Mystery in the Woods

By Connie Cockrell

Jean has a volunteer job at the library, a good friend in Karen Carver, and spends her free time shopping for knickknacks at thrift stores around town. She even has a grudging respect for Police Chief Nick White, though they’re not what you’d call friendly. When a new dead body pops up, Jean is intrigued. The victim has been missing for more than a decade, and there seems to be an interesting story there that Jean and Karen just cannot resist. Uncovering secrets both old and new, Jean finds herself in a race against time to figure out who the mastermind is behind some dark and sinister things going on in the town. It’s a race she can’t afford to lose, but will she be able to figure out the answer before she goes one step too far?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Connie Cockrell
• Release date: Dec 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370820979

Connie Cockrell

A 20-year Air Force career, time as a manager at a computer operations company, wife, mother, sister and volunteer, provides a rich background for Connie Cockrell’s story-telling.Cockrell grew up in upstate NY, just outside of Gloversville, NY before she joined the military at age 18. Having lived in Europe, Great Britain, and several places around the United States, she now lives in Payson, AZ with her husband: hiking, gardening, and playing bunko. She writes about whatever comes into her head so her books could be in any genre. She's published fourteen books so far, has been included in five different anthologies and been published on EveryDayStories.com. Connie's always on the lookout for a good story idea. Beware, you may be the next one.She can be found at www.conniesrandomthoughts.com or on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/ConniesRandomThoughts or on Twitter at: @ConnieCockrell

Book preview

Book 2

By Connie Cockrell

Published by Four Carat Press at Smashwords

Copyright © 2016 by Connie Cockrell

Cover by Connie Cockrell

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9781370820979

Dedication

To my husband who keeps asking me, Are you writing a book?

Acknowledgements

To Lt. Eldredge from the Payson Police Department and his expertise on small town police procedures. Also to D, who also provided information about police training and equipment. You’re both the best. Thank you for your assistance. Any deviations from real police procedure is the fault of the author.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter One

Jean Hays was doing what she’d come to Arizona for: hiking. The fall colors in Arizona were muted, for the most part. Yellow dominated central Arizona’s mountain fall color scheme unless you hiked down into a canyon. Then the hiker saw all the colors of an Eastern autumn day. Fallen leaves rustled underfoot and the smell was pure autumn—dusty, leafy, and woodsy. The sky was cloudless and she didn't have a name for the color, but it was only seen in October.

Her hiking partner was her best friend, Karen Carver. They'd first met when Jean joined the Hise County Fair board. Karen was a Superintendent at the fair in charge of Homemaking Arts. They'd hit it off right away. The Fair was over for the year. It was time to enjoy the countryside.

The stream bed they'd been following had a trickle of water in it. It caught the sky above and reflected that glorious blue. Red and yellow maple leaves floated along with the water. They were a little over two miles into the hike when they came to a small pool. Jean called a break. Karen slipped her pack from her back and pulled out a well-used Girl Scout sit-upon.

Looks like you've had that awhile, Jean said when she saw Karen spread it on a fallen tree trunk.

I have. She sat down and pulled a granola bar from her pocket. It was my daughter's. It's still good, so I use it. I don't know if Peggy even remembers I still have it. She looked at what Jean was pulling out of her pack. What's that?

I cut up a foam floating mat to fit in the back of my pack. It's the perfect size, good protection from wet, cold, she examined a snag on the trunk and moved down a few inches, and sharp things. She pulled a baggie of Sungold cherry tomatoes out of the pack. The last of the garden cherries from my neighbor. Want some? Jean held out the bag.

Karen took four and popped one in her mouth. Oh my, those are so good.

Jean pulled a water bottle from her pack's outside pocket and drank. Her eyes focused on something on the opposite side of the pool. That doesn't look natural.

She walked around the pool and scrambled partway up the canyon's side to a tree. It's a duffle bag, she called down to Karen. It's a big duffle.

Who'd carry a duffle bag on a hike? Karen wondered aloud.

Jean tugged at it. It came loose from where it had lodged against the tree and rolled down the slope. The rotten canvas, discolored and moldy, split open when it hit a rock. Jean slipped down the hill and looked inside. Oh my God. She danced away from the bag, back around the pool and stood panting beside Karen, now also standing.

