Dark Moon Crossing (20 page)

We’d stepped out of the truck and had walked no more
than a few yards when a stocky young guy with a big handlebar mustache wearing
a BEAUMONT RANCH PATROL sweatshirt came running up to meet us. “Hey, Champ.
Glad you’re here. I was just getting ready to drive over to get you.”

“Rob, what’s going on?‌”

“Trouble. Big trouble.”

“Oh, Christ, what now?‌”

“We’ve had company again. I don’t know how we missed
‘em, but we did.” He paused, flinging me an uneasy glance. “You’ll probably
want to come out and see this by yourself.” It was obvious by his grave tone
that something was seriously wrong.

Champ turned to me. “You’d better stay here.”

I stuck out my chin. “What about the education you
promised me?‌”

He hesitated a few seconds then, “Come on.”

At speeds approaching the reckless level, we followed
the curtain of dust billowing behind Rob’s truck, bouncing along a washboard
road hugged by a thick jungle of mesquite, cat’s claw, palo verde trees and
giant yucca plants. Lots of places for people to hide. At the foot of a rocky
slope, the road opened into a small clearing where a windmill spun madly in the
lonesome wind beside a series of weathered wooden stock pens. Adjacent to them
stood an enormous corrugated steel stock tank spray-painted with the words
La
proxima vez, los vaqueros, no las vacas.
In front of it lay half a dozen
brown mounds. As we drew closer, my insides clenched when I realized the inert
lumps were not rocks, but cows. Dead cows. Disemboweled cows. I fired a look
at Champ as he jammed on the brakes. “Gaawd daaamn!” he bellowed, his rosy
complexion fading to the color of ash. He threw the door open and leaped out
to join Rob, so I grabbed my camera and hurried to catch up with them.

“How many?‌” he asked in a hoarse voice, surveying the
grisly scene.

So far, I’ve counted ten heifers. But that’s not the
worst.” He gestured for Champ to follow him and threw me a look of warning
which I chose to ignore. My heart was bucking and kicking with anxious
expectation as the younger man wordlessly pointed to the tank. Intense dread
pressed down on me as I stood beside Champ and peeked over the side. It took a
few seconds for my reluctant brain to accept what my eyes were seeing. “Good
God.” Recoiling, I stared down at the bodies of several bludgeoned calves. Or
rather, pieces of calves. Several tiny heads with wide lifeless eyes stared
back; some hooves and large chunks of flesh lay at the dark bottom of the tank
while other unidentifiable parts floated in the choppy blood-reddened water.
The sickening spectacle sent tremors of revulsion throughout my entire being
and it was all I could do to keep from gagging. I turned away quickly,
inhaling deep breaths to quell the nausea while blinking back enraged tears.
Considering that I’d been warned not to come, it wouldn’t do for me to lose my
breakfast.

“Son-of-a-bitch!” Champ thundered, pounding the side
of the tank with his fist over and over. He let fly a string of profanities
that would have made an Irish pub owner blush and worked himself into such a
scarlet-faced rage, I thought he might have a heart attack. And then, in a
poignant move that ripped at my heartstrings, he suddenly fell silent,
collapsed to one knee and rested his forehead on one hand.

I finally gathered my wits enough to get the camera
focused. The picture of this fiercely proud man, weeping alongside the
butchered carcasses of once peacefully grazing cows, was worth far more than a
thousand words.

I stole a look at Rob, hands rammed in his jean
pockets, his mouth a grim line of determination. At that moment the enormity
of the situation began to fully sink in. Whoever had committed this heinous
act was no doubt long gone and would suffer no consequences. The two of us
exchanged an unspoken glance and walked towards the truck to give Champ some
time to compose himself. “Do you read Spanish?‌” I asked in a shaky voice,
setting my camera on the passenger seat.

“A little.”

“Do you know what that says?‌”

He hitched his shoulders, squinting at the macabre
message. “Something like, next time the cowboys, not the cows.”

“I see. So this is revenge for apprehending the drug
smugglers last week.”

“Most likely.” He glared southward for long seconds
before turning back to me with an odd glitter of triumph in his brown eyes.
“As far as I’m concerned, these Mexican bastards are just taking up space on
the planet. They’ve gone too far this time and they’ll pay a heavy price for
this. Believe me, they’ll pay.”

