A Kendall O'Dell Mystery

Chapter1-2

When the first fiery rays of the rising sun streamed over the rough spine of the mountain range, I grabbed for my sunglasses. Arizona’s dramatic sunrises and sunsets never ceased to evoke within me a feeling of awe. Within minutes the landscape was awash in shimmering light, transforming the ghostly silhouettes of saguaro cactus into glorious golden pillars. Ever so slowly, the radiant glow slid across the rolling hills, banishing the mist and chasing the shadows from the rocky crevices.

Temper, hold your temper, O’Dell.

Hopefully, it was just a temporary delay. Okay! We were moving! I edged forward a few feet, then several more, but traveled no faster than five miles an hour. The irony of the situation hit me as I drifted past a sign indicating the recommended speed limit of 55. “I wish!” I glanced at the clock again and did some swift mental calculations. If I continued the rate of five to ten miles per hour, it would take me…what, five or six more hours to reach Phoenix? That would ruin the entire day—no shopping, no lunch with Fritzy and my family would be left stranded at the airport.

Fidgeting restlessly in my seat, I checked out the traffic alert apps on my phone, but none confirmed the backup. After watching several bicyclists in brightly colored gear glide past, I growled, “Damn it!” and opened the door. I stood on the running board and peered into the distance, trying to make out what could possibly have traffic tied up to this degree but couldn’t see anything but a sea of cars and trucks ahead. Several other people had exited their vehicles and were milling about pointing, talking, walking their dogs. With a loud groan, I slumped into the driver’s seat and reached for my phone to dial Fritzy’s work number. I’d been looking forward to our meeting for two weeks and hated to disappoint her, but unless a miracle happened, lunch looked like a wash at this point. Oh wait. We were moving again. Perhaps there was still hope. I waited to hit the call button and reached the thrilling speed of fifteen miles per hour before I had to slam on the brakes again. Craning my neck, I spotted a signalman ahead with one of those SLOW/STOP signs in hand. A dump truck was backed into the middle of the road where half a dozen workmen stood leaning on their shovels. How long was this going to take? It appeared that my well-laid plans for the day were going up in smoke. “Oh, come on!” I finally shouted. “Fix the stupid road tomorrow!”

Should I make a U-turn and head back towards the freeway? Would I be trading one traffic backup for another? I spotted a second group of bicyclists heading towards me, this time from the opposite direction. I shouted out the open window as they approached. “Hey! Got any idea what’s going on up ahead?”

One of the riders slowed, thumbed behind him and shouted, “Rollover crash! Cave Creek Road intersection…medical chopper on the way.”

Oh. So it wasn’t just road construction. So much for the phone app. “Thanks!” I watched wistfully as the bikers raced on by, free as the flock of birds flying overhead. I hit the call button on my phone. No response. What? Then I noticed No Service blinking back at me. Groaning, I laid my forehead against the steering wheel. I waited another interminable amount of time and had just made the decision to make the U-turn and deal with the freeway, when I heard the thumping whir of helicopter blades. The chopper flew in low and descended to the ground a mile or so ahead. At that moment it struck me that someone or perhaps more than one person must be gravely injured or worse. And as that realization sunk in my agitation diminished. So I was going to be a little late. How lucky was I not to be lying on the ground or trapped in the crushed, twisted remains of my vehicle? So I might not get the place card holders Ginger wanted, or the three-dozen bud vases. So I might miss lunch. I was fine. As I sat there, engine idling, I savored the warmth of the sun on my face and the fragrant breeze shepherding fluffy white clouds across the sapphire sky. All a matter of perception, I guess. A half hour later when the chopper rose into the air, speeding southeast towards Phoenix, traffic began inching forward again. All right! I might just make it after all.

The voice message alert on my phone chimed. I tapped the screen and listened to Fritzy’s husky voice, smiling at the nickname she’d given me in third grade. “Hey, Stick, call me when you get this message.”

