The Desert Waits

by J. Carson Black

  Nick would request that a handwriting analysis be done on the diary and the cards. Hopefully, Sheriff Johnson would be so busy hobnobbing with the governor and attacking other agencies, he wouldn’t find out about it until after the fact.

  Nick grinned ruefully. It was Sheriff Johnson’s covert war with Game & Fish that had led to his current predicament.

  Game & Fish wasn’t popular with the current governor; therefore, it wasn’t popular with the sheriff of Gilpin County. The sheriff’s office had a long-standing policy of ignoring and belittling unfashionable government agencies. Which put Nick on a collision course with his superior, culminating in last month’s drug raid.

  Drug dealers had big egos. They liked to own dangerous animals. The bigger and badder the dealer, the bigger and badder the animal. So Nick wasn’t surprised by what he found in Jesus Carerra’s home.

  The jittery, dehydrated jaguar in the spiked collar had been living in a fifteen-by-thirty-foot pen. The pen hadn’t been cleaned out in a coon’s age. There was less than an inch of brackish water in its dish.

  Nick had called dispatch and told Lupita to ask Game & Fish to come and confiscate the jaguar. He was surprised when Kyle Johnson himself had gotten on the horn and told him to leave the animal there; he wanted to keep it as evidence.

  Nick hadn’t known how long the jaguar would survive in those conditions, so he disobeyed Johnson’s order. At the time, he’d thought it wasn’t a big deal. So what if he asked for aid from a rival agency? He’d misjudged Kyle Johnson’s pettiness quotient.

  Nick took a deep breath, redolent of burning motor oil and heated vinyl, and tried to roll the window down further. Just after noon and the car was like an oven: no air conditioning.

  Although Johnson had gone to Phoenix today, he hadn’t forgotten Nick. He’d left orders for Nick to pick up the new vehicle assigned to him, a 1989 Crown Victoria sedan with one hundred and twenty thousand miles on the odometer and an oil leak.

  With a flourish of his pen, Kyle Johnson had effectively managed to remove a thorn in his side; from now on Nick would spend a lot more of his time and energy nursing the Crown Vic through the desert washes and trying to avoid scraping the oil pan.

  Up ahead Nick saw Doug Childers’ Bronco turn onto the main highway from Devil’s Hearth Road and drive away in the other direction.

  On impulse, Nick turned off onto the graded dirt road. He’d seen Doug’s Bronco on that road a few times and wondered what he was looking for.

  Not far up Devil’s Hearth, Nick saw the Bronco’s tire tracks swerve off to the right up a track that was little more than two ruts divided by a hump of rocky ground and flattened bushes. Nick followed suit. He thought of the oil pan and drove at a snail’s pace. Creosote bushes scraped their fingernails against the Crown Vic’s paint and clawed at him with sticky fingers through the open window.

  He gained the hill. Below, sun glinted off tin, nearly blinding him. A rusty corrugated roof rose out of a low thicket of mesquite trees.

  The Crocker Place had been abandoned since before World War II. The long building below him was the bunkhouse. On a rise of land directly east, Charles Davis Crocker’s ranch house had stood in two-story splendor. Now only broken foundations and a dying eucalyptus tree marked the spot.

  Nick let the car idle as he decided whether or not to continue down to the bunkhouse. Heat and exhaust billowed up from the floorboard. The track meandered down the slope into the greedily clutching mesquite trees. Maybe Childers liked to park here between calls.

  At the place where the road bottomed out, he saw a welter of tire tracks leading back up into the creosote. Over that hill was a lean-to and an old corral.

  He nursed the car up the incline and stopped before the lean-to. Several pieces of rusted machinery had been left under the ramada. In the preserving dry air of Arizona, they would most likely remain forever. Other than that, the place looked deserted.

  Nick didn’t take any chances. After unsnapping the holster to his service pistol, he reached for the police radio and called in his location.

  Tire tracks looped and crisscrossed the clearing, turning the ground into fine powder. Someone had been busy.

