Moab was a small town of about five thousand that spread across the valley floor. Settled by Mormons, it had served as a rural supply center for the nearby ranchers. The population expanded with a uranium mining boom in the 1950s, then contracted again when it burst. Years later, its reputation as a recreationist’s dream spread. Mountain bikers and four-wheel enthusiasts gathered, followed closely by the enviros and hippie types. Trust funders and wealthy retirees building second homes wandered in, drawn by the amazing scenery. Now it had a mismatched feel. Eclectic shops featuring sweat-shop-free items comingled with farm and ranch supply stores, tourist shops, outdoor gear, vegan restaurants, and old-time diners. If the population of the area mimicked the town structures, this was one schizophrenic community.
Nora picked up the box. “Be good,” she ordered Abbey before cranking down the windows for the cross breeze and leaving him to nap. Most of the vehicles in the lot were covered with the red dust of Moab. The luxury cars and expensive SUVs probably belonged to the moneyed people who had moved here for the gorgeous views and then tried to protect them from the traditional uses of the people who had lived here for generations. The old beaters most likely carried the more earthy types, those with master’s degrees in biology and environmental studies who worked for peanuts for conservation nonprofits. She made her way through the alley to the front of the store and scanned the street. She nearly dropped the box.
A white pickup. THE white pickup. It sat empty along the street. Nora changed direction and approached it. She placed her hand on the hood. Warm.
With new purpose, she strode to the bookstore and wrenched open the door.
Bookshelves had been shoved to the side of the cozy shop to make room for the reception. The dark wood that lined the walls was filled with hardcover, trade paperback, and mass market titles. It wasn’t a big shop, but the inventory filled the room. An old-fashioned sales counter angled next to the front door, its surface cluttered with crocks full of pens and other bookish notions. Dreamcatchers, sand art, pottery, and other Native American art decorated the walls and shelves. Nora quickly scanned the space for kachinas but didn’t find any. The relative dimness of the store felt cool and welcoming, inviting people to stay and browse.
The wood-planked floor creaked with the movement of Lisa’s friends as they mingled. White plastic tablecloths covered two five-foot tables in the center of the shop. Remains of a cake, sandwiches, and chips lined one table. The other table held a basket for sympathy cards and the used plates, cups, and forks from the funeral refreshments. It wasn’t fancy, but Lisa had never cared about finery. If she were here, Lisa would have a few words to say about the wastefulness of the plastic dinnerware.
No one turned to greet Nora. She walked into the hushed store.
Nora spotted a guy holding a black cowboy hat. He was the same one with the hate-filled gaze at the clearing. He stood with the man who’d led Rachel from the service.
Both appeared to be in their mid-thirties. Where White Pickup Guy looked about as old-school cowboy as Gene Autry, the other man looked more boardroom suave. He wore black suit pants, cut and draped to show a well-toned lower half. His fresh-from-the-laundry blue shirt fit his broad shoulders perfectly. The conservative cut of his wavy dark hair and the tie knotted neatly at his neck gave him a professional air.
Their conversation didn’t appear friendly. The dapper guy spoke, and his handsome face drew down in a frown. The cowboy looked at him dismissively. With one more muttered word, the clean-cut guy strode away.
Nora stomped over to White Pickup Guy. “Did I do something to make you mad?”
The cowboy’s thin mouth turned up in a smirk. He stood several inches taller than Nora’s five-foot-seven frame and looked as ropey and tough as a dried stalk of corn. Nora suspected the deep tan on his face and neck ended where the V of his shirt hit his chest. Not one gleam of friendly showed in his eyes. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Nora’s heart banged away and heat radiated from inside out. “At Moonflower, you nearly killed me.”
He spoke in a low, slow voice, reminding her of Cole—except Cole had never sent goose bumps over her flesh. Not the scary kind, anyway. “I didn’t see anyone out there. Rachel sent me back for the ashes, but they were gone.” He nodded at the box Nora held.
She hugged the box to her. “You ran me off the road and I had to dig out. You never saw me?”
His dark eyes bored into her. “Tourists, such as yourself, don’t understand the local ways. They tend to get in the way and sometimes end up getting hurt.” His words came straight out of a spaghetti western, but the threat behind them felt real.
Unnerved, Nora answered with bravado. “Next time, I’ll call the cops.”
He threw back his head and let out a guffaw. “You do that.” He stuffed his hat on his head and sauntered away, cowboy boots thudding on the wood floor of the Read Rock.
Anyone watching wouldn’t see her tremors. Probably. Why had she thought going head-to-head with a stranger would be a good thing?
The well-dressed guy appeared at her elbow. He raised an eyebrow in humor. “Wow. Not many people stand up to Lee like that.”
She watched the cowboy’s broad back. “Lee who?”
“Evans. A longtime local family.”
The door closed behind Evans.
A well-established family who wouldn’t want Canyonlands’ borders expanded? “Does he have a ranch?”
The man at her elbow nodded and held out his hand. “I’m Darrell Burke.” He said it as though they were having a casual conversation at a cocktail party.
That’s when she realized she still held the box containing Lisa. Nora’s face burned even more. “I’m, uh, I’m Nora Abbott.”
