Forbidden Entry (20 page)

Shoulders taut, my eyes straining with concentration, I pushed on and on, climbing continuously as the pines thickened. Shouldn't I be there by now? I couldn't possibly be lost, could I? What if I needed to turn around? What would happen if I met another car on one of the blind corners? Hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel, I executed a series of sharp hairpin turns and then unexpectedly, the road leveled off. I was relieved when the mountainous topography softened onto a flat, narrow shelf where the first signs of civilization since I'd left Cleator began to appear in the form of oxidized fuel drums and vehicle carcasses, piles of trash, old appliances plus a scattering of crumbling, abandoned dwellings.

To my left, set back from the road behind a chain link fence, stood a ramshackle white house along with several pickups and off-road vehicles. A crudely-carved sign above the garage door caught my attention, so I slowed to read it.
If you are found here at night, you will be found here in the morning.
Whoa! Ominous, yet tinged with black humor. A second one read:
If you think there is life after death, trespass and find out.
Okay. No doubt this person meant business. All at once the back of my neck prickled. It wasn't hard to envision someone inside with a shotgun trained on me. Not a happy thought. I moved on quickly. The small patches of snow gradually turned into deep drifts piled up against the boulders. I estimated the elevation probably exceeded 6000 feet by now. The road eased around several gentle turns and then flowed smoothly into a peaceful valley dotted with alligator juniper, scrub oaks and a smattering of spruce and ponderosa pines. There were also groves of leafless deciduous trees. Was this the location of the old apple orchard Marshall had mentioned? There was obviously an abundant water table because the trees were much larger and the vegetation greener and far more abundant compared to the sparse desert landscape below.

As if to confirm Burton Carr's theory that the mountain created its own climate, I stared in awe as billowy clouds cascaded down the rocky cliffs, finally blotting out the sunlight. Well, well. He'd been right about that too and had merely been thinking of my welfare. I cringed inwardly remembering my flippant behavior. I wasn't doing a very good job of living up to my promise to Tally just weeks ago that I would make a sincere effort to be more tactful with people.

The road climbed gently again for a while before I finally arrived at the junction where I stopped, powered the windows down and just sat relishing the moist, chilly mountain air, totally captivated by the surreal sight of misty tendrils of fog enveloping the secluded valley. Here and there I could see the shadowy tops of pine trees. Who would believe it? Fog twice within a few days and reminiscent of the long, dark, frigid winters I'd left behind in Pennsylvania. On the other hand, the winter season in Arizona was always a welcome event, savored by natives, newcomers and tourists alike. And that thought made me wonder what Tally and my family were up to—probably all clustered around the rim of the Grand Canyon by now marveling at the mother of all chasms. I tapped his number on my phone to no avail, but did capture a few photos to send along later as soon as I had cell service again. Might as well share images of this hidden jewel.

I studied the map, double-checking Burton Carr's clearly marked directions again. The left fork led to the closed Forest Service road, which angled up to the very top of the peak and then down the northeast side culminating near Mayer. The right fork would take me to Raven Creek. I'd no sooner completed that thought when a strange sound caught my attention. Wheep. Wheep. Wheep! I look up in time to see two giant, black birds appear out of the mist. Their expansive wings whipping the air, they landed on a lopsided wooden fence nearby where they proceeded to hop up and down clucking like chickens before settling down to observe me with baleful, ebony eyes. Was this the Raven Creek welcoming committee? The place was most certainly aptly named. And then, as quickly as they'd arrived, they flew away. Odd.

Poised to turn left, I paused when I heard the unmistakable whine of a vehicle approaching and started violently when a quad rider suddenly roared up beside me. I couldn't be certain, but I was pretty sure it was the same guy I'd seen earlier on the main road. He no longer wore sunglasses, but still had the red and white-checked bandana pulled over the lower half of his face. He looked at me intently for several seconds, his dark eyes unreadable before he revved the engine and turned left. He sped up the hill, turning to cast one last furtive glance at me before disappearing into the mist. Weird.

Slightly uneasy, I sat there mired in indecision. No one had ever accused me of being faint-hearted, and in fact, Tally laughingly teased that when on assignment, I was unstoppable, fearless and sometimes wrong-headed. But given that he, Marshall and now Burton Carr had warned me about the possibility of questionable people skulking about, was it really a good idea to venture alone through the darkening landscape to the abandoned road? As much as I wanted to, common sense prevailed. It could wait until tomorrow. In fact, that might actually be better. Burton Carr could accompany me to the precise location and I would have plenty of time to conduct my interview with him. I swung the Jeep to the right instead. Might as well check out Raven Creek.