  Nick walked under the overhang, grateful for its shade. A big crate had been dumped on the hardpan surface of the lean-to. It looked as if someone had pried open the slats with a crowbar.

  The words FRAGILE—AQUARIUMS were stamped in block letters on the side. He hunkered down and peered into the crate’s interior. Grimaced at the wild animal smell.

  Breathing through his mouth, he leaned in further. Saw something dark in the murky recesses of the crate’s bottom. He wasn’t about to stick his hand in—there could be anything crawling around in there: black widows, scorpions, centipedes. Nick glanced around and saw a hoe leaning against a post.

  He fished the bundle out and realized it was just an oily rag rolled up. He started to let it drop. The cloth unraveled and something fell out, landing with a soft plop at his feet.

  At first he thought it was a stuffed toy.

  It was a parrot. A thick-billed parrot like the one he’d tried to catch the other day. Its beak had been taped shut and its pupils were as brittle as watermelon seeds. Dead, already stiff.

  Anger gusted through him.

  Somebody must have decided to smuggle an endangered species along with the drugs and this one didn’t make it.

  The next night Alex managed to stay awake until dawn. The jaguarundi—if it existed at all—didn’t show. She awoke again around eleven, packed up her camera equipment, and started the long hike back to the trailhead.

  As she reached Groves Canyon, she was surprised to see Maybelle Deering riding toward her on Bob.

  “If it isn’t the resident wildlife photographer. You still looking for that jaguarundi?”

  “No such luck.” Alex wished Maybelle would let her pass; it was getting really hot.

  “That stuff looks damn heavy. I oughta give you Fred.”

  “Fred?”

  “My llama. Great pack animal.”

  “No argument there.” Sweat trickled in cold rivulets under her arms. She must smell great.

  “I could rent him to you.”

  Alex set the tripods against a rock and inched into the shade of the canyon wall. It was a damn good idea. “How much?”

  “Ten dollars a day should do it. So you’re going to try again?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “You really think that cat’s out there?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’ve got a shot of something that looks like it.”

  “Tell you what. When you get ready to go, you give me a call, and I’ll meet you at the trailhead. If you’re worried he’ll spook the wildlife, you can park him a ways from your blind.”

  “Thanks.”

  When Alex got back to the hotel, a maintenance worker was mowing the lawn. The mown grass smelled sweetly of summer, so enticing she debated going for a swim before showering. As she walked by, the yard man darted a glance at her. She recognized him as the guy with the bluetick hounds. She waved a greeting and he gave her the thumbs-up sign.

  She unlocked the door to her room, reflecting that she was lucky she’d run into Maybelle Deering. She never would have thought of a llama on her own.

  “Long time no see.”

  Startled, Alex spun around.

  Ted leaned against the porch column wearing a grin of uncomplicated pleasure and a pair of flowered swimming trunks. He held a drink with a parasol in it.

  He was the last person she wanted to see. She stunk to high heaven, she was hot, tired, and her arms ached. All she wanted was a shower and to see if her cat were all right. “Ted, this is not a good time.”

  He looked hurt. “I just wanted to ask you to the wrap party. I figured since you knew Caroline, you’d want to be there. There’s gonna be a tribute to her and—”

  Alex sighed. “What time?”

  “Around four. Out by the pool.” He stepped forward and touch
ed her shoulder. “You all right? You look upset.”

  “I’m just tired. I’ve been out in the blind for two days, so you can understand why I want to get to my room and take a shower.”

  “Something’s bothering you. You can’t hide it from me. We’re friends, remember?”

  “Ted—”

  “Look, I know you’re tired. But I’m worried about you. I’ve been having nightmares about finding Booker, and I know it must be the same for you. Why don’t you meet me for a drink by the pool before the party? We can talk it out.”

  She really didn’t want to, but Alex didn’t see any other way of getting rid of him. “All right.”

  His face lit up. “Say three o’clock?”

  That only gave her an hour to clean up and rest. She debated telling him no, but he was already gone.

