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Reviews:
"The very
first thing that grabs your attention is the actual book cover.
The image of a flying mystical looking owl with its eyes placed
on the back of its wings is hypnotically inviting and begs the reader
to open up the book to discover the story that waits inside. I was
already hooked and it did not take me long to emotional emerge myself
into this wonderful mystery story. I did not put it down until I
read the last word on the last page. When I was done, I felt very
satisfied and entertained! This is a great little book and worthy
of your time to read. I must warn you however, that it will leave
you hungry for more stories in this Temple Crabtree Mystery Series!"
Reviewer:
W. H. McDonald Jr.
President of the American Authors’ Association
Award Winning Poet and Author of “A Spiritual Warrior’s Journey”,
“Purple Hearts”, “Sacred Eye – Poetry in Search of the Divine”
The American
Authors’ Association Rating: 5 Stars!
Excerpt: Wing
Beat
Chapter 1
"May I see your license and registration,
please?" Tempe Crabtree, resident deputy for Bear Creek and surrounding
area, leaned down and peered in the front window at the driver.
Stale cigarette smoke drifted toward her.
A battered Jeep from another era had
been flying up the highway heading toward the mountains. Tempe followed
in her official white Blazer. It took both the lights and the siren
to get the driver of the Jeep to pull over. Speeding wasn't uncommon,
especially when residents of the tiny foothill community returned
home from their jobs in the valley. Tempe knew all the commuters'
vehicles by sight, but she didn't recognize the Jeep.
Before approaching the car, she called
in the license number to the dispatcher at the sub-station in Dennison,
the nearest city. While she waited, Tempe peered over the top of
her sunglasses as the driver, a woman with a wild, curly brown mane,
glanced around nervously.
Seeing the tangled hair caused Tempe
to think of her own. Automatically, she checked the large barrette
holding her thick braid to the back of her head. Her straight black
hair, golden skin and high cheekbones were reminders of the Indian
heritage from her maternal grandmother. After a few minutes, the
dispatcher reported the vehicle was registered to a Lorenzo Montelongo
of Long Beach.
The woman didn't make eye contact
with Tempe. "What did I do, Officer?" she asked, her voice sounding
husky like she smoked too much.
"Speeding. You were doing at least
seventy and this is a fifty-five mile zone. May I see your driver's
license, car registration and proof of insurance please?" Tempe
noted that the woman's eyebrows were no more than a thin penciled
line. Make-up didn't conceal the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth.
Though she looked middle-aged, Tempe guessed she could be younger.
She wore dirty jeans and a faded blue sweatshirt.
"Damn speedometer doesn't work. Didn't
seem like I was going too fast," she growled but still didn't look
directly at Tempe.
"Take my word for it, you were. Your
license, please." At least there wasn't alcohol on her breath and
no empty beer cans among the fast food wrappers and old newspapers
on the floor. Several large packages were in the back.
After digging in a battered leather
purse on the seat beside her, with a rough hand with torn fingernails
and ground-in dirt, the driver handed Tempe a license. Her name
was Sue Montelongo with the same Long Beach address given to Tempe
by the dispatcher. Her birth date made her only thirty-two, but
she seemed at least ten years older.
"On vacation?" Tempe asked.
Ms. Montelongo's eyes narrowed, "What
business is that of yours?"
Oh, dear, this woman was going to
be difficult. Difficult people were never able to merely do what
they were asked.
"Your license gives a Southern California
address. If you've moved, you need to get a new license."
"Just visiting," she snapped, grabbing
back her license.
"Oh, really? Who're you visiting?"
"Nobody you'd know."
"You can't be sure about that. I know
most folks up here in the mountains."
"Not these people." She gripped the
wheel tightly and stared straight ahead, sighing impatiently.
"I need to see the registration and
proof of insurance too," Tempe reminded her. The way the woman was
acting, Tempe wouldn't have been surprised if she drove off. Something
about Sue Montelongo wasn't quite right. Tempe was always wary of
someone who wouldn't make eye contact.
Though Montelongo opened the glove
compartment and began rummaging around in it, she complained, "Just
write the ticket, why don't you?"
"I'll take care of it."
"I bet you will." Montelongo began
tossing scraps of paper from the compartment onto the floor and
mumbling under her breath.
Her actions were suspicious enough
Tempe decided she ought to have Ms. Montelongo get out of the car.
Tempe knew she'd have to be careful. A person with such a nasty
disposition was capable of violence.
Before she could instruct the woman,
the radio on Tempe's belt crackled to life. It was the dispatcher
telling her to report to the Sergeant at the substation as soon
as possible.
