Forbidden Entry (24 page)

Still fretting, I re-started the engine and resumed travel along the winding road, my pulse rate slowly returning to normal. When I approached the dilapidated bar in Cleator, I had to weave my way around an assortment of pickups, Jeeps, crappy old cars and several ATVs parked at odd angles. Poised to accelerate up the hill, I paused when something caught my eye. The unexpected sight sent my heart rate rocketing right back up again. Braking to a stop, I stared in utter disbelief at the BAD BOY sticker prominently displayed on the back window of a shiny, black pickup truck. It couldn't be! And yet I knew it had to belong to the Hinkle brothers. I felt like I'd swallowed ground glass. “Un-friggin' real,” I murmured. Inundated with a strong sense of foreboding, my mind grappled with the question of what these two characters were doing in Cleator of all places. It seemed everywhere I went, there they were—Tally's barbeque, Jerome and now here. No sooner had that thought crossed my mind than the two, of them along with another young guy, emerged from the bar deep in conversation with Jack Loomis from the gravel company. Really? Intrigued, I slid a little lower and cautiously shielded my face behind my hand. I was pretty sure the Hinkles didn't know what kind of a vehicle I owned, but wasn't so sure about Jack Loomis. Bright, iridescent lime-green Jeeps tended to draw attention. I powered the window down, wishing I could hear what they were saying but the wind obscured their voices until I heard a clear, “Better not screw this up or he's gonna have your hide this time!” Jack gave them a taut one-fingered salute and retreated inside the bar while the Hinkle brothers glowered after him before jumping in their truck. Danny or Daryl, I couldn't tell which from this distance, revved it loudly and to my surprise, turned in the same direction I was headed. Relief flowed through me. Good. They hadn't seen me.

Curious as to what the twins were doing with Mr. Moneybags, I followed them for several miles and it wasn't until I crossed over a cattle guard near the entrance to the McCracken Ranch did it dawn on me why they would be in this area. Of course! The realization helped dispel a small measure of discomfort. Most likely they'd been going to the ranch ever since Elizabeth had married John Hinkle. And because the sand and gravel company was located on McCracken property, that probably explained how they knew Jack Loomis. Perhaps it was not unusual for them to be in Cleator after all. Still, I could not shake a lingering apprehension. Maybe if the Hinkle boys weren't so damn smarmy and hadn't established such a problematic connection with Sean, I wouldn't have given it a second thought.

CHAPTER

22

Deep in thought, I continued to follow their pickup from a distance along the dusty, curving road. When four young guys in a Jeep with the top down roared up behind me, music blaring full blast, I eased to the side of the road allowing them to pass. Good. Less chance of the Hinkles spotting me now with another vehicle between us. They disappeared around the bend and when I caught up with them, I had to practically stand on the brakes to keep from slamming into the back of their Jeep. What the…? Pulse throbbing in my throat, I sat there behind the rowdy boys, the Hinkles, an old gray van and two couples astride ATVs, all at a dead stop waiting for two dump trucks from the gravel company to cross the one lane bridge.

“Oh, cut me a break!” I muttered aloud, my belly clenched with aggravation from the constant delays. Already late for my appointment, I grabbed up the phone and dialed Burton Carr's number, only to have it go straight to voicemail. No cell service, of course. Just my luck.

As I sat there studying the weatherworn stone bridge that looked like it had been there forever, I wondered what would happen if it was ever out of commission. No doubt, it would present a vexing problem for people trying to get into or out of Crown King and Raven Creek. As the noisy trucks rumbled by, the young Hispanic man I'd glimpsed yesterday exchanged a greeting with the Hinkle boys and then flashed me a friendly smile and waved. I lifted my hand in response and then noticed that Rod, the same surly guy from yesterday's altercation with Darcy, sat hunched behind the wheel of the second truck. He did not smile or wave, just glared and drove by. Not exactly the friendliest person on earth, to say the least.

A mile later, the twins turned sharply into the gravel company entrance and vanished into the distance. I was not surprised, but wondered what business they would have there. What was their connection with Jack Loomis? Other than the fact that the company was operating on ranch property, why would he have anything to do with those two lowlifes?

My cell phone chimed and I glanced at the screen. Seeing that it was a text from Ginger, I pulled off the road and stopped to read it. DRIVING AUNT MARCELENE 2 PHOENIX 2MORROW 2 GET JENESSA'S IMPOUNDED CAR. FUNERAL ARRANGEMENTS IN PROGRESS. MY SISTER BONNIE IS COMING 2MORROW NIGHT. DON'T WORRY. STILL WORKING ON PARTY PLANS IN BETWEEN. DO YOUR THING, GIRL! YAK AT YA LATER. ☺ HUGS!