  Inside the room, Alex closed her eyes and savored the air conditioning. She ran a bath and climbed in, grateful for the hot water on her aching muscles. It was two fifteen now. Not much time. She picked up the phone to call Ted’s room and cancel and, cursing her wimpiness, set it down again. She’d promised, and Ted might hound her if she didn’t meet him.

  She put on the kimono she wore as a robe and stretched out on the bed. If she could just lie down for a half hour, she’d be able to face anything.

  As Alex edged toward consciousness, the vague feeling that something wasn’t right caused her heart to beat fast.

  A mockingbird sang nearby. Alex shifted onto her side, still half asleep. It should be warmer than this; the tent had a tendency to trap heat. The sound of voices drifted in with the mockingbird, and someone dived into the pool.

  She was back at the Hotel Sonora. She opened her eyes and found herself staring into Ted Lang’s face, only inches away from her own. He had been kneeling by her bed, watching her sleep.

  “Ted!” She jerked her kimono tighter around her chest and sat up, wide awake. “What are you doing here?”

  He leaned back, warding her off with his open palms. “Hey, Alex, I’m sorry. I was just about to wake you up.”

  “How’d you get in here?” Alex hurried toward the bathroom, grabbing a handful of clothes from her open suitcase on the way.

  “The door was open. I saw you were sleeping, and I just came in here to wake you—”

  Alex shut the bathroom door on his words, pulled on the shorts and top, and leaned against the sink, trying to calm down. Give Ted an inch and he’d take a mile. Had he been that way with Caroline? Always pulling something like this and then apologizing it away, sure that she’d give him the benefit of the doubt?

  A timid knock on the door. “Alex, I’m sorry.”

  Ironically, Alex thought of the line from the old movie, Love Story. Love is never having to say you’re sorry. Ted certainly didn’t subscribe to it. It seemed he was saying it constantly—after the fact.

  “I shouldn’t have barged in like that. But I didn’t think it would do any harm ... I had no idea you’d take it like this.”

  “Go away.”

  “Alex, if you don’t mind my saying so, I think you’re overreacting.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Ted, I’m only going to say this once. Get out of here.”

  After a couple of minutes, she heard the door close. She waited a few more for good measure. He was gone.

  She pulled the drapes and lay on the bed. Lady-cat jumped up and curled up beside her as if she sensed Alex needed comfort.

  Had she overreacted? Alex didn’t know, and she didn’t care. Let Ted think what he wanted. The truth was, she didn’t like him.

  She’d wanted to like him, for Caroline’s sake. There was nothing overtly unlikable about him, except for the way he seemed to attract bad things, like some kind of magnet. She’d known people like that before. Seemingly well-meaning people who managed always to make a person feel bad. They were toxic to others, but it never seemed as if they were at fault.

  Brian had been like that. He never took the blame for anything because he never did anything wrong. But Alex found herself feeling inadequate, even depressed, in his presence. He was thoughtless. He’d forget to meet her at a restaurant and apologize profusely afterward. He’d relay some unkind cut someone had made about her and apologize for that. Thoughtlessness, Alex had come to believe, was not a victimless crime. There was more than a little malice in the things Brian said and did, but he was cute enough to avoid the blame.

  Ted Lang was the same kind of man. It had taken four years and divorce papers in the mail for Alex to figure out Brian’s game, but this time she wasn’t fooled.

  It was good the wrap party was today. She’d never have to see Ted Lang again.

  Four o’clock came and went. Alex heard the crowd outside, but didn’t bother to look. She turned on the television to drown out the sounds.

  At ten past four, the phone rang. Alex didn’t answer it, even though he kept it up for a long time. Two could play at the rudeness game.

  A little while later, he knocked on the door. “Alex, the party’s started.”

  She stroked the cat and didn’t say a word.

  “I know you’re mad at me, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. The door was open, you know. This is Ted we’re talking about, not some stranger. I’m sorry if I offended you. Come on out and join the party.”