Immobilized by shock, I stood by the truck on jellied
knees waiting for Champ to return. The brisk morning breeze had increased to
wind gusts of perhaps thirty miles per hour, turning the air a dusty saffron
color as it swooshed through the tawny grass and whistled around the cactus
spines. Again, it played havoc with my hair and pelted my face with stinging
granules of sand. The dull roar made conversation with Rob nearly impossible,
so I retreated to the cab of the truck just as Champ came trudging up, his
massive shoulders hunched against the wind. He seemed to have aged twenty
years. The bright gleam of pride in his blue eyes had vanished and the
lacework of wrinkles on his ashen face crumpled into deep canyons of
bitterness.

He stopped to talk to Rob, but the mournful keening
made it difficult for me to interpret what he was saying. From his hand
gestures and the few fragments of words that reached my ears, I gathered he was
instructing him to round up a crew to dispose of the hideous mess. I shivered
again and rubbed my arms. Would I ever be able to banish that horrific scene
from my mind?‌ Probably not, but it had accomplished what no amount of rhetoric
could. This really was a war. It was frightening to realize that the
perpetrators of this savagery were capable of inflicting harm on anyone who
stood in their way. No doubt the threat to ‘get the cowboys next’ would be
taken very seriously and it resurrected thoughts of Agent Bob Shirley’s
questionable death. If indeed he had been involved in a smuggling operation,
as the authorities suspected, had he also become a victim, paying with his life
for refusing to cooperate any longer?‌ Even in light of his family’s vehement
denials, had he decided to take his own life rather than endure a tortuous
death at the hands of such ruthless people?‌

When Champ finally finished, Rob tore off in his truck
while we headed back towards the ranch house, riding in morose silence for long
minutes before he noisily cleared his throat. “I’m sorry you had to witness
such an awful sight. You gonna be okay?‌”

“I think so. What about you?‌”

He darted a quick look at me. “Young lady, I need to
ask you a big favor.”

“Sure. Anything.”

Apparently searching for the right words, he rubbed
his chin a few times before continuing. “It would help me out a whole lot if
you’d agree to not say anything about what you saw this morning.”

My mouth dropped. “Why?‌”

“I’ve been thinking about it. Can you imagine what
kind of an effect something like this will have on our paying guests and any
future guests?‌ If they get wind of this, they’ll panic and stampede out of
here like frightened cattle.” At the mention of cattle, he stopped and
swallowed hard. “Word of mouth will be bad enough, but if you print this in
your newspaper, it’s gonna deep six the only viable business we’ve got going
right now.” When I didn’t say anything, he threw me another anxious glance.
“We’ve also got a big chunk of this place up for sale and something like this
would definitely scare away potential buyers.”

I frowned. “Do you think it’s wise to keep it a
secret?‌ Aren’t you even going to alert the sheriff’s office or the Border
Patrol?‌ Somebody?‌”

“Yes, yes, in due time, but I need a few days to
decide how we’re going handle this…latest crisis.”

“What
can
you do other than turn a blind eye to
all illegals from this point forward?‌ I mean, how can you differentiate
between innocent immigrants crossing to get work and hard core drug
traffickers?‌”

“We can’t. Except for the one guy in the group who
was armed, the rest of the people we detained last week were just average guys,
doing it for money or because they or their family members were being
threatened. That’s how these smuggling operations work. The top dogs rarely
get caught whether they’re trafficking in drugs or people.”

We made solemn eye contact for a fleeting second
before he returned his attention to the road. I sighed inwardly thinking about
what great copy it would have made, but the dull sheen of hopelessness
reflected in his gaze made my decision easy. “Okay, I’ll keep it under my
hat.” This weekend had to have set a record for the number of promises I’d
sworn to keep.

His long-drawn-out sigh broadcast profound relief.
“Thanks. I really appreciate that.”

Just beyond the rise ahead, the roof of the stable was
visible so I knew we were only a few minutes from the house. “No problem.
But, there were a few more questions I wanted to ask you before I head home.”

