Designer Detective (A Fiona Marlowe Mystery) (28 page)

Everywhere
a body went in this country the preferable means of transportation was by truck
or rig, as the locals called a truck or other motorized conveyance. If it
wasn’t four wheel
drive
, you were asking for trouble.
If snow didn’t end you up in a ditch, the grease they called roads in wet weather
would put you there. That’s what Jake told her as they drove along the improved
gravel road that stretched forever into the distance. Not another vehicle was
on the road. They could have been driving into a black hole.

Fiona
wore jeans, a long sleeve white shirt with paisley neck scarf, and her new flat
brimmed hat that was starting to grow on her.

“You
look the buckaroo,” Jake said.

She
smiled. “Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment. I don’t understand why I
have to wear long sleeves on a hot day.”

“Because
it will keep you from getting sun burn and eaten alive by mosquitoes. They’re
bad this time of year.”

“I have
a few choice welts to testify to that. Do you always drive this fast?”

“What?
Eighty?
How else you going to get anywhere?”

Around
noon they stopped for lunch at Mann Lake. Jake spread an old blanket on the
ground, and Fiona laid out the food Queenie had packed. It was leftovers from
the party and smelled more delicious today than yesterday.

“Oh, no,”
she said as Jake sat down on the blanket.

“What?”

“I
think she put goat in the sandwiches by mistake.”

“No
mistake about it. I asked for it.”

“You
like goat?”

“You
don’t?”

Her
tummy rumbled. She sniffed the sandwiches. “I guess I do now.” She took a
careful bite, like the goat might still be alive and snuffling around in the
bread. She was prepared to hate it, but after a few careful chews realized the
tangy marinade sauce made it palatable, maybe even delicious.

Jake pulled his vest collar up around his neck
and slapped down his hat. “Wind’s coming up. Eat up and we’ll high tail it down
the road. We got a ways to go.”

In minutes
a fine layer of grit drifted over the blanket and settled in everything that
wasn’t covered. They passed on the pie, packed up, and climbed into the truck
to continue the southward journey. Her teeth felt like she had consumed goat
and grit sandwich. She wondered if they’d have that on the menu at one of the
fancy restaurants back home.

The sun
held, the sky went total blue, and they continued south, along Steens Mountain
looming 9,500 feet to the west. To the east appeared an expanse of sand covered
desert that looked for
all the
world like the Sahara.
It stretched to the southern horizon. Fiona couldn’t see a stitch of
vegetation.
Nothing but white sand in a shallow bowl that
stretched to a ridge in the east.

“What
is that?” asked Fiona.

“It is
stark, raving desert. This country was an old lake bed,” said Jake. “But now there
are no rivers that flow from the basin. Hence, you get some places that are so
alkaline, nothing but nothing grows there.”

Further
south, the sky darkened with heavy gray clouds tinged with black that rolled
and tumbled off the Steens. The temperature dropped thirty degrees in a matter
of minutes. Jake turned on the heat.

“That
can’t be snow,” she said. “This is June.”

“Yep,
it’s snow. This isn’t unusual. It’s the elevation. We’re over four thousand
feet,” Jake said.

The snow turned out to be a rogue squall and
was over as fast as it came on. Sudden bright sunshine forced Fiona to put on
sunglasses. This was a country of weather extremes. Harsh was the word that
came to mind.

Jake started
singing
On the Road Again,
and Fiona
kept time by tapping her fingers on her knee.

“I like
the one you sang last night,” Fiona said. “What was the name again?”

“
Cowboy Lullaby
.”

“That
was nice. It went with the evening. Do you know anything besides cowboy songs?
Like opera? You’re a great baritone.”

“No. I
never cared for that caterwauling they call opera. I just sing country and
western, some bluegrass, a little gospel. I guess you like opera.”

“Of course.
I’ve been to the Met to hear James Levine
conduct
Rigoletto
, my very favorite
opera
.
I sometimes get season tickets
for the Washington Opera Company.”

