Curiosity Kills

By Linda Roberts

Everything is going well until she gets off the train in Butte, Montana. She overhears a couple of old codgers talking about people disappearing, unexplained deaths and activity at the now defunct Annabelle Mine. By a strange twist of fate, Maddie is joined in her quest by Jake and Nick who both have a stake in this situation. They are dealing with corrupt officials who refuse to acknowledge that anything unusual is happening. Maddie and her allies must uncover the truth, but they are up against some very powerful individuals. They may not be a match for the forces they will confront.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9781597053556

Book preview

One

Sunday Morning

Eastern Washington State

Jake’s head pounded like someone was hitting him with a sledge hammer and the sunlight glaring into his eyes was searing. It reminded him of the time he had spent in Kuwait during Desert Storm. He winced, remembering the piercing pain in his eyes as he walked through the smoke of those burning oil fields and then out into the intense desert sun. This morning, in the middle of a remote wheat field outside Odessa, Washington, he felt just about as bad as he did then. He pulled the bill of his WSU cap down farther over his eyes and searched his pockets for more Excedrin, but came up empty. Right now, he would do anything to get some relief.

"Shit, he muttered. Even God took a day off on Sunday." But that foxy blonde on the weather channel said there was a storm brewing. He had no choice. He had to get the last two hundred acres seeded before the rains came or the fields would be too wet to plant. If the tractor got bogged down in the mud, Luke would be all over him like ugly on an ape.

He smiled as he thought of Irina and her sister, Natasha, two Russian tourists he’d met in Odessa last week when he went in to buy parts for the tractor. The buxom, raven-haired beauties said they were visiting relatives in Odessa and the Tri-Cities, so he offered to show them the sights. As usual, he was thinking with his small head. By the end of the evening he was calling them Randy and Ready. Luke was mad as hell when Jake got home long after midnight without the parts.

A sudden jolt brought Jake back to reality, but not for long. The rocking motion of the tractor along the dry furrows reminded him of Samantha, the city girl he met the night before. Those city girls were always trouble. She was slumming, as she put it, checking out the cowboys at the county fair. She said he had the best ass in town.

Jake knew he was good looking. That came naturally, but he worked hard to keep the tight physique that attracted women to him like flies to a cowpie. Sometimes this was good and other times, not so good. After the dance, they drove down to his favorite spot on a grassy knoll by the river and opened a case of Coors. One thing led to another and soon they were skinny dipping. Her auburn hair glistening under the full moon and the water dripping from her erect nipples really got a rise out of him. She was one sexy broad. They didn’t get back to town until 3:00 a.m.

As Jake rounded the corner into Dry Canyon, he was startled back to reality by what he saw. A train sat on a siding he had forgotten was there. Not just any train. This one had two jet black engines, one at each end of the train, flanking unusually shaped black cars. There was something ominous about it, leaving him with a knot in his gut. There were no distinguishing markings on the cars and, from where he was, he couldn’t see how anyone could even get inside to load. The engine was rumbling, but he couldn’t see an engineer or any of the crew. What was it doing here on this siding in Dry Canyon anyway? As far as he knew, this spur hadn’t been used in years, but it was an ideal location to hide out, concealed by the plateaus surrounding the canyon in this isolated area. Jake and Luke rarely got out this way and he was sure nobody else had a reason to be out here either.

Jake always did have a suspicious nature. Curiosity killed the cat, his mother always told him, but he never could mind his own business. Suddenly he forgot all about the jackhammer in his head as he drove the tractor along a path taking him closer to the train.

LUKE LOOKED UP FROM underneath the hood of his 1949 GMC when he heard someone driving down the lane toward the farmhouse.

Hot damn, he said out loud as he watched the leggy redhead get out of her car and walk toward him. Couldn’t be one of Jake’s bimbos. She’s too classy for that.

Hi, I’m Samantha, she said, forcing a smile. Is Jake around?

He’s out seeding, but he should be back any minute now.