“What’s that?‌”

I switched my recorder on again. “Do you think there
is any connection between this incident and the other mutilated cattle that
were found on your property during the past two years?‌”

His quick glance held incredulity. “How’d you know
about that?‌”

I reminded him again of my association with Walter. “I
don’t think there’s any connection at all,” he said, pulling up near the
kitchen door and shutting off the engine.

“What makes you so sure?‌”

“This thing today makes me madder than hell because I
know damn well it was carried out by a bunch of no good cowardly dogs, but that
other stuff…well, that was just about the scariest thing I’ve ever seen in my
life. There was no blood, no footprints around, nothing for the authorities to
go on. It’s still a mystery.”

“Any theories?‌”

He arched a salt and pepper brow. “You mean do I
believe that creatures from outer space landed on my ranch and surgically
removed organs from my cattle?‌”

“That’s what some people are suggesting.”

He fell silent for a few seconds. “I like to think
I’m a pretty normal down to earth fellow but, to tell you the God’s honest
truth, I don’t have any explanation for what happened out there.” He reached
for the door handle and then turned back to me with a troubled scowl. “I can
tell you this much. Whoever did it knew exactly what they were doing, but
why
anyone would do such a thing, I don’t know.”

It suddenly occurred to me that there was someone
nearby who might have the expertise—his own brother-in-law, Dean Pierce. But,
when I pictured his gentle treatment of Marmalade, a tremor of guilt tiptoed
through me. How could I even entertain such a thought?‌

He stuck out a callused hand and I took it. “Kendall,
it’s been a pleasure meeting you. Next time Tally comes down this way, I hope
you’ll see fit to come with him and visit us again, hopefully under more
pleasant circumstances.”

“That would be good.” I thanked him again for his
time and promised I’d send him a copy of the article when it was published.
There was a buzz of activity about the grounds as we emerged from the truck.
Champ explained that ranch hands were preparing one group for the cattle
roundup and another for a trail ride and picnic. He excused himself, saying he
had to go talk to his ranch foreman and hurried away towards the barn. No
doubt he’d be instructing him to keep the vacationers away from the scene of
carnage.

I busied myself snapping a few photos of the main
house, gardens and smiling couples on horseback. Four children, including
Brett, were squealing with delight as Bethany led one of the llamas around on a
halter. It was an idyllic setting and reinforced my pledge to keep silent
about the shocking episode. If any of these visitors had the slightest inkling
of what had happened just a few miles from here, they’d be rightly horrified
and probably on the next plane out. I wondered when Champ planned to tell the
rest of the family about the incident. I could only imagine Jason’s
reaction.

I checked my watch, surprised to see that it was only
nine o’clock. Good. I still had plenty of time to get a few more shots of the
ranch and make my calls before meeting Payton for lunch.

I strolled around the back of the house, snapping
pictures of the cozy guest cottages and some of the kids petting sheep in the
small enclosure adjacent to the barn. The children cooperated beautifully,
mugging for the camera, and I got a great shot of Brett getting his face washed
by an enthusiastic pygmy goat. Then showing off as kids will do, he began
rolling around in the straw and dung until Bethany suddenly reappeared from the
barn, shouting, “Brett, stop that!”

She hurried in the gate and began slapping at his
smeared clothes, grumbling, “Now you’re going to have to change before the
hayride. The rest of you kids can go on into the barn. Tell Mr. Simms I’ll be
along in a few minutes.”

Giggling, the children dutifully trooped to the barn
and Bethany turned to face me. “My folks told me you’re going to write an
article on the Sundog. I hope you got some great pictures,” she said, issuing
me a sunny smile that showed no trace of her earlier sarcasm or animosity. “We
could sure use a little good publicity.”

“Glad to help out,” I murmured warily, taken aback at
her sudden turnabout.

“Did you get some pictures of our llamas?‌” she asked,
unnecessarily fluffing her perfectly coifed curls.

“Just from a distance.”

“Do you know much about them?‌”

“Not a lot.”

She clapped her hands together. “I absolutely
love
llamas. They are the most
fascinating
animals. Why don’t you go on
over and get some closer shots,” she suggested. “See that big black and white
one?‌ That’s Maxie, my favorite. He loves to pose for the camera. Have fun!”
She grabbed Brett’s hand and pulled him to the gate saying, “Come on now, let’s
get you some clean clothes.”

