Murder on Frequency

By Patricia Smith Wood

An amateur sleuth with psychic abilities is drawn into a missing person mystery that puts her and her best friend on the trail of a murderer.
 
When Harrie McKinsey is dragged to a ham radio course by her best friend Ginger Vaughn, they discover some pretty strange occurrences in the world of amateur radio. Like the operator who made contact with another enthusiast, despite the fact that he was reported dead five years earlier.
 
Harrie and Ginger’s hunt for the missing caller turns into a murder investigation and a major confrontation with a Mafia don. Good thing the ladies have the FBI, the Albuquerque police, and a team of private detectives for back up, because it looks like another murder is about to take place, unless Harrie and Ginger can crack this case first.
 
“Leave it to the redoubtable Harrie, her sidekick Ginger, and a gang of faithful friends to uncover the truth.” —Robert D. Kidera, Hillerman Prize–winning author of the Gabe McKenna mystery series
 
“Murder on Frequency is the murder mystery equivalent of a New Mexico sandstorm. Fast paced. Whirling. Making you question what’s right before your eyes. And irresistible. . . . A great read.” —J. Michael Orenduff, author of the award-winning Pot Thief murder mysteries

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Media
• Release date: Jan 23, 2024
• ISBN: 9781504090650

Book preview

1

Sunday, March 20

Ghostly static, the eerie whine of competing signals, and a late March chill filled the small room. The only illumination came from the greenish glow of the ICOM 706 transceiver and the feeble light of a tiny lamp. Headphones covered Jed Kauffman’s ears as he leaned into the microphone on the desk in front of him. He twirled the frequency dial, searching past the noise, looking for the sweet spot that held a readable signal. His fingers cramped and ached.

He sighed and looked around the cluttered space. If only the dead could speak. So many of his old ham buddies were gone now. On nights like this, he felt their absence even more keenly. He shivered.

Where is everybody? At this time of night there’s usually plenty of traffic on the 40-meter band. He shifted in his seat and tried again.

CQ, CQ, CQ. This is NM5YEJ calling CQ. Jed’s voice sounded hoarse and tired to his own ears. The clock on the shelf above his array of radios showed one minute to midnight. If someone didn’t respond in the next five minutes, he’d shut down for the night. He put out another CQ and waited.

Then the S meter spiked, and a faint voice replaced the static.

NM5YEJ, this is DL5RAU.

Jed scribbled the call sign on his log sheet. At last.

He cleared his throat before he pressed the push-to-talk button. DL5RAU, this is NM5YEJ. Name here is Jed, Juliette-Echo-Delta. Who is this?

More static, then a strong voice said, DL5RAU here. Name is Alan, Alpha-Lima-Alpha-November.

Roger that. Where are you located, Alan?

Just north of Los Huevos, New Mexico. Are you in Albuquerque?

Affirmative. I’m in the far Northeast Heights. Say, that’s an unusual call sign. How did you come by it?

The signal had sounded stronger on the last transmission, and Jed waited eagerly for his new contact to answer. DL5RAU, are you still on frequency?

Nothing. A flicker of concern stirred in Jed. This is NM5YEJ calling DL5RAU, are you there, Alan?

He heard a break in the signal, indicating someone had pressed the push-to-talk button, then a loud sound. Jed instinctively leaned closer to the receiver to hear better, forgetting for the moment that he wore the headset. There was static—lots of it—a clicking sound, and then a barely audible voice.

Don’t…. After that, more static.

No signal showed on the meter.

Jed called DL5RAU several more times, but gave up after a few minutes. He removed the headset and scratched his stubble of beard. He couldn’t shake the feeling he needed to do something. But what? All he had was a call sign and a first name.

Of course, he said out loud to the empty room. He brought up his computer and logged in to the call-sign database. He keyed in DL5RAU and waited. After a few seconds, the information popped up.

Jed squinted and read the entry, DL5RAU, Alan Whitney, Los Huevos, New Mexico.

I knew it, he said, but the grin on his face lasted only a second. He blinked and looked again. His gaze took in the rest of the entry, and his mind rebelled at what he saw.

DL5RAU, Alan Whitney, Los Huevos, New Mexico. Silent Key.

What the … Silent Key? Jed’s eyebrows knitted together as he squinted at the computer monitor. This meant one thing that just wasn’t possible.

According to the call sign database, Alan Whitney was deceased—and had been for the past five years.

2

Monday, April 4

I don’t believe you. Harrie McKinsey shook her head and frowned.

