“You know I like ’em scorched.”
She stood very still, staring at the steaks. Thinking about the pair of large potatoes. Camilla turned to stare at the place settings on the large table.
Moon prayed that she could not count to two.
“Charlie?”
“Yeah?”
“Is my unexpected arrival inconvenient for you?”
He managed a blank expression. “What d’you mean?”
“It would appear you were expecting someone for dinner.”
“Fact is, I had a pretty young woman here for supper. But when I heard you were comin’, I threw her out.” They never believe the unvarnished truth.
She gave him a strange look. As if she believed him.
Moon forced a grin that hurt his face. God help me.
Camilla took another look at the table. “Why of course—Mr. Bushman called to tell you I was coming. And you hurried to make a place at the table for me.”
He looked toward the ceiling. And heaven. Thank you, God.
“Every time I’m here, you’re always preparing meals for me. Waiting on me hand and foot. Well, this visit is going to be very different from the others.”
Charlie Moon had a nagging sense that this was a monumental understatement.
She pushed him toward a chair. “Now sit down. I’ll take over.”
“You’re a determined woman.” Who once threatened to kill me if I ever lied to you. Or cheated on you.
She hugged him, pinning his arms. “And you are such a kind, honest man. The sort of a fellow a woman can rely on.”
To Moon’s great relief, the meal proceeded without incident. They washed the dishes together.
Camilla Willow leaned on her beloved. “Charlie, there was a reason I didn’t call first. I had to arrange this trip in a big hurry.”
“Couldn’t wait to see me?”
“Well, that too. But I have another trip coming up.”
“Not too far away, I hope. Or for too long.”
Her eyes moistened. “Some of both. I’m going on a journey with Uncle Eddie.”
Moon groaned. Eddie Zoog managed the EZ Literary Agency. His specialty was gathering rumors about UFOs and monsters and ghosts and the like. Once Eddie had put together a few “facts,” he contracted with one of Los Angeles’s desperate, down-and-out writers to assemble a quickie book manuscript or screenplay. Most of these literary gems didn’t sell, but on occasion one of the cable networks would fork over a hundred thousand bones for a hoax-of-the-week screenplay. Camilla’s family held the mistaken notion that this bizarre line of work kept the Zoog from getting into serious trouble. The simple truth was that Eddie was a maniac who had a genius for conjuring up trouble from a vacuum. And because his niece owned the EZ Literary Agency, Camilla had no choice but to look after her eccentric uncle. Sometimes, she went along on her uncle’s “research” trips. “What’s he up to this time?”
She shrugged as if it were nothing at all. “Uncle Eddie has heard about some kind of pelt in Tibet. From the Yeti. He wants to bring it back to the States. Get the skin examined for DNA.”
“It’ll be a big yak,” Moon muttered.
“It’s no laughing matter,” she quipped.
He slid two platters into the cupboard. “Why don’t you let Mr. Zoog do this trip on his own?”
“Poor Uncle has awful luck.” She smiled wanly. “Without me along to take care of him, he’d get into some kind of awful trouble. Maybe put in jail. Or even killed. I just know he’d never come back.”
Moon smiled. “All the more reason.”
“Don’t pretend to be mean.” She fluttered big eyelashes at him. “I know you adore my uncle.”
Moon realized that this was very nearly true. Eddie Zoog was an odious man. A liar. A cheat. A fraud. A lunatic. Selfish to the marrow. But he did have a certain childlike innocence, a faith that the world was filled with hidden wonders just waiting to be discovered. This facet of the rough-cut man was strangely appealing.
“Charlie?”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s go for a long walk in the moonlight.” She gazed out of the large window. “The lake is lovely tonight. So romantic.”
Moon also looked. Through his eyes, the mountain lake had taken on the character of a dark pit. On the far side was the guest cabin. Where the FBI’s witness was stashed. A good-looking young woman. Whose presence he would rather not have to explain to his sweetheart. He felt a chill. “Looks cold out there.”
“All the better,” she said, snuggling up to him. “I have my man to keep me warm.”
“That gives me a notion.”
“What?”
“You and me, sittin’ in front of the fireplace.”
