Lurking On The Precipice: A Pari Malik Mystery, #2

By Van Argan

A missing runaway... Anonymous threats... Mysterious disappearances… All in a charming neighborhood brimming with secrets.

 

Pari Malik doesn't expect to get caught up in a murder investigation during a vacation to idyllic Mountain Quail Gardens in the desert. But disappearing visitors and cryptic warnings convince her that foul play is involved.

 

Nine suspects have her seeing intrigue around every corner, but no bodies means no crime. If it wasn't for a snooping octogenarian who enjoys spying on her neighbors, Pari might be alone in her suspicions.

 

As more people vanish from Mountain Quail Gardens, Pari isn't just investigating, she's under suspicion herself! She'll need to solve the mysteries to clear her name… and before she becomes the next victim.

 

"Lurking on the Precipice" is a complex mystery novel set in the desert Southwest. It is the follow-up to Pari Malik's debut in "Lurking on the Tightrope: Mystery at Diamond Head" and it can be read as a stand-alone book."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Van Argan
• Release date: Nov 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781540122216

Book preview

Prologue

M y dear brother, as you know, I firmly believe that any single tree is more magnificent and captivating than the best sculptural masterpiece ever created by the hand of a woman or a man.

Juniper Capelli, alone in her casita, zoomed her web camera from her young face to the slideshow playing on her desktop computer screen. 

It's not that I hate people, she continued.  I don't.  But I have had enough disappointment for someone five times my age—twenty going on one hundred—and it's really true, in my case.

Her screen rotated an array of poetic photographs she had taken outdoors.  A tortoise treading across barren desert.  A cascading row of soccer fields surrounded by a bank of evergreen trees.  A hazy purple mountain horizon under a blazing sunset. 

So, this is how I am starting your video—with beauty, Juniper continued.  Natural beauty.  Parks count, too, in my opinion.  Theoretically, I know nature can be cruel, but in my heart I think it is more serene and decent than anything we find in human civilization.  You might still disagree with me on this point.  Maybe, by now, you have come around?  We're no longer close siblings, like we used to be, so I am not sure I will ever know.

When the slideshow finished, Juniper trained her web camera back on her face.  She noticed her look of dread on the screen and quickly smiled.  She tucked her shoulder-length, rainbow-colored hair behind her ears and wiped away a piece of lint embedded in the pale makeup on her cheek.

I am not going to feel guilty by keeping my location a secret.  For all I know, you are not ever going to open this.  It will likely wither and die in your email inbox, or be deleted immediately with no regard whatsoever.  You are not one to forgive.  But there are better angels and I have seen them with you, at times.  I am hopeful tonight, as I record this for you, that the angels win the day.  I want you to understand better—even if just a tiny bit better—why I had to leave you behind for a while.

Juniper took a sip of sparkling water from a paper cup, then clasped her hands together at the base of her keyboard and leaned forward.

Are you laughing that I don't have dishes?  I am living on paper plates and quite proud of it, actually.  It was all I could do to try and afford this casita—it's just this little room, what you see behind me.  Being fancy has nothing to do with my mission.  From my pictures you already know I am out West.  The rugged, wild, merciless, and ruthless Western U-S-A.  However, that is nearly a third or more of the United States, so, of course, it's not enough of a clue for you to find me.

Juniper finished her drink and casually tossed the cup to her side, in the direction of the kitchenette.

I don't want to be found.  I have something grand to do—something for our sister—and I am bound to do it.  Nothing could change my mind.  Surely, you know me well enough by now to know that!

She looked down at her notes and checked off a couple of items on her list.

The people here don't understand me.  My piercings, tattoos, and colorful hair.  My free spirit.  They see me as a runaway.  A lost girl.  I make no effort for them to see me as anything else.  Their pity and their unwelcome advances are not appreciated.  I get more attention than I want.  A few days ago I took a giant step with someone here and disclosed my true intentions.  It did not go well.  Shock.  A frigid response.  And you know what?  I also saw fear.  Terror, even.  It ended like that.  No answer, no closure.  Maybe their being afraid of my purpose here is to my advantage.  What would you think?  Are you ever going to see this?