Her best friend and business partner Ginger Vaughn stood in the doorway to Harrie’s office at Southwest Office Services. She leaned against the doorjamb and said, What’s not to believe?

All morning Harrie had focused on editing the manuscript in front of her. She had been so immersed in her work she decided she must not have heard Ginger correctly.

Are you seriously telling me that hanging out with a bunch of old geezers is your idea of fun? Harrie laid her pen on the desk and leaned back in her chair.

Ginger’s eyebrows lifted and her mouth pursed into a pout of annoyance. She pushed away from the doorjamb and sat in one of the visitor chairs in front of Harrie’s desk. Well, in the first place, they aren’t all old geezers. There are plenty of young people who’ve become interested in amateur radio in the last few years. Besides, I thought you’d be more understanding. You said your grandpa was a ham radio operator, and you hung out with him all the time.

I was ten years old back then. He made it look like fun. Besides, Harrie said, grinning as she remembered her mother’s dad, it was a great excuse to stay up way past my bedtime when I spent summers with them.

Did he ever let you talk on the radio?

Harrie nodded, smiling as pictures formed in her mind of those distant summer nights. All the time. As long as he was there, in charge of the radio, he said it was okay for me to talk to the people. We picked up stations as far away as Japan. She returned her attention to Ginger. Why this sudden interest in amateur radio?

The twins, Ginger said. Their entire Scout troop is signed up for classes to get their technician licenses. Steve plans to take the test too. I thought that maybe I should get involved. If I don’t, I’m afraid I’ll feel left out.

Good point, Harrie said. How soon does all this happen?

They’re starting a class next week. It’ll run Friday night, all day Saturday, and part of Sunday. Then on Sunday afternoon they’ll administer the test. Steve says I can attend too, and if I don’t pass the test, I can try again later.

Harrie grinned. "I don’t see you not passing the test."

I’m not so sure. Ginger frowned. You know I’m not a techie sort of person. That’s always been your strength, not mine. Her eyes brightened, and her face beamed. Hey, that’s it.

Harrie groaned. "Whoa, Lady. You have that look."

I know I could pass it if you help me. You’ve always been my go-to person for computer problems. I’ll bet you could nail this test with no sweat at all.

Oh, no. Harrie shook her head and held up her hands to ward off what she knew was coming. This is your project. I don’t have time to get involved in ham radio.

Ginger’s face took on a loopy, wicked grin. Of course you do. Things are a little slow right now. You shouldn’t even be working on that manuscript. There are editors out there who are paid rather well for that very thing.

I don’t know…. Harrie felt a sense of inevitability about the outcome of this discussion. I’m just not sure….

Ginger took a deep breath and delivered the coup de grâce. I wasn’t going to tell you this, but there’s something else. The instructor for this course said he needs help solving a puzzle.

What sort of puzzle?

Ginger sat up straighter and plunged ahead. Something happened a few weeks back, and he thinks a man might have been murdered.

Harrie shook her head. Sounds like a job for the police, the sheriff’s office, or somebody who actually investigates murder for a living.

Well…. Ginger hesitated just a second too long.

What? Harrie leaned back in her chair.

He already talked to APD, BCSO, and even the State Police.

And?

They all said there was nothing they could do.

Harrie studied her friend for a moment before responding. I get the feeling there’s a catch here. What are you not telling me?

Well it’s an interesting story, and I suggested he talk to you about it—you know, because of your special talents.

Which special talents would those be?

Ginger stood and delivered her parting shot. "I told him you’ve had some experience with solving murders, and….

Harrie heaved a big sigh. And what?

Ginger grinned like someone who had just pulled off a really good con. "And, that you always get your man."

3

At one-thirty that afternoon, Harrie and Ginger were in Harrie’s car headed to lunch. Ginger had been unusually quiet for the last hour, but now she broke her silence.

Let’s go to El Patron. I feel like Mexican food.

Funny, Harrie shot back, "you don’t look like Mexican food." She found her opening and pulled into the nearest lane of traffic on Wyoming Boulevard.

Very funny. Ginger shook her head. Thousands of comedians are starving, and you’re making jokes.

A little grumpy today, are we? Harrie grinned over at her.

I’m nervous. What did you expect? I told you I can’t learn this techie stuff all by myself.

The long-time friends bantered back and forth until Ginger sighed. I always feel so out of my element when it comes to electronics. I didn’t grow up with it like you did.

Harrie glanced over her shoulder, then signaled a move toward the left-turn lane as they approached Montgomery. You’re going to nag me unmercifully about this, aren’t you?

A small grin formed around Ginger’s mouth. Is it working?