She gave him a strange look. “Charlie—why don’t you want to go for a walk?”
He limped to the couch. “Big quarter horse stepped on my foot last week.” This was the truth, though the limp was feigned. “And he did it on purpose. Mean West Texas animal.”
She cocked her pretty head suspiciously. “I didn’t notice you walking funny before.”
“It’s like the rheumatiz. Kicks up around sundown.” He sat down with a great sigh of relief and stretched out his right leg. “There—that’s lots better.”
Camilla put her hand on his shoulder. “Sorry about your injury. Guess you’ll have to take it easy.”
“Hey, it’s only my foot.” He pulled her onto his lap.
She rested her face on his neck. “So what do you have in mind?”
“Something will come to me.”
Camilla kissed his ear.
Charlie Moon decided that he was about the happiest man in the hemisphere.
The telephone rang.
The young woman, who was conditioned to respond to such electronic summonses, stiffened. It rang again. “It’s the telephone.”
“I figured it was.”
Another rude jangle.
“It’s ringing,” she said.
“It’ll stop.”
It did not.
Camilla jumped up and ran to snatch the instrument. “Hello?” She listened to a startled cowboy. “No, you do not have a wrong number—this is the ranch headquarters.” She nodded as if the caller could see her. “Yes, Mr. Moon is right here. Who’s calling?” She pointed the telephone at her sweetheart. “It’s one of your employees.” She put her hand over the mouthpiece and giggled. “Say’s he’s the Wyoming Kid.”
What’s Jerome Kydmann want? Moon nodded. “That’s who he is.”
“You’re not serious; you actually call this cowboy ‘the Kid’?”
“Of course not,” Moon said earnestly. “We call him ‘the Kyd.’”
She frowned. “That’s what I said.”
“You said Kid. But I said Kyd.”
“Charlie, you’re not making any sense.”
“Sorry. I was just Kyding.”
“Well, give it up, silly. Now who is he, really—doesn’t he have an ordinary name?”
“Not as far as I know. Around here, Wyoming Kyd’s his handle. He wears silver Mexican spurs, packs a Colt forty-four with a dozen notches in the grip.” Moon was warming to the tall tale. “There are nasty rumors,” he added in a half whisper, “that the Kyd has killed eleven men and a moose. That could be why he don’t use his real name—he’s a wanted man.”
“Seems you and the Kid are both wanted men.”
“You wanting me?” he asked hopefully.
“You’re wanted at the barn,” she smirked.
Moon glared at the offending instrument of communication. “What’s going on at the barn that the Wyoming Kyd can’t handle?”
“Something about a horse kicking planks out of the wall.” She gave him the telephone.
The policeman-turned-rancher got to his feet. He listened to an excited report of equine mayhem. “Okay. I’ll be right down.” He slammed the phone onto its base. “Shoot.” Might as well be hauling in drunks.
“What?”
�
��I’m going to shoot that damn horse.” And that drugstore cowboy. What do I pay these people for? And then he remembered. This particular cowboy-in-training is paying me. Tuition.
She was enjoying this. “Don’t be such a grouch.”
“Hey, that animal’s stepped on me once too often.” He gave her a quick good-bye kiss. “See you in a few minutes.” Little did he know.
As he stomped away, Camilla noticed something peculiar about her sweetheart. Charlie Moon wasn’t showing the least sign of a limp. After the door slammed, the young woman—who was quite good with numbers—started counting things. Two steaks in the skillet. Two enormous potatoes in the oven. Two plates on the table. However she manipulated these ciphers, they did not add up to a tidy sum. After I left the foreman’s house, Charlie could have gotten a call from the Bushmans. He could have put an extra plate on the table. But there wasn’t nearly enough time to bake another potato. Or burn a second steak to a crisp. And there was another thing. Why doesn’t he want to go for a walk by the lake?
Camilla went to stand by the south window. Arms folded, she stared across the surface of the shimmering water. And saw a faint, soft glow of light. The reflecting gleam in her eye glittered with the hard sheen of an assassin’s dagger. The point of radiance was originating on the opposite side of the lake. Where the guest cabin was located. Who is Charlie hiding from me? And why?
