by Cindy Brown
“You’ve been helping him out how?”
Frank kicked at the dirt with the toe of one of his new-looking hiking boots. “All Chance ever wanted was to be a cowboy. He grew up with pictures of John Wayne on his walls, watched True Grit so many times he knows the lines backwards and forwards, even moved here so he could live the cowboy life.”
Did Frank know that Chance had emigrated from Germany? Did it matter?
“This,” Frank spread his arms to encompass the dusty town, “is heaven to him. He had just one problem: He’s afraid of horses. I’ve been teaching him to ride. Secretly.”
“And to shoot?”
“No. He already knew how. He’s not a great shot, but…listen. I know what you’re getting at. And yeah, I’m not above a little justified environmental activism, and sometimes I enlist my friends for help. You know, until they started this tourist trap, this land,” he waved toward the grove of cottonwoods and the glint of sun off the creek, “was being taken back by nature, the way it was intended to be. Do you know how many riparian areas there are like this in all of Arizona?” He glared at the signs for ice cream and cold beer and “Get Your Wild West On” photos. “They could do this capitalist crap anywhere. So sure, I may have had something to do with the plumbing issue—”
“And the flat tires? Escaped rattlers, maybe?”
“Maybe. And I may have had a little help, but—”
“How about cyanide?”
“But—” Frank looked me straight on with those blue blue eyes, “—I would never kill anyone over bats.”
Chapter 59
By the time Frank and I made it through the crowd to the opera house, we were well and truly late. Strike that: I was late. And I blamed Annie Oakley. I mean, when little girls tugged on my buckskin fringe and wanted their picture taken with Annie, how could I say no?
Frank had no such problem, as he basically looked (and smelled) like a crusty old miner, so he was waiting by my dressing room door when I got there. “Already got your saloon girl wig set backstage,” he said, “but I need that costume you’re wearing.”
I ran into my dressing room, stripped off my Annie Oakley costume, opened the door a crack, and handed the dress and wig/hat to Frank.
“Hey, are we good?” he said. “About my, uh, fervent environmentalism? You understand how I feel about this place, right?”
“I do understand, but—”
“So the place smelled like sewage for a while. Can you honestly say that a tourist attraction is more important than a sacred place, especially one of the last ones left?” If Frank’s gaze were any more intense, it would’ve bored a hole through the door.
“All right. Can’t say I approve of your methods, but I do want the gods to keep talking in the cottonwoods. Maybe there’s a compromise?”
“Maybe. And thanks.” Frank gave me a quick grin and headed toward backstage.
I shut the door. The clock on the wall said seven minutes before two o’clock, which meant two minutes until places. Yikes. I already had on my saloon girl costume, which I wore underneath pretty much everything when I was on duty at Gold Bug, so I grabbed my ingénue dress off the hanger, Velcroed it up the front, pinned my hat and wig on my head, and began to slip into my shoes.
Then I saw it.
“Aaah!” I fell hard on my side, trying to get away from my attacker. Instead it tumbled out of the shoe I’d kicked over and charged toward me. “Wrong way!” I shouted at the skittering scorpion. “Turn around! Turn around!” It didn’t. Instead it flicked its tail up so it’d be ready to sting me.
I didn’t move. It didn’t move. Forget the gunfight, this was a real standoff.
Chance came flying through the door.
“Scorpion!” I pointed at the little monster as it turned to face Chance.
“Hasta la vista, baby.” He stomped it flat with his boot, then turned to me. “And places.”
“Cuttin’ it close.” Frank stood next to me in the wings as the lights dimmed, marking the beginning of the show.
“There was a scorpion in my shoe.”
“Big one or little one?”
“I don’t know. About two inches long, sort of yellow-tan.”
Frank nodded. “Bark scorpion. You’re lucky—those ones are the worst. Killed one of my friend’s dogs. You should always check your shoes out here.”
He was right. Arizona was home to a whole host of scorpions, and anyone who’d ever camped in the desert knew to check their shoes before putting them on. Scorpions liked their nice dark comfy interiors. So sure, Frank’s relaxed attitude may have been warranted when it came to the scorpion in my shoe—if it hadn’t been for the reptiles onstage and the skunk in my car.
Someone was definitely sending me a message.
“You saw The Godfather, right?” I slid a drink to Arnie across the saloon bar. “Where they put a horse’s head in the bed? Do you think the Mafia would use scorpions and skunks?”
“I don’t know,” he snuffled, eyes filling up for the umpteenth time. “I don’t know anything.”
When I came in for bartending duty a little before five, I saw Arnie sitting on a stool by himself. I’d poured him only sarsaparillas, but since he couldn’t tell me how long he’d been there, he didn’t know how many drinks he’d had before I arrived, and it was nearly his bedtime (eight o’clock), I took out my phone and called Nathan. No answer.
“Guess I’d better go home.” Arnie slid off his barstool. “Even though no one is waiting for me.” He took his keys out of his pocket.
“No, wait. Let me drive you home. It’s been a long hard day for you.”
“Aren’t you on duty ’til nine?”
“Yeah.”
