Trouble at the Red Pueblo

by Liz Adair

  Martin shook his head. “A family is suing us to recover the contents of the cache.”

  “The saddle and guns?” Spider handed the notebook and pen to Laurie. “Darlin’, can you take notes? This will go a lot faster if I can just talk.”

  Martin spread his hands. “The cache contained quite a few items besides the saddle and guns. Most of them are in the display case. The value is, for the most part, only historical.”

  “I didn’t get a chance to ask Matt where they were found,” Spider said.

  Martin pointed to his chest. “On land that belonged to my family.”

  Spider thought a moment. “And what is the law about finding things like that? Are you within your rights to keep it?”

  “Yes,” Neva said. “Things like the cache are considered the same as abandoned property. Because they’re so old, and because they were found on our land, Martin, as finder, has ownership rights.”

  “But that doesn’t matter,” Martin said bitterly. “We’re on our butts financially. We can’t afford to go prove in court that we’re within the law.”

  Spider frowned. “Wait a minute. I don’t understand. How can these people even think to have a claim if you don’t know the name of the person who left the cache in the cave? It seems like you would be able to go defend yourself without hiring a lawyer. All you have to do is show they have nothing to base a claim on.”

  Laurie cleared her throat. “Can I interrupt? Martin, you said most of the items found in the cache are in the display case, and most have only historical value. Was there something in the cache— something that’s not in the case— that is worth a lot of money?”

  Martin stood. “I was coming to that. Just a minute, and I’ll be able to address both of your questions.” He left and returned presently with an envelope in one hand and a pair of white gloves in the other. “Let’s go sit in the dining room. The light is better there.”

  Neva led the way through an archway into a room where a mahogany table stood in the center, ringed with cardboard boxes stacked three high against the walls. “Please excuse the way it looks in here,” she said. “We do lots of cataloguing at the table.”

  “Let’s sit at this end.” Martin placed the envelope on the table and put on the gloves. He seated himself at the head and waited for the others to sit. From the envelope, he solemnly pulled a piece of paper about the size of a three-by-five card that bore creases from having been folded several times. He showed them one side and then the reverse. “This was in the match box.”

  Spider leaned forward and examined the document lying in Martin’s hand. “It looks to be part of a larger sheet of paper. On the underside, you’ve got pieces of sentences that have been cut away. What is it?”

  Martin pointed to some writing. “Look at the signature.”

  “Great suffering zot,” Spider murmured. “Does that say what I think it says?”

  “His writing’s better than yours,” Laurie said to Spider. “A. Lincoln.” She looked at Martin. “Is this authentic?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Mattie has been working for six months to find out. We just got a definitive decision two weeks ago.” Martin turned the paper over. “Apparently the two lines written by Lincoln were on the back of a letter from Archibald Dixon petitioning that Oscar Goodman, a confederate prisoner of war, be allowed to take the oath of allegiance to the union and be set free.”

  “Could I see the Lincoln writing again?” Spider peered at the scrap as Martin held it out to him, and he read aloud the two lines above the signature. “Sgt Oscar Goodman, as noted in Archibald letter, take Oath of Dec 8 and be discharged. Jan 16 1864.”

  “Who was Archibald Dixon?” Laurie asked. “And why was he writing to Lincoln? Wasn’t Kentucky a confederate state?”

  Martin shook his head. “The government was pro-union, the people pro-confederate, so officially Kentucky was neutral. Archibald Dixon was a union-leaning government leader.”

  Neva picked up the thread. “On December 8, 1863, Congress passed a bill allowing people from confederate states to take an oath of allegiance to the union and receive amnesty.”

  “So the oath was a get-out-of-jail-free pass for prisoners of war?” Laurie asked.

  Martin raised a finger. “Not for soldiers from Kentucky who fought for the gray. Sergeant Goodman’s family probably got Dixon to speak for them.”

  Laurie sat back in her chair and folded her arms. “But was Goodman the person who stashed everything in the cave?”