I drove slowly along an incredibly furrowed, muddy road thinking that this was quite an initiation for my pristine Jeep, now all mud-splattered. As I bumped and splashed along, I was able to make out only indistinct shapes of various structures and vehicles materializing every so often through the fog bank. One place I passed must have had ten or twelve classic cars parked in the yard. Raven Creek looked nothing like I had envisioned. There seemed to be an unnatural silence, no twitter of birds, no sounds of civilization; definitely eerie. There was also no shortage of
KEEP OUT, PRIVATE ROAD, STAY OUT
and
NO TRESPASSING
signs posted, reinforcing the message that strangers were not welcome. And there were additional warnings analogous to the first set of cautionary signs I'd seen driving in.
IF I DON'T KNOW YOU, DON'T COME HERE. IF YOU MESS WITH ME YOU MESS WITH THE WHOLE TOWN. ARMED AND DANGEROUS! BEWARE OF NASTY-FACED DOG
. I couldn't help smiling at the last one.

I passed a long row of mailboxes, marveling at the fact that mail would even be delivered in this out-of-the-way hamlet, and traveled another fifty yards or so before an odd sensation crept over me. I reduced speed and finally stopped. Something hovered at the edge of my memory. There was something familiar about the place, yet I was positive I'd never been there before. What was I trying to remember? Perplexed, I sat there in the fog, taxing my brain before it suddenly hit me. Holy cow! I shoved the Jeep into reverse. When I pulled even with the mailboxes, I picked up my phone and tabbed to the photo of Jenessa and Nathan posing with the black cat. Bingo! This was the identical spot.

CHAPTER

19

Now that I knew for certain they had been here prior to their deaths, what did this knowledge really tell me? For sure, I needed to know when, why and who had taken the photo. Considering that the road I'd just conquered was made-to-order for adventurous off-road enthusiasts like Nathan probably answered the why. Marcelene should be able to tell me approximately when. But who had taken the photo and how a cat figured into the scenario of two people out exploring mountainous back roads baffled me. I stepped out and tromped through the mud, gingerly sidestepping pools of water as I approached the mailboxes. I counted sixteen of them—some so rusted, faded, flaking and caked with dirt there were few numbers or names visible. But considering that people supposedly came here to get lost, I had a feeling that was just the way the residents wanted it.

I moved along the row, able to make out a few of the names, some looking as if they'd been written with a Magic Marker. All at once, one of those unexplainable sensations like I was being watched shimmied down my spine. Spooksville, Marshall had called it, and I decided my fanciful state was due to the ghostly fog surrounding me.

Just to be cautious however, I glanced behind me. Nothing. I looked carefully in each direction and it was only when I turned back that I drew in a surprised breath. Three Pygmy goats stood behind the chain link fence, staring at me curiously with their strange slotted eyes. And then, in silent procession, two horses, a donkey, a cow, two sheep and a potbellied pig appeared out of the mist. All ambled to the fence and viewed me with interest. Finally one of the goats bleated a soft greeting. “Well, hello, gang,” I said, petting each of them through the barrier. I had quite a fan club going, but pulled back as a stunning, rainbow-colored rooster strutted by, eyeing me with arrogant suspicion as if to assert his proprietary authority.

At that moment, a light breeze touched my cheeks and the fleecy clouds, still pouring down the mountainside like waterfalls of frothing milk, began to disperse. Within minutes I could make out the shadowy framework of a barn and two sheds. No, wait. The sloped roof of one identified it as a chicken coop. Then a faded blue mobile home slowly materialized. I looked along the fence line, noting that this property bore no warning signs. I checked out the name on the mailbox nearest to the driveway.
D D Dorcett
. Unreal. It couldn't be anyone other than the same feisty woman I'd seen earlier today near Cleator.

As the cloud layer thinned, sounds that had been muted became more distinct. I could hear chickens clucking, ducks quacking and as I walked along the fence line towards the driveway, the friendly little herd followed along beside me. A sudden cacophony of loud barking stopped me in my tracks. On the opposite side of the wide driveway I counted six dogs of different breeds, all yapping away simultaneously, tails wagging, a pleasant contrast to the vicious-looking ones that had rushed me in Bumble Bee. What a menagerie. It appeared that Darcy was not only a caregiver of people, but animals as well. My initial impression of her mellowed considerably. The barking apparently alerted every other dog in the area, and the sound of their answering yelps echoed from the towering walls of granite in much the same manner as an amphitheater. No doubt everyone in town now knew there was a stranger in their midst. I stopped to allow each dog to sniff my hand and when their curiosity was satisfied they lost interest and wandered off inside the enclosure.

