“Yeah,” he said. “I remember.” The gaunt face softened a little. “A crazy one you turned out to be! You wanted to set me up in some kind of business.”
She sniffed. “Yes. And you told me just where I could go and what I could do with my money! It was a foolish idea, anyway.”
“I never did much like being tied down,” he said sheepishly.
Monica drew me forward. “This is Carol Hamilton, my great-niece. She’s related to you too. Distantly. And this is Mr. Trevor, my secretary’s brother.”
Henry held my hand in his long, bony one. “I didn’t know there was anybody left, except me and Frog Face here. I thought everyone was gone.”
Monica looked annoyed, and Henry laughed. “You never liked to be called that, did you?”
“I wasn’t crazy about the name, but I remember I called you Pack Rat to get even. Carol wants to talk to you, Henry. She’s writing a book about me, and she wants you to tell her all about when I was a little girl. Think you can remember that far back?”
Henry Arlen considered. “Sure, I can remember. After a while, if you want, you can come over to my house, and I’ll show her some old pictures and stuff I’ve hung on to. Who’s the kid?”
“My son,” I said. “And I’d like very much to visit your house.” Keith was tugging at my hand. “But first, we’d enjoy going through the pueblo.”
“That’s my job—taking people through. The boss isn’t here right now, but there’s a lady inside who’ll sell you tickets.”
Monica sat down on the bench that Henry had vacated and waved Jason and Keith and me on toward the door. “Go ahead. I’ll stay here. I’ve seen the place and I don’t like all the steps up and down. Henry, you should have accepted that offer I made. Then you wouldn’t be doing this now. After all, I owed you something.”
Jason and Keith went ahead, but Henry paused in the doorway with me. “What’re you talking about?”
“That time on the ranch, when I was about six, and you were ten—remember? That sidewinder? You saved my life. My mother always talked about it afterwards.”
Henry shrugged. “I just moved faster than that ol’ snake, and I got you out of the way. Nothing much.”
“It was to me—I’m still alive. You didn’t even kill it.”
“Why would I do that? Maybe the critters have more right to the desert than we do. It used to be better in those days. Not crowded like now.”
“Crowded” seemed a strange word for this sun-baked town drowsing at the foot of the mountains, but Henry was remembering another day.
“You don’t mind staying here while we go through?” I asked Monica.
“Run along. I’ll be fine.” She looked thoroughly pleased with herself, as though she was still plotting something.
The building was filled with different levels of tiny rooms that had been added on at whim. They were crowded now with articles that had once been part of a man’s life. On a table near the doors I saw strange fossils from the nearby Salton Sea, a handful of mesquite beans, a handsome Indian bonnet that some warrior had once worn. A Sioux war lance leaned against the wall in a corner.
“He was especially interested in everything about Indians,” Henry said.
There was so much, crowding tables and ledges—the rare mixed in with the merely curious—that it would take weeks to examine it all. Perhaps of most interest to me were the old photographs of Indians. Before the Spanish came, those Indians had owned most of California. Some of their descendants locally were rich because of land around Palm Springs that the white man still couldn’t touch.
I was quickly lost as we took unexpected turns, and climbed up and down steps, always discovering new rooms at different levels to explore. Jason managed to keep up with most of Keith’s questions and paid him a quiet attention. Both man and boy had grown easy with each other—as Jason and I were not.
At my elbow, Henry spoke. “She sure looks old,” he mused. “I thought them movie stars got their faces ironed out or something.”
“Monica hasn’t been a movie star for a long time. She left all that years ago. You knew her parents, didn’t you?” My own great-grandparents, I thought.
“Sure. Her ma, especially. A real nice lady. She used to feed me oatmeal cookies when I was a kid.”
Monica, after all, had decided not to stay behind. She spoke from a doorway. “My mother was hateful and mean,” she said sharply. “Everything I ever did, I had to do in spite of her.”
“Aw go on!” Henry said. “Your ma was never mean to anybody.”