  Martin shrugged. “Maybe so. Maybe not. The fact that Lincoln’s note and signature were cut from the letter makes it look like someone was collecting a souvenir. There’s no way to know how the paper ended up in that cache.”

  Spider rubbed his chin as he digested the information Martin had just given him. “Okay. I understand about the signature, but you haven’t said anything about who is bringing suit. Or on what grounds.”

  Martin slipped the paper back in its envelope. “Alyssa Goodman is the plaintiff. She says she’s a direct descendent of Oscar Goodman.”

  Laurie looked from Neva to Martin. “But what does that matter? You said there’s no way to prove he was the one who left the cache.”

  “What does your lawyer say?” Spider asked.

  Martin’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His eyes widened, and he looked like a goldfish, his mouth forming an O and working uselessly as the skin around it took on a bluish tint.

  Seeing Martin’s hands begin to tremble, Spider stood. “Are you all right, sir?”

  Neva stood as well. “No, he’s not all right. I think he’s going to faint again. There he goes; don’t let him fall!” She turned around and hurried through a door behind her.

  Martin’s head fell forward, and he listed to the side. Spider stepped close to the chair and held the other man’s body erect until consciousness returned.

  Martin’s eyes fluttered and then opened. “I’m going to—” His diaphragm began to constrict, and Spider looked around for something to use as a basin.

  Neva reappeared and slid a mixing bowl onto the table just as Martin’s breakfast reappeared in liquid form. She sponged his brow, cheeks and the back of his neck with a cool cloth, and she spoke in soothing tones. “Let’s get you in to the couch, honey. You can rest and get over this dizzy spell.” She looked up at Spider. “Can you support him? I think he can pretty much walk there.”

  Spider pulled Martin’s arm around his neck and hoisted him out of the chair, but his legs were like wet noodles. Laurie stepped in on the other side, and between the two Lathams, they were able to get Martin from the dining room to the living room couch. Neva propped his head up with a pillow and bathed his face again.

  When the color returned to Martin’s cheeks, Neva moved away from the couch, pulling Spider with her. “I need to talk to you,” she whispered. “Can you wait on the patio?” She pointed to the flagstones outside the sliding glass door.

  Spider nodded. He picked up his hat, and he and Laurie stepped out into the shade of a huge cottonwood tree that stood in the back yard.

  “Over here,” Laurie said, walking toward a cluster of green resin chairs surrounding a table. He followed her, and they sat, waiting only a few minutes before Neva stepped through the door from the living room with a business card in her hand. She left the door open.

  “He’s better now,” Neva said.

  Spider stood. “You’re sure you don’t want to take him to the emergency room?”

  “It would just be a repeat of yesterday. They’ll tell me it’s stress, and, frankly, we can’t afford another trip to the hospital.” Neva sat in a chair and patted the one next to her.

  Spider sat but said nothing, simply watching as she fidgeted with the card in her hands.

  “I don’t know if this has anything to do with…” Neva flapped a hand in the direction of the living room where Martin lay on the couch.

  Spider set his hat on the table. “Yes?”

  “Well, a couple months before t
he accident in the bathroom— the first lawsuit— out of the blue, someone sent us a letter wanting to buy our Goblin Valley property.”

  She paused, and Spider waited for her to tell it in her own way and time.

  “I thought it was odd,” she went on, “because everyone in the county knows that Martin would die before he sold an acre of that land. It’s got good water, plenty of it, and it’s been in the family for five generations.”

  Spider caught Laurie’s eye. “I feel the same way about our place,” he said.

  Neva went on. “The letter was from someone over in St. George who said they’d buy it sight unseen. They offered more than it’s appraised for, and something about the whole thing just felt off. I mean, who does something like that?”

  “So what did you do?”

  “Martin wrote them a nice letter and told them he didn’t intend to sell, no matter what the price. But then—”

  “Yes?”

  “After we settled the lawsuit for the accident and were flat broke— I mean sometimes I can’t even afford to buy milk— we heard from them again, wanting to buy the property. This time for less money.”

