Dead News: A Dakota Mystery

CHAPTER 1

Don Upsal blew into his steaming coffee and stepped outside the old farmhouse to watch dawn break over the cornfields. Long, lazy blades tumbled on the horizon, cutting away the last of night as it bled into day.

He felt like a little boy with a new LEGO set. The small pieces he’d labored over were finally snapping into place. High up, the white blades on the nearest wind turbine caught and held a red dawn.

Unease tickled at his delight. He’d done a short stint in the navy and never forgotten the sailor’s warning, even if he now swam in seas of grain.

Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in morning, sailor’s warning.

The sun rose higher as he watched, outlining cranes like giant storks against a threatening sky. Only one of the turbines was online, but when the wind farm was complete, dozens would meander in a long line over the wide, flat floodplains. He’d spearheaded a different kind of crop amongst the corn, the soybeans, and the sunflowers—energy.

The sun tugged free of the horizon and blazed upward onto the nearest turbine. Upsal dropped the mug, and the ceramic exploded into shards. He jumped back as the hot liquid splashed against his jeans. The blades of the turbine were red. Dripping red. Dammit all, he’d thought the protesters had conceded defeat.

Steamed, he rushed into the house to call the sheriff.

***

Half an hour later, Sheriff Karen Okerlund Mehaffey peered up along the clean white stalk of the giant turbine that dominated the plains for miles around. Even the slowly tumbling blades were probably five times the length of her aging Chevy Suburban. How the hell did a protestor get up there to splash the paint? There’s no ladder like the one on the water tower. Not even Paul Bunyan could reach that far. You’d need to be a super-giant.

In a pseudo-deep voice, her graveyard-shift deputy quoted, ‘Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman. Be he alive, or be he dead, I'll grind his bones to make my bread.’

"Jack and the Beanstalk? Give me a break. That was one of the hazards of having an actor moonlighting as a deputy. She wasn’t sure sometimes which was which, if he was playing a part or she was being played. Think you could get up there?"

Deputy Adam Van Eck raised one brow into his temporarily dark hair. It was the season for musicals, and he was Fiyero, the prince-turned-scarecrow in Wicked. I trod the boards, not the wind. You want Bork for that. He’ll be delighted to have something to climb besides the walls.

That was Travis Bjorkland, her climbing-happy swing-shift deputy who’d been born onto the wrong terrain, flatlands and rolling hills just over the border into Minnesota. She craned her neck again. I’m not sure even he’s crazy enough to climb that thing.

Upsal, who’d been impersonating a Dakotan—silent, that is—finally spoke. You got one thing right, Van Eck. It’s a Jack. Jack Aspin. That crazy birder got everybody stirred up just when it was all but a done deal. He’ll probably even admit it, make a big production with the press of getting arrested, but it won’t do any good. The wind farm is here to stay. Wouldn’t mind seeing Aspin in jail, though.

She wasn’t ready to narrow the field quite yet. Maybe our graffiti artist just likes red—or red and white. Maybe he’s a USD fan.

Upsal snorted. State man, myself.

Mindful of her precarious perch as acting sheriff until the special election next week, she managed to bite off the chant, Hate State, before it could emerge. Her alma mater, the University of South Dakota, still maintained a fierce rivalry with its northern neighbor. State was the agriculture school, and she was outnumbered in rural Eda County.

She turned an eye to the sky. The bank of clouds hung heavy with blurred tentacles reaching to the earth—rain. She judged the distance. They wouldn’t have much time. She started to circle the turbine. Ahead of her, Adam stopped abruptly. She hoped to God that he hadn’t found a body. But if he had, then at least Upsal would think it poetic justice. Done in by a modern god, an outraged turbine.

But no, Adam had held out a hand and was looking up.

Don’t pretend you never seen raindrops ’afore, Upsal groused at him. You were raised not three miles from here. Feast or famine, flood or dust, you’ve seen it all.

Karen?

She dropped her gaze at the strangled note from her fluid-voiced deputy, who was more apt to call her sheriff and offer a spiffy salute, just as a flourish. He got away with that because they’d been classmates at Reunion High. What?

He swiped something off of a blade of corn. This isn’t rain.

She took a step forward then a quick step back as bright-red spots blossomed over her neat, tan uniform, making her look as if she’d just been hit by a rapid-fire BB gun. Paint.

He sniffed at his hand. No.

What is it, then?

Can’t you smell it? It’s got to be…

Upsal finished it, his balding pate gleaming with specks of darkening red dots. Blood.

CHAPTER 2

Karen kept well back from the rain of blood. That’s sick. Where’d they get it?