“You didn’t know. No one knew. I had to run away to get to Hollywood.”
Her sudden intensity seemed to alarm Henry, who clearly preferred a less emotional atmosphere. “Hey,” he said to Keith, “you notice the window glass in this house? It’s scrap glass that Cabot picked up wherever he could. That’s why the panes are in all different colors and pieces. He just mounted each piece in whatever size he found it and fitted it in.”
Monica closed her eyes and leaned against a crowded counter. Her small outburst had shaken her. “I don’t like this place. It’s too dark and crowded. It reminds me too much of things I want to forget.”
Like memories of her mother that disturbed her?
Keith had seen all he could absorb inside. “Can I go look at the Indian head statue, Mom?” he asked. “I like it better out in the sun.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Monica offered. “I’ve had enough of this too. Come along, Keith—we’ll go downstairs.”
Jason spoke to Henry. “You needn’t come clear to the top. I’ve been up there before, and I’ll show Carol Mrs. Yerxes’s apartment.”
Henry seemed glad enough to return to his bench, and Monica and Keith followed him down. If there was something she wanted to warn Henry not to talk about to me, she would now have her chance. But there was nothing I could do to stop her, and I climbed the narrow stairs after Jason.
The room at the top of this square tower was in contrast to the rest. It was less of a museum, and some effort at old-fashioned luxury had been attempted.
“Cabot’s wife was a theosophist and she used this as her retreat,” Jason said. “She liked to come up here to meditate. In fact, they used to hold meditation classes, and people came from all over to attend.”
It was a small room, with a bed, a dressing table, a washstand, and many more pictures.
“Carol,” Jason said, “I want to talk to you.”
“Has something new happened?”
“A lead, that’s all. I have to check this one out myself. Gwen and her mother may still be in Arizona, so I’m going there tomorrow.”
I knew how much I would miss him. Just having Jason within reach by phone had become something I’d come to depend on.
“Of course you must go,” I said. “I hope you find them.”
“I’m not counting on it. I may be away for a week or more if I have to move around. Will you be all right now, Carol?”
The remoteness he seemed to put on so easily had lessened for the moment, and I wondered if he were as torn about me as I was about him.
“I’ll manage,” I said. “I’m on guard now. Though we can’t go on indefinitely living like this. I must try to see Owen soon. There’s a way I might be able to fight back.”
“How can you do that?”
“I’ve been thinking about it. Perhaps I can bluff a little and scare him off. I know how close to the law he’s always operated. There were one or two things … If I could build them up and make him believe I know more about some of his deals than I really do, perhaps I could frighten him off.”
“It sounds risky. But perhaps worth trying. When do you plan to see him?”
“Right away, if I can work it out. I don’t want to ask Wally, so perhaps I can manage it through Saxon.”
I wanted to reach out to Jason in some way, and didn’t dare. Too many barriers stood between us. Whenever he took a step toward me, he drew quickly back, and that was something I cou
ldn’t deal with. I might want him in my life, but not with all that baggage of distrust he carried. He was on my side now, yet still on guard himself.
I went to the high window of the room, where I could look out upon the Indian head that was nearly as tall as this tower. Keith stood in the sand near the great carving, and both Monica and Henry were with him. So was a stranger—a burly-looking man I’d never seen before was talking to Keith. Monica waved her hands as if in protest, but the stranger suddenly snatched Keith under his arm, pushed Monica away, and ran toward a car near the road. Almost in the same instant, Henry Arlen hurled himself at the man’s legs in a flying tackle, bringing him down.
I screamed to Jason. “Quick—downstairs! Someone’s got Keith!”
Jason went out of the room and down the stairs with me close behind. We tore past the woman at the ticket counter and rushed outside.
Henry lay on his stomach in the sand, while the husky man dashed for his car, Keith squirming under his arm and screaming for me. Jason caught him at the road’s edge and swung a hard-muscled arm around his neck. In an instant Monica was beside Jason, beating the fellow around the head with her silver-mounted purse.
