Murder@ the Black Mesa Salon: A Minerva Doyle Mystery, #2

By Marty Knox

Who Murdered My Sister?

Missing Sweethearts Found in Lake

When her sister disappears on graduation night, a small-town café owner gives up hope after twenty years. Then picnickers at Carriage Lake find two bodies inside an abandoned car.

Cyber-forensic expert Minerva and Deputy Marshal Michael identify the crime victims. Rose entreats her best friend, Minerva, to discover why the missing couple died. Was it an accident?

Hampered by pre-internet sources the detectives revert to old-style sleuthing to unmask a devious killer who hides in plain sight for two decades.

Who Murdered the Sweethearts?

 

Look Inside NOW.

Click BUY to read Murder@ the Black Mesa Salon

Includes BONUS previews of the next books in the Minerva Doyle mystery series.

 

Coming soon:

Book 3 - Murder@ the Black Mesa Dance -

Suicidal Student Snuffed on Stage Fly.

Who Murdered the Nerd?

Book 4- Murder@ the Black Mesa Mailbox

Vigilante Wreaks Fatal Justice in Cyber Bully's Death.

Who Murdered the Troll?

Book 5- Murder@ the Black Mesa Church

Cult Preacher Meets Doomsday.

Who Murdered Our Preacher?

Book 6- Murder@ Black Mesa Route 66

Route 66 Fatality No Accident.

Who Murdered the Car Guy?

Book 7 - Murder@ the Black Mesa Flood

Diver Drowned in Wall of Water.

Who Murdered the Desert Diver?

Book 8 - Murder@ the Black Mesa Fire

Forest Fire Blamed in Firefighter's Death.

Who Murdered the Park Ranger?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marty Knox
• Release date: Mar 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393880967

Marty Knox

I’m Marty Knox, a. retired math teacher and computer science instructor, BSBA, MED Math. Lived in Arizona for thirty-eight years. I dwell in a small town in Missouri (pop. 600+) in the spring; summer, fall, & alternate a winter visit to Arizona. I’ve worked as a graphic artist, photographer, web designer, programmer, typesetter, technical writer, & illustrator. My publishing background is in newspaper & book publishing, acquisitions, editing, advertising, marketing, and sales. Ruben Donnelly. Cox Newspapers, Carter Art Service, a Math & Science College textbook publisher, and a Satellite Electronic offshoot of Motorola. I taught Computer Science, Math, ESL, & GED at Arizona Community Colleges on the Pima, Navajo, and Hopi Rez, & the High School Math Department Chair on the Apache Rez. I’m a member of professional writing groups: SINC, Sleuths Ink, and Joplin Writers Guild. Also a member of AEA and NEA. Contact me for a reader ARC copy of future books in the series: Murder@ the Black Mesa Salon Book 2 Murder@ the Black Mesa Dance Book 3 Murder@ the Black Mesa Mailbox Book 4 martyknox4.gmail.com If you are interested in my ideas for upcoming books you can follow me on my storyboards at:www.pinterest.com/marthaknox58 If you have questions about Arizona, or the Minerva Doyle Mystery Series I’ll answer them on my blog. https://martyknoxblackmesa.blogspot.com

Book preview

Chapter One

August - A Bad Marriage

Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage.

Shakespeare. Twelfth Night

T hey pester me to death. Everybody wants grades now but waits until the end to turn in their assignments. I could just kill them, I said.

Let it pass. We’re headed to Carriage Lake. Want to join us? My husband, Michael, asked.

Summer semester ends Friday. They deserve a big fat F for lateness, I grumbled.

Minnie, you’re too soft on deadlines. No means no. Warn, folks; you don’t tolerate late work. Period, Michael said.

It’s easy for a Marine to enforce, but not so simple for a college teacher who required people to succeed despite their lax self-discipline.

Students have so much going on between working full time, raising a family, and taking classes; there’s no margin for Murphy’s Law, I said.

Are you coming or not? The boys and I are getting one more fishing day under our belts. Truck’s loaded, and we’re leaving soon, he said.

Once he decided, there was no stopping him. He kissed me on my cheek and strode into the kitchen to pack a picnic lunch. Should I give up another weekend with Michael and the boys to grade late papers? This outing was the last chance for Michael to take them fishing before school started back east.

