Pointing Leaf Read online

  Published by Evernight Publishing at Smashwords

  http://www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2012 Lynde Lakes

  ISBN: 978-1-927368-55-8

  Cover Artist: LF Designs

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To the three strong women who influenced my life: Mae Thurman, Sara Rice and Winona Prette. And to those who worked to bring this intriguing novel to you: My publisher, Stacey Adderley of EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING, the acquisitions manager Marie Buttineau & my editor, Karyn White, and my cover artist, Dara England.

  POINTING LEAF

  Lynde Lakes

  Copyright © 2012

  Chapter One

  “Damn kohuru! kaias!” Radford Manawa-Nui Murdoch shouted to the moaning wind. Murdering rustlers on his sacred land! He closed his eyes, trying to cool down. Damn. Damn. Damn. October had brought a cool New Zealand springtime and deadly trouble to his North Island sheep station. Fighting a perplexing foreboding of worse to come, Rad turned away from the roadway to finish raking the short, musty grass of puriri tree scatterings. He raked the last of the leaves into a pile and bent to gather them. The low growl of his New Zealand sheep dog sent a shot of adrenaline through him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dog bristle and rise. Then like the crack of a whip, Rad noticed her. A pakeha, a foreigner, with a face as white as alabaster, flawless except for a sprinkle of freckles across her nose.

  The dog started toward her. Wide-eyed, she stepped back.

  “Stay, Hero,” Rad said. “What the hell do you want?” He tightened his grip on the rake. He didn’t like being caught off guard, especially now that his friend and loyal sheepherder, Rutene, had been murdered.

  The woman stomped on a stray leaf with her high-heeled boot, then picked it up and added it to the pile in his arms, pointing the tip toward his heart. Startled by the hostile omen, he studied her. The auburn-haired pakeha’s lips turned upward in a smile, but her cool green eyes challenged him. Her combative expression and the threatening angle of the leaf made him think of a ritual once practiced by his tupuna’s tribe. In his grandmother’s culture it was common to cast a leaf to find out if the visitor came in peace or war. The tilt of this woman’s head, the aggressive way she held her chin and the leaf she pointed at his heart warned she came in war.

  For him ancient rituals and old beliefs died hard, if ever. His latent Maori instincts sharpened, and he tensed for battle. Then a comical urge hit him, the urge to stick out his tongue and make an ugly face as his tupuna’s people had done to scare off the unwelcome. A moment later, the English part of him thought better of it. Still, he tried for his sternest, most intimidating expression. By the direct way the woman scraped her gaze over him, he suspected she wouldn’t be easily frightened away by anything he did. He felt the air grow heavy with tension as they assessed each other.

  “Mr. Murdoch?” Her velvety voice captivated him. That, too, was a warning that compelled quick action. Rad glanced past her to the entry gate. What the hell! A large suitcase and an overnighter stood in the center of the brick walkway.

  “You’re trespassing!”

  “I’m T. J. Conners.” She extended her hand.

  Rad ignored it. He felt as if a Dorset horned sheep had butted him in the stomach. “Impossible. There’s been a mistake.”

  “No mistake.” As she shook her head, her loose auburn hair brushed her shoulders. “I’m the detective you hired.”

  “Hired, now fired. Keep the deposit for your trouble.” Rad turned his back on her and walked toward a mulch can. He heard the tapping of her high heeled boots on the brick walkway, a fainter echo of the heavy tromp of his own gum boots. Pretending to ignore his feminine shadow, he dumped the leaves into the can.

  “Why?” Her demanding tone and spunk beguiled him to turn and meet her gaze. Sunlight glinted in her eyes, creating the illusion of sparks.

  For a reason he couldn’t understand, he enjoyed towering over her, and the irrational feeling unnerved him. “To be blunt, I expected T. J. Conners to be a man.”

  “People usually do. But from the information you gave to my assistant, you need brains and experience, not brawn.” She looked him up and down. “Besides, it seems you’ve got the brawn covered.”

