ll sue you for everything you have.”

“Yeah, I heard you before. And I know it’s just pocket change to you,” Weber said. He turned to Berto and said, “Deputy Truax, handcuff this man. And when the paramedics are done with him, take him to jail.”

“10-4, Sheriff.”

Berto stepped forward, pulling his handcuffs from their pouch on his belt, and Bannister pointed his finger at the deputy and warned, “If you touch me, you spic, I’ll…”

“You’ll do what, Mr. Bannister? What are you going to do to my deputy? Tell me.”

“I’m just saying…”

“Every time you open your mouth and say something, you get yourself in more trouble. That man you called a spic is a military veteran and a dedicated deputy, and I won’t stand for you verbally abusing him. You need to get it through your thick head that if you open your mouth one more time, sir, I’m going to shut it for you.”

“You’re going to pay for this. That’s a promise,” the enraged man said as Berto secured his wrists behind him with handcuffs. 

Berto leaned forward over his shoulder, and in his best cartoon voice, said, “Si, Señor.”

Weber walked away chuckling and approached Betty, who was standing by the police line.

“You all right, Betty?”

“I’m better than that sumbitch,” she said.

“What happened?”

“He showed up just like you said he might, and I called the dispatcher. She said she was sending a deputy right out, but he ignored me and tried to walk past the tape. I got in his way again, like I did yesterday. He moved his hand like he was going to push me out of the way, so I pulled out my canister of pepper spray and let him have it right between the eyes.”

“Did he touch you, Betty? Because if he did, I’m arresting him for assault.”

“No, he didn’t touch me. He was just threatening me.”

Weber patted her on the shoulder and said, “You did a good job, Betty. Remind me never to piss you off.”

She laughed and said, “I guess I showed him not to mess around with old ladies, didn’t I?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Weber told her. “You sure did.”

The ambulance had left, and Merle and Reggie were just getting ready to leave when Robyn arrived.

“Sounds like I missed all the fun again,” she said, getting out of her vehicle. “I heard Berto saying on the radio he was just pulling into the office with a prisoner. What happened?”

Weber gave her a quick rundown of the incidents that morning, and Robyn told Betty, “Never doubt girl power, right?”

Betty laughed and asked, “Does it make me a bad person if I enjoyed putting that jerk in his place?”

Robyn leaned her head towards her and said, “Let me tell you a secret, Betty. I’ve enjoyed putting jerks in their place more than once since I came on the job.” Then she said to Weber, “So show me this grave.”

They walked to the back of the property and paused at the edge of the hole where the skeleton had been found.

“And those guys just happened to dig in the right place?”

“Yeah,” Weber told her. “Otherwise, who knows if anybody would have ever found it?”

“Talk about being in the right place at the right time.” Robyn looked around and said, “I don’t think I’ve been out here in this area more than once or twice.”

“I guess there were a few houses along the road, way back when,” said Weber. “Once they put the bypass in, people had to go three miles in either direction to get to town. It kind of cut this area off, and not many people live out in this direction anymore.”

“I was going to say that’s too bad, but maybe not. It’s so quiet and peaceful out here. I guess I could think of worse places to be buried. Or to live, for that matter. It’s too bad this Bannister guy is going to change all that.”

“If they have their way, I think by the time the developers are done, there won’t be ten square feet of forest left.”

Robyn wasn’t a native of Big Lake, but even in her time there, she had seen the town grow quickly and knew that many of the people who had lived there for years did not like the changes. And the more she saw of them, the less she liked them, too.

Looking around the property, the small clearing bordered by tall ponderosa pines with Cat Mountain looming in the background, Weber thought about the stories of a crazy woman who lived and raised her children here. If all those stories were true, what must it have been like for those kids? And who was the person who had been murdered and buried out here? Was he or she a victim of that same insanity?

Walking back across the property to where Dan Wright was talking to Betty, the deputy said, “I guess if you don’t need me anymore, I’m going to get back to work.”

“Yeah, we’re good here,” Weber told him, then asked, “When does your relief get here, Betty?”

The old woman looked at her watch and said, “Another hour. But I can stay all day if you need me to.”

“That won’t be necessary. You’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

“Aww, come on, Sheriff. Bring that guy back so I can spray him one more time.”

Weber laughed and said, “Don’t worry. Knowing how stubborn he is, you might get another chance.”

Stopping at Bannister’s Range Rover, which was still parked alongside the road, Dan asked, “What do you want to do with this vehicle?”

“Call Randy Laird and have him tow it,” Weber said. “Between the tow bill and the impound fee, it might whittle away some of that pocket change Bannister is so proud of.”

Robyn left to go on patrol, and Weber drove to the office. After checking in with Mary, he went back to the cellblock, where Robert Bannister went on the attack the moment he saw the sheriff.

“You’d better let me out of this cell right now if you know what’s good for you. I mean it! You bit off more than you could chew when you messed with me!”

“I guess I could tell you the same thing about messing with that old lady this morning,” Weber said.

“Oh, you think you’re so tough. Well, let me tell you something, Sheriff. You’re nothing. You’re less than nothing. When I get through with you, you’re going to regret the day you saw me.”

Weber smiled at him through the bars and said, “I’m kind of regretting that already. What’s your problem anyway, Mr. Bannister? What makes you think you can come here and just steamroll right over everybody to get what you want?”

“Because I’m about the future. I’m about prosperity. People like you, people in this whole damn inbred town, are too stupid to think about the future. All you can think about is today. Well, I’ve got news for you. There’s a whole world outside of Big Lake. You can’t stop progress. The sooner you figure that out, the better.”

Weber shrugged his shoulders and said, “You might be right. Obviously, you’re a lot smarter than I am.” Then he smiled again and stepped closer to the bars and lowered his voice and added, “But you know what? I stopped progress at least for today, didn’t I?”

Bannister sneered at him and said, “Enjoy your little moment of power, Sheriff, because it won’t last long. You can’t stop me. Nobody can stop me. Because the real power isn’t in that tin badge you’ve got on your shirt. No, real power comes from money,” Bannister added, raising his hand and rubbing his thumb against his first two fingers. “I’m not talking the $50 a week or whatever they pay you to be the dog catcher in this shithole town. I’m talking about real money. I spend more in a week than you make in a year.”

“Well, you might want to hang onto a little bit of it,” Weber told him. “Because you’re going to need it to pay your bail.”

He walked out of the cell block, whistling nonchalantly as Bannister cursed him every step of the way.

Chapter 9

Weber sent Dolan and Buz back to the property on Larkspur Road with instructions to go over every inch of it, looking for anything they might find that could give them some clue as to how the skeleton came to be there.

“I know the crime scene techs went over it yesterday, but I want you to do it again with a fine-toothed comb,” he instructed. “Make sure the metal detector has an extra set of batteries. I know it’s probably a waste of time, but I want to make sure we do our due diligence before I release the property back to Bannister.”

“I heard Betty Frome gave him a face full of Mace this morning,” Dolan said. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”

“Yeah, I kind of thought so, too,” Weber said.

“Hey, Jimmy. Jennifer called from the newspaper, wanting to know if you had any updates for her.”

“I’ll walk over and talk to her.”

“What about that guy back in the cellblock?”

“Give Judge Jensen a call and tell her we have him and need to bring him over to be arraigned. Hopefully, as late in the afternoon as we can make it.”

“I’m on it,” Mary said, then added, “By the way, I can’t find any records going back that far, but I sent Archer over to the storage building to see if he could find anything. Kallie Jo is with him. But I’m not betting they’re going to come up with anything. After that arson fire a few years back, so much was destroyed.”

“I know,” Weber said, nodding his head. “But it’s worth a shot, anyway.”

He walked to the newspaper office, stopping to talk to three different citizens along the way who were all curious about the rumor of a dead body being found, telling them all the same thing - they didn’t know much yet, and the investigation was still in the early stages.

“At the senior citizen center this morning, Hazel Fuller said she thinks it’s connected to organized prostitution,” Mildred Graham whispered to the sheriff, looking around carefully to make sure nobody saw her talking about something so vulgar.

Smiling at her, Weber shook his head and said, “We don’t have any reason to believe that’s true, Mrs. Graham.”

“Maybe so,” the old woman said, sounding like she wasn’t convinced. “I sure hope not. We’ve got enough problems in Big Lake already, without that happening.”

“I promise you, Mrs. Graham, my deputies and I will make sure that doesn’t become a problem around here.”

It wasn’t the first time Hazel Fuller had brought up the subject of prostitution. The elderly woman had seemed to be obsessed with ladies of the evening for as far back as Weber could remember. She was always calling the sheriff’s office to report suspicious activity. In the past, she had claimed working girls were soliciting business everywhere from the town library’s bookmobile to the boat launch in town and in the park. When she wasn’t fired up about hookers, Hazel was seeing spies and enemy agents lurking behind every tree and signpost in town.

“Hey there, handsome. It’s about time you showed your face around here. Just seeing you coming down the sidewalk set my loins throbbing.”

Closing the door of the newspaper office behind him, Weber smiled and shook his head, saying, “Your daughter is standing right there, Margie.”

“She’s a big girl now. Went off to college and everything. I think she knows what goes on between men and women. If she doesn’t, I want some of that college tuition back because they didn’t do their job. Now give me a hug.”

Margie Shores, the newspaper’s receptionist and office manager, wrapped Weber up in her arms and hugged him tightly. “How you doing, Jimmy?”

“No complaints,” he told her.

“That little gal you married treating you right? Is she taking care of business?”

Weber laughed and said, “She’s taking care of business just fine, Margie.”

“Well, I hope so. But if she ever starts slacking off, you know where to find me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Weber promised.

The sheriff had grown up with Margie and her husband, who had been killed in an accident when Jennifer was just a little girl, and he considered her one of his best friends. She had never remarried, pouring herself into raising her daughter and helping run the newspaper with its long-time publisher, Paul Lewis.

“So, are you here on business or just to get my fantasies roiling?”

“To tell you the truth, I was actually here to see Jennifer.”

“Hey now, that’s just not right. I’ve been chasing you since I was in diapers and you’re gonna be a dirty old man and come looking for my daughter?”

Weber laughed and said, “I promise, it’s just business.”

“If you say so, but I’m going to dust her for fingerprints before you leave,” Margie told him.

Jennifer shook her head, smiling. She knew her mother’s sense of humor and had long since stopped being embarrassed by it. While she had grown up without a father, Paul, Weber, and other men in town had always been there for her and she consider them all beloved uncles.

“Do you have any more information about that skeleton?”

“We don’t know a lot more yet,” Weber told her. “I guess you know a crew from the state crime lab was over here yesterday.”

Jennifer nodded her head and said, “Yeah. I went out and took a couple of pictures of them working. Did they find anything else?”

Weber told her about the items found in the grave and in the dirt pile that had been excavated, and Jennifer made notes of all of it. “We took pictures of the evidence, the gun and all, if you want any copies.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it, Uncle Jimmy. Do you know anything else?”

“Not a lot yet. Apparently, there was a family named Kline that lived out there on that property a long time ago. From what I have been able to learn so far, it was a mother and at least three kids, a boy and two girls. Someone who was a girl herself back then said the mother was crazy.”

“Crazy?”

“That was her perception, Jennifer. But keep in mind, she was a girl. So who knows what was crazy to her?”

Weber told her about the Kline woman turning Henrietta Kinman away when she came to take her daughter to vacation Bible school, and how she had accosted Gladys Loudermilk and her friends for wearing shorts and smoking. Then he said, “I don’t know if there’s any connection at all, but apparently for a while back in the old days, kids were talking about a grave in the old Oakdale Cemetery with an epitaph that said Lord forgive my sin. I went and checked it out, and the woman buried there was named Ruby Kline. I don’t know anything about her either, but it’s the same last name as the family who lived out there, so there might be a connection.”

“I remember hearing people talking about that back when we were kids,” Margie said.

“About the crazy woman?”

“No, Jimmy. About the sinner.”

“I don’t think I ever heard anything about it myself.”

“Let me think for a minute,” Margie said, tapping her pencil on the counter. “Yeah, I was just a little girl, and my babysitter was telling me ghost stories. She said something about a grave that said a woman was a sinner and said people would see a woman dressed in black walking through the graveyard late at night. I didn’t know it was supposed to be here. For some reason, I thought it was someplace else.”

“Do you remember who the babysitter was, Margie?”

Shaking her head, she said, “No, that was a long time ago. I just remember her talking about if people went to the graveyard at night, they’d see the sinner walking around in the dark.”

“Did the grave have the woman’s dates of birth or death listed?”

“No, Jennifer,” Weber said. “Just her name and that inscription about forgiving her sin.”

“I wonder if we could find an obituary in the back editions of the paper,” Jennifer mused.

“Good luck with that,” her mother said. “It’s only been in the last six years that I convinced Paul to switch to electronic layout so we could save time and also have digital back issues. If this happened back when I was a little girl or before, you’d have to sort through stacks and stacks of old papers, honey.”

“Where would they be, Mom?”

“Have you ever been in Uncle Paul’s garage?”

“No.”

“They’re stacked to the ceiling in cardboard boxes and plastic bins in there. And there’s some down in the basement here, too, from back when his father owned the newspaper.”

“Did I hear someone using my name in vain?”

Paul Lewis, the newspaper’s short, round publisher, came in from the back with a cup of coffee in one hand and a chocolate covered donut in the other. “I should have known if someone was talking about me, you’d be part of it, Jimmy.”

“Geez, Paul, I told you that you need to stop with all the junk food,” Margie said. “Between you and me, there’s no room for us to get past each other out here. One of us has to go on a diet.” With that, she snatched the donut from his hand and took a huge bite. Paul tried to take it away from her, but she turned away and held her arm up to ward him off.

Weber had wondered for a long time why the two of them had never become a couple. They spend most of their waking hours together and bickered as much as any man and wife he knew. For whatever reason, what they had between them seemed to work.

“You better watch it. You might lose a finger if you get too close,” Weber warned.

“This damn woman drives me nuts. I should have fired her a long time ago.”

“Try it, buster,” Margie challenged. “I’m the only one who knows what’s going on around here. You don’t even have a key to the office anymore. You lost yours over a year ago. How would you get in if I wasn’t here? And if you did, you wouldn’t know what to do once you were inside, anyway.”

“See how she treats me, Jimmy? It’s not easy being me.”

“I don’t want to get involved in your interoffice problems,” Weber said. “I’m just here to talk to Jennifer. She’s the only sane one here.”

“Including you, right?”

“Hell, yes,” Weber said. “We all know I went crazy a long time ago.” Then he asked, “Speaking of crazy, did you ever hear anything about a crazy woman named Kline that lived out on Larkspur Road a long time ago?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“What about somebody with a headstone that said something about forgive my sin?”

“No,” Paul replied. “Margie is the only crazy woman I know. But that headstone would sure fit her. She’s been sinning against me for years.”

“Watch it, or you’ll be the one getting a headstone,” Margie warned, finishing the donut and licking the chocolate off her fingers.

“Is this about that skeleton you guys found out on Larkspur Road?”

“Yeah, Paul. I was just telling Jennifer about it.”

“I was thinking about going through some of the old back issues of the paper to see if I could find something that might tie into it,” Jennifer said.

“You’re welcome to try, but they’re kind of a mess.”

“This would have been way back when your dad was running the paper, Paul.”

“I don’t know if it would do you any good, but you’re welcome to try. My old man wasn’t very good about keeping records and storing back issues and things like that.”

“And you’re a chip off the old block,” Margie told him.

“Probably so,” Paul admitted. “You’re welcome to go through the back issues if you want, Jennifer. But don’t get your hopes up.”

Chapter 10

Deputy Archer Wingate, the son of Big Lake’s former mayor, had been foisted upon the sheriff’s office over Weber’s objections. He had begun his job as a deputy, overweight and completely unqualified, and Weber’s reservations about him had been quickly proven correct. Among Archers many failures on the job had been accidentally tasing the sheriff while he was trying to subdue a prisoner, falling asleep at a restaurant drive-through window and crashing his patrol car into the back of a civilian’s minivan ahead of him in line, and falling asleep while parked in his cruiser at the town park, during which he spilled a strawberry Slurpee all over the front of his uniform. An out-of-town visitor, thinking he was dead, had called the sheriff’s office to report a deputy had been murdered. And those were just a few of Archer’s outstanding mistakes.

However, over time he had eventually started to become almost competent. Part of that was due to the influence of his bride, Kallie Jo, a tiny woman from the Deep South that he had met online, never expecting her to show up in Big Lake in answer to his online proposal. The two were an unlikely pair if there ever was one, but somehow, they seemed to make it work. Thanks to Kallie Jo, Archer had shed some weight, though he would never be considered in shape, and he had actually become a fairly efficient deputy. He had proven that when he had disarmed an abusive husband wielding a shotgun and threatening to kill his wife and everybody around him. These days Weber had to admit a grudging acceptance of the man, knowing that in his heart of hearts, Archer really wanted to do well and live up to his wife’s expectations of him.

He found them in the cinderblock building that the town used for storing records. Even now, long after the arson fire that had been started by a town employee trying to hide her embezzlement of town funds, the building had a musty smell to it. Following the sound of their voices past boxes of paperwork stacked almost ceiling high in some places, Weber stopped when he saw Kallie Jo standing on a stepladder, lowering a box to Archer, who was telling her to be careful so she didn’t fall.

“Dagnabbit, Archer. Stop worryin’ about me so much! I was climbin’ to the top of the trees in our backyard when I was still wearin’ diapers. I ain’t about to fall off no dumb stepladder!”

“I know, baby, but you weren’t pregnant then.”

“What the heck does that got to do with it? Heck, my mama was milkin’ the cow and fetchin’ water from the creek right up to the day she had my big brother Tommy. And the next day she was right back at it, baby in one arm and milk pail in the other hand.”

“You’re pregnant, Kallie Jo?”

They had not realized the sheriff was there until he blurted it out in surprise.

Turning to him and looking like they had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar, Kallie Jo said, “Now see what ya went and done, Archer? Nobody was supposed to know about it yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Weber apologized.

“That’s all right, Sheriff Jimmy. It ain’t your fault. We was goin’ to surprise everybody when we made the announcement, but we wanted to tell Archer’s daddy and Miss Gretchen first.”

Holding both hands up, palms forward and fingers spread, Weber said, “It’s okay. I won’t tell anybody.” Walking toward them, Weber said, “Well, congratulations!” He shook Archer’s hand and Kallie Jo climbed off the ladder and he hugged her. “How far along are you?”

“About three months. We’ve been so busy takin’ care of Archer’s daddy after he got out of the hospital that this just kind of happened as a surprise. But it’s a good surprise, ain’t it, Archer?”

One look at his deputy’s face told Weber that Archer was delighted.

“He’s gonna make a great daddy, Sheriff Jimmy.”

“I don’t have any doubt in the world about that,” Weber said. There was no question in his mind that Archer would be a much better father than the deputy’s own father, Chet Wingate, had been. He knew Chet had pushed Archer from a young age to be better than he was, and sometimes Weber wondered if that might be part of the reason Archer had seemed so… so Archer for so long.

“Listen, Kallie Jo, Archer’s right. You shouldn’t be climbing up on a ladder in your condition.”

“Oh, shucks, Sheriff Jimmy, it ain’t nothin’ to worry about. Us Phillips women, we’ve always been strong as an ox. Grandma Phillips, she used to say that she raised a passel of little monkeys, not young’uns, ’cause Daddy and my uncles and aunts, they were climbin’ trees and runnin’ across roofs two minutes after they learned to walk. Shoot, when I was six years old, I jumped off the roof of the hay shed ’cause my cousin Doodie dared me to.”

“Even so, I’d feel better if you weren’t doing that,” Weber said.

“Well, truth be told, we didn’t find nothin’ anyway,” the tiny woman with a spirit as big as all of Georgia said. “And a lot of what we have found is all wrinkled and hard to see from bein’ wet from the sprinklers back when they had the fire. And it don’t help that there’s everythin’ from tax records to police reports to town hall meetin’s all mixed in together.”

“I know,” Weber replied. “Sometimes I think we’d be better off just hauling everything out of here and turning this into something we could use.”

“I heard about that grave they found. Did I ever tell ya about the time that me and my cousin Lester and his girlfriend DeeDee found those skeletons?”

“No, I don’t remember anything about that.”

“Well, Sheriff Jimmy, we was goin’ through the plowed fields after my Uncle Lester, that’s cousin Lester’s daddy. We call them Big Lester and Little Lester, so’s we can tell them apart. Anyway, Uncle Lester had plowed the fields, and we was goin’ through there lookin’ for night crawlers and earthworms. We used to put ’em in old tin cans and take them down to the river and sell ’em to fishermen for a dime a can. Do you know that one summer we made almost $12? Now, I know that don’t sound like much nowadays, but for three country kids that was a lot of money!”

Weber had learned long ago that when Kallie Jo got on a subject, it was best just to stand back and listen as she told her story rapid fire, like a machine gun spitting out words.

“Anyways, what was I sayin’? Oh, that’s right, I was gonna tell you about the skeletons. So, we was barefoot, we was always barefoot back then in the summertime, and goin’ through those fresh plowed fields of Uncle Lester’s, and all of a sudden DeeDee, that girl let out a scream like a cottonmouth moccasin had wrapped itself around her ankle or somethin’. Me and Lester, we ran over there to see what was going on, and I’ll tell you what, Sheriff Jimmy, that girl’s face was white as a sheet fresh off the clothesline. She couldn’t hardly say nothin’ to us. All she could do was point at the ground, and right there was a skull lookin’ up at us. I got to tell ya, it was a horrid sight, what with those yella teeth grinnin’ at us. Tell ya the truth, I almost yelled as loud as DeeDee did. But bein’ kids, once we got over being scared, we commenced to pokin’ around and found a whole bunch more bones and two more skulls. That was too much for DeeDee and she took off runnin’ across the field like her butt was on fire, screamin’ for her mama.”

“I think I would have done the same thing if I was her,” Weber said.

“Well, anyways, before we knew it, Mr. Lonnie Peterson, he was the High Sheriff back then, Mr. Lonnie was, he was out there with a bunch of deputies, and then they called in some more police from somewhere else. They spent two or three days out there in that field, and they finally decided it was some Yankee soldiers from back in the Great War of Northern Aggression. There had been battles and such fought all through that part of Georgia way back then. To make a long story short, some people from a college came out and roped off that whole field and done what they call an excavation. Me and Lester and DeeDee, we got our picture in the paper, right there on the front page. Yes, we did! Mama still has a copy of it on her refrigerator back home. I could take you there and show you if you wanted. And I guess they took those bones of those men, and they sent them back up North someplace to be put in their final resting place. I guess that was all right, because even though they was our enemy back then, we’s all back to bein’ Americans now.”

“I imagine that was quite an experience, Kallie Jo. I’m surprised you didn’t have nightmares about it.”

“Naw, Sheriff Jimmy, I didn’t have no nightmares. Now DeeDee, I guess she did for a while. But me and Lester, we was more upset because that summer we couldn’t find near as many earthworms to sell to the fishermen. And Uncle Lester, that’s my cousin Lester’s daddy. He was upset because he missed a month of plantin’ that season. He told us if we ever found any more Yankee bones, we was just to kick the dirt back over them and act like we never seen ’em. Cousin Lester, he asked his daddy what if they was Rebel bones, not Yankees? Uncle Lester gave that boy a look like you never want to see, and he said, if they was Rebel bones, they was buried in Rebel soil and that would be just fine and let them rest in peace.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Weber said.

“Sheriff Jimmy, how are we supposed to know what we’re even lookin’ for? Miss Mary just said to bring her any records from the sheriff’s office dating back into like the 40s and 50s.”

“Anything about someone named Kline,” Weber said. “Or about a missing person from back in those days, or any missing person reports.”

“Did you say Kline, Sheriff Jimmy?”

“Yes, ma’am. I guess that was the name of the family that lived out there on Larkspur Road where the grave was found.”

“Would that be Ruby Kline, by any chance?”

Stunned at the mention of the name of the woman on the headstone at Oakdale Cemetery, Weber asked, “Where do you know that name from, Kallie Jo?”

“She used to work for Mr. Chet’s daddy.”

“She did? How do you know that?”

“When I took over runnin’ the hardware store and the lumberyard for Mr. Chet, I wanted to know everythin’ I could about the company. Now I got to say, as stubborn as Mr. Chet can be, and from what I hear, his daddy was just the same way, they believed in keepin’ good records. One day I was looking through things, and thinkin’ how different it was back in the old days compared to now. You wouldn’t believe the price of an ax or a saw back in those days, Sheriff Jimmy. You couldn’t buy toy ones for that much nowadays.”

“And you found Ruby Kline’s name in those records?”

“Yes, sir. The reason it stood out to me is because I always liked that name Ruby. I remember when I was a little girl watching The Wizard of Oz. You ever seen that show, Sheriff Jimmy? It scared the bejesus outta me with those flyin’ monkeys when I was a little girl, but I sure did remember watchin’ it every year when it came on the television set. Anyhow, I remember those ruby slippers and how the Wicked Witch of the West wanted them back from Dorothy.”

“Could you find those records for me now, Kallie Jo?”

“I sure could. Like I said, one thing the Wingates are good at is keepin’ records.”

Half an hour later, Weber was seated at a desk in the office at Wingate Hardware, looking through two yellowed payroll books. From what he could see, it looked like Ruby Kline had worked for the store from April of 1949 through September of 1955. Weber felt his pulse race when he saw that the address listed for her was 147 Larkspur Road.

Chapter 11

“This definitely ties the woman buried at the cemetery to where they found that skeleton. And I guess it explains the epitaph on her tombstone too, doesn’t it?”

“Normally, I’d say don’t go jumping to conclusions,” Parks said. “But it makes sense to me. She offed some guy, buried him in the backyard, and then asked God’s forgiveness so she didn’t burn in hellfire.”

“It could probably explain why Gladys Loudermilk said the woman was crazy, too,” added Mary. “If that’s what happened, I guess guilt could drive somebody crazy.”

“So, assuming we’re on the right track, who did she kill?”

“I think the obvious answer is her husband,” Mary said. “Did Gladys or anybody else remember anything about her husband being in the picture?”

“Not that I can recall. Maybe I need to go back over to that senior housing place and talk to her.”

“Come on, Jimmy. That’s just an excuse,” Mary said. “You just want to get felt up again, don’t you?”

“Wait a minute. Somebody took liberties with you, Jimmy? And you never even told me?”

“I’m trying to forget, Parks.”

“Yeah, Jimmy’s got a girlfriend over there,” Mary said. “You might want to go with him as backup.”

“Hey, let’s not make a federal case out of it,” Weber said, then burst out laughing at his own faux pas.

“But that’s why you have an FBI agent here in Big Lake,” Parks told him. “I would be failing in my duty if I didn’t back you up in a situation like that.”

“It’s good to know you’ve got my back, buddy.”

“Don’t worry about your back, I think it’s the front Gladys is interested in,” Mary said, then ducked her head as Weber threw a wadded piece of paper at her.

“Do me a favor, if you can stop riding my ass for a minute, Mary.”

“Hey, I’m not as kinky as Gladys. What do you need, Jimmy?”

“With all the old folks over there, I wonder if we could get them all together and see who else might remember something about the Kline family on Larkspur Road.”

“Let me make a couple of calls and see what I can come up with. In the meantime, you fellows might want to take some little blue pills. I would imagine Gladys isn’t the only cougar living there.”

As Mary was trying to arrange a meeting between the sheriff and the residents at Mountain Vista, he got a call from Rory Curry at the state crime lab. Taking it in his office, he asked, “Did you find out anything for me, Rory?”

“Have you got a pen and a notepad handy?”

“I do.”

“Okay, keep in mind this is preliminary, but the skeleton was of a male, approximately five foot ten or eleven inches tall and somewhere between thirty and forty years old. Cause of death was a gunshot to the back of the head, which we knew already. And Special Agent Parks was right. We found a lead slug of approximately forty caliber inside the skull once we cleaned out the dirt and debris. There’s no way to accurately guess how long he had been dead, but the comb that was found was made by a company called Swedge, in Kansas City, Missouri. They were in business between 1940 and 1954, so that narrows it down. Also, the belt buckle was of a style common in the 1940s and early 1950s.”

Weber was making notes as he listened, and when he was caught up, he asked, “Anything else?”

“A couple of things,” Rory told him. “At some point, years before he died, the victim had broken the ulna in his left arm. That’s one of the two long bones that go from the elbow to the wrist. The forensic pathologist who looked at the skeleton for us said it was probably an injury from when he was a teenager. Also, and this is worth noting, he had some dental work done at some point. Two molar teeth had been filled. They were amalgam fillings of silver and mercury.”

“Mercury? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“According to the pathologist, it’s still being used in some places today,” Rory replied. “Apparently, the amount they use is less than a person comes into contact on a daily basis.”

“That’s interesting.”

“Something else very interesting is that cross we found, Sheriff. We washed all the dirt off that we could and then put it in a sonic cleaner overnight. It’s made of silver, and it turns out there was an inscription on it.”

“An inscription? What did it say?”

“Fr Thomas Hagen.”

“Fr? Is that an abbreviation for something?”

“I guess so,” Rory said.

“What could it be? Frank? Fred?”

“Beats me. Do you know of anybody named Hagen from around there?”

“No, but I’m going to be asking a lot of questions and see if somebody can tell me,” Weber replied. “Can you send me a couple of pictures of it?”

“I’ll e-mail them right now. Have you found out anything else so far, Sheriff?”

Weber filled him in on what he had learned about the Kline family that had once lived on the property, as well as the gravestone for Ruby Kline with its strange epitaph.

“Mary Caitlin here in the office said that if Ruby Kline is the one who killed whoever the skeleton we found was, maybe the stories about her being crazy are true. She said that maybe guilt would have driven her crazy.”

“I guess anything’s possible. This one really intrigues me, Sheriff Weber. It’s so different from what we usually deal with. Most of our cases are recent and pretty easy to figure out. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep me updated.”

“I will,” Weber promised. “And let me know if you guys figure out anything else from that skeleton.”

When he got off the phone, Weber went to the outer office, where Mary said, “I talked to Cinda Peterson. She’s the director at Mountain Vista. I told her I realized it was short notice, but that we would appreciate anything she could arrange to get us together with some of the residents. She suggested three o’clock this afternoon. A lot of them are usually in the common rooms playing cards and such and waiting for dinner around then. She said she would pass the word around and try to get everybody there.”

With time to kill before the meeting at Mountain Vista, Weber reviewed two complaints filed by citizens against his deputies. One was from somebody named Peter Snavely, with an address in Gilbert, Arizona. Mr. Snavely had reported that Deputy Tommy Frost had cited him for speeding the weekend before, and that it was an unjust ticket. Weber called the number listed with the complaint, and when Snavely answered, he identified himself and said he was following up on the man’s complaint.

“Yeah, that was total horseshit,” Snavely replied in an aggrieved tone of voice. “That guy had no reason to pull me over in the first place.”

“According to Deputy Frost’s report of the incident, he said you were doing 43 miles per hour in a 30 mile per hour zone,” Weber said. “Are you saying that you weren’t driving at that speed, sir?”

“Hell, I don’t know. I probably was. So what?”

“So what, sir? You acknowledge you may well have been speeding?”

“I said I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Then what’s your complaint about, sir? Because I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you guys have anything better to do than pull over tourists every time they drive through town?”

“Actually, we have a lot of other things to do,” Weber told him. “But a big part of our job is to keep our citizens and our visitors safe. That’s why we have speed limits and that’s why we enforce them.”

“Thirteen miles an hour, Sheriff? Hell, I usually drive twenty miles an hour over the limit on the freeways down here, and the cops never even look at me.”

“Well, sir, that may be how it is on the freeways down there. But here in Big Lake, we write tickets for speeding. And from what you’re telling me and from what I’m reading from Deputy Frost’s report, it was a legitimate citation. But if you don’t feel that’s correct, you’re more than welcome to come to court and see what the judge thinks about it.”

“I don’t have time to drive all the way back up there for something like this!”

“Then I guess your best bet is to pay the ticket, sir,” Weber advised. “There are instructions for mailing it and a payment in on the back.”

“Or I could just wipe my ass with it and throw it away.”

“You can do that. And then we’ll put out a failure to appear warrant for you, and eventually some cop is going to pull you over for something, Mr. Snavely. And when he does, you get to come back to Big Lake and see a judge, anyway. It’s all up to you, sir.”

Weber hung up while the man was cursing at him and picked up the other complaint. He had to chuckle when he saw who it was from. That spring, a man had died in an accident up on Dead Man’s Curve, an accident that had proven to be an attempt to cover up a homicide. While the sheriff could never prove it, it was obvious that a local ne’er-do-well named Larry Munson had stolen money from the dead man behind the steering wheel before rescue crews got on the scene. Money that the victim’s wife and daughter sorely needed. The sheriff had put the word out to his deputies to make life hard for the young man, and since then, Munson had racked up a series of moving violations that had cost him more than what he had stolen, and eventually his driver’s license. So, it was not surprising that when Deputy Jordan Northcutt had arrested him for driving on a suspended license, he would file a complaint. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. Weber intended to keep the pressure up on the loser until he left town once and for all.

