by Cindy Brown
Chance was a fine melodrama actor, his hero strong-voiced and straight-backed, his villain a tight ball of miserly meanness. I was having fun too, sashaying across the stage as bad girl Fannie, and perfecting the art of lip trembling and eyelash fluttering as Rose.
We wrapped up after two and a half hours, which was good because I’d also drunk two and half bottles of water. I sprinted to the restroom. Instead of filling my water bottle, I flipped up the toilet lid. Yellow “do not cross” tape stretched across the toilet bowl. A sign taped to the inside of the lid said, “Temporarily out of order.” Dang.
I rushed out of the bathroom, or tried to. Hard to rush when you’re keeping your knees together. “Where’s the nearest bathroom?” I said to Billie, who was following Chance out the front doors.
“Guess they’re still working on connecting this bathroom to the septic system. But everything else is locked up tight right now.” Billie held open the door, a slice of harsh sunlight across her face. “I live down the road about fifteen minutes, if you want a lift.”
“Thanks, but…” I meant to say there was no way I’d make it in fifteen minutes and didn’t want to pee on her car seat, but I was distracted by the way the light illuminated Billie’s face—and the black eye she’d tried to cover up.
Chapter 16
I hated peeing outdoors. First of all, there was the whole thing of trying to keep your underwear pee-free. Then you had to make sure you were on a slope so everything ran downhill. Peeing outdoors in the desert was worse. Not much you could use for cover except scrawny bushes, which were usually covered in thorns. Yep, the only thing worse than peeing outdoors in the desert was being caught with your pants down. By a stranger. Midstream.
“Hey there, Missie,” said a gravelly tenor voice attached to a pair of feet clad in new hiking boots. “Didn’t see you crouching there in the bushes. Almost fell right over you.”
So much for the pee-free underwear.
The boots turned around, facing away from me. “But don’t worry, didn’t see anything except the top of your head, and I’m not lookin’ now.”
I dragged my eyes from the rocky ground and looked up. About three feet from me stood a man in his sixties, a little on the short side—maybe five eight, with bony legs in new-looking cargo shorts with lots of pockets. His back was toward me, and he wore a hat, not a cowboy hat, but a khaki fabric one that made him look like a kangaroo hunter.
Good thing I wore my jean skirt. The guy really couldn’t have seen much, and the only thing I had to do to get decent was to pull up my underwear, which were around my ankles. I did so, but dang, there was a little pee stream near my feet, and I really didn’t want to step in it and…oops. I toppled forward and had to make a split-second decision: fall toward the man or into a thorny-looking bush. I chose the man.
“Well, hey there,” he said as I grabbed his back. “Didn’t expect this type of welcome.”
“Sorry, it’s just—”
“Guess you saw that rattler, huh?”
“What?” I nearly fell over again.
“Just joshing you.” The man had startlingly blue eyes, like Paul Newman (if Paul had been a scrawny, tanned desert-rat-looking guy), and a crooked nose. “I’m Frank.” He reached out to shake my hand. “And you are…”
“Ivy Meadows.”
“You must be the new actress they hired.” Frank’s hand was bony and dry. It was like shaking hands with a mummy. “Ivy Meadows. You get that name from that subdivision?”
“Wow. You’re the first person who’s ever figured that out.”
“Picketed that development before they broke ground on behalf of the Acuna cactus. Endangered.” He kicked at the dirt. “The cactus lost.”
“I’m sorry.” I didn’t get out to the desert all that often, but I loved it. Except for cholla.
“Figured it was a long shot. And the Acuna cactus may have been rescued.” Frank’s eyes crinkled. “By somebody somehow.”
“Nice. So you work here?”
“God, no.”
“How’d you know they hired a new actress?”
“I keep my ear to the ground, at least where this place is concerned. I live just over the hill. Have for years.”
“Were you here when the mine was open?”
He laughed. “Just how old do you think I am?”
“Sorry, not thinking.” I really needed to eat something.
