The outside mirror exploded as it tore away from the door. Nora yanked the wheel to the left. The Jeep swung back onto the road. But she’d overcorrected and now they headed for the steep shoulder drop off. Nora swung the wheel back. The Jeep lurched to the right, the tires stuttering. In that instant, she knew they were going to flip. She twisted the wheel one way, then the next, without any conscious thought. Muscle memory or luck or possibly even her kachina guided her, though he didn’t show himself. In seconds or minutes or perhaps years, the Jeep settled into a straight line race down the road. With no curves in her immediate sight, Nora took a second to gather her bearings. The high rev engine shrieked. The valley stretched before them with one long slope to the visitor’s center and a gradual flattening of the road as it swept toward the highway. They still careened down the hill, going way too fast for safety. If they passed the fee kiosk at this speed, they could hit a pedestrian or crash into another vehicle.
Nora considered ramming the Jeep into first or second gear, but if she disengaged the clutch now she might not be able to force it into another gear and they’d be free-wheeling.
A line of cars inched through the fee station on the left. A Cruise America RV with a cheery vacationing family painted on the rear loomed in front of them, making its way through the exit.
“We’re going to hit them!” Abigail shrieked. She braced her arms on the dash.
The Jeep lost some momentum as the road leveled, but they still barreled out of control. The back end of the RV grew in the windshield.
Nora laid on the horn.
The brake lights of the RV lit up. No! She needed them to speed up, not stop! Nora held her breath and gripped the wheel. They would collide with the RV at the kiosk. The pavement widened to accommodate the traffic at the fee station.
Please stay inside the RV. If someone stepped out from the either the RV or the kiosk, she’d plow into them.
Amid Abigail’s screams and the shrieking engine, Nora yanked the wheel. They shot to the right side of the RV, wheels balancing on the edge of the pavement.
Whack. They guillotined the driver’s side mirror.
Nora sucked in air. They’d made it! Only a long, flat road ahead, with plenty of time for the Jeep the slow to a stop.
Then she saw it.
A group of motorcycles pulled out in front of her, leaving the visitors’ center. Between the group of six or eight, they covered both lanes. They didn’t know Nora couldn’t slow down. She laid on her horn, but they didn’t have enough time to react. She jerked the wheel to the right and the Jeep flew off the road into the sand.
It only took fifty feet or so for the Jeep to come to a complete halt. They banged across shrubs and rocks, their seat belts biting into them as they crossed the brain-rattling, rough terrain. Abbey slammed into the back of Nora’s seat and yelped.
They finally stopped and Nora cut the engine.
“My god! We could have been killed!” Abigail panted and clutched her chest. Nora tried to draw in a breath, but struggled. She couldn’t let go of the steering wheel.
“I told you two years ago to get a new car. But no, you didn’t listen. You aren’t happy unless you’ve got the oldest car on the road.”
Oxygen finally seeped into Nora’s lungs. She hoped her heart didn’t split her chest.
“You’re lucky this didn’t happen in the mountains. I’d have had to bear the loss of my only daughter.”
Nora wanted to close her eyes, but they were stuck wide open in panic mode.
“It is irresponsible of you to have held on to this antique this long.
At least now you’ll have to get a new car.”
Nora popped her seat belt loose, flung her door open, and jumped out. Abbey hopped out after her, no worse for the terror.
Feet on solid ground, Nora leaned her hands against the hot hood and dropped her head. The shaking commenced and when her knees buckled, she sank to a squat.
22
Abigail’s ranting sounded like The Chipmunks on speed. When the shaking subsided and her bones felt solid, Nora stood up. She found her phone in her backpack and called Marlene.
Marlene’s voice boomed through the phone. Maybe her annoyance wasn’t directed at Nora, but she sounded like she wanted to punch something. “You’re at the visitors’ center? The brakes? Are you okay?”
“Just hurry. Abigail’s lecture is about to drill a hole in my brain.” “Wait.” Marlene spoke to someone. After a minute she came back on the line. “Bill Hardy is here. He said he’d come along with me.” “Bill Hardy?”