"This is your lucky day, ma'am. I'm
going to let you go with a warning."
Sue Montelongo leaned against the
seat. "Yeah?" For the first time she peered directly at Tempe, the
surprise in her pale blue eyes not completely concealing the underlying
animosity.
"Yeah. Take it easy from now on."
Montelongo didn't drive away until
Tempe returned to the Blazer and made a U-turn on the highway. In
her rear view mirror, she watched the Jeep until it disappeared
around the first bend.
Picking up the receiver of the car
radio, Tempe called the dispatcher. "Run a check on a Sue Montelongo."
She rattled off Montelongo's statistics from the driver's license.
After driving a few minutes, the report
came back to her. Though the woman had no outstanding warrants or
wants, she did have a long arrest record mostly for drug use and
sales, as well as some jail time. It would be interesting to know
who she was visiting. Tempe was sure it wouldn't be long before
Ms. Montelongo crossed her path again.
Bear Creek was a small community though
it covered a large area, from the lake above Dennison into the Sierra
Nevada, the eastern mountain range that ran nearly the length of
California, creating a formidable border. Bear Creek was one of
hundreds of communities nestled in the foothills along upward winding
highways.
Born and raised in Bear Creek, Tempe
had married a highway patrolman and moved away. When their son,
Blair, was only two, a drunk driver left Tempe a widow. She returned
to Bear Creek with her child and began using her maiden name of
Crabtree because everyone did. After graduation from the police
academy, she became a deputy sheriff.
It took a half hour to get from above
the town of Bear Creek to the parking lot of the substation in the
larger town of Dennison. Located away from the main highway going
north and south through the state, the mostly agricultural town
had seen little growth in the last two decades.
During the drive, the sun had disappeared
behind the mountains. Tempe hoped Hutch, her husband of only a few
months, and her son, Blair, enjoyed the chicken casserole she'd
left them. She wondered when she'd be able to take a dinner break.
Tempe entered the utilitarian, boxy
building and spotted the Sergeant coming out of his office. Sergeant
Jerome Guthrie was one of the few men who could make Tempe feel
small. Enormous, he towered over Tempe's five-foot-eight.
"Finally," he growled, his bushy graying
eyebrows gathering in a frown.
"Came as fast as I could, Sergeant."
"Got a problem you might be able to
give us a hand with." He whirled around, moving remarkably fast
for his size and weight, and reentered his office. Plopping down
in the chair behind his desk, he rubbed his meaty palm across the
top of his salt-and-pepper crew cut. "Take a seat, Crabtree."
Tempe sat on one of two chairs and
waited while Guthrie flipped through several manila folders stacked
on his desk. He pulled out one of them and opened it.
"There's been a big increase in marijuana
sales all over the southern end of the valley. Narcotics suspect
it's being grown somewhere in the mountains. Have you seen anything
suspicious Bear Creek way?" Sergeant Guthrie was referring to the
great San Joaquin valley, situated in the middle of the state. Tulare
county was located in the southern end.
From time to time someone started
a marijuana farm in Tempe's territory. There had been several over
the years found in the mountains on national forest land, usually
by accident. The last big marijuana cultivation was discovered right
in the city limits of Dennison. The plants, nearly ready for harvesting,
were growing between overgrown hedges surrounding a large factory
only two blocks from the sub-station.
"Guess it's time for me to visit some
folks in the higher elevations to see if anyone's noticed any unusual
activity."
"The narcs may be wrong. We've already
made a check in town to see if anyone's been buying up large amounts
of garden hose, electrical wire or PVC pipe." He shook his head.
"No luck."
"What about the electric company?
Anyone up my way have an unusually high bill these days?" Tempe
asked, thinking someone might have an inside garden. If the crop
were being grown in the mountains, it would make good business sense
to do it inside. That way, with the proper lamps, the growing season
could go on year round.
"The narcs say not. To tell you the
truth, Crabtree, I don't even know why they suspect it might be
happening up your way. Guess they've investigated everywhere else
in the county, and Bear Creek is the only place left."
"I'll nose around a bit and see what
I can find out," Tempe said. The only suspicious person she could
think of was the women she'd just stopped for speeding. Except for
her old arrest record, there was nothing to link her with the suspected
marijuana operation.
"If you do uncover anything questionable,
anything at all, don't follow up on it, Crabtree. Let the narcs
know what you've found. They'll do the investigating. Your job is
to keep law and order in Bear Creek. You've got your hands full
keeping all the drunk cowboys in line."