Not a difficult thing to come by out here, Upsal said. Probably slaughtered a cow.

The shock leached from her deputy’s face as he looked back up the turbine. It’s also really, really ambitious. Think about it. He climbs up this thing with a… what? A backpack of blood… in the dead of night—

Full moon last night, Upsal contributed. Leastways when I got up before dawn.

The blood was still pretty fresh: red and running, not black and flaking. Your protestor must have left just before you stepped outside, Mr. Upsal. How did he get here, she wondered. It was only a short walk from the road, but the area was covered in deep ruts. What made all these ruts?

The crane, the workmen, getting this thing up and working. Briefly, the farmer-entrepreneur’s gaze touched lovingly on the blades.

Rumbles and crashes in Mother Nature’s peanut gallery made Karen glance again at the horizon. If we’re going to get any fingerprints, we’d better do it before that rain hits. Adam?

The protestor would’ve used gloves, Upsal pointed out.

Adam grimaced but went to retrieve the kit. When he returned, he opened it and stared down into it with a bemused expression. She knew he’d had basic training in such not-so-arcane matters, but as a reserve deputy, he wasn’t as qualified or experienced as the rest of her roster. Right. No sweat. Just like in the movies.

After a few tries, he got several prints off the base of the turbine before the storm broke over them in a rush of warm, soaking rain. Unfortunately, she doubted it would get the blood out of her uniform. And dammit, she needed a new one ASAP.

Who would know how to climb one of those? Karen asked Upsal.

A wind turbine technician, he answered promptly. They’ve got gloves specially made for climbing turbines. Sticky kind. But you can pretty much rule out any tech being involved. Why would they sabotage their own job?

Karen considered that. Maybe one of the guys—

A gal, actually. Only one.

—got fired.

Upsal pointed north. Nope, she’s already over there at the next site in that yellow camper van of hers. Can’t miss it.

Karen turned, noted it, and nodded. Then she lifted her gaze, using a hand to shield her eyes. She smiled. Problem solved. Look. All clean again. No harm, no foul.

He looked outraged at her solution. You’re just going to let it go?

So much for the famed Dakota practicality, where the simplest solution, with the least outlay of costs, was the preferred. No, I’ll look into it, but from here, at least, it doesn’t appear any actual damage to property was done.

His eyes narrowed. You’re coming up for election, aren’t you?

Great. Every encounter until election night on Tuesday was going to be a form of blackmail. She’d never had to face an election before, as she’d been appointed to fill out her father’s term. That is, she had been until a former deputy of her father’s had butted in and insisted on a special election.

I said I’ll look into it, Mr. Upsal, and I will. Okerlunds don’t lie. Technically, she was a Mehaffey, the name of her now-deceased husband, Patrick. But she was an Okerlund born and bred.

At the longtime Eda County name, Upsal grunted. You gonna have Detective Okerlund look into it?

Marek Okerlund was her half-time detective and half-uncle, to boot. Big boots, at that. If needed. We’ll go talk to the technician. She looked down at her blood-speckled uniform. Then I have to go change and get to the opening of the recycling center by nine o’clock.

Surprisingly, the man nodded. Good. You’ll find that crazy birder there. I told the woman who runs the place, Alyson Linderman, to fire him. She’s been one of our biggest backers in this project, but she said it’s a free country. Peaceful protest is a right. He stabbed upward at what was now only the memory of an outrage. That ain’t peaceful.

It could have been worse, Mr. Upsal. Much worse. Karen beckoned Adam, who gave her the fingerprint kit. She stuffed it into her Suburban and drove over to the new construction site through deep rain-filled ruts as Adam’s squad car fishtailed behind her.

A curly-headed blonde, standing hipshot with a harness dangling from her slight frame, didn’t even blink as Karen stopped her vehicle inches from her kneecaps.

When Karen got out, the woman rolled up on the balls of her feet, perhaps an instinctive compensation, given there was nearly a foot in height difference between the two. You’re the sheriff? Cool. I like to see a woman climb high. But I gotta say, it looks like some munchkin with a BB gun tried to shoot you down. What’s up?

Karen glanced up at the as-yet-uncompleted turbine—its blades were still. Strangely, she heard the swooshing noise of the first turbine when she hadn’t when right underneath it. Sound carried, she guessed. You, apparently. How’d a—

Nice young woman like me get into a job like this? You disappoint me, Sheriff. Same as you, I imagine. I went for it. Hard. Weathered the doubts, the insults, the innuendos, speaking of which… She gave Adam a dressing down—in a manner of speaking. Hi, there, handsome.

