STORYTELLERS COLLECTION - "Fragments of Truth" by Carol Cox

THE STORYTELLERS'
COLLECTION, BOOK 2

Storytellers' Collection

Multnomah Publishers
ISBN: 1-57673-820-5
2001

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THE STORYTELLERS' COLLECTION, BOOK 2 - TALES FROM HOME

"Fragments of Truth"
by Carol Cox

Allie Monroe squinted through her windshield against the late afternoon sun and pulled to the curb in front of the QuikStop mini-mart. She checked her watch—time to spare before she had to cover the town council meeting. Hopefully it wouldn’t be another snooze. Being the community correspondent for the Northland Sentinel—the only newspaper serving this part of northern Arizona—kept her in touch with local happenings, but didn’t provide much challenge.

“Allie!” a slight figure waved from the other side of the street and hurried across.

Stepping out of her Sentra, Allie waved back to Marlys Kendrick. She had done a brief article on Marlys and her husband when they moved to Colton eight months before, after his retirement from the English department at a Michigan university. She’d seen Stewart only once or twice since then, but Marlys now considered Allie her best—her only—friend.

Marlys peered out from under the brim of her straw hat, her timid face contorted. “I need your help.” She rested her hand on Allie’s arm. “It’s Stewart. The police are after him.”

“Stewart?” a more unlikely prospect for police pursuit than Marlys’s stuffy husband would be hard to imagine. “what did he do?” Burn trash without a permit?”

Marlys tightened her grip. “I’m serious. Matt Collins and another deputy came out to question him today. An archaeological site on Holden Mesa was looted last week. They think Stewart was involved.”

Allie recalled mentioning Stewart’s standing as an amateur archaeologist in her article, along with the fact that he’d planned to spend his retirement pursuing his hobby.

Marlys’s voice brought her back to the present. “We still don’t know many people here. You’re a journalist. I thought you’d know how to go about getting the facts.” Her lower lip quivered. “Please, help me find out what really happened.”

Allie flinched. Covering ice-cream socials hardly qualified as investigative reporting. She patted Marlys’s shoulder. “It’s just routine. They’re checking every lead and Stewart’s name came up. It doesn’t mean he’s their number-one suspect.”

“I’m not so sure. They asked a lot of questions, and Stewart. . .well, you remember how distant he can be. I don’t think he helped himself a bit.”

Distant was not the word Allie would have used. Stewart seemed like a man firmly convinced of his own superiority. Not exactly an attitude that endeared him to the local populace—or to the authorities. Maybe she could help both Marlys and herself. What a coup it would be if she managed to uncover the culprit and write the Sentinel’s best story of the year.

“I’ll see what I can do.” So promising, she ducked inside the QuikStop for a soda. Back on the sidewalk, she tipped the bubbly coolness down her throat, studying the sky. June usually brought heavy clouds and the monsoon rains. Only a few isolated clouds floated overhead today, holding the tantalizing promise of moisture.

Allie drove past a row of red rock houses—built for railroad workers back when Colton got its start as one of the end-of-the-track towns marking the progress of the Santa Fe line—and pulled into the community center’s gravel parking lot.

Ed Jernigan wielded his gavel with a beefy arm and beat a tattoo on the Formica tabletop, calling the council meting to order. Allie pulled out her pen and prepared to take notes. No surprises tonight; not even a good argument to spice up the evening. Lyman Rogers, manager of Yavapai Stone, thanked the council for their help in obtaining a conditional-use permit to expand his operation. Matt Collins gave his report on derelict vehicles and breaking up an underage drinking party out by the cemetery.

When the meeting ended, Allie intercepted Matt before he could climb into the pickup bearing the Yavapai County Sheriff’s decal. “I noticed you didn’t say anything about the theft on Holden Mesa.”

Matt hooked this thumbs behind his belt and glared. “How’d you hear about that?”

Allie grinned. “Word gets around. Who discovered the theft?”

“An NAU student went out to finish cataloguing the site. When he realized the place had been looted, he called us.”

“He had a list of what was there? Then you know what’s missing?”

Matt grunted. “According to the experts this is one rich site. Potshards, tools, hunting points, you name it. Whoever took them got quite a haul.”

“why are you focusing on Stewart Kendrick?”

“Forget it, Allie. I can’t reveal sensitive information.”

“Give me a break. Archaeological thefts don’t happen every day. You want to blow my chance to cover the biggest story of my career?”

Matt rolled his eyes. “The Sentinel isn’t exactly the Washington Post. Go write a nice story about the 4-H kids. Leave the heavy-duty stuff to someone who knows what he’s doing.”