With that chore out of the way, Weber called Berto and told him to be sure to take Robert Bannister to court at 4 o’clock, telling him he would probably still be tied up at Mountain Vista. Then he spent the rest of the time going over paperwork, approving requisitions and time slips, and reviewing an invitation to send two of his deputies to seminars on sexual abuse scheduled in Phoenix in six weeks. He decided to talk to Robyn and Dan Wright to see if they were interested in going. As the only female deputy, Robyn often dealt with women and children who had been abused, and among his other duties, Dan served as the school resource officer. He thought the seminars would help both of them do their jobs even better.

Mary looked at him with a mixture of surprise and frustration when he came out of his office and handed her the reports she had left on his desk. For years, they had a running battle between them about paperwork. Weber detested it, and Mary insisted it needed to be addressed. More than once, she had become so vexed that she had threatened to beat him over the head with reams of unfinished reports.

“Seriously, Jimmy? Are you going to keep doing this stuff when I bring it to you?”

“Yeah. why not?”

Taking her reading glasses off her nose and placing them on her desk, Mary looked at him. “You’re starting to piss me off.”

Laughing, he asked, “How am I doing that?”

“For years, we’ve had a way of doing things in this office, Jimmy. A routine, if you will. I’ve come to expect certain things out of you, including being a dipshit when it comes to paperwork. Now you’re throwing me off kilter. Before I can even build up a head of steam and jump your ass for not doing your job, you do it and beat me to the punch. I’m an old woman and I’m set in my ways. I don’t handle change very well.”

Smiling, Weber asked, “Does it really piss you off, Mary?”

“Yeah, sometimes.”

He smiled and said, “Then my work here is done,” and turned and walked out the door, hearing a pencil or pen hit the wood behind him as he closed it.

Chapter 12

“So, which ones are the hotties?”

“Give me a break, Parks. Those women are old enough to be your grandmother.”

“Yeah, I know, Jimmy. But you know what they say about older women.”

“No, I don’t know. And whatever it is, don’t tell me,” Weber said, shaking his head.

“Those old women, they don’t yell, they don’t tell, they don’t swell, and they’re grateful as hell.”

“You’re going to hell, Parks. You know that, right?”

“I know. But at least I’ll have you to keep me company, so I won’t be there all alone, Jimmy.”

“Marsha will shoot you if she finds out you’re drooling over these old women.”

“Why? She’s not old yet. Well, as old as these gals.”

“Maybe because you and her are in a relationship?”

“Stop being such a stick in the mud. She says looking at other women is okay, just as long as I don’t touch.”

“Good. Please remember that.”

Parks grinned and said, “But she didn’t say nobody can’t touch me.”

Weber shook his head as he opened the door at Mountain Vista. The tallest woman either of them had ever seen approached them, asking, “Sheriff Weber?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m Sheriff Weber and this is Larry Parks from the FBI.”

“It’s nice to meet both of you. I’m Cinda Peterson, the director here at Mountain Vista. I didn’t know we’d have the FBI here, too. When the lady called from your office, she said you wanted to ask people about some of the history of the area and a certain family.”

“It’s not really a federal case, Ms. Peterson. Special Agent Parks is just along for the ride. I thought maybe some folks might like to meet an FBI agent.”

“I’m sure they would. And the sheriff, too. But I guess you probably know most of them already. At any rate, everybody’s assembled that I could get together and they’re waiting to hear from you.”

They followed her across the lobby that held several sofas and end tables, and a huge aquarium full of tropical fish, through a set of double doors and into a room where they were somewhere between forty and fifty senior citizens sitting on chairs talking among themselves. Several heads turned as Cinda led them to the front of the room and said, “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I told you that Sheriff Weber wanted to meet with you and ask a few questions, and he’s brought along Special Agent Larry Parks from the FBI.”

Several people applauded and Weber nodded his head and thanked them and said, “Folks, I appreciate you giving me some of your time this afternoon. Let me give you a quick rundown on what’s happening and why we’re here.”

He told them about the skeleton that had been found in the unmarked grave and then that he was looking for information on the Kline family who had lived on Larkspur Road sometime back in the 1940s or 1950s, adding that he had no exact time estimate.

Some people looked at others and shook their heads, but then a hand was raised, and Weber asked, “Is that you, Mrs. Laird?”

Standing up, a woman with curly gray hair said, “Hello, Sheriff. I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“No, ma’am, I think the last time was when your car got stuck in a snowbank on Porter Road and I pulled you out. What was it, three years ago?”

“Four, I think,” she replied. “Anyway, I remember the Klines.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Well, I remember Bud Kline and his sister Mary. He was in my class at school, and we rode the bus together. I had a crush on him, but he didn’t care about girls back then.” There were chuckles from the crowd, and she said, “I thought I would cozy up to Mary and that would help me figure out some way to get close to him through her. But Mary was different.”

“What do you mean by different, Mrs. Laird?”

“I don’t know, Sheriff. She always looked like she was scared of her own shadow. Not many kids talked to her.” Then, leaning forward and lowering her voice, she said, “I hate to say something like this, but she had BO.”

There was some laughter from the crowd, and Weber saw a couple of heads nodding and then Wilbur Schendel said, “Yeah. Bud did, too. I know, because I sat next to him in class.”

“Can you tell me anything else about the Klines, Mrs. Laird?”

She shook her head and said, “No, just that. I kept hoping Bud would notice me, but he just seemed to ignore girls.”

“There’s something I remember about both of them that always bothered me,” Georgette Mitchell said, standing up and leaning on her walker.

“What was that?”

“I never saw either of them laugh, or even smile.”

A man Weber didn’t recognize said, “Yeah. I remember one time saying something to Bud about how he never smiled. I always thought he had the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. Then one day I saw him talking, and I realized his teeth were all rotten. I think that’s why he kept his mouth closed all the time.”

“I never noticed that,” said Jennifer Laird. “I guess I just thought Bud was such a cute boy with freckles.”

Next, somebody else, who it took Weber a minute to remember was Goldie Kitchen, said, “I remember one time it was raining real hard and me and my dad were going down the road and he saw Mrs. Kline walking home from work. He stopped and offered her a ride and she looked at him like he was the devil himself and told him to keep on going. Pa said he was just offering her a ride because it was raining and didn’t mean anything by it. She shook her head and said, ‘Rain’s good for the soul. It helps wash away your sins sometimes.’ I remember her saying that.”

“I don’t remember the family myself,” said Ralph Evans, who used to be a land surveyor. “But I remember hearing about how old lady Kline was crazy as a bedbug towards the end.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Sheriff, I was just a kid then, but I remember my dad talking about how him and Alfred Banks were out hunting coons one night and heard somebody screaming. He said they thought someone was in trouble to be making all that noise and went to see what was wrong. He said there was old lady Kline, standing out in the forest in the middle of the night, naked as a jaybird, screaming her head off.”

“Did they say what she was screaming about?”

Shaking his head, Ralph said, “Just that she was screaming like a banshee. I guess they didn’t get too close to her, what with her being naked and all. And I guess she had a reputation for wandering around at night hollering like that. My dad said it sent chills right up his spine.”

“That’s interesting. Anything else?”

“I think the mother is buried around here someplace,” said Iris Chandler.

“I believe she is,” Weber said. “Does anybody else remember anything about the Klines?”

There were murmurs, and people shook their heads, but no one else had anything to offer. Then Weber asked, “Does anyone remember hearing a story about a woman’s ghost that is supposed to haunt a cemetery?”

Several hands went up and Jerry Harris, who had worked on farms and ranches throughout the area, said, “You’re talking about the Sinner. I remember hearing about that when we were in high school. You never heard that story, Sheriff?”

“I don’t think I ever did,” Weber said. “What can you tell me about it?”

“You know what? Come to think of it, I think it was the same woman. Ruby Kline. It said on her headstone that she was a sinner. I guess people used to say that they’d see this woman, all dressed in black, walking through the cemetery at night, crying and screaming, after she died.”

“Yeah, I remember that story,” said the man sitting next to him. Weber recognized him as Chuck Saxton, who had run the barbershop when the sheriff was a boy. “We used to take our girlfriends out there to see if we could scare them. But if there was a ghost out there, we never saw her.”

Betty McDougall said, “My big brother Ralph said he did. He said he was out there one night with one of his friends and they walked right up to her. Ralph said as soon as they got close to her, she disappeared.”

“That’s a tall tale,” Irma Cookson said. “I heard it was Jack Douglas and Frankie Emhoff.”

“No,” said Betty, shaking her head. “Ralph said it was him and somebody else. Maybe Danny Sawyer? I can’t remember for sure.”

“I heard it was Patrick Johnson and Larry Fisher,” said someone in the back of the room.

Weber guessed that it was just a folktale since nobody there had actually had such an encounter with the ghostly specter of the graveyard.

“Is there anything else any of you remember about the Kline family? We know that Ruby Kline is buried in Oakdale Cemetery, but I can’t find any information about anybody else in the family.”

“I think, now don’t quote me on this,” said Sarah King, “I think some relatives from out-of-town came and took the kids away after Ruby went nuts. I think I remember hearing that she was out of control, and someone had stepped in to take charge of them.”

“But you don’t know who that was or where they went?”

“No,” Sarah said, shaking her head. “It was a long time ago. I don’t know if I knew that firsthand or if someone told me. I just remember the kids were there one day and gone the next.”

“Could their father have taken them away?”

“I don’t remember there ever being a father in the picture,” Sarah replied.

“Didn’t he get killed in the war?”

“Could be, Jerry. I think I heard something about that. But it was so long ago.”

“I understand,” Weber said. “Thank you all. I appreciate your time. And if anybody remembers anything else, please let me know.”

“Do you think Ruby killed whoever was found buried out there?”

“We don’t know,” Weber replied.

“Is that why she had that thing about being forgiven for her sin on her headstone?”

“We don’t really know anything for sure.” Weber said. “It’s possible.”

“Well, I know that there was some kind of scandal about her,” said Gaylene Pilgreen in a timid voice.

“What was that, Mrs. Pilgreen? A scandal? Do you know what kind of scandal?”

“Not really. My mother used to work in the beauty shop and all the women would gossip. I guess they still do.” Some people laughed and the frail old woman said, “I don’t know for sure what the gossip about her was. I never heard directly because they wouldn’t say things like that in front of a child. But from what I overheard, they said she was involved with some man. That seems to be when she went off the rails, from what I remember hearing.”

“Maybe that’s who she killed,” Irma Cookson suggested.

Wanting to move on before the crowd got lost in speculation, Weber asked, “Does anybody remember someone by the name of Thomas Hagen?”

“No, I can’t think of anybody by that name,” Jerry Harris said, and others shook their heads.

“Who’s that, Sheriff?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a name that came up in the course of the investigation,” Weber said. When nobody had anything else to offer, he said, “I appreciate all of your thoughts, but I think I smell something delicious for dinner, so I won’t keep you.

“Sheriff Weber, would you and Special Agent Parks like to stay and have dinner with us?”

“Thank you, Ms. Peterson. As great as it smells, I’d love to. But my wife is expecting me home. If I stand her up again, I’m going to be in so much trouble I may have to be moving here,” Weber said. “But if you folks would like, maybe we can arrange to have lunch together sometime. I could bring a couple of deputies and you all can ask us questions. Maybe Special Agent Parks could come, too. He never passes up a meal.”

“Yeah, come back and bring that handsome hunk with you,” Gladys Loudermilk said, batting her heavily mascaraed eyes at Parks.

“I’m sure we can arrange something,” Cinda said.

Back in Weber’s vehicle, as they drove away, Parks said, “I feel left out. That woman felt you up and all I got was the eyelash thing.”

“Yeah, but she was undressing you with her eyes,” Weber said.

“You think so?”

“No doubt about it, buddy. She had that faraway look.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” Weber assured him. “The farther away I get from her, the better she looks.”

Chapter 13

Berto was back from taking Bannister to court when Weber returned to the office. When the sheriff asked him how it went, Berto laughed and said, “That guy is something else, boss. Judge Jensen told him that obstructing a public servant and interfering with a criminal investigation were misdemeanors and he could be fined as much as $2,500 and get six months in jail. He pled not guilty, and she said she would release him on a $500 cash bond, pending trial. Instead of taking that, he mouthed off to her and said she was running a kangaroo court. She warned him twice, but he just wouldn’t shut up. He was saying how he had big connections and all that same nonsense he was out there spouting this morning. So she raised the bond to $1,000, and when the fool still wouldn’t shut up, she held him in contempt of court and told me to lock him up and bring him back tomorrow.”

“So he’s back in a cell again?”

“Yeah. Want to go back and say hello?”

“I’ll pass,” Weber said. “Let him stew back there on his own.”

“Did you and Parks learn anything at Mountain Vista, or were you too busy indulging all those old women’s naughty fantasies?”

“I think Parks might have fallen in love, Mary. We need to keep an eye on him.”

“You’ll have to assign somebody else to that job. Between you and Pete, I’ve already got my hands full.”

“A few of the people there remembered the Klines, and we learned a few things.” Weber told her what they had recalled, including the story about the coon hunters encountering Ruby Kline screaming naked in the forest at night, gossip about a scandal, that her husband may have been killed in a war, and about the children being taken away.

“That’s interesting,” Mary said. “I wonder which war.”

“What do you mean?”

“If the skeleton dates back to the 40s or 50s, he could have been killed in World War II or Korea.”

“Geez, I just assumed it was World War II. I never even considered Korea. That was the early 50s, wasn’t it?”

“1950 to 1953. There’s a reason they call it the Forgotten War. But it was damn serious for the guys that went over there,” Mary said. “I lost an uncle there.”

“I never knew that. I’m sorry.”

“It happened before I was born, so I never knew him. He was my dad’s older brother, Dennis.”

“Could Pete recall ever hearing anything about the Klines?”

Mary shook her head. “That was even before we came here.”

“What about anybody named Hagen?”

“I struck out there, too. Nobody can remember anyone by that name.”

“I think I’ll go back over to the newspaper office and see if Jennifer was able to find anything in the old issues,” Weber said.

Margie Shores looked up from taking a classified ad from Doug Blackwell and asked, “Back again?”

“I just couldn’t stay away,” Weber told her, then asked, “How you doing, Doug?”

“Oh, fair to middlin’, Sheriff. Do you know anybody that wants to buy a riding lawn mower?”

“Not off the top of my head,” Weber told him. “You upgrading to something newer?”

“Yeah, my kids bought me one of those zero turn Husqvarna’s for my birthday. My old Toro is a pretty good rig, but I don’t need two.”

“Well, hopefully you’ll sell it with your ad,” Margie said. “That’ll be $5, Doug. It will be in this week’s issue of the paper.”

“Sounds good,” the man said, handing Margie the money. “I better be getting back to the house. That damn dog of mine tears up the place if I’m gone too long. Take care, Margie. See you around, Sheriff.”

When he left, Weber said, “I was wondering if Jennifer had any luck looking through all the back issues.”

“If luck includes getting coated in cobwebs and looking like a walking, talking dust bunny, she’s doing real good,” Margie told him. “As for finding anything useful, I don’t think so.”

“Is she here?”

“Yeah, down in the basement. Don’t blame me if you come up covered in dirt and dust.”

Weber walked into the back and down the stairs to the basement of the newspaper office, where he found Jennifer surrounded by stacks of yellowed old newspapers.

“Are you having fun yet?”

She looked up at him with a smudge of dirt across her forehead and a wide grin, and said, “Actually, I am, Uncle Jimmy. It’s fun reading some of the old stories.” She held up a newspaper with a picture of two men holding a stringer full of fish between them. “This was front page news in 1961.”

“Well, there never is a lot happening in a town like this,” Weber said.

“Are you kidding me? I’ll have a grave on the front page this week,” Jennifer said.

“I could do with a little less of that kind of news,” Weber said. “Have you found anything about the Klines yet?”

Jennifer shook her head. “Everything down here is so messed up. I mean, here’s a stack of papers from 1967. But on top of it were some from 1971 and 72. There’s no rhyme or reason to the way they piled stuff up.”

“What’s the oldest you’ve found so far?”

“I found one issue from 1942,” Jennifer said. “Back then, it was just six pages. There was news about a couple of local guys in the Army, and about doing a scrap metal drive. The rest was local news, but nothing about anybody named Kline.”

“From what I just learned, Ruby Kline had a husband who may have died in a war,” Weber said. “I don’t know if it was World War II or Korea. But if you find anything like that, let me know.”

“I sure will.”

Weber told her about the inscription on the cross found at the gravesite. “It said Thomas Hagen, but there was an Fr in front of it. I’m thinking that could stand for Fred or Frank, maybe, or something like that.”

Jennifer looked at the picture on the screen of his phone and spread her fingers to enlarge it and said, “No, that doesn’t mean what you think. It means Father.”

“Father? Like a Catholic priest?”

“Yep. Father Thomas Hagen.”

“Damn. I never even thought of that. I didn’t know you were a Catholic.”

“I’m not,” Jennifer told him. “I took a class on world religions. There isn’t a Catholic church in Big Lake. Was there one in the old days?”

“I don’t know,” Weber said. “That’s a good question. I’ll have to ask around.”

“I know that the Emersons who live across the street from us are Catholic. They go to Springerville for Mass.”

Weber felt excited, wondering if they might have found the identity of the skeleton found in the lonely grave out on Larkspur Road. But why would a Catholic priest be in an unmarked grave? And who would have shot him in the back of the head, and why? This case was getting more confusing by the minute.

***

Back at the office, Weber asked Mary to reach out to her contacts and see if anybody remembered a priest named Father Hagen. Then he called Henrietta Kinman at Mountain Vista. When she answered the phone, he said, “I’m sorry to bother you again, Mrs. Kinman. I hope you weren’t busy.”

“Not at all, Sheriff. These days, walking from my apartment to the dining room is about as busy as I get. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you remembered anything about a Catholic Church being here in the Big Lake area back when you were a girl?”

She was quiet for a moment and then she said, “I don’t think so.”

“You said that when you offered to take Mary Kline to vacation Bible school, her mother said that they were Catholics and something about not corrupting her. Do you know where they might have gone to church?”

“No, Sheriff, I don’t. But I’ll ask and see if anybody else remembers.”

“If you could, I would really appreciate it,” Weber told her.

“By the way, Sheriff, everybody appreciated you and that FBI agent coming today. We learned a lot.”

“Well, I learned a lot from all of you, so the pleasure was all mine.”

After talking to Henrietta, he went back to the outer office and Mary said, “You need to go back and talk to your problem child.”

“My what?”

“Bannister. I had supper brought over from the Frontier Café and took it back to him, and he told me to stick it. Well, I won’t say where. He said he doesn’t eat garbage like that. He demanded, demanded, Jimmy, that I get him a steak from the Roundup.”

“He can demand all he wants,” Weber said. “What did you do with the food?”

“I put it in the refrigerator.”

Weber retrieved the Styrofoam container of food and took it and the cup of iced tea back to the cellblock. “I understand you don’t like the food we serve in our establishment, Mr. Bannister.”

The man in the cell glared at him and said, “Seriously, how can you expect me to eat something out of Styrofoam?”

“It’s good food. The same thing they serve on their menu.”

“I told that old bitch who brought it back the first time that I want a steak.”

“Watch your mouth,” Weber warned. “That woman is like a mother to me.”

“I don’t give a shit if she’s the Virgin Mother. Like you could find a virgin in this inbred shithole, anyway.”

“If you think Big Lake is so bad, why are you building houses here?”

“It’s business, Sheriff. Of course, I don’t expect you to understand business. The closest you ever came to having a clue was probably playing Monopoly. I build subdivisions. That’s what I do.”

“And when you’re done here, you’ll go someplace else. You have no interest in the community itself, do you?”

“Hell, no! Why should I?”

“You’re right, Mr. Bannister. Why should you? Take the money and run, right? Well, it makes no difference to me whether you eat or not,” Weber said. “The law says I have to provide you with food. You can eat it, or you can go hungry, but I did my job.”

“You’d better let me out of here or you’ll be sorry.”

“I can’t,” Weber told him. “The judge said you need to stay in there until you go back to court tomorrow.”

“This is the most asinine thing I’ve ever heard of. I’ve got rights!”

“Yes, sir, you do. I heard Deputy Truax read them to you. Among them is the right to remain silent, which you obviously don’t know how to do. What other rights are you concerned with?”

“I have a right to an attorney.”

“Yes, I was told you made a phone call when Deputy Truax brought you in. What did your attorney say?”

“I left a message. Has he called back?”

“I can assure you, Mr. Bannister. If he called, Mary would have brought a phone back for you to talk to him.”

“You keep pushing this shit, Weber, and you’re going to regret it. I’m warning you. When I get through with you…”

Weber pushed the food through the opening in the cell bars and said, “I’ve heard it all before, Mr. Bannister. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

He walked out without another word.

“Did he eat?”

“I left it for him. He can eat or starve for all I care.”

“You really need to start bringing in a better class of prisoners, Jimmy.”

“What fun would that be, Mary? I think I’m going to call it a day and head on home. You should, too. We’ll follow up on all this tomorrow.”

As he walked outside, Robyn was getting out of her vehicle in the parking lot.

“What’s up?”

“Just getting off duty. What’s up with you?”

Weber told her about his visit to Mountain Vista and the revelation that the cross found at the grave probably belonged to a Catholic priest.

“Wow? Somebody killed a priest?”

“I don’t know for sure, but it’s beginning to look like that,” Weber said. “We still don’t have any identification on the skeleton, and I don’t know if we’ll ever find anything or not. But I would think that if a priest disappeared, even a long time ago, somebody would know about it.”

“Well, shoot. The most exciting thing I did was write a couple of traffic tickets and answer a call about a rabid dog on Cherry Lane.”

“A rabid dog?”

Robin shook her head and said, “It was Melvin Brooking’s basset hound. He was drooling like he always does, and a couple of flatlanders who were bird watching and saw him thought he had rabies.”

Weber laughed and asked, “Did you tell them they weren’t in any danger?”

“I told them the worst Bosley would do was lick them to death. But they said that you can get rabies from saliva, too. I put him in my unit and took him home.”

“What do you want to do for dinner?”

“I don’t know. I’m hungry, but I really don’t feel like cooking. We just had Chinese. What sounds good to you?”

“My friend Mr. Bannister mentioned the Roundup Steakhouse. How’s that sound?”

“What’s going on with him?”

“I’ll tell you over dinner.”

“Sounds good to me,” Robyn said. “But can we go home and change first? I’m looking forward to getting this vest and gun belt off.”

“As long as we’re getting undressed, how about another conjugal visit first?”

“On an empty stomach? I don’t think so. Every time my stomach gurgled, you’d think I was moaning.”

“But on a full stomach you’ll feel bloated,”

“Oh, poor baby,” Robyn cooed. “See you at home.”

Chapter 14

An hour later, they were seated in a booth at the Roundup Steakhouse and had placed their orders, a medium rare ribeye for Weber and a petite cut sirloin for Robyn. While they were waiting for their meals, Kirby Templeton, Big Lake’s mayor, and his wife stopped at their table.

“Hi there, Jimmy. Hello Robyn.”

“Good to see you, Kirby. Mrs. Templeton,” Weber said, nodding his head. “What’s up?”

“You tell me. I was hoping to hear from you about finding that skeleton.”

“I’m sorry. I should have come by and given you an update. Sometimes I feel like a juggler with too many balls in the air.”

“I heard it was found out on Larkspur Road. Any identity yet?”

“Nothing I can be sure of. We found a cross on the site with an inscription that indicates it may have belonged to a priest named Father Thomas Hagen. The DPS crime scene people from Flagstaff estimate that whoever it is was killed and buried sometime back in the 1940s or 50s.”

Kirby’s brow wrinkled, which Weber had learned over the years meant the mayor was thinking about something, but he shook his head. “I don’t remember anybody by that name. Do you, honey?”

His wife shook her head.

“I hear you had a couple of run-ins with Robert Bannister.”

“Yeah. That guy’s a piece of work. Have you had the pleasure of his company?”

“There’s no pleasure in that,” Kirby replied. “He’s been to the Town Office complaining about one thing or another since the day the Council approved his first project. And I can’t tell you how many times he’s called me at work or at home.”

“What was he complaining about?”

“You name it, and he has a gripe about it,” the mayor said. “He wanted us to ban parking on the side of Deerfield Road because he had trucks coming into that subdivision he’s building out on White Dove Pond.”

“Why would he care about cars parked on Deerfield Road?”

“According to him, Jimmy, cars parking or pulling out of parking spaces or stopping to drop someone off was slowing his trucks down. And as he said, time is money.”

“I seem to remember him telling me that, too,” Weber said. “You heard that the grave they found was on his property out there on Larkspur Road, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yes. Judge Jensen called me yesterday to let me know she had refused to grant him an injunction to make you stop your investigation out there, and within five minutes he was in the drugstore demanding I overrule her. I tried to explain to him I don’t have the authority to do that, and even if I did, I wouldn’t, because a police investigation takes precedence over his project.”

“How did he respond to that, Kirby?”

“About like you’d expect if you’ve met the man, Jimmy. He told me he had connections at the Statehouse down in Phoenix and I was going to regret it if I got in his way. Then Judge Jensen called me today to tell me I would probably be hearing from him or his attorney because she ordered him held for contempt.”

“Yeah, he’s locked up in one of my cells. He told me all about his big connections in Phoenix, too. I guess he put in a call to his attorney, but we haven’t heard anything back yet.”

Kirby shook his head and said, “He’s got a bunch of different lawyers. He’s been involved in things around here for about six months now, and I’ve heard from different ones representing him a dozen times.”

“About what?”

“First, he wanted an easement for a road into his subdivision project on White Dove Pond. But the plans he submitted didn’t meet approved standards, and he wanted the Town to pay for it. The Council agreed to grant the easement but specified that it had to be built to standard, and he had to pay for it. That went over like a lead balloon with him, and he threatened to sue if we didn’t let him have his way. So, we got a notice from one of his lawyers saying they are going to sue us. Both the Town itself and every Town Council member individually. I turned it over to Bob Bennett and told him to handle it. The guy drives me nuts, always demanding all kinds of nonsense.”

“He sounds like a spoiled brat that throws a tantrum whenever he doesn’t get his way,” Kirby’s wife said.

“That’s about the best way to describe him. He wants us to raise the speed limit on a dozen different roads where his trucks are going to be driving so they can make better time.”

“Yeah, to hell with public safety,” Weber said.

“You know, Jimmy, we’ve all talked before about change and growth in this area ever since the first developers came up here wanting to change things around. I know some people think it’s necessary, and others think it’s gone too far. I’ve always been in the middle, willing to accept some growth, but still preserving what Big Lake has always been all about. But now, with more people like Bannister coming, both building subdivisions and living in them, I’m definitely leaning the other way. I talked with the Town Council about a moratorium on issuing permits for new subdivisions. It’s getting out of hand.”

“It’s been getting out of hand for too long,” Kirby’s wife said.

“Someone called Bannister a carpetbagger,” Weber said.

“That fits him and his kind pretty well,” the mayor agreed. “I guess as long as you’ve got him locked up, he can’t be bothering anybody tonight. But I suspect if he doesn’t settle down by the time he goes back to see Judge Jensen tomorrow, he might be staying with you for a while longer. She doesn’t tolerate fools well.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Weber said. “And that’s a good thing.”

A waitress approached with their plates and Kirby said, “I don’t want to hold up your meal. I just wanted to touch base for a minute.”

“One quick question before you go, Kirby.”

“What’s that?”

“You said you never heard of a priest named Thomas Hagen?”

“Not that I can recall, Jimmy.”

“Do you know anything about a Catholic Church being here in Big Lake back in the old days?”

“No. I don’t. All the Catholics I know drive over to Springerville for church.” Kirby’s brow wrinkled again, and he said, “But you know what? I remember that a long time ago there used to be a community hall over where the park is now, and I think some church used it way back in the 40s or 50s. I know when we put in the library, someone suggested that we should build another place like that for a community center.”

“I kind of remember that old building from when I was a kid,” Weber said. “Wasn’t it a long flat building painted all white?”

“That was it,” Kirby said, nodding his head. “It had been condemned and sitting empty for a long time before we built the park.”

“But it’s possible that they may have used it for church services?”

“I don’t remember for sure, Jimmy. I know they used to have a Christmas pageant there, and a Halloween party. I remember my dad talking about bobbing for apples there when he was a boy. I know when they were demolishing the building, we found some old hymnals and some other paperwork related to a church. That was back before I was on the Council. The building was falling down for a long time, and they wanted to take it down, but Chet’s father was the mayor back then, and he was just as tight as Chet ever was. He didn’t want to spend the money to do anything, even when it was needed.”

Weber remembered that he wanted to get together with Chet at some point and talk about the records from the family business and see if he knew anything about Ruby Kline.

“Don’t let your food get cold. We can talk another time,” the mayor said, and left with his wife.

As they ate their dinner, Robyn said, “You might want to talk to the church in Springerville, Jimmy. I would think they would be responsible for this area, wouldn’t you?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Weber said. “I’ll look into that first thing in the morning.”

***

Robyn wasn’t thrilled about stopping at Chet Wingate’s house on their way home, but Weber promised her they wouldn’t be there long. When they pulled into the driveway, the former mayor and his longtime friend and recently revealed romantic partner, Town Councilwoman Gretchen Smith-Abbott, were sitting on the front deck with Archer and Kallie Jo.

Kallie Jo came running across the yard to Robyn’s window and said, “Hey there, girlfriend. How you doin’?”

“Just fine,” Robyn said.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know Chet had company. I should have called first. We’ll come back another time.”

“Oh, shoot, Sheriff Jimmy, ya’ll get out of the car and come on up.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. We just told them the news.”

“We really don’t want to intrude on your family time.”

“You ain’t intrudin’ a bit. We’s family, ain’t we?” Then Kallie Jo looked at Robyn and asked, “Did he tell ya?”

“Tell me what?”

“I didn’t say a word,” Weber told her.

“Tell me what?”

“I’m gonna have a baby!”

“You are?”

Kallie Jo nodded her head, smiling from ear to ear.

“That’s wonderful,” Robyn said. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Me, too. Now, ya’ll come on up on the deck and sit a spell.”

It was obvious that Chet was just as excited about the news as the parents-to-be were, and he was already thinking about all the things he would be doing with his new grandson.

“You know, Chet, it could be a girl,” Weber said.

“Nope,” said Chet, shaking his head. “I know it’s going to be a boy.”

“Well, I’ll do my best,” Kallie Jo said. “But I ain’t makin’ no promises.”

While the women huddled together talking about baby showers and cribs and such, Weber asked the former mayor if he had ever heard of a Catholic priest named Thomas Hagen.

Thinking for a moment, Chet shook his head and said, “I don’t remember anybody with that name. But ever since this happened,” he said, pointing to his head, “my memory isn’t what it used to be.”

He was referring to a traumatic brain injury he had suffered at the hands of a raging bodybuilder amped up on steroids months ago. After the assault, the former mayor, airlifted to a hospital in Phoenix, had been in a coma and then faced weeks of rehab before he could come home. Even now, he needed a walker or a wheelchair to get around sometimes. Surprisingly, as tragic as the assault had been, it had changed Chet. Where once he was querulous and always demanding his way about things, he had definitely mellowed out in the months following his assault. Even so, after years of sparring with the short, round man, Weber always wondered if he was going to revert to his old ways sooner or later.

“This would have been back in the 1940s or the 1950s.”

“That was before my time,” Chet said.

“I know. I just wondered if you ever heard anything about it. Also, I was told that, way back when, a church used to use the old community hall where the park is now. We bumped into Kirby Templeton while we were having dinner, and he remembered something about finding some old hymnals and church papers when they tore the building down.”

“I seem to recall something about that from a long time ago,” Chet acknowledged. “I think it was back when my dad was mayor, or even before him. There’s probably something among the Town records, but I know a lot of them were destroyed in the fire. What’s this about, anyway?”

Weber told him about the skeleton that had been found on Larkspur Road. Apparently, Chet had not heard the news about it yet, or else he had, and his memory was as bad as he said.

“One more thing,” Weber said. “Back when your father was running the company, right after he first started it, there was a woman who worked for him named Ruby Kline. Does that name ring a bell?”

Chet shook his head and asked, “What about her?”

“She lived on the property where they found the skeleton. From what I hear, she was pretty messed up in her head.”

“What do you mean by messed up?”

Weber told him about the stories of her running naked through the woods screaming, and the way she used to yell at children she thought were acting sinful.

“I wish I could help you, but I don’t remember ever hearing anything about any of that.” Then Chet turned to where the women were sitting together talking and said, “Gretchen, honey, do you remember ever hearing about a woman named Ruby Kline? The sheriff said she worked for my father a long time ago.”

“Crazy Ruby? Yes, I remember my uncle Anthony talking about her when I was a little girl.”

“What did he say about her?”

“It was an old wives’ tale, Sheriff. I used to stay at Uncle Anthony and Aunt Joyce’s house a lot when I was a little girl, and if I acted up or didn’t want to go to bed, he would tell me that Crazy Ruby was going to get me. He said she walked around in a black dress with a veil over her head, screaming late at night, and she loved to snatch little kids up and carry them away. Just that nonsense that grown-ups used to tell kids.”

Weber asked her if she knew anything about Father Thomas Hagen or about a Catholic Church ever using the community hall that used to stand where the park was now. She didn’t know anything about any of that, and after a few more minutes of visiting, they made their excuses and left, Robyn hugging both Kallie Jo and Archer, telling them how happy she was for them.