The heck with grading, I needed a rest and a break. Sunshine, fresh air, and no one nagging me for their grades sounded fantastic. I blasted a group e-mail, punched send, and closed my laptop. I was too lenient with the few students who tried my patience. Done with school issues, I grabbed my favorite Diamondbacks t-shirt from the drawer, comfy jeans, and red Justin Roper boots. I bounded downstairs.

Minnie Mommie, we’re ready to leave, Max said. Max collided with me as he dashed past in a noisy burst of energy. He was eight, with Michael’s black curly hair, bright lapis lazuli eyes, and long eyelashes. Max reminded me of the boy in my favorite childhood book, ‘Where the Wild Things Are.’

Michael’s oldest son, Thomas, proceeded into the living room at a dignified pace. Thomas was an awkward sober bookish eighteen-year-old whose pants never fit his skinny 6’ 4" frame. Dreadlocks framed his face, and bright almond brown eyes peered owlishly at me. What to call me, Minerva, Minnie, or Mrs. Doyle?

A debate escalated because I was Michael’s second wife and the boy’s new stepmother. Minerva hit his passion for ancient Latin and Greek legends, so he picked the dignified sobriquet Minerva Mater. Okay by me. I didn’t plan to replace their mother. I loved them as much as my children.

Let’s go. Fish don’t stick around for us to catch them, Michael said.

Our boys piled onto the jump seats in Michael’s beat-up old Chevy truck. Then I hung on and snapped my seat belt tight while we bumped over the rutted dirt lane to Carriage Lake.

When we arrived at the lake, Michael and the kids set up the fishing poles, cooler, grill, folding chairs, and tent. Michael fished in his old hip waders. He was trying out the new camouflage vest I bought him for our second wedding anniversary. The old one shredded to bits last summer when he worked part-time as a Deputy helping the Marshal, Charles Dubois, with an arrest.

Carriage Lake formed when the WPA dammed the Rio de la Plata, a tributary of the Little Colorado River. Farmers and ranchers around the town depended on the irrigation canals. Moisture was late this year, and the shoreline was low.

The Weather Channel predicted a hurricane off Baja California barreling up the Sea of Cortez toward Arizona. Meteorologists estimated four to six inches of rain in one day when we were lucky to get twenty-four inches a year. The authorities had to let water out of the dam in preparation for monsoon season.

My idea of fishing was to lie on a bank and read a book. A brisk wind smelled of fresh grass and wildflowers with an undertone of moldy decay. I spread a faded quilt under a massive cottonwood tree. Thomas raided one of my favorite books from the library, ‘The War of the Worlds.’ Thomas and I settled in with our books while the more adventurous Max waded in the lake with Michael.

I laid my book aside, crossed my arms under my head, and left behind my favorite lady detective, Precious, to her land of Botswana. Butterflies soared in the breeze while I relaxed in the shade. My eyes closed as I savored the peace.

Minerva Mater, do you mind if I go rock hunting? There’s volcanic glass and petrified wood around here, Thomas said.

Sure, go ahead and explore. My friend Flynn told me that Sunset Crater near Flagstaff was once a caldera that blew up a thousand years ago. The blast scattered ash and debris for hundreds of miles.

Do you think we’ll get to see Meteor Crater? Father promised to take us there, he asked.

On my bucket list for you two. The astronauts practiced their moonwalks in it, I said. Your first step to explore another planet.

Thomas had surprised Michael and me when he informed us of his acceptance to the University of Arizona. Michael received daily rants from his ex-wife. She was unable to dissuade Thomas of the choice he made to study Planetary Geology. I stretched my legs and followed Thomas on his quest for hidden science treasures.

Look, I’ve got fossils. Thomas’ keen eyes found Apache Tears, an ammonite, and two shark’s teeth.

Wash them in water. You see details better when they’re wet, I suggested.

While Thomas cleaned his geologic finds, I maintained an eye out for rattlesnakes. The reptiles liked cool, damp sand and could swim.

Gazing out over Carriage Lake, I spied a rusted piece of metal sticking cockeyed from the water. What idiot dumped an auto in a recreational lake? People trashed old cars in washes because they didn’t want to hassle with the Arizona Department of Transportation. MVD didn’t understand a piece of shit rust bucket was not a brand new Mercedes. Michael dealt with a ton of paperwork for a legally abandoned title to a ditched automobile left in the wash behind our home so he could junk it.