Harrie blew out a breath. I don’t know why I bother saying no. You realize, of course, we’ve just moved into a new house. I still have unpacked boxes stacked all over. The place is in total disarray.

Tell you what. Ginger turned toward Harrie. You help me with this, and I’ll help you unpack boxes.

Hmmm, interesting proposition. Harrie thought about it for a moment. It would be nice to have everything put away before DJ returns from Quantico.

How much longer is he supposed to be up there?

I’m not sure. He’ll know more after this weekend.

Don’t you see? That would be perfect. We can study a little while, unpack boxes for a bit—everybody’s happy.

Harrie turned into the parking lot at the restaurant. Are you proposing we take this week off from our business?

Sure, why not? The office is running like a well-oiled machine now. It’s not like the old days when it was just you and me doing everything. We don’t really need to be there all the time. Heck, we could even get Caroline to help us. She’s been grooming Kayla and Brandy to become supervisors. It would give them a chance to prove they can handle it.

Harrie turned off the engine and looked at Ginger. You make a very strong case, my friend. Has Steve been training you to become an attorney?

Ginger laughed. No, I think I’ve picked that up from you. You have a way of persuading people to do things they never thought they wanted to do.

At this hour the restaurant was relatively quiet. Just a few lunch stragglers lingered over their Margaritas in the dining room. As the hostess led them through to the east side of the building, a man sitting in a booth stood and raised his hand in a wave.

He was tall and slender, with salt-and-pepper gray hair, and a big smile on his face. He wore khaki pants and a pale blue shirt, set off by a pair of bright red suspenders.

Harrie stopped in her tracks. She felt momentarily lightheaded and confused, as though she’d been abruptly awakened from a dream. A picture flashed into her head, but was gone as quickly as it appeared. She had the oddest feeling she knew this man from somewhere. Ginger beamed at him and returned his wave.

Who is that? Harrie said.

Ginger leaned over to whisper, It’s my ham friend Jed Kauffman. I think you’ll like him. Apparently he can talk to the dead.

4

Ginger headed straight for the man and hugged him. Are we late? She slid into the booth opposite him, and motioned for Harrie to sit beside her.

Jed Kauffman smiled. Not at all. I just got here myself. He looked at Harrie. You must be the amazing Harrie McKinsey I’ve heard so much about.

Harrie’s odd feeling returned as she seated herself. She knew from experience that these little flashes, almost like snapshots of previous experiences, would nag at her until she remembered the connection between this man and herself.

She smiled at him. Well, I don’t know about that. She turned her attention to the hostess who had handed her one of the large menus.

As the man sat back down, Ginger said, Harrie, this is Jed Kauffman. He’ll be teaching the technician class we’re taking next week.

Jed reached across the table to shake her hand, and she responded by offering her own.

It’s nice to meet you, Jed. She turned to her friend. Ginger didn’t mention that we were joining you for lunch today.

Ginger’s face reddened. Sorry. But you only agreed to take the class a few minutes ago. There wasn’t time to tell you the rest.

Harrie nodded. Yep, you’re picking up my bad habits. She patted Ginger’s arm. It’s okay. She turned her attention back to Jed. Ginger tells me you’ve taken on the task of teaching an entire Eagle Scout troop and their families. I admire your bravery.

Jed chuckled. Heck, teaching these kids is a damn sight easier than teaching older folks. Kids have a natural curiosity, and when they’re interested in a subject, they learn pretty fast. It’s their parents I find hard to teach. Some of them panic and give up. The kids put them to shame when it comes to learning.

I hope Ginger and I don’t end up in that category. You could be in for disaster with us in your class.

I’m not worried about you two—not after what Ginger’s been telling me.

The waiter approached with tall glasses of ice water, a basket of crispy, just-out-of-the-frying-pan tostada chips, and a generous bowl of thick, chunky salsa. Harrie’s mouth watered at the smell of the freshly cooked chips. She took one and dipped it into the waiting salsa.

I’m in heaven, she moaned, closing her eyes and savoring the warmth on her tongue.

Please, control yourself, Ginger said, eyebrows raised. There are people around.

They all laughed and focused on their menus, while their server stood by, waiting for them to decide. After the young man left with their orders, Jed looked at Harrie.

Tell me a bit about yourself. Ginger says you’re married to an FBI agent. I imagine that’s exciting work, but you must worry a lot.

Harrie grinned. You’d think so, but mostly it’s a lot of paperwork and waiting for something to happen. Then when it does, they go racing out to corner the bad guys. DJ—that’s my husband—he says he loves it, so that’s what matters to me.