Adam lifted his cap slightly. Ma’am. May I have the gift of your name?

A quick flash of smile lit her face, full of energy and fun. Wendy DeGraff aka Windy Wendy in the biz. What have I done to merit getting double teamed? I swear I paid that speeding ticket. Or was it two? Sorry. I lose track.

Karen stuck her tongue in her cheek to keep from grinning back. You from around here?

Windy Wendy spread her arms wide. I’m from nowhere and everywhere. She pointed at the camper van that looked as if it had been pumped up on steroids, with big wheels that were likely four-wheel drive, given the clearance from the ground. I live in Bright Betty there. And, yeah, the tags are from South Dakota. But you only need to stay one night in your fair state to get residency. And, hey, no state taxes, so I guess, yeah, I’m from around here. Originally, though? A dot on the map called Montevallo in Missouri.

You didn’t get fired, did you? Karen asked abruptly.

Windy Wendy looked puzzled. Fired up? I don’t have much of a temper, but…oh, I see. Terminated? No, why should I? I do good work. I work for myself, so my reputation is my bread and butter. Has someone said otherwise? Filed a complaint? Despite her claim, her ears had turned red, no doubt from steam. Tell me who, and I’ll set them straight.

Whoa, hold your horses, Adam said. No one filed a complaint.

He glanced back at Karen for the next cue. She’d been learning from Marek not to lead the witness. One day it might become second nature, assuming she won the election. Did you partake in any extracurricular activities early this morning, say at five a.m.?

Yep, I did.

Well, that was easy—and Upsal was wrong.

Then the technician’s lips twitched. I was entwined with an energetic young man by the name of Wayne that I picked up—or, really, he picked me up—at a bar called The Shaft near a quarry outside of town. He told me he was legal. Wasn’t he?

Karen held out a slim hope the energetic Wayne wasn’t who she was thinking of.

And he’s baaaack! Adam announced. I saw Wayne Gotsch a couple nights ago, Karen. He gave me the finger.

Windy Wendy tilted her head. Did I just miss something? Is he wanted?

Wayne wasn’t wanted in her county. Period. She’d thought he was away at some military academy, getting whipped into shape—preferably with a cat-o’-nine-tails after the things he’d pulled during her short tenure as sheriff.

Karen pursed her lips. So you didn’t spend the early morning hours throwing blood all over the blades of your first turbine?

Windy Wendy goggled at her. Why would I do that? Wow. Whose blood?

A cow’s, most likely. Blood’s gone now, given the rain shower. Don Upsal called me.

He’s been like a kid in a candy store, the technician said. Always asking questions, hanging around, but it’s kind of neat to have a fan. More and more people are protesting, mostly about noise pollution. That’s why it’s better to place them at least a mile from habitation like these babies, because some people are sensitive to the sound, especially at night. The project got delayed twice and the plans redone just to accommodate the protesters. That bird lover, though, wouldn’t be satisfied no matter what—the blood of thousands of our avian brethren on our hands, he said. She rolled her eyes. As if Mother Nature weren’t already ‘red in tooth and claw.’

Adam was looking at the technician’s harness—or Karen hoped that was what he was looking at. What kind of climbing equipment do you need to get up one of those turbines? I mean, there’s nothing to hang on to.

She laughed, a surprisingly throaty sound from someone so slight. You’re thinking we scale these things like Half Dome at Yosemite? Hate to break it to you, but it’s easier than that. She disappeared around the base, and they followed. Voilà.

Karen followed the woman’s finger. Barely discernible was a door inset into the base.

Yes, we use harnesses on the ladders. But someone could’ve done it without. Stupid, but possible. And up there? Wow. If they didn’t know what they were doing, didn’t have a safety lanyard, then a good gust could’ve sent them over and down—and done. We’re talking two hundred forty feet. You find the guy, tell him he’s got a future as a wind technician. No, wait. It takes guts, but we don’t want stupid. Forget that.

She flipped open a small panel, showing them the padlock with the company name. Win-Ergy Like synergy. Wind energy. She took a key from her pocket and let them into the cramped base, where she put her hand on a vertical metal ladder that disappeared up into the darkness.

Adam shuddered. You couldn’t get me up there with a cattle prod.

Your loss, she said. When I’m up there, I’m a giant on the earth. Me. A giant.

Fee-fi-fo-fum, Adam started again but managed a good abashed expression when Karen glared at him.

