DEADLY SANCTUARY

Chapter 1

            "Oh...my...God. What.have.I done?" I murmured aloud, staring transfixed at the barren desert valley below the roadside overlook. No way could this be my new home. No way. As I consulted the Arizona road map once again, a hostile brown wind charged up the steep cliff, whirling my hair into a tangle and filling my eyes with grit.

            I began to regret my impulsive decision to take the newspaper job in Castle Valley. But, had there been any choice? All through the drive from Pennsylvania I had tortured myself with 'If onlys.' If only I hadn't been forced to a drier climate because of asthma. If only I hadn't lost my job at the Philadelphia Inquirer. If only Grant hadn't lost interest in me. If only, if only…

            An odd snuffling, snorting sound made me whirl around and I froze in shock at the sight of six weird-looking creatures approximately the size of large dogs standing between me and the safety of my car.

            A tentative step forward caused one of the grayish, bristle-coated animals to let out a bark and clatter its long, sharp fangs. What the devil were these things? They looked ferocious, like something out of a science fiction movie. Heart hammering, I shrank back against the stone retaining wall and edged a glance behind me to the sheer drop. There was no escape unless I suddenly developed the ability to fly.

            A surge of panic contracted my chest. Stay calm, I urged myself. The last thing I needed right now was an asthma attack.

            Oh no. My inhaler was in the car. If only a balky fuel pump hadn't detoured me off the freeway to Prescott for repairs, I wouldn't have even been in this Godforsaken spot.

            For some strange reason the beasts lost interest in me and dipped their heads to root among the dry weeds, flicking only an occasional wary look at me. Well, Kendall, what more can you do to screw up your life?

            As I stood baking in the warm April sunlight, I cringed inwardly remembering how my well-meaning father had oversold my abilities to his old newspaper colleague, convincing him I was already a big time investigative reporter.

            "Dad!" I'd whispered fiercely, "You know I was only in research."

            He'd cupped his hand over the receiver. "It's not like you have a lot of options, Pumpkin. This place isn't far from Phoenix and he's got an opening. You talk to him." He set the phone against my ear.

            "Hi," I said in a small voice. Morton Tuggs intimated that not only would my investigative background be a plus, he also needed someone he could trust. Three weeks prior, he stated, one of his reporters had mysteriously vanished without a trace.

            That snagged my interest, but I felt a vague sense of foreboding when he seemed reluctant to answer any further questions on the phone.

            "If you decide to take the job," he'd added gruffly, "we'll talk more when you arrive."

            That would have been the time to confess my amateur status, but I'd said nothing.

            The sound of an approaching vehicle pulled my attention to the road and a surge of relief washed over me when a tan pickup pulling a horse trailer roared into view. I waved my hand and the truck eased to a stop on the far side of the road. Two men got out. The driver, a tall lanky man wearing mirrored sunglasses, strolled toward me then stopped in his tracks and stared.

            His older companion limped up behind him and gestured to my Volvo. "You got car trouble?"

            I shook my head and pointed. Both men peered around the car, looked back at me, at each other, then broke into wide grins.

            "Those pigs botherin' you, little lady?" asked the tall one, tipping the hat off his forehead, his mouth working a piece of gum. There was an unmistakable note of sarcasm in his voice.

            Pigs? These hairy, sharp-toothed things were pigs? But why should that surprise me? They were like everything else I'd seen so far in this hot, dusty place: wild, prickly, and ugly.

            He stepped forward, clapped his hands, and hollered, "Eeeeyaah!" The animals squealed and galloped away.

            He turned back to me and swept the wide brimmed western hat from his head, revealing thick, blue-black hair. With exaggerated flair, he executed an elaborate bow, his smile mocking. "Always glad to assist a delicate damsel in distress." Even though I couldn't see his eyes, I could tell by the slow movement of his head that he was eyeing me from head to foot.

            Damsel? Was that how I appeared? Delicate? Weak? Helpless? I squared my jaw. Was it just his macho behavior that irritated me, or the fact that I was burnt out on men altogether? A failed marriage and a broken engagement certainly entitled me to that.

            The older man explained that the creatures were wild pigs called javelinas. "They look a mite fearsome, but won't usually hurt you unless you go after their young'uns." A friendly smile creased his sun-leathered face. By the look of their clothing, I gathered I'd come across some genuine Arizona cowboys.

            "Should have guessed," the tall stranger said scornfully, pointing to my license plate. "She's a bird."

            I bristled. "What do you mean?"

            "Snowbird," the other man explained. "You know, tourist. Winter visitor. Folks who come here for the warm weather and then skedaddle."

            "But," the contentious one cut in, "not before you people pollute our air, clog up our roads, use up our water, and trash the landscape."

            "No offense intended, Ma'am." The old cowboy shot a questioning glance at his friend.

            But I did feel offended. Without stopping to think, the lie leaped to my tongue. "I am not a snowbird. For your information, I happen to be relocating to Castle Valley. I've accepted a very important…managerial position at their newspaper." I regretted my words immediately and wondered why I should even care what this arrogant man thought.