  After a while he left. Fortunately, Alex was sleepy from staying up all night. Before long, the party noise faded and she sank into sleep, dreaming fitfully of Caroline sitting on some guy’s lap, telling Alex in no uncertain terms to go away and leave them alone.

  Alex awoke late the next morning and headed for the coffee shop, threading her way through groups of movie people in the lobby, most of them surrounded by luggage. Jagged Impact had officially wrapped, and the big, not-so-happy family was breaking up.

  Now she wished she’d gone to the party, at least said goodbye to Luther.

  As it turned out, she got to say goodbye after all. He hailed her from a long table by the window. Seven or eight people sat with him, including Ted Lang.

  It would be rude not to respond. Alex walked over just as Grey Sullivan, sitting next to Luther, pushed his plate away and stood up. “I’ve got to go. You can sit here.” He brushed past her, murmuring an insincere “nice meeting you,” giving her the distinct impression he didn’t remember who she was and didn’t much care.

  Alex glanced at Ted. She expected him to look chastened or even self-righteous. But it was as though she’d never ordered him out of her room. He smiled at her, about to speak.

  “I just thought I’d say goodbye,” Alex said quickly.

  “You’ve got to eat sometime,” Lute replied. “Jagged Impact is picking up the tab.”

  Feeling helpless, Alex sat.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t make it to the party,” Luther said. “I wanted to apologize for the way I acted the other day.”

  “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

  “I get uptight around Latte. She and I just don’t get along, even if she is going with my best friend.”

  And you’re her sister’s faithless husband. Still, she couldn’t help liking him. “No explanation’s necessary. It’s been a bad time for everyone.” Alex could see that Ted was trying to attract her attention out of the corner of her eye, looking attentive and ready to jump into the conversation. She turned her head slightly away, hoping it would send him the signal she didn’t want to talk to him.

  Alex ate as Luther talked, mostly about the film and what would happen in post-production.

  “If you’re ever in LA, come by and see me,” Lute said, handing her his card.

  “I’ll do that.”

  Luther struggled for something else to say. They really didn’t know each other well enough to talk about anything other than Caroline and Jagged Impact. Alex didn’t want to rehash how sad they all were; it made her uncomfortable in the extreme. The other people—no one Alex knew—were getting up and leaving, all except Ted. She could sense his presence two cha
irs down and across the table.

  Alex decided to make a preemptive strike. “Luther, I’ve got to get going.”

  “Alex,” Ted called softly.

  “I sure will miss the desert,” Luther said. “How you doing with that cat you’re looking for, the jaguar?”

  “Jaguarundi. Nothing concrete so far.”

  “I hope you find it. You deserve to.” Luther stood up, held out a big paw. “It’s been great getting to know you.”

  Alex reached out to shake his hand and he pulled her to him, hugging her awkwardly. She felt as if she’d been pressed into a tree trunk. Alex couldn’t imagine why women all over the world thought of him as a sex symbol. He looked more like a big, brokenhearted farm boy.

  “Alex.” Ted had moved over and now sat across from her. “I’m glad to get a chance to see you before I go.”

  “I’ve got to go.” She stood up.

  “What’s wrong? What’d I do?”

  “Do? You broke into my room!”

  He laughed easily. “Oh, that.”

  “Yes, that.”

  “The door was wide open. I just thought I’d wake you.”

  “Ted, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Caroline said you could hold a grudge.”

  “What?”

  “She said you took things too much to heart.”

  “Well, she was wrong.” She pushed the chair back with force and tripped, fell back against the window.

  “You okay?” Ted shot out of his chair and rounded the table.

  “I’m fine.” She pushed him away. “Look, Ted, you and I just don’t get along. Maybe it’s chemistry, I don’t know. I know we both loved Caroline, that’s something we share, but I’d just as soon not see you again.”

  He didn’t drop a stitch. “I understand that, what with all the history we share. Stuff I know about Caroline that would really hurt you—”

  “Like what?” Alex couldn’t let that drop.