Murder & The Secret Cave: High Desert Cozy Mystery Read online

  CHAPTER 3

  “Hey, Lucy, what’s up?” Randy said to the woman working in the photo development department of the Hi-Lo Drugstore in High Desert, the small town located thirty miles outside of Palm Springs, California.

  “Just finishing up some photos I got from Marty Morgan, that appraiser I tol’ ya’ ‘bout. Lawdy, if she don’t see some of the bestest stuff. This latest one’s got some fer real Tiffany lamps in it. She’s so ‘portant some rich guy in Chicago paid her to go there and take a look-see at his stuff. She uploaded her photos to me, and I jes’ finished ‘em. She’s comin’ in later today to pick ‘em up. Man, never seen nothin’ like what’s in them photos other than in some fancy magazines. Must be fun, bein’ an appraiser and seein’ all the expensive stuff other people own. So what’s up with ya’, ol’ blue eyes?”

  Although most people referred to Randy as a desert rat, Lucy and some of the other people in town called him “ol’ blue eyes” because of their color. She’d never seen another human being with eyes like his. They looked like a deep Alpine lake she’d seen in a magazine one day when she’d been browsing through it on her lunch hour. They were almost eerie, and it was hard to look directly into his eyes. They seemed to be bottomless.

  “Funny you’d mention her. You’ve seen some of my Indian things. Thinkin’ maybe I need to get me some kinda appraisal on ‘em ‘afore somethin’ happens to me.”

  “Randy, yer’ too mean to have anything happen to ya’. Why’d ya’ go and say sumpin’ like that? Everybody in town knows a mean desert rat like you’s gonna outlive us all. Only thing that might get ya’ are those cancer sticks ya’ can’t stop smokin’. Saw somethin’ on the tube the other night that those things are killers. Might wanna think ‘bout quittin’,” she said.

  “Jes’ may be doin’ that, Lucy, jes may be. Now be a good girl and give me the telephone number for that appraiser yer’ so high on.”

  “I’m a little long in the tooth to be called a girl, ya’ ol’ fool.” She looked on her cell phone for her contacts list and gave him Marty’s number. “When ya’ talk to her, tell her I said that latest batch of photos she sent me is somethin’ else.”

  “Will do. Think I’ll go on home and give her a call.”

  “Does that mean I’ll get to see all yer’ purty things if she appraises them?”

  “Probably does, knowin’ how ya’ can’t keep from lookin’ at ‘em,” Randy said and winked as he walked out to his truck.

  As soon as Randy left, Lucy wondered if she should have told him someone had been asking about him, but since the man had paid her one hundred dollars, maybe it would be better if she didn’t say anything. In a town as small as High Desert, there wasn’t a visitor center or a place like that to get local information. Hi-Lo filled that need. The store carried about everything anyone living in a small town would ever need from cigarettes to cosmetics to necessities like bread and milk. Sooner or later almost all of the residents of High Desert passed through the doors and were greeted warmly by the staff, particularly by Lucy whose photo department was near the front of the store.

  Lucy loved people and often told Jake, her husband, when they were at the Road Runner Bar on Saturday nights, that she had the best of all jobs. Thinking of the Road Runner Bar made her think of the man who had come in the day before and asked her questions about Randy. Randy was a regular at the Road Runner, and she didn’t think she and Jake had ever been in there when Randy wasn’t firmly planted on a bar stool, bourbon and branch water in hand.

  Yesterday, a man she didn’t recognize had walked up to her counter. She’d looked at the slender man in his mid-40’s and knew he wasn’t a local. He wore a lightweight blue sport coat over a white open-collared shirt and jeans that looked like they’d just come from the cleaners. Polished loafers encased feet that wore no socks. His hair had been professionally groomed, and from the well-maintained stubble on his chion, it was obvious he hadn’t visited High Desert’s barber to achieve the look.

  “Excuse me, miss. I just spoke with the manager, and he told me you might be able to help me. He said you know everyone in town. I’m trying to locate a man named Randy Jones. I believe he lives around here. Do you know him?”