Hmmm. Well there went my opportunity to question Marcelene. Now it would have to wait until Wednesday. I texted her back. ALMOST THERE. WILL TAKE PHOTOS FOR YOU AND MARCELENE. HUGS BACK AT YA!

I shifted into a lower gear and continued up the hill to the turnoff. Half an hour later, I arrived at the junction and spied Burton Carr's aqua-blue vehicle parked on the north side of the left hand fork. As I pulled along side he looked up from whatever he was reading and greeted me with a polite nod. I slid from the Jeep, calling out, “Hi there! Sorry I'm late.”

“No problem.”

The escalating wind tore at my hair, whipping it across my eyes and making me wish I'd taken the time to corral it into a ponytail. “Thanks for meeting me. So, what's the game plan?”

“Follow me to the gate. It's only a mile or so. You can leave your vehicle at the road entrance and ride with me.” He patted his shirt pocket. “I have a permission slip for you to sign.”

I balked. “Why can't I drive my own car?”

He shook his head while simultaneously extracting a pen and picking up a clipboard from the passenger seat. “Against the rules, I'm afraid. And too dangerous. The road is decommissioned, so if you're caught driving on it by one of our law enforcement officers, you could be ticketed and I doubt you'd want that, am I correct?”

“You are.”

A thin smile. “I thought so.”

Still not crazy about the idea of leaving my brand new Jeep sitting alone in the forest, I hesitated a few more seconds. “So, you think it's safe to leave it unattended?”

He didn't look overly concerned and his demeanor seemed cool. “We shouldn't be gone long. Just make sure it's locked.” He handed me the form to sign.

Okay. He was either a really mild-mannered guy or still annoyed about my snippy behavior yesterday. If he were that easily offended, I'd best try and get in his good graces if I planned to earn his cooperation.

“All right.” The temperature appeared to be dropping by the second and I shivered slightly as I scanned through the flapping papers, signed, and handed him the clipboard, thinking that I'd definitely be trading my light coat for the down jacket. I started towards my Jeep and then wheeled around. “By the way, you were right about the mountain producing its own weather patterns. The fog was pretty dense here yesterday. And your assessment concerning some of the people was correct as well,” I acknowledged with a sheepish smile.

Apparently mollified, his sullen expression softened to one of gratitude. “Thank you. It's nice to hear an appreciative word now and then and actually get credit for knowing a thing or two once in a while.”

I gathered there was a story behind his cryptic remark but doubted I'd ever find out what it was. I returned to my Jeep, still feeling doubtful about leaving it unattended, and followed behind him, jostling from side to side on the primitive road flanked by intermittent patches of dirty snow. Constantly dipping in and out of bright sunlight and deep shadow made it hard to navigate. I drove past several secluded cabins and rusted mobile homes tucked back in the groves of trees and continued climbing the rough, zigzagging road. As the pines and ground cover grew thicker, I tried to imagine the area buried in three feet of snow and wondered again what Jenessa and Nathan had been doing here. Had they taken a wrong turn in low visibility, or were they hunting for a place to camp for the night and wait out the storm? All at once, Burton Carr's brake lights lit up and he motioned for me to pull into a narrow clearing adjacent to a sizeable mound of tree limbs, dirt and brush.

He leaned out the window and yelled, “I'll unlock the gate. You can meet me there when you're ready.” He pointed to his right and then drove around the pile. I craned my neck, just barely able to see the gate almost hidden from view.

I parked and, when I slid out, the frigid wind sent goose bumps racing up my forearms. Shedding the lighter coat, I pulled on my down jacket, secured a stocking cap over my hair, tied up my hiking boots, grabbed my notepad and, after locking the door, made my way around the brushy barrier in time to see Burton Carr unlocking a gate that warned: AREA CLOSED DUE TO RESOURCE PROTECTION. NO ENTRY.

“Why is all that brush piled up there?” I asked, thumbing behind me.

“To discourage people from driving their vehicles here.”

It was interesting to note that except for perhaps twenty feet of wire fencing beyond the gate, plus a row of good-sized boulders that extended five or six yards on both sides, there really was nothing to stop someone from driving onto the road. I walked up beside him. “So, I hear that, much to the consternation of the good citizens of Raven Creek, the Forest Service has no plans to reopen this road.”

He flicked me an inquisitive look and unloaded what sounded like pent-up frustration. “Consternation? That's putting it mildly. They're mad as hell, along with hikers, campers, rock climbers and these crazy, destructive off-road riders who call me every name in the book and then go out and carve their own trails through the forest regardless of the damage they cause.”

Crazy and destructive was right, I thought, remembering the two wild dune buggy drivers. “So you're saying it wasn't a good decision to close it?”

