Gretchen prided herself on her ability to tackle the most strenuous trails, so she struck out boldly for the extreme tip of Summit Trail. A quarter mile in, she passed a steep northeast-facing cliff and spotted creosote and brittle bushes clinging to the side. Only a few flowers came into bloom in October, but she did see scattered desert lavenders and yellow blossoms on a sweet bush. A Harris antelope squirrel scurried across the trail, its tail long and bushy, a white stripe along its flank. It stopped at a safe distance and scolded Gretchen as she marched upward. Monday morning. Back to work for millions of Phoenix residents. Soon, downtown traffic would be in gridlock, and sidewalks would crowd with bustling workers clutching coffee cups and newspapers. Except for Brett and Ronny. Ronny had written his last inflammatory news article, and Brett had worked his final auction. What secret did they stumble upon?
The groomed trail ended abruptly, and the only way up now was over rough rock. Gretchen dug into the red rocks with hands and feet, her mind on the two men. The place to start would be where their paths had converged. How did their deaths link to a murder in Boston? Percy O'Connor's unsolved murder must be connected in some way. She thought of the resplendent group of Kewpie doll collectors visiting from Boston. Helen Huntington and her son, Eric. Margaret Turner and Milt Wood.
And Steve. Hapless pursuer of unrequited love? Or impulsive killer?
Gretchen stopped abruptly as she was about to grab a handhold on a large rock ahead of her. She heard the ominous rattle before she saw the snake. A rattlesnake. She froze and eyed the tiny newborn, its single rattle threatening her from two feet away. Gretchen knew better than to underestimate it because of its small size.
In autumn, rattlesnakes congregated in crevices. She had read about them when she first arrived in Phoenix, educating herself about all the poisonous critters in the American Southwest. Gila monsters, tarantulas, black widows, scorpions, and rattlers. She'd hoped never to encounter any of them. The snake must be migrating along scent trails left by its mother and would winter with hundreds of others coiled for warmth in snake dens.
Find the nearest hospital within two hours if bitten, the literature read. She'd also read that most people were bitten because they tried to run away. She slowly pulled her hand back, shut her eyes, and willed herself to remain motionless.
When she opened her eyes again, the snake had resumed its journey, slithering steadily through the rocks. Gretchen shivered, although the October dawn was already radiating increasing heat into the Valley of the Sun. Today the temperature was expected to again pass the one hundred degree mark.
She stood tall and watched the snake vanish. What course would she choose now? To continue her trek, risking another encounter until she reached the apex, or retreat in fear and admit defeat?
Yesterday, she might have scrambled back down the mountain, vowing to hug the more civilized paths in the future. Today, with Steve still in jail and herself inexplicably drawn into the bloody puzzle, she set her sights on the tip of the mountain and continued her ascent.
She'd passed the point of no return.
Gretchen headed for the Palm Tree Trailer Park with a fresh cup of coffee but no plan on how to break into Ronny's trailer. She brought her doll repair toolbox just in case she needed mechanical assistance, and she brought Nimrod for… what? Company? Certainly not for protection. She glanced in the passenger seat at the happy, bouncing puppy. She'd asked Wobbles to join them as they prepared to leave, but he'd answered with a loud, sharp-incisored meow and narrowed eyes, signs of an unequivocal no. Her increasing conversations with her pets was a sure sign she was losing her mind.
What if Ronny's trailer didn't produce anything helpful? What if she was arrested for breaking and entering?
She didn't even have bail money now that she'd lost three hundred bucks and the profits she would have made from the dolls.
Once she decided to join the dark side, she did it up big. Breaking into Ronny's trailer today, withholding evidence in a murder investigation yesterday. She thought about the messages in the Kewpie dolls. Was that evidence? She didn't know yet.
Matt Albright could eat bat guano for all she cared. The man popped into her mind when she least expected him to. Quit thinking about him. The very last thing she wanted to do was get involved with a married cop.
She whizzed down Twenty-fourth Street, watching for unwelcome company in her rearview mirror. The encounter with the rattlesnake had frightened her. Live large, she thought. Life could end sooner than you think. The sign facing the street read The Palm Tree Mobile Home Community and announced several homes for sale in the "Exclusive Community That Draws a Rich Tapestry of Backgrounds."
Whatever that meant.
Gretchen pulled in, proud of herself for finding the address without having to ask for directions. She passed by several mobile homes and found the address she had looked up in the Phoenix telephone directory the night before. No private, unlisted number for a man who welcomed gossipy snitches and colorful fabricators into his singular life. She parked next to his carport and got out. "Nimrod, stay," she said. No sense incriminating both of them. Would a credit card inserted next to the door lock work?
She'd seen that on television. She should have updated her sleuth skills to include the latest technological advances. Oh well, something from her doll repair kit would have to do. A man in a sleeveless undershirt opened the door of the mobile home next door. In the distant past, the undershirt had been white, although it had probably never quite fit him. An enormous potbelly spilled out from the bottom of it. "What you doin' over there?" he shouted.
This wasn't the best time to flash her toolbox and master her lock-picking skills. Rule number one for future reference: attempt breakins only after dark.
"You deaf or sometin?" His screen door slammed behind him. "I said, what you doing?"
Rule number two. Learn to lie well.
"I'm… uh… Ronny's girlfriend. I want to pick up some of my things."
"Like what?" By now he'd shot off his one-step porch and aimed his belly toward her with the precision of a steamroller. His personal appearance didn't improve up close and personal. Were those his boxer shorts?
"Uh… personal effects," she stammered. "I can come back later if this isn't a good time."
He studied her openly with bloodshot eyes. "You know Ronny kicked the can?"
Gretchen nodded and managed to tear up. "I heard."
"Didn't know Ronny had a girlfriend. How about that. Keepin' you under wraps so the rest of us can't get a chance."
He stroked his exposed midsection. "How about that?"
Was it something in the trailer park's drinking water that produced the Neanderthal effect in its male residents?
"I'll come back later." Gretchen stepped backward toward the Echo, keeping a sharp eye on him in case he tried to grab her hair and drag her off.
He waved a hand. "No, no, help yourself. Nothing left to steal, I suspect. The cops woulda taken anything worth sometin'. You got a key?"
Gretchen shook her head. "He never gave me one."
The beady red eyes drilled into Gretchen's cleavage, then drifted up to meet her eyes. He grinned. "Must be your lucky day, cuz I got one." He held up a key chain brimming with keys. "I'm manager of this exclusive community."
That worked well, Gretchen thought while he fiddled with the door.
The hardest part of her charade was convincing him that she didn't need his help.
"Take your time," he said, eventually giving up. "I'm sure you must be all broke up about losing your boyfriend. If you need a shoulder to cry on, I'm available."