The woman just laughed. I can get up those ladders quicker, stay longer, so I don’t care what the bigger guys say. Few of them can keep up with me. When I’m up there, all the bullshit, the ribbing, the state of the world, everything, it’s down there in the dirt. Up there, it’s not quiet… but it’s peaceful, in an exhilarating way. Like I am a god. I know, that sounds blasphemous, but I like to think I’m doing my bit to save the earth. Karen supposed that, while she herself was trying to save people rather than the earth, their aims weren’t all that far off. She wondered if Windy Wendy ever felt as if she were tilting at windmills in what often seemed a losing battle.

After taking their leave, Karen and Adam drove back to the first turbine. Knowing what to look for, Karen found the door—and was greeted by a gleaming new padlock, complete with key. It wasn’t the same kind as the one Windy Wendy had shown them, nor did it have the company name on it. Looks like our graffiti artist cut off the old one and put a new one in its place.

No harm, no foul, Adam intoned. If Upsal wasn’t so steamed about it, it would be case closed. Maybe he’ll cool off and let it go.

One can only wish. As they turned back to their vehicles, Karen caught her deputy yawning. Go home, Adam, and get your beauty sleep.

He batted his eyelashes at her. I can’t get more beautiful. But he hopped into his squad car, and she was left to eat his dust—gravel dust that hung in the air like a gritty ghost.

Holding her breath, she slipped into her vehicle and drove off toward Reunion. She would be cutting it close, but it wasn’t like she was facing a traffic jam or anything. She could make it. A few miles later, she stopped at the junction heading east, waited for a fertilizer spreader to cross the road, and shifted her foot to the gas. Nothing happened—until the vehicle coughed and sputtered. Then with a long, steamy sigh that misted her windshield, it died.

And she’d just sent her backup off to bed. Great, just great. She thumbed her police radio. Sheriff Mehaffey here, Tammy. I need a tow truck and a deputy ASAP.

Accident? her day-jailer/dispatcher asked. Do you need an ambulance?

Karen grimaced. No, I don’t want to resuscitate the da—darn thing, I want to scrap it.

Tammy’s booming laugh came over the airwaves. Give the Sub some water, Sheriff. That should perk it right up.

The previous summer, her Suburban had miraculously survived a levee break, and it had been known from then on as the Sub.

Who do you want me to pull from traffic control and chauffeur duty? Tammy asked.

Karen sighed, wondering if steam was pouring out of her, as well. It was typical August hot, even this early, with a haze on the road, wavering like a mirage. Is anybody in the office?

Marek just dropped off a dictated report for Josephine to type up. I think she’s still bending his ear. The bellow up the stairs made Karen wince. Anybody who was listening—and she knew one would be her dad and the other the local on-air newshound—just had their eardrums shattered. Yeah, he’s still here.

Send him out. She rattled off the location. Oh, and tell him to grab a new uniform for me from my locker. And give him the green light for red lights.

Why would… oh, that’s right, you’re supposed to give the welcoming speech for our visiting dignitaries, what with the mayor laid up with a broken leg.

Normally, Karen wouldn’t have taken on such a responsibility, but on a shoestring budget and little time, it was an opportunity to be seen and to glad-hand the crowd. Now she wished she hadn’t accepted. Blood spattered and bedraggled, she wasn’t ready for a presentation. Her father was right—a sheriff in a county like theirs, with no town police forces at all, should be appointed like a chief of police, not elected.

CHAPTER 3

Feeling more than a bit foolish, as the empty two-lane road wasn’t the crowded streets of Albuquerque where flashing lights and sirens would have been more appropriate, Detective Marek Okerlund barreled toward the endless horizon to the west of Reunion. The wind turbines ahead looked like nothing more than part of a giant’s cheerful flower garden. He should have felt right at home, then, given that he towered over even most Dakotans, who tended to spring high from the plains, with no tree cover to stunt them.

Case in point: the six-foot-one woman pacing the shoulder of the road. When he pulled in beside the Sub, she leapt into the cab as if he were the getaway driver in a jewel heist. Forget the Sub, Karen told him. Myron Gotsch will come get it. Go.

He backed out onto the highway and took off. But he risked a glance at her spattered uniform. Get caught in a paintball fight?

She scowled down. Blood.

He frowned. Whose?

Undetermined, likely cow. Someone scaled the first functioning wind turbine and dumped blood on it. She looked into the back of the cab. Good, you brought my clean uniform. She took it off the hook then stilled. Um, okay, this is awkward. Finally, she scrambled into the back of the cab. No peeking. And, yeah, I know I’m breaking seatbelt and probably indecency laws—though there’s no public to outrage out here. Mooning the populace probably isn’t the way to win an election.

He wasn’t so sure of that. But he kept his eyes front and center. At least until the profanities floated up. He had to bite his lip.

