A DEAD RED MIRACLE: #5 in the Dead Red Mystery Series (7 page)

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Chapter Ten:

Last night, intent on getting uninterrupted sleep from well-meaning neighbors and nosy news people, Caleb had disconnected the landline and turned off my cell. Booting my cell up again, I saw multiple messages from Tucson television stations and one from Pearlie with the succinct message to call her immediately, if not sooner, as she had a break in the case.

When Caleb passed me for the door, he stopped, turned around and came back to kiss me. I loved that he thought I needed an extra kiss, right up to the moment he whispered, "Try not to get in trouble today, will you?"

When I was sure he was gone, I returned Pearlie's phone call, figuring by now she'd be burning a new hole in the ozone with her news.

Instead, I got her voice mail. I left her a message and hung up, washed dishes, mopped floors, started a load of laundry and with a cup of tea sat down to watch the dryer gaily tumble our clothes dry. When my dad's jeep pulled into the driveway, I went outside to greet him.

"That was quick. Did your benevolent miners deny you membership already?"

My teasing stopped when I saw his face. "What's wrong?"

He took me by the elbow and led me into the house. "Let's get a cup of coffee and sit."

He poured us a cup and said, "I was flattered to be invited. After talking to these guys, I could see that I don't know as much about mining as I thought I did."

I did a hand roll for him to get on with his story.

"Gabby found something at the entrance of the mine. The fellas wanted to discuss it with me." He pulled some items from his pocket: a snippet of narrow gauge orange plastic tubing and a small amount of twisted electrical cord. He moved the twisted electrical cord in front of the other items. "This is what they would've used up to until about thirty or forty years ago as a fuse to a charge of dynamite."

He then replaced the wire with the orange tubing. "This is what is used today. It's called a non-el, for non-electric and it's what Gabby found on the ground just inside the entrance. The club members confirmed how easy it would be to set a charge of dynamite behind each of the posts. As soon as one set of posts fell, the cap, the ceiling and everything would tumble down after it. That popping sound we heard? That was charges going off. Lucky for us, a pocket was created when two posts didn't explode. It saved our lives."

"How? Why? Wait. I thought your mine was a secret."

"Well," he drawled, "I learned this morning that there are no secret mines in Arizona. First of all, the club has a map of all private mines. They're numbered by the state and county. The only secret about my mine was that I had reopened it. I'd say the cat was out of the bag the minute I bought those six by six posts yesterday. By lunchtime everyone in Wishbone knew I'd opened Aunt Mae's old mine and had plans to start working it."

"Then someone deliberately sabotaged the mine? Who would do such a thing?"

"As for who, that is something you get to work on, but Gabby thinks that at the very least, it was meant to slow down your investigation."

I could feel my hands clench into fists. "Slow
down
the investigation? Whoever thought that sure doesn't know me. Wait till I tell Caleb," I said pulling out my cell phone.

Dad grabbed my wrist. "Wait. Before you call Caleb, Gabby and a couple other fellas are coming over. They're righteously indignant that some ornery, low-down critter would sabotage a mine to murder innocent folk and they want to help."

I was thinking of Ron Barbour's untimely exit from life in a house explosion. Not so different from the mine collapse; both were made to look like an accident. This had to be the work of the same person. Someone was hoping to plug holes, which meant we were too close for comfort. I could only hope that we would get a lead before this killer got any closer.

"Do your friends have any ideas on who we should look at?" I asked.

"Well, the miners have a theory, but I'll let Gabby explain."

Just as I picked up the phone to call him, Caleb arrived, herding three strangers ahead of him.

Dad stood to greet the visitors. "Lalla, this is Ben Tucker and Ronny Barns. Gabby here runs some cattle, but she's also a miner," my dad said, with a blush.

Gabby cheerfully stuck out her hand and in a voice like gravel being dragged along by a back-hoe, said, "Gabby Hayes. Pleased to meet you."

Her hand was calloused like a man's and the lines radiating from the corner of her mouth put her at about sixty years' worth of Arizona sun. The gravelly voice probably due to years of smoking. Good thing I quit when I did, or in another twenty years, I'd sound just like her.

Silver hair clips and dangling turquoise earrings added a feminine touch. There was no doubt that Gabby was all woman. If I had some weight on my bones and worked out of doors for most of my life, we could be mistaken for cousins.

"I suppose you're wondering about the odd name," she said.

Behind her back, Caleb winked and I tried not to smile.

"The name's Gabriella, but folks 'round here have called me Gabby since I was three. Didn't give it much thought until
after
I married Mike Hayes and folks started ribbing me some about it. That lasted until the next interestin' thing came along. So me 'n' the husband got gold fever after we discovered an old mine on my dad's place. It's a lot like Noah's, but thank God nobody's tried to kill us in it."

I pointed everyone to the dining table. When we were all seated, Gabby acted as spokesperson for the miners. "Let me start with what we do know. A mine collapse is big news in Wishbone and I don't think we've had one in forty years. We think if you look at the videos and photos from both the mine collapse and that fire at Ron Barbour's place, you might find your man."

I gasped. "One of those nice people who stayed until 2 a.m. tried to kill us?" My feelings of good will for all our rescuers just took a dive. "Surely we can rule out the police, sheriff's deputies and fire department."

Caleb winced. "I wish that were true, but at this stage, I don't think we should rule out anyone. There were two vans from Tucson and a photographer from the Sierra Vista Herald. Leave this to me, I'll get the video and photos from both scenes."

I could feel my temperature rise at the idea of being excluded. "Pearlie and I can do that."

"The mine collapse is now an attempted homicide," he said. "It's my jurisdiction."

