Coulson's Reckoning Read online

  Coulson’s Reckoning

  The Coulson Series - Book 5

  Anna J. McIntyre

  Robeth Publishing, LLC

  Coulson’s Reckoning

  By Anna J. McIntyre

  * * *

  Book 5 of The Coulson Series

  * * *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Robeth Publishing, LLC

  Copyright © 2014 B. A. J. Holmes, Anna J. McIntyre

  * * *

  Robeth Publishing, LLC, All Rights Reserved.

  To the Raptor Retreat.

  Thanks for sharing the journey.

  Thanks for making the journey possible.

  Prologue

  November 1960

  Metal hitting rock was the only sound permeating the moonless night. Struggling with his shovel, the man painstakingly dug the grave, using the heel of his boot to force the shovel’s blade into the unyielding ground. A second man pulled a body from the back of a Lincoln Continental. It hit the ground with a thud.

  He dragged the corpse toward the gravesite, taking hold of its feet, still clad in pricy imported leather shoes. The lifeless head and shoulders left a pathway in the dirt from the vehicle to the emerging hole in the ground while rigid arms flailed outwards. The dead man’s expensive silk suit was now wrinkled and soiled.

  When the killers had surprised him at his motel room, he was just returning from the store, carrying a sack holding a newly purchased bottle of gin. He had opened the bottle while still at the liquor store parking lot and consumed a third of its contents before returning to his room, which was one reason he’d been such an accommodating target.

  They couldn’t believe how effortlessly they had surprised him, pushing him into the privacy of his room. They were told he was a professional, and he might be expecting someone.

  Instead of the Colt 45 they’d brought along, a pillow from the motel bed had done the trick. He’d given them a good struggle, but he was no match for the strength of the two men sent to take care of business.

  “I still say we should’ve let him dig his own grave,” the man with the shovel whispered with a labored breath.

  “I would’ve been happy to send him to the bottom of the lake in his car,” the man dragging the body muttered when he got to the gravesite.

  “Nice car. Shame we can’t keep it.” The gravedigger paused a moment and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve.

  “Yeah, well, I guess they want him gone along with the car.”

  “I suppose this way, if someone finds the Lincoln, they may figure he’s alive.” Still holding the shovel, he looked down at the hole, trying to calculate how much deeper he needed to go.

  “Here, let me dig some.” The second man took the shovel.

  “This ground’s a bitch,” the first gravedigger said, his voice louder than he intended. He watched his companion; their only light came from a camping lantern sitting nearby.

  “I imagine sound carries up here,” the other man reminded in a whisper.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  Silently, they took turns digging. When the hole appeared to be the sufficient depth, the men paused for a moment and assessed the situation. Glancing from the lifeless form to the parked vehicle, the first gravedigger noticed the trail left by the body. He walked to a nearby mesquite tree and attempted to tear off a branch to use as a makeshift broom. He let out a curse as a thorn from the limb pricked his hand.

  “What are you doing?” his companion asked.

  Instead of responding, he continued to wrestle with the limb, determined to rip it from the tree. He finally managed to do so, yet not before poking himself twice more with the razor sharp thorns. Using the branch like a broom, he swept it over the pathway left by the body.

  “Let’s get him in the hole; you can do that later.”

  The man sweeping away evidence hastily completed his task and then tossed the limb aside. Together the two men rolled the body into the hole and covered it with the dirt and rock they had removed. They pushed several boulders over the fresh gravesite and kicked dirt over the area, doing their best to make it blend into its surroundings, so as not to make it obvious to any hikers, who might wander off the trail leading from the lake to the nearby caves, that it was in fact a grave. They both assumed it was deep enough to keep any wild animals from the decomposing flesh.

  The man, who had minutes earlier been sweeping away the pathway left by the body, picked the mesquite branch back up and gave the area a final brushing before tossing the makeshift broom into the nearby brush. His companion doused the lantern and put it, along with the shovel, in the back of the Jeep, which was parked next to the Lincoln.

  It was difficult to see with the area now plunged in darkness. Random twinkling of the stars overhead spread across the black sky. The man who had dragged the body to the gravesite got into the Lincoln while his companion climbed into the Jeep. They turned on the vehicles’ headlights and engines and began driving toward the lake, the Lincoln leading the way. The rocky terrain made a bumpy ride for the Lincoln, but it was a short trip to the shoreline.

  The Lincoln came to a stop. The man inside the vehicle turned off the engine and headlights and got out of the car. Instead of putting it in park, he left it in neutral.

  He stood by the open door on the driver’s side of the car and looked back at the Jeep, whose front bumper was about to touch the back of the larger vehicle. He watched as the Jeep shoved the dead man’s car into Sutter’s Lake. The man driving the Jeep put it in park for a moment and got out. Together, the two men stood at the edge of the lake and watched the Lincoln disappear under the frigid water. Had the Jeep’s headlights been turned off, they would not have been able to see.

  After a few moments, they climbed into the Jeep and drove away.