She yanked her sunglasses off and looked Luke square in the eye. I should hope so. He promised to meet me in town at two o’clock and he didn’t show up, she said, looking at her watch. That was an hour ago. I’m not used to being stood up.

Don’t get your panties in a bundle, ma’am. He’ll be back soon. Why don’t you take a seat on the porch and wait for him?

At five o’clock, Samantha was still sitting on the old porch drinking lite beer and Jake was nowhere in sight. Luke told her to make herself at home. Then he went looking.

That damn kid brother of his was so unpredictable—always up to something. Who knows, maybe he was out chasing skirts and didn’t finish the seeding. That didn’t make sense, though, because the skirt he was chasing at the moment was waiting for him back at the farmhouse. That field would have been done last week if Jake hadn’t been screwing around with those good looking Ruskies. He said he was doing his bit for foreign relations. Yeah, right! Everyone liked Jake’s fun-loving nature, but he sure didn’t have it together when it came to getting the work done at home.

Luke couldn’t figure it out. Jake had changed dramatically since he had gone into the military. Used to be you could count on him for everything. Then, after his best friend, Dalton, and his fiancé were killed in a suicide bombing as they were having breakfast in an outdoor café somewhere, everything changed. Now he acted like every day was his last. All he wanted to do was chase women and have a good time.

Luke adjusted the straps on his bib overalls, straddled the seat on his three-wheeler, and headed out toward Dry Canyon to look for Jake. He was going to kick his ass if he was screwing off again. But when Luke found the idling tractor and seeder in the field near the railroad tracks, Jake was nowhere around. From the looks of the footprints left in the dry, dusty soil around the tractor, Jake had headed for the tracks. Luke turned off the ignition and followed the footprints to the railroad siding where they disappeared. He looked all around, but there were no footprints going back to the tractor. There was nothing in sight except the tractor and seeder. What was that fool brother of his up to now?

Luke hollered for Jake until his voice gave out, but there was no answer. For a while he just stood there shaking his head as he searched the landscape. Finally, he wiped the dust and sweat off his face with his shirt sleeve, got back on the three-wheeler and headed home. He left the tractor sitting in the field in case Jake came back. Nothing he could do now except wait. No sense calling the Sheriff’s Office. They all knew Jake’s reputation. They’d just laugh, figuring Jake was out catting around again. They knew he always came home, sooner or later.

By the time Luke got home, the good-looking redhead had gone. He couldn’t blame her for not waiting around. He spent the next few hours in his favorite spindle-backed chair at the long, pine table in the farmhouse kitchen, drinking coffee and watching the clock.

Damn it, Jake. Where are you? he said out loud, as he absentmindedly ran his fingers through his thinning, dark brown hair.

It was long after midnight when he gave up and walked up the squeaky, wooden stairs to his bedroom.

Guess I’ll have to finish that field myself, he said.

Two

Five days earlier

Atlanta, Georgia

Ididn’t know my expose ` on the graft and corruption in the state government in Georgia would lead to the governor herself. My once mundane existence as a reporter on The Sentinel , a small newspaper in a suburb outside Atlanta, took a one hundred eighty degree turn, and I don’t mean for the better. If I had to hang on for one more month, I would have gone over the edge. I had been stalked, harassed, and even had my life threatened. It wasn’t pretty. When I found Socks, my adorable little kitty, hanging from my front porch railing one night when I came home from work, I almost lost it.

The insidious corruption we uncovered in high places wound itself throughout the entire state government like the tentacles of an octopus. The bastards involved were bad people who had a lot to lose by being exposed. They had been stealing the taxpayers blind for the past three years, taking kickbacks from contractors who were illegally awarded public works projects. And that wasn’t all. They used state funds to finance personal travel, and buy fancy cars and boats. They thought they could keep their dirty little secrets through intimidation. But they threatened the wrong person one day, and I got a telephone call in the middle of the night. Now the governor’s conspirators are going away for a very long time. I only wish we could have convicted the governor, too, but she covered her ass very well. It’s going to be a while before my life gets back to normal. I haven’t had a peaceful night’s sleep for over a year.