What's wrong?

Jean stared at the bag. It's… it’s a body.

Chapter Two

Four hours later Greyson Chief of Police Nick White was standing with the women while police officers, EMT's and search-and-rescue people milled around the area. Two bodies in two months, Jean. I think that's a record.

Jean shrugged, annoyed with him. She'd found a body at the fair in September and stirred the whole town up. What could she say? It wasn't her fault.

In fairness, Chief, Karen interceded for her friend, we were just enjoying the day.

Huh, he grunted. He pointed up the side of the canyon where police officers were taking pictures and measurements. So you just pulled on it, it rolled downhill, hit the rock and split open?

Yeah. She looked up at the sky, still blue but now spoiled somehow. I grabbed the left end of the bag, where it was cleaner than the rest. My feet were slipping on the leaves and the steep slope so I didn't have a lot of control over it. She still wasn't over how he'd treated her during the Fair murder. It was as though he thought she was a bubble-head or something. His tone of voice irked her even now.

The coroner called out. We have ID in the bag, Chief.

What's the name?

Anson Prentiss. License is from 2003, DOB is 1959, 5 feet 11 inches. Address is in Greyson. He looked at the Chief. Issue date on the license is 2001.

Nick White sighed. Not going to look good on our stats, two murders in one year. Okay, get him to the morgue. Give the address to Boles, he can go check it out. He turned to Jean and Karen. You're free to go. We have your statements.

The women pulled on their packs and hiked out the way they’d come in. What do you think? Jean asked her friend as she cast a last look back at the swarming scene behind them.

Anson Prentiss doesn't ring a bell. But you know Greyson has a lot of new people move in each year. Or he could have been a summer resident. Who knows?

Do you know the address? Jean asked.

Karen stopped in the middle of the trail and turned around to stare at her friend. Seriously? After the last time? You want to get involved again?

Sure, why not? Jean's eyes twinkled with mischief. If only to annoy Chief White. The guy's attitude bugs me.

Karen rolled her eyes and turned to continue hiking. Yeah, well, his old info might be on the internet. You really want to go there?

Why not? We can just drive by. We don't have to knock on the door or anything. She grinned even though Karen couldn't see her. We solved the last murder, didn't we? We'll just look, I promise.

Karen snorted at that, and Jean could see her shake her head. Okay, we'll drive by. That's it.

Hoo! We can stop for ice cream afterward.

#

Once out on the highway, while Jean drove, Karen pulled out her phone and turned it on to do an internet search on Anson Prentiss's name. It's been twelve or thirteen years, if the driver's license issue date means anything, it’s before everyone had a digital footprint. I'm not sure there'll be anything to find, even if I can get a signal.

That's fine. All I want to do is drive by the place. It's probably been sold two or three times since the guy went missing anyway.

Hey, got a signal. Karen typed Anson Prentiss into the search bar and perused the search results. Hmm, it says he lived at 927 North Luzern Lane. From the map, that's the end of a cul-de-sac.

Lucky there was any data on him at all. Anything else about him?

An old newspaper article. Blotter, actually, he was arrested for assault. He attacked man, no name of the victim, no reason given. Karen flipped pages on her smart phone. I don't see any articles about a trial or anything. Nope. Oh wait! A missing person report from the blotter. Went missing in 2002. That’s it, at least that I can find on my phone. Karen cleared the screen and put the phone in her pocket.

Nothing about a wife, kids?

Nope.

That's too bad. I was hoping for some other names, family members, something.

Karen cocked an eyebrow. You weren't thinking of talking to the family, were you?

No… well, maybe, after notification and all. Just to see what the guy was like.

Unbelievable, Jean. That seems kind of nosy.

Well, we found the guy stuffed into a bag in the woods from twelve years ago. There's a story there, don't you think?

Karen uncapped her water bottle and drank. Sure there's a story. I'm just not sure we should be the ones digging it out.

Chapter Three

Jean drove her hybrid car slowly along North Luzern Lane.

Nine-twenty-three, Nine-twenty-five, Karen read the house numbers as they passed. There, she said and pointed. Right at the end of the cul-de-sac, nine-twenty-seven.