“Too late. I want to go now.” He started toward the door, clomping in his walking cast.
“Remember how you said you didn’t see so well in the dark?”
Arnie shuffled to a stop.
“Let me try Nathan again.” I called again. Still no answer. “Hey,” I called to the saloon’s waitress, a fiftyish woman who’d waited tables in Wickenburg for most of her life. “Could you get Nathan for me?”
She pursed her lips. I could tell she made that face often—the wrinkles around her mouth didn’t lie. “Nope.”
“Please?”
“Nope. Not unless you want me to leave this crowd hungry.”
Crowd was an overstatement, but she was the only waitress.
“Couldn’t you swing by the office real quick?”
“I could, but he’s not there. Hasn’t been around all evening.”
Arnie resumed shuffling in the direction of the door. What could I do? I couldn’t leave the bar unattended, and it’s not like I could call for a ride out here in the middle of nowhere.
Someone pushed open the swinging doors to the saloon. “Where you off to, chickie?” Marge. Thank God.
“Marge! Thank God.” Arnie and I were obviously on the same wavelength.
Marge walked toward her husband, a warm smile lighting her face. “About time you came home, don’t you think?”
“I’m so sorry,” Arnie choked out.
“I know, chickie, I know.” Marge held out her arms and Arnie hugged her like he was coming home from war.
“You forgive me?”
“Of course. And I trust you did what you thought was right. That’s what love’s all about,” she said, looking straight at me. “Trust.”
I stared at Marge. “How did you know?” I whispered.
“Women’s intuition. Plus Matt told me. He wanted to talk to someone who knew you. I was supposed to keep it secret, but…”
“When did he tell you?”
“He called…Thursday, I think it was.”
Thursday. Before our fight, then. I slumped forward on the bar and rested my chin on my hands.
Mar
ge reached over and touched me on the cheek. “You want to talk later? I gotta get Arnie home right now, but…”
“Yeah. Maybe later. And I think maybe you two need to talk to Nathan. About your…concerns.” The saloon may not have been full, but there were still plenty of ears listening.
“I’ve been trying all evening,” said Marge. “He’s not answering his phone.”
Huh. The waitress was standing near, eavesdropping. “You know where Nathan is?” I asked.
“Nope.” She made the prune face again. “And he disappeared before telling me my schedule next week.”
“Disappeared?” Arnie’s big ears perked up.
“Nobody’s seen him since noon or so,” said Prune.
“I did,” I said. “He helped out with the gunfight…” But only the first one. One of the dishwashers had filled in the other two times. I hadn’t questioned it, just figured Nathan was busy.
“Then you know more than me.” The waitress clomped off.
Arnie’s bald head wrinkled in worry.
“He’s probably in Wickenburg,” I said, “celebrating the fact that things went right for a day.” I made sure I looked calm on the outside, but inside, a scorpion skittered toward me and raised its tail in warning.
Chapter 60
After Arnie and Marge left, I tried Nathan’s phone every fifteen minutes. He never picked up. “Have you seen Nathan?” I asked, oh, everyone.
“Probably went home with a hangover,” said one of the dishwashers. “He was hittin’ the sauce pretty heavy.”
“When?”
“All day. In his office.”
Ah. That’s all it was. I was being silly. The scorpion had set me on edge, but really, it was just a common pest, and Nathan was just a common drinker. Still, I slipped into his office during a lull. Yep, an empty bottle of Jack Daniels and a dirty glass. Only one. Nothing else of interest. I even checked under the desk in case he’d passed out, and in the closet in case someone had stuffed him in it. It’d happened before.
“You know what Nathan drives?” I asked Prune-ella back in the saloon.
“An Escalade,” said the eavesdropping dishwasher. “Just got it.”
“An Escalade,” huffed the waitress. “And us all makin’ minimum wage.” Maybe her prune face was justified.
Once I was off bartending duty, I jogged out to the parking lot. Almost all of the tourists had gone home, so there were just a few battered employee cars left in the lot—along with a newish red Escalade. If Nathan went home, he didn’t drive there.
I couldn’t shake off my sense of dread. I called Marge. “No need to tell Arnie this,” I said, “but I’m worried about Nathan. I’d like to make sure he made it home okay.”
“I’ll have somebody check his casita at Rancho De Los Vaqueros. I’ll call you back.”
When Marge called about fifteen minutes later, I was on my way home. “He’s not there,” she said, “but the night watchman said he’d keep an eye out for him. You think we should be worried?”
“Nah.” After all, I didn’t have any real reason for suspicion. “I’m probably being silly. I’ve had a lot going on these past few days.” It was true. My intuition was probably fried from lack of sleep and yeah, maybe lack of Matt. Things would look better in the morning.
Except they didn’t. “Ivy?” whispered Marge over the phone. “Nathan never came home last night.”
“Gluhhh,” I said. My vocabulary was not great first thing in the morning.
“I know it’s early, but I thought maybe you could look for him before your shows today.”
I rolled over and looked at the clock. Six a.m. My first melodrama show was at eleven. Gunfight after that. “Okay.”