I could now see the chicken coop and feathered residents clearly as fragments of blue sky appeared above the wreaths of swiftly thinning cloud cover. It wasn't until I had reached the dilapidated porch that I noticed the faded sign.
Safe Haven Animal Sanctuary
. Interesting. And out here in the middle of nowhere? I searched my memory, unable to recall if I'd seen the name of this particular rescue group among the piles of brochures in Jenessa's room, or if there had been a donation receipt. I made a note in my phone to check it out.

As I drew closer to the mobile home, a little shock of amazement ran through me. Cats! A whole slew of them. There must have been at least two dozen felines—some hiding beneath the sagging porch, some crouching in the grass, several others lounging and bathing on an old blanket-covered couch or lying in the tall grass, all sizes, all colors. Three sleek black ones studied me with bright green eyes and the two gorgeous orange and white tabbies reminded me of Marmalade.

I about jumped out of my skin when a scratchy, high-pitched voice behind me bellowed, “Who are you? Who are you?” Whirling around, I stared down at a petite woman almost as round as she was tall. Really. Everything about her was round, from her body, to her face to her eyes—the palest, blankest blue eyes I'd ever seen. For a second, I almost mistook her for Darcy. Probably in her fifties or sixties, this woman had similar facial features—same prominent globular nose, mottled skin—but instead of having thick, dark eyebrows, hers were almost nonexistent. Dressed in a red warm-up suit and boots, she wore a black stocking cap pulled down over lank, ear-length white hair. For some reason, she had a wad of tissue or toilet paper stuffed in one nostril. “Who are you? Who are you?” she demanded again in a singsong tone before running her tongue along protruding, yellowed teeth. I couldn't help but notice the bulging cloth laundry bag tied around her waist and was slightly taken aback to see her clutching a ragged stuffed bunny.

“Ahhh, Kendall O'Dell. Is Darcy around?”

Her change of demeanor was lightning swift. Beaming with pleasure, she stuffed the bunny in the bag and grabbed one of my hands in hers, pumping it up and down several times. “You know Darcy! You know Darcy! Did she tell you about me? I'm Daisy. My momma named me after a flower—a yellow flower. Daisy. Daisy is my name. Daisies are very pretty, aren't they?”

Why was she repeating everything? “Well, yes they are. Nice to meet you, Daisy.”

“Me and her are twins, you know,” she confided, her tone friendly and confidential. “Me and Darcy. She came out first. She's older than me. Twelve minutes older. Twelve minutes.”

“I see.”

“You're really tall. A tall, tall lady.” Wide-eyed, she reached up and stroked my hair, crooning “Such pretty red curls. So, so pretty.” Then she dug in one pocket and pulled out a camera. “You look like a movie star. Can I take your picture?”

I smiled down at her. “Um…well, sure, I guess so.”

She backed up a little and snapped several before cocking her head to one side. “What about animals? Do you love animals?”

Slightly taken aback at the rapid-fire change of subject matter, I replied, “I do.”

“Me too! Me too! I
love
animals. These are all my animal friends,” she exclaimed, opening her arms wide, a magnanimous smile softening her weathered features momentarily before her expression altered to a forlorn pout. “Bad people throw them away you know. But, I take care of them. Even the sick ones. Even the hurt ones. That's what I do, yes, that's what I do.” Then she fell silent and just stared at me, slack-jawed for extended seconds with slightly crossed eyes.

I filled the sudden void with, “That's very commendable.”

“What?”

“Commendable.”

“What is commendable?” she asked, her gaze vacant.

“It means…you're doing a wonderful thing,”

“Oh, yes, a wonderful thing. Wonderful. Yes. Yes.” She reached down and picked up a grey and white cat that had only one eye. “Would you take this sweet kitty home? There's whole bunches of them here. This is Penelope. She is a snuggle bunny.” She hugged and tenderly kissed the cat on the head. “Don't you just love, love, love a snuggle bunny?”

It was now clear to me that the woman was mentally impaired. “I do. But…I already have a cat…” I paused and we both looked around as Darcy's battered red and white pickup rattled along the driveway and stopped. Frowning at me from behind the wheel, she slid out of the truck and five chickens flew out with her, plopping onto the ground. “Aren't you the redhead I just saw down at the bottom of the hill awhile ago?”