The doorbell rang and Juniper darted out of her desk chair to her front door while the camera recording continued.  She peered through the door peephole, exhaled with drooped shoulders, and returned her to her seat.

The big redhead is bothering me again.  He wants me to leave.  So I must handle this and stop your video right here.  Don't worry.  I can handle him just fine.  But I must say, frankly, that I plead for your goodwill and blessing as I tackle my objectives here.  I like to think I am finally being altruistic.  Benevolent.  All of this is not for me, of course.  I am proving that I can give every part of my soul to helping someone I love—someone we love—and cherish.  No matter what she's done, and for whatever reason, she'll always be our sister.

Juniper's doorbell rang again, followed by the sound of brisk knocking.

That's all she wrote.  Be well, brother.  Try to empathize with me for leaving without a goodbye.  And please—please, forgive me.

Part I

INTRODUCTION OF CHARACTERS

Chapter 1

Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area

MESMERIZED BY THE SPLENDOR of the Aztec sandstone cliffs under a brilliant blue, cloudless sky, Pari Malik leaned back and rested her head on the monumental boulder.  She stretched her arms out to her sides, reaching as far as she could, and closed her eyes. 

The desert sunshine was pleasant on her eyelids, glowing a luminous red color in harmony with the rocks surrounding her.  Completely relaxed, Pari's imagination flourished and she conjured up the appearances of majestic beings who had once thrived on this exact spot millions of years ago.  The pointed-headed marine reptiles called ichthyosaurs, as large as trucks, swimming with flippers like dolphins, prospered when the region was covered by a shallow sea.  Later, these cliffs were roamed by saber tooth tigers and giant mammoths and mastodons.

Here we are now, she pondered—humans, of relatively insignificant size, just four to seven feet in height—somehow presuming superiority over all previous forms of life.  What arrogance. 

Who will be resting on this boulder 180 million years from now?  Will she, too, assume ultimate supremacy and grandiosity of her species?

As a vigorous gust of wind blew through Pari's long brown hair and cotton t-shirt, she heard her cell phone sliding away from her.  Sensing that it was drifting toward the edge of the rock, she lunged for it.  Her fingers grazed the side of the device and change its direction, but she fumbled and failed to clutch it.  Pari lost her balance and rolled down the steep surface.  She desperately attempted to clamp onto protruding surfaces on the boulder, to no avail.

Shrieking, Pari plunged headfirst over the cliff.

Roman Antonius, panicked, peered over the edge and feared the worst, while nearby tourists screamed, having witnessed her fall.  One of them instantly called 9-1-1. 

Thirty feet below, Pari stood on her feet, with her knees bent from the ferocity of landing upright on a canyon ledge.  She looked up at Roman, astonished, and steadied herself with her hands on the serrated bluff just inches in front of her.

You are alive! he cheered.

I think so, Pari said.

I thought you were certainly dead.  What happened?

Is my phone broken?

The real question is, are you broken? Roman responded.  Stay right there, Pari.

Roman confirmed to the strangers nearby that his friend survived her fall and appeared to have crashed below without sustaining massive injury.  He quickly and agilely climbed down toward her.

Did your head strike the ground or any rock surface? he asked.

No, Pari answered.  Somehow my legs just flipped completely over.  I landed just like this, on my feet.

A miracle landing!  Or you have a guardian angel.

I would love to believe I have an angel, Pari said, sitting down on a flat rock behind her.  However, I can settle for having the most opportune luck and good fortune, at least at this moment.

Roman examined her legs, hips, and arms for any signs of wounds.

Ouch! Pari cried out, reaching toward her knee.

What's broken? he asked.

I'm broken, Roman.  How idiotic of me to tumble overboard from being lost in a daydream.

Nonsense.  Let's start with your bones.  Where are you hurting?

My leg got jarred, but I don't think it's fractured, Pari replied.  I had my full weight on it just moments ago.

Stand up, please.

Roman helped steady Pari on her feet.  She was able to take small steps forward and backward.

I'm okay, I think, Pari said.  Just sore.  And shocked.