BIG TROUBLE
Melina Castro was hunched up on the small cabin bed. She was cold. Lonely. And angry that she’d made such a fool of herself with a man who was maybe twice her age. She was also furious with Charlie Moon for throwing her out of his kitchen before she’d had a bite of supper. Which reminded her stomach that it was in urgent need of victuals. It gurgled in protest.
In short, the graduate student was not having a pleasant evening. But compared to what this night had yet in store, her current situation was, as she would have said herself, “Like, you know, not really so completely horrible.”
Nevertheless, Melina sat on the bed, hugging her knees under the quilt. Feeling extremely sorry for herself. Staying for a couple of weeks in a real mountain cabin had seemed like such a romantic notion. But she was a city girl. And the place was so unnaturally quiet that she was able to hear the slightest noises. The scurrying of a mouse. The slight moan of wind in the chimney. Other, more sinister sounds were generated in her mind. She closed her eyes to imagine a more perfect place. Like the pizza and music store in the Hollywood Mall. She pressed fingertips to her temples and fell into a shallow contemplation. I am an intelligent adult.
We must all have our illusions.
I am the captain of my ship. Master of my soul. I will not let this crap get to me. I am woman. I am powerful. I am…
At the heavy knock on the door, she screamed like a banshee who’d had a boil lanced with the business end of a bayonet.
After hyperventilating, sufficient oxygen rushed to Melina’s brain to help her realize who the caller must be. The young woman felt horribly foolish. She jumped from the bed, clad only in a skimpy nightgown, and padded to the door, already calling out to the landlord. “Charlie! Oh, I’m so glad you’re here—I just couldn’t stand being alone in this place another minute.” As she turned the knob, the graduate student turned to light conversation. “So did your girlfriend hit the road already?” She opened the door, and was met by a frigid draft. She believed it was mountain air, and was half right.
Melina switched off the overhead light and stuck her head outside. “Charlie—where are you?”
There was no response. And no one to be seen. Except for an undulating glow of moonshine off the lake, there was only darkness.
Her voice quavered like a plucked string. “Hey—who’s out there?”
The answer was a heavy, ominous silence.
The young woman slammed the door. Her entire body was quaking. Ohmigod—who knocked on the door? She was absolutely certain it was not Charlie Moon. The tall Indian had a quirky sense of humor, but he was not the sort to play a cruel prank like this. Maybe it was an animal. Some kind of nocturnal woodpecker. Or a deer had banged his antlers against the door. Sure.
Melina jumped into bed, pulled the covers up to her chin. Closed her eyes tightly. Counted to one hundred. But her imagination conjured up incredible terrors. She heard ghastly sounds. Creaking. Squeaking. Like rusty hinges whining. Slow footsteps across the pine floor. A draft. As if someone had opened a door.
And then all was quiet.
Gradually, she calmed herself. Invented comforting explanations. An old shack like this makes all kinds of noises. She allowed herself a deep sigh. Began to relax.
Felt a draft across her face.
It’s the wind coming down the chimney. That’s all. Just the wind.
There was a squeaking of boards in the pine floor. Footsteps?
No. It’s just my imagination.
The imaginary footsteps squeaked on another board. Then another. Each time, a bit nearer her bed.
Trembling, Melina pulled the covers over her face. She whispered to herself: “I am not a child. I am a full-grown, educated, modern woman. I have a brown belt. Know how to kill a man twice my size with a single, swift blow from the palm of my hand. Not that I’ve ever actually done it, but I know how. I am not afraid. I have the covers over my face because it is cold in this shack. Well, maybe I’m just a teensy-weensy bit unnerved. Which is perfectly normal after some moron knocks on the door and runs away to hide. Probably one of Charlie Moon’s idiot cowboys out to have a look at the college girl bedding down in the log cabin. No. I’m not really afraid. And I will prove it.” She pulled the quilt down. Slowly. So that only a single eye would be exposed. Then, her body taut as the gut on a lyre, she opened the eye.
And saw it, hovering above her. The hideous face.
Melina shrieked, cast the covers aside, and hit the floor flailing her arms. In her mind, she was fully prepared to kill a man twice her size with a single deadly blow.
