I finally finished my very rough draft of my crime fiction novel Dead Truth.
A Spunky Female Investigative Reporter sets out to investigate a mysterious cult leader and missing followers... San Francisco Bay Area, Arizona, New Mexico, Eastern Oregon... a prison visit and interview... colorful support characters... what more could you want?
While the trio discussed and compared their information Shelby informed Poppy that he and Kathy had invited a friend over, “He's an excellent tracker of missing persons and we plan to take him and you out to visit the site where the student’s decomposed body was found.”
“That's sounds fine,” Poppy agreed.
“The State Police conducted the initial investigation and determined that the man was most likely killed by wild animals,” commented Shelby, “but we are wondering if this animal intervention was actually a result of this student’s body being dumped in the desert.”
Kathy added, “That’s why we took the liberty to ask our tracker friend to come by this morning. With him and you at the site, Miss Fields, we may be able to determine if something is out of the ordinary.”
“This fellow is a missing person tracker?” inquired the curious reporter.
“Not exactly,” replied Kathy, “You'll see.”
The distinguishable sound of a Jeep could be heard outside as it drove into the driveway. A knock at the door quickly followed.
“Come on in,” shouted Shelby.
The door opened and a picturesque chiseled-in-stone type of a man entered the room.
Kathy proceeded with a formal introduction, “This is our friend, Nah-kah-yen, which is an ancient Apache name meaning ‘the keen-sighted one’.”
Poppy suddenly felt the nervousness of a young school girl at the sight of this tall, handsome strong male whose ancestral pedigree went back to the brave, fearless and relentless original adventurous settlers of what we now call the Americas. The man was wearing buckskin pants with a matching vest over his shirtless, and very muscular, upper body. He carried what appeared to be a long-bladed knife discretely tucked inside the top of his right moccasin boot. His long straight black hair hung down to almost waist level and was adorned with multiple hand forged silver plates. The largest one, five inches in diameter, was located just below the base of his skull. It was followed in succession by six others, each in diminishing sizes down to a one-inch plate just above the end of his flowing mantle of hair. Around his neck lay a delicate, but manly, turquoise necklace with a small bone cross hanging in its center.
Poppy jumped up to introduce herself and in a flustered voice said, “Hello, I’m Poppy, Poppy Fields.”
“I can see that,” replied Nah-kah-yen, as he examined her with the piercing eyes of a hawk. “You have the appearance of a red-orange field of poppies gently flowing in the warm summer breeze. Your green eyes are like the cool, deep waters of a mountain stream and you possess an underlying hidden quality, an aura like the fragrance of a delicate flower that one must be close to in order to appreciate its uniqueness.”
Being somewhat overwhelmed by the magical presence of this man, Poppy was not quite sure how to respond, but finally spurted out, “Thank you.” Poppy sat down quickly in her chair before being tempted to say something else she might regret. 'After all,' she thought, 'a good journalist knows when to stop talking.'