Jed nodded. It sounds like you have a good head on your shoulders. Do you suppose you don’t worry so much because of your psychic ability?

Harrie’s hand stopped midway to the basket of chips, and she sent a look Ginger’s way that clearly said, "What did you tell this man?"

Ginger’s eyes grew larger, realization dawning that she had been too free with Harrie’s private information. Ah … umm … Jed? I think you misunderstood me. I didn’t say Harrie is actually psychic, I said she sometimes has prophetic dreams.

Jed frowned. What’s the difference?

Harrie propped both her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands. She turned her head toward her friend. Yes, Ginger, why don’t you explain the difference?

Ginger took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and said, Okay. The way I understand it is this. Harrie has these dreams. At first she doesn’t know what they mean, but eventually something happens, and she realizes she’s already dreamed about it. After that, she figures out the meaning.

Ginger looked over at Harrie with a questioning look on her face. Isn’t that how it works?

Harrie decided to let her friend off the hook. She grinned. Pretty close. You’ve been paying attention.

Jed’s face reddened. I’m sorry if I was out of line. I guess it was rude of me to be so nosy. I just never met anybody with those talents.

Don’t worry about it, Harrie said and smiled at him. I just try to keep that little piece of information within the family. I don’t want people thinking I’m nuts on toast.

Ginger murmured to Harrie, I’m sorry.

Harrie waved a hand in dismissal. Hey, if Jed doesn’t consider me bonkers, no harm done.

Ginger let out a breath. I don’t know what I was thinking except that it might be helpful for Jed’s situation.

Harrie turned back to Jed. Speaking of that, fill me in on this murder Ginger’s been talking about.

Jed took a sip of his water, popped a delicately thin tostada into his mouth, and seemed to gather his thoughts. He settled back in the booth.

Ginger tells me your grandpa was a ham, and that you’re familiar with how radios work.

Harrie nodded. Somewhat. I’ll admit it’s been quite a few years since I hung around with him in his ham shack. He passed away about ten years ago, but my mom said he was active on the radio right up until the end. I used to love sitting there with him, late at night, watching him twirl the dials, adjusting the meters, waiting for a good signal. Sometimes I’d fall asleep with that soft swishing sound the frequency makes. It seemed to fill the room. I found it strangely comforting, listening to my grandfather calling ‘CQ,’ and hearing all those distant voices from faraway places.

Jed said, Then you understand about the hours we can spend just searching for a signal and somebody to talk to on the other end. That’s what I was doing about two weeks ago when it happened.

Harrie helped herself to more salsa. Ginger mentioned a murder, but she didn’t explain how you were involved.

I wasn’t involved—not really. At least I can’t say exactly what happened except that I had this fellow come back to my CQ.

Before he could continue, Ginger spoke up. I’m really sorry to interrupt you, but since I’m trying to learn this stuff, please tell me what you mean by CQ.

Jed grinned. No need to apologize. I talk so often to hams, I sometimes forget that not everyone knows what I mean. My late wife used to call me on that all the time. He turned to Harrie. Are you familiar with the term?

Harrie nodded. Oh, yes. My grandfather used it. She turned to Ginger. Gramps said back in the day when most guys were using Morse code, they came up with a bunch of shortcuts for common phrases. One of those was CQ. As he explained it to me, CQ meant something like, ‘Hey, is there anybody out there who will come back and talk to me?’

She looked at Jed. Did I get that right?

He smiled. "You certainly did, young lady. And another thing. If you say C-Q slowly, it sounds like seek you."

That makes sense, Ginger said. Thanks.

Jed cleared his throat. Well, like I said, this guy came back to my CQ. He gave me his name, and we’d just started to talk when I heard an odd sound. Then he was gone.

So where does the murder part come in? Harrie took another chip, swirled it around in the salsa, and popped it into her mouth.

Jed shrugged his shoulders. Good question. All I can say for sure is that I heard a noise, then I heard the guy say something unintelligible. I could tell he released the talk button, and after that there was only static.

Harrie sipped her water and frowned. So how did you make the leap that he’d been murdered?

Well, for one thing, I couldn’t get him back.

But that’s not unusual, is it? My gramps often lost contact with someone he’d been talking to a few seconds before.

You’re right, Jed said, but the man was only thirty miles away, and the signal had been strong when we connected. There wasn’t a logical reason for it to just stop like that. And then, of course, there’s the other thing.

What other thing? Harrie leaned forward.

It appears I was talking to a guy who’s been dead for five years. I don’t know about your grandfather, but that certainly never happened to me before.