Marlene spoke to the phantom Bill. “I’ll lock up and meet you at the garage.” The bell above the door tinkled and Marlene spoke into the phone. “Bill owns the repair shop down the street from me.”
That must be the shop Darrell warned her against. “The Conoco? How do you know Bill?”
“He’s a friend.” Marlene sounded distracted, probably closing up the Read Rock.
“And you think he’s a good mechanic? Fair?”
“What are you talking about? I just told you he’s a friend. So yeah, he’s fair. Would you like to call the Better Business Bureau?” The bell dinged again and a door bang closed.
Nora closed her eyes against the glare. “No, sorry. I’m not thinking.” “Of course not. We’re on the way.”
Marlene and Bill Hardy arrived in less than a half hour, long enough for Abigail to calm down. She had pulled out some moistened towelettes and done some sort of magical repair to her face and hair that made her look as though she’d just stepped out of the salon. The sweat drying from her shirt and a quick wipe of one of Abigail’s towelettes constituted enough freshening up for Nora.
Park rangers and a few curious tourists ventured out, hoping to get the story. Nora explained the brake failure and that help was on the way. Since no one was injured and the damage was limited to the Jeep’s mirrors, the authorities seemed willing to let the incident drop. Abigail sat in the Jeep with the doors opened to catch the slight breeze. Abbey stretched out in the shade under the Jeep. Nora paced, going from a three-foot Mormon tea shrub, around two rocks the size of picnic tables, and back again, her boots crunching on a crust of gravel and grit.
Marlene and Bill arrived in a tow truck that had faded to a colorless gray. Tool boxes lined the heavy truck and an assortment of tools and equipment filled the bed. Marlene spilled out of the passenger side, her red-and-yellow-striped skirt billowing in the breeze. She strode over to Nora and Abigail and stopped to inspect them. “You seem okay.”
“Barely,” Abigail spewed in a breathless fury. “That Jeep is done for and it nearly took us out with it.”
Bill Hardy sauntered over. He might have been fifty or eighty, with deep lines etched in his face. He reached out to shake Nora’s hand, his grease-stained paw bearing black half-moons under his fingernails. He wore dark blue Oshkosh overalls and a stretched and faded T- shirt. “How do.”
Nora accepted his quick and crushing handshake. “The brakes went out.”
“Hmm.” He stepped to the Jeep and popped the hood. He hummed while he surveyed the engine. Nora turned to Marlene. “Thank you so much for coming out here,” she said.
Abigail gazed up at Marlene, whose Amazonian elegance seemed fitting to the red stone and sand. “You’re an angel. I just don’t know what we would have done without you.”
Still humming, Bill pulled back from the engine and squatted down to look under the Jeep.
Marlene watched the mechanic as he got on his hands and knees and reached behind the passenger side front wheel. “You were lucky Bill was in the shop when you called. He’s a big mystery fan and comes in once a month for all the new paperbacks.”
Bill came out from under the Jeep and put a hand on the fender to help himself up. “Found your problem. It’s an easy fix and you’ll be on your way.” He ambled toward his truck.
“What happened?” Nora asked.
He rummaged in the bed of his truck and pulled out a plastic g
allon container and held it up. “Out of brake fluid.”
Abigail crept up behind him. “That’s all?”
He walked back to the Jeep and addressed Nora. “Have you noticed the brakes getting spongy lately?”
She nodded.
“Fluid’s probably been leaking out for a couple of days. When you hit the brakes coming down that slope, it squeezed the last of the fluid out and then you were done. Nice work getting her slowed down and stopped, though.” He picked up his humming again.
“I’ve never heard of the brakes losing fluid,” Abigail said.
He interrupted his humming. “I haven’t seen it myself. Not like this.”
“What do you mean?” Nora asked.