“I have been here almost forty years, though. Know just about everything there is to know about this place. Like all the best places to pee. I suspect the buildings are all locked up—that Nathan is afraid somebody’s going to steal a bar of soap or something—but you coulda gone to Josh’s.”
Josh’s. There was the forge, the anvil, a few worktops, but…“I didn’t see any place for a bathroom in his shop. Do you call it a shop?”
“Sure. Or a forge. Or a smithy. And no, he doesn’t have anything there, but he probably woulda let you in his house.”
“Where’s that?”
Frank pointed down the main road. “See there, at the bottom of the hill?” Standing off by itself, shaded by a few old trees, was a small white wooden house with a river rock foundation.
“Huh. When Josh was showing me around town, he didn’t say anything about living here.”
“Why would he?”
“Because he was supposed to be telling me all about Gold Bug Gulch. I’m training to be a historical guide.” I stared at the little house, annoyed that I’d missed the fact that there was a habitable house in the midst of all the semi-shacks.
“Josh does like his privacy, ’specially where it concerns his house. But you being a guide and all, he shoulda told you. Probably shoulda told you a lot of things. Tell you what. Meet me here tomorrow around noon. Bring some cheese sandwiches, Fritos, and a couple of beers. We’ll have lunch and I’ll tell you the real story of this town.”
Chapter 17
“Got an hour to spare?” I asked Arnie over the phone. Then I shouted, “A burger, onion rings, and a Diet Coke, please.”
“You mean I should feed you in that hour?”
“No, sorry. Just getting a little dinner. Oh, wait,” I shouted again at Dairy Queen’s speaker. “And a Peanut Buster Parfait.”
“When do you want to come by?”
“Now?”
“In that case, could you add two Dilly Bars to your order?”
About fifteen minutes later I sat at Arnie and Marge’s kitchen table. “I thought you got ice cream too,” said Arnie.
“Already ate it.” I polished off my burger and started in on the onion rings. Good thing I got a large.
“How’d your callback go?” Marge asked.
“I don’t know. I think I talk too much when I’m nervous.”
“So dinner doesn’t take an hour.” Arnie finished his Dilly Bar and sat back in his chair, his eyes at half-mast. “What’s up?”
“I thought maybe we could do a little double duty. You and Marge can come with me to look for Lassie.” At the mention of the pug, Marge’s lip trembled. “Who I’m sure is fine,” I said firmly. “And while we’re driving, you can tell me a little more about Gold Bug Gulch.”
Arnie blew his nose on a paper napkin. “Not sure how two old people will be any help looking for Lassie. And didn’t you meet with Josh today?”
“Um…” I was distracted by this perfect opportunity to get Arnie’s DNA sample. I jumped up from the table and grabbed all the Dairy Queen trash, clearing the table as it were. “Yeah, but you know us PIs.” I dumped the trash into the can under the sink—all except for Arnie’s napkin, which I slipped into the pocket of my jean’s skirt. “We want everyone’s version of the story. And as far as Lassie—”
“We’d be happy to help.” Marge stood up and gave Arnie’s chair a gentle kick. “Come on, chickie.”
I drove c
arefully down the streets of Sunnydale, not because it was dark or the streets were curvy, but because I drove Arnie’s Audi. My truck didn’t have room for the three of us, and we wanted to have room for Lassie too. “So I know part of the town’s history,” I said, “and can do some more research regarding the mine and everything, but I’d really like to know how the whole idea of the new Gold Bug Gulch came about.”
“You should talk to Nathan about that,” Arnie said.
“I will, but—”
“Come on, chickie, you hired her,” Marge said from the backseat. “Why not talk to her?”
I threw her a grateful look via the rearview mirror.
Arnie looked out the passenger window, which he’d rolled down. “I just feel disloyal or something.”
Marge met my eyes in the mirror again. She shrugged.
