Marjorie Thelen: High Desert Detective

Jake tried not to scowl as he steered Fiona to his rig. This woman was trouble. She could stir up male testosterone quicker than any woman he had ever met. She sure touched his male hormones in a bad way, and that could only mean trouble for him. Maybe he should take a break from ranching and do a little rodeo-ing to calm down.

He banged the chain into the truck bed, helped Fiona into the passenger side, and backed around. Dora and Fred tore off in the opposite direction. The ambulance left ahead of them with Caleb and Zeke trailing behind. The Sheriff stayed at the accident scene, guarding the bones.

It had been an eventful day, but one Jake didn’t want to repeat. They never did get to the site of the skeleton in the desert. Now there was the skeleton in the hot springs.

After the day’s events, Fiona was still keyed-up and wide awake. She hoped she wasn’t going to be bothered by ghosts again. Jake had begged her not to spend the night by herself. Opal had insisted she stay in one of the guest bedrooms. But there was something about this old bunkhouse that she was beginning to like. Besides she didn’t really believe in ghosts. Or at least she didn’t think she did.

An odd thought occurred to her.

What if someone were trying to scare her off? Where did that rogue thought come from? Why would anyone want this old bunk house? Why would anyone want her to leave? Was there something more valuable about her new acquisition than she knew? Maybe there was buried treasure hidden underneath the bunk house. Now her imagination was really going wild. Easy, girl, easy. Maybe there were vast mineral deposits under this little rise where the bunk house stood. Maybe it was oil. Maybe gold. She’d heard they mined gold to the north of here. That was getting pretty far-fetched. But her brain was in overdrive, and she was beginning to think there might be merit to the bizarre idea that someone was trying to scare her off. She’d run it by Jake and Opal in the morning.

Tomorrow she’d be back in familiar territory. The contractors would start work on the bunk house. She relished the creative start of a new project. It was like sculpture. She would re-work the walls, pick fabric for curtains, have them made to her specifications, paint the new walls in the amazing colors of the desert with a touch of bright something, tear out the back wall and add a bedroom and sumptuous bath. It would be so much fun, and it would be hers. The house in the country she had always wanted.

But she was wide awake, and it was midnight. She had had a glass of wine with Jake when they returned. Opal had put out leftovers and listened with rapt interest to their recount of the day. She had had her own opinion about the bones.

“There was a man came through here looking for work,” she said, “must have been three or four years ago. It was the real dry year, you remember, Jake?”

Jake shrugged. “I remember the last dry year. I don’t remember any man.”

“Maybe you were away. Well, this man came up to the house, and I answered the door. He spoke with an accent, but he wasn’t one of the Basque people. You don’t see many Basque looking for ranch work anymore. No, he had a foreign accent, reminded me of a Mexican. Maybe he was one of those fellows from Peru that come to herd because he was looking for sheep work. I said I ran cows but I gave him the names of a few of the sheep ranchers. He thanked me and left and that was the last I heard of him. It might have been him. He might have got lost over there in the East Steens.”

“This man wasn’t lost,” said Fiona. “He was buried in the bank by the hot spring.”

Opal raised her eyebrows, and Jake said, “I agree. He had a sheet or something wrapped around him. That to me means it was pre-meditated. Someone put him there.”

“Maybe this man who showed up was on the run, and someone was looking for him,” said Fiona.

Opal said, “He didn’t look that type. I think I’m a pretty good judge of people. He seemed very humble and sincere. Maybe he crossed the wrong people or something. It would be worth asking the sheep ranchers I told him about.”

Jake shrugged. “Maybe. In any case you should tell Hoover about him. He can talk to the ranchers in question. We don’t have to worry about it. I got better things to do, like run a ranch. If you ladies don’t mind, I’m calling it a day.”

Opal and Fiona had lingered at the kitchen table after Jake turned in. “Why don’t you call up those sheep ranchers you mentioned,” Fiona said.

“I could. You aren’t going to let this one be, are you, Fiona?”

She smiled. “I’m just curious. I mean, if you happen to run into one of those ranchers or maybe have to talk to them, you could ask.”

Opal nodded. “I could do that.” She rose to leave then hesitated. “Fiona, you have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to see how much Jake cares for you. You’re not going to break his heart, are you?”

Fiona froze, taken off guard. She cast her eyes around the room, trying not to make eye contact with Opal, but she knew Opal would not relent. Truth was the only option. She finally met Opal’s eyes. “I’m not sure how I feel. I like my freedom. He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”

“Still, I worry about him. He’s sweet, and he’s been hurt bad before.”

Somehow she made it through the night without any ghosts bothering her. The carpenter arrived late morning. He was going to insulate the walls, cover them with dry wall, and paint. His name was Brewster, and he seemed decent enough though a little odd. He was an artist who did house painting and carpentry to support his artistic habit. His spiked blond hair and earring fit the image. He was a creative type she could relate to, so they got on well and spoke the same language. She got his life history in the bargain. He had discovered Rocky Point several years ago.

“The town is a well kept secret,” Brewster said, “so don’t tell anyone else. I like the place as it is. It has a nice little arts community, and no one pays much attention to the place because it is a long way from anywhere else. I like it just fine.”

“I won’t tell a soul,” Fiona said. “Let’s select the interior and exterior colors of paint.”

That’s when they got into the argument. Brewster declared he had an expert eye for color coordination and had even gone to school for it. Fiona had, too, and considered herself a superb color expert. She tried to keep an even temper and not lord over him her degree from the Rhode Island School of Design. Dropping that name had not fazed him. The air got tense over what color sage was, whether it had more green or more blue. He looked like he was on the verge of walking out. This had never happened to Fiona. She had always gotten on well with her contractors, although they could be undependable, especially when it came to starting and finishing a job on time. She studied the man.

“All right,” she said in the interest of keeping on good terms with him. “We’ll go with your idea of more blue in the sage than green.”

“You won’t be disappointed. I know my colors,” he said.

“I’ll leave you to your measurements. You will start the walls today, won’t you?”

“Now that you bring it up, I won’t be able to start until next week.”

“You said you’d start today.”

“I said I’d start today if I got this other job done, and I’ve run into some delays so I won’t be able to start your job till next week.”

“But surely you can take the measurements today and start ordering materials.”

“That’d take a while. I’m meticulous, you see, and I got to get back to this job in town at the new bed and breakfast.”