  He swallowed an urge to laugh. She had a quick wit, and he’d never seen eyes so green before. The intensity in them sent off a new set of warning signals in his brain that this woman possessed a quality dangerous to him. “This won’t work, Mrs. Conners.”

  “It’s Miss. You need help now. Right? Another agency mightn’t have been able to schedule this as quickly as I did.” Her calmly spoken words had the bite of a sprung bear trap. “I had to shift several jobs to take on this assignment.”

  Rad winced inwardly. She was right. He’d called all the island agencies before calling hers. None were available. He both resented and admired her persistence. “Why do you want this job so much?”

  “I’ve reason to believe it ties in with one of my other cases.”

  “Motivation. At least you have that in your favor.”

  “I’m also tenacious. And a meticulous researcher.” She smiled and extended her hand again.

  Again, he ignored it. Which was perhaps unwise and certainly rude. But damn it, he felt himself weakening.

  He had to think this through. On the plus side, Rutene’s murder required he take immediate action. A good researcher was essential. His gut knotted. On the minus side, she was a woman. A pakeha woman to boot. Still, he needed a detective now.

  He stared at her extended hand, hating the sinking feeling that he’d made a decision that would change his life. He hoped this slender wisp of a woman was as good at her job as she said. If she wasn’t, he’d lose his station, and perhaps more lives would be lost. “Okay, Miss Conners, you have the job.”

  Showing great persistance and determination, she continued to hold out her hand.

  Forcing a token politeness, he grasped it. His breath caught. Her hand was so soft and small that for a moment he was reluctant to shake on the deal. When he did, he found her grip stronger than anticipated. “Don’t expect comforts out here. My station is set up to raise sheep not entertain guests.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not the satin-sheets type.”

  Before he could steel his mind against it, a vision caught him off-guard. She lay stretched deliciously across gold satin sheets, her lips moist, her auburn hair tousled provocatively. He clenched his jaw. It’ll be hell sharing my house with this unsettling woman.

  “You’ll hardly notice I’m around,” she said in a soft purr. “I’ll make my stay here as painless on you as possible.”

  Sure, as painless as walking on hot coals.

  “Come on then.” He didn’t try to hide his gruff tone. “Let’s get you settled, so you can get started.”

  Rad reached for her suitcase at the same time she did, and their hands brushed. A jolt of static electricity shot through him. For an instant they stared into each other’s eyes. Her rose perfume wafted around him. “I’ll get this,” he said, irritated at the surge of heat in his groin and the tightening of his jeans fly.

  “I’m perfectly capable—”

  “I said I’ll get it! And you’d better be capable.” Lives depend upon it.


  ****

  Toni followed Murdoch across the yard to a side door, jogging to keep up. He led her through the large modern kitchen, his steps so fast all she had time to notice was a microwave oven over the stove, some shiny brass kettles hanging nearby, and pots of ferns on the window sill above the sink.

  They passed through an entry hall. It was painted white and trimmed with wainscot. A staircase with dark, wooden hand-turned banisters led up on the left. On the stanchion at the foot of the staircase was a hand-carved wood statue of a Maori warrior. To the right, partly-open thick oak doors with native designs etched deeply into the surface revealed a big living room with a rock fireplace.

  Without slowing down, Murdoch led her into another wing of the house. Although the home looked newly constructed, the furnishings had a distinctly primitive quality. Much like its macho owner.

  “This is it,” he said, placing her overnighter and suitcase inside the bedroom.

  Instead of inspecting the room, Toni studied him. The bridge of his narrow nose was slightly sunburned. Tiny laugh lines at the corners of his slender, well-shaped mouth showed he wasn’t always a grouch. Murdoch’s features were European, but with his raven hair pulled back in a thick, shiny rope that hung to his waist he looked more like a savage. He behaved a bit like one, too. There was something else, something mysterious behind those troubled brown eyes.