“Don’t worry, Arnie. Nathan will never know about this.” I scanned the front yards of the houses we passed. No dogs and nowhere to hide in the raked gravel yards. “Besides, you’re just trying to protect his investment, right?”
“Yeah. Right. Okay.”
“Why don’t you start with how Nathan came up with the idea and go from there?”
“Well, he’s always been a big fan of Westerns…”
“Really? I’d never have guessed.” With his soft Italian leather shoes, over-gelled hair, and in-your-face attitude, Nathan seemed the epitome of the back-East city boy.
“Yeah. He’s crazy about the West. So he was messing around on the internet, looking at ghost towns, I guess, when he came across one for sale.”
“The whole town was for sale?”
“Yeah. He flew out and looked at the place. He’d seen a ghost town theme park somewhere in Nevada and liked the idea of doing something similar. He’s got big ideas, that boy.” Arnie chuckled.
Marge gave me a “see what I’m up against?” look in the mirror.
“Gold Bug Gulch looked like it’d be perfect for that type of set-up,” Arnie continued. “It wasn’t too far from Phoenix, had a bunch of buildings, a couple that needed only minor renovations, and Josh needed to sell quickly so the price was right.”
“Josh owned the whole town?”
“His dad had already sold the mineral rights to the mine to some corporation, but Josh sold everything else to Nathan with the stipulation he’d be a part owner.”
“His dad sold the mineral rights? You can do that—sell them separately from the land?”
“Sure. Happens all the time. Mineral rights give you ownership of whatever’s underground: gold, oil, that sort of thing. Separate from the ownership of surface land.”
“Okay.” I turned onto a road that skirted the desert. “Keep your eyes on the bushes, see if there’s any movement.”
“You know old people got bad night vision, right?” said Arnie.
“Just look,” said Marge. “And seventy-one isn’t so old.”
“So Nathan bought the whole town himself?” I asked.
Arnie frowned. “Not exactly. I think some of the investors were in it from the beginning. But he had this genius idea—”
Marge huffed in the backseat.
“You hear something?” Arnie peered out the window.
“Just the wind,” I said. Marge grinned.
“Anyway, he’s got this genius idea where he sells pieces of the place to investors. They can buy whatever building and business they want and run it the way they want. I—we—bought the opera house.”
“Of course.”
“And the photo booth in the jail.”
“Right.”
“And the reptile house.”
“Really?”
“Nathan said it’d be a hit with the kiddies, and it was pretty easy to stock.”
We’d pretty much cruised the entire desert perimeter of Sunnydale, so I swung back into its residential streets. “So you basically bought those buildings from Nathan? How does he make any money?”
“He owns the saloon. Biggest moneymaker there. Plus he has a deal where each of the investors pays a monthly fee.”
“I thought you bought the property.” I pulled alongside one of the many golf courses that crisscrossed Sunnydale.
“Like Nathan says, think of it like a condo fee. He manages the place, takes care of the infrastructure, the security, that sort of stuff. The marketing too.”
“It does sound like a pretty good deal. Hey! Chihuahuas!” I squealed to a stop and jumped out of the car. “Wait here.”
My cowboy boots weren’t the best for running, but I took off after the pack of dogs. Wait, was that a black curly tail in the midst of all those skinny rat tails?
“Lassie!” I yelled. “Hey, boy. It’s me—”
“Crap,” I heard behind me, then something that sounded like a pillow fight—“oofs,” soft stuff making contact, that sort of thing. I looked over my shoulder. Arnie and Marge were in a heap on the ground. They didn’t wait in the car. I probably wouldn’t have either.
The little dogs disappeared into the dark.
I turned around. “You okay?” The couple still lay tangled together on the grass.
“Yeah,” said Marge. “It’s kind of romantic down here, lying on our backs, gazing at the stars.”
“She’s just trying to make me feel better,” said Arnie. “’Cause I think I broke something.”
The EMTs thought it was a broken ankle. I did too, given the unnatural way Arnie’s foot twisted. “I can’t believe you’re so calm.”