  “Maybe I do, and maybe I don’t,” Lucy said. “Why do ya’ wanna know?”

  “I knew him a long time ago, and thought it would be kind of nice to renew our friendship.”

  Lucy took a long look at the man. She may have lived in a small town all of her life and failed English class twice, but street smart she was. Very street smart, and the vibes she got from this man told her he wasn’t being honest with her. Why a man like the one in front of her would have anything to do with an old desert rat like Randy Jones was really strange. Something else bothered her about his appearance, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  The man took his wallet out and said, “I need a pack of Desert Springs cigarettes. Oh, by the way, look what I found. Well, I’ll be darned. Don’t that just beat all? I found a hundred dollar bill that has your name on it. Why don’t you take it? Now where were we? Oh yes, I asked if you knew a man named Randy Jones.” He put the hundred dollar bill on the counter in front of Lucy.

  Lucy looked at the hundred dollar bill and looked up at the man, an inner struggle clearly taking place in her mind. She desperately needed the money. Clerks at the Hi-Lo weren’t paid very much, and the toothache she’d had for months was bothering her more every day. She’d seen Dr. Morton when it had started, and he told her if she could pay him one hundred dollars or as he called it, “earnest money,” he’d do the root canal, and she could work out a monthly payment for the balance. She touched the aching tooth with her tongue and came to a decision.

  “Yeah, I know Randy,” she said, pocketing the hundred dollar bill. “He lives in a shack a coupla’ miles off the main road outta town. You’ll see a sign for a roadrunner crossing. Take the first dirt road on the right past the sign to where it intersects another dirt road that comes out of a canyon. Take a left on the dirt road that runs into the canyon, and he’s up ‘bout a mile. Can’t miss it cuz there’s an ol’ tumbledown shed behind his shack. The place is surrounded by lots of big boulders and rocks. You’ll also see a whole bunch of rusted stuff he’s got out in front of his shack. Never know when ya’ might need sumpin. Can’t miss it. Plus, he’s also got a rusted ol’ orange truck that’s probably sum’ kind of antique. Ya’ can park where you see his truck and walk up the path to his place.”

  A customer walked over to the counter and Lucy said, “Been nice talkin’ to ya’. Good luck and thanks. See ya’ around.”

  “Thank you. If I need something more, I’ll be back.,” the man said, turning away from Lucy and the customer as he walked over to the front door and out to his black Cadillac Escalade. Lucy watched him as he got in the big SUV.

  CHAPTER 4

  Luke Peterson looked at all the old trucks and cars as he walked through the parking lot of the Hi-Lo Drug Store to where his shiny black Cadillac Escalade SUV was parked.

  Well, with my SUV, they’re never going to mistake me for a local, that’s for sure, but I don’t care. I’ve paid my dues. Anyway, Dr. Rosenbaum said he thought it was a good idea for me to buy the SUV. He says I’ve come a long way in therapy.

  As he drove out of town he thought back to what had led him to come to High Desert, to finally find and confront his father. His mother never told him anything about his biological father, and when she’d died at an early age from breast cancer there was no way for him to find out anything about his father. The man his mother had been living with had never adopted him. When she died, he’d taken Luke to the county juvenile authorities and told them his mother had died, and he needed to become a ward of the court.

  The next few years were a haze of going from one foster family to another. When he was twelve, usually a very hard age to find anyone who was willing to accept a male foster child, much less adopt one, he’d been adopted by the Peterson family who were trying t
o fill the hole in their hearts that the death of their son had left. They were good people and good to him. When they discovered he had an aptitude for computers, they sent him to a special school to take advantage of his skills.

  At sixteen, he’d designed his first computer app, a game that had been bought by one of the foremost computer gaming companies. They’d been so impressed with Luke’s abilities that the gaming company told the Petersons they wanted to hire Luke, even though he was under the legal age for full-time employment. The Petersons wanted Luke to go to college and were very resistant to the idea that he would quit school and not even graduate from high school. A compromise was finally reached, one where Luke would graduate from high school and then go to work for the gaming company for a ridiculously high salary for a young man barely eighteen.