He twisted the cap of the brake fluid container. “Looked like the bleeder valve somehow worked loose. Then the drive sort of wiggled it even more loose. It leaked out a little at a time, until you hit them hard, then it blew the rest of the fluid out.” He unscrewed a cap in the engine and poured the fluid. “I tightened the bleeder valve and I’ll get this filled up. You’ll be good to go.”
“How would this have happened?” Nora asked.
He put the cap back on the jug and puckered his lips in consideration. “I don’t know.”
Abigail crossed her arms. “It happened because this Jeep is so old it’s literally falling apart. I say we drive it right onto a lot in Moab and get you something decent.”
Bill sauntered back to his tow truck. “Oh, this beauty has lots of life in her. I wouldn’t go trading her off just yet. Especially now that she’s all fixed up.”
Nora braced herself. “What do I owe you?”
He placed the jug into the mess of his truck bed. He squinted his eyes and gazed down the road, calculating. “Let’s see. Mileage out here both ways, plus filling the fluid.” He winked at Nora. “And a little something for my expertise.” Here it comes. Darrell said this guy gouged tourists. “How about twenty bucks?”
Nora waited. The first twenty for the drive one way, then another twenty for the drive back. Add a hundred or so for his expertise.
He waited. Frowned. “You think that’s too much?”
Marlene hit Nora on the arm. “Twenty? For the whole thing?” she stammered.
He hardened his face. “Any lower and I’d lose money on the gas alone.”
“No, no. Of course.” Nora trotted back to her Jeep. She dug in her pack for her wallet, extracted a twenty and a ten. Then put the ten back and took another twenty. She hurried to Bill and handed him the cash.
He took it, then held out one of the bills. “You got a couple of them stuck together.”
“That’s for you. For your trouble. Buy yourself a few new paperbacks.” He shrugged as though he couldn’t understand her and didn’t really care to. He climbed back into the truck.
Marlene and Abigail stood chatting by the passenger door to the truck. Nora hurried over. “I hate that you closed the bookstore for this. If I’d been thinking, I would have called the shop where I had it fixed earlier. But I’m really glad I didn’t. Bill’s great.”
Marlene glanced into the cab and grinned. “And more well-read than you’d expect. Where did you have it worked on before?”
“A shop Darrell suggested.”
Marlene tilted her head. “What’s the name of it?”
Nora tried to remember the logo on the letterhead. “A star or planet or something.”
Marlene’s eyebrows drew together. “Polaris?” That didn’t sound good. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” Marlene’s worried eyes didn’t look like it was nothing. Abigail put her hand on Marlene’s arm. “You need to tell us.”
Marlene gazed up at the spires in the distance. She inhaled and looked at Nora. “Polaris is owned by one of the oldest Mormon families in Moab. They kind of keep to themselves and mostly service their own and relatives’ vehicles.”
“So?” Abigail was clearly running out of patience.
“Ranching around here is a hard way to make a living. Most ranchers need to supplement their income.”
“And?” Abigail urged.
“Lee works for them sometimes.”
If that hadn’t knocked the air out of Nora, the next words out of Marlene’s mouth would have.
“They serviced Lisa’s truck.” Marlene paused. “Right before her brakes went out.”
23
Warren Evans denied the pain in his bones. The meds his physician prescribed were becoming less effective. He sat upright and plastered an enthusiastic grin on his face. All he needed to do was pull himself together for an hour, then he could return to his house and collapse, alone. He had the strength for that.
He lowered his head to pray, resisting the urge to rest his forehead on the steering wheel. He wanted to sleep, to lie back in his four-poster bed, surrounded by his children and grandchildren who would weep at the thought of his passing.
He would promise to see them again in the afterlife, when he, like his brother Jesus, would command his own planet, populated by his sons and daughters.
But he didn’t have his own sons and daughters. God had withheld that blessing from him.
Christine’s sharp voice cut through the silence in the Cadillac. “I don’t know why you insist on putting yourself through this. You obviously don’t feel up to it.”
Warren pushed himself from the steering wheel to sit oak-tree tall. “We need to help Darrell. It’s our duty.”