Free to run, Keith rushed into my arms and I caught him up and carried him to the bench beside the pueblo. He clasped both arms frantically about my neck, his whole body trembling. When I looked back I saw that Jason’s pent-up rage was being released on the man he’d captured. Owen’s man knew his danger. He struggled from Jason’s grasp and fled to his car. Jason would have gone after him, but Monica sagged suddenly against him, and he caught her before she slumped to the ground.
Dusting off his pants with a jaunty air of satisfaction, Henry Arlen swaggered over to join us on the bench.
“Hey, kid,” he said to Keith, “it’s okay now. We fixed him good, we did!”
Keith hid his face against my shoulder. He was shaking, and I could feel the same killing rage in me that had possessed Jason. But I had to soothe my son.
“He’s gone. It’s all right, darling. Hush, now. We’ll never let him take you.”
The car was speeding down the road, and Monica righted herself and stepped back from Jason.
“You’d have finished him off, wouldn’t you?” she said.
“I might have, at that,” Jason told her grimly. “I suppose I should thank you.”
They came toward us and Henry nodded at Monica. “You still got plenty of spunk, Frog Face.”
“Now you can see what Owen’s like, Aunt Monica,” I said. “He won’t stop at anything. But who told him we’d be here?”
She was still breathing quickly, still angry. “Believe me, Carol, I didn’t. Is the boy all right?”
I held Keith close. Who had known we were coming to Desert Hot Springs? Linda, Ralph, perhaps Wally? Even Saxon?
“I’ll talk to Owen Barclay!” Monica cried, getting excited again. “I’ll tell him just what I think of him.”
Though I was glad of her concern, I had to keep her from seeing Owen. That would do no good.
“Stay away from him—just stay away! I’m going to see him myself. I’m going to stop this once and for all.” I looked at Jason. “I’m going to see him tomorrow.”
As her indignation died, Monica’s spirits began to droop. “I’ve had enough. I want to go home.”
I was beginning to realize that her stamina would hold up just as long as she wanted it to. After that, she could collapse in a moment.
“We’ll start back right away,” I told her. The purpose for which I’d come here no longer mattered. Henry didn’t have anything to tell me that Monica wouldn’t prevent.
He surprised me, however, by having other ideas. “You ain’t going to pieces now, are you?” he demanded of her. “Not after the way you went after that kidnapper! This lady”—he nodded at me, his eyebrows abristle—“this lady, she’s come all the way to see what I can show her at my house. So let’s go there now, and you can rest. I’ll give you something to eat, if you’re hungry. You used to like chili when you was a kid.”
Monica gave in. “I just want to go somewhere and lie down.”
Henry spoke to the woman inside the pueblo and came with us to Jason’s car. It was close, he said—he usually walked. On the way he told Keith stories to distract him.
Inside the sparsely furnished house, the living room was spanking clean, with everything in order. Henry was a good housekeeper. Monica lay down upon the lumpy sofa and stretched out with her eyes closed.
“She should never of left here in the first place,” Henry muttered. “Look what it got her—all that movie stuff!” Monica gave no sign that she’d heard as he pulled a crocheted afghan over her.
When he’d dished up bowls of hot chili that had been simmering on the stove, we sat down to eat in the kitchen. Monica didn’t stir, but she could hear us through the open door as Henry rambled into long stories about the past. Whatever it was that Alva thought Henry “knew” had never emerged and no longer seemed important to me. I just wanted to get Keith back to the relative safety of Smoke Tree House. As we ate, Henry brought old photo albums to show me, and I found a number of snapshots of Monica as a little girl. Even then she’d been pretty, though often a bit rebellious-looking.
Henry pointed out a picture of Monica’s parents—my own great-grandparents. The first pictures of them I’d ever seen. The print was blurry, but I felt an unexpected kinship for those two who stood against the very mountain slope that rose behind this house. Here was a real connection for me with my family past.
“You can have that, if you want it,” Henry said.