  Spider patted his pocket, looking for his notebook. “Can you give me the name of the person in St. George who made the offer?” Looking around, he noticed that Laurie still had his pen and pad, and he signaled to her to write the information.

  “I’ve got her card.” Neva handed it to him.

  “Leona Rippley,” Spider read. “Earnest Endeavors? That’s an odd name for a company. What did Martin do when the second offer came?”

  “He wrote a very firm letter saying that there was nothing that could make him want to sell the ranch.” She looked over her shoulder at the living room. “Three weeks later, we received the summons about the cache.”

  Spider put the card in his pocket. “And when did that second offer come?”

  “Right after Fourth of July.”

  “Wait a minute.” Laurie sat forward in her chair. “You think the offer and the lawsuit are connected?”

  “They have to be. It looks to me like someone is determined to get us into a position where our only option is to sell the property. I’m scared we’ll lose the museum. Scared we’ll lose the ranch.” Tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. “Scared I’ll lose Martin.”

  Spider fished in his pocket for the neatly folded handkerchief he’d put there this morning and handed it to Neva.

  She held it to her eyes as if the layers of cotton could shut out the cares of the world. Leaning over, her elbows on her knees, she exhaled a great, drafty sigh. “And I’m afraid of what Mattie might do.”

  Laurie stood and scooted Spider off his chair next to Neva, putting her arm around the woman’s sagging shoulders. That compassionate act opened the floodgates, and Neva began to sob, leaning against Laurie for support as the salty byproduct of her fear and helplessness freely flowed.

  Spider walked to the trunk of the cottonwood and leaned against it, watching the way Neva sat in a semi-fetal position in the circle of Laurie’s arms. Uncomfortable to be intruding on her misery, he walked around the tree and surveyed the back-yard neighbors’ garden plot. While he examined the corn, green beans and ripening cantaloupe, he listened to Neva’s lessening sobs and the encouraging tone of Laurie’s murmured words. Finally he judged it was safe to walk back around.

  Approaching Neva, he cleared his throat. “Could I ask what you meant when you said you were afraid of what Matt would do?”

  Laurie’s head whipped around and her eyes flashed. “Spider Latham, you leave this woman alone. She needs peace and quiet, not someone stirring the pot.”

  Neva held up her hand. “It’s okay, Laurie.” She wiped her nose with the still-folded handkerchief and turned red-rimmed eyes to Spider. “I don’t know what I meant. Truly I don’t. It just came out.”

  Laurie stood. “How about a little rest? Wouldn’t that be good?” Her voice was soft and soothing as she helped Neva up.

  The two women walked together to the house. Spider heard them talking to Martin as they stepped through the sliding glass door, and then Laurie reappeared.

  “I think I’ll stay here while Neva rests,” she said. “Why don’t you go back to the hotel? It’s just a few blocks. I’ll walk back when I’m done here.”

  “All right.” Spider waited a moment after Laurie disappeared inside, wondering if he should try to talk to Martin again. Deciding against that, he picked up his hat and walked around the house to where his pickup was parked.

  He took an alternate route to the hotel and noticed a crew setting up a portable stage by the Kanab Museum steps. A banner over the road advertised that the Western Legends Roundup was this coming weekend. Spider inwardly groaned, seeing visions of what his father used to call ‘drugstore cowboys’ thronging the streets. And cowboy poetry. There would be lots of cowboy poetry.

  It was with that depressing thought that he turned left into the hotel parking lot and braked at the sight of the car in the fourth parking space. “Turns up like a bad penny,” he muttered. Cars on both sides obscured the front of the square little orange car, but he’d lay money that it was a Yugo and had black flames flowing back on the front and sides.

  “HEY, DEPUTY LATHAM!”

  Recognizing the voice, Spider rolled down the window. “Hello, Jade. I thought you might be around. Your car gave you away.”

  Jade crossed from the direction of the hotel lobby, fishing an envelope from his pocket as he walked. A young man trailed behind, carrying a yellow plastic shopping bag. “It’s not my car,” Jade said.

  “The company car, then.”