Driving home, she was quiet, and Weber asked, “Are you okay?”

She didn’t reply for a long time, and when she did, she said, “Sometimes I really regret getting in trouble when I was younger and going to Mexico for an abortion. It messed my insides up so bad. Sometimes I think I really would have liked to have had kids.”

Weber reached across the Mustang’s console and held her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Does it bother you that I can’t, Jimmy?”

They had discussed this before, more than once, and both had come to the conclusion that being childless was all right because they were so focused on their careers.

“If it means that much to you, we could look into adoption.”

Robyn shook her head and said, “No. We’ve been over this before. Maybe I just think I like the idea of having a baby.” She squeezed his hand and said, “As long as you’re okay with things like they are, so am I.”

“All I ever need is you,” Weber assured her as he pulled into their driveway.

Chapter 15

Any thought Weber had about contacting the Catholic Church in Springerville or doing anything else was pushed to the back burner the next morning when he was awakened by the dispatcher calling to tell him there had been a bad accident near the T intersection where the bypass through town came back to the highway.

“It sounds like there are at least two fatalities. I’ve got every unit headed that way I can, along with medical,” the dispatcher said.

“We’re on our way,” Weber said, as he and Robyn quickly dressed and headed out the door. Sirens screaming and roof lights flashing, they listened to reports coming in over their police radios as they sped toward the accident scene.

Before he even stopped his Explorer on the shoulder of the road, the sheriff could tell it was definitely bad. A logging truck was jackknifed across the road and a mangled gray SUV was upside down in the deep ditch, doors hanging open and windows broken out. A body was lying on the pavement covered with a tarp, and Deputy Jordan Northcutt was on his knees in the ditch, looking inside the wrecked SUV.

Weber asked Deputy Tommy Frost, who was putting out flares, “What do you need?”

“Everything, Jimmy. It’s bad. We’ve got at least two fatalities, the one there in the road and one down in the ditch. There’s a motorcycle lying on the road over there and I don’t know if the person on the road was on it or if someone else is out here somewhere.”

Robyn drove on the far shoulder of the road to the other side of the accident scene and pulled her unit across the road to block it and began laying out flares in that direction. Weber heard sirens approaching, and within minutes, a state highway patrol car was on the scene, followed by the ambulance.

Making his way down into the ditch, Weber asked Jordan, “Where’s the second fatality?”

Pointing toward the rear interior of the vehicle, Jordan said, “In here.”

Crouching down, Weber looked inside and saw a teenage girl sprawled across the back seat, her neck obviously broken.

In the front seat, a man was behind the steering wheel, blood gushing from his mouth as he gasped for air. Weber tried to pull the door open, but it would not move.

“Sir, can you hear me?”

There was no response and Weber tried desperately to force the door, but the SUV was so crumpled that it was jammed solid. Two paramedics came down and began checking on the trapped man.

“We’ve got a pulse, but it’s weak,” said Rusty Heinz, a stocky bald man with a goatee and a silver hoop in his left ear.

The volunteer fire department had arrived, and Weber shouted up to them that they were going to need the Jaws of Life. Fire Chief Steve Harper and two of his men quickly loaded up and got to work with the hydraulic tool, cutting away the door to get to the injured man.

“Anyone else, Jimmy?”

“Someone said there’s a motorcycle on the other side of the road. I don’t know if the guy up there was riding it,” Weber told the fire chief.

A few yards away from the SUV, Jordan was kneeling over another young woman, who looked to be in her late teens or early 20s. Her face was covered in blood, and she was trying to sit up, as he was urging her to stay still. More medics had arrived, and they put a neck brace on her and slipped a backboard under and carried her up the hill.

“Jimmy, I need you up here,” Robyn shouted from the road. When he got to her, she said, “I found the rider of the bike.

“Is he alive?”

“Yeah, but he’s hurt pretty bad. It’s Kenny Upchurch.”

“Kevin’s brother?”

“Yeah. He’s awake, but he needs help.”

Weber followed her across the road past a Harley Davidson, then down the embankment on the other side. It wasn’t nearly as steep, and just a few feet off the pavement, he crouched down beside the injured man.

“Where does it hurt, Kenny?”

“Everywhere.”

Robyn went to find any available medic as Weber assessed the man’s injuries. Besides a lot of road rash, he said his stomach and back both hurt terribly.

“Just try not to move, okay, Kenny? We’ve got help coming for you. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I worked the night shift over in Springville and was coming back toward town. There was a car stopped on the other side and someone was standing outside doing something. The truck topped the hill and started blowing his horn and I saw his brakes locking up. He started to lose it, and I could tell there was no way he was going to miss the car unless he could get it straightened out and come into my lane. I didn’t have anywhere to go, so I laid my bike down and wound up over here. I think the handlebar hit me in the stomach. It feels like somebody shot me, Jimmy.”

“Just stay still. You may have some internal injuries. Maybe a ruptured spleen,” Weber said as Robyn returned with paramedic Pat Price and volunteer fireman Kevin Upchurch.

“Kenny, are you all right, man?” Kevin kneeled next to his older brother, quickly going into professional mode. In a small community like Big Lake, first responders all too often had to do so when a sick or injured person was a family member or friend.

“I think I’ll live. If I do, I’ll still be better looking than you,” Kenny managed to say, then moaned.

“Can you feel your feet? Can you wiggle your toes?”

“Yeah.”

The brothers were both big men, but Kevin touched him as tenderly as if he was a child while he checked Kenny, trying to see how bad his injuries were.

Ernie Larson from the Department of Public Safety joined them and asked what the patient’s status was.

“Cuts and abrasions, and the possibility of some internal injuries,” Pat Price said.

“We’ve got two medevac helicopters on the way, and a couple more ambulances. Does he need to ride or fly?”

“I think he needs to fly. Notice his stomach is swollen? He needs a trauma center.”

Knowing they had things under control, Weber wished Kenny well and went back to the road. Every off duty Big Lake deputy had been called in, and there were more DPS people. Sergeant Shannon Collier had ordered a section of the roadway cleared for the helicopters to land, and Weber approached the truck, where Dan Hawes, the driver, was still sitting in the cab. His face was white, and Weber could tell he was in shock.

“Are you injured, Dan?”

“It’s my fault, Sheriff. I was driving too fast. When I have a load on, I have to floor it in this old truck to get up the other side of the hill without losing my momentum, and then I couldn’t stop in time once I got to the top.”

“Dan, stop right there. I don’t want you to say anything else until the medics check you out and I read you your Miranda rights.” He turned and waved to Shannon and told her the driver needed to be looked at.

“Sir, I’m a paramedic as well as a police officer,” Shannon said. “Are you hurting anywhere?”

“No, ma’am. I told the sheriff it’s all my fault.”

She raised her hand and said, “We can talk about that in a minute. Do you think you can get out on your own, or do you need help?”

“No, I can do it.”

He opened the door and started to climb out of the cab, but his knees buckled. Weber and Shannon helped him down and to her patrol car, where they seated him in the back. From where he had been sitting in the truck’s cab, he had not been able to see the mayhem the accident had caused. When he saw the covered body in the roadway and the SUV down in the ditch, his body began to rock, and he hung his head and vomited.

“Oh, my God! I killed somebody? Oh, no!”

“Dan, we need to read you your rights,” Weber said. He recited the man’s Miranda rights to him and when Dan acknowledged he understood them, he asked the truck driver for his version of what had happened.

“It’s my fault. I’m not going to lie to you. Like I said, I was driving too fast and when I topped the hill, there was that car right there on the road. I started blowing my horn and hit the brakes, but it was too late. I jerked the wheel to the left, but I felt the truck hitting the car. Sheriff, just shoot me right now, would you? It’s all my fault.”

“You said the car was stopped on the roadway?” Shannon asked.

“Yes, ma’am, there was a lady standing outside of the car. I don’t know why they were just sitting there. But it’s not their fault, it’s mine.”

“I would advise you not to be admitting anything like that right now,” Shannon said. “We can determine all of that later. Have you had anything to drink today, sir?”

“No, ma’am. I don’t drink at all. Sheriff Weber can tell you that.”

“How about drugs?”

Dan shook his head. “I swear, I don’t do any of that stuff. We have to get tested, and it would cost me my CDL, which I guess I’m going to lose anyway when I go to jail, so it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

Sitting in the car, he abruptly pushed the DPS officer’s legs away and hung his head out, retching again. Weber and Shannon stepped back, and the sheriff said, “Another local guy was coming from the other direction on his motorcycle. He saw what was happening and had to lay his bike down.”

“Is he okay?”

“I think he’s got some internal injuries,” Weber said. “He’s the brother of one of our volunteer firemen. His brother’s down there with him.”

“That sucks.”

“I talked to him, and he told me pretty much the same thing. He said the SUV was stopped in the middle of the lane on this side and someone was standing outside of it. He said he could see the truck trying to slow down and could hear the horn blowing.”

“Depending on the driver’s speed, and if he was under the influence of anything or not, it sounds like it wasn’t entirely his fault, if it was at all.”

“I’ve known Dan for a long time. He’s a good churchgoing man and I’ve never known him to do drugs or drink anything. I don’t think he’s ever even had a traffic ticket.”

Looking at the man sitting in the back of her car, Shannon shook her head and said, “You know, Jimmy, in a case like this, no matter who’s to blame, that poor guy’s life is never going to be the same.”

It took hours to clear the accident scene, and reports back from the hospital in Show Low and the trauma center in Phoenix where the injured had been transported said that the driver of the car would survive, though he had serious internal injuries. Weber was right about Kenny Upchurch possibly having a ruptured spleen, as well as a broken pelvis sustained in the accident, but he would live to ride a motorcycle again.

Vickie Barnes, the bloodied young woman who had also survived the accident, was the daughter of the driver, Brad Barnes. She said her father had stopped the vehicle so her mother Jennifer could get out and try to take photographs of an elk on the side of the road. It was their first trip to the mountains from their home in Casa Grande, south of Phoenix, and Vickie and her sister Ashley almost didn’t come, but their parents had insisted they have some family time together.

Dan Hawes passed a series of field sobriety tests, and a blood draw taken at the Medical Center showed no indication of alcohol or narcotics of any kind, illegal or prescription, in his system. After a thorough investigation of the accident, it was determined weeks later that Dan was only going three miles over the speed limit, and that the cause of the accident was the ill-timed blocking of the roadway by the Barnes’ SUV. He was not charged, though Weber knew he would forever carry guilt for being part of the deaths of two women.

Chapter 16

It was well past noon by the time Weber was done at the accident scene and made it to the office. Mary had been fielding calls from broadcast and print reporters all morning and had prepared a press release, giving the details of the accident without releasing the names of the two fatalities, and was waiting for him to approve it before sending it out.

“Looks good to me. Thanks, Mary.”

“Hell of a way to start the day, isn’t it?”

“Not as bad as it was for the people involved. Anything else going on that I need to know about?”

“Bonnie Boswell from the crime lab called and said she was talking to some of their people there in Flagstaff, and one of them suggested bringing over a couple of cadaver dogs. Just in case that’s not the only grave out there on Larkspur Road.”

“Damn. I hope it is the only one, but that’s not a bad idea. Can you call back and see if she can arrange it?”

“I can,” Mary said, then added, “Bannister demanded to call his attorney again, since he didn’t get a response yesterday, so I took a telephone back to him. I don’t know what was said, but he definitely did not like it and he threw the phone across the cell and broke it. A half hour later, I got a call from the same attorney asking for you. I told him you were tied up with an accident and he asked if you could call him back. Here’s his number.”

Mary updated him on a few non-emergency calls that were pending, including a complaint about loud music, someone wanting a deputy to come by and identify a powdery substance they had found in their teenage son’s bedroom, and another call about an argument between a mother and her teenage daughter.

“I told them all we’d get somebody there when we could, but right then, we didn’t have a deputy available,” Mary said.

“The off-duty guys went home to get some rest, so send whoever is available,” Weber said, then he went into his office and dialed the number for Bannister’s attorney.

“Offices of Walker, Hyde, and Bartholomew,” said the efficient sounding young woman who answered the telephone.

“This is Sheriff Weber from Big Lake. I had a message to call Mr. Bartholomew.”

“Yes, sir. Could you hold for just a moment, please?”

There were a few seconds of elevator music and then the line clicked and a man with a deep baritone voice said, “This is James Bartholomew. Thanks for returning my call, Sheriff.”

“No problem. I would have gotten back to you sooner, but we had a major traffic accident up here this morning and I just got to the office.”

“I understand.”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Bartholomew?”

“I am aware that you have one of our former clients, Robert Bannister, in custody.”

“Yes, sir. You said he was a former client?”

“That’s right. During our conversation this morning, I informed Mr. Bannister that we will no longer be representing him.”

“I see. Is that an attorney-client thing that you can’t discuss with me?”

“No, Sheriff. It’s because Mr. Bannister is an ass, to put it quite frankly.”

Weber couldn’t help chuckling, and then said, “I wouldn’t disagree with you on that, sir.”

“Our firm has represented him in three different cases now where he has blown his top and gotten himself in trouble. When he called yesterday, Mr. Hayes, who is his assigned attorney, was out of the office because his wife was in labor. Mr. Hayes’ secretary told him that and offered to transfer him to another member of our team, but Mr. Bannister insisted he had to talk to him now. Another team member came on the phone and told him that was impossible and explained the situation to him, and Bannister said he didn’t care, he wanted to talk to Hayes immediately. Then sometime yesterday evening he called again and cursed at the young woman from our answering service. This isn’t the first time he’s been verbally abusive to our staff, and we made the decision that we’re done with him. I called and told him that myself this morning, and he didn’t take the news too well.”

“So I heard,” Weber said. “I understand he’s got quite a few attorneys.”

“He does, from several firms both in Nevada and Arizona, depending on what their specialty is. Ours has always represented him when he got into difficulties with the police.”

“And you said there have been three different cases? Not including this one?”

“Let me just say that Mister Bannister is no stranger to law enforcement, Sheriff. At any rate, as far as this firm is concerned, he’s on his own. I just wanted to give you a heads up and ask that you might remind him of that, because our conversation this morning ended rather abruptly.”

“I’ll do that,” Weber said. “May I ask what the other cases you were involved with were about?”

“I’m sorry, Sheriff, but that does enter into the realm of attorney-client privilege. But I’m sure that if you did some checking, you could find out.”

“All right, I’ll do that.”

“Thank you for calling me back, Sheriff. And again, I appreciate you passing on the message to Mr. Bannister that we are no longer representing him.”

Weber decided he needed at least one cup of coffee before he dealt with Bannister. Since he had not eaten that day, he called Robyn and asked her to meet him at the ButterCup Café. It seemed like everybody was talking about the accident or the grave out on Larkspur Road, and he fielded questions from half a dozen people while waiting for their orders to come.

When he told Robyn about the telephone conversation with Bartholomew, she shook her head and said, “Some people just go around looking for trouble, don’t they, Jimmy?”

“I think this clown wakes up in the morning looking for it. He’s going to be really pissed off when he finds out his attorney bailed on him, and that we’re going to bring cadaver dogs in to go over that property where the grave was found. That ought to hold him up another day, at least.”

“My God, Jimmy. Do you think there’s more than one person buried out there?”

“No, but you never know. We’ve been assuming whoever it is was connected to the Kline family, but we don’t really know that. Just because they lived there doesn’t mean that family has anything to do with the grave.”

“You’ve got a point.”

The waitress brought their food, and when she left, Robyn said, “I was thinking about the grave and then thinking that we never know what’s right under our feet, do we? I mean, we could be anywhere and not know what happened there a hundred years ago.”

“That’s true. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

“Hey, Uncle Jimmy, Robyn. I went by the office and Mary said you were here. I hate to interrupt, but I found something. Actually, a couple of things.”

“You’re never an interruption, Jennifer,” Robyn told her. “Pull up a seat.”

“You’ve had a busy morning, haven’t you? I saw you out at the accident taking pictures, and now you’ve got something else for us?”

“God, that accident was terrible. I was asking Kevin Upchurch about it, and I didn’t realize his brother was involved! I felt terrible.”

“It’s okay. In a small town, everybody knows everybody and is related to half of them. What did you find out?”

“You were too busy for me to tell you this morning, but I came across some things last night. First of all, this,” Jennifer said, pulling a sheet of paper from a leather-bound folder that she carried. “I found this in one of the back issues from 1951 and made a copy.”

The image was grainy and hard to see, but it was a photo of a group of seated people with a young man standing in front of them. The caption read, Father Thomas Hagen conducts Easter service at the Community Hall. The service was attended by thirty people.

“I know it doesn’t say much, but as soon as I saw the name, I knew you would want to know about it,” Jennifer said.

“Absolutely. It’s the first thing I’ve seen that confirms he was a real person here in Big Lake.”

“And then I found something else.” Jennifer pulled out three more pieces of paper, all copies of short newspaper columns about different things happening in Big Lake. Typical small town newspaper items, including a picture with a hunter posing with a dead bear, another photo of a group of teenage boys in baseball uniforms, and one of a man in a Navy uniform.

Weber and Robyn skimmed the columns, and he said, “I’m not sure what I’m looking at, Jennifer. This is the same news that makes the paper all the time, isn’t it?”

“Look at the dates I wrote on the papers, Uncle Jimmy.”

He noted the columns were dated between June of 1950 and September of 1952.

“Okay, these fit the rough timeline from when the Klines lived here. But aside from that, what am I missing?”

“Look at the byline. They were all written by Clyde Aycock.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know,” Jennifer said. “I searched for the name, and I found a Clyde Aycock who lives in Quemado, New Mexico. That’s like 75 miles from here. Aycock isn’t exactly a common name, so I’m thinking it has to be the same person, doesn’t it?”

“That would make sense, but if he was writing for the paper back in the 1950s, he’d have to be at least 90 by now, wouldn’t he?”

“Probably so, but it’s worth checking out, isn’t it?”

“I think Jennifer’s right,” Robyn said. “I mean, how many Clyde Aycocks could there be who live anywhere near here?”

“You’ve got a point. I’ve got a lot of things on my plate today, Jennifer. Can you try to get in touch with this guy and see if we could come by and talk to him?”

“We, as in you and me, Uncle Jimmy?”

“I think that’s only fair, since you found the connection, if it is a connection to Big Lake,” Weber replied. “Don’t you?”

“Cool, road trip! Can we take your police car and run the siren and red lights?”

Weber had to remind himself that while Jennifer was an adult, as Margie had said the other day at the newspaper office, she was still young enough to take childish glee in such things.

“I’ll see what we can do,” he promised.

***

Weber’s prediction that Robert Bannister would not take the news about losing his attorney and further delays in access to his property well was proven accurate.

“Those shysters can’t refuse to represent me. I’ve got them on a retainer!”

“I guess that’s between you and them,” Weber said.

“Bullshit. You call that jerk Bartholomew back and tell him I want to talk to him.”

“I’m not your personal secretary, Mr. Bannister. And the last time you had one of our portable phones, you threw it against the cell wall and broke it. You’ll be paying for that, by the way.”

“What am I supposed to do for an attorney?”

“I don’t know. You keep telling me you’ve got a bunch of them. Call somebody else. Just don’t break another phone when you do it.”

“And what’s this shit about cadaver dogs? Why?”

“Because for all we know, there might be more bodies buried out there,” Weber told him.

“How are dogs going to find something that’s been buried for so long?”

“From what I hear, they are amazing animals,” Weber said. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“In the meantime, I still can’t have access to my property?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

“You’re afraid not. Like you really care.”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t care about your schedule, Mr. Bannister. My responsibility is to investigate a crime that appears to have happened on property you now own.”

“A supposed crime that happened years ago.”

“I don’t care how long ago it was. I’m going to do my job.”

“Well, you’re going to care when my attorneys get through with you. I can promise you that.”

“I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Weber replied. “In the meantime, you get to go back and see Judge Jensen pretty soon. Let me give you a piece of advice, Mr. Bannister. Don’t go in there acting like an idiot. You’ve already seen that doesn’t work around here. If I were you, I would keep my mouth shut except to say yes, ma’am and no, ma’am.”

“If you were me? That’s a joke. There’s a big difference between you and me, Sheriff.”

“I know,” Weber said sarcastically. “I’m on this side of the bars and you’re on the other side. Deputy Truax will be along to take you over to see the judge soon.”

Chapter 17

Weber decided to ride along when Berto took Bannister back to court. He was surprised that the man apparently took his advice, because instead of arguing with the judge or acting out as Weber expected him to, he simply said, “Yes, ma’am,” nodded his head, and paid his bond.

Judge Jensen said, “You are free to go for now, Mr. Bannister. But keep in mind that the terms of your release state that you will not interfere with the ongoing investigation at the property on Larkspur Road. And by not interfering, I mean you will not go to the property at all, sir. Do I make myself clear on that?”

The man sounded contrite when he replied, “Yes, Your Honor.”

“All right. I will set a trial date for sometime next month, and you’ll be notified of the date and time by e-mail and registered mail. In the meantime, Mr. Bannister, please stay out of trouble.”

While Bannister was paying the court clerk, Deputy Dan Wright came to the back door of the courtroom and motioned to Weber. They talked for a moment, and then Dan handed him a piece of paper and left.

After Bannister paid the clerk, he asked, “Your Honor, I know I’m not allowed to go back out to Larkspur Road, but my car is out there. Can I at least get a ride out there to pick it up?”

“That sounds reasonable. Do you have any objection, Sheriff?”

“Your Honor, Mr. Bannister’s car was towed and is at Randy Laird’s impound lot. Mr. Bannister will have to pay the tow bill and impound fees to get it back.”

“You’re not serious? You had my car towed and now I’m expected to pay to get it back?”

“It’s standard practice to do so when someone is arrested. It’s a very expensive car, Mr. Bannister. According to Deputy Truax, when he was taking you to jail, you told him your car cost more than whatever shack he lived in. I didn’t want anything to happen to it, sitting out there.”

Weber could see the hatred in the man’s eyes, and he started to speak, but Judge Jensen cleared her throat from the bench and asked, “Is there a problem, Mr. Bannister?”

“No, Your Honor. Can somebody at least give me a ride to where my car is?”

“We don’t operate as a taxi service, Mr. Bannister,” Weber said. “But it doesn’t matter, because we’ll be giving you a ride, but it won’t be to pick up your vehicle.”

“What do you mean?”

Weber held up the paper that Dan had given him and said, “I made a couple of calls. You have had some problems with the law before, haven’t you, Mr. Bannister?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Yes, sir, it is my business. According to the Henderson, Nevada Police Department, they have a warrant out for your arrest.”

“For what?”

“For failure to appear, Mr. Bannister.”

“There must be some mistake.”

“It’s no mistake, sir, and you know it. In fact, an officer was quoted as saying that he heard you say, and I quote, They can stick their Podunk court appearance up their ass because you were finished in that town.”

“Well, this isn’t Nevada, is it, Sheriff?”

“No, it’s not,” Weber said. Holding up the piece of paper, he said, “But this is an extradition request from Nevada. They request we hold you until they can send somebody to pick you up.”

“Are you freaking kidding me? No way! You can’t do that.”

The man was shaking his head, and Judge Jensen asked, “Is there a problem, Sheriff Weber?”

Weber handed the court clerk the paperwork. She read it and said, “Your Honor, it turns out that there is an outstanding warrant for Mr. Bannister out of Henderson, Nevada. They would like to come and pick him up.”

Bannister was cursing, and Roberta held up her hand to stop the clerk.

“Mr. Bannister, I have told you before, that kind of behavior will not be tolerated in this courtroom. One more word out of you and I will hold you in contempt again. Do you understand me?”

He nodded his head, but did not reply, and Roberta said in a firm voice, “Answer me. Do you understand me? You need to control yourself, or else.”

“Yes, I understand,” he snapped.

“Thank you.”

Roberta asked her clerk to continue reading, and when she was finished, the judge said, “Mr. Bannister, it looks like the State of Nevada wants your company. Sheriff Weber, please take him back to jail until they send somebody to pick him up.”

“You can’t do this to me. What happened in Nevada is…”

“Mr. Bannister, another word is all it takes, and I’ll sentence you to seven days for contempt of court and the Nevada authorities can have you after that. Is that what you want?”

“No,” he said sharply.

“Then control yourself.”

Bannister managed to keep quiet until they got him outside and in the back of Berto’s car, then he started cursing again, saying, “You people have no idea who you’re messing with. You have no concept of the hell that is going to come down on you, do you?”

“No, Mr. Bannister. But I remember my old man talking about people being up Shit Creek without a paddle, and that best describes you right now. Not only don’t you have a paddle, but you’re treading water, and it’s rising every time you open your mouth.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Sheriff?”

“What can I say, Mr. Bannister?” Weber shrugged his shoulders and said, “It’s a small town. We have to find entertainment wherever we can.”

***

“Somebody acts like he didn’t appreciate the news he just got,” Mary said as Berto took a cursing Robert Bannister back to the cellblock.

“You got that right. Thanks for sending Dan over with that. What else were you able to find out about him?”

“That Bartholomew fellow wasn’t exaggerating when he said that Bannister has had his run-ins with the law. He was arrested in Mohave County, over near Kingman, for poking a deputy in the forehead with his finger when the deputy came out to settle a problem where Bannister was complaining about somebody interfering with one of his projects. In Lake Havasu City, he tried to intimidate an old couple who wouldn’t sell their property to him. They have a doublewide mobile home on an acre that sits right next to a big tract of land he was trying to buy to develop. He said the place would lower property values. They had lived there for years, and they weren’t interested in selling and he tried to bully them to get his way.”

“That seems to be his go-to tactic,” Weber said.

Mary nodded her head and said, “In this case, the couple filed a restraining order against him. He violated it by showing up on their porch at 11 o’clock at night, demanding they sell to him. He was arrested for that and paid a fine.”

“What’s the deal up in Nevada?”

“Same old, same old, Jimmy. He had dump trucks speeding through a neighborhood to where he had a project going and the cops started pulling them over. Bannister didn’t take kindly to that, and after bullying didn’t work on the cops, he offered them $100 each to look the other way. Instead, they arrested him for attempted bribery. He was out on bail on that case and decided to just move his operation to Arizona rather than go back to court and face the music.”

“So, he just walked away from his project up there?”

“It seems like he has all kinds of partners that actually are the money people. They invest in these projects of his and he makes them happen. He gets a big fee up front, and then a piece of the action once his subdivisions get built. In that case, it was early enough on that he just walked away from it and still made money from the initial fee. From what I gather, there are a dozen civil cases pending against him for stuff like that.”

“Then why would people keep bankrolling him?”

Mary shrugged her shoulders and said, “I guess he’s good at sucking up to the high rollers. And to his credit, several of his projects have been very successful and everybody made out like  bandits.”

“Well, with any luck Nevada will lock him up for a while and he’ll be out of our hair.”

“We can only hope,” Mary said.

Berto came back from the cell block shaking his head and said, “Bannister wants a phone book and a phone.”

“What for? Is he going to start ordering in his own dinners?”

“He said he needs to find a local attorney to help him fight extradition to Nevada.”

Weber handed Berto the slim telephone book for the area and a portable phone, saying, “If he breaks this one, he doesn’t get any more.”

Thirty minutes later, Berto was back with the phone intact.

“Did he find anybody?”

“There are only a few attorneys around here,” Berto said. “He called all of them. From what I overheard, several said they didn’t have the time, or it wasn’t their specialty. Leland Kappel told him it’s a conflict of interest because he’s representing somebody Bannister is suing about his other project out by White Dove Pond.”

“Who’s he suing out there?”

“Dave and Stephanie Milner,” Mary said.

“What for?”

“Their property sits beside where he wants the Town to give him an access road. You know Dave raises bees and he went to the Town Council meeting about the access road and said that all the dust and construction would disturb his beehives. So Bannister is suing them, saying they’re trying to keep him from getting the easement for the road from the Town.”

“He’s always got something going on, doesn’t he?”

“He sure does, Jimmy. He tries to use the law to bully people into giving in to him.”

“So, did he find an attorney, Berto?”

“Yeah, and he should be here any minute,” the deputy replied.

As if on cue, the door opened and a short, thin-faced man wearing a rumpled black suit that showed noticeable dandruff on the shoulders and looked two sizes too big for him strode into the office, saying, “I want to see my client.”

The sheriff looked at Berto, who shrugged his shoulders and said, “I guess he’s all Bannister could find.”

“How you doing, Grover?”

“I’ll be doing a lot better when I see my client, Sheriff. As for you, I’m afraid you won’t be doing very well at all. Mr. Bannister plans to file harassment charges against you, as well as for unlawful imprisonment.”

“He does, does he?”

“That’s right. The best thing you can do for yourself is release him right now.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Grover. He’s being held pending extradition back to Nevada.”

“My client and I plan to fight that extradition, Sheriff.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me, Grover?”

“Are you going to allow me to see my client or not? He has a right to professional legal counsel.”

“Now, which is it going to be, Grover? Do you want to talk to him, or does he want professional counsel?”

“Very funny, Sheriff. I’m a respected member of the Arizona Bar Association.”

“You may be a member, Grover, but I don’t think even your mother respects you.”

If ever there was somebody who could serve as a prime example of little man syndrome, it was Grover Recker. Barely five feet tall, he went through life with a chip on his shoulder and an abrasive attitude. He graduated law school at the University of Arizona at the very bottom of his class, and it took him three attempts to pass the bar examination to get his license to practice law. He had a small practice, taking on any cases where he could make a quick settlement and get out, usually with a hefty percentage of whatever payments came his clients’ way. Grover and Weber had been classmates throughout school, and he had resented the tall, better looking and always popular man who would eventually become Big Lake’s sheriff. Even as an adult, many alumni of Big Lake High School still referred to the weaselly little man as Pecker Wrecker.

“I want to see my client, and I want to see him now.”

“Sure,” Weber said. “Deputy Truax, please escort Mr. Recker back to the cell block.”

“I’d prefer to meet with him in the conference room, Sheriff.”

“Nope.”

“What do you mean, nope?”

“It’s a four-letter word, Grover. You should know what it means, being a respected member of the Bar and all that.”

“Is there a reason we can’t have the conference room?”

“The last time I let you interview a client in the conference room, you tried to get the case thrown out of court by claiming that we were listening in on your confidential conversations. Do you remember that, Grover? Lord knows I wouldn’t want to go through all that again. Deputy Truax, please be sure to take a folding chair back with you. We certainly want Mr. Recker to be comfortable while he talks to his client.”

When Berto led the attorney back to the cell block, Mary said, “I almost wish we could listen in. Those two are going to be a pair to draw to.”

Chapter 18

Jennifer had coffee and donuts with her when Weber picked her up in front of the Sweet Seductions bakery the next morning.

“I got you blueberry buttermilk,” she said.

“My favorite.”

“I remembered. Can we turn on the lights and siren now?”

Weber laughed and said, “Let’s at least wait until we get out of town.”

It took them a couple of attempts before they found the correct dirt road a few miles outside of Quemado, and when they pulled up in front of a low-roofed adobe building, two big mixed blood dogs came from around the corner, barking and wagging their tails.

Weber got out of his Explorer and the female jumped up and put her front feet on his chest.

“Hey there, girl. How you doing?”

He put his hands on both sides of her head and scratched her ears as she licked his face, then jumped down happily to greet Jennifer.

The door to the house opened and a man came out wearing blue jeans and a green T-shirt and said, “They won’t bite you, but they might lick you to death.”

“I’m finding that out,” Jennifer laughed.

He approached them and shook hands and said, “You must be the folks from Big Lake.”

“Yes, sir. I’m Sheriff Weber, and this is Jennifer Shores from our newspaper.”

“I’m the one that talked to you yesterday,” Jennifer said. “Thank you for the invitation to come over and visit with your father.”

“Pop is always happy to have company,” the man said. “I’m Clyde.”

Clyde Aycock, Junior, looked to be somewhere in his 60s, a tall man with a full head of white hair, and blue eyes with bushy eyebrows above them that made Weber think of two caterpillars crawling across his forehead.

“I’m glad you could make it early in the day. As I told you, Pop has sundowners, and in the afternoons and evenings he starts fading away. Well, come on in.”

The living room was typical of many southwestern ranch homes, a large stone fireplace on one wall, heavy leather furniture that had seen three decades of use and was still holding up well, antlers and mounted deer and antelope heads on the walls, and two cowhide rugs on the wooden floor. One wall was taken up by bookshelves.

“Pop, your company’s here.”

A moment later, an old man with a cane made from the gnarled limb of a mesquite tree came from down the hall. He was bald and wrinkled, but his eyes were the same bright blue as his son’s, and he smiled at them.

“Hello there. I see you made it.”

“We took a wrong turn a ways back and got confused, but we finally found you,” Weber said, shaking the old man’s extended hand. “I’m Sheriff Weber from Big Lake, and this is Jennifer Shores. She works at the newspaper there.”

“Yup,” the old man said, nodding his head. “Pleased to meet you both. Why don’t we go in the kitchen and sit at the table?”

Once they were seated, his son asked, “Would you like coffee or anything to drink? We’ve got tea and Pepsi.”

“I’m fine,” Weber said, shaking his head and Jennifer also declined.

“I’ll take some coffee.”

“I know you will, Pop. Coming right up.”

“And how about some of those shortbread cookies?”

“The doctor told you you’re supposed to be careful about eating too many sweets.”