Michael, watch out. There’s a wreck in the lake. Don’t get your line hooked on it, I called out.

Okay, I’ll check out the vehicle, he hollered. He waded over to the submerged junker.

What is it? I wondered. How long was it marooned in there?

Take the boys back to the Chevy, now, Michael yelled.

Both boys hustled into the truck while Michael splashed onshore. He clumped up to the tailgate. Minnie, come here a minute. I need to talk to you. You guys stay in your seats.

What’s wrong? Were drugs deposited in the wreck?

Two bodies in the car. Call Dubois. Tell him to get out here ASAP.

Michael, no signal until the highway, past the Black Mesa.

Go, I’ll secure the perimeter.

Where are we going? What is Father doing? Thomas asked as I hopped in the driver’s seat.

Don’t worry, your Dad is fine. He’ll keep an eye out on our stuff. I have to text the Marshal, I said.

Out in the boondocks, no bars flashed because the volcanic Black Mesa blocked any communication. I revved the Chevy and barreled along the dirt road heading away from Carriage Lake. When I approached old US Highway 66, I gained a cell phone signal. As my truck lurched to a stop on the embankment, I jumped out and slammed the door behind me.

Be right back, boys. Don’t get out. I explained to the youngsters. Dad found a car in the water, so I need to call the Marshal. While reassuring them, I dashed far enough away from them until they didn’t hear me.

Charles, Minerva here. I detected a wrecked vehicle in Carriage Lake. Michael spotted two bodies in it. Yes, Michael secured the scene. Notify the county team and meet me back at the lake.

Chapter Two

August - Forgotten Dead

The only truly dead are those who have been forgotten. Irish proverb.

Michael stayed behind at Carriage Lake to secure the scene of the crime. Police scanners broadcast a car found with two bodies. The news circulated at the diner, grocery market, feed store, and churches. Self-appointed posse members from the Town of Black Mesa considered it a sacred duty to keep the peace. No snooping was off-limits in a small southwestern town.

While driving over the dusty back road from Carriage Lake to the house, I wasn’t in my usual cheery, optimistic mood. Not wanting to answer questions, I turned Reba on full blast. For now, mom's goal: get the boys home safe. Nothing was heard from the kids. Subdued, they gazed out the windows. No teasing or bantering. Too quiet.

Thomas, a wise man of eighteen, suspected more tidings on the day’s events. Eight-year-old Max pouted with crossed arms, disappointed a day at the lake ended abruptly.

How to explain the event to them? Tell the truth without the gory details? As their stepmother, I loved and protected them from ugly movies and violent shows while I knew the real world was more horrifying than any fictional tale. After bringing the boys home, I tried to normalize the event.

Thomas, can you watch Max while I pick Dad up at the Lake? Pizza for supper, sounds good?

Mommy lets me use the microwave, Max announced.

There’s popcorn on the shelf, Max. Make a snack while Thomas cooks the pizza in the oven. I suggested, squished Max tight, and patted his shoulder. You’re getting to be a big boy.

Make sure Father is okay. I’ll take care of Max, don’t worry, Minerva Mater, Thomas said.

Turn on the ‘Cars’ movie for Max. It’s based on old Route 66 and the cement tepees in Holbrook. I wanted to focus the boy’s attention away from the news. Lock the doors. Don’t answer to anyone until Dad and I get home.

When I arrived at Carriage Lake, I parked far away from the perimeter not to contaminate the spectacle. I bagged up the boys’ shoes and mine. Michael added them to his crime scene toolbox, so the county team excluded our tracks around the lake.

Dressed in his waders and fishing gear, Michael took as many notes as possible without disturbing the crime scene while he waited for me. His keen senses absorbed the deadly offense.

Michael thumbed through his ever-present black-and-white striped notebook. Thought I’d save us work, he said. Vehicle submerged an indefinite period in a freshwater lake. I didn’t touch the wreck, but I noticed the two bodies are skeletonized.

A storm’s rolling in; monsoon season soon. I hope the county forensics team gets here before it hits, I said.