Jean pulled over and they studied the property. They were looking at a white house, the farmhouse design familiar from back east. There was a front porch with a couple of rocking chairs like you'd see in North Carolina, painted the same green as the shutters and trim on the house. The whole place was neat and tidy. A black wrought-iron fence with a driveway gate surrounded the place. Look at the gate, Karen. There's a name plate: Prentiss.

No way. Karen covered her mouth. You think the guy had a family and they're still here?

I don't know. Jean sighed. Think about it. The missing person report was 2002. That’s thirteen, no twelve years ago, so he’d be in his forties. If he had a wife and he was in his forties when he disappeared, that would make her over fifty now. She shook her head. If she still lives there, she's still pretty spry. That lot must be an acre at least. It's raked, trees trimmed to Firewise standards, everything looks newly painted. That’s a lot of work for someone our age.

It is a big lot for this neighborhood. Karen drank more water. She could hire handymen. There's a handyman or gardening truck every other block.

Poor thing. Jean suddenly felt awkward knowing something personal about this family that they didn't. She started the car. Let's go get that ice cream. This is feeling a little creepy.

Yeah, I agree.

At the ice cream parlor, Jean dug into her hot fudge sundae while Karen enjoyed her banana split. Mmmm, I love hot fudge, Jean's eyes were closed as she savored the treat.

I can tell. Karen laughed. You get the same thing every time. Don't you ever want to branch out into something else once in a while?

Nope. Jean dug up another spoonful. If I had something else I'd still want a hot fudge sundae, so I just get this and call it a day. She watched as a business man, probably a salesman judging by his suit and tie, and the case he was carrying, ordered a coffee with a shot of hot chocolate. Oh that sounds, good, Jean thought. I may have to try that sometime. So, what's up with the chief and his stats?

Oh, well, Karen wiped her mouth. It's about time for the Police Department review by the town council. It's an annual thing that happens at the end of the calendar year. I can't remember when the town last had a murder and now he's got two on the books.

That hardly seems fair. Jean had another bite of her ice cream. I mean, this one is way out in the National Forest. Shouldn't that be the State Police's problem, or the Fed's or something?

Karen's spoon, laden with a chunk of banana, chocolate ice cream, and strawberry sauce, stopped halfway to her mouth. I have no idea. When we called 911 I was surprised we had a signal. I just asked the operator to give me the Greyson police. You suppose Nick has to turn the case over to someone else?

Not a clue. Jean glared at the teenager behind the counter. She'd just changed the music from soft rock to hip-hop. Ugh, I wish she'd have let the music alone. She took another bite of her treat. Well, we can't ask Nick. He'll know we're snooping. How can we find out who, she waved her empty spoon—what's the word… has precedence? Oh, jurisdiction. That's it. Who has jurisdiction?

Arris may know. Karen scraped her bowl and ate the last little bit of her banana split. Um, that was good.

I'm so glad he was cleared of Ina's murder. Jean finished her ice cream with a sigh. I'm glad he's taking back the Presidency of the Fair Board. But why would he know?

He's been on the sheriff's posse, back when he was younger. He may know all sorts of cop things.

Sheriff's posse? Jean wiped her mouth and hands.

Yeah, volunteers who help the Sheriff’s Department with traffic control, that sort of thing. All those people directing traffic on the 4th of July? Those were posse.

Huh. They don't have that back east, at least that I know of. Jean glared at the ceiling speakers. But let's call him from my house. I can't take this music any longer.

At her house, Jean poured them each a glass of iced tea and they sat down at the kitchen table. Jean's kitchen didn't have a door from the outside, though she did have a window over the sink looking out into her tiny back yard. There were no curtains, just wooden blinds that she could close to keep out the heat of the summer sun. The counters were a rose and gray granite and the cabinets were hickory, stained a light oak color. She hadn't painted the kitchen yet; it was still the sand color the builder had used when the place was built eight years ago.

When are you going to let me help you repaint? You still have contractor paint on the walls.

Jean picked up her cordless phone from its base on the counter and sat down at the table. She looked around. I don't know. I like the neutral colors. It's clean. That's good enough for me.