"It's my case, too, Caleb."

Caleb, seeing I was about to explode, defused my temper with a question. "Where's Pearlie?"

"I don't know," I said, still smarting at his attempt to take over. "She's not returning my calls."

My breath caught in my throat and I blanched. Had she stepped in front of the same killer who'd murdered Ron Barbour and tried to kill my dad and me?

Before I started to hyperventilate, my cell rang. I was relieved to see it was Pearlie calling.

"Guess who who's back at the gym!"

"Damian, I suppose?" Ian Tom did say the kid wasn't one to follow orders. "Where are you now, Pearlie?"

"I got hungry, okay?"

"Fine, fine," I said. Pearlie tended to get defensive about her eating habits. Food was a way to keep her anxieties at bay. I got anxious and stopped eating. I really should be grateful; she could've taken to drink like our former business partner.

<><><><><>

By the time Pearlie arrived, Gabby and her friends had left so Caleb, my dad and I took turns explaining the suspicious circumstances of the mine collapse.

"So, you two can investigate," he said, closing his notebook, "up to a point."

Pearlie flicked two fingers in concession. "Sure, but videos and photos are as available to us as they are to law enforcement, you know."

"Thanks for reminding me." He rubbed a hand across his forehead. "Lalla, Ian Tom wants to meet us at his house."

"Today?"

He looked at his watch. "As soon as we can get there."

"I'll ride with Pearlie."

Caleb's lips tightened as he fought to come up with an appropriate response to my assertion that Pearlie was invited as well, but gave up and marched for the door.

"What's with him?" Pearlie asked.

"Sometimes he acts too much like a cop," I said, and seeing she was still driving the cat-piss smelling rental, asked, "when do you get your Jeep back?"

She muttered something that might've been a cuss word, so I changed the subject. "How was your lunch?"

"Lunch? Oh, the usual, I guess."

"You said you stopped to eat… or did I misunderstand?"

"One of the trainers at the gym and I got to talkin' and I guess we sorta have a date tonight."

"That's nice. Is he someone who can help us keep tabs on Damian?"

"I don't know and I don't care. He's cute and I'm not going to look at his resume and you better not, either."

"Okay." Pearlie had reason to be touchy. Her choices for male companionship had a way of getting dissected by her granny and though Great Aunt Eula Mae was only trying to help keep her granddaughter from making another bad choice, it didn't do much for Pearlie's love life. I wasn't a snitch and had no intention of tattling on my cousin. She was quite capable of getting out of her own mistakes.

<><><><><>

The last time Pearlie and I were in Ian Tom's house it was quiet and calm. This time we walked into a rowdy argument between Ian and his nephew.

Ian formally introduced Caleb, Pearlie and me to his nephew, Damian White, whose only acknowledgement was to crack his knuckles and stare at the floor.

"Damian," Ian snapped.

The kid stuck his fingers between the seat cushions of the sofa to keep them still.

Ian glared at his nephew. "I've agreed to allow him to continue his training as long as he keeps decent hours and leaves the investigation into his father's death to the professionals, right, son?"

Damian complied with an indifferent shrug.

Hoping to pry apart his hostile attitude, I started with a question. "What do you do for work, Damian?"

I looked to Ian for an interpretation of the kid's mumbling response.

Ian's jaw tightened. "I guess he's got hoof and mouth disease. Iron work, right, Damian? On high rises in Las Vegas. Go on, tell them."

Damian's head came up off his chest. His eyes flashing angrily. "You know."

"Some of it, but you can tell it better than I can. It's an interesting story."

Damian glared at each of us, but something akin to pride took over the defiant attitude. "One of my buddies got me tickets to the Las Vegas finals of American Ninja Warrior. The minute I saw that show, I knew I had what it took to win, but I didn't have the training and the show looks for contestants with a story, you know? When I told them I was Apache and a Native American ironworker, they flipped. A combination like that could take me all the way to the top."

"Native American ironworkers?" I asked.

"Mohawks from Canada started coming to New York as early as the 1900's. White men liked to say that it was because
injuns
weren't afraid of heights, but that's not so. They were just braver. They could walk any beam at any height. Then they got work riveting. That was real money for people who were used to scraps to live on. They were there when the planes crashed into the twin towers. One said it flew so low, he could see the rivets in the fuselage."

Now that his defensive posture had loosened, I asked, "Tell us about your father, Damian."

His eyes darted from his uncle to me. "Whadya wanna know?"

"What makes you think he was murdered?"

"My dad told my mom they were out to get him and one deputy in particular called him a nigger. My father was also half Apache, but in those days the whole county was racist."

Ian Tom sighed. "You read the report, Damian. You know it didn't start out that way. The folks in Palominas have always been a mixed race community."

Damian's eyes flashed. "That doesn't change anything. Someone still shot my dad in the back."

Sheriff Tom slapped his hands on his knees. "And that's where you folks came in. But since I have no intention of driving a wedge between you and your bride, Caleb, I need to ask your permission."

Caleb's mouth twitched in that way it did when he wasn't going to like the question. "What kind of permission do you have in mind, Ian?"

"Damian's mother, my sister, Naomi, would like to hire Lalla and Pearlie to finish the job Ron started."

Pearlie, unable to contain herself, issued a happy squeak.

Caleb grimaced. "You know, Ian, every once in a while I dream that I have some kind of say-so about what my wife does or doesn't do―and then I wake up."

Ian, looking unsure if he was being kidded or not, said, "Is that a yes?"

I laughed. "And to think, he married me anyway."

"Then we have a deal?" Ian asked.