            For a long minute they stared at me in silence, and then the tall cowboy grinned. "Well, now, is that a fact?"

            A sharp ringing sound like metal striking metal, and a high whinny from the trailer got both men's immediate attention. "Come on, Jake," said the younger man, "we've wasted enough time. Let's get them back to the ranch." He reached the trailer in long strides, and I could hear him speak in a soothing voice to the horses.

            I thanked Jake for his help, adding, "How do you stand him? He's the rudest man I've ever met."

            His grin was sheepish. "Oh, don't pay any attention to Bradley. He doesn't mean any harm. Just doesn't like newcomers much, and you look a powerful lot like…"

            His words faded as the ground suddenly swirled beneath me. I brushed a hand over my forehead as Jake stepped forward. Grabbing one arm, he led me to sit on a nearby rock in the shade of a scraggly tree. "You got water with you, little lady?" A look of concern deepened the creases around his eyes. "It's real dangerous to be out here without some. People dehydrate in a matter of hours. The desert, it ain't nothing to fool with."

            I decided I'd rather die than admit I was an ignorant "snowbird". "Yes, I have plenty in the car." He didn't need to know I had only a can of pop.

            Bradley shouted from the truck. "Come on, Jake. Let's roll!" I thanked Jake again for his kindness. He touched the brim of his hat murmuring, "Don't mention it," and limped away.

            The dizzy spell behind me, I slumped into the ovenlike interior of my car and downed the last of the warm soda, jumping in alarm when a hand reached through the window on the passenger side.

            Bradley dropped a thermos on the seat beside me. "You might need this."

            I glared at him. "I'm fine. And anyway, I would have no way of returning this to you since it's highly unlikely we'll ever meet again." The haughty tone in my own voice surprised me.

            The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "It's a small world. You never know." Waving a final salute in my direction, he headed back to the truck. I felt like he'd given me the finger as they pulled away. His bumper sticker read, WELCOME TO ARIZONA. NOW GO HOME!

            By the time I reached the sign telling me Castle Valley was fifteen miles away, I'd drunk half the water and was feeling rather foolish. The cowboy had been right after all.

            As I slowed for a cattle guard, I noticed a girl alongside the road. It wasn't my habit to stop for hitchhikers, but when she frantically waved her hand, I pulled onto the shoulder and waited as she stooped to pick up her pack.

            "Hey, thanks for the ride, lady." She plopped onto the seat beside me. "Jesus, it's hot out, ain't it?" I agreed and tried not to notice that she hadn't been within whistling distance of a shower for some time. "You headin' for Phoenix?"

            "No. Just to the next town."

            "Oh." A look of resignation flickered across her thin face. "No biggie. I'll get another ride. You care if I smoke?" She flipped a limp blond curl behind one ear.

            "I'd rather you didn't," I answered, trying not to stare. Not only did she have a multitude of colorful tatoos, her left ear had been pierced eight or nine times. The array of earrings jingled when she moved.

            "Hey, no problem." There was a hard edge about her. I noted her ragged jeans and faded T shirt. What in the world was this girl doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Was she a runaway? She couldn't be more than sixteen. As we continued down the road, she spoke little, staring straight ahead with vacant green eyes.

            I dragged my thoughts from the girl to examine my new surroundings. Morton Tuggs had told my father that Castle Valley was a beautiful place, and more healthful than Phoenix for me because it had no smog and was higher in elevation. My initial reaction was one of extreme disappointment. What a dinky town. It looked old and dilapidated, not at all what I'd imagined. A sign read: Population 5000. I wondered if that included the wildlife, as a prairie dog skipped across the road in front of me.

            At least the sunset was gorgeous. It lit the sky in shades of red and orange, tinting the rock wall to the east a brilliant gold.

            I stopped near the Greyhound Bus station, pressed a twenty dollar bill into the girl's hand, and suggested there might be a church or shelter where she could spend the night. She thanked me and got out, saying the money would come in handy since she was headed for Texas. As I watched her walk away, I suddenly felt lucky. Unlike her, I'd be staying at a cozy motel tonight and I had a job waiting.

            The following day, I rose early, downed my asthma medication, and prayed the dry weather would cure me swiftly.

            As I drove toward town, I wondered how I would survive in this place. The newspaper building looked just like the rest of the downtown area. Old and weatherbeaten.

            The receptionist at the Castle Valley Sun greeted me with a dimpled smile, and introduced herself as Ginger King. She seemed delighted to hear that I might be joining the staff and took my elbow in a friendly manner while ushering me to Morton Tugg's office which was situated at the end of a short hallway.

            I couldn't help but notice the smudged walls and frayed carpet as we reached the open doorway. From inside, a loud voice boomed, "The hell you say?" Hesitating, I turned questioning eyes to Ginger. "Don't fret none, sugar pie," she soothed, patting my hand. "His bark's a mite worse than his bite. Y'all can set yerself right there in front of his desk." Giggling, she gave me a little shove forward.

