Mother Nature’s most glorious scenery.”
As the trio clomped past me, I pretended to be engrossed in the Sunset Trails brochure I’d lifted off a table shaped like a wagon wheel. It highlighted the ranch’s Old West amenities: nearby airport, spa, heated pool, satellite TV.
Moments later, Olmstead returned looking thunderous but he feigned pleasure as soon as he spotted me. “Good morning, young lady. Here to inquire about Sunset Trails? We offer wonderful vacation packages…”
I raised my hand to halt the sales pitch. “I’m Lena Jones, Jimmy’s partner.”
The bonhomie disappeared. “Then we’ll need privacy.” He turned on his heel.
I followed him down the hall and into a small office that paid more attention to utility than theme. Mismatched gray and white file cabinets lined the room, surrounding a battered desk that could have been rescued from the town dump. The only decoration on the wall behind the desk was a cross, which did little to break up the room’s starkness, but on the opposite wall hung a large studio photograph of the entire clan. In the center sat Hank Olmstead and Jeanette, his deceased wife, a thin but kind-faced woman. Jimmy had told me that the Olmsteads had no biological children, but made up for the lack by adopting eleven kids. The photograph was testimony to the Olmsteads’ open hearts. Among the children grouped around Hank and his wife, I counted five Whites with what appeared to be Down syndrome; three frail-looking Asian girls; a Hispanic boy in thick glasses; and a girl with possible Polynesian ancestry who wore a brace on one leg. Standing together in the back were Ted Olmstead and a teenaged Jimmy who hadn’t yet obtained his tribal tattoo.
“Beautiful family.” I gestured toward the photo as I settled into a chair. “Quite the United Nations.”
After closing the office door, Olmstead took a seat in the big leather chair behind the desk. I realized, then, the importance of the photo’s placement across the room. This way he could look at his family all the time.
His hard face softened. “We are very proud of our children. Now, what can I do for you, Miss Jones? I must say it’s a surprise to see you. James said he was going to handle Theodore’s situation himself, but here you are. Not that your kind visit is necessary. I’ve called in one of the best attorneys I know, and he will be consulting with Theodore first thing this morning.”
I inclined my head. “We saw the attorney at the jail. Attorneys are great for handling the legal end of things, but Ted’ll need a good investigator, too.”
“Of course. That’s why James drove up here. To lend his expertise.”
James. Not Jimmy. You can tell a lot about people from the way they refer to others. For instance, I was “Miss Jones.” He also used the formal version of both his sons’ names. Had Hank Olmstead always been like this, or had catering to ranch guests for so long made him this way?
I smiled, hoping to lighten the atmosphere. “Jimmy and I are a team. He handles the Internet investigations, while I take care of the field work.”
“A division of labor makes sense.”
“Exactly.” I reached into my carry-all and pulled out my digital recorder. Setting it on his desk, I said, “I hope you don’t mind if I tape this conversation?” I’d displayed the recorder merely out of courtesy, because in Arizona, anyone is allowed to tape a conversation without the other’s knowledge. A strange law, but one private investigators love.
Olmstead appeared comfortable with the recorder’s presence. “Anything that will help Theodore.”
I pressed the RECORD button. “Mr. Olmstead, how well did you know Ike Donohue?”
“Only to say hello to on those rare occasions we ran into each other in town. Mr. Donohue was no horseman.”
At my show of puzzlement, he explained, “None of the resorts around here have stables, too expensive to keep up, so some of them have standing arrangements for us
As the trio clomped past me, I pretended to be engrossed in the Sunset Trails brochure I’d lifted off a table shaped like a wagon wheel. It highlighted the ranch’s Old West amenities: nearby airport, spa, heated pool, satellite TV.
Moments later, Olmstead returned looking thunderous but he feigned pleasure as soon as he spotted me. “Good morning, young lady. Here to inquire about Sunset Trails? We offer wonderful vacation packages…”
I raised my hand to halt the sales pitch. “I’m Lena Jones, Jimmy’s partner.”
The bonhomie disappeared. “Then we’ll need privacy.” He turned on his heel.
I followed him down the hall and into a small office that paid more attention to utility than theme. Mismatched gray and white file cabinets lined the room, surrounding a battered desk that could have been rescued from the town dump. The only decoration on the wall behind the desk was a cross, which did little to break up the room’s starkness, but on the opposite wall hung a large studio photograph of the entire clan. In the center sat Hank Olmstead and Jeanette, his deceased wife, a thin but kind-faced woman. Jimmy had told me that the Olmsteads had no biological children, but made up for the lack by adopting eleven kids. The photograph was testimony to the Olmsteads’ open hearts. Among the children grouped around Hank and his wife, I counted five Whites with what appeared to be Down syndrome; three frail-looking Asian girls; a Hispanic boy in thick glasses; and a girl with possible Polynesian ancestry who wore a brace on one leg. Standing together in the back were Ted Olmstead and a teenaged Jimmy who hadn’t yet obtained his tribal tattoo.
“Beautiful family.” I gestured toward the photo as I settled into a chair. “Quite the United Nations.”
After closing the office door, Olmstead took a seat in the big leather chair behind the desk. I realized, then, the importance of the photo’s placement across the room. This way he could look at his family all the time.
His hard face softened. “We are very proud of our children. Now, what can I do for you, Miss Jones? I must say it’s a surprise to see you. James said he was going to handle Theodore’s situation himself, but here you are. Not that your kind visit is necessary. I’ve called in one of the best attorneys I know, and he will be consulting with Theodore first thing this morning.”
I inclined my head. “We saw the attorney at the jail. Attorneys are great for handling the legal end of things, but Ted’ll need a good investigator, too.”
“Of course. That’s why James drove up here. To lend his expertise.”
James. Not Jimmy. You can tell a lot about people from the way they refer to others. For instance, I was “Miss Jones.” He also used the formal version of both his sons’ names. Had Hank Olmstead always been like this, or had catering to ranch guests for so long made him this way?
I smiled, hoping to lighten the atmosphere. “Jimmy and I are a team. He handles the Internet investigations, while I take care of the field work.”
“A division of labor makes sense.”
“Exactly.” I reached into my carry-all and pulled out my digital recorder. Setting it on his desk, I said, “I hope you don’t mind if I tape this conversation?” I’d displayed the recorder merely out of courtesy, because in Arizona, anyone is allowed to tape a conversation without the other’s knowledge. A strange law, but one private investigators love.
Olmstead appeared comfortable with the recorder’s presence. “Anything that will help Theodore.”
I pressed the RECORD button. “Mr. Olmstead, how well did you know Ike Donohue?”
“Only to say hello to on those rare occasions we ran into each other in town. Mr. Donohue was no horseman.”
At my show of puzzlement, he explained, “None of the resorts around here have stables, too expensive to keep up, so some of them have standing arrangements for us
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