  Toni fought not to dissolve under his burning scrutiny. Her emotions scuffled in a tug-of-war as she battled an unexpected attraction to him. She swallowed. His gaze never left her face, and though she fought a warming in her cheeks and moisture in her core she refused to look away. For a sheep rancher, he was younger than she’d expected; late thirties, she guessed. His white T-shirt stretched across an impressive chest and emphasized a tan gained by working out-of-doors in the sun.

  “Make yourself at home,” he said. “Tukaha will be in later to see if you need anything.”

  She assumed Tukaha was Murdoch’s servant, but she didn’t get the chance to ask. Murdoch turned and left the room, as if he couldn’t get away from her fast enough.

  “Thanks.” Her words echoed down the hall and seemed to speed his retreating steps.

  Toni glanced around the immense bedroom. Window coverings and the bed spread had intricate Polynesian patterns woven into the beige fabric. Its designs of burgundy and light beige triangles formed a chain of pyramids and diamonds. A large Maori hand-braided rug partially covered the ceramic-tile floor. A tapestry of a hunting scene hung on the wall. The heavily constructed dresser, bureau, desk, bed headboard, and two chairs, exhibited hand carved wood with the same sort of designs as those etched into the entry doors. She ran her hand over the bed’s headboard and marveled at the intricacy of the work. To her surprise, the masculine decor wrapped around her like a heated blanket on a stormy night, reminding her of a hunting lodge where she and her dad had stayed to celebrate her fifteenth birthday. It was the year she’d found out how much they were alike. They both loved adventure, and neither of them could shoot a deer. Even now, fourteen years later, the memories still gave her a warm feeling.

  She sighed and pushed down on the bed to test the mattress. It was firm, the way she liked it. This room would do nicely. But it remained to be seen if she’d survive dealing with Murdoch.

  ****

  Rad quickly escaped the hot-curvy little detective and returned to his raking, mostly to cool down and cool off. She didn’t fit here. Only focusing on who he was and what he needed would get him through this. He leaned on his rake and scanned the green, rolling hills in the distance. His gaze followed the vibrant pink line of blooming cherry trees that bordered the trail winding from the back of his ranch house toward the pasture land. He breathed in the smell of sheep and rich dirt, and his heart swelled with love. Lying between Rotorua and Taupo, the property had the richest asset of the country: space. He could go for miles and never see anyone. And he liked it that way.

  For a moment, he imagined the morning breeze whispered warning chants from ancestors who had once roamed the land, and he felt a calm settle over him. Then his thoughts boomeranged to the pakeha again, and he threw down the rake and headed for the dog kennel to put a greater distance between him and the bedroom where she might be changing clothes. Was her skin milky-white all over, and was it as soft as her hands? He picked up his pace like devils were on his heels, knowing the desperate escape was only to evade his thoughts of the invading and luscious pakeha.

  ****

  Toni lifted her suitcase onto the bed and unpacked. She removed her traveling ensemble of sleuth equipment, which had taken up most of the space in her suitcase, and tucked everything into the deep bottom drawer. After installing a portable lock, she turned the key and secured her basic tools of the trade from prying eyes. Anyone who really wanted to snoop could easily break the lock. But she’d know if they did. Like her dad had always said, “Locks won’t keep out the bad guys, but it helps to keep good men honest.”

  With the equipment secure, Toni began to unpack her clothes. Her thoughts returned to her reluctant host. The more she thought about it, the more Murdoch’s attitude irked her. To think, after she’d rearranged all of her appointments to take this case, he wanted to change his mind and send her away, just because she was a woman. Blasted chauvinist!

  She yanked her clothes out faster, no longer putting them in neat piles. Working with a disgruntled client would be hell. She stuffed her sweaters into the vanity drawer, then glanced into the mirror. Keep an emotional distance, Detective. Solve the case, and get out.