 
He wagged his head. “You and I are very
different.”

“I
thought you’d never notice.”

He
looked at her and smiled. “Oh, I notice all right. Maybe I could learn to
appreciate opera.”

“You
could teach me cowboy songs.”

“You
bet. Do you know
Home on the Range
?”

Fiona
sang a few bars, and Jake laughed. “You call that singing?” he said.

Fiona
laughed with him. “I forgot to tune my voice this morning.”

“It
doesn’t matter how you sound. What matters is that you’re making music with
your friends and enjoying it. Let’s try
Home
on the Range
together.”

They
sang as they rode along, Jake helping her with the words, Fiona enjoying
herself immensely. She hadn’t sung in years. There was something about the
combination of singing, the endless distance before them, not another person in
sight, and Jake’s company on a road trip that made her happy. She couldn’t
remember the last time she had felt this light and free from the cares of the
world.

Jake pointed
to what looked like mist rising from the grass that bordered the east side of
the road up ahead. “There’s a roadside hot spring. We’ll stop, and I’ll give you
a tour. We could even take a dip if you want.”

“Swim
on the same day we drive through a snow squall?”

He
shrugged.
“Why not?
There’s a little cement pool at
the far end, and the water isn’t as hot there. It’d be perfect. You’ll love
it.”

 
He glanced in the rear view mirror. “That’s
odd. Someone’s coming up mighty fast behind us.”

“You mean
faster than we’re travelling?” she asked.

“I’m
not kidding. Maybe he’s going to Fields store for a milkshake and burger and is
afraid they’ll sell out before he arrives.”

Fiona
turned around in time to see the driver swing out and around to pass, take the
swing too wide, and plane off the gravel by the side of the road. Stones shot
everywhere. The small car lurched side to side, did an impressive three sixty, then
skidded sideways some distance before it bounced down an embankment to the left
and crashed through a barbed wire fence. Jake swerved to miss the careening
vehicle, forcing them into an upward sloping embankment on the right side of
the road. They slammed to a stop, but not before digging up a nose full of
rabbit brush.

“Are you
okay?” Jake asked, leaning toward her and putting a hand on her shoulder.

They looked
at each other bug-eyed, blinking. Present time tried to catch up to the surreal
time lapse of the accident.

Fiona checked
them over. “I don’t see any blood.” She held up her hand. “I’m a bit shaky but
in one piece. I’m glad we had our seat belts on.”

“Are
you sure you’re okay?” Jake said, as he looked her over.

Fiona
nodded. “I think so. Where did that car go?”

Jake
released his seat belt and banged on the door to open it. “That’s what I’m
going to find out.
Looks like he ended up in the hot spring.
You wait here.”

Fiona never
listened to well-intentioned advice. Her door was against a wall of crushed
rabbit brush, so she climbed over the console and followed Jake out his door. On
the ground she had to steady herself against the truck door until the ground
stopped spinning. It had all happened so fast she was disoriented and a little
dizzy.

Jake crossed
the road and looked around, assessing the situation. Fiona saw the problem as
soon as she joined him. The car had landed with its rear end in a pool of hot
spring water. The front end of the car was facing up the embankment.

“I
think I can make out two heads in the front seat,” Jake said. “Wait here. I
mean it. Don’t follow me down the bank. I don’t know how deep the water is, and
it is scalding along here. You wouldn’t want to accidently fall in.”

 
“I hope whoever is in the car isn’t par-boiled.”

“They’re
lucky. I don’t think they hit the water. The way the car is situated, it looks
like only the rear end slid into the water.”

Jake
picked his way down the steep embankment to the wreck, holding onto brush as he
went. Fiona was more than happy to take orders this time and hoped there
wouldn’t be any blood. The sight of it made her faint. She couldn’t see any
movement in the front seat. The slow moving muddy water eddied around the back
of the car and wound through stands of grass.
 
Fiona could see rocks and slimy looking stuff
through the clear sections of the water upstream a little ways. Jake reached
the car and made his way around to the driver’s side. Fiona looked up and down
the road. She could see a long way in the distance. No help appeared along that
forsaken stretch of gravel road.

