Desert Shadows (9781615952250) by Betty Webb Page A

valuable.”
    One hundred and twenty suspects, then. In actuality, though, the situation wasn’t that bad. Merely a handful had opted for the hike and heard Owen’s description of the fatal properties of water hemlock. Then I recalled Randall Ott’s tirade upon his return to the resort. How many people who hated Gloriana or her publications heard him? I also remembered Zhang’s guidebook on Arizona flora and fauna, with its big color illustration of the plant. The caption had read:
    Once limited to high mountain wetlands, water hemlock can now be found along the banks of streams lower than 3,000 feet in altitude. For the past few years, it has become profuse near Oak Creek Canyon. Its roots, stems, leaves and blossoms are extremely poisonous. Hikers beware.
    â€œMr. Zhang, that book of yours on Arizona plants. When was it published?”
    In a tired voice, he answered, “Ah, yes, that damned book. It came out six months ago. What you’re after, I guess, is how many people at SOBOP could have seen it, and the answer is—just about everyone. It’s been on the SOBOP display table at the resort ever since the convention started.” He heaved a sigh. “I have it sitting on a little stand, much as I do here, open to the page on water hemlock. I thought the artist did a great job on the illustration, and I wanted to show it off.”
    Even without Owen’s creekside lecture, anyone with murder on his mind could probably have identified the plant from the book alone.
    Then Zhang’s face froze and I turned around, half-expecting to see the National Alliance thugs returning. But no, the man approaching us was merely Randall Ott, his nose raised so high in distaste at the brown skins around him that it was a wonder he didn’t trip over Clydesdale crap.
    Following closely was Lynn Tinsley, also looking up at the sky. I figured she was on the lookout for black helicopters. Tinsley’s hairstyle echoed the Sixties, a blond bubble-do teased within an inch of its life, which made her tower over the minuscule Ott. Her pink shirtwaist dress sported enough ruffles to supply a Barbie Doll warehouse, while her dyed-to-match spike heels hinted at a bit of slut beneath the politico’s cotton candy exterior.
    â€œI think it’s time for some lunch,” the Rev said to Ramos and Zhang. “You two up for some Navajo tacos?”
    They nodded, eager to get away from Ott and Tinsley. As a further inducement—one which I am certain the Rev had planned —the Navajo taco stand was in the opposite direction the neo-Nazis had taken.
    I forced a smile as Tinsley and Ott neared the picnic table. Just for Owen, I’d attempt to get on their good side. “Representative Tinsley, Mr. Ott. Would you like some fry bread? I’d be happy to run over to the stand and bring some back.” Truth be told, I was still hungry.
    â€œI’m a vegetarian,” Ott said, settling himself across from me, Tinsley by his side. “Those damned Indians use animal fat in everything. From uninspected pigs, too, probably.” His voice was as thin as his hair.
    Tinsley’s heavily made-up face maintained that odd rigidity peculiar to Botox users. “Maybe I should look into that.” Her gravelly voice hinted at decades of cigarettes and bourbon.
    Ott shook his head. “No point. Their reservation, their rules. You can’t change savages, anyway.”
    The corners of my mouth began to hurt, so I dropped the forced smile. “Representative Tinsley, I know you’re a busy woman, so I’ll come straight to the point. I’d like to know what, if anything, you observed on the day Gloriana Alden-Taylor died.”
    Ott cleared his throat. “Evening.”
    Tinsley rolled her eyes, but her eyebrows remained stationary. “Oh, please.”
    Ott’s nose actually twitched. “You know I believe in being precise, Lynn. Gloriana died around 7:15 p.m.,