Finding Zola

by Mitchell, Marianne;

  “Have you ever taken in a silver picture frame? About so big.” I held up my hands to show him. “It had pieces of turquoise inlay in it.”

  “Nope. Can’t say that I have.” The entry bell sounded, and he buzzed in a new customer.

  As Matt replaced the bike, he had a look of mischief in his eyes. “I can get the bike later. How about going for a drive? We can grab some Cokes and hamburgers at McDonald’s. Then I’ll show you my ranch.”

  “You have your own ranch?” asked DJ.

  He flashed a devilish smile. “Haven’t you heard? I’m a big shot landowner now.”

  My heart did a flip, and I wondered if he had any idea how cute he was. I turned to DJ, pointed my nose to the sky, and waved my hand at her. “Oh, chauffeur? Please bring Mr. Big Shot’s limo around.”

  DJ bowed deeply. “Yes, Madam. Im-meed-jut-ly!”

  Chapter 12

  AS WE HEADED SOUTH TOWARD NOGALES, DJ brought Matt up to date about Zola, about calling in the cops, and the Tuckers saying Zola told had gone to the Grand Canyon. Hearing her recap, I felt there was still a piece of the puzzle hiding in my brain. The more I tried to get at it, the better it hid.

  I stared out the window, wondering how long a person could survive in the desert. If Zola was lost and not off on a trip, she wouldn’t stand a chance out there. The heat shimmered off the rocks and the sand. At least it wasn’t like the barren sand dunes we had driven by near Yuma, where all those off-road racers went tearing around. The desert here had prickly pear and cholla cactus, scrub brush, and scraggly mesquite trees.

  DJ slowed as two skinny coyotes darted across the road. She glanced in the rear-view mirror and winced. “Yikes! That van almost hit us! Back off, creep!” She watched the mirror for a few moments, then relaxed. “That’s better. He’s staying back now.”

  About twenty miles south of Copper Valley, Matt told DJ to take the Mariposa Canyon exit. The tailgating van zoomed on down the highway. The exit ramp brought us onto a dirt road. It followed a rocky ridge overlooking the valley below.

  After a mile or so, Matt said, “Pull over by that flat outcrop. There’s a great view from up there.”

  DJ parked the car, and she and Matt hopped out. I stayed put. There was no way I could maneuver my wheelchair on this rocky, uneven ground.

  “You guys go on ahead. I’ll just wait here.”

  “Nothing doing,” said Matt, opening my door. “You grab one end, DJ, I’ll take the other.”

  DJ shoved him aside. “Don’t be smart, Mr. Big Shot.” She bent over and slid her arms under my thighs. “Now wrap your arms around my neck. I’ll carry you over there.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Sure I’m sure.”

  I did as I was told, choking back the embarrassment of being carried like a big baby. Matt must have sensed how I felt. He turned away, keeping his eyes on the view instead of on me.

  “Light as a feather,” said DJ. In moments she had settled me on top of the rocks, where I could see everything. A range of jagged mountains rose from the valley floor. Just below the ridge, a small stream coursed its way through a grove of cottonwood trees. Overhead, a hawk floated silently on an updraft of air. This was much better than sitting in the car.

  “Thanks, Deej. What a great view!” A childhood memory flashed in my mind, making me chuckle.

  “What’s so funny?” asked DJ.

  “I was remembering that when I was little, I used to worry that I’d go blind someday. We had this kid in my second-grade class who was blind, and I wondered what it would be like. So I used to practice feeling my way around our house with my eyes shut, just in case. I guess I should have practiced getting around with no legs instead.”

  DJ looked at me like I was out of my mind. “You’re a very strange person, you know?”

  “Well, anyway, I’m just happy I’m not blind. I’d be missing this great view!”

  Matt stepped up on the rock, spread his arms out, and hollered, “I am the master of all you survey!”

  “Yeah, right. You own all this,” huffed DJ, turning her cap so the visor was in front, where it shaded her eyes.

  “Yep. At least for a while, Dad says. See that flat mountain to the south? That’s how close we are to Mexico. From here to that bend in the river down there is my land. It’s a little complicated. Dad wanted to buy this chunk of land, but he had to be kind of sneaky about it.”