"Stop laughing up there, Marek. Dang it, this is worse than dressing in a pup tent in basic training. What are these… hairs? Don’t tell me you let Gunny in this cab."

He took the Fifth and remained silent.

Well? she asked as he heard the sounds of furious brushing.

You told me not to tell you.

She blipped the back of his head as she slid back into the passenger seat.

He rubbed his head as they approached Reunion. Though she was four years older, he was her half-uncle. Once she’d accepted him as family after his two-decade absence from Eda County, she had started treating him like a kid brother. Truth to tell, he didn’t mind. Much.

Becca doesn’t want Gunny in the back in case of an accident. His daughter had remained silent for a very long stretch after her mother’s death. But she was making up for lost time. And she’d taken to the field-bred spaniel, officially Gun Shy on his AKC papers, like a… well, a dog to water. I tried to tell her that he’d be safer in the truck bed. In the cab, he’d go through the windshield. Now she wants me to make him a seatbelt.

Karen just smiled. You’re handy with tools.

I’m a carpenter, not an auto safety expert. We can’t even protect people that well.

Her smile vanished. They’d both seen too much evidence of that. For Marek, it was personal. After a drunk driver had killed his wife, he’d moved from Albuquerque back to the hometown he’d sworn he would never return to.

As he reached Main Street, he slowed. People were milling about the sidewalk and the street or hanging out in the few businesses that weren’t boarded up. The gleaming recycling center built on the foundation of the old drugstore had been partly Marek’s work, though he’d mostly just knocked down walls instead of building them. The whole interior was visible through the front windows. After an underhanded attempt to bury hazardous waste above an aquifer, transparency had been a primary focus of the PR campaign to bring the high-tech electronics recycling work to Reunion. Not that there’d been much opposition, given that the town was desperate for decent jobs.

Get as close as you can, Karen told him as he nudged through the crowd. People parted with good-natured waves—not of the middle-finger variety, either. It was a festive atmosphere, and the rain had come and gone, leaving the air fresh and cool, a rare happening on an August morning that would normally be sizzling.

Eda County had been hungry for a little fresh air and some good news. And with the impetus of a high school group called the Dream Team and the financial backing of a former resident, it was starting to happen. Local businesses had gotten a surge of revenue from local consumers who’d vowed to spend more in town. Sig Halvorsen had reopened his small organic meatpacking plant and rehired many of his old workers. The community had agreed, in principle, to start a grocery co-op. The Café had even repainted its weathered sign. Although rural Dakotans always hedged their bets with an eye to a capricious sky, people looked cautiously hopeful.

Marek caught the flash of cop lights behind him. Karen turned in the seat. That’s Walrus, bringing David Veldsma from the airport. Thank God I’m not late. Heck, it even looks like it was planned, us leading the way. Just wish that the Sub had held out until after the festivities.

For once, the crowd wasn’t dominated by gray heads. The hiring for the recycling center had brought in young people—or kept some who would’ve otherwise left, as many had, for brighter lights.

Marek stopped in front of the scrupulously erect and correct deputy assigned to keep the peace—and to keep the seats for the visiting dignitaries. Kurt Bechtold, the oldest deputy on the roster, waited until Karen got out and gave him the okay before he allowed Marek to park in one of the cordoned-off spots near the recycling center.

Karen might prefer spic-and-span from her Army days, but Kurt took it to a different level. When Marek got out, Kurt’s hatchet face bobbed slightly in greeting. Wasn’t expecting you, the deputy said. Sheriff explained the circumstances. She needs a new vehicle.

Marek couldn’t argue with that. A sheriff needed to be able to respond in a hurry. He turned to watch the parade of official vehicles arrive.

Though the squad cars had been scrubbed to within a millimeter of their long lives, Marek suspected the people who emerged as Kurt held the door were more accustomed to Cadillacs. The first to get out, David Veldsma, ex-Eda County resident and CEO of Veldspar E-Solutions, had spearheaded the recycling center. Karen went over to talk to him.

Next, Marek watched an impeccably dressed older couple, perhaps in their late sixties or early seventies, step out of Bork’s squad car.

A bright-red streak caught his eye. A girl, maybe fourteen or so, rushed over to the older couple. But that didn’t enlighten him as to their identities—or hers, for that matter. But as he had been gone from Eda County for two decades, he was still out of the loop about many of the younger generations. Of course, he’d had reason to meet a few of them in less-than-desirable circumstances—like Wayne Gotsch. Marek saw him skulking at the edges, sneering at the festivities but apparently unable to stay away.

As he turned again, Marek caught a