  He smiled thinking back to the years that followed with one game app after another being produced, all huge money makers for the company. His salary also increased to astronomical heights. Soon he bought the Petersons a new home and a new car for each of them. Although he was very close to them he still woke up in the middle of the night wondering about his father, the father who had never tried to get in touch with him.

  Luke’s fear of abandonment issues stayed with him in spite of how wealthy he became. His relationships with women never made it to the stage of marriage, even though he’d really cared for several of them. When push came to shove, he just couldn’t fully trust anyone. He finally realized he needed some professional help and contacted Dr. Rosenbaum, a psychiatrist whose name he had heard of from several people in the industry.

  After many therapy sessions and quite a bit of progress, the doctor suggested Luke hire a private investigator to see if he could find his father. Luke had been two years old when his mother had left his father and his memories of his father were nonexistent. He had no idea where they’d lived before coming to Los Angeles.

  When his mother died, the man she’d been living with gave him a plastic bag with her wallet and a couple of other things in it and told Luke he didn’t want any of the things in the bag. It was all he had of his mother’s personal belongings, and no matter how many foster homes he’d been in, the plastic bag was always under his pillow. Even as a grown man, he slept with it under his pillow. Dr. Rosenbaum had tried to get him to change that particular behavior pattern without any luck. Over the years Luke had examined the contents of the bag time and time again, seeking some link to his first two years and his father. There was nothing.

  One evening he was unwinding with a glass of wine looking out the window at the deep apricot color of the sky as it turned to blue over the Pacific Ocean. He knew buying an oceanfront condominium in Malibu, an exclusive seaside area of Los Angeles, had been a luxury, but as much money as he was making and as hard as he was working, he’d justified it. Luke had come from a meeting with his attorney and was still dressed in the sport coat and slacks he’d worn to the meeting. Even though he could wear whatever he wanted with the status he had as a “video game inventor,” he wanted to show the world he’d made it by dressing like bankers or lawyers would dress for a meeting. He walked into his bedroom and saw a piece of plastic sticking out from under his pillow where his housekeeper had evidently not placed the pillow squarely on the ever present plastic bag like he’d instructed her to do.

  Luke picked up the bag and walked over to the window seat that offered the same spectacular view he’d just seen, but the passing several minutes had changed the color of the sky and ocean so now they appeared to meet and were the soft blue of the early evening. He sat down and took out the contents of the bag. It had been several years since he’d looked at them, although he had them committed to memory. Simple things. A scarf, a wallet, and a locket. The sum total of his mother’s life. How he wished she were alive and could see the success he’d made of his life.

  He brought the scarf up to his nose and inhaled a vague perfume scent, amazed there was any scent left after all these years. He idly looked in the wallet and recognized the coins and other items. Nothing new there, he thought. He picked up the last item, the locket, and ran his thumb and index finger over it. It was sterling silver, the only thing of any value his mother had owned when she died. He remembered seeing it on her. As he thought back to the last time she’d worn it, just before she’d gone into the hospital and never returned, it popped open. He stared at it, incredulous, and shook his head. Luke couldn’t believe that after all the years he’d tried to open it and couldn’t, having finally decided that it wasn’t the type of locket that could be opened, tonight it opened.

  Luke eased his thumbnail between the two sides and gently pried it apart. There was a photograph of a man inside the locket. He was bearded, with a cigarette between his lips and had a baby sitting in his lap. Luke stared at it, unbelieving. It must be my dad. That must be me. His hand shook as he carefully ran his thumbnail around the old photograph, and it fell out. He turned it over and on the back was written “Randy and Luke Jones.”