His face opened into a warm smile. “That’s obvious. You’re not from Moab, and since Lisa’s family disowned her, you have to be her best friend, the famous Nora Abbott.”
She opened her mouth to say something but had no response. Even though he was a stranger, he made her feel comfortable.
He laughed quietly. “Lisa told me a lot about you.”
Had he said his name? Nora’s brain tilted on overload. Between losing Lisa, the voicemail, and the lunatic cowboy, she wasn’t at the top of her game.
Lisa’s box weighed heavy in her hands. She stepped over to the plastic-covered table littered with used plates and cups to set it down, hesitating. It seemed disrespectful to plop it down next to red Solo cups with dregs of lemonade and plates holding half-eaten ham sandwiches, but she didn’t know what else to do with it. The sun-drenched clearing by the creek felt more appropriate. Maybe she should have left Lisa there after all. She hugged the box harder, glad she hadn’t left Lisa for Lee Evans to find.
The nice guy didn’t comment on the box but kept his eyes on her. “So Lee ran you off the road?”
“Right into a ditch.” She set the box on the table.
“Lee has a temper. Most folks avoid provoking it. Lisa didn’t.” He looked pointedly at the box.
Nora asked the obvious. “If Lee didn’t like Lisa, what’s he doing at her funeral?”
He lifted his chin, indicating something behind Nora. “He and Rachel used to be close.”
Nora turned to see Rachel standing across the room. She was speaking to a blonde woman in a silk summer suit, her back to Nora. Rachel crumpled and fell into the woman’s arms. The sight brought Nora to tears.
Nora knew how Rachel felt and almost wished she could fall into comforting arms, too. In fact, if she couldn’t feel Cole’s arms around her, the woman holding Rachel might make a good substitute.
The handsome man followed Nora’s gaze. “This is going to be a hard time for Rachel.”
Nora nodded, not trusting her voice.
They watched the pair, and he spoke. “I thought I knew just about everyone in Moab, but I don’t recognize that woman.�
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“She’s not from around here,” Nora said.
“You know her?”
“That,” Nora started across the room, “is my mother, Abigail Podanski.”
Six
Abigail stood a trim five foot six with a soft blonde bob—the perfect shade and cut to make her appear fashionable and age appropriate. She wore a beige silk suit and scuff-free heels. She and the man talking to Nora—what was his name?—would fit right in at a luncheon on Capitol Hill but were too formal for Moab.
Nora’s natural inclination would be to take off in the opposite direction. But for one of the few times in her life, she actually felt happy to see her mother. After an uneasy relationship that often bordered on outright war, Nora and Abigail were forging a new bond. Well, working at it, anyway—a few ignored calls notwithstanding.
Rachel sobbed silently against Abigail’s shoulder.
Nora inched around to stand in front of Abigail. “Mother?”
Abigail made eye contact with Nora. She continued to pat Rachel’s back and murmur to her, “I know, dear. I’ve lost three husbands. I understand.” In between all of this, she managed a smile of acknowledgement to Nora.
Rachel pulled away from Abigail. “Lisa thought of you as her mother.”
Nora didn’t know whether to wait for Abigail to break from Rachel or wander away and give them space. She backed up and into a warm body. “Excuse me.”
The nice guy took hold of her elbow to steady her. “I can’t even imagine her loss.” His eyes filled with compassion.
Nora stepped away from him. “You must be a good friend of Rachel’s.”
He studied Rachel. “It’s hard to get to know someone as guarded and private as Rachel. I knew Lisa better. We worked together on some land-swap issues over the years and now on this film project.”
A light clicked on inside her brain. “Oh, Darrell Burke—congressman. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you earlier.”
He brushed it aside. “I’m not here campaigning.”
“You were helping set up distribution of the film to the congressional committee. Lisa told me you made a lot of progress.”
His eyes rested on the box halfway across the room. “It was a passion Lisa and I shared. This land needs someone to protect it from over-grazing and mining, and even from too many tourists. I just wish I could have protected Lisa with the same effectiveness.”
What a strange thing to say. “Did Lisa say anything to you about needing or wanting protection?”
He laughed in that sad way people do at funerals. “As if she’d allow anyone to take care of her, except maybe Rachel. She was a real force for the environment. I don’t know that there’s anyone who can take her place around here.”
Lisa was irreplaceable, but they had to do something. “You’ve arranged for the committee to screen the film?”
He inhaled. “I hate the thought of cancelling it.”
“Don’t. We can make it. Lisa’s work shouldn’t be lost.”
Darrell sounded sad. “As I understand it, the film isn’t finished.”
Nora ignored the spike of panic in her heart. “The film can make the difference in the vote.”
“Still,” Darrell said. “There’s no one to finish it, edit it, and get it out in time.”
“Don’t cancel that screening.” Nora watched Rachel and Abigail, wondering how and when to ask Rachel for a copy.