Was I imagining the somber undertone in her voice? That didn’t sound promising. I dialed her number. “You have reached the office of forensic anthropologist Dr. Nora Fitzgerald Bartoli. Please leave a message and I’ll return your call.”

Dang it. I tapped her number. Two rings later I heard, “Hey there, Stick, how you doing?”

“I’ve been stuck in traffic for over an hour so I’m going to be late for lunch.”

“Don’t sweat it. Turns out I have to cancel anyway.”

My perfect day was swiftly vanishing. “Oh, don’t tell me that! Why?”

“Sorry to back out on such short notice, but I just got a call from the Yavapai County Sheriff’s Office. They’ve got a couple of bodies they need me to take a look at and I’m already on the road.”

I tried to stifle my extreme disappointment. “That’s not good news. Where are you headed?”

“Working my way north on I-17 going about ten miles an hour. Traffic is a bitch.”

“Tell me about it. I took the Carefree Highway thinking it would be faster but I ran into road construction plus a bad accident. Smart, huh?”

“I’d have probably done the same thing. Guess we’ll have to hook up at your party. So…what time does your family get in today?”

I looked at the digital clock. “Two-fifteen, but judging how the day has gone so far, I’d better check and see if the flight is on time.”

“You might want to do that. I heard there’s some pretty nasty weather back east.”

“I know. I sure hope it’s nice while they’re here.”

“How long are they staying?” she asked.

“Two weeks.”

“Cool. And you’re going to get that whole time off work?”

“That’s my plan. I’ve got their sightseeing itinerary all mapped out. Saturday we’re going to Prescott for breakfast, lunch in Jerome, Sunday we’ll stop in Flagstaff and then we’ll be on to the Grand Canyon. Tuesday we take a Jeep tour in Monument Valley, Wednesday, Canyon de Chelly, then lunch and sightseeing in Sedona on our way back home on Thursday. After the party, we’ll head to southern Arizona for a few days with the rest of the family.”

“Wow! Ambitious schedule. Sounds like a blast. I’m jealous. I’ve been so darn busy working, there are still a ton of places in Arizona I’ve yet to see. Oh well, someday. Hey, I’m looking forward to reconnecting with your family at the party. It’s been ages.”

“They’re excited about seeing you too.”

“Good.” She paused and added, “Hey, Stick, I’m sorry about cancelling on you.”

“I understand. Where did you say you were going?”

“Northwest of Black Canyon City to a place called Bumble Bee. I’m meeting the sheriff there.”

Bumble Bee. I vaguely remembered passing through the tiny community during the sightseeing trip with Tally. “Can you share any details?”

“Not yet.”

“Off the record?”

A short pause. “I can tell you this much. Early this morning a BLM ranger or a Forest Service ranger, or both, I can’t remember exactly, reported that one of the locals had discovered the bodies of two people somewhere in the Bradshaw Mountains, but I can’t divulge any other details until family has been notified.”

Two people. In the Bradshaws. A pang of uneasiness nudged my gut. Why would the authorities call Fritzy in unless there was something out of the ordinary? “Ah…it wouldn’t happen to be a young man and woman?”

Her ultra-long hesitation was more revealing than her eventual answer. “I…I can’t answer your question at this point.”

“Fritzy,” I asked, unable to subdue my rising sense of urgency, “can you tell me where the bodies were discovered?”

“The sheriff said about a mile from a place called Raven Creek.”

“Where’s that?”

“Don’t know for sure…wait a sec. We’re at a dead stop. Let me look at the map on my navigation system.”

I listened to silence for a least a minute before she murmured, “Um…okay, it looks like Raven Creek is out in the middle of nowhere northwest of Cleator and about ten miles northeast of Crown King.”

As the full significance of her words sunk in, I felt like someone had jammed a fist into my belly. Oh no! My mind and heart did not want to go there but my instincts told me otherwise. What were the odds that the two dead people could be anyone other than Jenessa and Nathan?