The snapshot had been fitted into slots, and I removed it carefully. One of these days when Monica was in a good mood, I’d try to learn more about her parents. And not only for the book.
When we’d finished eating, Henry was reluctant to let us go, and he invited us back with a gusto that seemed faintly wistful. When things were better, I thought, I would come to see him again, and not just to talk about Monica.
The drive across the desert seemed longer than when we’d come out. Keith slept in my arms, exhausted, and Monica dozed and muttered in the back seat. The moment we reached the terrace, Linda rushed out to help her from the car, filled with anxiety as she assisted her upstairs to her room.
“Please wait,” I said to Jason, and took Keith off to bed. Helsa brought him hot milk, and when he fell quickly asleep, I rejoined Jason.
“I don’t want to talk directly to Owen on the phone,” I said. “Saxon should know how to reach him, and perhaps he’ll set up a meeting between us. Will you stay until I’ve called Saxon?”
Jason listened while I talked on the phone. After some hesitation, Saxon agreed to see if he could set something up for me with Owen. In a few minutes he called back and told me that Owen had agreed. Saxon had suggested his restaurant early in the morning as a meeting place, and a time was set.
“I don’t think you should see this man alone,” Saxon said. “Let me pick you up and drive you down in the morning. Then I can stay within hearing, if you like.”
“I’d like that very much,” I told him.
It was done.
“When are you leaving?” I asked Jason.
“Early tomorrow. Be careful, Carol. I don’t much like any of this. I’ll call you in the evening, if I can.”
“Yes—fine. Jason, if it hadn’t been for you today—”
He gave me the smile I’d begun to watch for. “Monica and Henry helped,” he said, and touched my shoulder lightly.
I watched as he drove down the mountain, wishing he didn’t have to leave immediately. But he must fight for his daughter, as I must for my son.
When his car was out of sight, I went upstairs and sat with Keith for a long time. In my mind I went over and over the words I would say to Owen tomorrow, trying to prepare myself. This was a desperate try, and I had just one chance to get it right.
SEVENTEEN
In the dark hours of that night my fear of facing Owen gre
w so strong that my courage was nearly submerged. I began to question everything. I even wondered about Saxon. He had been surprisingly kind to me, yet I didn’t really know him, and couldn’t be sure how far I could trust him. He had agreed readily enough to do as I asked, yet when it came to Monica’s affairs, there seemed a murkiness about everything concerning Saxon—a fog of concealment that kept me worried.
Night hours are always the longest to get through. I slept only a little, and was glad to see dawn shining on the mountain and into my room.
First of all, I had to deal with Keith, who didn’t want me out of his sight for a moment. I tried to make him understand.
“Darling, what I’m going to do this morning will stop anyone from ever taking you away from me again. So you must help me now, honey. Stay with Helsa, or Linda, or Aunt Monica all the time. Don’t go anywhere by yourself. Not even into the garden.”
“Can I play with Ralph?”
“Not until I come home. Promise me, Keith.”
He clung to me and cried a little. Yet there was a sturdy courage he could summon, and in spite of yesterday’s nightmare, he did his best.
Linda joined us at breakfast. Apparently she’d heard about our day from Monica, and was sorry and concerned—more like my old friend of the letters. The one point that she disapproved of was my reliance on Saxon.
“I don’t trust him anymore, Carol. He’s turned into someone I don’t know.”
I tried to reassure her, in spite of my own misgivings. “After all, we’ll be in the restaurant, and at that hour the help will be around getting ready for the day.”
She accepted that doubtfully. “Jason’s going away. I wish he could be there too.”
No one wished that more than I, but this was how it had to be.
Saxon came for me at ten and we drove down the mountain to his restaurant. We were there well ahead of Owen, and Saxon seemed especially considerate and kind.
“Look, Carol, I’m going to stay right here with you,” he promised. “I don’t think you should be alone with this man for a moment.”
My mental picture of Saxon Scott in this strongly protective role was a familiar one, and I was thankful to have him here.
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