Darrell continued. “Obviously, I’ll still lobby for the park expansion. I’ve got some favors to call in. We’re not out of fuel yet.” Nora liked the warm way his attention seemed totally focused on her, as if this problem were his only concern. She’d heard certain politicians had the ability to make everyone feel unique, and despite knowing that, she still felt a little special.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She glanced up at Abigail, who was the one usually calling. But Abigail still had her arms around Rachel. Nora pulled out the phone and glanced at it. A little thrill raced through her, as it usually did. “Excuse me,” she said to Darrell. “I’ve got to take this.”
She spun away and headed for the door. She punched the answer button and stepped into the sunshine, letting the door close behind her. “Cole.” She exhaled his name with a mingle of sorrow, hope, and longing.
She felt his support through the phone. “You sound stressed.”
She found a spot of shade under the store awning and leaned against the stucco wall. “I wish you were here.”
“I’m sorry. I know this is tough. How are you?”
Nora watched an ant scurry along the sidewalk. “I’m okay. Abigail is here.”
“That’s good.” A long pause followed.
When Cole didn’t continue, she asked, “How’s your father?”
“He’s in the hospital in Sheridan. He’s not doing well.”
Another brick piled on their load. “How about your mother and brother and the ranch?”
Silence fell as the little ant darted on its erratic path. Finally Cole spoke. “When do you think you’ll be home?”
Nice nonanswer to her question. Things must not be going well. “That’s hard to say. I need to get Lisa’s film. I’m hoping to do that this afternoon and head out later. There’re no hotel rooms here so I’ll probably stay in Grand Junction overnight.”
“Isn’t the film digital—on the cloud or something?”
Nora nodded as though he could see her. “Probably. But I don’t know where. I need to talk to Rachel about it.” Nora sighed. “It’s bad timing to bug her today.”
“Then don’t. Come home. I can get away from here for a day or so and meet you there.”
She craved being next to him. “I’d love to. But I really need to get that film.”
“It can’t wait a few days?”
The ant wound back around. He didn’t seem to be making any progress. “Etta called and jumped all over me. This is a big deal.”
“That woman doesn’t have any compassion for people—just the environment.” Cole knew about Etta from Nora’s conversations.
Nora nodded again. “I pushed for this film. I guaranteed the board that spending a hundred thousand dollars would give Canyonlands its best shot at Congress. I’ve got to see it through.”
“Maybe you can do a scaled-back version. You ought to let Rachel have a day at least.” He sounded like Darrell.
“You’re right. But … ” She wanted to suck that last word back.
“But what?”
Might as well tell him. “I had a voicemail on my phone that I didn’t get until today. It was from Lisa.”
“When did she send it? Why didn’t you get it before now?”
Another ant joined the first. “Don’t know. Abigail’s probably right about the service I contracted.”
“What did Lisa say?”
“It wasn’t so much what she said, it was how she said it. She sounded scared. Then she hung up abruptly.”
He sounded concerned. “Scared? What about?”
One ant scurried away, leaving the other on its own. “She said she taped whatever she had to say, so I guess I can get the camera and find out.”
There was no smile in his voice. “If you think it seems fishy, take it to the cops and let them deal with it.”
Again, the pause felt uncomfortable. Good thing they didn’t have to carry on a long-distance relationship because they both were bad on the phone.
The door of the Read Rock opened, and a group of people came out and headed for the parking lot.
“I’d better go,” Nora said. “I’ll call you when I know more.”
“Right.”
“Well, bye.”
A slight pause. “Nora?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.” He hung up.
Nora stood in the shade of the building. The ant m
ust have dashed from her sight when she wasn’t looking. A chill ran across her skin. While it was always nice to hear those words, Cole didn’t use them often. Like, maybe once before.
This meant something.
But what?
Seven
The sun shone bright on Central Park and streamed across the thick carpeting in the office, but Warren stuffed his arms into his cashmere cardigan and shuffled to the thermostat on the wall. He pictured healthy cells decked out like gladiators swinging their broadswords to cut down the pale cancer cells.
The image didn’t hold up. He hated to admit the warriors had dwindled to only a few holdouts backed onto the cliff face. The cancer army stood poised to run them through. I only need a few more days. Maybe God would listen to his plea.
His desk seemed miles away across the expanse of his office. The plush carpet felt like deep sand under his feet as he focused on the leather chair behind his desk. He loved this office. He’d chosen everything in it to fit his needs and desires. Christine and her platoons of decorators ruled over the rest of the penthouse, but no professional decorators had set foot inside his office. He allowed the cleaning lady in and, reluctantly, Christine.
He succeeded in making it to his desk. The beat-up oak monstrosity had belonged to his grandfather. It had sat in the corner of the sitting room for half a century until Granddad passed over. By then, Warren could have afforded any world-renowned artist to customize his desk. But he wanted this reminder of his roots in Utah. It helped him to remember that possessions were only vanity, and in the end, they didn’t matter. His grandfather was a righteous man, dedicated to both the church and his many children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Warren had no doubt Granddad waited for him on the other side. But like everyone who had come before him, Granddad depended on Warren to complete the task God had set before him.
Warren dropped his head and leaned heavily on the desk. His focus strayed to the architectural drawings spread on the rough surface. He pictured the actual structures the lines represented with satisfaction.
Tattered Legacy (A Nora Abbott Mystery) Page 4
