3: The Madera Canyon Cabins

Anthony went up in the DPS helicopter to survey the crime scene. He would be looking for anyone who might be hiding and could be seen from above. Viewing the terrain from a height would give him a perspective they did not have right now. It might shake loose an idea or two.

Probably for his next screenplay.

Laura saw the crime techs out. She oversaw the transfer of the body to the M.E.'s van, and after that, the transport of the car to a flatbed truck headed for Tucson, then followed them down the canyon road. She turned off at Madera Canyon Cabins.

There were a lot of ways to describe the cabins scattered near the road. Quaint. Rustic. Americana. Charming.

Growing up, Laura used to come with her parents to Madera Canyon, but only for the day. She always looked longingly at the cabins, wishing they would stay there just once. It was like a little wonderland, like the houses you might see on the North Pole, especially the one time they'd come out around Christmas. They drove back in the evening and the Christmas lights had come on—all blue.

Set back a little from the road, with wild grass and low fieldstone walls and oaks and bird feeders and walnut trees, the little glade seemed enchanted. Amazing that it had not changed one iota in all these years.

Last October Laura and Matt had stayed here for a couple of days, shutting out the madness of the world. Shutting out the manic quality to the teeming streets and freeways, the strip malls and chain stores and restaurants and traffic they encountered every day in their jobs.

Laura parked on the lane into the property and headed for the sign marked OFFICE, past the colorful dragonfly. A breeze blew through, shuffling the oak leaves like cards.

Seven small cabins and a house belonging to whoever ran the place. The porches were recessed in shadow at this time of morning.

Time to learn more about Sean Perrin.

Laura recognized the woman in the office. Broad muffin face, dark black hair falling into a pageboy, bangs, squarish frame glasses. She wore a T-shirt with the Madera Canyon Cabins logo—a cabin in the woods. She moved in flurries—clearly rattled. She’d been crying.

“Are you with the Sheriff’s?” she said, unable to take her eyes from the shield on Laura's belt.

Laura introduced herself. “Is there a place we can talk?” She nodded at an older couple looking at knick-knacks on the gift shelf.

The woman's eyes grew large. She put her hand to her mouth. “So it's true?” She whisked around, tramped over to a closed door, threw it open, and motioned Laura inside.

What Laura got was gossip, which was useful, but often unreliable. It would take time to unravel. The woman who ran the cabins, Barbara Sheehey, insisted on moving around the small office. The space was cramped—a cheap desk, a couple of cheap chairs. Old double-doored steel cupboard. This was the back room where nobody came. No pine-finished floors or cheery curtains in here. Just a sliding glass door out to a washer/dryer. Sheehey opened boxes containing woodsy knick-knacks for the shelves in the front room and kept from looking at Laura.

Upset, but who wouldn’t be?

They got the basics out of the way. Sean Perrin had been there almost two weeks. He had the middle cabin across the parking area.

“I thought there was something wrong with him,” Sheehey said. “And I’m not alone.”

“Something wrong with him?”

She swiped at her bangs. “He made me nervous, is all.”

“Nervous?”

“I dunno. Maybe I’m wrong about that. But I can tell you he was full of sh—excuse me, full of it.”

“About what?”

Hands flapping in the air. “Oh, I dunno. Everything? You could tell he thought he was God’s gift. Always boasting about something.”

“Like what?”

“His wife, his two kids. They were perfect. His wife was a model with Ford Modeling Agency. Well, why didn’t he bring them on vacation with him? He left them in Vegas.”

“Is that why he was here? On vacation?”

“He said birding, but I never even saw him with binoculars. He just didn’t look or act like a birder. They’re a special breed.”

“How else was he . . . full of it?”

“I didn’t talk to him that much, thank God, I’m too busy working, you wouldn’t believe what a drain this place is on one person, but Cody—my son—seems to think he dropped out of Heaven.”

“What did Cody say about him?”

“Oh, God, what didn’t he say? All sorts of stories.” She waved them away along with a horsefly that zoomed in through the hole in the window screen. “I can’t remember half the stuff Cody’s been telling me. I have work to do. My husband died two years ago and saddled me with this place and yes, it’s a living, but it’s such a drain!”

“Can I talk to Cody?”

“Sure. Knock yourself out! It’s summer vacation, so he’s around.” She paused. “I just heard from Terry Barnett, he’s the ranger here with the Forest Service? So maybe Cody knows already.” She paused, touched her mouth again. “It’s gonna hit him like a ton of bricks.”

“You haven’t talked to him?”

“I just heard myself.”

“So they were good friends?”

“He filled Cody’s head with all sorts of stuff. Cody liked him—like hero worship.” Her face crumpled. “This is going to be so hard on him. Especially now, after Jack died.”

As Laura left the cabins office, the helicopter flew overhead. She squinted against the sun and waved.

She’d been up in helicopters looking down on crime scenes dozens of times, but was perfectly happy to let Anthony take over. The way the thing banked always sent a thrill of fear into her belly, and she guessed it always would. Anthony, on the other hand, looked at a helicopter ride the way her flat-coated black retriever, Jake, looked at car rides. He couldn’t get enough of them.

Yellow crime scene tape had already been strung around Perrin’s cabin and blocked off half the parking lot. Additionally, yellow tape had been sealed across the door. A Forest Service ranger named Dolan had parked his truck just outside the tape—she could hear reports on his radio. He was the responding officer, and would block entry to the scene.

Laura talked to him for a minute, told him she wanted to catch people first and get their accounts, and leave Perrin’s cabin for later.

She didn’t have to go far to find Cody. The boy was sitting on the low post and rail fence that fronted the road, throwing pebbles into the gravel parking lot.

His mother said he was eleven years old. He was big for his age, chunky like his mother. He wallowed in an oversize “Zombies Ate My Homework” tee—Xtra Large—and polyester sports shorts—like basketball shorts. Completing the ensemble were new athletic shoes.

His complexion was mottled strawberry and cream—like her partner Anthony, he didn’t seem to tan. Black curly hair, a broad face like his mother.

He was wiping his face and sniffling.

Laura said, “Hey.”

He swiped at his nose and looked at her. “Who are you?”

“I’m Detective Laura Cardinal. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Yeah, well.”

“Mind if I sit? My feet are tired.” She motioned to the post and rail fence.

“Free country,” he said. He threw more gravel, picking it out of one cupped hand and flinging it.