This evening, after the sentencing of the Capitol Seven and putting the paper to bed, the entire staff celebrated. The banner hanging from one end of the newsroom to the other read Congratulations Maddie. You were magnificent, girl. I appreciated the sentiment. However, I felt anything but magnificent. Didn’t want to be the first to leave the party, but I was really beat.

Good night all, I said. I’m going home to sleep for a week.

My heart raced like a motorboat as I walked through the parking lot to my car. It was ridiculous. I was scared of my own shadow. The governor’s cronies had been sentenced. They were no longer a threat to me, but I still found myself looking over my shoulder and jumping at every sound. I was completely exhausted after a very long day in the courtroom. And, as usual, the heat and humidity in August were unbearable. I was miserable. Even at midnight, my clothes were sticking to me.

I’ve got to get out of this town, I said out loud, as I unlocked the car door.

IT WAS LONG AFTER NOON the next day by the time I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled down the hall to the shower, looking like hell and feeling the same way. I shuddered when I saw myself in the mirror over the vanity. The black bags under my eyes looked like they could carry out the garbage. The whites of my eyes looked like road maps and my dull, drab hair was a mess. I had lost twelve pounds, and on my five-feet, three-inch frame it was very noticeable. After my shower and about six cups of very black coffee, I hopped into the car and drove down to The Sentinel. It was time to talk to George Williams, my editor.

GEORGE AMBLED DOWN the hall just as I came in. Hey, Maddie, how’s it going? Come back to my office.

George cleared off a place for me to sit down on his beat-up leather couch. Papers were scattered everywhere.

I see your filing system hasn’t improved, George.

What filing system? he said, with a wink. He offered me a cup of coffee and a doughnut. You need to put some meat on those bones, Maddie.

Although I had done a good job of hiding my emotions during the past year, George could see that I was drained physically, as well as emotionally.

George pushed some papers aside and sat down on the corner of his desk so he could be closer to me while we talked. Come on, Maddie. Cheer up. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard for too long. You need to take some time off to recharge those batteries. You’re beginning to sag just like those weeping willow trees outside.

I took a sip of coffee and rubbed the back of my neck and shoulders, trying to relax those tense muscles. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I really have to get away for a while.

He looked at me with gentle, understanding eyes. Take all the time you need, kiddo. A month, six weeks, whatever it takes. Get out of town, maybe write a little ‘On the Road with Maddie’ piece for the paper. You know the drill. You’ve given us all you’ve got the last eighteen months. We appreciate it, but we need you back rested, ready and raring to go when the governor comes up for re-election.

As I got up to leave, I took the last sip of coffee and left half of the day-old doughnut sitting on a pile of papers on a table next to the couch. Thanks a lot, George. You’re the best.

George walked around his desk to sit down in his worn swivel armchair. Stay in touch with us, kiddo. Let us know how you’re doing.

I said, See ya, and stopped by Bud’s desk on my way out. Bud Jacobi and I have worked together for about five years. We were on-again/off-again lovers when we were in college and we have always been close friends, even when we weren’t lovers. He recommended me for this job.

Bud looked up from his PC as I approached. Hey Babe, you look like you’ve seen better days. Can’t say I like your make-up much. A little too dark around the eyes.

Bite me, I said affectionately.

He came around the desk, pushed my long brown hair back out of my eyes, and gave me a bear hug. There was something comforting about the scent of his aftershave. I lingered longer than I should have, enjoying the tenderness I felt in his muscled arms and broad shoulders.

This whole ‘Capitol Seven Affair’ has been a nightmare, huh? I’m proud of you, Maddie, but you can’t keep going like this. You need to take a break before you, uh, lose it all together, if you know what I mean.

I finally pulled myself away and sat down on a chair in front of his desk. You’re right, Bud. I’ve decided to take a cross-country trip on Amtrak, let the engineer do the driving sort of thing. I’m ready to sit back, relax and enjoy myself with the least amount of responsibility on my part. George has been a sweetie about this. He said for me to take as long as I want. I promised to send him a postcard from somewhere.

