Calling the Dead

Deputy Tempe Crabtree investigates a muder that looks like death from natural causes and a suicide that looks like murder. Putting her job on the line, she investigates the murder on her own time and without permission from her superiors. Jeopardizing her marriage to a Christian pastor, she uses Native American ways to call back the dead to learn the truth.

Chapter 1

The blaring jangle of the phone awakened Tempe Crabtree from a sound sleep. She squinted at her clock radio, 2:36 a.m. Only two hours ago her shift as resident deputy sheriff had officially ended but, as happened often on weekends, she'd been kept busy until one. The only deputy assigned to the Bear Creek area, a small town in the southern end of the Sierra mountain range that ran the length of eastern California, she was accustomed to being awakened by the phone.
She picked up the receiver on the second ring. Her husband, Hutch, lying beside her, stirred. Speaking softly, she said, “Deputy Crabtree here.”
The voice at the other end was female and hysterical. “Please, I need to talk to Pastor Hutchinson.”
Surprised, Tempe said, “Of course.” Tempe covered the mouthpiece. With her other hand she gently shook Hutch's bare shoulder. “ Sweetheart, wake up. A phone call for you.”
Reaching for the receiver, Hutch pushed himself to a sitting position. “Who is it?” he whispered.
Tempe shrugged. Though mildly curious, she snuggled under the covers hoping to fall back to sleep, but she could hear the woman's shrill voice coming from the receiver as it rose and fell.
Hutch asked, “Please, who is calling?” He was quiet for a moment. “Try to be calm. Tell me again slowly.”
After listening for a few moments more, he asked, “Have you called 911? Do that as soon as you hang up. Don't worry, Felicity, I'll come right away.” He reached over Tempe and replaced the receiver.
Now wide awake, Tempe asked, “What’s going on?”
“Felicity Pence. Arthur has had some kind of attack.” Hutch swung his legs out of bed and began dressing.
Tempe threw back the covers. “I'll go with you.”
“That's not necessary, honey.” His shirt still unbuttoned, Hutch headed for the bathroom.
“I'd like to come.”
Felicity was a faithful member of the volunteer sheriff patrol. Recently organized, the patrol served as extra eyes and ears in the community. So far it had proved helpful and time-saving to Tempe, as the trained citizens performed simple but necessary duties.
Since she wouldn't be on official business, Tempe decided not to wear her uniform. Instead, she donned jeans and a sweatshirt, slipping her feet into tennis shoes. Joining Hutch in the bathroom, she splashed her face with cold water. To save time, she brushed out her single braid and fastened her straight black hair at the back of her neck with a silver barrette. The heritage of her Native American grandmother was apparent in her golden skin, pronounced cheek bones, and the almond shape of her blue eyes.
What's wrong with Arthur? Tempe asked Hutch's reflection in the mirror beside her own. He ran a damp comb through his thick auburn hair as she put on lipstick.
Between you and me, I'd guess cancer, but I don't think it's been diagnosed. He's been complaining of stomach problems for a long time. Are you ready?
As they started down the hall, Tempe wasn't surprised to see the light on in her son's room. The eighteen-year-old senior was a volunteer fireman. After graduation, Blair planned to go to the university at San Luis Obispo and major in fire science. Through a mother-son agreement, he wasn't supposed to respond to emergency calls on school nights, though he rarely turned off his scanner.
By the time they reached the kitchen, Blair was behind them already wearing his turn-out gear, settling his helmet on his tousled corn-silk hair. Who is it? he asked. Heard the call on my scanner but don't recognize the address.
Felicity Pence, one of my church members, Hutch said opening the back door. She thinks her husband has had an attack of some kind.
Tempe stepped out into the cool predawn. Hutch waited for Blair before following them both.
I'll take my Bug. Blair headed for his yellow Volkswagen.
Let's go in the Blazer, Tempe said.
Surprisingly, Hutch agreed. When Tempe wasn't on duty, he usually preferred driving his old blue-and-white Ford truck. Yes, it'll be faster. Felicity was frantic. The sooner we get there the better.
Felicity Pence and her husband, Arthur, were fairly new to the mountain community. Because property in Bear Creek was far less expensive than in Southern California, it had become a popular choice of retirees. In her forties, Felicity was at least twenty years younger than her spouse. Because of Felicity's membership in the volunteer patrol, Tempe was better acquainted with her. Both the Spences attended Bear Creek Chapel regularly. Next to the fashionable and flamboyant Felicity, Arthur seemed colorless and dull.
A curving lane lined with slender evergreens led to a Spanish-style home, white stucco and red tile roof, nestled against the hillside. Lights blazed from the uncurtained windows.
Tempe parked the Blazer. As she and Hutch stepped out of her official vehicle, Blair pulled in behind it. Red lights flashing, the fire department's emergency truck lumbered in, p