Christine flipped the visor down and studied her face in the mirror. She pulled a tube of lipstick from her purse and twisted it. The red color emerged like the disgusting penis of a dog. Before she applied it, she addressed him. “Why? Because he’s Mormon and you have to stick together?”
He wanted to slap the lipstick from her hand. God made her the way He wanted her. And yet, never satisfied with His blessings, she’d pulled and tucked, dyed and plucked until she resembled a cartoon of the beauty he’d married so long ago. Maybe there had been the need for subterfuge while they courted investors and built Bourne Enterprises, but his fortune was made. He needed her to be his wife now, his helpmate—not just a cosigner on some of his bank accounts.
He unbuckled his seat belt. “I want to help him.”
She ran the lipstick over her mouth, smacked her lips, and puckered for the mirror, then fluffed her raven hair. “You’ve earned your rest. Why would you drag us both to this godforsaken dust bin to campaign for Darrell when we could have stayed in Manhattan so you could recover from chemo?”
She didn’t fool him. Christine didn’t care if this trip made Warren uncomfortable. She hated Moab, always had. She preferred expensive restaurants and shopping and her work on her charitable committees. She disdained anything that reminded her of Warren’s roots. He’d watched her cringe every time he’d mentioned his Utah upbringing to prospective business associates. Maybe he should have left her in New York.
But she was his wife, married before God. Not a Temple wedding, because he’d been headstrong and hadn’t chosen in the faith. For that, God had punished him. Maybe she didn’t comfort him and he couldn’t count on her to walk hand in hand with him to the threshold, but she hadn’t shirked her public responsibilities. As far as he knew, she’d been faithful to him. When her time came, he’d call her through the veil. He owed her that much.
“This is important.” He opened the car door and pulled himself to stand. He’d lost weight, as well as his hair, during the chemo. The well-made toupee camouflaged his bald pate and only the most observant would detect anything out of the ordinary. His tailor had made him a few new suits. He hoped he didn’t look anything worse than tired.
Warren crossed in front of the Caddy and opened the passenger door for Christine. She climbed from the car with as much grace as an actress stepping onto the red carpet. She smiled up at him, habit from years of playing generous and supportive spouse to a rich man. She never let her cover slip. He should be grateful.
They walked across the dirt parking lot
and up the wooden boardwalk. He held the heavy log door open for her and she entered the restaurant. He followed and let the door close behind him.
He’d always liked this restaurant. The adobe walls, slick and white-washed, made him feel clean and cool. The umber tones and the rustic log furniture felt far removed from the pretensions of New York and high finance. He missed this country, his roots. He wouldn’t go back to New York. He had no need to acquire more on this side of the veil. Surely God would grant him peace now.
But not just yet. He still needed to decide who would carry the banner when he was called home.
The tables had been moved to the perimeter of the large dining room. Smells of roasting meat and the grease from French fries and onion rings permeated the building. The room buzzed with energy and conversation, knots of people congregating throughout the dining room.
He spotted Darrell at the far end of the room. Rage squeezed into him, but he banished it in a heartbeat. Not even Christine noticed. He kept his face relaxed as he watched Darrell raise a frosty glass of amber liquid to his mouth.
Beer! Darrell knew better than to indulge in sin like this. It showed a weakness that troubled Warren deeply.
Warren and Christine weren’t in the room more than three seconds before Todd Grayson, a local sporting goods store owner, noticed them.
Todd hurried over, all grins and outstretched hand. “Warren! So good to see you. Darrell didn’t say you’d be here.” Warren returned a firm grip, followed by several more hearty handshakes with others. People swarmed around him as they usually did. Some wanted to bask in his celebrity, some hoped to get close enough he’d do them a favor down the road, some genuinely liked him. He didn’t waste energy trying to figure out which category they landed in. He shook hands, accepted hearty pats on the back, chatted and joked. A crush of admirers swept Christine away. Hers or his fans, he didn’t care.
The Nora Abbott Mystery series Box Set Page 69