After a quick shower and a stop at Filiberto’s drive-through for a breakfast burrito, I was on the road. I pulled into the Gold Bug parking lot just before eight—and right after Chance.
“What are you doing here so early?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I like it out here. Why are you here?”
“I need to talk to Nathan.” I walked into town with Chance. “I couldn’t find him yesterday, and he’s not answering his phone, so I thought I’d come out and catch him before the place opened.” Nathan’s car was still in the lot, so my sort-of lie sounded plausible.
When we reached the saloon, I tried the door. Locked. I knocked on the door.
“Nathan? Nathan!”
“Strange,” Chance said. “Maybe he’s still hiking.”
“Hiking?” Nathan seemed about as likely to hike as to dance The Nutcracker.
“I saw him yesterday, after our first gunfight.”
“Did he have a backpack on?” I asked.
“No.”
“Hiking boots?”
“No.”
“So why…?”
“He was heading into the desert. Nothing to do out there but hike.”
I sat down on the saloon porch to think, watching Chance walk down the road to wherever he was going. Nathan walked into the desert without camping supplies. Where would he go?
I jogged back to my pickup, got in, and headed down the road out of the Gulch, passing Chance along the way. Guess he was going for a hike too.
When I got to Frank’s house, I parked outside next to his Prius. “Hey,” I said, when he opened the door, “am I too early for the tour?”
“Tour?”
“The green home tour. Isn’t it today?”
“It’s not for a couple of weeks.”
“Dang. Sorry. Hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Nah, I’m an early riser. Want a cup of coffee?” He led me inside the house. Yes. My subterfuge worked.
“Thanks, but I’ve already had about a gallon,” I lied. In fact, I’d only had one cup and would’ve killed for another, but it didn’t fit with my plan. “In fact, can I use the facilities? Everything at Gold Bug is still locked up.”
“Sure. Bathroom’s on the other side of the house.” He pointed through the windows past the enclosed garden to the opposite side of the square house. “You can go either way to get there.”
“Thanks.” I went left and walked through a dining room and kitchen. Frank followed but stopped in front of a burbling coffeemaker. Nothing else made a sound. No sign of anyone in the rooms.
I turned a corner into the section of the house Frank had pointed out and found the bathroom. I used it, then crept out the door without flushing the toilet and searched the bedroom next to it. The room was spare with whitewashed walls and nowhere to hide except the closet, which held only clothes and boots. I stole back to the bathroom, flushed the toilet, washed my hands, and then walked past the bedroom and into the section of the house directly across from the kitchen/dining room segment. It was a big open room, with a bunch of comfortable chairs, a desk in a corner, and a big picture window facing the garden. Nowhere for Nathan to hide.
“Looks like you’re taking the home tour all by yourself,” said Frank, who had come around the corner, torturing me with the fragrant cup of coffee in his hand.
“Can you blame me?” I walked up to Frank, then turned my back to him to look at the courtyard again. I’d been checking out the garden as I went, but wanted to take it in from this angle. “This is one amazing house.” No Nathan in the courtyard either. “I bet after this home tour, you’ll see a lot more houses designed like this.”
“That’s the point,” said Frank. “Showing folks that sustainability can be beautiful.”
I managed to leave pretty quickly (though dang, that coffee smelled good), jumped back in my Jeep, and drove out to the main road. Where else could Nathan have gone? Maybe…
I headed back down the dirt road. Hey, was that Chance? I swore I saw a cowboy hat duck behind a mesquite. I looked around me. Nothing but desert. If it was him, he was probably just hiking, or maybe going to Fran
k’s house for his secret riding lessons. I kept going until I hit another junction. Yep, there was Billie’s trailer, about a half-mile away. I pulled off the side of the road and walked toward it, staying off the road and as hidden by the scrub as I could. If Nathan was there, I didn’t want to scare him away.
I tried the back door. Open, like I figured. Billie had said she always kept the place unlocked in case Mongo came back in the middle of the night. “Besides,” she’d said, “what’s going to happen to me in the middle of the desert?”
Oh, Billie.
I opened the door as quietly as possible and crept inside. The living room was dark, but there was an open bag of Doritos on the coffee table. Would they have been there since Billie’s death? I walked over and put my hand on the back of the old-fashioned box TV. Still warm, so…
“You found me.” I felt the cool barrel of a pistol on the back of my neck, Nathan’s breath warm near my ear. “Who sent you?”
“Arnie.” I was surprised my mouth could form words.
“Yeah, right.” He grabbed my left arms from behind, fingers pressing deep into my upper arm.
“Okay, Marge.” I maintained my outward sense of calm, while squeezing my legs together so I wouldn’t wet my pants. “But Arnie’s worried too. About you. And the mob.”
Wrong thing to say. Nathan pressed the gun harder into my neck. “Hodoyunowabutha?”
“I know about it because Arnie wanted me to find you.” I skipped the part about Arnie hiring me to investigate his long-lost son. I mean, there was a gun on my neck. “You can call him.”
I didn’t move, and neither did the gun, but I heard Nathan dial his cell phone. “Papa?” he said. “Are you safe? Ivy’s here and—”
I heard Arnie’s muffled voice.