A shrug and head roll. “The order came down from on high. I'm not in charge, I'm not a supervisor and it's not for me to say. I know everyone around here is upset, but then why should public funds be used to maintain a road solely for private landowners? And as a geologist, I have to say it has had some positive effects.”

“Such as?'

“Keeping people away from some of the dangerous old mining areas, discouraging vandalism at many of the archaeological sites like the Indian forts and petroglyphs, in addition to the old fire lookout. Eventually nature will reclaim it and someday you'll never know there was ever a road here.” He gazed nostalgically into the forest. Was he reliving events from his past?

“Darcy said you spent a lot of time in the tower as a young boy.”

He turned questioning eyes on me. “When did she tell you that?”

I explained how I'd happened upon their place and as he listened, he pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “Sounds like she told you my whole life story,” he observed with a hint of impatience as he opened the passenger door for me. As I climbed in he asked pointedly, “You're still sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.”

“It's going to be a rough ride.” After he shut the door, started the engine and turned up the heat, I said quietly, “This is more than just another assignment for me. It's personal. I knew Jenessa and I promised her mother that I'd check out the place where her daughter died.”

His eyes rounded in surprise. “Oh. I didn't realize that.” He looked away quickly, his nondescript face compressed into a troubled frown that accentuated his weak chin. He drove through the gate, stopped, got out and locked it before sliding behind the wheel once more. We drove in silence for a few minutes. He was right. Again. The road was in terrible shape—overgrown with foliage, deeply furrowed, rocky and very muddy. We jostled, bucked, pitched back and forth and in one particular spot, splashed through a water-filled channel so deep, I didn't think we'd make it, but he forged ahead. “This is where we removed the culvert which restored the natural runoff patterns,” he explained, his jaw tight with concentration as he maneuvered across the gully.

So, this was most likely the source of Darcy's complaint about water cascading down the hill, washing out sections of the road below. When the terrain leveled out a bit, I was able to talk without fear of biting my tongue. “I spoke with Linda Tressick earlier today and she told me about her confrontations with Nathan Taylor, the young man that died here. She said you'd also had dealings with him?”

Keeping his eyes pinned ahead, he answered, “Yeah, I had the same issues Linda experienced. I had to cite him for tearing up the forest driving his ATV off the designated trails several months back. Some of these kids have no regard for rules,” he added, a touch of exasperation coloring his tone, “or for much of anything else for that matter.”

“Tell me about it. On the way here, a couple of young guys racing dune buggies ran me off the road. If I'd hit one of the boulders in my path, I might have been killed.”

“Really?” He tossed me a look of displeasure. “Where did that happen?”

“A half a mile past Bumble Bee.”

“Irresponsible kids,” he groused. “Did you get a look at them?”

“Not really. They had dust masks and sunglasses on.”

A deep sigh. “Well, that proves my point. Reckless disregard for anyone and anything but themselves.”

“And on that note,” I remarked, holding onto the handle as we lurched from side to side. “With the exception of those two encounters, how many confrontations did you have with Nathan?”

He didn't answer immediately. “He was preparing to rappel from the top of one of the old Indian forts the first time I saw him. Now that's just crazy stuff. Besides damaging a historical site, he could have killed himself right then and there. I warned him that he was trespassing on BLM land without a permit.”

“And his response was?”

A disdainful sniff. “Let's just say he used some pretty disrespectful language and ignored me. But when I threatened to call one of the law enforcement rangers, he finally backed down.” He shook his head briefly, adding, “Reckless, wild kid. Abrasive too.”

While a part of me could not help but admire Nathan's adventurous spirit, it appeared more and more likely that he'd been a corrupting influence on Jenessa. “Tell me something. In your opinion, did he act as if he might be on some kind of stimulant?”

“You mean drugs? Who knows nowadays? It seems like all the kids are high on something. Or, and I hate to say this now, but maybe he had a death wish. I also caught him trying to rappel down a vertical mine shaft not too far from here.”

“When was that?”

“Couple of weeks ago.”

I digested that sobering thought, calculating that the incident must have occurred near the beginning of his fatal trip. “Was Jenessa with him?”

He hesitated. “I…don't remember seeing her that day.”

“Did you see them together at any other time these past two weeks?”

Swallowing hard, he stated somberly, “Not alive. Not until last Wednesday when I followed Harvel back to their camper and…well, you know.”

“Tell me more about that day,” I interjected. “Where were you and what time of day did he flag you down?”

“Around noon. I was just coming to the turnoff when Harvel came tearing down the hill on his snowmobile.”

“I read in the sheriff's report that you were unable to get a cell signal. That's weird, because I just got a text from my friend at about the same spot a short while ago.”