Jake
called to her. “A man is slumped over the wheel. He isn’t in water,” he said.
“Looks like there’s a child with him.
Neither is moving. Call
911.”

“Right.”
She dug her cell phone out of her pants pocket and opened
the phone.

“There’s
no signal.”

“Walk
around till you find one. Go up on that rise.”

The
rise was to the west of the road where their truck had ended up. She trudged up
the hill through rock and rabbit brush, the sun burning into her shoulders. Two
bars on the phone finally lit up. She dialed 911.

“Your name
and location, please,” said a pleasant female voice.

“Steens
Mountains, I think, at a hot spring.”

“I can
barely hear you ma’am. Which side of the Steens?

“East side.”

What is
the nature of the call?”

“A car wreck.
Driver is slumped over the wheel and there
appears to be a child with him. They aren’t moving. The rear end of the car is
sitting in the hot spring.” She gave the particulars including Jake’s name.

 
The dispatcher said, “I know Jake. He’ll know
what to do.
Stand-by.”

Fiona
waited, watching Jake rap on the car windows, trying to rouse the passengers.
He seemed to be having trouble getting the driver’s door open. Sound carried
amazing distances where there was only the wind and crackle of sun shine to
intrude upon the scene. Jake called to the passengers to open the door.

The dispatcher
came back on. “We’ll dispatch first responders from Fields. They’ll be there as
fast as they can. I can’t pinpoint a time when they’ll arrive, since the responders
we have down there are ranchers, and it might take them a while depending on
where they are and what they are doing. Can you make out a license number?”

“Jake,
what’s the license number?” Fiona called from her vantage point on the rise.

He
moved to the front of the car and called out the Oregon license number. She
relayed the number to the dispatcher.

“Stay
with the vehicle, please, until help arrives,” said the dispatcher. “And stay
on the line.”

“I
can’t. I have to help and there’s no phone signal down there.” Fiona closed the
connection so she didn’t have to get into an argument with the dispatcher who
was only doing her job. She trotted back to the edge of the road and gave Jake
the news. She searched the horizon to the north and south for motion of any
kind.
Nothing.

 
Jake worked trying to open the driver’s door
but had a tough time since the doors appeared to be locked as well as jammed. Fiona
felt useless and racked her brain for something in Jake’s truck that could help
him out.
Bailing twine.
Jake had regaled her with the
many uses of bailing twine and said he always carried a supply in his tool box.

“Jake, what
about bailing twine?”

He
looked up. “Chain,” he yelled. “The child is moving. I can’t get the door open.
See if you can get a chain from my tool box in the rig. I need something heavy.
I may have to break a window.”

She
rushed back to the truck, managed to get to the tool box in the bed and drag
out a chain that weighed almost as much as she did. There was a stash of loose blue
bailing twine, and she tucked a length into her belt just in case. She threw
the chain on the ground and dragged it over. She scanned the horizon again for
a vehicle.
Any vehicle.
Nothing.
Since this was the only road on this side of the Steens, it would be hard not
to find them. At the top of the embankment, she looked down. “Jake, I can’t
throw this chain. Maybe I can slide it down to you, if you can come over here.”

He came
up the bank as she tried to push the chain down to him.

“Do you
recognize them?” she asked.

He shook
his head. “Not them or the car. They must be from out of town.
Must be tourists who don’t know how to drive these roads.”

She
looked around. She could have sworn she heard the hum of a motor. Jake looked
up, too.

“Do you
hear that?” she asked. “It sounds like a vehicle. Where’s it coming from?”

Jake
pointed up the side of the mountain. “That’d be the Easton brothers in their
old Chevy.”

The
sound of the motor got louder, and they watched the hill. Around the bend of
the last rise, a faded blue truck lumbered into sight, bouncing and jostling
over the road.

Jake
struggled up the bank, slipping and sliding on loose stones.