Took pictures of the auto and victims for our case, Michael added. He shaded his eyes with his hand and examined the storm clouds banked over the looming volcanic outcrop.

Shivering in the August warmth, I wasn’t freezing. The thought of the bodies in the car, submerged in death, gave me the creeps. Who were they? How did we not smell the rotting corpses while picnicking? How long did it take the Carriage Lake water level to lower enough to discover them?

Marshal Charles Dubois arrived without fanfare. He parked his classic 1959 El Camino by Michael’s primer gray Chevy, then followed me to the edge of Carriage Lake. Dubois kept his fishing and hunting gear ready in the truck, along with crime scene paraphernalia. He pulled on his hip waders and met Michael at the junked car.

Minerva spied a car roof, Michael said. I waded over to it, took a glance in the car, and discovered two bodies. No one touched it.

Let’s get the perimeter secured until the county people set up the mobile forensics lab. I called them before I left. It’ll take a half-hour from Holbrook. That elephant of a vehicle will be lucky to make it on this dirt road. Dubois exuded his usual calm demeanor. He observed and listened more than gabbed.

Clenched teeth betrayed my horror at finding the couple in the lake. I stuffed shaking hands in my pockets and kept outward control. Nothing good came from the tragedy. My soul went out to the victims’ families, who never knew what happened to their loved ones year after year.

Was it better to know your missing relatives were dead or continue to hope? When does the grieving family realize their babies will never return home? The stunning announcement of a devastating discovery at the lake on the news brought the awful truth crushing their dreams.

Marshal Charles Dubois used me as a consultant for the myriad of technology crimes in the Town of Black Mesa. He deputized me on an as-needed basis. My former career as a Cyber-Forensics expert for the Maricopa County Sheriff’s office meant I was a computer nerd. Give me data, search engines, electronics, computers, cameras, scammers, identity thieves, and internet trolls—no blood, guts, guns, or muck for me.

Michael retired from the Bureau of Alcohol, Firearms, Tobacco, and Explosives (ATF) before getting married last year. Dubois snagged Michael for Black Mesa’s local law enforcement team. They had worked together on a case involving college students who overdosed on toxic sports drinks, and they solved the fatal poisoning of an older woman. Now Michael worked full time as a Deputy Marshal.

Navajo County contained more square miles than European countries and a few eastern states. The terrain ranged from volcanic deposits, lakes, dry washes, deep canyons, and meteor strikes to a petrified forest. It featured a jagged 5000-foot plateau that froze in the winter and boiled in the summer.

Navajo County Sheriff’s Office (NCSO) won a grant. Their share of the confiscated drug money from the feds outfitted a Winnebago as a mobile crime lab. The behemoth lurched up to the scene. Then a Medical Examiner’s assistant from Holbrook followed close behind, his SUV bumping on the rocky primitive road. They brought a team of search and rescue divers from Holbrook for the recovery of the bodies.

While the divers suited up in their gear, we waited. We stayed onshore and allowed the mobile forensics lab people to do their expensive expert work. The Town of Black Mesa had no money for this crime scene scrutiny. Black Mesa’s law enforcement budget covered the Marshal, a dispatcher, a Deputy Marshal, a consultant, and NCC Police Academy interns. I wrote several government grants for the town Marshal, but receiving money for a computer and forensic upgrades was a waiting game.

The Navajo County Medical Examiner’s Office in Holbrook accepted corpses for evaluation. The M.E. determined if the bodies go to the Pima County Medical Examiner for an autopsy and toxicology analysis. We’d have to wait for the final report. In the meantime, we huddled together and made plans.

I need to thumb through my local missing persons’ reports while we’re waiting for the M.E.’s report, Dubois said.

Plus, I can search the national missing person databases for people who disappeared around here, I volunteered, then print out names and dates for you.

Michael agreed. Made a quick note of the make and model of the car from my visual check, and I’ll match it to the stolen vehicle list. At least we’ll get a preliminary probe done on our end.

Divers meticulously worked their way around the sunken vehicle. They made a map grid as they closed in on the victims. Painted buoys marked the recovery teams’ progress.

A cool breeze of the gathering storm brought the sharp scent of cedar trees. Mixed with it, a miasma of dead fish overwhelmed us as the divers struggled with lifting the body bags out of Carriage Lake and into