  “So he bought it in your name? Is that legal?” I asked. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s really in a trust for me, but under my name and all.”

  “What’s he going to do with the land. Develop it?” asked DJ.

  “Maybe. This area is a bird sanctuary. I think Dad’s plan has something to do with keeping lots of open space. It’s real hush-hush right now. He wants to keep it a secret for a few more days. Then something big is supposed to happen.”

  Secret? And there were those words again—something big. Could Zola have known about this plan and caused trouble? She sure had reasons to get back at Horrible Horace. He’d been one of those who had gotten her driver’s license taken away, and he wanted her moved to a nursing home.

  “Do you think Zola knew about this?” I asked.

  Matt shrugged and tossed a rock into the sagebrush below. “Maybe.” Then he turned and wrinkled his nose at me. “Hey, you think my old man offed Zola, don’t you? Now that’s funny!”

  “I’m just thinking out loud, trying out ideas.”

  Matt sat down on the flat rock, crossed his legs, and stared up at the sky. “Well, do me one favor, okay? Scratch my old man off your idea list. He may be a jerk in lots of ways, but he’s not the kind to hurt anyone on purpose. He’s full of hot air—most of the time.”

  DJ tossed another rock into the canyon. “Is it true he had the swimming pool closed because there wasn’t a lifeguard?”

  Matt looked puzzled. “That’s not why it’s closed. Someone dumped too much chlorine in. You swim in that and your skin gets real itchy and your eyes burn. It takes a week or so to neutralize the water.”

  “Well I hope they get it finished soon. I’m melting here, and a nice dip in the pool would sure feel good,” said DJ.

  Nobody said anything for a while. We munched our hamburgers and listened to the wind rustling through the canyon. All these bits of information were swirling around in my brain, too. Matt wouldn’t even consider the idea that his dad might be involved. I guessed it was natural to defend your own dad. Knots of envy tightened my stomach. At least Matt had a real live dad to stick up for. All I had was a ghost, or a dream. I wasn’t sure what I had.

  So many questions nagged at me. If only Dad were here right now to help us hash them out. For example, who would consider Zola a threat? Was an old lady a reliable witness to anything? Everyone said she got confused and acted strangely. If I were a cop, I sure wouldn’t believe her.

  We dropped Matt off at the golf club to meet his dad, then headed home. A minute after we got in, the doorbell rang. Ward Tucker was standing there, grinning from ear to ear, with a wrapped package under his arm. Today he was dressed in overalls and looked more like a hardworking elf than Santa.

  “Hey there! Glad you’re home. Didn’t want to just leave this by the door. I meant to return it to your grandmother weeks ago. Sorry about the delay.” He placed the package on my lap.

  “What is it?”

  “Take a look. Came out real nice.”

  It felt like a painting. Gently, I tore off the tape and let the brown wrapping paper fall to the floor. I smiled as I ran my fingers across a smooth silver frame, stopping to touch the turquoise chunks embedded at the corners. This was the frame that belonged to the David and Goliath painting of Dad. Only now it held a different painting, one of the desert at sunset.

  “Come here, Deej. Look at this!”

  She scooted over. “Cool.”

  Mr. Tucker grasped the straps of his overalls, looking very proud of himself. “It’s by a local artist. We picked it up at one of our swap meets. B
efore she got sick, your grandmother brought this frame over for repair. It was cracked.” He pointed a chubby finger along the base. “Right there in front. You can’t tell now. Metalwork’s a hobby of mine.”

  “It looks perfect,” I said.

  “But isn’t the painting yours?” asked DJ.

  “Nope. Emilia saw it when she brought the frame over. Bought it right on the spot and asked us to use her frame. Guess that makes it part of her estate now.”

  I reached around to my backpack, fumbling for my wallet. “Thanks for bringing it over. What do we owe you for the repairs?”

  He waved me off, turning to head home. “Not a thing. All paid for in advance.”