“Ahh, what does he know?” The old man shook his head. “They call it practicing medicine because those people never get it right. Hell's fire, I outlived my last two doctors, didn’t I? Besides, I’m 97 years old. What’s the worst that’s going to happen?”

His son smiled and said, “Okay, you win,” and gave him some cookies on a saucer.

Leaning toward Jennifer and winking, the old gentleman said in a loud whisper, “I always win. Kid’s a pushover. Now, you’re from Big Lake, you said?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Aycock.”

“Call me Pop. That’s what everybody calls me.”

“All right, Pop. I was going through some of the old issues of the paper, and I came across your byline,” Jennifer said. “I was excited to find them because things are out of order, so it’s hard to find anything from back in the old days. We had some questions about when you worked there.”

“Boy, that was a long time ago. I was going to school over in Flagstaff, at the college there, and I’d take time off to come and work at the newspaper and save all my money to pay for another semester. I imagine Big Lake’s changed over the years, hasn’t it?”

“Too much, if you ask me,” Weber said. “Too many people moving up there and building places all over the forest. It’s not the town I grew up in, for sure. I can’t imagine what it was like back when you were a young man.”

“Well, things change all the time,” Pop said, nodding his head. Then he turned to Jennifer and said, “You said you work for the paper now? For Larry?”

“No, sir. He was gone before I was born,” Jennifer said.

“Who runs it now?”

“Paul Lewis. He’s Larry’s son.”

“I didn’t know Larry had any kids.”

“From what I understand, Paul was born pretty late in his life,” Jennifer told him. “My mother has been the office manager for years. I graduated from the U of A and came back home to work for the paper. I always told Uncle Paul I was going to take over when he retired.”

“Uncle Paul? So you’re his niece?”

“No, not really,” Jennifer said. “My father was killed when I was really young, but Uncle Paul and Uncle Jimmy here, they aren’t really family, but they were always father figures to me.”

“Well now, that’s a good thing,” Pop replied. “Family is important. Everybody needs a good family. Did I tell you that me and Celeste had four kids?”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

Biting into one of the cookies, he nodded his head as he chewed and said, “Mitchell, Susan, Shirley, and Clyde here. He’s the oldest. We named him after me.”

“Do they all live around here too?”

Pop shook his head. “Shirley, she died fairly young. What was she, 30 or 32? Something like that, Clyde?”

“She was 34, Pop.”

That’s right, 34 years old. Got some kind of a blood disease and she didn’t last long. Susan’s married to a fella named Phil Alonso. He owns dump trucks, doesn’t he, Clyde?”

“It’s more than dump trucks. He’s got a heavy equipment company up near Albuquerque.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Now Mitchell, he’s up in Albuquerque, too. He runs an appliance store. And Clyde here, he’s a rancher. Best hand you’ll ever see around horses and cattle. Hey, did I tell you I’m 97 years old?”

“You did,” Jennifer said.

“Yep. My Celeste, she was a fine woman. Best there ever was. Got herself killed in a car wreck out on Interstate 25 almost twenty years ago. I guess my time will come sooner or later. But in the meantime, I’ve got to stay around to keep Clyde here out of trouble. Ain’t that right, Clyde?”

“That’s right, Pops.”

“Yeah, it’s just us two old men here now. Clyde’s wife, Millie, she passed back in 2016. Talk about a great woman. She was like a daughter to me. It broke both our hearts, didn’t it, Clyde?”

“She was the best,” his son agreed.

“Anyway, you said you wanted to ask me some questions?”

“Yes, sir,” Jennifer said. She showed him the copy of the picture from Easter services and said, “I was particularly curious about this.”

Taking it from her hands, Pops took glasses from his pocket and put them on and looked at it. “Yeah, that’s my byline all right.”

“As I understand it, there wasn’t a Catholic church in Big Lake, right?”

Shaking his head, the old man said, “No, the closest one was in Springerville. Back then they had a priest who came around. I think he was trying to open one there in Big Lake, but there weren’t enough people to support it.”

“Was that priest Father Hagen?”

Pop thought for a minute and then said, “Yeah, that was him. He was a nice guy. Kind of informal, if you know what I mean.”

“Did you know him very well?”

“I guess as well as you get to know anybody. I mean, it wasn’t like we were drinking buddies.” Pop laughed and said, “Drinking buddies, get it? With him being a priest? Anyway, I knew him from covering things for the paper, and he was always nice and friendly. He liked working with people and was always trying to help somebody out when they had hard times. I was always interested in history and the Indians, and he would go hold services on the Indian reservation, too. So we talked about that a lot. I wrote a couple local history books. Did you know that?”

“Yes, I saw that online,” Jennifer said. “Where could I get copies?”

“I think they’re out of print by now. But I have some copies if you’d like.”

“I’d love that. I’d be happy to pay you for them.”

“Naa, just knowing you’ll enjoy them is good enough for me. Clyde, would you get this young lady copies of my books?”

“Sure, Pop.”

His son left the room and came back with two books, handing them to her.

“I was hoping I could get you to autograph them for me?”

“Happy to. Did I tell you I taught history?”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“I did,” he said, nodding his head. “I taught school in Socorro for a long time. I was the advisor to the high school newspaper, too. Did you know that?”

“I didn’t,” Jennifer said, “but it stands to reason that you’d be the choice for that, with your experience in Big Lake.”

“Let me ask you something, Mr. Aycock,” Weber said.

“Please, call me Pop. Mr. Aycock makes me sound old.”

“That sounds good, Pop,” Weber said. “When you were in Big Lake, did you ever hear anything about a woman named Ruby Kline?”

“Can’t say that I remember that name. What about her?”

“We know that she was a member of the Catholic congregation there,” Weber said. “I just wondered if you ever heard anything about her. She lived around Larkspur Road, on the south side of town.”

“Nope, not that I can recall. She in trouble?”

“No, sir. She’s been dead for a long time,” Weber said.

“Yeah, people do that,” Pop said, nodding his head.

“Getting back to Big Lake, Pops, do you ever remember anything about a scandal involving Ruby Kline or some other lady that was a member of the Catholic church there?”

Pops finished the cookie and bit into another one and shook his head. “People are always gossiping in small towns, just like they are in big cities. But I don’t remember anything special about it. Why?”

“I’m not sure,” Weber said. “But someone found a skeleton on the property where Ruby Kline lived on Larkspur Road. Whoever it was had been shot in the back of the head.”

“The hell you say?” Then, looking at Jennifer, Pops said, “I’m sorry, ma’am. I guess I spend too much time here, just me and Clyde, and don’t know my manners around a lady anymore.”

Jennifer just smiled, “It’s fine, Pops. I was raised in a newspaper office.”

“Pop, do you remember anything about anybody coming up missing when you were in Big Lake?”

“There was a teenage boy who went missing. I remember that. Turned out he ran away because he got a girl in trouble. Wound up down toward Phoenix somewhere. And I think there was a couple times people got lost hiking or fishing, stuff like that. But they always turned up. That’s all I know of. I wish I could help you, but I just can’t recall a lot from way back then.”

“That’s fine,” Weber said. “Getting back to Father Hagen, can you remember anything at all about him?”

“I know he was brand new at being a priest. I think he’d only been ordained for a little while.”

“Can you think of anything else about him? You mentioned he was a nice guy, and you got along with him pretty well.”

“Like I said, we were both interested in history, and we had a few conversations about that, but not a lot, I guess. Sometimes when he came to town, he’d stop and visit with me a bit at the newspaper and tell me about a program or something his congregation was having.”

“Do you know where he was from?”

“No,” Pop said, shaking his head. He was from the church in Springerville, but I don’t know if that’s where he was originally from. He never really said anything about that.”

“Do you remember how long he was there?”

Pop finished the cookies and thought for a moment before he said, “You know what? I don’t know what happened to him.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“One day he was there and then he wasn’t around anymore.”

“He wasn’t around Big Lake anymore?”

“No. He was just gone. I guess I thought that maybe the powers that be in the church decided there weren’t enough Catholics in the area to make it worth having him there. He never told me anything about them not wanting him to keep coming over any longer, but he was just gone one day.”

“Did you ever ask anybody about that?”

“No. There were lot of things going on back then, and I was a young guy full of piss and vinegar. Excuse me, ma’am, there’s that language again.”

Jennifer smiled at him, and he continued, “I had a girlfriend or two that took up a lot of my time and my thinking, if you know what I mean.” He smiled at the memory and said, “Yeah, I was kind of a hound dog back then, I guess.”

Jennifer laughed and said, “I bet there’s still some hound dog in you, Pop.”

He laughed so hard tears spilled from his eyes and he slapped the table. “Truth be told, I can’t get up off the porch anymore.”

“How long were you in Big Lake, Pop?”

“Like I said, Sheriff, I was still in school, and I’d come back during breaks and work for Larry Lewis, and I’d be there all summer long. I guess it was in 1951 or 52, sometime like that. Then I got a job full-time working at a print shop in Flagstaff, and I didn’t come back anymore.”

They talked for a while longer but could tell the jovial old man was getting tired and thanked him and his son for their time, saying they would leave and let him get some rest.

“Oh, shoot, don’t worry about that,” Pop protested, “I always tell Clyde I can get plenty of rest when they put me in the ground. I really enjoyed talking to you. Don’t get to talk to young folks much anymore. Even Clyde here ain’t young anymore. What are you now, Clyde, 70?”

“Don’t make me older than I am, Pop. I’m only 65.”

“Well, you look 70,” the old man said, laughing. He insisted on walking outside with them and the dogs came to him immediately, wanting his attention. “Yeah, these old mutts, they look after me. You’re my buddies, aren’t you,” he said as he bent to scratch their heads.

“Thank you again for your time, Pop,” Weber said.

“Y’all come back anytime. I mean it. Always good to have company. You’re always welcome.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you again for your time and for the books.” Jennifer said.

As they drove away, she said, “He’s quite a character, isn’t he?”

“He sure is. I enjoyed getting to know him. And now I’m wondering even more about what happened to that priest.”

“Pop said one day he just wasn’t there anymore. Do you think that’s the skeleton they found out there on Larkspur Road?”

“It would make sense to me,” Weber said. “Especially since we found his cross in the grave.” He slowed down as a roadrunner crossed in front of them and darted into the brush on the other side. “One way or the other, I intend to find out.”

Chapter 19

They stopped in Springerville for lunch on the way back to Big Lake, and as they were finishing their chicken fried steaks, Weber asked, “Are you in a hurry to get back to the office?”

“Not necessarily. What did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking about stopping at the Catholic church and seeing if they can tell us anything about Father Hagen.”

“That sounds good to me,” Jennifer said. “I’m beginning to think I should have majored in Criminal Justice instead of Journalism. This is fun.”

“As a journalist, you’ll have plenty of stories to investigate.”

“I know,” she said, draining the last of her soda. “But reporters don’t get to have lights and sirens.”

***

A woman wearing black slacks and a pink paisley print blouse was dusting at the front of the sanctuary and looked up, saying, “Hello,” when they entered. “Welcome to Saint Matthews. Can I help you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Weber said. “I’m Sheriff Weber from Big Lake and this is Jennifer Shores.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Grace O’Dell. What’s a sheriff from Big Lake doing here?”

The plump woman looked like she was probably in her early 50s, with a friendly smile on her face and curly brown hair.

“We’re looking for some information,” Weber said. “Would you happen to know anything about a Father Thomas Hagen?”

The woman shook her head and said, “Not that I’m aware of.”

“He would have been here a long time ago,” Weber said. “Back in the 1950s.”

“That was before my time,” she said. “Let me ask Father Jeffery. He’s in his office.” She went through a door off to the side and came back momentarily to say, “Follow me, please.”

They followed her into the office, where a young round-cheeked priest with a baby face was sitting behind a desk. He stood up and shook their hands and said, “Welcome to Saint Matthews. I’m Father Jeffery. I understand you’re asking about a priest from the 1950s?”

“Yes,” Weber said. “A Father Thomas Hagen.”

“Gosh, I have no idea. Was he associated with this parish?”

“I believe so, but we don’t know for sure.” Weber said. “We know he would come over to Big Lake and conduct services, and also on the Apache reservation back then.”

“I wasn’t aware Big Lake ever had a Catholic church.”

“There wasn’t,” Weber said. “From what I understand, it was held in the community hall.”

Jennifer showed him the copy of the newspaper picture and he looked at it and said, “I don’t know what to tell you, but I know someone who might be able to help. Can you hold on for a minute or two?”

“Of course.”

Turning to the woman who had greeted them, the priest asked, “Mrs. Nobles, can you see if Father Eustis is busy?”

“No problem, Father. I’ll be right back.

She came back a while later with another priest, much older, and Father Jeffery said, “This is Father Eustis. He’s been with the parish for many years. He might be able to answer your questions.”

The white-haired, stately looking priest smiled and nodded to them, and Weber told him who they were and where they were from.

“Welcome to Saint Matthews, folks. It’s always nice to see new faces. I understand you’re looking for information on someone from way back in the 1950s. That was even before my time, but I know this parish’s history very well. Who was it?”

“A Father Thomas Hagen,” Weber said. “Back in the 1950s, he would come to Big Lake and the Apache reservation to conduct services.”

The old priest’s smile disappeared and suddenly his voice was not nearly as welcoming. “Why are you asking about him?”

“We’re just trying to find out anything we can about him,” Weber said.

“Why?”

“A construction crew in Big Lake found an unmarked grave where a house used to stand back in those days,” Weber said.

“A grave? What does that have to do with Father Hagen?”

“There was a skeleton in the grave, and he had been murdered.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because there was a bullet hole in the back of the skull. The forensic people from Flagstaff found the bullet inside the skull.”

“That still doesn’t tell me what any of this has to do with Father Hagen.”

Weber pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed him the pictures of the cross found in the grave.

“I can’t make it out. What does it say on the back?”

Weber used his fingers to enlarge the picture as Jennifer had done. “It’s got his name here on the back.”

The priest looked at the picture for a long time, then handed the phone back to Weber and said in a clipped voice, “I’m sorry. I can’t help you, Sheriff.”

“You can’t, Father? When I told you his name, you looked like you were familiar with it.”

“I said I can’t help you.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Good day, Sheriff.”

The priest turned and walked away.

“Wait a minute,” Weber said, stopping him. “Even if this was all before your time, you obviously know who I’m talking about. So what’s this I can’t help you stuff about?”

“Sheriff, whatever may have happened way back then is ancient history. Even if the remains you found were of a murder victim, surely there must be a statute of limitations.”

“There is no statute of limitations on murder, Father.”

“Maybe not, but what are you trying to accomplish? I would think that whoever committed a crime back then probably isn’t alive anymore. Even if they were, they would be very elderly. So what would be the point of prosecuting them?”

“With all due respect, Father, I’m an officer of the law,” Weber told him. “I have reason to believe that a crime was committed, and it’s my duty to follow through with it and find out who was responsible.”

The priest was silent for a moment, and Weber thought he might relent. But then he said again, “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

“This is a murder investigation. It’s against the law to withhold evidence in a crime.”

“I’m sorry, Sheriff,” the priest said, shaking his head. “The only authority I answer to is much higher than you or me.”

With that, he walked out of the office.

Looking at Father Jeffery, Weber asked, “What was that all about? He obviously knows something.”

The young priest looked uncomfortable when he replied, “As Father Eustis said, it was before his time.”

“I’m not buying that,” Weber said, shaking his head. “He said he knows a lot about the history of the parish, and there’s no question that he knows something about Father Hagen. What isn’t he telling us?”

“I honestly don’t know, Sheriff. But Father Eustis obviously has his reasons for not wanting to say anything.”

“And I have my reasons for wanting answers to my questions.”

“Maybe you could talk to him and see if he would reconsider,” Jennifer suggested.

Father Jeffery looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. “I’ve been here long enough to know that when Father Eustis makes his mind up about something, there’s no changing it. I’m sorry, but you’re not going to find the answers you’re seeking here.”

***

Jennifer suggested they stop at the library to see if they had any back editions of the local newspapers on microfilm.

The librarian on duty shook her head and said, “I’m sorry we don’t. But you might check the Arizona Memory Project. It’s part of the Arizona State Library and they have a lot of information online on their website. You might also stop at the White Mountain Historical Society Museum on Main Street in Springerville.”

They thanked her for her time and the suggestions and backtracked to the museum, which was part of the Springerville Heritage Center. The docent there was an older gentleman named Norman Whittaker who knew a lot about the nearby Casa Malpais archeological site, but shook his head when asked if he had access to any old regional newspapers.

Taking a chance, Weber asked if he had ever heard of Father Thomas Hagen, who was associated with the local parish.

“No, that doesn’t ring a bell,” he replied. “Have you talked to the folks at Saint Matthews?”

“We did, but for some reason, they didn’t want to tell us anything.”

“That’s strange. You know who might be able to tell you something?”

“No, but we’re open to suggestions,” Weber replied.

“Irene Thurston. Her family’s been around this area forever. She’s in her 90s, but she comes in here and tells us about stores that were in Springerville and Eagar that have closed up since she was a little girl, and the people that worked there, who her teachers were in grade school, you name it. And if there’s anything she doesn’t remember, there are always the diaries.”

“Diaries?”

“Yes. Irene started keeping a diary when she was old enough to write, and she never stopped. Even today, I can call her up and ask her what the weather was on any date, and she can go back and look it up and tell me.”

“Could you call her and see if we might stop over and visit?”

“Of course. Hang on just a minute.”

Norman made the phone call, and when he hung up, he said, “Irene said to come on over. She’d love to talk to you. Here, let me write down her address.”

They thanked him and left, driving a few blocks to a small house on a back street not far from the domed high school stadium. The small front yard looked barren and sad, and when Weber knocked on the door, a menagerie of small dogs inside created a ruckus, barking and yipping.

“Now, you babies get back there and be quiet,” they heard a voice from inside, and a moment later, the door opened. A tiny, shriveled woman in a green housedress that hung off her frail body opened the door and said, “You must be the people from Big Lake that Norman called me about.”

“Yes, ma’am, we are,” Weber said. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”

“Well, come on in,” she said. “I’m always happy to have visitors.”

Weber couldn’t tell how many dogs the woman had. He stopped counting at nine because they moved around so much it was hard to tell. It was apparent that she also had cats, evidenced by the hair on the sofa she waved them to and the smell of a litter box that needed attention.

“Norman said you had some questions about something from back in the old days?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Weber said. “We’re trying to find out anything we can about a priest that we believe was associated with the parish here.”

“Did you talk to Father Eustis at Saint Matthews?”

“We tried to, Mrs. Thurston, but he wasn’t very forthcoming.”

“It’s not missus. I never bothered getting married. No offense, Sheriff, but I’ve always found men to be more trouble than they’re worth. Give me critters any day of the week.”

Weber smiled and said, “No offense taken, ma’am.”

“Now, you said you wanted to know about a priest?”

“Yes, ma’am. His name was Father Thomas Hagen. From what we know so far, he conducted services in Big Lake and on the Apache reservation.”

“Let me think for a minute,” the old woman said, then she shook her head and said, “my family wasn’t much in the way of churchgoing, so I really don’t know much about what happens at the Catholic church. I’ve met Father Eustis, and he seems nice, and that young priest they have there is a pleasant fellow. I saw him last week when he came to the Senior Center.”

“But you don’t recall anything about a Father Hagen, back in the 1950s?”

“No, but if you don’t mind waiting a bit, I’ll look in my diaries. I don’t know if Norman told you, but I’ve kept a diary since I was a little girl. Haven’t missed a day.”

“Mr. Whittaker at the museum told us that,” Jennifer said. “That’s quite an achievement.”

“Well, back in my day, a lot of girls did that. Kept diaries. I don’t know if they do anymore. You just sit there, and I’ll be right back.”

Irene went through a curtained doorway, and one of the dogs, a one-eyed Chihuahua, jumped up on the sofa and bared its teeth at Weber, growling.

“You’d better watch it, Uncle Jimmy. He might take your face off,” Jennifer warned, smiling.

“I’d worry more about the sheltie that’s humping your leg right now,” he replied.

“Eww,” Jennifer said, pushing the amorous dog away with her foot. Undeterred, it came back for more. Weber wanted to help her, but he was too busy trying not to laugh out loud.

“Now, Benji, you stop that,” Irene said, coming back through the doorway. “I’m sorry about that, miss. I thought when I had him neutered it would settle him down, but he’s just a Romeo at heart.” She picked up a plastic squirt bottle and gave the dog a blast of water in the face and he turned and ran away.

“Anyway,” she said, sitting down in a threadbare easy chair next to the couch, “Let me see what I can find. You said it was sometime in the 1950s?”

“From what we know, he was in the area back around 1952 or 1953,” Weber said.

“Let me see here.” Irene opened one book that had 1952 written on the front in magic marker and thumbed through it. “Nope, nothing here. Well, here’s the thing about when my daddy rolled his Studebaker on a patch of ice coming back from St. John’s. Oh, and here’s Wednesday, March 5th. My fifteenth birthday. Mama made a cake and my friends Dorothy Galbraith and Susie Becker and Tammi Royce came over. It says here that Tammi gave me a pink scarf. I remember that scarf. I wore it to school the next day. Poor Tammi, she married a Mexican man named Diego Mendez and her daddy disowned her. Back then, people weren’t very nice about things like that. Tammi and Diego moved away. I think down to Eloy or someplace like that, south of Phoenix. She wrote a couple times, but then we lost touch.”

Irene picked up another diary, this time 1953, and laughed when she said, “Oh, my gosh. January 1st. I wrote that Daddy had a hangover, and Mama was mad at him. You know, my folks never quarreled much, but I have to be honest, Daddy was a man who did like his drinking. Oh, and look here, February 14th. That was Valentine’s Day. Georgie McFarland gave me a heart-shaped pendant. Georgie always had a crush on me, and I guess I had a crush on him, too. But he went away to college and met a girl, and they got married. I wonder where George is these days. I hope he had a good life.”

As she continued to thumb through her diaries and read passages, Jennifer looked at Weber and rolled her eyes. They both could tell that this was a waste of time and wasn’t getting them anywhere, but the old woman was having a good time reminiscing, and neither one of them had the heart to make her leave her memories too soon. After several stories about friends from her school days, and a dog that had gotten hit by a car, Weber finally decided they needed to get back to Big Lake. As he was trying to find a polite way to make an exit, Irene said, “Well, I’ll be darned! I forgot all about that. I guess I’m getting senile in my old age.”

Weber prepared himself to hear yet another anecdote from years gone by when Irene said, “Paul Fisher told his sister Guinevere about hearing Father Crosley yelling at Father Hagen. Guinevere told me all about it, but made me swear I would never tell anybody.” Irene shrugged her shoulders and said, “But Gwen died back in 1982, and Paul, he got killed in a wreck in the Salt River Canyon in 1989. And Father Crosley. My gosh, he’s been dead forever. So I guess it won’t hurt to tell you.”

“To tell us what, ma’am?”

“Here, I’ll let you read it. That way, I’m still not breaking my promise to Guinevere not to say anything.” She handed Weber the diary, and he and Jennifer read the words written so long ago by a teenage girl.

Gwen Fisher told me today that her brother Paul heard Father Crosley chewing out that new priest, Father Hagen. Gwen said that Paul told her that Father Crosley told him he was a disgrace to the church and a disgrace to the priesthood, and that his sin would never be forgiven. I asked Gwen what the sin was and she said she didn’t know because Father Crosley saw Paul eavesdropping and told him if he was done setting up the candles for Sunday service he needed to go home.

“The Fishers were Catholics,” Irene told them. “Paul was an altar boy. I guess that’s why he was in the church and overheard what he did.”

“Did you ever find out anything else about what was happening with Father Hagen?”

Shaking her head, Irene said, “No. Not that I can ever recall. But I’m happy to keep going through the diaries and see.”

They gave her another half hour, during which Benji tried to resume his activities on Jennifer’s leg, garnering him another blast of water from the spray bottle, and the one-eyed Chihuahua never stopped growling at Weber. When it was evident that there was nothing else in the diaries to help them, they thanked Irene for her time and left.

As they drove away, Weber said, “It’s good to get out in the fresh air. She was a sweet old lady, but that place was pretty rank. But at least we learned a little something, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” Jennifer said, nodding her head. “I learned I never want to own a dog!”

Chapter 20

“I was beginning to think you guys got lost, or else this whole story about a trip out of town was something nefarious to corrupt my little girl,” Margie said when they got to the newspaper office. Then, putting a look of mock concern on her face, she asked Jennifer, “Did Uncle Jimmy touch you in any of the bad places?”

“No, but I got humped by a dog,” Jennifer said, laughing.

“That’s no way to talk about your Uncle Jimmy.”

“He was a perfect gentleman,” Jennifer told her mother. “But I found out he’s worthless when I’m being sexually molested by a dog.”

“Do I really want to hear all of this?”

“In my defense, I had problems of my own to deal with. I was about to get eaten alive by a one-eyed Chihuahua,” Weber said.

“Okay, that’s it,” Margie replied, shaking her head. “The next time you want to go out of town for some kinky stuff, take me, not my daughter.”

Jennifer promised she would tell Weber if she could find anything on the state library website, and he returned to his own office to see what had happened during his absence.

“The folks from Nevada called. They wanted to know when they can come over and pick up Mr. Bannister, so I talked to Judge Jensen. She said Grover Recker had filed a writ of habeas corpus contesting the legality of his arrest and the extradition request. She denied it, and Grover asked for an immediate hearing. I had Berto take Bannister over to see her and she said she’s not going to deny the extradition request. They’ll be here tomorrow.”

“I’ll be glad to be rid of him,” Weber said. “Anything else?”

“I talked to Kevin Upchurch, and he said Kenny is going to be okay. I also put some feelers out trying to find out anything I could about Ruby Kline or Oakdale Cemetery.”

“Did you come up with anything?”

“The cemetery was started by the old Oakdale Church back in the 1920s. The church itself closed down in 1960. By then, the building was falling apart and there weren’t enough people attending to support it. The Town agreed to take over the cemetery, and it looks like they did for a while, but somewhere along the way it seems to have been forgotten. There hasn’t been a burial there since 1959.”

“That would explain why it’s in such terrible shape,” Weber said. “I’ll talk to Kirby and see what he can come up with. Anything else?”

“One thing. Dawn Ericson’s grandfather was a member of the church, and he bought the property where the church stood, except for the cemetery itself. While they were tearing the place down, he salvaged some paperwork from the church. I don’t know if you ever met Henry Ericson, but he was a pack rat. I remember when he died, his place was like one of those hoarder places you see on TV.”

“I remember Henry. He always looked like he just fell off a freight train,” Weber said. “People used to say he was a bum, but he actually worked hard and stashed a lot of money away over the years.”

Nodding her head, Mary said, “Dawn told me that when he died, her parents hauled most everything to the dump. But they hung onto the church papers because there were some burial records among them. She said she thinks they’re all in a storage locker out there on Purcell Road. She’s going to see what she can find and get back to me.”

“That would be great,” Weber said.

“So, what did you and Jennifer find out today?”

He gave her a rundown of their trip to Quemado and meeting Clyde Aycock and his son, about the abrupt dismissal by Father Eustis at Saint Matthews when they asked about Father Hagen and what Irene Thurston had found in her diaries.

“I wonder what that priest did that was such a disgrace,” Mary said.

“I do, too. Whatever it was, it was bad enough that even now nobody wants to talk about it.”

“You said that according to that old man you and Jennifer talked to, it was like Hagen was there one day and gone the next?”

“That’s the way he remembers it,” Weber told her.

“So maybe he was gone into an unmarked grave with a bullet in the back of his head?”

“It seems that way to me.”

Mary was silent for a minute, deep in thought, and then she said, “I know this sounds terrible, Jimmy, and maybe I’m just reading things into all of this from news stories we’ve all heard. But if that was Father Hagen in that grave, and if Ruby Kline killed him, do you think it’s possible he could have molested one of her kids?”

“I hate to even think about something like that, Mary. But pedophiles aren’t anything new.”

“You know, it all kind of makes sense,” Mary said. “We know the Klines were Catholics, and we know that grave was on the property where they used to live, and they found his cross in it. Put that together with everybody saying Ruby Kline went crazy, and what it says on her headstone in the cemetery, it all adds up, doesn’t it?”

Weber nodded his head and said, “It does. But we can’t just assume that’s what happened. If possible, we need to get to the bottom of it and find out for sure.”

“How do we do that?”

“We keep digging,” Weber told her. “What else can we do?”

The door opened and Grover Recker came in, saying, “What’s this? I hear that you’re going to let the Nevada authorities come and pick up my client?”

“Judge Jensen said she’s not going to stand in their way,” Weber said.

“Mr. Bannister has a right to exhaust all avenues to fight this extradition.”

“As I understand it, he has exhausted those avenues,” Weber replied.

“No, he hasn’t,” Grover said, shaking his head. “I’ve sent a message to the governor’s office asking him to intervene. You may not know it, Sheriff, but Mr. Bannister has connections in Phoenix. Big connections.”

“Oh, trust me, Grover, I know it. He’s told me and everybody else he’s talked to all about his connections. But unless one of those connections gets to the governor to contact me and put some kind of halt to the extradition, Mr. Bannister is going to be on his way back to Nevada tomorrow.”

“Not if I have anything to do with it!”

“What are you going to do, Grover? Throw yourself on top of your client and try to hold him down? Face it, he’s going back there whether he likes it or not, no matter what you say.”

“I want to see my client right now!”

“Fine. Suit yourself. I’ll take you back to the cell block.”

“In the interview room, Sheriff. I insist.”

Weber laughed and said, “Oh, Grover, I love it when you try to act like a grownup and pretend you’re a real lawyer. It’s the cell block or nowhere. Your choice.”

“Fine, but you haven’t heard the last of this!”

“I’m sure I haven’t,” Weber said. “Follow me.”

***

“Apparently none of Bannister’s connections came through, did they, Jimmy?”

“I guess not,” Weber said the next morning as Berto escorted two Henderson, Nevada police officers back to the cellblock.

“Grover was here when I got in this morning,” Mary said. “According to him, the governor was going to call any minute.”

“Kind of sounds like one of those movies where someone’s waiting for a stay of execution, doesn’t it?”

Mary laughed and said, “Yeah, it does.”

They heard the steel door to the cell block opening and then Bannister cursing as he was led out in handcuffs and leg chains by the Nevada officers. Grover Recker reminded Weber of one of Irene Thurston’s little dogs, barking and nipping at their heels, insisting they had no right to take his client.

“You’re going to pay for this, Weber,” Bannister warned. “You and that idiot judge, and all of you. I’m not done with this town yet. I’ll be back. And when I do, you’ll be sorry.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Bannister. I’m working on this nonstop,” Grover told him. “I expect a call from the governor’s office any minute. You probably won’t be out of town before it comes in, and they’ll be calling these guys on the radio and…”

“Shut the hell up, you worthless jackass,” Bannister shouted at him. “If you think I’m going to pay you a penny for your so-called services, you can forget it. I’ve got friends on the Arizona Bar and I’m going to see to it that you don’t have a license this time tomorrow.”

Mary handed one of the Nevada officers a thick manila envelope with the property Bannister had on him when he was arrested, and moments later, they were gone. Grover stood there silently, taken aback by the outburst from his client, and no doubt realizing that he would not be paid for his efforts.

Weber put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Cheer up, Grover. It’s not all that bad. I mean, that guy wasn’t the first person to call you a jackass, right? We’ve all been calling you worse than that for as long as I can remember.”

An hour after the Nevada officers left with Bannister, Mary knocked on Weber’s office door and then opened it and asked, “Can you carry a couple of boxes for me?”

“Sure,” Weber said, getting up from his desk. “What do you need?”

“Dawn Ericson’s here and she’s got two boxes of stuff from that storage locker about the church in the back of her car.”

Weber followed Mary outside to the parking lot, where Dawn stood at the back of a red Hyundai Santa Fe.

“Good morning, Dawn. I sure appreciate you going to all the trouble to find this stuff for us.”

Dawn, a woman so thin that Weber would have thought she was either on crack or an anorexic if he didn’t know better, wearing jeans with fashionable holes and a Mickey Mouse T-shirt, said, “No problem, Sheriff. Like I told Mary, this stuff was just taking up space in the storage locker. I’d like to get it emptied out, so when you’re done with whatever’s in there, you can throw it all away or do whatever you want. I don’t need it back, and after all this time, I can’t see who would have any interest in it. I don’t think there’s anybody left from the church around here these days.”

“You’re sure you don’t want it back?”

“Absolutely,” Dawn said, shaking her head, her large silver hoop earrings catching the sunlight. “And if you need a bunch of old Life magazines, or National Geographics, I’ve got plenty of those, too. Even some old Playboys and Penthouses. Don’t even ask me what I think about my grandpa looking at skin magazines.”

Weber laughed and carried the boxes into the office, thanked Dawn again for her time, and she promised if she came across anything else related to the church or the cemetery, she would bring it to him.

Lifting some tattered folders from the first box and waving away the dust that came with them, Mary said, “I feel like a kid on Christmas morning wondering what kind of treasures I’m going to find.”

“Well, dig in and let me know,” Weber told her.

Chapter 21

Weber was reviewing new protocols put in place by the Arizona Legislature on search and seizure laws two hours later when the intercom on his desk beeped and the dispatcher asked him if he could respond to Colby Street for a domestic disturbance.