  Jade grinned. “Not anymore. Now it’s yours.”

  “Say again?” A minivan beeped the horn behind him, and Spider waved an apology. “Let me park,” he told Jade. “Then we can talk.”

  He swung into a vacant space and got out of the truck. “What are you doing here in Kanab?” He shook his friend’s hand and then took the proffered envelope.

  “Special delivery. Oh, this is Raul. He’s my brother-in law.”

  Spider greeted Raul and then opened the envelope. Pulling out several sheets of paper, he examined the first one and his eyebrows shot up. “Great suffering zot! Is this for real?”

  Jade hadn’t quit grinning since he had first greeted Spider. “Yeah. You’re now the proud owner of a 1991 Yugo. Allow me to personally thank you, along with all the other people at Tremain Enterprises. Keys are in it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Nothing to understand. Dad has given you the Yugo.”

  “But why?”

  Jade drew them both into the shade of a covered walkway where heat wasn’t radiating off the black asphalt. “I told him you were driving that same pickup, and he felt you ought to have another car. He knows you can’t use your county cruiser when you’re doing work for him. He says driving the Yugo gives you an edge.”

  “Oh? How’s that?”

  “He says people will underestimate you. Let their guard down.”

  Spider folded the papers and put them back in the envelope. “You sound like you don’t quite believe him.”

  Raul laughed and Jade nodded, a rueful look on his face. “Yeah. I think when he bought the Yugo he thought it would appreciate in value. Having it in the garage reminds him that he may know lots about mining but not much about cars.”

  Spider held up the envelope. “So, it’s mine?”

  “The car is yours. The tax write-off is his.” Jade looked at his watch. “We’ve got a four hour drive ahead of us. We’ve got to get on the road, but here, take these.” He motioned to his companion.

  Mystified, Spider took the sack Raul handed him.

  “Dad wants to be able to get hold of you,” Jade said. “And, since the Yugo has the problem with the gas gauge—”

  “I remember,” Spider interrupted.

  “—he wants you to be able to get hold of Laurie.”

  Spider looked in the bag and took out
a smart phone in a blue case.

  “That one is Laurie’s,” Jade said. “Yours is black. You’ve got a service contract for a year, courtesy of Tremain Enterprises. All the company numbers are already in it. Keep it charged and on.”

  “Charged and on,” Spider said. “I may be able to manage that.”

  Jade walked back out onto the asphalt. “Dad kept the insurance on the car. It’s good for six months. His assistant will let you know when you need to change it over.”

  Spider dropped the envelope in the plastic bag and followed Jade into the sunshine. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Jade laughed. “Admit it. You don’t know whether to thank dad or curse him.”

  “No, no. Tell your dad thank you. Shoot, I’ll tell him myself. I’ve got his number and a phone to call him with.”

  “It’s a smartphone,” Raul said. “It’ll do more than call. You can access the Internet from anywhere, send emails, do research.”

  “Sounds like it’s smarter than I am,” Spider said. “My son Robby tried to show me how to use one last time I visited him in Seattle. I don’t know who was more frustrated, him or me.”

  “It has a GPS to help you find an address,” Raul said. “You want me to show you how to use it?”

  Jade clapped his brother-in-law on the shoulder. “No time, hermano. We have to get on the road.” He waved a farewell to Spider as he backed away. “Remember, Dad wants a report.”

  “I don’t know much yet. Got a lot of questions but dang few answers.”

  Jade and Raul got in a small sedan parked near the office, and Spider walked over to the Yugo. He stood, hands on hips, the corners of his mouth lifting in a wry smile.

  Jade backed up and rolled down his window. “I left a couple bottles of water in the back.”

  “Thanks.” Spider waved as Jade pulled away then opened the door of his new car and leaned in to get the key.

  A voice spoke from behind. “I had a car just like that when I was seventeen.”

  The accent was slightly British, and Spider straightened up and looked around to see who had spoken. The only person nearby looked decidedly un-British. Of medium height and slender, he had black hair, dark eyes and skin the color of honey.