But her legs were not of a mind to hang around and pick a fight. Her highly intelligent feet had hit the floor running. And they did not stop. Once outside the haunted cabin, her toes barely touched the ground. She unknowingly chased a startled jackrabbit for half a furlong, until the panicked creature made a swift turn toward a thick stand of willow at the lake’s edge.
Camilla Willow slowed the rental Ford to seventy miles per hour. Stopped grinding her perfect teeth. And began to think.
Maybe I’m acting crazy. Charlie Moon is the sweetest man I’ve ever known. And the most honest. He wouldn’t hide a woman from me. And that kid in the cabin is half his age. No. There’s got to be a sensible explanation.
She slowed to sixty.
Dammit, I can’t leave like this, close a door on this part of my life forever. I’ve got to go back. Talk to Charlie. A solitary tear made its path down her cheek.
Camilla jammed her foot on the clutch, shifted to second, then to low, hit the brake, did a screaming U-turn on the two-lane blacktop. Oh, Charlie, I’m so sorry I didn’t trust you. But I’m coming back!
Charlie Moon mounted the back porch, kicked excess manure off his Tony Lamas, pushed his way through the kitchen door. He pitched his old black Stetson onto the massive pine table. The Ute was musing about how good it was to have someone to come home to. How sensible it would be to make that situation permanent. Maybe I should ask her before she goes off to the jungles with Uncle Zoog. Maybe she’ll skip the trip. Stay here with me. The boots still smelled of manure. He sat down at the kitchen table long enough to pull them off. Maybe Sweet Thing is snuggled up on the big couch by the fireplace. Waiting for me to come and snuggle up with her. He smiled. I could do that. Moon padded into the parlor. And looked vainly for his woman. Sweet Thing was not on the couch. Nor anywhere else in the vast room. But her suitcase wasn’t there either, so she must have taken it upstairs. He yelled at the ceiling. “Hey, sweetheart—I’m back from the barn.” That was romantic enough to turn any girl’s head.
; There was no response.
Where is that woman? The big house had a strange, empty quiet about it. He told himself everything was okay. She must be in her bedroom with the door closed, putting her stuff away. Camilla had lots of silky, lacy stuff. Silent in his socks, the tall Ute went up the staircase three steps at a time. Maybe I’ll sneak up behind her and grab her and…
But Camilla wasn’t in her bedroom. Or his. Or the bathroom. Or anywhere else upstairs. Now that’s peculiar.
A small coldness had materialized in his belly. Moon went downstairs, looked out a window. The little piece of ice in his groin grew to the size of a grapefruit.
Her car was gone.
But there had to be a reasonable explanation. Sure. She’d gotten a telephone call—probably a family emergency. So she’d left in a hurry. There’d be a note. He searched the parlor. The kitchen. The rest of the large log house. There was no note.
The policeman-turned-rancher-turned-tribal investigator sat down heavily at the kitchen table. What happened? Why did Camilla leave without a word of explanation? What would make her mad enough to… And then he guessed what must have happened. Damn. This is going to take some serious fence-mending.
He considered the situation. I’ll give Camilla time enough to get back to California and cool down. Then I’ll call her cell-phone number. If she’ll listen, I’ll explain about the FBI asking me to hide a witness who’s seen a murderer. If she won’t listen, I’ll write her a letter. And send some flowers. Sure. Flowers are good. But right now, I’d better go check on that young woman at the cabin. She is my responsibility.
Feeling twice his age, the weary rancher got up and slowly pulled on the boots. They stink. Like my life. And his timing also stank. Charlie Moon opened the kitchen door just as the terrified woman vaulted up the porch steps and launched herself at him with a keening wail.
He listened patiently to the young woman’s babbling. “Could you explain what happened again?”
Between choking sobs, Melina muttered about ghostly knocks at the door and no one was there and I hid under the covers and then this horrible face was looking down and I screamed and closed my eyes and ran and bumped into a tree and fell down and got up and ran and ran and ran until I thought my lungs would just burst and then there I was right at your door and oh God I’m so glad to be here…Following this preamble there was more of the same.
White Shell Woman Page 19