“Yes.”

“Thought so.” She shooed three more squawking hens from the cab of the truck and slammed the door. “Daisy, get these girls back in the coop.”

“Why did you bring 'em back?” she asked, furrowing her light brows at Darcy. “Why didn't Emma take 'em to Globe with her?”

She let out an audible groan. “It's a long story. Just put 'em away, okay?”

“But, I'm busy. I'm busy. See? I'm showing this lady Penelope. See? I don't want to do it right now. Don't want to.” She sounded obstinate, petulant, childlike.

“Don't argue with me.” Darcy peered at her, pointing to her nose. “Your nose bleeding again?”

“A little bit.”

“Humph. We'll deal with it later. Hop to it and get these hens rounded up.”

Apparently her supposedly compassionate nature didn't extend to her sister. Lips quivering, a defiant light glimmering in her eyes, Daisy hesitated before she set the cat down and stomped by me, muttering in an accusatory tone, “She sucked up all the air, you know. She sucked up all the air.” Baffled by her comment, I looked after her while Darcy confronted me with a blunt, “Who are you and why are you here?”

I dragged my gaze away from Daisy and handed her my card. “I'm an investigative reporter with the
Castle Valley Sun
.”

“You're kinda off the beaten track, aren't ya? What d' ya want?”

“To ask a few questions.”

“About what?”

I pulled out my phone and located the photo. “Do you recognize either of these two people?”

She looked at the image. “Mmmm. Yeah. I think the girl's name is Jennifer, Janice or something. I can't remember his name.”

“Jenessa. And that's her boyfriend, Nathan.”

“Uh-huh. And?”

“Did you take this photo?”

“Nope. Daisy must have. That's her thing. She loves to take pictures of everyone and everything,” she remarked, sounding mildly derisive. “Drives me nuts. Thank God for digital cameras or I'd have to rent a second storage unit to hold another ten million prints plus all the other crap she drags home. In case you didn't notice she's got a few problems. She's got ADD, she's OCD and a bit of a kleptomaniac, so don't set anything down if you want to see it again.” Her gaze strayed to Daisy struggling to round up the chickens and then back to me. “So, what is it that you want?”

“Do you know why Jenessa and Nathan were here in Raven Creek the day this photo was taken?”

“I'm not a mind reader. All I know is I got home from taking care of one of my patients and they were standing here listening to Daisy's nonsensical chatter.” Her twisted smile held just a trace of sardonic humor. “Kind of like you.”

I ignored her mild ridicule. “Did they stop here for directions? Do you know if they were lost or just out exploring the area?”

“I don't keep a diary.”

Oh my. Forthcoming she was not. While pondering my next question something dawned on me. I showed her the photo again. “Did she adopt this cat from you?”

“Maybe.”

“And did it have only three legs?”

“I can't tell from that picture, but yeah. We had one here and Daisy pushed 'em pretty hard to take it.”

Talking more to myself than her, I mused, “How in the world did Jenessa find you? I mean, how does
anyone
find you up here?”

Her eyes reflected ironic affirmation. “You noticed that we're not exactly a destination. I'll tell you what, it was a hell of a lot easier to get here before the damned Forest Service screwed us over by closing the only good road we had.”

That captured my attention. “When was that?”

“I dunno. About four years ago, I think.”

“And why exactly was it closed?”

“Because according to the powers that be, it wasn't worth maintaining just for us. They claimed it wasn't needed anymore after the old lookout tower got shut down. And get this,” she went on, her ruddy face reddening, “they didn't just close the damn thing, they dug out the culverts and bulldozed it to make
sure
we couldn't use it anymore. And now every time it rains water comes pouring down the hill and washes out part of the canyon road. And adding insult to injury,” she went on, brandishing a hand eastward, “Old Buster McCracken always allowed us to use the shortcut across his ranch to the main road. He kept it up real nice, but after he died, the damn gravel company gated it off, supposedly for safety reasons.” At that point in her soliloquy, she had to pause for a breath before finishing with a vociferous, “Bunch of heartless bastards!”

I'd obviously hit on a sore point and decided it might be best to gently direct her back to the matter at hand. “It does seem unfair.” A fluffy cream-colored cat with no tail rubbed against my leg, sparking the memory of Marcelene's poignant observation regarding her daughter's predisposition to rescue animals and people with disabilities. Had she already known about this place or just stumbled upon it accidentally? I bent down to pet the cat's soft fur. “So, do you advertise your animal sanctuary? I mean, how did Fiona end up here?”