  He looked away from it and tried to concentrate on the surf line as the incoming tide crept up the sand towards his condominium, while evening surfers tried to catch the last wave of the day. His heart was thudding, and his hands were clammy. He honestly didn’t know what to do. Finally, after all these years, he had the name of the man who was his father. It wasn’t much, but that photograph was his legacy, and he decided at that moment to follow it wherever it led him. Along with the shock of finding the photograph a sudden surge of anger overcame him, anger he had never felt before. Anger that was strong enough that it made him feel like killing the man in the photo – the man who had caused him so much pain during his entire life.

  Luke pressed Dr. Rosenbaum’s number into his phone, and it was answered within seconds. “Yes, Luke. What is it? I don’t think you’ve ever called me in the evening like this. Is something wrong”

  He told the doctor what had happened and asked the doctor what he thought he should do with the information.

  “Luke, before I answer your question, tell me something. You sound very angry, are you?”

  “Doctor, at this moment I feel I could kill my dad for what he’s done to my life. Maybe it’s normal, but I’ve never felt like this before.”

  “I think we should talk about it. Can you come in tomorrow? I have an appointment I can cancel. I think it’s more important for you and me to talk about this anger. Can you come in at 3:00?”

  “Yes. I’ll be there. Now what do you think I should do with this information?”

  “Call the private investigator you’ve been using and give the name to him. See if he can find something out. Try and get some sleep, and I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

  Luke refilled his wine glass and called Josh, his private investigator. “Let me run that name through some channels I have, Luke. If I find something out, do you want me to call you tonight?”

  “No matter how late it is, if you find something, I want to know. I’ve waited so long for this moment I don’t want to waste another minute, so yes, whenever you call will be fine.”

  “Thought you’d say that, Luke. I’ll get right on it. Feels good to have something solid after all this time. You okay? You don’t sound too good.”

  “Yeah, man, I’m fine. Think I’m still in shock. I bet I’ve looked at that locket a million times. Wonder why the darned thing opened now?”

  “I have no idea. Guess the time had come. Talk to you later.”

  Luke walked into the kitchen, knowing he should probably get something in his stomach, but nothing sounded good. He was so tense he was sure he couldn’t keep anything down. He emptied his wine glass in the sink and poured himself a glass of water. He looked over at the phone, willing it to ring, but he instinctively knew there was no way Josh could have found anything out this soon.

  The next three hours went by from one painful second to the next. Luke didn’t know how many times he’d switched channels on the television or how many times he’d picked up a magazin
e, flipped through it, and thrown it back in the magazine basket he kept next to his favorite chair. He’d paced from his chair to the outside deck more times than he could count, trying to get rid of his anger. None of it helped. If anything the original ball of fire he’d felt in his stomach had spread throughout his whole body. He was washing his face with cold water when he heard his phone ring. He ran over to it and saw Josh’s name on the monitor.

  “Yes, Josh. What did you find out?”

  “Everything. Your father lives outside a small town called High Desert, not far from Palm Springs. I found several references to him as having one of the finest Native American artifacts collections in the country, but here’s the kicker. There are insinuations that some of the things he has aren’t legit.”

  “What do you mean?” Luke asked.

  “Means your dad has some items he must have gotten off the black market. Items that could only have been found in caves from which rock art was stolen and things that were dug up from sacred Native American burial grounds.”

  “Josh, did the information you obtained say how my father could afford to buy those kinds of things? I thought the reason my mother left him was because he was a good-for-nothing. I’m surprised he had money to buy them.”

  “From the information I got, evidently he found a lode of pure gold. He worked it for a few years and made millions from it. The news articles and the information I got say he lives like a desert rat to cover up the fact that his collection of Native American artifacts is worth millions, and he doesn’t want people to know about it.”

  “Were there any references to my mother or to me?” Luke asked.

  “No, none. There was a reference to a woman named Mary BirdSong. Evidently he lived with her for several years, and they just recently split up. She’s a member of the Agua Caliente tribe. You may remember that’s the tribe that owns the casino and spa in downtown Palm Springs. Matter of fact the tribe owns half the land in Palm Springs. Tribe members make a lot of money from that. What else do you want me to do?”