  Suddenly the drapes billowed from a gust of wind. As Toni hurried to close the window against the chill, she saw Murdoch outside in the distance with his dogs. When he gave a whistle command, one of the dogs wrapped a rope around a pole while the others sat at attention. Her host seemed to be teaching the dog to tie a knot in the line. Just keep them away from me. She rubbed her arms and shivered, remembering the Doberman’s sharp teeth and killer snarl. The attack had been years ago, but the fear remained. She touched the small scar just above her eyebrow.

  Eager to look around and talk to some of the station hands before the morning slipped away, Toni shoved the rest of her things into a drawer and grabbed her jacket.

  As she headed across the grounds, Murdoch continued to work with five of his dogs. She waved, but he didn’t look up.

  His gentle tone and the way he handled the dogs proved he loved them. Hmmm. What a surprise. Perhaps I can tolerate him after all. Or did he only have the capacity to reveal love to animals? When he stooped to hug the largest dog for his accomplishment, Murdoch’s jeans smoothed tight over his buttocks. Ranch work certainly kept him firm and trim. She didn’t want him to catch her staring, so she forced herself to look away.

  In the distance a stockman and two more of Rad’s dogs mustered several hundred sheep from the hills toward the shearing barn. The header dog silently gathered and directed the sheep, while another barked and directed the plaintively bleating sheep into a series of pens. She paused, fascinated by the dogs’ quickness, cooperation and keenness.

  As Toni neared the shearing barn, the buzzing noise-level increased. She entered into a scene of feverish activity. The pungent odor of sheep overwhelmed her. She pressed her finger hard against her septum to keep from sneezing.

  Most of the workers were dark skinned, possibly of Maori descent. Ten power-operated shearing stations buzzed with activity. The shearer nearest to the entrance got a quick hammer-hold on a sheep weighing at least three hundred pounds. The man’s shirtless, well-muscled, upper body glistened with sweat. He dragged the sheep butt down to his station and smoothly, unceasingly moved his electric shear-head razor back and forth over its body, legs, head, rotating the sheep in a nonstop motion. He kept the animal immobilized by a series of wrestling holds. In less than five minutes the sheep was nude and pushed down a chute.

  She shook her head. The shearer had the strength of a weight-lifter, the endurance of the marathon runner
, and the skill of a surgeon. She felt a new admiration for the work her client did. Now she knew how he’d developed his muscled arms, wide shoulders and broad chest. From what she’d learned when she had run a check on him, Murdoch was the top shearer in the business. It would be amusing to see him in action.

  Besides the shearers, younger men swept the floor of the odds and ends of wool, and older men sorted wool on tables and fed the various grades into proper bales. Others kept the sheep flowing into and out of pens. With such a synchronized operation, it would be difficult to find someone free to talk.

  Suddenly a bell rang, and everyone stopped working. Men pushed past her while she tried to get out of their way.

  “Woman no allowed in here,” an old, wrinkle-faced man grumbled. “And no walk in senseless circles.”

  Toni had no idea what he meant by senseless circles, but she stepped to the side to let him pass.

  A young, wiry, dark skinned man of about seventeen grasped her arm and led her outside. “Don’t pay any attention to Grumpy. It’s nice to see new scenery once in awhile.”

  “Thanks,” Toni said, grateful for a friendly face.

  “I’m Kama,” he said, offering his hand.

  She shook it and smiled. “I’m Toni. Do you have a minute to talk, Kama?”

  His brown eyes lit up. “Sure, wait over by the fence, and I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  Ahead, a queue of men had formed at a snack wagon. Others, who had their scones and tea, sat on the ground shoving big bites of the coarse sweetbread into their mouths and washing it down with gulps of tea. Toni shifted her weight from one foot to the other under the assault of the men’s stares and unsmiling faces. They seemed as hostile as Murdoch.

  Kama got in line. It moved fast, and soon he and another young man came back with tea and scones on a tin tray. Kama smiled and handed her a steaming cup of tea and a scone heaped with whipped butter and kiwi jelly.

  “This is my brother, Maka,” he said as they all sat down in the morning shadow of the wooden fence.