  Chapter 1

  January 2014

  Sophie wondered if the man at the service station had given her wrong directions. He had insisted this was a shortcut to Coulson Cemetery. But the desolate road, lined with untended cottonwood trees, seemed to be taking her away from town and civilization. Since making the turn, she hadn’t seen another vehicle. There were no houses or buildings in sight. She also regretted not picking up a bottle of water because the last time she’d had anything to drink was on the flight, and now she was getting thirsty. Just as she decided to start looking for a place to turn around, Sophie spied the cemetery and then its back entrance.

  Letting out a sigh of relief, she pulled off the road and stopped the car. There was no parking lot, just a flat dirt area near the road leading to the back gate. There were no other cars in sight. After turning off the engine, she glanced around and for a brief moment, considered the wisdom of parking alone in such an isolated area. Instead of dwelling on the thought, she reached for her purse and pulled out an envelope.

  Sitting alone in the rental car, Sophie removed the tattered letter from the envelope and began to read. She had already read it more than a dozen times.

  * * *

  Dear Carmen,

  It’s been a long time. I wondered if you would contact me after you heard about Anthony’s death. Gina tried to find you after he disappeared, but it was like you fell off the face of the earth. I am glad to hear you and Tony are doing well. I can understand why you left. Gina refused to see that side of her brother.

  You mentioned you heard about Gina’s passing and our daughter’s birth. It has not been easy, but we are getting by. Thanks for asking.

  Since I didn’t know where you were, and he had no other family, I arranged to have him buried at the cemetery near Gina. While I wasn’t fond of him, he was Gina’s brother, and she loved him. I believe he also loved her.

  As for your question, I d
on’t know. I’d be surprised if we ever find out. But considering the kind of people he ran around with, there are a number of possibilities.

  If you ever make it out our way, you and Tony are always welcome, and Tony can meet his cousin.

  Take care of yourself.

  Nick

  * * *

  Sophie flipped the letter over and looked at what Nick had scribbled on the back of the page. It was the name of the cemetery and the location of Anthony’s grave.

  Removing the key from the ignition and grabbing her purse, Sophie exited the vehicle and slammed the car door shut. It had been toasty and warm inside the vehicle, despite the fact she hadn’t turned on the car’s heater. Coulson’s bright January sun was enough to heat her car. But outside, the afternoon breeze chilled the air. There wasn’t a cloud in the clear blue sky, and had the air been still, there would be no need for a jacket. Shivering, Sophie opened the back door of the car and grabbed her windbreaker off the backseat. After slipping on the jacket, she shut and locked the car door and headed toward the back gate of Coulson Cemetery.

  She had never been to Coulson, and she wouldn’t be staying long. Once she visited her grandfather’s grave, she would head up to Clement Falls. They were expecting her at the bed and breakfast, but they had no idea who she was. Sophie Marino had a puzzle to solve, and she hoped to find the first piece at Coulson Cemetery.

  As Sophie approached the iron gate at the cemetery’s back entrance, she wondered briefly if she would find it locked. No cars were parked in the area, no signs of life—just the sound of the breeze as it rustled through the bare limbs of the nearby cottonwood trees. When she reached the gate, she was relieved to find it unlocked.

  Just as Sophie made her way through the back entrance of the cemetery, an attractive young woman seemed to appear out of nowhere. Tall and slender with short dark hair, the woman hurried toward the exit while continually glancing over her shoulder and paying little attention to where she was going.

  By reflex, Sophie put out her hand, blocking the woman from colliding into her. Expecting an apology from the stranger who’d nearly knocked her down, Sophie was surprised when the woman, now standing still, angrily glared at her.

  “Who are you?” the woman snapped.

  Startled, Sophie didn’t answer the question but said, “You ran into me. Are you all right?”

  The woman pushed past Sophie and hurried out the back entrance. Sophie stood silently and watched the woman rush down the road, away from the cemetery. With the nearest building in that direction at least two miles away, Sophie wondered if the woman intended to walk back to town or if someone was coming to pick her up.

  Glancing from the departing figure back to the cemetery, Sophie briefly considered if the woman was fleeing from someone; yet, there didn’t appear to be anyone chasing her.

  A row of pinyon pine trees, positioned inside the iron fencing a short distance from the back entrance, concealed from Sophie’s view the main section of the graveyard. So far, there were no headstones in sight, just a vast lawn area and a stone pathway from the back entrance that wove between the evergreen trees and led to the main section of the cemetery.

  With a shrug, Sophie directed her attention back to the business at hand. She hadn’t noticed it before—distracted by the sudden appearance of the stranger—but there was an intercom, just inside the gate. She assumed it would connect her to the main office and to someone who might be able to direct her to her grandfather’s grave. Walking closer, she spied a piece of masking tape across the top of the intercom box, with the faded words out of order, scribbled in felt tip marker.

  Ignoring the words, she pushed the button, hoping the intercom might be working in spite of the makeshift sign. After several attempts, it was obvious the intercom was not operational. Taking a deep breath, Sophie began walking down the stone walkway toward the trees.

