High Desert Detective
A Fiona Marlowe Mystery
by
Marjorie Thelen
Also by Marjorie Thelen
The Forty Column Castle, 1st Book in the Mystery-in-Exotic-Places Series
The Hieroglyphic Staircase, 2nd Book in the Mystery-in-Exotic Places Series
Designer Detective, 1st Book in the Fiona Marlow Mystery Series
Story Description
Fiona Marlowe, interior designer to the rich and powerful, finds her wealthy old client, Albert Lodge, dead on the floor of his library in the posh McLean suburb of Washington, D.C. As the investigation unfolds, Fiona discovers she has detective talent, and her innate curiosity spurs her into sticking her nose where it does not belong. Albert’s eighty year old eccentric sister, Opal, arrives from her ranch in south eastern Oregon to settle the estate. She has talked her cowboy ranch manager, Jake Manyhorses, into the role of private investigator as she is convinced one of the numerous family members murdered Albert for his money. With Opal's encouragement Fiona joins Jake in the investigation as it spirals into the netherworld of betrayal, blackmail and smuggling, none of which Jake or Fiona bargained for when they said yes to helping Opal solve the mystery of Albert’s demise.
High Desert Detective, 2nd Book in The Fiona Marlowe Mystery Series
Story Description
Designer Fiona Marlowe and cowboy buckaroo Jake Manyhorses meet up again in the high desert of southeast Oregon when she goes west to take possession her bunkhouse on Opal Crawford’s ranch. She doesn’t bargain for the claim the land makes upon her city slicker heart or her increasing attraction to Jake. Mysterious bones in a hot spring pique her detective instincts. Cattle are disappearing from Opal’s ranch, and Jake has to determine if friend, foe or relatives are involved. In helping Jake, Fiona finds herself learning the rhythm of ranch life and enjoying it. But only she can decide if the high desert is a place where she can live and love forever.
Acknowledgements
There’s a longer list this time. First, thank you Terry Keim for being my novel circle buddy and reading this story as it was written and offering excruciatingly helpful comments that encouraged me to continue on. Second, once again thank you Kate and Ron Copeland for being the bellwethers which helps me to know if I got a good story going. Thank you, Karen Nitz of the Western Room at the Harney County Library, who answers my endless questions and likes my books. Thank you Cheryl, Claire, Barbara, Debbie and Laurie, librarians of the Harney County Library, who put my e-book mysteries on the library Kindles and Nooks without my even asking. A note of appreciation goes to Scott Thomas, District Archaeologist for the Burns District, U.S. Bureau of Land Management, Carla Burnside, archaeologist for the Malheur National Wildlife refuge, and Suzanne Crowley Thomas, archaeologist, who offered helpful opinions on the fate of bones in a hot spring. A special nod of appreciation goes to the Harney Basin Writers, an extraordinary group of writers, who laugh in all the right parts and who have been a wonderful source of support. I am grateful to Patricia Watters, fellow writer, for her cheerleader encouragement and for patiently answering my endless questions about publishing. And my endless gratitude and love goes to John, my incorrigible husband, who reads my books and says “but that couldn’t have happened like that”. What would I do without you?
One
Fiona had never been to a party quite like this one. Everyone wore wide brimmed hats and cowboy boots. Even she wore them. She’d bought them at the local ranch store especially for the party. The other folks wore them every day. She spotted Jake across the room immersed in circle of men, probably talking about cows. Talk was getting louder by the minute. And here came Opal, steaming across the room, her eyes fixed on Fiona.
“There you are,” Opal said. “Don’t stand all by yourself. Come with me. I’ll introduce you around.”
“I don’t know what to say. These people aren’t talking about anything I know about.”
“Don’t be silly. You have lots in common. They aren’t aliens from outer space. Don’t talk religion, sex or politics, and you’ll be fine.
She tugged Fiona’s arm in the direction of a couple of gals who looked like they most recently had been astride a horse. Women here didn’t believe in face cream or SPF. They were tanned and lined and looked comfortable with it. She felt overdressed in mascara and blush.
“Rosemary. Esme. I want you to meet Fiona Marlowe. She’s the gal I told you was coming to redecorate my house. She’s going to be living in the bunk house and has plans to spruce it up.”
The two women halted in mid-conversation, but not before Fiona caught Rosemary saying, “He murdered both his wives. They weren’t accidents.”
Her detective DNA came to full alert.
“Murder?” she asked, taking up on the conversation they hadn’t finished. She didn’t like to waste time on niceties when murder was in the air.
Rosemary smiled. “A guy by the name of Hank Little had two wives disappear on him. I say he killed them. Probably beat them to death, knowing him.”
“Has he been arrested?” asked Fiona.
“Not yet,” said Rosemary. “They don’t have enough evidence. The Sheriff hasn’t found the bodies of either wife. Hank said both wives ran off with someone else. That doesn’t say much for his prowess with his pistol.”
Rosemary snorted and Opal and Esme joined in the laughter. Fiona had to smile. So much for taboo topics. A clanging bell interrupted her quizzing the ladies any further.
“Time to eat,” shouted Queenie, a large woman wrapped in a butcher’s apron with red checks and flying frizzy hair from a day spent in the kitchen. She carried a tray full of ribs. Another skinnier woman followed with a platter of beef barbecue. Fiona’s stomach leapt in happiness. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and it was now late in the afternoon. She’d taken forever deciding how to put a cowgirl outfit together and hoped the looks the men were casting in her direction weren’t because something was wrong with her attire.
Opal’s guests moved toward a table set in the middle of the immense dining room. The two meat platters were only the start of the feast. A table full of potato salad and a parade of other picnic salads, corn bread, corn on the cob, and desserts at the far end made Fiona swoon. More platters of meat arrived as the guests heaped their plates.
Fiona took a plate and started down the table. Her appetite never failed her.
“What’s that?” she asked an older gentleman who was loading up with slices of meat. These men did not remove their hats to eat, and this one, besides the hat, the plaid shirt, jeans, and boots, wore a fancy scarf wrapped around his neck which gave him a rakish look. He couldn’t have been much under eighty years old.
“Goat,” he said with a grin. “Gal, it doesn’t get any better than this.”
She wrinkled her nose. Goat had to be an acquired taste and since the ethnic in her was Irish and not Latina, she passed. She loaded up on everything else. By the time she got to the end of the table, she could barely lift her plate.
Opal appeared at her side. “I love a girl with an appetite,” she said. “Tables are outside on the back patio.”
Rosemary and Esme were in line behind Fiona and followed her out to a table. Opal must have assigned them guard duty. Or maybe they were as curious about Fiona as she was about them.
“Glad you’re here,” said Esme to Fiona. She had blond and gray hair pulled back in a low pony tail. She wore a sweat stained black hat that looked like it had been trampled by a herd of antelope. “You figure you’ll stay long?”