It's time to count your blessings.  That fall could easily have been the end of you.

Wow, I went from bliss to peril in mere seconds, Pari laughed.

Should we call paramedics to be on the safe side?  I heard a man up there on the phone with the police.

No, I think I can rest here for a bit and climb out on my own.  Please go back up there and let the people know that we don't need emergency services.

Will do, Roman answered.  I'll be right back.

Can you find my phone, too?

Roman returned to Pari minutes later and handed her the phone. 

Not even a scratch, Pari said, turning it on with the fingerprint from her thumb.  It's just dusty.

It didn't drop.  It was still on the boulder.

Thank you.

The people up there are worried about you, Roman added.  Many of them are waiting to make sure you are alive and able to scale back up the rocks.  They all want to help you.

Pari smiled and said, There is goodness in most people, isn't there?

Slowly, with precise positioning of her hands and feet, Pari ascended the ledges.  Roman was below her, ready to try and help if she began to slip or fall backward.

Glee and applause erupted from the tourists when Pari's grinning face rose out of the fissure in the canyon.  A young man and his father took her arms and lifted her all the way out.  An elderly woman rushed a bottle of water to her.  Pari thanked everyone profusely and explained to them that the fall was her own fault.

I was so overcome by this splendid place that I abandoned my senses and my bearings, she told them.

Back in Roman's car, Pari drank another serving of bottled water chilled from an iced cooler and shook the pebbles and red earth out of her boots.

Where to next? she asked, folding her hands together in her lap.

Don't you want to go back to your casita and just recover some more? Roman asked.

I really want to see some petroglyphs today.  Can we still do that?

Sure.  There is another stop farther along the scenic drive and we will be able to spot a few of them.  They can be hard to find.  Are you still interested?

Yes, please, Pari answered.  I am very eager to experience them.  By the way, you should have taken my picture in the canyon.  A photograph would humbly remind me of my near-death experience.  Without proof, my mom and my friends are not going to believe I really tumbled thirty feet off a cliff and survived by landing on my feet.

Roman turned off his engine.  Fine, let's go back and you can nose-dive again, he said.

Too late, Pari chuckled.  The moment has come and gone.

They parked in a designated lot a few miles north and east along the canyon drive.  A short hike over a dry creek bed and mountain wash full of colorful gravel brought them to a handful of walls at the base of a vast rock formation.  Roman pointed out a few petroglyphs, including a series of hand prints, some vertical images that could have been stick figures of humans or poles, and some abstract shapes similar to the letter H and the figure 8 in various positions.

Pari, contemplating the designs, asked, What were they communicating?

I don't have any insight on that front, Roman said.  I just know they are thousands of years old.  But, frankly, they could just be like doodles.  Something ancient people did when they were bored.

Surely not, Pari countered.  These are stone carvings and each petroglyph may have taken a long time to complete.  My guess is that these carvings are rich with meaning and purpose.

Roman turned toward her and folded his arms across his chest.  In the shade, even with dust in his disheveled dark hair, Pari noticed his blue-green eyes, both piercing and amiable, and could see why many women considered her friend and landlord so attractive.  You know, it's curious what you mentioned back there, after your phenomenal survival, he said.

What did I say? Pari asked.

You said you were broken.

That is a fair and honest self-assessment, Roman.  You know I am struggling.

But you said you were broken, Roman challenged her.  Shattered, wounded, or what?  Why use the word 'broken' when there is really nothing wrong with you, except for what's in your mind?

Pari reflected for a minute before answering him.  She pulled her hair back behind her ears and leaned toward him.  You're right, Roman.  Broken is not the right word.  I was just trying to make light of the implausible situation.

Of course, Roman replied, shrugging it off.  I didn't expect perfect grammar and word choices at a time like that.  But indulge me a moment.  What, then, is the correct word?

To summarize my problems?

Roman was silent and his kind eyes patiently awaited her answer.

I am astray, Pari acknowledged.  I don't know where I belong.  I left a place I admire—Oahu—and southern Nevada does not seem to be the right fit for me, either.  Not yet, at least.  I don't have any clarity on what I should do or where I should go.