“Chad and Coop are out on it, but it’s getting ugly, and they need backup.”

“I’m on my way,” Weber said, hurrying out of the office to the parking lot just as Parks was approaching from his trailer in the back. Weber asked, “Want to come along to back up on a domestic disturbance?”

“Sounds like fun,” Parks replied as he jumped in the passenger seat of the vehicle and Weber took off, headed for Colby Street, siren wailing and roof lights flashing.

“What’s going on?”

“Dispatcher said Chad and Coop were on a domestic and called for backup. Don’t know much else.”

Just then, Chad’s voice came over the radio, saying, “We need some help here. We’re fighting.” They could hear the sounds of shouting in the background.

Keying his microphone, Weber said, “We’re two minutes away.”

As Weber raced down Curry Road, Parks gripped the handhold on the dashboard, saying, “Don’t kill us before we get there.”

Weber took the turn onto Colby Road, the Explorer leaning sideways, and then floored the accelerator, forcing them both back into their seats. Up ahead, they could see two sheriff’s department cars. Weber slid to a stop beside them, and he and Parks jumped out.

“Taser-Taser-Taser,” he heard Coop shout, and then saw Danny Lamar’s body go rigid as he fell to the ground.

Meanwhile Chad was holding a large woman face down on the ground as she kicked and flailed, trying to get away. Parks went to his assistance, putting a knee on the small of her back as Chad got handcuffs on her fleshy wrists.

Weber went to Coop’s aid, warning Danny as he started to get up, “Stay down or you’re going to get it again.”

The man ignored him, jerking the wires and barbs free as he struggled to his feet. Just as he got upright, Weber kicked his legs out from under him and he fell heavily again. Everybody knew that Danny Lamar was big and dumb, and when he got to drinking, he turned into a raging bull, storming over anything and anybody in his path. It was obvious he had already passed that line even this early in the day.

Weber got him in a headlock, but that didn’t keep him from kicking Coop in the thigh, knocking him off balance. Kicking out again, he missed, and Coop moved to the side and kicked the enraged man in the ribs.

“Stop resisting!”

“Screw you,” Danny said, throwing Weber off as he got to his feet. “Come on,” the big man shouted, pounding his chest with both fists. “I’ll take both of you at once.” He let out a primal scream of rage, ready to kill anybody foolish enough to get within reach.

Weber had been in plenty of fights as a lawman and he had learned a long time ago that there was nothing to be gained by taking chances. Instead, he pulled his own Taser out, shouting the required warning as he fired it at the drunk’s chest. The man’s body went rigid again, and one would think nobody would have been able to withstand being shocked twice, but miraculously Danny staggered to his feet once more. When he did, Coop delivered a vicious sideways kick to his kneecap. The man screamed in agony and collapsed, all the fight going out of him as he rolled on the ground, writhing in pain.

“You okay, Coop?”

“I will be when we get handcuffs on this jerk.”

With Danny and his mother both secured, Weber stood up, noting that Chad’s uniform shirt had been ripped open, blood dripped from his nose, and he had scratches on his face.

“You okay, buddy?”

“Nothing that a little bit of cotton up the nose and some antibiotic ointment won’t fix,” Chad said. “But damn it, this is a brand-new shirt!”

“What started all this?”

“You go to hell. This was a family thing and not any of your business,” Ethel Lamar spat.

“It’s our business when you start fighting with my deputies,” Weber told her. “So just shut up.”

“Neighbors called because they were fighting and busting up the place again,” Coop said. “When we got here, we could hear it from inside our vehicles. I guess Danny here got a snootful and decided he wanted to redecorate the house by throwing things out the windows.”

Weber could see that the front picture window was smashed out, and a broken easy chair and an end table were on the ground outside.

“His mama said to get him out of there, and as soon as we came in the door, he went after both of us. We managed to get him outside, and then she came out and started wailing on us with that broom there,” Chad said, pointing at a broken broom on the ground. “She was yelling at us to leave her baby alone. You can see what happened from there.”

This was nothing new. Danny and his alcoholic mother were frequent combatants, and no matter which one was the aggressor, once the police arrived, they both always turned on officers.

Coop had called for an ambulance, and they could hear its siren approaching. Lying on the ground, Danny shouted, “You broke my leg, you son of a bitch! What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? You’re the one who was going crazy out here,” Coop told him.

“My baby wasn’t doing nothing wrong,” his mother shouted, as Chad put her in the back of his unit.

Deputy Tommy Frost was behind the paramedics when they arrived on the scene and helped load Danny onto a stretcher. “Go with him so he doesn’t try to pull anything else on the way to the Medical Center, Tommy. I’ll be along directly,” Weber told him.

Neighbors had come out from both sides and across the street, and Michelle Darby said, “Sooner or later, somebody is going to get killed over there. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Why can’t you guys do something?” another neighbor asked. “It keeps on happening. It’s been going on ever since they moved in two years ago.”

“They used to live down the street from my sister Adelaide,” said a woman. “They were just as bad there.”

“Well, at least they’ll be gone for now,” Weber said.

“Yeah, for now,” said Scott Trimble. “But what happens next?”

“That’s up to the judge,” Weber said.

“Instead of the Taser, you should have shot that big asshole,” said Richard Adams. “That would have put a stop to it once and for all.”

“I wish it was that easy,” Weber said, knowing that the neighbors were just venting their frustrations. “Does anybody else live there with them?”

“No,” said Jaimie Smith, another neighbor. “The sister and her husband were there for a while, but they couldn’t take any more of the chaos and they left.”

“We need to do something to secure the place,” Weber said. “Anybody got a couple sheets of plywood we could use?”

“I’ve got some at my place, and I’ve got a screw gun. I can help you,” Lloyd Ferrel said.

“Excellent. I appreciate it,” Weber said. “I don’t want any liabilities if something happens to the place.”

***

Weber could hear Danny Lamar cursing when he walked through the door of the Medical Center.

“I’m glad you’re here, Sheriff,” said Darlene Vassey, the nurse on duty at the desk. “Tommy has his hands full back there.”

Weber followed her down the hall to an exam room, where Danny was struggling against the handcuff that held him to the bed rail. “It’s a good thing I’m chained to this bed, or I’d be kicking your ass, Tommy,” he shouted. When he saw Weber, he said, “There you are, you son of a bitch! Big man, it took two of you to take me down, didn’t it?”

“If you had half a brain, you wouldn’t have been fighting us like that,” Weber told him. “Now settle down.”

“What are you gonna do? Tase me again?”

“I just might,” Weber warned him.

A nurse was trying to cut the man’s pant leg open, and he was kicking at her, saying, “Stop it, bitch. These are brand new jeans!”

“Stop that,” Weber told him. “Otherwise, I’m going to shackle your other hand to the bed, too.”

“Do whatever you want. I’ll still kick your ass!”

Doctor Priya Patel came in and asked, “What do we have here, Sheriff?”

“Just your typical redneck idiot,” Weber told her. “He’s drunk as a skunk and thinks he can whip the whole world.”

“I can whip the whole world,” Danny said. “Starting with you and all your deputies, Weber.”

“Please calm down, sir,” the doctor told him.

“Screw you, bitch. Who do you think you are, telling me what to do? You’re not even from here. Go back where you belong.”

Dr. Patel ignored him and started to look at his leg, and he kicked at her.

“That’s enough,” Weber said sharply. “I mean it. Stop it or I’m going to have them give you a sedative.”

“Give me whatever you want. It’s not going to stop me. Even somebody as dumb as you should know that by now, Sheriff.”

The doctor looked at Weber and shook her head and stepped out into the hall, and he followed her.

“What’s the game plan, Doc?”

“He’s too combative for us to do anything the way he is now, Sheriff. I can administer Haloperidol to calm him down, but he’ll need to be placed on a cardiac monitor and CO2 monitoring to detect any respiratory depression. I wouldn’t want to kill him.”

“That’s only because you haven’t spent much time with him.” Weber said.

“Yes, but I’d lose my license.”

“Well, there is that,” Weber agreed.

Hearing the man still cursing from inside the exam room, she said, “You know, it might be worth it.”

They went back into the exam room and Danny asked, “What’d you do, have a quickie out in the hall? Climb on the bed, darlin’ and I’ll take you for a ride you won’t forget.”

“Trust me, sir. The quicker I can forget you, the better,” Doctor Patel said.

Even one handed, the man put up a fight, but Weber and Tommy got his wrist handcuffed to the rail on the other side of the bed. Then they used straps to hold his legs down while the doctor administered the sedative.

Once he was out of it, a nurse cut his pants leg open and the doctor palpitated his knee.

“What’s it look like, Doctor?”

“I don’t think it’s dislocated, but it’s darn sure going to hurt and make him limp around for a while. I’m going to need X-rays to tell for sure.”

They wheeled the bed out and down the hall to take X-rays. When they returned, the doctor said, “He was lucky. Nothing’s broken. But I’d like to keep him overnight to monitor him.”

“Okay. I need to get back to the office, but I’ll leave Tommy here in case he gives you any more trouble when he starts to come around.”

“What about my unit, Jimmy? I left it there when I rode here in the ambulance.”

“I had Parks follow me here in it,” Weber said, handing him the keys. “I’ll have somebody come and relieve you in a while.”

Chapter 22

“It sounds like you guys had your hands full out there on Colby Road,” Mary said when Weber got back to the office.

“It’s always an adventure. How’s Ethel doing back in the cell block?”

“What do you expect from her? Cussing like a sailor.”

“Did you get a chance to look at any of that stuff Dawn Ericson dropped off?”

“I did,” Mary said. She opened a cloth bound ledger and said, “This lists the interments in the cemetery. It says Ruby Kline died on March 6, 1957, and was buried the next day. There is no record of any kind of funeral or memorial service.”

“That’s interesting. Does it say where she died or anything else?”

“No. Just a notation that she had already paid for her headstone and grave plot and for burial.”

“It sounds like she knew she was going to die.”

“Do you think it was a suicide, Jimmy?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s possible,” Weber replied, “but I’d like to find out.”

Mary set the ledger aside and opened a spiral bound notebook and said, “It says here that she was not a member of the church, but she left everything she had to them. Which wasn’t much. $43.94 in a bank account and some household goods. I wonder why she chose Oakdale Church instead of Saint Matthews over in Springerville?”

“I think I remember hearing once that people who commit suicide can’t be buried in a Catholic cemetery, but I don’t know if that’s true or not. Assuming it was suicide.”

“Would it be worth talking to them at Saint Matthews again to find out?”

“Hard to say,” Weber replied. “They made it plain they didn’t appreciate me asking about Father Hagen.”

“Maybe if I called them, I could get somewhere,” Mary suggested.

“Help yourself, but don’t get your hopes up.”

“Oh, by the way. Jennifer called from the newspaper and said she needed to talk to you.”

“I’ll go see what she came up with while you call Saint Matthews.”

***

Jennifer was typing away furiously at her desk but stopped and smiled excitedly when she saw Weber.

“You wanted to see me?”

“I’ve been on that Arizona Memory Project website and found some great stuff, Uncle Jimmy.”

“Really?”

“Pull up a chair next to me so I can show you.”

She closed the document she was working on and said, “I did a search for Father Thomas Hagen and found some stuff from the old Round Valley News Leader, which stopped publishing back in the early 1960s. Look at this.”

She opened a file and Weber saw a newspaper column topped with a photo of a handsome, smiling young priest under the headline Father Hagen Joins Saint Matthews.

The short announcement, dated September 1st, 1950, said that Father Thomas Hagen, 25, from Patagonia, Arizona and a recent seminary graduate, had joined Saint Matthews. It continued to say that he was looking forward to reaching out to smaller communities throughout the region and on the Apache reservation.

“He was a good-looking guy, wasn’t he?”

“He was,” Weber agreed.

“Here are some other things mentioning him,” Jennifer said, opening several more files. One was a photo of the same priest and several young Apache boys and girls. The caption said Father Hagen conducted services on the Apache reservation and enjoyed getting to know the tribal members and learning about their culture.

Another file was a photo of a smiling Father Hagen and several young people and a caption saying Father Hagen’s church youth group in Big Lake had held a Saturday hot dog and marshmallow roast. It identified the children in attendance from left to right, as Mary Kline, Margie Kline, Susan Taylor, Buddy Kline, and Randy and Theresa Hubbard.

Looking at the photographs of the priest and the young people, Weber thought of Mary’s suspicions of molestation. He hated to think of something like that, but knew that it was a possibility.

A third announcement was an obituary for someone named Paul Sommers in Eagar, with a notation that Father Thomas Hagen had conducted a graveside service.

“These were dated from 1950 to 1952,” Jennifer said. “But look at this.”

She opened another file, dated August 28, 1953, with a photograph of a different priest and an announcement that Father Raymond Jones from Midland, Texas, had been assigned to Saint Matthews.

“I wondered how many priests a small parish like Saint Matthews would have been back in those days would need,” Jennifer said. “And it’s interesting that from then on, there isn’t a single mention of Father Hagen anywhere. I found a couple of earlier references in other papers about him graduating from high school in Patagonia and going off to seminary, but it’s like, once he was here, he dropped off the face of the earth.”

“Or into a hole in the earth,” Weber replied. “Can you print this stuff out for me?”

“Sure. It will only take a minute.” Once Jennifer gave him copies of the articles, she said, “I’m going to keep digging and see what else I can come up with, but I wanted to show this stuff to you.”

“Thanks, Jennifer, I appreciate it. Let me know what you find.”

Back at the office, Mary said, “While you were gone, I called Saint Matthews. That was a waste of time.”

“What happened?”

“I talked to that one priest, Father Jeffrey. I think he said his name was, and he told me that there was no information available and that Father Eustis had asked that we not call or come there anymore.”

“So, does that mean they really don’t have any information or they don’t want to tell us anything? And if that’s the case, I have to wonder what they’re trying to hide.”

“Can you subpoena church records, Jimmy?”

“I don’t know. I need to talk to Kirby and Judge Jensen. Call me if you need anything.”

He left the office again and his first stop was at the courthouse.

Roberta said, “I hear Mr. Bannister is on his way back to Nevada.”

“He’s probably already there by now, or at least getting close.”

“What can I do for you, Jimmy?”

“Can you subpoena church records, Roberta?”

“I don’t know, to be honest with you. What are you talking about?”

He gave her a rundown of the information they had found out about Father Thomas Hagen and his belief that it was his skeleton that had been found on Larkspur Road.

“You think that this Ruby Kline killed him?”

“Well, it kind of makes sense,” Weber said. “We found his cross in the grave, and the timeline fits from when he just disappeared.”

“If he disappeared, Jimmy. You don’t really have proof that he disappeared, do you?”

“Not really,” Weber admitted. “That guy that we talked to in Quemado just said he was there one day and gone the next, and then there’s the newspaper thing Jennifer found saying that a new priest was taking his place.”

“If he was taking his place. It didn’t specify that. I’m not trying to rain on your parade, but none of that means he really disappeared, Jimmy. For all we know, he could have transferred or even left the priesthood. You said something about somebody overhearing the head priest there chewing him out and telling him what a disgrace he was. Could he have resigned? Heck, for all we know, he could have been fired. I don’t know if they fire priests or what they do, but the church must have some way to deal with somebody who breaks too many rules, wouldn’t you think?”

“So why isn’t the head guy over there now willing to tell us anything? And why did they tell Mary they didn’t want us calling or coming back? They’re hiding something, Roberta. I don’t know what it is, but that Father Eustis knows something he’s not telling us.”

“Let me do some research on things, Jimmy. As I said, I don’t honestly know if any records they have can be subpoenaed. Can I get back to you on it?”

“I’d appreciate it. By the way, you’re going to have to talk to Judge Ryman and see when he can come in. We had a domestic situation that got rough this morning and turned into a fight, and Coop was involved.”

“Is he okay?”

The judge and the deputy had become involved in a relationship, and to avoid any claims of impropriety or favoritism, Roberta had always recused herself from a case that Coop was involved in. Weber knew it would raise eyebrows in a lot of places, but in a small town like Big Lake, it was not uncommon for there to be conflicts of interest, including Archer working as a deputy while his father was the mayor, or Weber himself being married to one of his deputies.

“Coop’s fine,” he assured her. “Chad’s another case. He wound up getting his shirt ripped open and his face scratched up, but he’ll live.”

“I talked to Judge Ryman earlier today, and he said he’s feeling good. It took him a long time to get to feeling normal again after the chemo and radiation, and he said he didn’t miss being on the bench full time. But he assured me he’s up to coming in whenever he’s needed.”

“It looks like they’ll probably keep Danny Lamar in the hospital overnight, so I imagine it will be sometime tomorrow before we could bring him in for arraignment. As for his mother, just tell me when Judge Ryman is available, and I’ll have her brought over.”

“Sounds good. Anything else?”

“Yeah, one thing,” Weber said. “I’m going over to talk to Kirby Templeton now, but it turns out that the Town took over responsibility for the old Oakdale Cemetery years ago when the church closed. But somewhere along the way, it seems to have been forgotten. The place really needs some maintenance. I was thinking about asking Kirby if you could send people there for community service.”

“That sounds like a good idea. You work it out with Kirby and let me know. I’ve got half a dozen people that owe community service for things they’ve done.”

“I’ll get back to you,” Weber told her.

He found Kirby stocking shelves in the drugstore and asked if he had some time to talk.

“Sure, let’s go back to my office.”

The small cubicle in the back of the pharmacy was cramped with boxes of inventory that had not been put away yet, and Kirby apologized saying, “I had Tracy Benedict working in here, but I had to let her go. It seemed like every fifteen minutes she was on the phone with somebody or else going out back for a smoke break. It takes me less time to restock shelves myself than it did to keep up with her.”

“Good help’s hard to find,” Weber acknowledged.

“So, what’s up, Jimmy?”

“I wanted to update you on a few things.”

“I’m all ears.”

Weber told him about Bannister’s extradition to Nevada, about the trip to Quemado with Jennifer the day before and what they had learned from Clyde Aycock, as well as the visit with Irene Thurston, and striking out with the priest at Saint Matthews when they inquired about Father Hagen.

When he finished, Kirby was quiet for a moment, thinking things over, then asked, “Where are you going with all this, Jimmy?”

“What do you mean?”

“You seem pretty sure that it’s this priest that was in that grave out there on Larkspur Road?”

“I wouldn’t say I’d bet my life on it, but it looks that way.”

“It’s possible,” Kirby acknowledged. “But if this happened, what, 70 years ago? What are you going to accomplish?”

“We’ll solve a murder, Kirby,” Weber said, taken aback by the mayor’s question.

“I get that, Jimmy. But then what? You said you think Ruby Kline killed the priest, right?”

“That’s the way it looks to me. I can’t prove it yet, but it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“All right, let’s say you’re right. Then what? He’s dead, she’s dead. You can’t arrest a dead person for a crime, even if it’s murder.”

“What are you saying, Kirby?”

“Look, Jimmy. You know I’ve always supported you. Even when Chet was trying to get you fired over and over and over again. Right?”

“And I’ve always appreciated the fact that you had my back.”

“You were always in the right, Jimmy.”

“But this time you think I’m wrong?”

“No, not at all. I understand completely where you’re coming from and that you want to solve a murder. However, as I said, you can’t prosecute a dead woman. There have been a couple of members of the Town Council asking me how many resources are being used up in this investigation.”

“Are you telling me to drop it?”

The mayor shook his head and said, “I’m just saying you need to put things into perspective. Nobody wants to think that someone got away with murder. But at the same time, there are other things that need attention, too.”

“Are you saying I’m not doing my job, Kirby?”

“No, Jimmy. That’s not what I’m saying at all. Don’t get your dander up. All I’m saying is that you need to focus on the present as much as the past, okay? I’ve always had faith in you, and I know that you’re dedicated to the job. There’s no question about that in my mind. Are we clear on that?”

“Yeah, we are,” Weber said. “I just feel like the victim, whoever it is, this Father Hagen or someone else, doesn’t deserve to be forgotten just because it happened a long time ago.”

“I agree, Jimmy. I just need you to understand that some members of the Town Council have voiced their concerns.”

“I thought with Chet off the Council and Gretchen seeming to mellow a bit after what happened to him, things like this wouldn’t be an issue anymore.”

Kirby smiled and said, “Trust me, my friend. There’s always going to be an issue with every department at some time or another. Last week it was that the fire department was burning too much fuel training new volunteers on how to drive the fire trucks. I said the cost of fuel was small compared to the loss of a structure or lives, or a possible accident from having an untrained person behind the wheel of something that big.”

The buzzer on Kirby’s desk sounded, and he looked at a monitor and said, “I’ve got somebody at the prescription counter, Jimmy. Anything else?”

“One thing.”

Weber told him what he had learned about Oakdale Cemetery and the suggestion of having people the court had assigned to community service tidying the place up.

“I know that the old cemetery has been there a long time. I don’t know when the Town supposedly took responsibility for it, but I’ll darn sure get on that right away and find out what I can, Jimmy. And as far as sending anybody out there on community service, I don’t see an issue with that.”

“Thanks, Kirby. I’ll let you get back to work,” Weber said, and left.

Chapter 23

Weber stayed busy much of the afternoon dealing with the incident reports and the use of force paperwork related to the arrest of Danny and Ethel Lamar. Mary knocked on his door and said, “I sent Jordan to the hospital to relieve Tommy, and after him it will be Archer for the rest of the night.”

“Sounds good,” Weber told her. “Thanks.”

“Also, Judge Jensen called and said that Judge Ryman would come in at four o’clock for Ethel’s arraignment. I called Chad to take her over there since he was the arresting officer. And Roberta wants you to call her.”

The judge’s court clerk answered the phone and put him through to Roberta.

“You wanted to talk to me?”

“Yeah, Jimmy. I did some research, and it turns out that church records can be subpoenaed. As far as that goes, a priest can also be subpoenaed to testify in court, but cannot be forced to reveal anything said in Confession. However, you know that’s going to open a can of worms if we do, don’t you?”

“Do you think so?”

“I’m sure it will be all over the state news, if not national. It doesn’t happen all that often. Especially in a case that goes back as far as this one.”

“Do you think we shouldn’t do it?”

“I didn’t say that,” Roberta told him. “I just want you to know that there might be some flak from religious people who will think we’re abusing our power.”

“When doesn’t someone think the police and courts are abusing their power?”

She laughed and said, “You’ve got a point there. Also, I got a phone call from Kirby Templeton, and he confirmed things about the Town being responsible for Oakdale Cemetery. He doesn’t know how it happened, but apparently it got lost in transition someplace. He authorized me to send people on community service out there to get the place in shape. I scheduled three people for tomorrow, and Kirby is going to have Melvin Stanley from the Public Works Department there with whatever tools they will need.”

“That’s great,” Weber said. “That place really needs some attention. I’ll try to get Jennifer Shores from the newspaper to go out and take some pictures. Maybe write a short history of the cemetery.”

“That would be fine,” Roberta said, “as long as she doesn’t show their faces or use their names without permission. Just because they have community service doesn’t mean they should be publicly shamed.”

“She’s sharp, Roberta. She wouldn’t do that.”

“Sounds good to me. Let me know if you decide to request that subpoena.”

“I will. But I’ll see what else we can figure out first,” Weber said.

“Also, keep in mind, Jimmy, that they may not have any records dating back that far. We’re talking a lifetime ago.”

“I know. Let me think about it for a while.”

When he hung up, Weber went out to the main office, where Robyn, Mary, and Kate Copley were sitting together talking.

“What is this? The girls conspiring against the boys?”

“No, we’re talking about having a baby shower for Kallie Jo.”

“That would be nice,” Weber said. “I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”

“I just can’t believe she’s going to have a baby,” the dispatcher said.

“Why not?”

“Well… how do I put this delicately, Robyn? She’s so little and Archer is so big. I mean, what if the baby is the size he was when he came out?”

“I don’t even want to think about that,” Mary said, shaking her head and laughing.

“You guys are bad,” Robyn said, but couldn’t suppress her own smirk.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your hen party,” Weber said, walking outside and back to Parks’ trailer.

When he entered the FBI agent’s office, Parks was on the phone and obviously not enjoying the conversation. He held up a finger for Weber to wait, so he took a chair across from the desk.

After a few more minutes, Parks’ call ended, and he hung up, shaking his head.

“Bad news?”

“Just stupid bureaucracy, Jimmy. Every year we have to have a physical, and apparently, I didn’t make it to mine. The dweebs in Phoenix acknowledge that they forgot to send me an e-mail telling me when it was scheduled. But I guess I’m supposed to be a mind reader, among all my other superpowers.”

“So go get a physical. I’m sure Dr. Patel can do it.”

“No,” Parks said, shaking his head. “It’s got to be with the Bureau approved doctor down in Phoenix.”

“Then jump in your airplane, fly down there, and get it done and come back.”

“Am I in bad shape?”

“I don’t know. Are you?”

“Shoot, I’ll outlive you, Jimmy. I’m looking forward to pissing on your grave on your birthdays.”

“I don’t know, Parks. Marsha keeps threatening to smother you with a pillow in your sleep some night.”

Parks laughed and said, “Yeah, but she’s all talk.”

“When do you have to go down to Phoenix for your physical?”

“That’s the thing. I’ve got to be there tomorrow at eight o’clock in the morning.”

“That’s short notice, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, all because somebody down there dropped the ball, and tomorrow is the last day I can get it done according to some pencil pusher’s rules.”

“You’re going to have to get up real early.”

“I’m going to drive down tonight. I don’t like flying down there that early in the morning. The updrafts from the desert can get pretty rough.”

Weber had been in Parks’ Cessna more than once when the ride had been bouncy, and had not enjoyed it, but the pilot had taken delight in his discomfort.

“You must be getting soft, Parks. Do we need to put a recliner in your plane so you can be comfy?”

“Hmmm, I wonder if the FAA would allow that? I’m going to ask Marsha if she wants to go down with me.”

“There you go. A romantic getaway, and you can turn it in on your expense account. Live it up on the taxpayer’s dollar.”

“Hey, if I can’t get in a little greed and corruption, what good is the job?”

“Before I forget, Chad said to tell you thanks for your help out there today,” Weber said.

“Those two were something.”

“They’re both about as worthless as the G in lasagna.”

“A guy’s got to be pretty worthless to start thumping on his own mother,” said Parks.

“It’s nothing new. It’s been going on for as long as I can remember,” Weber said. “I remember Danny punching his mother and giving her a black eye way back when he was just a kid.”

“You’re kidding me?”

“Nope. He was maybe thirteen or fourteen years old. Even back then, he was as big as an ox, and twice as dumb.”

“Wow,” Parks said. “If I would have ever raised my hand to my mother, she’d have beaten me to a bloody pulp and turned me over to my dad to finish the job.”

“Mine, too. Not that I would have ever even thought of it,” Weber said. “But you and me were raised differently. We grew up being taught to respect others. Danny’s mom was a drunk and was always dragging men home from a bar. She never respected herself or raised her kids to even know what the word meant.”

“We were lucky, Jimmy. No question about that.”

“How are your folks doing?”

“Good. Talked to them yesterday. Marsha and I are going to go back to Oklahoma and see them sometime next month.”

“Really? That will be nice. But who’s going to be in charge of me while you’re gone?”

Parks laughed and said, “I know it’s gonna be difficult, Jimmy. But Mary and Robyn will try to keep you on the straight and narrow.”

“They’ll be working double shifts.”

His friend laughed and said, “Maybe I’ll have you outfitted with an ankle monitor so I can keep track of you while I’m back home.”

Weber laughed and said, “It’s a thought.”

“Anyway, I need to get a move on to get down to the Valley. I’m going to grab an overnight bag and see if Marsha wants to go with me. Is there anything you need me to bring back from down there?”

“I don’t know. I’ll ask Robyn and Mary and let you know.”

Weber went back to the office and Mary said, “I had a thought, Jimmy.”

“Just one? Usually you have a dozen thoughts running through your mind at once, don’t you?”

“It’s called multitasking. If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

“And what was your thought?”

“I’m still trying to find a death certificate for Ruby Klein,” she said. “But I’m wondering if we can find out anything about her kids.”

“You mean if they’re still alive?”

“That, or just any records on where they went when they left here. School records, or something like that. I’m going to see what I can come up with.”

“Sounds good to me,” Weber told her. “By the way, Parks is going down to Phoenix and wondered if either of you need anything brought back from there.”

“I can’t think of anything,” Robyn said.

“If you do, give him a call or text him.”

“Something else, Jimmy. I finally heard back about the cadaver dogs. They can come tomorrow,” Mary told him.

“Excellent.”

“Do you think they’ll find anything else?”

“Probably not, Robyn. But who knows? Maybe Father Hagen wasn’t Ruby Kline’s only victim.”

“God, Jimmy. Do you think she was a serial killer?”

“Don’t even go there, Robyn. That’s all we need.”

“But it’s possible, right?”

“Anything’s possible,” Weber agreed. “I hate to even say this, but when Sarah King told me about somebody from out of town coming and taking the kids away, she made it a point to say she wasn’t absolutely sure about that. Just that they were there one day and gone the next. Which is the same thing Clyde Aycock told us about Father Hagen.”

The look on the faces of Robyn and Mary told him that even the mention of something so horrendous was shocking. Big Lake had seen more than its share of crime and tragedy, but the very thought that a mother might have killed her own children, no matter what her mental state, was almost beyond comprehension. Weber had never considered himself to be overly religious, but he prayed that the cadaver dogs wouldn’t find anything else out on Larkspur Road the next day.

“I’m going to research anything I can on those kids right now,” Mary said, turning to her computer. “Do you have any name for the boy except Bud or Buddy?”

“No, I don’t. Why don’t you give Henrietta Kinman a call? When I talked to her, the only name she could remember was Bud. But maybe she’s thought of it since then, or somebody else there at the assisted living facility can come up with it. That would help a lot.”

“I’ll do that,” Mary said. “God, Jimmy, I need to find those kids. I mean, I know they’re not kids now, and they might not even be alive anymore. But I need to know that their mother didn’t do something unspeakable to them. I spent so many years wondering whatever became of Raymond, and after he came back into my life, I felt like a piece of me that had been missing for so long had been restored.”

“Let’s just hope this is all speculation on our part,” Weber said. “For all we know, Sarah King was right and a relative from out of town came and picked up those kids and took them someplace away from here and they had a good life.”

“That might be the only good thing that comes out of this mess,” Mary said.

Chapter 24

The cadaver dog handlers who met Weber, Robyn, Coop, and Jennifer on Larkspur Road at eight o’clock the next morning did not look anything like Weber expected. At 5’8” tall and around 225 pounds, Victor Gardner looked to be somewhere in his mid-30s and wore his long brown hair in a ponytail. His partner, Martha Chadwick, was only 5’3” and no more than 110 pounds. What was even more surprising was that she looked every bit of her 70 years, with short curly white hair and a face lined by too many years in the sun. The sheriff wondered if someone her size and age would be capable of a long, exhaustive search, but Rory Curry from the crime lab had told him that the pair was one of the best civilian volunteer teams to be found anywhere.

When Victor referred to his partner as Grandma, Weber assumed it was a term of affection, but was surprised to learn that Martha really was his grandmother. “I’ve worked with dogs since I was a little girl,” Martha explained. “My mother went blind when she was young and always had a guide dog. I helped train service dogs when I was a teenager, but eventually found I loved working with search dogs, which eventually got narrowed down to cadaver dogs. Victor always loved being around the dogs and pretty much grew into it.”

“It’s a great way for us to spend time together,” Victor added.

“Between him and the dogs, they keep me young,” Martha said.

Their dogs were as much of a surprise. Victor’s dog, Sarge, was a handsome looking German shepherd, and Martha’s dog, Bella, was a Golden Labrador Retriever.

“What were you expecting, Sheriff?”

“I don’t know,” Weber admitted. “I know they use a lot of German shepherds for police work and search and rescue, but I didn’t know that they made good cadaver dogs. And I had no idea that a Lab would. I guess maybe I was expecting bloodhounds, or something like that.”

“Just about any dog can be a good cadaver dog,” Martha told him. “As long as they have a good nose and the ability to focus. They can’t be distracted by other animals or different scents, like a deer or a raccoon that came through the area. A lot of it depends on how they were trained, and the handler, too.

“I would imagine it takes a lot of work to train a dog for this kind of work.”

“It does, Sheriff. It takes hundreds of hours to get a dog to where these two are.”

“Rory Curry told me that you two are about the best there are. I don’t know how much success you’ll have here. I don’t know how much Rory told you, but we think the grave we found dates back to the 1950s.”

“All we can do is give it a shot,” Victor said. “Dogs have been able to find graves of Civil War soldiers on battlefields down South.”

“You’re kidding me. That’s amazing! How do you train a dog for this kind of work?”

“It depends on where you’re at,” Martha told him. “In some places you can actually use human tissue and bone. Of course, you have to jump through a lot of hoops to get permission for that. They don’t want just anybody running around with body parts. Other places make trainers use chemical compounds that closely resemble the scent of a decomposing body.”

“I learn something new every day,” Weber said, shaking his head. “Well, I’ll let you get to it. Do you mind if Jennifer takes some pictures for the newspaper? And she may have some questions for you, too.”

“No problem,” Victor said. “All we ask is that you stay back and let the dogs work so there is less distraction for them. Like Grandma told you, they’re good, but the fewer distractions, the better.”