Karen rolled her eyes and groaned. It's bland, Jean. You're not bland. Let me help.

Maybe later. When I find something that really appeals to me. In the meantime, let's call Arris. She found his name in the menu and hit the speed dial. Jean put the phone on the table and pushed the speaker button.

Hello?

Hi Arris, it's Jean and Karen. I have you on speaker.

Hi, Arris, Karen called out.

Hey. What kind of trouble are you two getting into?

Jean and Karen both laughed. Well, we did get into trouble, a little. We found a body on our hike today.

Good Lord. How did you manage that?

Jean told him about the duffle and the Greyson police department arrival. So, now Karen and I want to know if this is a Greyson problem or if the case will go to some other law enforcement agency.

Hmm, good question. Usually anything outside of town would be the Sheriff's Department. But, as you said, the body was found on National Forest land which makes it Federal. That brings in the possibility of the Marshal Service or the Forest Service.

Forest Service? Jean's eyebrows went up as she shared surprised looks with Karen. How does that happen?

Oh. They have a law enforcement arm. They've had to since so many drug dealers were, and still are, using national parks as grow sites. But I don't think they'll want this. They're really not equipped to handle murders. He sighed. You say the body was in the duffle bag. That tells me the man was killed somewhere else.

Jean whispered, "Why didn't we think of that?"

Karen nodded.

Arris went on. That may kick it back to the sheriffs or to Nick.

Wow, Arris, that's a lot of ifs. Jean scratched her head. She was still sticky from her hike and was ready for a shower.

Yeah. Let me make a couple of calls. I'll keep it quiet who I got the news from. You're probably tired of having people stare at you for finding Ina's body.

Thank you, Arris. I am.

Appreciate you looking into this for us, Arris, Karen put in. I knew you'd be the guy to call.

No problem. But you two had better keep a low profile. Nick isn't going to like you running your own investigation.

We'll be quiet about it, Arris. Thanks again.

I'll let you know. Bye.

Bye. Jean hit the off button. Well, it's all up in the air, at least about jurisdiction. Now, how can we find out who owns the Prentiss house?

Tax records. They're public. All we have to do is search the online records.

Jean drained her iced tea. Genius. Tomorrow though. Right now all I want is a hot shower. Call me after breakfast? We can search from my computer.

Sure. Karen rose and picked up her glass, rinsed it in the sink and put it on the counter.

Jean walked her to the front door. See you tomorrow.

Yep. Let's think about questions we want to have answered and share them in the morning.

Oh. Jean grinned. Great idea. She watched as Karen got in her car. They waved as she drove off. Jean closed her front door. Hmm, one thing I'd like to know is where is the wife and were there any kids? The next: what was the guy into that ended up with him in a bag in the woods?

Chapter Four

Nick left the crime scene and drove back to Greyson. He was on the phone with Paul. Yeah, can you believe it? She found another body!

Does seem to stretch the imagination. What do we know? Paul was in the office, filling out a report on a burglary in the Upton sub-division.

We had ID on the body but we'll have to check the remains to make sure it belongs to the deceased. But, if it's legit, the body was a Greyson resident, which puts the ball in my court. That is if the county sheriff doesn't want it and the Feds don't want it.

Want me to call the FBI and the sheriff?

Nick ran his hand through his hair. These inter-jurisdictional cases always gave him heartburn. Yeah, call and give them a heads-up. We don't have much at the moment but they should know something is headed in their direction.

You said the body was in a bag?

"Yep. Some sort of duffle. Not military, more like a large sports bag, like teams use to carry equipment. A whole male body fit in there, so big.

Isn't there an access road that runs across that canyon edge? Wait, let me check the map. Yeah. Forest road 223. Runs from Highway 620, up the rim, and crosses route 68. It's in pretty good shape, last time I was on it.

You're right. Nick glared at a sports car that went tearing by him at seventy-five or better in a sixty-five-mile-an-hour zone. Unbelievable, and me in a marked police car. He didn't bother to pursue, he was in county jurisdiction. "When you call the sheriff, ask if their drug task force is watching that road, what history they have, that kind of thing. Maybe we can flush