You are putting such a burden on yourself, Pari.  Do you really have to know all the answers already?  You are not even twenty-one yet.

Not until summer.

You can't be young and carefree, and explore the world and all of the opportunities presented to you? Roman asked.

That sounds like your flight attendant training coming out, Pari quipped.

I'm being serious.  You can always return to the Hawaiian Islands or Maryland.  You should answer my question.

Okay, you are challenging me, in a friendly way, and I will try my best to share this, Pari said.  I need to feel like I am making a difference, Roman.  I want to know I am doing everything I can to make the world better.  Less cruel.  Safer for everyone.  I don't know how to say it precisely and it is not an egotistical messiah complex.  But can you kind of understand?

You are not even of legal age to drink alcohol and yet you bear the weight of the world on your tiny shoulders? Roman asked.  It sounds to me like you are being callous to yourself.

That's a fair observation.  But, even if you are right, it doesn't mean I can just turn this longing off and instantly become happy-go-lucky, like you.

You sound like you are haunted, Roman asserted.

I am bedeviled by worries that my life will be wasted, unimportant, and inconsequential.  Just sucked into the empty void and vanished without a trace.

Chapter 2

Mountain Quail Gardens

AFTER FINISHING A LIGHT breakfast and watering her abundant plants—speaking to each one of them while providing their fundamental nourishment, declaring whether they were slipping or holding or soaring—Violet Hawkins affixed her lavender shawl over her upper arms and took her perch.

At her living room bay window, with a discerning eye, Violet meticulously surveyed the homes and front yards to her right, the homes and front yards to her left, and then the neighborhood park directly in front of her.  Completing her initial assessment, she lifted one of her pairs of binoculars from her recliner's side table in order to hone in on areas demanding further appraisal.

That beast is roaming in his front yard again, Violet grumbled.  Dreadful!

Who, dear? Earl Hawkins asked, without looking away from his tablet computer or removing the pipe from the right side of his mouth.

The peach house, Violet answered, still staring straight ahead.  When speaking to her husband and others, she typically identified neighbors by the colors of their homes, rather than by their names.

Their tabby escaped again?

The husband-to-be, supposedly.

What, dear?

From what I hear on the grapevine, Violet said, I hear they claim to be engaged.  But I do not see him or her ever wearing an appropriate ring.  I suspect it is all just another sad, sordid ruse to try and dissuade us folks from speculating about their shacking up type of lifestyle.

It's not like that anymore, Earl said, tapping the rim of his pipe bowl and lifting the window next to his corner recliner a few inches higher.  The young freely live out of wedlock now.

Oh, this is just appalling!

What, dear?

The husband-to-be, supposedly, is checking his mailbox in his boxer drawers.  So atrocious!

You are sure, this time?

Perfectly.

Last time you said this about someone's underclothing you made a big mistake, Earl reminded her.

Well, that woman's shorts were flesh-colored.  And that was egregious enough, actually.  That woman moved away from here anyway, so it's just water under the bridge, Earl.

Violet changed binoculars and bent closer to the window.  He must be stopped, she muttered.

Calm down, dear.

My parents would be horrified.  They would have never tolerated such dereliction of decency in their own neighborhood.

Your parents were born in 1915, Earl said, wiping away tobacco ash from the shank of his pipe with a cleaning cloth.

May they rest in peace.

Inhabiting the corner house on the eastern crest of a hillock, Violet and Earl Hawkins were positioned so that their front window granted them expansive views of their neighborhood park in Henderson, Nevada—Mountain Quail Gardens Park—and the single-story, Tuscan-style homes that surrounded and faced it.  Upon selecting their home, Violet became especially determined to do her part to ensure their block did not decay.  She had insisted to Earl, their adult daughter Asha, and others, that their corner home imposed upon them an additional, special duty.

A duty to monitor, evaluate, and aid their neighbors.

In the past year, Violet had taken her responsibilities further.  Her daily, early afternoon walks were now patrols.  Sometimes she circled the park twice, if things were particularly troubling or out of order, like the time when the man in the hazelnut house threw his girlfriend's clothing into