“I’ve got my love to keep me calm,” he sang, clutching Marge’s hand. Painkillers must have kicked in.
“Anyway, don’t you two worry about anything,” I said. “I’ll find Lassie. I’ll see if anything untoward is going on at Gold Bug, and I’ll make sure Nathan doesn’t know a thing about it. Okay?”
“Thanks, kiddo.” Marge blew me a kiss from the back of the ambulance.
“I will weather the storm,” sang Arnie. “I’ve got my love to keep me calm. Hey,” he asked Marge as the EMTs shut the ambulance door, “shouldn’t that rhyme? I coulda sworn it used to rhyme.”
Chapter 18
“Isn’t it a little early for Christmas?” Uncle Bob asked me the next morning when I came into the office.
“The stores have had up Christmas decorations since Halloween, if that’s what you mean.”
“No, it’s…” He waved in my direction, his speech stymied by the maple bar he was eating. He swallowed. “You.”
“Me?” I checked my outfit—just my denim skirt, a purple t-shirt, and…“You mean my boots?” My cowboy boots were red and sort of fancy.
“No, it’s that song you’re humming.”
Arnie’s song from last night was still in my head. Must have come out my mouth too. “It’s a Christmas song?”
“Sure. ‘I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm.’ Great version by Ella Fitzgerald.”
“You should have heard Arnie’s version last night.” I told him the story. “So we hung posters, Marge is calling the shelters, and I’ve looked for him myself. Any other ideas on how to find Lassie?”
“I wish I knew,” Uncle Bob said. “I think Pink knows someone who specializes in lost pets.” Pink, or Detective Pinkstaff, as he was known at the Phoenix Police Department, was one of Uncle Bob’s best friends. “I’ll ask. Hey, did you hear about that dog they found? The one who fell off that guy’s fishing boat?” Uncle Bob grinned. “He survived five weeks on an island. Guess he ate mice or something. The dog, I mean.”
I loved my uncle.
I sat down at my computer. “Okay, for now I’ll try something easier than a lost dog. How do I find out who owns a corporation?”
“I thought you said easier.”
Uh-oh.
“You know what state the business is incorporated in?”
I shook my h
ead.
“Well, once you do, you can start with the Secretary of State and the Corporation Commission.”
“They’ll have the info?”
“They’ll have some info that might be able to start you down the right path. This for the Gold Bug case?”
“Yeah. I want to find out who the backers are.” I told him what Arnie had said about the individual investors and Nathan’s vague reference to other backers.
“It’s going to be tough trying to find those guys—or gals—first,” Uncle Bob said. “If I were you, I’d start with the sale of property and the people you know are involved.”
I did. I found that Josh Tate sold fifty-five acres of property in Maricopa County to Gold Bug Gulch, LLC, for a million dollars. His dad, Luke Tate, sold the mineral rights to the mine two years earlier to Acme Arizona for $65,000. Gold Bug Gulch, LLC was incorporated in Arizona. According to the Arizona Corporation Commission, the only members (owners/investors) were Arnie and a partnership corporation called GBaU. Nathan and Josh weren’t listed. Weird.
I searched Arizona’s records for GBaU, but didn’t find the company listed anywhere. I tried Pennsylvania too, since Nathan had said he had some investors from Philadelphia. Nothing there, either. Must have been incorporated in another state. I called the attorney listed as the corporation’s agent, but her administrative assistant said she was unavailable. And Acme Arizona…
“I can’t find any incorporation records for it here in Arizona,” I said to Uncle Bob, “which is kind of weird, given the name. Nothing comes up when I Google it either.”
“Huh.” He came over to my desk and peered over my shoulder at my laptop screen. “Maybe the name is supposed to throw people off. Interesting. Tell you what, I’ll take a crack at it a little later.”
Since I was on the corporation commission’s website, I plugged in Josh Tate’s name. Nothing came up. If he planned to start some sort of business, he hadn’t got very far.