Great idea. Do you want me to do anything? I could pick up your mail or something.

Sure, if you could get the mail for me, that would really help. Thanks, Bud. Just then Bud’s phone rang. He gave me that knowing look as he reached down to answer. Don’t forget my postcard too.

You’ve got it. I couldn’t forget you, could I?

WHEN I GOT HOME, I called Amtrak and made my reservations. Then I called my best friend, Sally, to let her know I was skipping town for a while. I called her office but they said she had left for D.C. a few hours earlier on an unexpected business trip, so I left a message on her voice mail.

Hey Sal, it’s me. I’m sure you’ve heard by now that those scumbags were sentenced yesterday. Boy, am I glad that’s over. Just wanted to let you know I’m hitting the rails tomorrow, hopping a freight for points west. Amtrak has a great deal and I need to get away for a while. Talk to you later, I said, feeling better already at the prospect of getting out of town.

Three

The following Sunday

Butte, Montana

Iwoke up just as the Superliner pulled into the railroad station in Butte, Montana. I was completely relaxed. Life was good!

The portly conductor smiled sheepishly at the disappointed passengers. We’ve got an unscheduled layover in this washed-up mining town, he said.

He was met by a chorus of I just can’t miss my connection in Spokane, and My elderly mother is waiting for me in Missoula. etc.

He shrugged his shoulders and went palms up. The engine needs maintenance. Can’t be helped.

Since we had four hours to kill, I decided to check out the area near the train station.

The number of people coming and going on the platform outside the station surprised me. Elderly porters were pushing their heavily laden carts of baggage and mail across worn wooden planks. It all seemed very low tech to me, like going back in time. Most people smiled and said hello as I walked across the marble floors in the magnificent lobby of the old building. They tried to move the air above me using old fans which were turned by a series of pulleys that disappeared into the wall, but it still seemed a little stuffy inside.

I looked around for a Starbucks, but couldn’t find one, so I walked across the street to McGinty’s Tavern to have lunch. It was a quaint little place that had seen better days. Aged half-timbers lined the walls and faded red velvet drapes flanked the stained glass window. The colorful pieces of glass served as prisms, allowing the sun to filter through, projecting delightful patterns on the opposite wall.

I wanted to do some people watching, so I took a seat in a worn, red velvet-upholstered booth near the back, across from the bar. The lunch rush was over so there wasn’t much to watch.

I ordered a cup of coffee and asked about the Special of the Day, something called a pastie. The waitress, who looked almost as old as the faded drapes looked at me over her half glasses. It’s an old English dish introduced into the area by Cornish miners in the late eighteen hundreds, she said. You won’t be disappointed, hon.

As I ate the half-moon shaped, steak and potato pie, I noticed two nice-looking old codgers sitting at the bar. They seemed to be engaged in a guarded discussion, furtively looking around to see who was within earshot of their conversation. Guess they didn’t think I was interested in what they were saying so they loosened up and went on talking. Millie, the waitress, called them P.J. and Mac. It sounded like they were a couple of retired railroaders or miners who had been hanging out at McGinty’s for years.

P.J., the leaner of the two, was wearing a battered old fedora hat which I assumed he didn’t remove because he didn’t want to expose a receding hairline. He was a snappy dresser. After he finished his beer, I heard him say: "I’m not shittin’ you, Mac, I know those sons-a-bitches murdered Black Mike. Why did they call him Black Mike anyway? he said, nervously pulling on his right ear. Nothing black about that old limey. Poor bastard. ‘Natural causes’ my ass! And what the hell happened to the others? Seems awful damned fishy to me. I’m gonna get to the bottom of this somehow."

Mac shook his head. Damn it all to hell, P.J. You always did have a wild-assed imagination. You’d better watch what you’re saying, he muttered. The taller, heavier-set Mac was the more casual of the two, sporting the bib overalls and heavy boots he probably