The little boy shot an anxious look over his
shoulder. “But, Mama, you know that…”

“Shhhh! Hurry up!” she cut him off, pushing him ahead
of her. “Everybody’s waiting.” She scooped him up in her arms, practically
running with him to the kitchen door.

Still harboring vague suspicion at her unexpected
friendliness, I turned back towards the llama corral. There were four of the
fluffy-looking creatures and they all had their camel-like faces craned eagerly
in my direction, ears straight up, their inquisitive eyes locked into mine.
The big black and white one Bethany had mentioned was at the far end of the
corral, grazing. With caution, I approached the smallest one and gingerly
extended my hand, which it sniffed before stretching its neck upward to explore
my entire face with gentle little snuffling sounds. “Well, aren’t you the most
darling thing,” I cried, petting the woolly coat while watching the others
prance back and forth. I focused the camera and got some great close-ups of
their large eyes and seemingly smiling mouths.

All at once, Maxie looked up and trotted across the
enclosure. Poor fellow. He probably didn’t like being left out of the
limelight. The others backed up as he approached. “Hey there, big guy, you
want to be included, don’t you?‌” I crooned, as he rushed up to me. Just as I
reached my hand up to pet him, his ears laid back and he emitted a strange
gurgling grunt before proceeding to spray my face with dank, sour-smelling
saliva that reeked of wild onions.

“Oh, man!” I shouted, jumping back and wiping my face
with the sleeve of my shirt. At that exact second, I knew I’d been had. Set
up. And Brett had tried to warn me. Angrily, I swung around expecting to see
Bethany at one of the windows doubled over in mirth, but saw nothing but the
usual ranch activity. I should never have let my guard down. “What a total
dufus you are,” I ranted to myself, still trying to clear the nauseating smell
from my nostrils as I stomped towards the house and pushed open the side door.
I was heading towards the stairs to retrieve my overnight bag when Twyla hailed
me from her seat in front of a computer monitor in the farthest corner of the
kitchen. “Oh, hello, Kendall, did you enjoy your tour?‌”

What to say?‌ I mustered a wan smile. “Well, it was
certainly memorable.”

“Good. Listen, Tally phoned while you were out with
Champ. He said he’d be at the ranch until noon if you want to call him back.”

If
I wanted
to?‌ A rush of elation warming me, I backtracked to the wall phone. But just
as I lifted the receiver, a giggling Bethany rushed in followed closely by the
strapping wrangler she’d been flirting with when I’d arrived yesterday. Seeing
me, she slapped his hand away from the seat of her ultra-tight jeans and
chirped, “Did you get some good pictures of Maxie?‌”

I had to reach way down deep inside to control the
blaze of fury searing my chest. Coolly, I answered, “They couldn’t have been
better.” Would the wretched smell permeating my nose ever go away?‌

“I’m so glad.” Assuming an expression of innocent
righteousness, she breezed across the room. Who did she think she was
fooling?‌ Bitch.

“Mornin’, ma’am,” the ranch hand said to me while
flicking Twyla a deferential nod as she rose and moved across the room towards
me.

“Hello, Sloan,” she said, her tolerant smile thin, her
eyes narrowing with mild disapproval. When he was out of earshot she whispered
to me, “If you’d like a little more privacy, there’s a cordless phone around
the corner in the living room. You can try taking it upstairs, but sometimes
the reception isn’t very good.”

“Thank you.” I shot her a grateful smile, hurried
along the hall and paused in the doorway of a long, rectangular room
embellished with reddish-brown leather furniture, wagon wheel lamps and
colorful Navajo rugs. On a side table, adjacent to a large picture window
offering a stunning view of the blue-hued Santa Rita Mountains, I spotted the
phone. Calling card in hand, I was across the room in a flash and could hardly
dial the numbers fast enough.

“Hullo?‌”

“Hi, Ronda,” I said, feeling relief that it wasn’t her
mother, “is Tally there?‌”

“Yeah, he’s here, but he can’t talk to you right now.”