They watched as the dogs and their handlers went to work, moving across the property from one end to the other. Both dogs stopped and sat down by the obvious grave that had been filled back in. Their handlers praised them then and they continued searching.

Always prepared, Jennifer had brought donuts and coffee for everybody as her contribution to the effort. As they watched the dogs and their handlers work, she took photos with her camera’s telephoto lens and jotted down notes.

“They are pretty good at this,” Coop said. “I’ve seen bomb and drug and gun detection dogs working, and these guys are as good as anything I’ve ever seen.”

A tassel-eared Abert squirrel came down from a tree to bark irritably at the dogs for invading its space, but except for looking up and then going back to working, they ignored it. After two hours of searching, the teams took a break to give the dogs water and treats while Jennifer asked questions for her newspaper story. Then they went back at it, and Jennifer left to go to Oakwood Cemetery to get photographs of the community service workers cleaning up there.

“She’s a sharp girl,” Coop observed.

“No question about that,” Weber said. “She always was a go-getter.”

“She’s done good things for the paper,” Robyn said. “They have been up four pages every week for the last month or two. And I guess subscriptions are higher than they have ever been.”

“Paul’s a great guy, and he’s always been one of my best friends,” Weber said, “But he never was all that eager to chase down stories like Jennifer does.”

“I’m glad to see them doing good,” Coop said. “I read something a while back that said most small-town newspapers are folding up or being bought out by big corporations. I guess most people get their news from the internet these days, even more than television.”

“Paul’s daddy taught him that you have to have a lot of community news,” Weber said. “Pictures of the softball teams and the kids playing in the park and the Easter egg hunt. Things like that. Of course, he never went out of his way to take those pictures, but he always encouraged people to bring them in. You can bet those pictures in the paper got stuck on a lot of refrigerator doors over the years.”

The dog teams worked most of the day, taking breaks to rest the animals and talk to Weber and Coop. Robyn left to testify in court on a DUI case, radio traffic was getting busy, and Coop left to answer a call for service. Weber hung out alone until the dog teams finally called it quits.

Shaking his head, Victor said, “If there’s anything out there besides that grave, I’d be surprised. It’s the only thing they hit on.”

“I’d bet my Social Security check that there’s nothing else here,” Martha added.

“Well, I appreciate your efforts.” Weber said. “To be honest, I’m glad you didn’t find anything else. We want to think this was just an isolated incident.”

“We’re always available if you need anything,” Martha told him.

“I want to give you something for your efforts,” Weber said, handing them a $500 check from the sheriff’s department. “I know you guys are volunteers and I hope this helps cover some of your expenses.”

“It definitely helps,” Victor said. “We appreciate it.”

“I just wish it was more.” Weber said.

“There’s something else you can do for us,” Martha said. “When that young lady from the newspaper runs the story, could you make sure we get copies of it?”

“Absolutely,” Weber said. He wrote down their addresses and said, “I’ll give them to Jennifer. Thanks again.”

***

When he got back to the office, Mary looked at Weber with apprehension, but visibly relaxed when he said, “They didn’t find anything else out there.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she said, sighing with relief. “I had all kinds of terrible dreams last night about them finding those kids’ bodies out there.”

“Well, wherever they are, it’s not out there. At least we know that much.”

“I may have found a lead,” Mary said. “I tried to see if there are any school records, but they were burned in the fire at the storage building. Then I started searching for their names online. I found this.”

She handed him a sheet of paper and said, “This was an obituary for a Margaret Simpson in Chadron, Nebraska. The obituary, dated March 31, 2017, said that Margaret Simpson, nee Kline, age 72, passed away at her home in Chadron. She was survived by her husband Stanley, children Ronald, David, and Carolyn, eight grandchildren and one great-grandchild. It said she was also survived by her sister Mary, of Hastings, Nebraska.”

“If Margaret was the youngest, the age seems right, Jimmy. And this woman had a sister named Mary.”

“You could be right. But there’s no mention of a brother. Margaret, Mary, and Kline are all fairly common names. But it’s definitely worth following up on. I need to go tell Kirby what happened out there today.”

When he told the mayor that the cadaver dogs had not found any evidence of more bodies on the property on Larkspur Road, the mayor said, “That’s good news, Jimmy. But I have to ask, can your budget handle a $500 expenditure for the dogs?”

“Our budget can’t handle much of anything, Kirby. But I couldn’t expect them to come all the way here and work for nothing. I was kind of hoping the Town Council might approve the expense and put it back into our budget.”

Kirby shook his head and said, “Okay, Jimmy. But like I told you before, a couple of council members are wondering why we are wasting resources on all this.”

“Hell, Kirby, if they don’t want to approve it, I’ll pay it myself. I think it was worth it.”

“No, don’t do that,” the mayor said, shaking his head again. “I’m glad they didn’t find anything else out there.”

“So am I,” Weber said. “Mary may have found something on the Kline children.”

“Really? What did she find out?”

Weber told him about the obituary Mary had found, and that she was following up on it, then added, “I imagine someone will say we’re still wasting resources.”

“I hope you understand, Jimmy. I’m not telling you to stop looking. I’m just relaying what I’m hearing from the Town Council. I know you’ll do what you think is right, and I’m still behind you.”

***

“I found something else,” Mary said excitedly when he got back to the office.

“What?”

“Another obituary, for one thing. This time for Mary Petersen, age 77, who died at her home in Hastings, Nebraska, on October 1, 2019. It lists her surviving relatives as her stepson, Carl Petersen, and stepdaughter, Rebecca Smith, both of Hastings, and brother Robert Kline in Westport, Washington. It said that she was preceded in death by her husband Michael and her sister Margaret of Chadron, Nebraska.”

“I guess Bud could be a nickname for Robert, but again, it’s a pretty common name.”

“I know,” Mary said. “But I figured it was worth looking into. I came up with a 2007 arrest record for a Robert Kline, age 67, with an address in Westport, Washington from the Grays Harbor County Sheriff’s Office in Washington. If this guy was 67 in 2007, it means he was born about 1940. Again, the timeline is right, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. That would make him about 84 now,” Weber said. “If both of his sisters died in their 70s, I wonder if he’s still kicking. Could you find any contact information for him besides the address?”

“Not yet,” Mary said, “But I’m still looking.”

“Wow. I wonder if this could be our guy.” Weber could feel himself getting excited by what Mary had found. “Let me know what you find out.”

Chapter 25

Now that he was out of the hospital and no longer drunk, Danny Lamar was merely surly, which was his normal personality.

“How you doing, Danny? Got yourself a hangover?”

“No, man. I never get hangovers. The secret is to stay just drunk enough that it don’t affect you, but keeps the hangover away. You could do us both a favor and bring me a six pack to keep the edge off.”

Weber laughed and said, “You were a real asshole out there yesterday. What was that all about?”

Danny shrugged his shoulders and said, “Hell if I know. I don’t remember. I think my old lady pissed me off about something.”

“There’s something I don’t understand, Danny. Why do you think it’s okay to beat on your mother? I mean, beating on anybody is wrong. But your mother?”

“Bite me, Weber,” Danny said, rolling over on his cot in the cell. “That old bitch beats on me as much as I beat on her.”

“Well, you see where that got you both,” Weber said. “We’re going to take you over to see the judge in just a little bit.”

“How come my damn leg hurts so much? Feels like somebody hit it with a sledgehammer.”

“That’s because Deputy Cooper kicked you there after we tased you twice and it didn’t do any good.”

“Oh, yeah. I remember something about tasers.”

“You don’t remember getting kicked though, Danny?”

The prisoner belched and then farted, and even standing in the aisle outside the bars, Weber had to step back.

“Try not to do that when you go to see Judge Ryman, okay? You might set off the sprinklers in the courtroom.”

Danny laughed and Weber said, “Coop will be along soon to take you over there.”

When he went back to the outer office, Mary said, “I found a phone number for Robert Kline up in Washington. Actually, it’s his neighbor’s. I talked to them, and they said that they kind of keep an eye on him. They said to call them, and they’ll go get him and bring him to the phone.”

“What did they say about him?”

“Nothing directly,” Mary replied. “But reading between the lines, I don’t think he’s all that much of a solid citizen. When I told the woman who answered the phone who I was and who I was looking for, she wanted to know what he had done this time.”

They went into Weber’s office, and Mary dialed the number. It rang several times before a woman picked up and said, “Hello. Is this the sheriff from Arizona?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Sheriff Weber. I understand that Robert Kline lives next door to you?”

“Bud actually lives in an old travel trailer in our backyard. He was married to my husband’s aunt. After she passed away, there was no place else for him to go so we let him live in our old trailer.”

“I’m assuming that he is who we’re looking for,” Weber said. “Did he ever tell you anything about growing up in Arizona?”

“No, Sheriff, he never says much about anything. He’s a drunk and usually keeps to himself. I know he’s never been a happy man. He put poor Ruth, that was my husband’s aunt, through hell. I think the whole family wondered why she didn’t divorce him a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Weber said.

“The lady who called before said it was something about his mother. I would assume she’s dead by now.”

“Yes, ma’am. She died a long time ago,” Weber said.

“Well, if you’re trying to track him down because there’s any kind of inheritance coming, don’t bother. He’ll just spend it on booze. As soon as his Social Security money comes in every month, he stocks up. I’ve tried to get him to at least buy some food, too, but all he cares about is alcohol. If I didn’t take something back for him to eat now and then, he’d starve to death. Not that it would be any loss to the world, as far as I’m concerned.”

“No, ma’am, it’s not about money,” Weber said. “We just need to find out something about his mother.”

“Well, good luck with that. He’s damn hard to talk to.”

“Would you mind bringing him to the phone, ma’am?”

“Hang on. It’ll take a couple of minutes to get him in here.”

Weber listened to the sound of a television and a dog barking for a while and then heard the woman’s voice saying, “I don’t know, Bud. Talk to the man and find out.”

“Yeah? Who the hell is this?” The voice was old and sounded peeved.

“Is this Robert Kline?”

“I asked who you were.”

“My name is Sheriff Weber. I’m in Big Lake Arizona, Mr. Kline. I’m trying to find out some information about a family that lived here by the same last name. They had a boy named Bud and two girls named Mary and Margaret. The mother’s name was Ruby.”

“She wasn’t never much of a mother. I’ll tell you that right now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Weber said.

“I hope that old bitch is burning in hell by now.”

“So Ruby Kline was your mother?”

“She birthed us. But like I said, she wasn’t any kind of mother. What’s this all about, anyway?”

“Mr. Kline, somebody recently found a grave in the backyard of the house you lived in on Larkspur Road here in Big Lake. We think it dates back to when your family lived there.”

“A grave? The hell you say. Who was it?”

“I don’t know,” Weber told him. “That’s what we’re trying to find out. What can you tell me about your mother, and living here back in those days?”

“What do you want to know? I already told you she was a bitch.”

“I understand that,” Weber said. “Could you elaborate?”

“You're one of those guys that likes to use big words ain't you?”

“Mr. Kline, I'm just trying to get a feel for what it was like growing up with her.”

“Well, she'd fly into rages, and beat us all the time over nothing. Always said she was trying to keep us on the straight and narrow, but I think she just liked it. She didn't believe in letting us take a bath or brush our teeth. She said that was washing away what God put on us and it wasn’t our place to do that. You know what it's like to go to school and know that you smell so bad that nobody wants to sit by you? Hell, by the time I was sixteen, I didn't have hardly any teeth left! She'd sit for hours in the dark crying, and if one of us asked what was wrong, she’d start beating on us and telling us to mind our own business. Or she’d just run off through the trees and we’d hear her screaming at the moon. I used to think she was part werewolf or something like that before I got old enough to realize she was just crazy.”

“I’m curious about when you and your sisters left Big Lake. Do you remember when that was and where you went?”

“Yeah. I was fourteen, so I guess it was about 1956. I was the oldest. My mother’s sister Louisa and her husband from Nebraska came out and picked us up because they knew she couldn’t take care of us anymore. I thought that was going to be the best day of my life when they drove away with us kids. Turned out we jumped out of the frying pan and right into the fire.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Just what I said. Louisa and her husband Jim were just as bad as Ruby was, in their own way.”

“Could you elaborate on that?”

“They were both Bible thumpers, thought that God was going to make the whole world better for us in the next life, if we just suffered enough here. Well, let me tell you something, mister. There ain’t no next life. We got what we got, and then they put us in a hole in the ground and the worms eat us.”

“So, I take it they were strict?”

“Oh yeah. They bought into that whole ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’ bullshit, hook, line, and sinker. They had a farm, and they worked us like slaves, and the minute we didn’t do things the way they wanted it done, they whipped us. I’d have to get up in the dark and go out and milk the cows when it was ten below zero. It didn’t matter to them at all. In the summer, we were out there pulling weeds and picking bugs off leaves and whatever else needed done. When we went to school, we better not get in any trouble because Louisa or Jimmy, either one, would come there and beat our asses right in front of the rest of the class. As soon as I was old enough, I ran away, and I never looked back.”

“What about your sisters, Mr. Kline?”

“Call me Bud. Everybody else does. Except for those that call me worse. What was you asking?”

“I asked about your sisters.

“What about them? They’re both dead now.”

“Did they have it just as hard as you did?”

The man was quiet for a minute and Weber thought he might have hung up, but then he said, “Yeah. Just because they were girls didn’t mean they weren’t supposed to tote the load, too. Mary, she got married and moved out as soon as she was old enough. Married a pretty good guy, from what I know, but I never spent much time around him. Margaret, she moved out west and married a couple times before she moved back to Nebraska. I think she probably had it better than us because she was a lot younger, and she didn’t remember how bad Ruby was. That or she blocked it out, I don’t know. You never told me what this is all about, anyway.”

“As I said before, we found a grave on the property where you folks lived up there on Larkspur Road. There was a skeleton in it, and indications are it came from the same time frame as when you lived there.”

“Any idea who it is?”

“No. I was hoping you could tell me something about it, Bud.”

“Don’t know nothing about no grave. But I wouldn’t put it past Ruby to have killed somebody and buried them out there. She was always going on about that religious stuff, but let me tell you something, mister, there wasn’t nothing holy about that woman.”

“Why do you say that?”

“What did I just tell you? She was a terrible mother. Always screaming and hollering at us, telling us we were going to burn in Hellfire, and we were born of sin and all that bullshit. Let me tell you something about those Bible thumpers, mister. They’re worse than anybody else, believe me. I worked on merchant ships and went all over the world. I’ve seen some bad people, and none of them compared to Ruby or my aunt and uncle. Not by a long shot.”

“Bud, speaking of religious people, do you remember a Father Hagen? A Catholic priest?”

“Yeah, I remember that son of a bitch. There’s a good example of what I’m talking about.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“What did I just say? They go around telling you all about how you gotta live a good life and wait for the reward in heaven, and if you don’t, you’re gonna go to hell. Well, mister, I don’t believe in heaven, but I do believe in hell. I know because I lived through it when I was a kid.”

“Getting back to Father Hagen, it doesn’t sound like you cared much for him?”

“I did when he first started coming around. My dad died in the war, so I never really knew much about him. I only saw him a few times that I can remember. But Father Hagen, he was around there a lot. He liked to take the kids fishing and having weenie roasts and all that shit. But he weren’t no holy man, I can tell you that right now.”

Weber thought about what Mary had said about children being molested and he hated to bring the subject up, but he asked, “Bud, did Father Hagen ever do anything to you or to your sisters?”

“Do anything? What do you mean?”

Before Weber could answer, Bud said, “Oh, you’re asking if he ever got touchy feely with us or was diddling the kids, something like that?”

“Yeah, that’s what I was getting at,” Weber said. “You or your sisters or any other little kids that you know of?”

“No, he didn’t have no interest in kids. Not that way, anyway. He liked women. Grown women.”

Weber remembered talk of a scandal around Ruby Kline, and he asked, “Bud, when you’re talking about grown women, do you mean your mother?”

“Mister, if you call that witch my mother one more time, I’m gonna hang up this damn phone. She was never a mother to us! You got that?”

“My apologies, Bud. Please don’t hang up the phone. I need to talk to you. Do you mean that Father Hagen and Ruby had something going on?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.”

“They had a sexual relationship?”

“Yep.”

“Are you sure about that, Bud?”

“Are you calling me a liar, mister?”

“No, not at all, Bud,” Weber said. “I just mean… I guess I never expected to hear that. I’m not questioning you as to your telling the truth. I’m just asking if you ever saw them doing something together or anything like that?”

“Did I see him putting the meat to her? No. But he was there all the time, and she’d send us kids to bed and tell us not to dare to come into the living room. I remember one night Margie got up, that was my little sister, and she saw them sitting on the couch together and they was holding each other and Ruby was crying. Soon as she saw Margie, she got up and whooped her ass and sent her back to bed and said, Don’t you dare come out again! That crying woke me up and then I heard her and the priest kind of arguing about it in the other room. I guess she didn’t like being interrupted. I saw them all snuggled up like that myself a couple of times but never got caught or else I’d have gotten an ass beating, too.”

Weber had the phone on speaker and Mary was sitting beside him, taking notes as they talked.

“You know what, mister?”

“What’s that, Bud?”

“Come to think of it, that might be who you found buried out there. That priest.”

“Why do you think it might be him, Bud?”

“The last time I remember him being around, him and Ruby got in a big old fight.”

“Do you know what the fight was about?”

“She was telling him he couldn’t leave her. Said she loved him, and she knew he loved her, too. I had heard her saying she loved him before that. And that night, I remember hearing him say that he did love her, and that’s why he had to leave. That was the last time I remember the priest coming around. After that, Ruby got even worse. I mean, she went off the deep end. She’d be screaming and yelling about God and sin, and then she’d start whooping on us kids. Said she was whooping the devil out of us. That went on for quite a while before Jim and Louisa came and picked us up. That was the last time I ever saw her, and I never wanted to see her or hear her name again.”

“Did you ever hear about when she died or anything, Bud?”

“No. Never heard and never cared. I haven’t thought of her in thirty years or more.”

“Is there anything else you can think about telling me from those days, Bud?”

“Nope.”

“We know Ruby worked at a hardware store here in town for a while. Do you remember that?”

“Before she went off the deep end, she was always doing some kind of work. She worked at a couple of different stores, did ironing for people, whatever it took. But then she started getting some money in from the government. Not welfare. I think it was from the Army from our old man getting killed.”

“Do you know if he was killed in World War II or Korea?”

“I guess probably Korea, but I don’t know. I just always remember hearing he was killed in the war. I guess it could have been World War II. Doesn’t matter either way, dead is dead, right?”

“That’s true,” Weber said. “Do you know what your father’s first name was?”

“Kenneth. I know that because their first kid was a little boy named Kenneth, after him. He only lived a few months, I think, maybe a year.”

Weber was running out of questions, but he didn’t want to end the conversation if he could think of anything else. “Bud, do you remember Ruby ever having a gun?”

“Not that I know of. If she did, she kept it hidden so us kids wouldn't get to it.”

“Do you know where Ruby and your father were from or how they came to be in Big Lake?”

“Ruby was from there in Chadron, Nebraska. I know because a couple times Louisa pointed out the old country school they used to go to and the church they went to when they were kids. You sure got a lot of questions, mister. What else do you want to know?”

“Did your aunt and uncle ever say anything to you about Ruby or your father, besides pointing out where they went to school when they were girls?”

“Not much that I can recall. Except for always telling us we should be thankful they had taken us away from there. Yeah, right, took us away and made us slaves. Hey mister, I gotta go. I’m tired of talking about this shit. You’re bringing up a whole lot of things that I drank a whole bunch of booze trying to put behind me.”

With that he hung up.

Weber looked at Mary, who shrugged her shoulders and said, “I guess we know who was buried out there on Larkspur Road now, don’t we?”

Chapter 26

When Weber called Rory Curry at the crime lab the next morning to give him an update on the search by the cadaver dogs and what he had learned from talking to Bud Kline, the crime scene technician said, “This is all very interesting. If Father Hagen was having an affair with Ruby Kline, I guess that would explain why the priest over there in Springerville didn’t want to tell you anything. Even if it’s ancient history, he probably feels that once things are swept under the rug, they’re best left there.”

“I guess that makes sense. Mary says she thinks it’s a pretty good bet that Hagen is who they found buried in that grave.”

Rory replied, “I’m not a betting man, Sheriff, but if I was, that’s where I would put my money. But without a positive identification, we still don’t know that for sure.”

“So, how do we go about making a positive ID?”

“The quickest is if we could get our hands on his dental records. That would do it. If not, we have to go to DNA, which has its own set of challenges.”

“I wonder if the church has any kind of health history that would include something like that?”

“It’s possible, Sheriff. But how are you going to get them to give you something like that when they won’t even discuss the man?”

“All I can do is ask them,” Weber said. “The most they can do is throw me out on my ear, right?”

“I would imagine you’ve been thrown out of better places than that, Sheriff.”

Weber laughed and said, “Yeah, I have. More than once.”

“It would seem to me that, even if he was having an affair, and the higher-ups in the church found out about it and are now covering it up, they should still be willing to cooperate, if for no other reason than to identify him, if that’s his remains we found.”

“I’m going to drive back over there today and see what I can come up with,” Weber said.

“Good luck. Let me know what you find out.”

“Do you have anything else for me in the meantime, Rory?”

“We tried tracing that gun we found out there but aren’t having much luck. Like Special Agent Parks said, it’s a Remington Model 95. There were over 150,000 of them made, and they are still popular today. He was right about the serial numbers being repeated sometimes. But when we cleaned it up, in addition to the serial number, we found the letters KZ. From what I’ve been able to find out, that’s a shipping code, which said the gun was shipped in May of 1931. It’s unsafe to shoot and the barrels are too rusted for us to check the lands and grooves in them, so we couldn’t test fire it to see if we could match it with the bullet we found inside the skull. But I think it’s a pretty good bet that the bullet came from that gun. We’re about done with it, so I’m going to have it sent back over to you.”

After talking to Rory, and asking Mary if she had come up with anything else, Weber drove back to the twin towns of Springerville and Eagar in Round Valley, arriving at Saint Matthews church just as Father Jeffery was getting into a worn-out looking Chrysler Pacifica.

“Good morning, Father. Do you remember me?”

“Of course, Sheriff. What can I do for you?”

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“I’m just going to the hospital to make my rounds, and then I have to make some home visits to some of our parishioners who are not doing well. Quite a few of them are getting up there in age. It’s unfortunate that the younger generation doesn’t come to church like their parents and grandparents did.”

“I always hear that it’s a changing world, and I guess that’s true,” Weber said. “I know we see it enough in our work.”

“Was there something you needed, Sheriff?”

“Look, Father, I apparently stirred up a hornets’ nest when I mentioned Father Hagen, but I have some new information that I would really like to discuss with you and Father Eustis.”

“Sheriff, with all due respect, as I told the woman who called from your office the other day, we have nothing more to say about the matter. That came directly from Father Eustis.”

“Can you at least tell me why I’m running into a brick wall here?”

“I’m not at liberty to say any more, Sheriff. I’m sorry. I wish I could help you.”

“Father Jeffrey, I’m not trying to be a jerk, okay? But we found a skeleton in Big Lake, and we believe it’s associated with Father Hagen. Now, I know that there was some kind of alleged scandal about him and a woman from Big Lake, and I’m not trying to open a can of worms or cast any aspersions on the church, but I need some answers.”

The priest looked toward the church, making Weber wonder if he was afraid to be seen talking to him, then he said, “For what it’s worth, Sheriff, I had never heard of Father Hagen. After you were here the other day, I went to Father Eustis and asked him what it was all about. He shut me down just as quickly as he did you. That surprises me, because Father Eustis is a very kind and caring man. He really is. And whatever this is all about, it happened even before his time. But for whatever reasons, and I have to believe his reasons are good, he’s not willing to talk about it. Not to you and not to me.”

“We have reason to believe that the skeleton we found might be Father Hagen,” Weber said.

The young priest looked shaken by the revelation and asked, “Are you sure of that?”

“No, I’m not sure of anything at this point,” the sheriff admitted. “I was hoping I could find out if the church has any medical or dental records on him or can point us toward where we might find that information. We’re hoping that dental records would help us confirm the identity.”

“We wouldn’t have any dental records or anything like that here. I go to a local dentist. If Father Hagen went to a dentist when he was here and who it might be, I couldn’t begin to tell you. Listen, Sheriff, I don’t mean to be rude, but I have my rounds to make.”

“Of course. I understand,” Weber told him. “Thank you for your time, Father.”

“I really hope you can find out who that poor soul was you found in the grave. Whoever it was deserves a Christian burial.”

“Thank you,” Weber told him. “We’re doing our best to find out.”

Weber got back in his unit and drove away, watching in the rearview mirror until he saw the priest’s van leave, heading in the opposite direction. Then he made a U-turn and went back to the church.

There was no one in the sanctuary when he entered, and he went through the same door that Grace O’Dell had led them through on their first visit, and then down the hall to where he had seen Father Eustis going after the abrupt end of their conversation. He passed an open room that looked like it was used for conferences or meetings, then two closed doors before coming to an open door and looked inside, where he saw Father Eustis sitting at a desk writing. He looked up and scowled when Weber knocked on the door frame.

“What are you doing here, Sheriff?”

“I have some new information I need to share with you,” Weber told him.

“I believe we told someone from your office not to call or come back again.”

“You did, but I’m still here, aren’t I? It seems I’m just not very good at taking no for an answer, Father.”

“Do I need to call the police?”

“I am the police,” Weber said.

“You’re the police in Big Lake. This isn’t Big Lake.”

“That doesn’t really matter. My badge is good statewide.”

“As I told you before, I answer to a higher authority, Sheriff. Now, please leave.”

Ignoring the request, Weber said, “I’m going to tell you what I know so far, Father Eustis.”

“I really don’t care what you know, Sheriff. Or what you think you know.”

“Maybe not, but correct me if I’m wrong. I know that Father Hagen was having an affair with a woman named Ruby Kline. I have every reason to believe that the skeleton we found on the property where she used to live belongs to Father Hagen.”

“I see. And what makes you believe that, Sheriff Weber?”

“Yesterday I spoke to Mrs. Kline’s son, Robert. Actually, he goes by Bud. He’s in his 80s and he lives up in Washington state. From what I understand, he spent a lot of his life drinking. But all that alcohol hasn’t dulled his memory of the things he saw and experienced when he was growing up.”

“What does that have to do with Father Hagen?”

Weber didn’t know if he was going to get anything out of the priest or not, but at least he was talking and asking him questions. The sheriff had interviewed enough people in his career to know that was the first step to getting the information he wanted.

“Robert Kline pretty much told me that his mother Ruby and Father Hagen were having a sexual relationship.”

“He said that, did he? And what proof did he have of that?”

“I won’t put it as bluntly as he did, out of respect for your profession, Father,” Weber said, “but he said more than once he saw them sitting on the couch with their arms around each other, and he heard them both say I love you to the other.”

“Sheriff, I’m sure you’re old enough to understand that there are many ways someone can love another. While I’m not happy to see you here ignoring my wishes to be left alone, my calling still requires me to love you as my fellow man, and I do. So, whatever a young boy might have overheard is not evidence of an affair.”

“We also know that there was a lot of talk about Ruby Kline having a scandalous affair.”

“Sheriff, all affairs are scandalous. Today, and back then. Just because this woman you’re talking about was having an affair does not mean it was Father Hagen.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Weber admitted. “But we found a skeleton in that grave, and we found the cross with Father Hagen’s name on it in the grave. And Robert Kline told me that he heard his mother and Father Hagen arguing one night, him saying he was going to leave, and she was crying and told him he couldn’t leave her. According to him, that’s the last time he saw Father Hagen. If you put all those things together, it adds up to a very good possibility that it’s his skeleton we found in that grave. No matter what he did or didn’t do, Father Eustis, don’t you think he deserves a Christian burial? Don’t you think his family deserves to know what happened to him?”

The old priest sat quietly with his arms crossed over his chest for a long time, and Weber thought he might have finally convinced him to reveal whatever he knew. But then he looked in the sheriff’s eyes and shook his head and said, “I told you before, Sheriff. Whatever you’re looking for, you’re not going to find the answers here. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

Desperate not to let the conversation end there, Weber said, “Father, if you’re worried about whatever the scandal might have been affecting the church today, I give you my word that whatever I find out doesn’t have to become public. The last thing I’m trying to do is make the church look bad.”

“Sheriff, I’ve told you more than once that I answer to a higher authority than man’s law. And in that same vein, the only opinion I care about is God’s.” He gave Weber a curt nod and said, “Have a safe trip back to Big Lake, Sheriff.”

***

Not sure what else to do, but unwilling to give up so easily, Weber went back to the Historical Society, where he asked Norman Whittaker if he knew what dentists might have been working in the area in the early 1950s.

Norman looked in some old records and said, “There was a dentist named James Kilborne on Cortez Street. That’s the only reference I can find. You might try Irene Thurston again and see if she can help you.”

“That was going to be my next stop,” Weber told him, thanked him for his time, and left.

The same pack of little dogs barked their heads off when Weber knocked on the door and it smelled like the litter box still had not been changed when Irene ushered him inside, saying, “What a surprise, Sheriff. It’s good to see you again.”

“I’m sorry I showed up without calling ahead, ma’am. I just needed to ask you something real quick. Back when you were young, do you remember any of the dentists here in town?”

“Of course,” she told him. “There was Doctor Kilborne. He had his office on Cortez Street. They tore that whole block down back in the 1960s when they widened the road. He was a nice man. He was married to Dolores Bryant. They had three boys, James Junior, Rodney, and Keith. James Junior got pneumonia and died in the early 70s. I’m not sure if it was 1972 or 1973, but I could check my diaries to find out.”

“That’s not necessary, ma’am,” Weber told her, hoping she wouldn’t get off on a tangent again.

“I’m pretty sure it was ’72, because that was the year that William Shores got killed in Vietnam. William was a handsome young man. All the girls loved him. Now Rodney and Keith, they both moved down to Phoenix. I don’t know whatever came of them.”

“What about their father, Doctor Kilborne? What became of him?”

“Oh, gosh. He died in 1979. Dolores died the year before. Poor lady had cancer, you know. In her woman parts. Doc died within a year. They said it was something to do with his pancreas, I think, but everybody knew he died of a broken heart. They were inseparable. Did you know she worked as his receptionist, even after the boys were born?”

“I didn’t know that,” Weber said, then asked, “did someone buy his practice when he died?”

“He had already retired by then.”

“Then how about when he retired? Did somebody else take over for him?”

“Not that I know of,” Irene said.

“Can you remember any other dentists from that time?”

“Well, there was Joseph Strickland for a time, but he didn’t get along well with folks.”

“What do you mean by that, ma’am?”

“The old-time doctors and dentists, they cared more about the patient than making money,” Irene told him. “If someone didn’t have the money to pay, they would not turn them away, no matter what. They would take payments or even trade for eggs or chickens or something sometimes. It’s not like that anymore, is it?”

“No, ma’am, it’s not,” Weber told her.

“When Doctor Strickland came here, all he cared about was the money. I remember that Deborah Winters had a bad toothache, and her mother took her there because her cheek was all swollen up. She told the doctor she didn’t have any money right then, but she could pay him over the next two weeks when her husband got paid. He told her right there and then he was in business, and she couldn’t go to the grocery store and get food with a story like that, could she? As a matter of fact, she could. Back in those days all the families could if they were running short between paychecks. Well, I’ll tell you what. As soon as the word got around about how he treated Mrs. Winters, cobwebs were growing over Doctor Strickland’s doorway. It’s a small town and word gets around fast, and it was even smaller, and word got around even quicker back then.”

Before going back to Big Lake, Weber stopped at every dental office in Springerville and Eagar, hoping one of them might still have records from Doctor Kilborne. He knew it was a long shot and that the chances of anybody having records from another dental office that long ago were slim to none, but he figured it was worth taking. It wasn’t a surprise when he struck out.

Chapter 27

Weber could tell Mary was agitated when he got back to the office and wondered if he had indeed been spending too much time chasing after a long ago killer and neglecting his other duties in the meantime. But that wasn’t the case. She told him she was frustrated because she had spent some time at the records building hoping to find something from the schools about the Kline children.

“I was wondering if there were ever any reports of the kids being neglected or something like that. We didn’t have much in the way of social services back then, but I thought there might be some notation in a file. But everything is such a mess, between the fire and years of people just stacking stuff anywhere and everywhere, that even if there was something, it would be impossible to find. I was wondering if Judge Jensen could put some of those people owing community service to work going through everything in there and organizing it. What do you think, Jimmy?”

“I think it’s a good idea except for the fact that there are a lot of records in there that might be sensitive and shouldn’t be accessible to the general public,” he replied. “Some of the people that get assigned to community service just did something stupid like getting a DUI, but there have also been people with drug-related crimes and such. If there’s a way to exploit something, there are people that will find a way to do it. Let’s not give them any information to make it easier for them.”

“Darn it, I never thought of that. Oh well. Any luck in Springerville?”

Weber shook his head and said, “No, I couldn’t get anywhere with anybody at the church. I tried appealing to the idea that if that was Father Hagen in that grave, he at least deserved a Christian burial. That didn’t go anywhere with Father Eustis.” He told her about visiting the Historical Society and Irene Thurston, and all the dental offices.

“So now what? DNA?”

“Rory Curry mentioned that. I know they’d have to have something to match it to. I don’t think anybody knew anything about DNA back then.”