  Just beyond the row of pinyon pines, she glimpsed a clear view of the cemetery grounds, a rolling green landscape dotted with headstones and more trees. To the left in the distance was a building that looked as if it might be a chapel, cemetery office, or both. As she made her way toward the building, she glanced around and wondered if it was always so quiet at the cemetery. Had the woman she’d encountered at the back entrance appeared frightened rather than annoyed, Sophie might have felt apprehension roaming around in what appeared to be a desolate graveyard.

  When Sophie reached the building, she was disappointed to find it was locked. She peeked inside the windows; it looked as if it housed both an office and chapel, as she originally suspected. It was not quite 3:00 p.m. Friday afternoon. According to the sign, the office was open until 5:00 p.m. on Fridays, but apparently, someone had decided to leave early. What troubled her most was the fact she had found a drinking fountain—inside the locked building. She could see it through the window. She hoped there was another one somewhere on the grounds because now she was extremely thirsty.

  Pulling her grandmother’s letter from her purse, where she’d shoved it when leaving the car, she again looked at the back of the page. According to Nick, the author of the letter, her grandfather was buried in the section known as Sunny Slope Lawn. Yet, so far, she hadn’t noticed any signage or markings indicating the various sections of the cemetery or where she might find Sunny Slope Lawn.

  Just as she was about to get discouraged—she didn’t want to read every headstone in the cemetery—Sophie spied a groundskeeper across from the office. Tucking the letter back into her purse, she hastily made her way toward the man, who seemed unaware of her approach.

  Dressed in kaki workpants and a matching shirt, the large man was busily gathering up decaying flowers from the headstones and shoving them into a large plastic trash bag. His back was to Sophie as she approached him.

  “Excuse me,” Sophie called out cheerfully. Abruptly, the man turned in her direction and dropped the black trash bag, startled by her greeting. He wore a baseball cap with its brim pulled down, covering his eyebrows, but she could see his dark brown eyes. He seemed rather old to be doing manual labor. She felt he should be enjoying his retirement instead of picking up litter at the graveyard.

  Without saying anything, the man reached down and picked the trash bag back up while continuing to stare at Sophie.

  “I was wondering,” Sophie began, “could you please tell me where I can find the Sunny Slope Lawn section of the cemetery?”

  “No comprende,” the man returned in a thick Spanish accent.

  “You don’t speak English?” Sophie asked, once again deflated. The man shook his head no, as if he understood her question.

  “¿Dónde está Sunny Slope Lawn?” Sophie asked in her best high school Spanish. The man shook his head no and then went back to picking up dead flowers.

  “Seriously?” Sophie asked aloud, speaking now to herself. She watched the man move in the opposite direction; he made no effort to help her.

  Disgusted with the brush-off, Sophie began walking along the row of headstones, reading the names, noting the dates, and looking for some signage to indicate where she was in the cemetery. All the headstones in this area were flat, and by the dates, it was obvious she was in a newer section. Her grandfather had been buried here more than forty years earlier, so she was fairly certain she would not find him among these graves.

  In the distance, she spied a sign and picked up her step. When she reached the sign, she saw that it read Memory Meadows, which she suspected marked one section of the cemetery, in the same way that Sunny Slope Lawn designated another section. At least now, I know what kind of sign to look for, Sophie told herself.

  While searching for another sign, Sophie spied a second man sitting alongside a grave. I hope this one speaks English, she told herself as she headed in the man’s direction. He wasn’t wearing kaki work clothes, so she didn’t think he worked for the cemetery. By the time she was just several gravesites away from him, she was certain he was a visitor and not an employee.

  Clad in
denims and a plaid western shirt, the man leaned casually against a tree alongside a flat headstone, where four cans of unopened beer rested—each can still held hostage in the plastic six pack yoke. By the empty can tossed at the foot of the grave and the opened can in the man’s hand, it was obvious what had happened to the missing beers from the six-pack.

  She guessed he was a little older than she was—perhaps in his early or mid-thirties. From what she could see, he was an attractive man, with closely cropped reddish-brown hair. She suspected he didn’t realize she was approaching because he appeared to be talking to someone, and since he was alone, she guessed the conversation was directed at whoever was in the grave where the beers sat.

  Sophie stopped walking and considered what she should do. If the man was having some private sentimental moment, it would be wrong to barge in on him to ask for directions. Of course, there was always the chance he was the town drunk, and he simply came to the cemetery to tie one on. In either case, she should probably turn and walk in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, she had already been in the opposite direction and hadn’t yet come across Sunny Slope Lawn.

  Perhaps it would be best if she simply walked past him to the other section of the cemetery and continue looking for signs. She then remembered the woman who’d run into her at the back entrance and wondered if this man was in someway responsible for the woman’s hasty departure. Perhaps they’d come to the cemetery together and gotten into some argument because he wanted to get drunk, and she had left in disgust. He didn’t look dangerous to Sophie, and she reminded herself that the woman hadn’t seemed frightened, in spite of the fact she’d kept looking back as if someone were following her.