            The bald, red-faced man seated at the incredibly cluttered desk, waved me in, continuing to harangue whomever was at the other end of the phone.

            The wooden chair wobbled on uneven legs when I sat. Clutching my purse in my lap, I surveyed the room. It was crowded and shabby, relieved only by bright travel posters adorning the walls. Then my gaze fell on Morton Tuggs.

            "I wish I'd never let you talk me into this god-damned thing," he shouted, thumping the computer monitor. He didn't have hair one on the crown of his head, but as he listened intently, his fingers absently fluffed, then pressed flat, the tufts of fuzz perched over his ears like gray cotton balls. "I don't give a rat's ass what you say, just get the hell over here and fix it!" The phone dinged when he slammed down the receiver.

            After a few breaths to compose himself, he threw me an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that." He reached out a welcoming hand. "So, you're Kendall O'Dell? Good to meet you. I see you got Bill's red hair. Quite a guy your dad. I guess he told you the story?" His brown eyes looked solemn, faraway. I took his hand, knowing he must be remembering the day my dad had saved his life when they'd both been foreign correspondents during the Vietnam War.

            "It's nice to finally meet you too, Mr. Tuggs." His other hand swiped impatiently at the air.

            "Tugg. Tugg. Everybody calls me Tugg." A hint of humor lit his face. "Except when they're calling me Tugboat behind my back."

            I smiled, finally relaxing. We talked for a few minutes about what my routine assignments would be, the fact that his wife Mary had located several houses for me to look at and other general subjects.

            During a lull in the conversation, I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. Was I wrong, or was Morton Tuggs deliberately avoiding the subject I most wanted to discuss? I cleared my throat. "You said on the phone you needed someone with my investigative background and someone you could trust. Do you want to tell me about this missing reporter?"

            A look of anxiety etched his face. Instead of answering, he rose, shut the door, and returned to his desk where he laced his fingers in front of him. "I have to tell you that I've agonized for several weeks over how to handle this. It was my intent to have you look into it but, under the circumstances…perhaps it would be best not to pursue the matter further."

            I eyed him suspiciously. He wasn't behaving very much like the hard-boiled newspaper editor my father had described. "A man doesn't vanish for no reason. What did the police report say?"

            "There was a search. It was called off last week. I've pressed, but there doesn't seem much interest in pursuing the case. The official line coming down is that he probably just got bored with our little burg and skipped."

            "What do you think?"

            Tugg absentmindedly fluffed the patches of hair again. "John Dexter wasn't real well liked. He delighted in digging up dirt on people. Go through some of the back issues and you'll see what I mean. He had a knack for really pissing people off. But," he added, "even though he was sort of flaky at times, I can't believe he'd just up and go with no notice."

            "So, I'll talk to the police and see what I can come up with. Perhaps there's a lead they've missed."

            "No!"

            I jumped as his fist crashed on the desk. Then, noting my obvious shock, he said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you…it's just that…I'm not sure giving you this assignment would be the right thing to do."

            Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. The major reason for my trip, resurrecting my aborted career, was fading before my eyes. "I'd appreciate a shot at this."

            He swiveled in his chair and stared silently at the poster of Greece. After a minute he said quietly, "If you decide to work on this, it'll have to be strictly on the QT. Nobody else can know, and I'd caution you to be very, very careful."

            His attitude disturbed me. It wasn't what he was saying, it was what he wasn't saying.

            "Mr. Tuggs, Tugg…" I tried to keep the irritation from my voice. "You're going to have to level with me on this or I don't see how I can help. If you suspect foul play, which I gather you do, why aren't the police pursuing it, and why aren't you pushing for answers?"

            As if struggling mightily with a difficult decision, he dropped his eyes and drummed his fingers on the desk. Abruptly, he pulled open a drawer and extracted a ragged piece of paper. He stared at it, chewing his lower lip. "John called me at home the afternoon before he disappeared. We were having a big get-together for my daughter and it was so noisy I was having trouble hearing him. I wish now I'd paid more attention 'cause I only remember bits and pieces of what he said." He sighed heavily. "Something about meeting a girl later. Her information would tie into what he'd been working on earlier in the week, and if he was right, it would blow the lid off this town." He stopped, rubbed his temples as if in pain, then continued. "He'd been going through some files over at the sheriff's office and told me he'd discovered something weird. I'm not sure if there's any connection, but, I found this in his desk a couple of days ago."

            I studied the smudged paper he handed me. In between a profusion of doodling, I read the scattered phrases: Med records gone. Both cases. Dead teens. T prof…Connection? Possible cover up?

            Before I could speak he added, "One more thing. And, this is a doozy, the part that's really got me boxed into a corner. The last thing he said before he hung up was, "'Whatever you do, don't mention this to Roy."

            I looked up. "Who's Roy?"

            The pained expression again. "My goddamned brother-in-law."

            It was frustrating having to drag every word from him. "So?"

            "He owns half this newspaper and…he's the sheriff."