“Couldn’t they match it up to a family member? I’ve seen some things on television about that.”

“I don’t know,” Weber said. “I’ll call Rory and see what he has to say about it. It may be our only chance.”

***

“Yes, DNA can definitely help us get an identification,” Rory told Weber when the sheriff called him. “But there are a lot of ifs involved. The first thing is if we can get a viable DNA sample from the skeleton after such a long time. Any skin or hair had decomposed a long time ago. Fortunately, there are a lot of intact teeth, so it’s possible we can get something from one of them, or from the temporal bone located inside the skull. Sometimes they hold up well. All of that is possible, but not guaranteed. Then, if we get DNA, we need to find a relative we can match it to. Do you know of any next of kin, or any other relatives we might be able to locate to provide a sample?”

“Jennifer Shores from the newspaper mentioned finding some information about Father Hagen from when he was in high school down in Patagonia. Maybe we can run down some relative from that.”

“It’s a place to start,” Rory told him, then cautioned, “but here’s the thing, Sheriff. What if we can’t recover any DNA?”

“If you can’t, you can’t.”

“What I’m saying is, put yourself in the place of some relative of Father Hagen and the family who always wondered what happened to him. Is it fair to get their hopes up before we know if we have any DNA to match?”

“That’s a good point,” Weber conceded. “How long will it take you to find out if you can get a sample?”

“Anywhere from a few hours to a few days,” Rory told him. “Tell you what, Sheriff. How about you work on your end and see if you can find any relatives after all this time, but maybe don’t reach out to them until we know if we can get the DNA or not.”

“That makes sense,” Weber told him. “Let me see what I can come up with.”

***

Mary had gone from being agitated to looking excited by the time Weber got off the phone with Rory and came back out to the main office, where he found her and Jennifer huddled over something on her desk.

“You look happy. Did Pete’s Viagra refill come in?”

“Shoot, Jimmy, that dirty old man doesn’t need pills for that. He spends enough time chasing me around the house as it is. But Jennifer just showed me something she found that you’re not going to believe.”

“What’s that?”

“Come take a look, Uncle Jimmy,” Jennifer said. She handed him a piece of paper and said, “I found this on the Arizona Department of Health Services website.”

“What is it?”

“Ruby Kline’s death certificate.”

“No kidding?”

Weber studied the form, noting that Ruby Gail Kline, born August 12, 1921, in Chadron, Nebraska, had died at the McNary General Hospital in McNary, Arizona at 10:42 PM on March 6, 1957. It said the deceased was a widow and unemployed. Fairly routine information to be found on any death certificate, but Weber did a double take when he read the cause of death. His face showed his shock when he looked up at Mary and Jennifer.

“No way!”

“I told you that you wouldn’t believe it,” Mary said.

Weber looked at the form again, not sure if he could believe his eyes.

“She died of complications of untreated syphilis?”

“That’s what it says there, Uncle Jimmy.”

“Wow! I don’t know what else to say.”

“That explains a lot,” Mary said. “Can’t it rot your brain?”

“I think so,” Weber said.

“I already researched it,” Jennifer said.

“Of course you did,” Weber said. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Don’t hate me because I’m efficient, Uncle Jimmy.”

“So, tell us all the nasty details.”

“By then, penicillin was in use and could treat the disease easily,” Jennifer told them, “but, if left untreated, it can affect many organs, including the liver, heart, brain, eyes, nerves, and bones, and lead to all kinds of serious health issues, even death. It can also cause psychiatric issues from depression and personality changes, to delirium, psychosis, and mania.”

“Which would explain her acting so crazy, running naked through the woods at night screaming her head off.”

“That’s right, Mary. Until now, I didn’t like her very much,” Jennifer said. “After learning this, I kind of feel sorry for her. I wonder why she didn’t get treatment for it.”

“Back then there was even more of a social stigma about STDs than there is today,” Mary said. “If she was already feeling like an outcast, she may not have been willing to seek treatment. Or she may not have even known it could be cured. People didn’t talk about things like that.”

“So, did Ruby kill Father Hagen because she was in love with him and he was ending the relationship, or did she do it when she was out of her head?”

“That’s a good question, Jimmy,” Mary said, then speculated on another theory. “Or maybe he gave her syphilis, and she killed him in revenge?”

“A priest with syphilis? I’d almost say that’s a stretch,” Weber replied.

“Not any more than a priest having an affair, is it? But if they were sexually involved, Ruby may not have been his first partner,” Jennifer said.

“I was going to say I missed the old days when all we had to deal with were drunks and domestic disturbances,” Weber said. “Then I remembered that all this happened in the old days. Even older than before all of us.”

“Yeah,” Mary agreed. “This is one we can’t blame on all the newcomers, can we, Jimmy?”

“Now what?”

Weber told them about his conversation with Rory about the possibility of obtaining DNA from the skeleton and trying to match it with any of Father Hagen’s living relatives they could track down.

“Between the two of us, I’m sure we can find somebody,” Mary said. “What do you think, Jennifer?”

“I know we can,” the young woman said, excited to be part of such a complicated investigation. “I remember back in journalism school when I told people I was going to come back home and help with the weekly paper, they all thought I was crazy. They said I would be bored out of my mind. I guess they were wrong, weren’t they?”

“Okay, but there’s one thing that Rory mentioned that I need to caution you about,” the sheriff said.

“What?”

“We don’t want to get anybody’s hopes up. Rory said there’s no guarantee that they can recover DNA, so until we know that for sure, he said we shouldn’t be contacting family members asking if they would donate a sample for a match. It wouldn’t be fair to them to get their hopes up until we know we have something to compare it to.”

“That makes sense,” Mary said. “But we can still try to find some people related to him and be ready to contact them as soon as we know for sure.”

Jennifer was so excited by the assignment that she literally skipped out of the office, reminding Weber and Mary that even though she was a college graduate, there was still a lot of small town young girl left in her.

***

Weber was in his office going over paperwork and thinking about calling it a day when somebody knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

He looked up to see a dejected looking Deputy Archer Wingate.

“What’s up, Archer?”

“Can I talk to you, Jimmy? It’s kind of personal.”

“Sure. Have a seat.”

Archer sat down heavily on the sofa in the office and hung his head. Weber wondered what he had done now. Gotten into another accident in a squad car? Or maybe just locked himself out of his car? Archer had done both before, but he had said this was personal.

“What’s on your mind, Archer?”

The big deputy shrugged his shoulders and Weber grew concerned. Archer had screwed up many times, but the sheriff could tell whatever it was bothering the man was weighing heavily upon him.

“You okay, Archer?”

“I guess so. I don’t know.”

“Is Kallie Jo okay?”

“Yeah.”

Weber felt a pang of anxiety and asked, “Did something happen with the baby, Archer?”

“No.”

Weber wheeled his chair away from the desk and closer to the sofa and asked, “What’s going on?”

When Archer looked up at him, his face was a mixture of misery and confusion.

“I’m going to have a baby. Jimmy.”

“Well, technically Kallie Jo is going to have it.”

“You know what I mean.”

“She’s going to be fine, Archer. Women have babies all the time.”

“I know she’s going to be fine. She keeps telling me that all the time. I’m more worried about me.”

Before Kallie Jo had come into his life, there was no question that Archer had been self-centered, but no one could doubt that marriage had changed him for the better. Was he reverting to his old ways? Weber hoped not, for Archer’s own sake and for the sake of his family.

“What do you mean, you’re worried about you?”

Archer looked at him and said, “I don’t know how to be a father, Jimmy. What am I going to do?”

The sheriff smiled at him and said, “Is that what’s bothering you?”

“Yeah. I don’t know the first thing about babies.”

“I’ve never had a kid, Archer, but it’s pretty simple from what I understand. You feed them, you change their diapers when they need it, and you love them. You can do all of that, can’t you?”

“That’s not what I mean, Jimmy. You know my dad. I know he’s changed a lot since he got hurt, but when I was a kid, he was so busy being mayor and running his businesses that… I don’t know.” Archer shrugged his shoulders again and asked, “How do I do it, Jimmy? How do I be a good father? How do I teach a kid to play ball and ride a bike and all that stuff when nobody taught me?”

For the first time, Weber felt sympathy for his deputy. Even though Archer had always been a screwup, there was never any question that he had a good heart. He truly wanted to do a good job as a deputy, and it was obvious that he wanted to do a good job as a father, too. But Weber had never thought about what it must be like, growing up as Chet Wingate’s son, overweight and inept, constantly criticized and never being able to live up to his father’s expectations. And the sheriff was grateful that he himself had a father who took the time to teach him how to be a good man and a good person.

“Let me ask you this, Archer. Do you love Kallie Jo?”

“Of course, Jimmy. I love her with all my heart. I can’t imagine not having her.”

“That’s good,” Weber said. “And are you going to love this baby the two of you have coming?”

“Yeah. I’m really excited about it. But look at me, Jimmy. You know me. I’m big and I’m clumsy and I’m dumb and I’m…”

“Stop right there,” Weber said sternly as he held his hand up. “Yes, Archer, I do know you. And I know that sometimes you screw up. But do you know what? So do me and Parks and Dolan and Buz and Tommy and everybody else in the world. But here’s the thing, Archer. I’ve never known you to be mean to anybody. I’ve never known you to hurt anybody. And I’ve never questioned for a minute that your intentions are always good. I know that one reason you’re so big is because it takes a big body to hold a heart as big as yours,” the sheriff said, tapping his deputy on the chest. “So don’t worry about all of that. You just love that baby the way I know you’re going to, and everything else is going to work out just fine. I promise.” 

Chapter 28

Rory Curry had told him it might take several days to determine whether they could get any DNA from the skeleton, and Weber waited impatiently for any results. In the meantime, he was kept busy with routine small town police business.

Billy Fletcher, still drunk from a night of carousing, lost control of his car on a curve on Red Dog Road and slammed into the side of Burrell Winhams’s house. Burrell, a 76-year-old retired welder who enjoyed his mid-morning naps in his recliner, was rudely awakened when the impact threw him from his La-Z-Boy and across the living room. The old man was fortunate to only have a few scrapes and bruises, but once he realized what had happened, he staggered across the wreckage of the room and pulled a dazed and confused Billy from his car and started beating him with his cane. By the time concerned neighbors pulled him off the drunk and deputies arrived, Billy was the one who looked like he had been hit by a car.

Someone called about a fisherman in distress out on the lake and Dolan and Chad had taken a boat out to his canoe to discover he had run a treble hook from an artificial fishing lure through his finger. While howling in pain and thrashing about, he had knocked the canoe’s paddle into the water and was stranded. The deputies got him into their boat, retrieved the paddle, and towed the canoe back to shore, where waiting paramedics cut the hook’s barbs off and pulled it free of his finger, then doused it with alcohol and told him he should probably go to the emergency room and get a tetanus shot.

The sheriff responded to a call from Dora Comerford, an overworked, divorced mom of a waste of skin son named Jeremy, who refused to behave and challenged his mother on everything. The boy, who was four months shy of his sixteenth birthday, had a learner’s permit, which only allowed him to drive with a licensed driver aged 21 or older in the driver’s seat beside him. Dora worked two jobs, one at the cash register of the IGA grocery store, and another three hours in the evening caring for an elderly woman and getting her fed, bathed, and ready for bed. Jeremy had called her at work three times during the day, wanting to know when she would come home so he could practice driving, and she had told him all three times that she could not get calls at work, and she could not leave work for something like that. Exhausted, she had come home and collapsed on the couch to take a nap before going to take care of Missus Burgess, but Jeremy kept waking her up, asking her when they could go driving. Dora had lost her temper and shouted at him, telling him he would never drive again if he didn’t leave her alone, and as soon as she drifted off to sleep again, she heard the car starting up in the driveway and looked out to see Jeremy revving the engine. When she went outside to tell him to get out of the car, it became an argument, and she called the sheriff’s office, frustrated and overwhelmed.

“What’s your problem, Jeremy? I was out here a month ago because you were playing the stereo so loud when your mom was trying to sleep, and deputies were here just last week because you were giving your mother trouble.”

The sullen looking boy shrugged his shoulders but didn’t answer him.

“I know you can talk, Jeremy,” Weber said. “The dispatcher heard you cussing your mother out when she called. So answer me. What’s your problem?”

“I just get tired of my mother being such a bitch. That’s my problem!”

“First of all, watch your mouth. You don’t talk about your mother, or any woman, that way. Do you hear me? If I had ever talked to my mother that way, she would have washed my mouth out with soap.”

“I’d like to see her try it,” the boy sneered.

“Hey, man, if she can’t, I will.”

“You can’t touch me. I’m a juvenile.”

“Don’t press your luck,” Weber warned him. “What makes you think you can demand anything from your mother besides a place to sleep and food in your stomach?”

“What’s the big deal? All I want to do is drive the car.”

“And all your mother would like to do is get a little bit of sleep before she goes to her second job,” the sheriff said. “Is that too much to ask?”

“That’s all she does is work and sleep.”

“I’m just trying to give you a good home, Jeremy,” Dora told him. “I told you I would take you driving tomorrow on my day off before I go take care of Missus Burgess, didn’t I?”

“I don’t want to wait until tomorrow,” the boy replied sullenly.

“Well, I’m sorry. But that’s the best I can do.”

“All you think about is yourself!”

“That’s not true, Jeremy.”

“Yes, it is. You’re a selfish bitch.”

The boy’s eyes shot open wide, and he cried out in surprise when Weber picked him up under the arms and slammed him into the side of the house.

“What did I tell you about talking to your mother that way?”

“Ow, you’re hurting me!”

“Good, I want it to hurt. Now, you listen to me, punk. You think you’re big and tough, but you’re nothing but a snot-nose kid,” Weber said. “So, here’s the way it’s going to be, Jeremy. You’re going to shut your mouth and you’re going to go inside and you’re going to go to your room and you’re going to stay there. And if I get a call again about you giving your mother any trouble, I’m going to come down on you like a sack of bricks. Do we understand each other?”

“You can’t treat me this way.”

“You know what, Jeremy? You’re wrong about that. I just did.”

“Mom, make him let go of me!”

The sheriff dug his thumbs into the boy’s armpits, making him howl in pain.

“Here’s something you need to understand about the real world, kid. What I just did is nothing. There are people out there who won’t put up with your bullshit. Do you know how many assholes like you I’ve seen with their heads bashed in because they mouthed off to the wrong person? Do you know I’ve zipped people up in body bags because someone shot them or beat them to death just for acting like you do? Is that how you want to end up?”

For once, the boy didn’t look so defiant. Weber could see genuine fear in his eyes when he looked into his face. The sheriff didn’t know if it was fear of what he might do to him or if his words were getting through. But either way, he just said, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me, Jeremy. Your mother’s the one you owe an apology to. She busts her ass to provide for you, and you need to show her respect and appreciation. I could take you to places right now, the homes of kids you know from school, who would give anything to switch places with you. You know that’s true, don’t you?”

Jeremy nodded his head and said, “Yeah.”

Weber let him down, but still kept him pinned to the side of the house and said, “Now, I told you, you’re going to go in your room and you’re going to stay there and you’re not going to bother your mother, because if you do, I’ve got a cell I can put you in. We keep it reserved just for kids like you. And if you think you have it tough now?” The sheriff shook his head and said, “You have no idea. So, what’s it going to be?”

“I’ll behave.”

“That’s right, you will, because I’m going to come around once in a while, Jeremy, just to be sure that you are. And I’m kind of a sneaky bastard. I might park my car a block away and come up on foot just to see if I can hear you acting like a jerk again. It may be early in the morning or late at night, or any other time. Trust me, Jeremy. You don’t want me to hear something like that, do you?”

“No, sir.”

“That’s right, you don’t. Now, what are you going to do when I step back?”

“I’m going to apologize to my mom and I’m gonna go to my room.”

“And what are you going to do when you get there, Jeremy?”

“I’m going to be quiet and let her get some rest.”

“That’s good,” Weber said. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

He stepped back and watched as the boy hung his head and approached his mother.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’ll be quiet and let you rest.”

“I just need some rest before I go to take care of Missus Burgess. I promise, once I get some rest, we’ll go driving tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

She hugged her son and said, “I love you,” and then he went in the house and closed the door behind him.

Weber looked at her and said, “I’m sorry about that, Dora. I was out of line, but I just get so tired of coming out here and seeing him treat you the way he does. If you want to file a complaint…”

“Are you kidding me, Sheriff? If you weren’t married and your wife didn’t carry a gun, I’d hug you and kiss you right now in front of the whole neighborhood. My ex doesn’t have anything to do with Jeremy, and I do the best I can. I think the boy needs a father figure. At least someone to set him straight now and then.”

“I don’t know if I set him straight, but I think we had what they call a ‘come to Jesus’ moment. I hope it does some good. But if he gives you any trouble, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.”

Weber started to get in his vehicle and then turned and said, “For what it’s worth, Dora, I think you’re doing a hell of a job.”

***

Town Councilmen Don Pardue and Cameron Mills were waiting for Weber when he got back to the sheriff’s office.

“Hello, gentlemen. What’s up?”

“We know you’re busy, but could we have a few minutes of your time, Sheriff?”

“Sure,” Weber told them. “Let’s go in my office.”

When they got in his office, Pardue looked at the massive elk’s head hanging on the wall and said, “That’s a monster. Did you shoot him, Sheriff?”

“No, he came with the job,” Weber said. “I think he’s been hanging up there forever.”

The two councilmen admired the elk for a moment, and then Weber said, “I have a feeling you’re not here to talk about taxidermy, are you?”

“No, we’re not,” Councilman Mills said, getting right to the point. “We have some concerns about the time and resources being put into this skeleton that was found out on Larkspur Road, Sheriff.”

Weber waved them to seats on the couch and sat in his chair, saying, “Kirby Templeton told me that some members of the Council had some concerns.”

“We’re just wondering if this is the best use of your department’s resources,” Pardue said.

“The last I heard, there’s no statute of limitations on murder.”

“That’s true, sheriff. But from what I understand, whoever this poor soul is that was found out there was killed 75 years ago or something like that.”

“More like 50 years, give or take,” Weber told him, “We don’t know exactly when it happened.”

“Fine, 50 years,” Mills said. “What do you hope to gain by wasting time on this, Sheriff?”

“I don’t believe I’m wasting any time,” Weber told him. We believe we have a good idea of who it is, and we think we know who killed him.”

“And is that person still alive?”

“Not if it’s the person we suspect. No, they aren’t.”

“Then what’s the point of all this, Sheriff?”

“Do we put a timeline on investigating crimes, Councilman Mills? If we do, what is that timeline? Five years, ten years, last year? No matter when it happened, the victim is just as dead. And doesn’t someone who has been dead for 50 years still deserve justice?”

“Well, yes they do, Sheriff. Nobody’s denying that. But at what cost?”

“You tell me, Mr. Councilman. How much is justice worth?”

“Look, sheriff, we’re not trying to tell you how to do your job,” Pardue said.

“Yes, that’s exactly what you’re doing,” Weber shot back. “And I’m going to tell both of you gentlemen the same thing I used to tell Chet Wingate and Gretchen. I run this department, not the town council. I’ll do my job as I see fit, as long as I have that job. If that was your father or uncle or somebody else you care about that we found out there, wouldn’t you want to know what happened to them? What price tag would you put on that, gentleman?”

“When I first came on the Council, someone told me you were a stubborn man, Sheriff Weber,” Mills said. “I see that’s true.”

“Yes, it is. And I assume it was probably Gretchen Smith-Abbot who told you that. It’s too bad she didn’t tell you that coming in here like this is a waste of your time and mine. Now, if there’s nothing else, gentlemen, I have work to do.”

When they left his office, Mary came in and asked, “How’d that go?”

“About like you’d expect. I’m sorry Chet got so banged up like he did, but if anything good came out of it, at least him and Gretchen aren’t in here busting my chops all the time. But I guess somebody stepped up to take their place.”

“I think Pardue is just trying to do the best he can for the Town,” Mary said. “As for Cameron Mills, everybody knows he’s a penny pincher. Sometimes he acts like it’s his own money being spent.”

“Well, it’s not,” Weber replied.

“So, what happened over at Dora’s place?”

“I lost it,” Weber admitted. “That punk kid of hers needed a lesson, and I put the fear of God in him. Or at least I tried.”

Chapter 29

When the new edition of the weekly Big Lake Herald came out, people were grabbing copies as soon as they hit the street, eager for any news about the unmarked grave and the skeleton found in it. Jennifer had done a good job of covering the basics, with photographs of Merle McCormack and Reggie Weaver, the men who had discovered the skeleton, and comments from them about their reaction to it, as well as a photo of Weber and his deputies standing by the grave, another photograph of the crime scene techs working, and a final photograph of Victor Gardner and Martha Chadwick and their cadaver dogs searching the scene. While not going into the details of who once lived on the property or who authorities believed the victim might be, Jennifer said that the investigation was ongoing, and more information would be released when it became available.

She also included a separate story about the family relationship between the dog handlers, with comments about how Victor had been drawn to the work because of his grandmother’s involvement, and information about other cases they had worked around the state and their high success rate.

Jennifer had another story in the same edition about the neglect at Oakdale Cemetery and the Sheriff’s Office working with Mayor Kirby Templeton and Judge Jensen sending people assigned to community service to help get the property back in shape. One of the people working off his community service time was Neil Flaherty, who was happy to pose for a photograph of himself, rake in hand, and saying that he appreciated the opportunity to avoid paying a fine for speeding and running a stop sign by being able to work it off cleaning up the cemetery. “I screwed up, and this is a good way to make things right,” she quoted Neil as saying. “Besides, this place is a mess. The people buried here deserve better than that. I asked Melvin Stanley if I could keep working on it for free, even after my community service time is up.” There was another quote, this one by Melvin, from the Public Works Department, saying how much he appreciated the hard work of the people assigned to the project and having the opportunity to bring dignity back to the cemetery.

“Jennifer sure hit a couple of home runs with this issue, didn’t she?”

“She batted them right out of the park, Mary,” Weber said, looking at the paper. “That girl could go a long way in the news business, but I have to say I’m kind of glad that she came back to Big Lake after she graduated from college.”

“I know that Margie sure is,” Mary replied. “I bumped into her at the grocery store, and she said it was lonely when Jennifer was off at college. She’s real proud of that girl, and she’s got a right to be.”

“No question about that,” Weber agreed.

***

Weber wasn’t surprised to find a full house at that week’s Town Council meeting. It seemed like everybody wanted to know more about the investigation into the unmarked grave, and they seemed disappointed when all Weber could tell them was the same thing that they had read in the newspaper. It appeared that the victim had been murdered, the remains were not yet identified, the identity of the suspect was not yet confirmed, and the investigation was ongoing.

The sheriff wasn’t surprised when Councilman Mills brought up the cost of the investigation and repeated the concerns he had expressed to Weber about it being the best use of resources for the Sheriff’s Department.

“I bet if it was somebody from your family buried out there, you wouldn’t care how much it cost,” said local curmudgeon Harley Willits, drawing nods and murmurs of approval from the people sitting around him.

“Harley, we’re not open for public comment yet,” Mayor Templeton said.

“Let the man speak. You know he’s right,” said Arnold Foster, sitting next to Harley, who was his brother-in-law and next-door neighbor. The two cranky old men were well known for their ongoing feuds, always complaining about the other one and keeping deputies busy when their squabbles got out of hand. They had a love/hate relationship, though neither would ever acknowledge the love part.

“You, too, Arnold. Everybody will have plenty of time to talk,” Kirby told him.

“We already had this conversation in my office, Councilman Mills,” Weber said.

“Yes, we did, and I want to put it on the record that I have concerns about this investigation. I don’t see the point of spending resources on something that happened so long ago.”

“That’s because the point’s on top of your head,” shouted Arnold, drawing a rap from the mayor’s gavel and a stern look. Arnold smiled, happy that his comment had drawn giggles from those sitting nearby.

“Councilman Mills, with all due respect, if the sheriff believes a crime was committed, it’s his duty to investigate,” said senior Town Councilman Mel Walker, who owned the Arby’s franchise.

“I agree with Mel,” said Frank Gauger, another senior councilman and retired postal worker. “From what I understand, the sheriff has good reason to believe that this was a homicide. It’s his job to get to the bottom of it.”

“But at what end? The sheriff told me himself that he believes the suspect has also been dead for years,” Mills responded.

“Not as dead as your brain is,” Harley Willits called from the crowd, getting more laughs.

“That’s enough out of you two,” the mayor said sternly. “Don’t you have anything better to do than come in here and disrupt this meeting every week?”

Harley looked at Arnold and they both shrugged their shoulders before Arnold looked back at the mayor and said, “No, not really. If all the Bible thumpers in town would shut up and let somebody start up one of those adult bookstores with a peep show, we might have something else to do.”

The crowd erupted in laughter as Kirby rapped his gavel again, but even the mayor could not hide the grin on his face.

“Okay, getting back to business,” Kirby said, “Councilman Mills, do you want to make a motion about something or are you just expressing your concerns?”

“I’m just putting it on the record that I think that the resources being used in this investigation could be better invested elsewhere.”

“Your concerns are noted,” the mayor said. “Now, let’s move on. I believe the next thing on the agenda is Mr. Milner. Dave, you have the floor.”

David Milner, a slender man who wore his white hair tied back in a ponytail, stood up and looked around, then asked, “Am I supposed to come up there or what?”

“No, you can address us from where you’re standing in the audience,” Kirby said.

“Okay. Well, I’m here because I want to know what’s going on with that project on White Dove Pond. I hear that fellow Bannister got arrested and taken to Nevada. As far as I’m concerned, that’s good riddance.”

There were several comments of agreement from the crowd.

“Sheriff Weber, is that correct?”

Standing up, Weber said, “Yes, it is, Mr. Mayor. Mr. Bannister had an outstanding warrant for failure to appear in Nevada. After he was arrested here for violating a lawful order from a police officer and for interfering with our investigation out on Larkspur Road, he was extradited back to Nevada.”

“Just to clarify, Sheriff, when you say the investigation on Larkspur Road, is that the skeleton found in the unmarked grave?”

“Yes, it is.”

“And it’s my understanding that Mister Bannister owns that property?”

“Yes,” Weber replied to Kirby. “From what I understand, he owns most of that side of the road. You all probably read in the newspaper that one of his construction crews found the grave.”

“And you said that you arrested Mr. Bannister for interfering with your investigation out there, Sheriff?”

“That’s right. He was more interested in getting his people back to work than in our investigation. After he was warned more than once not to interfere, he was finally arrested.”

“Should have just shot the bastard,” came a voice from the back of the room.

Kirby looked sharply at Harley and Arnold, but they both looked innocent. Choosing to ignore them, the mayor asked Weber, “Do you know what Mr. Bannister’s status is in Nevada at this time?”

“No, sir, I don’t. But from what I understood from the officers that picked him up, he’s looking at doing some time for failure to appear and whatever else he was involved in up there.”

“All right, I just wanted everybody to be clear on what was happening with Mr. Bannister to this point,” the mayor said. “I’m sorry for the interruption, Dave. Please go on.”

“Well, like I said, I want to know what’s going on with that project on White Dove Pond. He’s suing me and Stephanie because I came here to the meeting about the access road he wanted to put in next to our property and how it was going to affect my beehives. Now there’s nobody working out there and I just wonder what’s happening?”

“I think we’re all wondering what’s happening with Mr. Bannister’s projects,” the mayor said. “I think we should reach out to his attorneys and find out what they have to say.”

“In the meantime, poor Dave here is in limbo,” Councilman Gauger said. “And from what I understand, Bannister is suing a bunch of different people. He’s even threatened to sue the town because of that access road he wants. My opinion is that we granted him the building permits he needed to develop that land. We didn’t promise him an access road, and his trucks can drive two miles further and go in directly onto the property. I can’t say what’s going to happen with the lawsuit against Dave, or any of the people he’s trying to sue, but if he can’t show up for the hearings, I guess it’s a moot point. But I would like to make a motion right now that we deny that access road and Dave can get back to beekeeping.”

“I don’t think it’s fair of us to hold a hearing about the road without Mr. Bannister or one of his representatives being here,” Councilwoman Janet McGill said. “While my personal opinion is that Mr. Bannister and his projects are not a good fit for this community, he still deserves the opportunity to come in here and argue his case.”

“I agree with that,” said councilwoman Gretchen Smith-Abbot. “Can we table the discussion about the road until we find out what’s happening with Mr. Bannister?”

“Can I make a motion that if he comes back, we run him out of town on a rail?”

“That’s enough, Arnold. I mean it. If you two clowns act up again, I’m going to have the Sheriff remove you.” Turning back to the council members, Kirby said, “Councilwoman McGill, I agree with you completely about Bannister not being a good fit. I think we need to ask the Town’s Attorney to look at what’s going on with him and see what our options are for the future. Does anybody know if we put a timeline on his projects? Because my feeling is that if we did, and he’s not going to keep to that timeline, we should consider whether we want to rescind his permits.”

There were several nods of agreement from the council members, and even more from the people in the crowd.

“All right, the last thing on our agenda is Mr. and Mrs. Brookings. They are purchasing the property at the corner of Center Street and Chandler and have applied for a permit to build a new restaurant. Folks, welcome to Big Lake. You have the floor.”

They stood up, and the man spoke first, saying, “I’m Roy Brookings and this is my wife, Kathy. As Mayor Templeton said, we are trying to buy the property, and we want to build a restaurant there. We’ve always loved coming to Big Lake every summer, and we come up in the wintertime, too. We’re hoping to get the permits we need so we can go forward with the purchase.”

“It’s nice to meet you folks,” said Councilman Walker. “What kind of restaurant are you planning to open?”

“It’s going to be called the Buffalo Nickel,” Kathy Brookings said. “We will serve chicken wings in a variety of flavors, along with different wraps and sandwiches. We’re aiming for a casual family atmosphere.”

“Do you plan to apply for a liquor license?”

“No, sir,” Kathy replied, shaking her head. “As I said, we’re looking for an informal family atmosphere and we don’t believe alcohol would be appropriate for what we’re trying to accomplish.”

“I see,” Walker said. “What are your hours going to be, and how many people do you think you’ll be employing?”

“Nothing is set in concrete at this point,” Roy said. “We’re thinking somewhere around 10 AM to 10 PM during the summer when things are busy, and shorter hours during the slower seasons. As far as employees, besides the two of us and our three teenage children, Carter, Denise, and Charlotte, we will probably also need at least another ten people to cover all the shifts.”

“It sounds like some of those shifts would be very good for some of our teenagers,” Walker said. “As you may know, I own the Arby’s, and we’ve got some very good, responsible young people in this community who could certainly use the jobs, as well as some adults.”

“Thank you, Mr. Councilman.”

After a few questions about their plans for the business, their experience, and whether they felt they had the financial ability to make it work, Councilman Walker said, “I have been talking to Mr. and Mrs. Brookings about their plans for quite some time now and I believe these folks would be a great addition to Big Lake. I would like to make a motion that we approve their building permit as long as it meets all state and local regulations, and that, when the time comes, we also approve their business permit.”

“I second Councilman Walker’s motion,” Councilwoman McGill said, and the vote was unanimous.

“Again, welcome to Big Lake, Mr. and Mrs. Brookings,” Mayor Templeton told them. “I look forward to trying some of your wings when you get opened.”

Several people approached Weber when the meeting ended, asking for more information about the grave found on Larkspur Road. They seemed disappointed when he told them the same thing he had told the town council, that it was an ongoing investigation, and he would have an update when they knew more.

When he got home, Robyn asked, “How’d it go?”

“About what I expected. Cameron Mills was upset about the time and effort put into the investigation of the grave, but Kirby and the rest of the council shut him down pretty quickly. It seemed like everybody in the audience felt like we were doing the right thing, and they want us to keep looking into it.

Robyn smiled at him and said, “I’m glad everybody feels that way. But I know you, Jimmy. Even if they told you to stop, you’d keep right on doing what you’re doing.”

“Am I that predictable?”

She laughed and kissed him on the nose and said, “Yes, you are, darling. Yes, you are.”

Chapter 30

Weber was driving down Aspen Way when he saw Dora Comerford’s eighteen-year-old green Jeep Cherokee coming the other way, with her son behind the wheel. He made a U-turn and followed the Jeep for half a block before turning on his overhead lights. The Jeep’s right turn signal came on and it pulled to the curb and Weber stopped behind it. Getting out, he walked up to the driver’s window as it lowered and asked, “How you doing, Jeremy?”

“Good, Sheriff. What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing that I know of,” Weber told him. “I see you’re driving.”

“Yes, sir.”

Leaning down to look across the front seat to his mother, Weber asked, “So I guess he’s been doing better, Dora?”

“Yes, he has,” his mother said, smiling. Weber noticed she didn’t have the same dark circles under her eyes from fatigue. “We worked things out so Jeremey lets me sleep when I need to, and he’s even been helping around the house. He’s been doing the dishes and vacuuming, and he even did the laundry. Him doing all that gives me time to rest and still have time for him to practice his driving.”

“That’s good to hear,” the sheriff replied. “And it looks like he’s getting this driving thing figured out. I didn’t see him running off the road or anything, and he signaled before he pulled over to the curb when I lit him up.”

“I got scared when the lights came on,” the boy said. “I thought I did something wrong.”

“I said I’d be checking up on you,” Weber told him with a smile.