  “A question before you leave,” said DJ. “When Zola told you she was going to the Grand Canyon, did she mention Crystal ? Zola was supposed to be staying here this week.”

  He tugged at his bushy white mustache, glancing nervously over at Zola’s house. “Nope. Not a word. She just asked me to keep an eye on her place.” He stepped out into the street, adding, “Like I told you before, she’s real forgetful. Doesn’t do you two any good, though, does it?”

  “We’re okay,” I said. “Thanks for bringing this over.”

  After he left, I hurried down to my room to get the painting of Dad. It was the one that belonged in this frame—not that crummy sunset. I couldn’t imagine Gran buying something that looked like a paint-by-numbers job. She knew good art. And Mom’s painting of Dad was very good art.

  Chapter 13

  “DO YOU BELIEVE IN GHOSTS?” I ASKED DJ THE next morning. After mulling it over, I had decided to take a chance and ask her. We were eating breakfast on Gran’s patio.

  She leaned her elbows on the table, thinking for a moment. “I took a psych class at the U last fall. We talked about paranormal stuff. We even went on a field trip to Bisbee for a tour of the Copper Queen Hotel. It’s famous for having ghosts.”

  “So is that a yes or a no?”

  “I don’t know. Before I said yes, I’d like to see one.”

  “What if I’ve seen one?”

  “You have? Where?”

  I pointed toward the house. “Here. In my room.”

  That made her sit up. “Was it Gran?”

  “No, it was my dad.”

  She let out a whistle. “You’re creeping me out here, chica. Why would his ghost be in Gran’s house?”

  I sighed and looked up at Gran’s wind chimes. They tinkled gently in the morning breeze. “I think he’s here because I’m here. He seemed to be saying he felt guilty about the accident.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “He talked to you?”

  “Sort of. It was weird, really weird.”

  “What does this ghost look like?”

  “It looks like him, only see-through. Sometimes he’s just a blue glow with no shape, just a … presence. It’s hard to explain.”

  She looked at me like I’d gone mental. She raised her hands over her head and wiggled her fingers in the air. “Ooooooh! This I gotta see. Let me know the next time he floats by.”

  I stared at my plate as hot waves of anger rolled up my neck. Tears welled up in my eyes and my mouth clamped shut. DJ didn’t understand at all. From now on, I’d keep my ghost to myself.

  DJ stood, collected her dishes and started to head back inside. “By the way, I’ve got to go up to the university today. Will it be okay to leave you alone for a while?”

  I glared at her, still mad about her reaction. “Of course. I’m not a baby, you know.”

  She hesitated. “I might be gone most of the day. I’ve got to see my advisor about fall classes, and there’s a training meeting with the team.”

  “Fine. I’ll pack up some more of Gran’s stuff.”

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

  “Yessss,” I hissed. “Don’t be such a mother hen.”

  After she left, I was glad to be alone for a while. I was still ticked off about her attitude and mad at myself for sharing my secret with her. Trying to forget about it, I spent some time sorting old videos and stacking the keepers in a box by the television. Mostly they were the home videos we’d made for Gran. The other ones were musicals and nature subjects, perfect for a garage sale. I sighed as I looked them over. Why did people have to die?

  Gran had told me once that she believed in spirits, in the “presence” of someone who had died. After Granddad died, she said he was still near her, watching over her and keeping her company. Wishful thinking, I used to think. Now I understood. But if my “ghost” came again, I was definitely not telling DJ.

  About mid-morning, Anna Norberg from next door came over. She moved some newspapers off a dining chair and sat so we were eye to eye. I appreciated that, because then I didn’t have to look up at her all the time.

  “Want some iced tea, Ms. Norberg?”

  “No, thanks. And call me Anna, please. I was just wondering if you’d heard from Zola.”

  I shook my head. “We called the police after we saw someone come out of Zola’s house.”

  She leaned forward, her brows raised. “Really? Could it have been a maintenance man? They were there earlier, but of course no one was home.”

  “No, it was some guy carrying a paper sack. Tell me, what kind of truck did the maintenance guys have?”