Ginger chimed in. Tell her what happened next.

Jed nodded. That’s the other part of this whole thing. After I tried to report a possible murder to the authorities and got absolutely nowhere, I decided to do some snooping on my own.

Harrie smiled. I can identify with that. What did you learn?

Well, he said, I knew his last address from the call sign data base, so I went to the library and looked him up in one of those city directories they have available. I noticed someone named Jean, with the same last name, still lived there as recently as two years ago. I figured it had to be a relative or something, so I copied down the phone number and called it.

The waiter reappeared with their piping hot food. A chorus of aaahhs came from all three, and they prepared to enjoy the feast. Harrie dug into her red chile enchilada platter, savoring the hot, spicy sauce and melted cheese. Ginger and Jed became similarly distracted with their own orders of chiles rellenos. A few minutes passed before the story continued.

Did you reach anybody? Harrie dabbed at her mouth with her napkin.

Jed put his fork down, and tented his fingers. Yes, I did. Jean Whitney, the man’s widow.

Ginger said, What in the world did you say to her? You didn’t come right out and ask what happened to her husband, did you?

No, he said, I didn’t have to. I told her who I was, and that I’m a ham living in Albuquerque. She immediately started talking about her husband and how much he loved the hobby. Then I told her someone using her husband’s call sign had answered my CQ recently, and I was checking to see who that might be. That’s when she got very quiet.

Why? Harrie said.

Jed leaned in closer. "It seems her husband disappeared seven years ago. He was out in his ham shack one night talking on his radio, like he did most nights. He would normally shut everything down by around 11:00 pm. They had a transceiver in their kitchen so his wife could listen in and keep track of him.

On the fateful night, she’d been in and out of the kitchen, and when she returned a few minutes before eleven, the transceiver was still on, but she didn’t hear her husband. She decided to go out to his ham shack to check on him, and found the radio was on, but he wasn’t there. She tried the garage and verified both their cars were still there. Everything seemed normal, except her husband was nowhere to be found.

Harrie frowned. So when did he turn up dead?

Jed shook his head. He never did. He just disappeared off the face of the earth. No one has heard from him or seen him since.

Ginger said, Tell her the rest.

"Well, there’s not much left to tell. They have a grown son and daughter, so after a couple of years, the kids persuaded their mom to have Alan declared legally dead. She didn’t want to, but her financial situation was getting pretty desperate. So five years ago, she went to court and got the death certificate.

But she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of his radio equipment. Every night she turned on the transceiver in the kitchen and listened, in case by some miracle she might hear his voice. Then, one night she did.

Harrie felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck rise. The heat of the spicy enchilada couldn’t keep away the sudden chill. When she spoke, it was barely above a whisper.

What did she hear?

Jed took a long breath. A voice sounding very much like her husband came through the radio. He looked directly at Harrie.

It said, ‘Jean—I’m coming for you.’

5

Ginger insisted lunch be her treat. They parted company in the parking lot, with Ginger and Harrie assuring him they’d see him a week from Friday evening for the first class.

On the way back to their office, both women were quiet, but Ginger seemed unable to endure the silence.

Well, what do you think?

I’m usually the one dragging you into involvement in a mystery. It feels odd when the tables are turned.

Yeah, I know. Steve’s been saying the same thing. But come on, what do you think of his story?

Harrie pulled to a stop at the red light at Wyoming and Academy and glanced over at Ginger. I think it’s spooky, and I don’t see how you think I’m going to be able to help him.

Well, for one thing, don’t you think we can do some research? You know, see what it would take to track down a missing person. We could probably get some ideas from Swannie, or maybe even Sgt. Cabrini Paiz.

So let me get this straight. Over the next two weeks, we’re supposed to study for and pass the exam to become licensed amateur radio operators. In theory, we’re going to unpack all my boxes and put away the contents in some sort of orderly fashion in my new house, and, at the same time, figure out how to track down a man who’s been missing for the past seven years. Is that the plan?

Um … well … yes.

The light turned green. Harrie drove the last few yards and pulled into the parking lot at Southwest Office Services. Well, okay then. No problem. We might as well get started. Do you want to tell Caroline what we’re up to, or should I?

Ginger turned to Harrie and studied her through narrowed eyes. Now you’re being sarcastic, aren’t you. That’s so beneath you, Harrie.

Harrie laughed as she unbuckled her seatbelt and opened her door. Me? Sarcastic? I think I’m offended.

Okay, okay, Ginger said and followed Harrie into the building.