“Yeah, I know. But I thought maybe I was speeding or not staying in my lane or something.”

“That’s called blue light fever,” Weber told him. “You want to know something, Jeremy?”

“What, Sheriff?”

“I started driving a tractor and trucks on my dad’s ranch when I was about ten years old, and I think I was sixteen when I got my license, and that’s been a lot more years ago than I like to remember. But when I see lights flashing behind me, I still get blue light fever and wonder what I did.”

They all laughed, then Weber slapped the top of the car and said, “I’ll let you get back at it. I’m glad you’re doing better. And I’m proud of you, Jeremy. Keep up the good work.”

He was walking back to his unit when his phone rang. Pulling it from his pocket, he saw it was Rory Curry and answered, saying, “Weber here.”

He could hear the excitement in the crime scene tech’s voice when he said, “We did it. We got some viable DNA, Sheriff.”

“That’s great news.”

“Yes, it is. I wasn’t sure we would after all this time. Now we just have to find a match if we can. I ran it through all our databases, but since it was so long ago, there’s nothing at all.”

“Well, I know that Jennifer from the newspaper and Mary have both been kind of subtly looking around so they didn’t give the family false hopes, but I believe they have some names for us to follow up on.”

“Let me know what you find out,” Rory told him.

“Once we find a relative, if we do, what happens then?”

“All we need is a typical DNA swab like you do with anyone arrested on a felony,” Rory said. “Get that and send it to me and we’re good to go.”

“Will do,” Weber told him.

“I’d love to put an official name to this person and get them reunited with whatever family they may have left.”

“Me, too.” Weber said. “I’ll be in touch.”

***

“They got DNA? That’s great,” Mary said, when Weber told her about the call from Rory.

“You told me the other day that you and Jennifer came up with some leads to relatives for Father Hagen. Now it’s time to see who we can reach out for a DNA sample to try to make a match.”

“Jennifer’s been more successful at it than I have, but I found an inmate named Cody Hagen, who is a guest of the State of Arizona at the prison in Florence. His hometown is listed as Patagonia.”

“That’s interesting. What’s he in for?”

“Possession, with intent to sell, and burglary. This isn’t his first time behind bars. It looks like he’s a habitual offender.”

Weber knew that even in the best of families, there was always the black sheep. His own sister was doing life in prison for several murders.

“Like I said, Jennifer found a lot more information than I did,” Mary said. “This new generation is going to put me to shame. It used to be I knew everything about anybody around here. This case has proven me wrong.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Weber said. “Father Hagen wasn’t a part of Big Lake for very long, and it was years ago. And I still couldn’t run this place without you.”

“Oh, I know that,” Mary told him. “There was never any question about that in my mind. Go talk to Jennifer and see what she’s come up with.”

***

“Looks like I caught you at lunch,” Weber said when he entered the newspaper’s back office and saw Jennifer eating at her desk.

“Yeah. You want some?”

Weber took two French fries from the container on her desk and popped them in his mouth.

“What’s up, Uncle Jimmy?”

He finished chewing and swallowing and said, “The crime lab was able to extract DNA from the skeleton.”

“No kidding? That’s exciting.”

“It is,” Weber agreed. “Now let’s see who you and Mary came up with for any family contacts for Father Hagen.”

Jennifer pushed the Styrofoam container with her food away and Weber said, “Finish eating first. This can wait.”

“No way! I can eat anytime. Here, let me show you what I’ve found so far.”

She opened a file on her computer and said, “It wasn’t easy because apparently nobody from the Hagen family still lives in Patagonia.”

“Okay.”

“Father Hagen’s parents died in 1982 and 1985,” Jennifer said. “There were two boys and two girls in the family, and Father Hagen was the third born. His brother Theodore, the oldest, was killed in a construction accident in Cochise County in 1969. Theodore had one kid, Cody. I guess Mary told you about him being in prison.”

“She did.”

“His older sister, Agatha, became a nun.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Jennifer said. “From what I’ve been able to find out, except for Cody, they were all good people and solid citizens, and the family took their religion seriously.”

“Is Agatha still alive?”

Jennifer shook her head. “No. She was with a group of Dominican Sisters doing charity work in Portugal. She died there in 1991. 

“Linda, the youngest in the family, married someone named Joe Kinski. He died in 2005, and Linda is in some kind of long-term care facility. I have the number for the place.”

“Did she have any kids?”

“A couple, from what I could find out, but I haven’t been able to track them down yet. If we can’t get DNA from his sister Linda, what about from any nieces and nephews? Would that work?”

“I think so,” Weber said.

“Well, we know where to find at least one. Can you get DNA from somebody in prison, Uncle Jimmy?”

“Yes, they have to collect it from anybody in custody for thirty days or more. But let’s start with the sister first, if we can. I need to start making phone calls.”

“Can I please come to your office and listen in, Uncle Jimmy? I promise I won’t interfere or put anything in the paper that I shouldn’t.”

Weber smiled at her and asked, “How can I deny you anything, after all the work you’ve done? I’ll tell you what, finish your lunch. I have to go talk to Judge Ryman about something else. How about you meet me at the office in an hour?”

Clapping her hands, Jennifer squealed with delight, and said, “I’ll be there.”

***

“You wanted to see me, Your Honor?”

“Yes, Jimmy. Thanks for coming by.”

“How are you feeling these days?”

“Much better, but I’m feeling my age,” the judge said. “The reason I wanted to see you is that, as you may know, I gave Danny Lamar a thirty-day suspended sentence and a years’ probation for that incident with his mother, along with a $500 fine. I also assigned him fifty hours of community service and ordered him to stay away from alcohol and not to get in any more trouble for a year.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, he’s in jail in Show Low.”

“Seriously?”

“They were going to turn him loose this afternoon, but I asked the police chief to hold on to him until you can send somebody to pick him up. I want him in your jail for the full thirty days. He can’t start his community service until after that.”

“Don’t do me any favors, Your Honor.”

Judge Ryman chuckled. “Every day is not just driving around with your lights and siren on to impress the public, Jimmy. Every job has its bad side, too.”

“All right, I’ll send someone over there to get him.

“When they do, have them bring him to see me first. I want to have a talk with that young man.”

***

Jennifer showed up right on time and she and Mary went into his office to listen on the speakerphone as Weber called the nursing home where Linda Kinski lived. After identifying himself, the receptionist asked him if he could hold for a moment and transferred him to the director.

“This is Wesley Prosser,” the man that came on the telephone said. “How can I help you, Sheriff?”

“I’m trying to reach someone who I understand is one of your residents,” Weber said. “Her name is Linda Kinski.”

“May I ask what this is about?”

“An unmarked grave was found here in Big Lake,” Weber replied. “We have reason to believe that the person we found in it might be a relative of Mrs. Kinski.”

“I see.”

“Is there a problem with talking to her?”

“Yes, I’m afraid there is,” Prosser said. “Mrs. Kinski has dementia and doesn’t even know her own daughter or her grandchildren when they visit.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. You mentioned a daughter. Could you give me her contact information?”

“Is this official business, Sheriff?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Excellent. I have to ask because of privacy regulations. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course,” Weber replied.

“Let me put you on hold for just a moment while I access that information.”

Looking at Mary and Jennifer sitting on the couch in his office, Weber couldn’t tell which of them was more excited. Maybe Jennifer, but that could just be because Mary had more practice in controlling her emotions.

When Prosser came back on the phone, he said, “All right, Mrs. Kinski has two daughters, Angela Ackerman and Vickie White. Angela lives in San Diego and Vickie is here in Tucson.”

He gave Weber both women’s telephone numbers, and the sheriff thanked him and hung up.

“I hadn’t pictured the dementia thing, but I guess she would be quite old so it’s to be expected,” Mary said.

“I guess so,” Weber said. “Let me call the daughter in Tucson first, since she’s the closest.”

The phone rang several times, and he thought nobody was going to answer when a woman sounding breathless answered and said, “Hello.”

“Hello. Is this Vickie White?”

“Yes. Can you hold on for a second?” There was silence on the line for a moment and then she returned, saying, “I’m sorry. I was on the treadmill when you called. Who’s this?”

“I’m Sheriff Weber from Big Lake, up in northern Arizona. I’m trying to find any relatives of a person named Thomas Hagen. He was a priest and originally came from Patagonia.”

“Yes? What about him?”

“The name is familiar, Mrs. White?”

“Yes, that’s my uncle.”

“Mrs. White, I hate to give you this news on the phone, but we found an unmarked grave in Big Lake, and we believe the remains found in it belong to your uncle, Thomas Hagen.”

“You’re kidding me. Is this some kind of joke?”

“No, ma’am, I’m afraid not.”

“Are you talking about my uncle, Thomas Hagen.?”

“Yes, ma’am. He was a priest, right?”

“Where are you getting information from? I don’t think we’re talking about the same person.”

“I’m talking about a Catholic priest named Father Thomas Hagen who grew up in Patagonia.”

“Yeah, I guess we’re talking about the same person. But this doesn’t make any sense.”

“I’m not sure what your confusion is, ma’am.”

“You said you found him in a grave?”

“Yes, I’m sorry to tell you.”

“There’s no way. That’s impossible, Sheriff.”

Weber knew that sometimes people could not accept news like he was sharing, apparently even if it was about some long-lost family member they had never met before.

“I’m sorry, Sheriff, but you’ve got it all wrong. My Uncle Thomas is not in a grave there in Big Lake.”

“You sound very sure of that, Mrs. White.”

“Of course, I’m sure of it. I just talked to him on Sunday.”

“You talked to him?”

“Yes. We talk at least a couple of times a week. He’s old, but he’s not anywhere close to dying yet.”

“Wait. Hold on,” Weber said. “Now I’m confused. Your uncle, Thomas Hagen, a priest, is still alive?”

“Yes. He’s 99, but I can assure you he is still very much alive. I don’t know who you found in that grave in Big Lake, but it’s not my Uncle Thomas.”

Chapter 31

Weber drove through the gate of the Veterans Administration Medical Center in Tucson, noting the quote by Abraham Lincoln that said, To care for him who shall have borne the battle…

He followed the directions he was given and parked in front of the Arizona State Veterans Home and got out. A smiling Latina receptionist greeted him, and when he told her who he was and why he was there, she asked him to wait just a moment for one of the caregivers.

“Sheriff Weber?”

Weber nodded to the small dark-haired woman who approached him, her hand extended.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m Cecilia Morton. I spoke to Vickie White yesterday after you called her. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to Father Hagen.”

She led him down the hall and through a series of turns, passing several old veterans along the way who all said hello to her. She greeted each of them kindly, asking them how they were doing, asking one if he had completed the painting he was working on, and another if he had enjoyed his visit with his grandson. It was obvious Cecilia was popular with the residents and that she showed a genuine interest in them.

“They all seem to like you,” Weber observed.

“They’re all great guys and I love each one of them to death,” she replied. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing than serving our veterans. To me, this isn’t just a job, it’s a true honor to be here.”

“I was only in the Army for one hitch,” Weber told her. “But people still thank me for my service. But I can tell right now that you are somebody who deserves the thanks for all that you do.”

Cecilia smiled warmly at him and said, “Thank you. It seems like some of these guys are totally forgotten by their families. Not all of them. We have some families that come to see them all the time or take them home for holidays and things like that. But it breaks my heart to see these men that gave so much to our country to just be forgotten. I know it happens to lots of people when they get old, whether they’re in a place like this or a regular nursing home or still living on their own. It’s just so sad.”

She stopped in front of the door and knocked, and a voice from inside said “Come in.”

She opened the door and said, “Father Hagen. Your visitor’s here.”

Weber wasn’t sure what to expect, but the bald-headed old man with the bluest eyes the sheriff had ever seen who rose from his recliner in the small room to shake his hand had a firm grip and a warm smile.

“Sheriff Weber, I’m pleased to meet you. Thomas Hagen.”

“I’m happy to meet you too, sir.”

“Please, sit down. We have a lot to talk about. Would you like something to drink? Maybe a soda or iced tea?”

“Thank you. Tea sounds good,” Weber said.

“Well, I’ll leave you gentlemen to visit,” Cecelia said. “If you need anything, Sheriff, just let me know.”

Weber thanked her, and after she left, he looked around the small room. There were pictures of people that Weber assumed were Father Hagen’s family in frames on the wall, as well as a small frame with the shoulder emblem crosses of the clergy next to the silver leaf of an Army lieutenant colonel. Below them was a ribbon bar. Weber recognized several ribbons, including one for the National Defense Medal, Vietnam service, and Good Conduct. Others he was not familiar with.

Father Hagen returned with the tea and handed Weber his glass.

“Thank you, Father. I’m not sure if I should call you Father or Major or what.”

“How about just Thomas, Sheriff?”

“That’s fine. My friends call me Jimmy.”

Father Hagen sat back down in his chair and said, “So, according to my niece, I’m supposed to be dead.”

“Obviously I was wrong about that,” Weber said.

“I came close a few times over the years, but I guess the Lord wasn’t done with me yet. I’m sure you have some questions to ask me. What do you want to know, Jimmy?”

“I had a lot of questions before I found out you were still alive,” Weber told him. “Now I’m totally confused.”

The old man smiled and took a sip of his tea, and then set it on the table next to his chair and said, “It’s a long story, Jimmy.”

“I drove a long way to hear it,” Weber replied.

“My gosh, that happened so long ago, yet it’s still fresh in my memory, just like it happened yesterday. I was fresh out of the seminary and my first posting was to St. Matthews in Round Valley. I thought I was going to help change the world. Back then, Father Dougherty was in charge. He was a stickler for rules, but still a good man. There was another priest, Father McNabb. My job was supposed to be to reach out to people in the outlying areas, like Alpine, Big Lake, and on the Apache reservation,” Father Hagen said. “I loved it. All of it. Especially working with the children. I think children are the world’s purest people, before they learn to hate and fear. Would you agree with that, Jimmy?”

“I would,” Weber said, his mind flashing back to Mary’s comment about scandals involving priests and children. He did not want to believe that this kindly looking old man could even contemplate such terrible deeds.

“Growing up down in Cochise County, I was always interested in the history of that area and all that went on there. The miners, the outlaws, the Indians. When I was a boy, they were called Indians, not Native Americans. I was always reading those old stories, but we know now that so many of them, so much of our history, was sanitized.”

“They say that history is written by the victors,” Weber said.

“That’s exactly right. We not only defeated the Indians, we tried to erase their culture, their religious beliefs, everything we could to make them be like us. But when I started going to the Apache reservation and getting to know the people, it didn’t take me long to realize that the Native Americans are the true Christians. They have a reverence for what many call the Great Spirit and the earth itself. They know that it doesn’t belong to us, it is only loaned to us.”

Growing up so close to the Apache reservation, Weber knew many of the Native Americans well and considered them friends. He knew there was a lot of truth to what Father Hagen was saying.

“Anyway, being young and thinking I knew everything, I couldn’t help but express my opinions about all of that to Father Dougherty.”

“How well did that go over?”

The old man laughed and said, “About like you would expect. From that day on, I was on his bad side and there was nothing I could do to make up for it. I became very close to the Apaches and was even invited to a Sunrise Ceremony. That’s when they honor a girl as she becomes a woman. It’s a sacred event, and back then, an outsider was almost never invited. Father Dougherty forbade me from attending.”

Father Hagen took another sip of his tea and then said, “But that’s not what you’re here to talk about, is it, Jimmy?”

“No, it’s not,” Weber said, shaking his head.

“There are some things I can’t come right out and tell you. Things that were shared with me in Confession.”

“I respect that,” Weber told him. “I appreciate anything you can share with me.”

“By now, I’m sure you know about Ruby Kline.”

“I know a lot, but not everything. That’s why I’m here.”

“When I first met Ruby, she was a very pretty woman, and as devout as anybody I have ever known. But she had a hard life, Jimmy. Her family was very religious, hardshell Baptists as I recall, and she rebelled. She met Ken when he was hitchhiking through town, and it was love at first sight. At least she thought it was, her being a small-town girl. She convinced her father to hire him to work on their farm, and it wasn’t long before Ruby found herself in a family way. As you can imagine, that news wasn’t received well. Her parents threatened to have Ken arrested and told Ruby they were sending her to a home for unwed mothers and the child would be placed for adoption.”

“That’s a tough situation to be in,” Weber said.

“It was. So, the two of them, Ken and Ruby, ran away. He had family in Oklahoma, and they went there and got married. Unfortunately, the child, a little boy, died not long after he was born. I don’t think he even made it through his first year.”

“That’s so sad.”

“It was, and it got worse. Ken was not a nice man, Jimmy. He liked to drink, and he liked to chase women, and he didn’t try to hide it from Ruby. She said that she thought about leaving him, but she didn’t have anywhere to go. Her parents had disowned her and the only people she knew there were Ken’s family. According to her, his mother laid all the blame for the way he was acting on Ruby. She told her that if she was a better wife, he wouldn’t be drinking and running around with other women.”

Weber was beginning to see a different side of Ruby Kline as Father Hagen talked. From what the priest had told him, she definitely had had a hard life. But there was more to come.

“Eventually Buddy came along, and then Mary, and by then World War II was going on. Ken got himself into some kind of trouble with the law. Ruby told me she was never sure what it was, but the next thing she knew he had joined the Army and was gone, and she was stuck there with two little ones and a family that made it clear they didn’t want her. About the only good thing to come out of that situation was that they were Catholics, even if in name only, and Ruby joined the church. It was there that she found something to hold on to.”

“If his family was in Oklahoma, how did they end up in Big Lake?”

“While he was in the Army, Ken met a fellow from that area, and they became close friends. They had this dream that they were going to start a ranch together after the war, so as soon as Ken got home, he packed up Ruby and the kids and they headed west. She said the ranch never came to be. Ken found work now and then when he wasn’t out carousing, but he never held a job for long. When things started up in Korea, he re-enlisted and left her and the kids there. By now they had little Margaret, too.”

“He sounds like a real winner,” Weber said.

“Ruby told me she never knew what the story was about Korea. She said Ken was gone for a while and only wrote twice, and then there was nothing. Meanwhile, he never signed her up for an allotment, so she was left to fend for herself, taking any work she could find.”

“It sounds like you two were close,” Weber said.

“We were, Jimmy. Too close.”

“I guess those things happen.”

“I was a young man, and she was a lonely woman, and there was a definite attraction, I can’t deny it. But I never violated my vow of celibacy. I was tempted and came close, but at the last minute, I just couldn’t do it. I won’t say I didn’t want to, because I did. Ruby told me she was in love with me, and to be honest, Jimmy, I was in love with her, too. I never intended to lead her on, and I blame myself for letting it get that far. I guess my only excuse is that I was so young and inexperienced, but that’s really not an excuse, is it?”

“Sometimes it really is an excuse, Thomas.”

“At any rate, about that time, Ken showed up out of the blue. It was early in 1952. Ruby was torn about what to do and I told her she needed to try to make her marriage work and that there was no future for us. By then rumors of us having a relationship had gotten back to Father Dougherty and he chastised me for letting things reach that point, even though I swore the only things physical that had happened between us were hugging and a few kisses. Even so, that was over the top. He ordered me to stay away from her and to have no contact at all.”

“Bud told me he heard you and Ruby arguing one night and her asking you not to leave her. Was that then?”

“No,” Father Hagen said. “That happened after all that I have to tell you.”

“So, you continued to see her?”

“I tried to avoid it, but it was hard. I hoped with her husband back, things would work out for them and they would be together again. Then I got a phone call one night at the church. Fortunately, I was the one that answered because it was Ruby, and she was hysterical. She was begging me to come to her house. She said something terrible had happened. I knew it was wrong, but I thought I had to be there for her. So, I didn’t tell anybody. I just got in my car and drove to Big Lake.”

“What happened when you got there, Thomas?”

“When I pulled in the driveway, Ruby ran up, completely out of control. She was crying so hard I couldn’t understand what she was saying. She took me to the backyard, and that’s where I found Ken. He was dead.”

“Ruby shot him?”

“As I said, I can’t tell you things that were confessed to me. Can we leave it at that?”

“Then what happened, Thomas?”

“She had started digging a grave out in the backyard, as far away from the house as it could get. I didn’t know what else to do, because she was talking about dragging him back inside and setting fire to the house with him and her and the kids in it. So, I helped her dig the grave. Then we put Ken in it, and I made her throw her gun in on top of him.”

“Did she tell you what brought it to that point, Thomas?”

The old man nodded his head and said, “He had given her a venereal disease. He knew he had it and never told her and never used any kind of protection to prevent infecting her. I guess that was the last straw.”

Weber pulled out the silver cross found in the grave and handed it to the old man, who looked at it and smiled sadly.

“My mother gave this to me when I graduated from the seminary.”

“Did you lose it while you were helping dig the grave?”

“No, Jimmy. I left it there with Ken. I figured if he didn’t have a headstone or any other recognition, no matter what his sins might have been in life, he needed something for what was to come next.”

“What happened with you next, Thomas?”

“It was well past daylight by the time I got back to Saint Matthews. I was all dirty and there was no way of hiding the fact that I had been up to something. I told Father Dougherty I needed to make a confession, and I confessed my sins and what had happened that night. I couldn’t reveal anything about what Ruby had told me in her own confession, which he understood. The long and short of it was that my days at Saint Matthews were over. I thought they would kick me out of the priesthood, but instead I was offered the chance to join the military as a Chaplain. I ended up serving 25 years, Jimmy, and enjoyed every minute of it. I like to think I helped a lot of young men in difficult situations.”

“Did you ever see Ruby after that?”

“No. I wanted to, but I resisted. I set up an allotment with the Army to help her make ends meet. I got notice after she passed away, but I always worried about her children.”

Weber gave him a brief rundown on what he knew about Ruby’s children’s fates, but spared him the details of Ruby’s last years as syphilis ravaged her body and her mind. He figured there was no reason to add to the man’s burden. They talked for another hour or more, and by then he could see that the old priest was tiring.

“I think we’ve covered everything, Thomas. Is there anything I can do for you before I go?”

Shaking his head, the priest said, “You don’t know it, but you brought me much relief, Jimmy. I’ve lived with a lot of guilt during my life. Guilt for what happened with Ruby, guilt for putting both of us in that position, and guilt that Ken, no matter how bad a husband and father he was or how many sins he had committed, was buried out there in that unmarked grave. If I could ask you one thing, can you see to it that any family he might have is contacted, and that he is laid to rest properly? Any man who served his country deserves that, no matter what.”

“I’ll see to it,” Weber promised him.

“It’s late. Are you driving all the way back to Big Lake tonight?”

“No. I’ll get a hotel room and start back in the morning,” Weber told him.

“Do you mind if I bless you and say a prayer for your safe journey home?”

“I would appreciate it, Father Hagen.”

They bowed their heads, and the priest said, “Heavenly Father, I ask you to hold my friend Sheriff Weber closely as he travels back home and continues his job, serving the people of Big Lake. Amen.”

“Amen,” said Weber. “Thank you, Father.”

They shook hands warmly, and before he left, the priest said, “I’ll be 100 years old in three months. My family is going to have a little get together for me. I’d be honored if you could come down for it if you have time.”

“Just have somebody tell me the time and place and I’ll be there,” Weber promised him.

“One more thing, Jimmy.”

“What’s that, Thomas?”

“Even if the Lord has other plans and were to call me home tonight, the comfort your visit has given me will let me rest in peace.”

Epilogue

Three months later, Weber and Robyn stood solemnly holding hands next to a grave in the Prescott National Cemetery as a Chaplain commended Kenneth Kline into the hands of the Lord. An Honor Guard fired a volley of shots, and as the sound echoed through the crisp fall air, an unseen bugler played Taps. Since no one from Ken’s family was in attendance, Weber accepted the folded flag to send to his son Bud in Washington state.

They walked away after the service and stopped at another grave a short distance away. The headstone said Father Thomas Hagen, Chaplain, inscribed with his dates of birth and death, and the notation that he had served in Vietnam.

“He was one day short of reaching 100,” Weber said. “I wish he would have made it. I was looking forward to seeing him again.”

“It’s ironic that he’s buried here, so close to the man he helped put in that unmarked grave,” Robyn said.

“His niece said he had asked to be buried here a long time ago. He had been a Chaplain at the VA hospital here and loved the area.”

“Do you think he knew, Jimmy?”

“What? That Ken would wind up here, too? I don’t see how he could have. He made that decision long before that grave was ever found.”

“I don’t know,” Robyn said. “I think sometimes there are twists and turns in life we never see coming and can never understand.”

“That’s true,” Weber replied. “Either way, I think he would be glad we were able to get Ken buried here. I think they have a lot to talk about.”

Weber looked down at the priest’s grave and said, “Rest in peace, Thomas. I hope I see you again on the other side.”

Still holding hands, they walked back to Robyn’s car.

Turn The Page For A Preview Of Big Lake Misfit,

The Next Book In The Big Lake Mystery Series

Chapter 1

The overnight temperature had plummeted down into the mid-20s, and snow started falling silently sometime after midnight. By morning the little mountain town of Big Lake, Arizona was shrouded in a foot deep blanket of white that rounded the shapes of automobiles and weighed down the limbs of trees.

Jerry Hatton cursed as his numb fingers refused to cooperate as he fumbled with the tire chains. The first chance he got, he was going to get himself a four-wheel-drive pickup. Carin might love this damn Fiat, but he had never liked it. At 5’11” tall and pushing 200 pounds, he could hardly fit in the damn clown car, and it was uncomfortable as hell.

Jerry could hear the roar of his neighbor Eddie Switzer’s snow blower and looked out the open garage door to see him clearing his driveway. He was half-tempted to ask Eddie to help him with the damn tire chains but they had been on the outs since Halloween, when he had cussed Eddie’s kid out for knocking over the decorations Carin had put up in the yard.

Yeah, he knew he had overreacted, but damn it, Carin loved decorating for any occasion, even if Jerry thought it was a pain in the ass and a waste of money. At Christmas, their house always had the most lights, and Santa’s sled and reindeer up on the roof. A giant red heart and Cupid decorated the side of the house for Valentine’s Day, a leprechaun and his pot of gold for St. Patrick’s Day, and come Easter there was a six-foot-tall bunny in the yard holding a basket of colored eggs. And on and on. Red, white, and blue bunting for the Fourth of July, pilgrims and a turkey at Thanksgiving. No wonder there was hardly room to move in the garage, it was full of boxes of decorations!

But it all made Carin happy, and that’s all that mattered. Jerry was no fool. He knew a guy like him was lucky a good-looking woman like Carin would even give him a second glance, let alone marry him. But she had, and the last four years had seemed like a dream to him. Carin was so different from Judy, his first wife. Where Judy had let herself go and become fat and sloppy, never bothering to dress up, the only time she ever left the house was to go play bingo or the slot machines at the local Indian casino, thought TV dinners and frozen pot pies were all a husband and growing boy needed to live on, and was on his ass all the time about something or other; Carin worked out every day, had a dressing table full of makeup and knew how to use it, was an excellent cook who loved surprising him with all kinds of great food, and went out of her way to make him feel wanted and appreciated. She even put up with Gabe’s moods and weirdness, and that was saying a lot.

Jerry had been relieved when he and Judy finally split the sheets and she went back to Texas to live with her sister, who was just as bad. She left him with a ton of bills, a dirty house, and a pimply faced adolescent who spent his time playing video games and reading superhero comic books. He figured that he and Gabriel would muddle along until the kid went off to college, then he might find himself a friend with benefits type of thing if he could.

At least that was how it was until he met Carin, who was a secretary at an engineering firm that contracted with him to help design a huge solar energy farm planned for east-central Arizona. She was smart, witty, always went out of her way to ask him how Gabe was doing, and showed a genuine interest in his work. She was so far out of his league that Jerry would have never been able to work up the courage to ask her out, but it was Carin who suggested that she bake a cake for Gabe’s fourteenth birthday. And what a cake it was, decorated with his favorite superheroes. Jerry wasn’t sure who fell in love with her first, him or his son.

Soon after they married, Gabe surprised them both by asking if Carin would adopt him and be his real mom. Judy had no problem relinquishing her parental rights if that meant she would not be responsible for the court-ordered child support she had never paid anyway, and before long, they were standing in front of Judge Jensen, who made the adoption official. It was one of the few times Jerry had ever seen Gabe express emotion as he cried and hugged his new mother. There was no question about it, both his and Gabe’s lives had improved for the better from the day Carin brought that birthday cake to their house. Even now, after four years together, Carin was still a dream come true, and she and rocked his world two or three nights a week.

Neither Jerry nor Gabe ever gave Judy a second thought after that until Jerry got a phone call late one night that Judy and her sister Jenny were dead. From what the police had told him, they were coming home from bingo when a nineteen-year-old drunk kid slammed into their car. The officer had told him the kid, named Reggie Hamblin, had been going so fast that his sports car had sliced Jenny’s Mazda almost in two. It was Reggie’s third DUI, and his license had already been suspended, and though he had survived the accident with only a few cuts and bruises, he still had enough energy left to fight with the officers who arrested him.

Jerry figured that was that and didn’t feel any real sense of loss. Whatever feelings he might have once harbored for his ex-wife had died long ago, and when he was told about the accident, Gabe had just shrugged his shoulders and said, “Oh well.”

But then Jerry suddenly started getting phone calls from some high dollar law firm in Houston. It seemed like Reggie Hamblin was the son of a wealthy Texas businessman and the lawyers were telling Jerry that they wanted to settle out of court for his loss. Jerry didn’t know why he would be entitled to anything, but they explained that even with the adoption, they wanted to make sure Gabe was compensated for his loss. Jerry was no fool. He knew they were more interested in protecting their client and his son from future litigation. Even so, he didn’t feel right profiting from someone’s death, but he accepted the $500,000 settlement they offered and put the money away for Gabe’s future. His job as an electrical engineer paid well, and he didn’t have visions of grandeur. Life went on just as before. He kept working. Gabe was growing up but was still a weird, nerdy kid, and that was just how it was.

Now if he could just get these damn tire chains on!

His hand slipped and he barked his knuckles on the wheel well. Cursing again, he held his bloody hand to his mouth and sucked at the wound, then shook his head and tried to fasten the tire chain once more. He heard a sound behind him and turned to see Gabe.

“What’s up, son?”

Gabe didn’t say anything. It was obvious he was in one of his moods. As the boy grew older, he seemed to have become even more difficult. If he wasn’t sequestered in his room playing games on his computer, he would mope around the house, sullen and obstinate. It seemed like only Carin could bring him out of wherever Gabe went deep inside himself at times like that. 

“I don’t suppose you want to help me with these damn tire chains, do you?” Jerry looked over his shoulder at his son, and the look on Gabe’s face was one he had never seen before. If a person’s eyes could convey pure hate and rage, his son’s were sending that message.

“Look, Gabe, if it’s about the snowmobile, we’ve been over this before. If you want one, you need to earn the money to get it yourself. Nobody ever gave me anything, and looking back at it now, I’m glad they didn’t. It taught me to work hard for what I want.”

Lately Gabe had been asking, no, demanding, that he be allowed to use some of the money from the settlement to buy a car, or a motorcycle, and now that winter had come to the mountains, a snowmobile. Jerry had explained to him that the money was for his future, to pay for a good education and a head start in life.

“I’m eighteen and I want it now,” Gabe had argued.

“I know you do, but you’re just going to have to wait,” his father had told hm. “The way the settlement was set up was that until you are 21, I have to authorize any spending. Just let that money sit where it is, Gabe. It’s earning interest every day. I know you don’t want to hear that, but someday you’ll thank me.”

When Gabe still didn’t reply, Jerry turned his attention back to the tire chains. He finally got one on and secured it and was just standing up to go to the other side of the car when he saw the gun in his son’s hand.

“What the hell are you doing with that, Gabe?”

The boy didn’t say anything, he just raised the pistol and pointed it at his father.

“Gabe?”

“You’re not getting away with it anymore.”

“Not getting away with what, Gabe? Look, son, that damn money isn’t worth doing something crazy for. I’m only trying to look out for your future.”

“All you care about is yourself!”

“That’s not true, Gabe. Put the gun down, son.”

Jerry really didn’t believe Gabe would actually shoot him, and even when he saw the flame from the barrel and felt the bullet tearing into his shoulder, he knew it was an accident. Gabe hadn’t really meant to pull the trigger. But then he shot him again. The bullet felt like a hot iron rod as it plowed a furrow through the outside of his neck.

“Gabe, no!”

The gun’s barrel never wavered, and Jerry ran around to the other side of the car, hearing the glass in a side window shatter as Gabe fired again.

“Stop it, Gabe!”

The grim-faced boy followed him around the car and shot Jerry a third time. His father cried out in agony and terror at the searing pain in his side. Gabe aimed the pistol again and Jerry threw up his arm to ward off the bullet, which tore mercilessly through the flesh and broke the bone.

Screaming, Jerry ran out of the garage with Gabe close on his heels. Gabe shot him in the back twice, and Jerry fell to his knees, screaming for him to stop. But the sound of Eddie Switzer’s snow blower drowned out his pleas and the gunshots.

Gabe stepped in front of him and Jerry looked up at the boy he had raised, who had suddenly become a monster. “Don’t, son. Please don’t.”

Gabe’s face was impassive when he asked, “How does it feel to be the one begging for a change?”

Jerry’s last words were, “I love you, Gabe.”

“I hate you,” Gabe replied and then shot his father in the forehead.