  “One of those little tan pickups. It had the word ‘maintenance’ on one side. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious.” I felt my shoulders tense. Now I was sure the panel truck I saw should not have been at Zola’s.

  “What did the policeman say?” Anna asked.

  “Mostly he told us to mind our own business. The Tuckers claim Zola told them she went to the Grand Canyon with her brother from Chicago.”

  Anna sat back, her forehead wrinkled. “I don’t know about that. She told me once that her brother was quite infirm. I got the impression he never went anywhere.”

  This was not sounding good. Not good at all.

  “I came over because I remembered something Zola said about needing that camera. She talked about thieves in the neighborhood.” Anna paused and mimicked Zola’s accent.

  “‘They think I not zee, but I do zee!’ She was as happy as a kid with a new toy. She left muttering, ‘I get zem, you vill zee!’ Sometimes you almost need an interpreter to understand her.”

  I muffled a laugh. It really wasn’t funny, but I couldn’t help it.

  “I’ll tell you one thing she’s got right,” Anna said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Somebody has been helping themselves to things around here. I had to give Zola that cheap little camera because my good one was stolen, along with a lot of expensive photo equipment.” Anna closed her eyes and sighed. “This used to be such a quiet town. Ward Tucker claims they’re missing a set of silver, too. But with all the stuff they have over there, I don’t know how he could tell whether something was missing or just buried.”

  I sat for a moment, mulling over this new information. What did Zola mean about getting someone? Did they get her instead?

  Anna stood up. “Have you checked the social center? Today was Zola’s dance class. She never misses. I think she has a boyfriend!”

  A boyfriend? I felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe he would know something about Zola. But how was I going to get to the center? With DJ gone, I had no transportation. “Could you give me a lift to the center? My cousin’s gone up to Tucson, and I’m stuck.”

  “Sure,” Anna said. “Come over in ten minutes and we’ll be off.”

  Chapter 14

  COPPER VALLEY BOASTED THAT IT HAD SEVEN social centers to serve the residents. Each offered a bunch of activities ranging from computers and woodworking to photography, ceramics, dancing, and more. I remembered Gran saying how nice it was to have so many activities to choose from. She was never bored.

  Anna pulled her red Volvo into the parking lot of the West Hills Center. Several pale pink buildings spread out from a central courtyard. Water splashed in a Spanish-style fountain i
n the middle, surrounded by sprays of purple bougainvillea and other wispy desert plants with bright orange and yellow flowers.

  “Want me to pick you up?” she asked, helping me into my chair.

  “No. I’ll find a way back. Thanks!”

  “Call if you can’t. I’m in the book.”

  For once, I was glad to be in a town designed for old folks. Everything was wheelchair accessible. I headed over to what looked like the main building. A bulletin board on the outside was cluttered with announcements of classes and visiting artists, descriptions of lost cats, and business cards.

  At the information desk inside, a lady with poofy blonde hair sat playing solitaire on her computer. When I asked about a dance class, she quickly ended the game and pointed across the lobby.

  “In there. Just follow the music.”

  The double doors opened into a huge multipurpose room. Folding chairs lined the walls or were stacked on a cart, leaving the floor open. A clogging class was in full swing, and fiddle music filled the air. About ten couples practiced steps, following the instructor. I scanned the room for a familiar face. No Zola. At the break, a lanky man wearing cowboy boots, a red checkered western shirt, and a neckerchief came over. I tried not to stare at his hair, which looked like it had been dyed with orange soda.

  “Yer Zola’s new friend, ain’t ya,” he said, hooking his thumbs in his pockets.

  “How do you know?”

  “Zola told me all about ya,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m Milton. Where is she, anyhoo? I called over at her place, but she wasn’t there.”

  I counted the possible ideas on my fingers. “One neighbor thinks she just wandered off again. Another says she went on a trip. I think something worse happened.”

  Milton ran his hand through his wild hair. “That don’t sound good. She wouldn’t go away and not tell me.”

  “When did you talk to her last?”

  He rubbed his chin, thinking. “Must’ve been Saturday afternoon. I rang her up for a chat, but she cut it short. Something about takin’ pitchers.”

  “Pictures of what?”