Tempe had heard that admonition often
enough. She was glad to have something unusual to work on. Most
of her time was spent handing out speeding tickets, arresting drunk
drivers, stopping fights, and taking burglary reports. Except for
the occasional highway patrolman and the rangers in the national
forest, Tempe was the only full-time law enforcement in Bear Creek.
Her official hours were from four to midnight, five days a week.
On her days off, during an emergency, another deputy might be sent
up. Otherwise all calls were referred to her to take care of as
she saw fit.
The radio was quiet all the way back
to Bear Creek and Tempe decided to stop at the house for dinner.
Inherited from an aunt, the cottage was built of redwood planks
and had darkened with age. On one end was the living room, and at
the other, a large kitchen. In between were two bedrooms. each with
a bathroom off the connecting hallway.
Hutch's old blue-and-white Ford truck
was parked in the driveway next to their small home, but Blair's
VW bug was gone. A senior in high school, Blair was taking emergency
medical technician classes at the community college in Dennison
to help him with his duties as a volunteer fireman.
Hutch stood at the sink washing dishes
as she entered. A broad smile brightened his face. "I wondered when
you'd be able to get home." He held out his arms. and she snuggled
against him.
Tempe forgot the job, taking in the
clean scent of Hutch's spicy aftershave, to revel in the strength
and love of his embrace.
Pulling away, a crease appeared above
her husband's eyebrows. "Is something wrong?"
"No. What makes you think that?"
"You're not in a hurry to get back
to work?"
Reaching up, she caressed his smooth,
lightly freckled cheek. As usual his thick auburn hair needed combing.
The concern he felt for her was apparent in his gray eyes behind
his tortoise-shell framed glasses.
"Nothing much is happening tonight."
"Thank God," he breathed.
"I was just thinking how lucky I am
to have you to come home to."
"Luck hasn't anything to do with it,"
he said, the smile back on his face. "The Lord meant for us to be
together." Hutch was the minister of the only church in the nearby
area.
"I'm glad." She stepped out of his
arms. "Is there anything left to eat?"
"It was so good, I had to remind Blair
to leave you some. That young man can certainly put away the food."
Tempe chuckled. "I think he's still
growing."
"While you're washing, I'll dish up
your plate."
She kissed one of his deep dimples.
"Thank you, sweetie."
While she ate, Hutch sat across the
kitchen table from her and said that one of his older church members
was having an emergency operation in the morning. "I know we planned
to do some shopping, but as her pastor I need to be with her at
the hospital. I'm sorry, but she doesn't have anyone else."
Tempe couldn't help feeling relieved.
"It's okay. I've got something else I should do in the morning."
"What's that?" Hutch got up to pour
her some more coffee.
"Take a ride into the mountains. The
narcotics detectives think we might have someone growing marijuana
up there again."
"Maybe we can go shopping later."
Hutch returned the coffee pot to the stove with a tad more force
than necessary. Hutch didn't like it when she had to work more than
just her four to midnight shift-something that happened often.
Tempe continued. "Thought I'd visit
Joe Seaberry."
No irritation was apparent when Hutch
turned around. "That's a good idea. Seaberry knows everything going
on in the mountains, past and present."
"That's the truth. I'll have to listen
to plenty before he'll ever get around to telling me what I want
to hear."
"Too bad I can't go with you. Do you
want anything else to eat?"
"No, thanks, sweetheart. Yes, I wish
you could come." Most of the time she enjoyed having Hutch ride
along with her when she was investigating on her own time.
"Give Joe my regards when you see
him."
As Tempe went back to work, patrolling
the highway between Lake Dennison and the mountains, she wondered
if the narcotics officers were right and there was another big marijuana
farm in her territory. Though she hadn't noticed anything or anyone
unusual, she eagerly anticipated her visit with Joe Seaberry.
An owl dropped in front of the windshield,
so close Tempe could see the yellow of its eyes and its extended
talons. She braked hard to keep from striking it. The proximity
of her vehicle obviously surprised the owl.
For a moment it seemed suspended in
air. It turned its head toward Tempe, the unblinking eyes staring
at her before it effortlessly lifted its wings and disappeared into the dark night.
Though always aware of her Yanduchi
heritage, Tempe had never claimed it until she'd participated in
a ceremonial conducted by a local shaman. Ever since that night
all of her senses were intensified. She attributed meanings to occurrences
she might not have noted before.
Surely the appearance of the owl was
an omen of some sort. Exactly what she didn't know, only that it
meant something unusual was about to happen.
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