Warren took a moment to regain his balance and wipe the strain from his face. Lee pretended not to notice. “No doubt you and Christine will want to stay here for a while. I’ll send Tessa around with some fresh eggs and produce.” He paused to see if Warren felt up to answering and then continued. “I know Christine has a fond spot for Tessa. And Tessa thinks the world of Christine.” As he spoke, Lee’s eyes traveled the room as though searching for anyone who would dare harm Warren here.
Warren willed his legs to be like thick pine branches. He demanded his queasy stomach to calm. He only needed to stay a few more minutes, then he could make excuses that Christine was tired after traveling and he could retreat home to his bed. He looked up, ready to get the ordeal over with.
Lee’s face reminded Warren of the cow dog he’d had as a youngster. His eyes shone with purpose as he zeroed in on his prey. The rest of his body seemed ready to strike. Warren swiveled around to see what caught Lee’s attention.
A young woman with coppery hair that swung around her face spoke with Darrell. She smiled briefly but seemed to be concerned with the business at hand. Instead of a dress or slacks, she wore khaki shorts and hiking boots. By the dust on her well-worn hiking shirt, it seemed she’d just stepped off the trail.
Lee’s voice sounded like a growl. “That’s her. Nora Abbott. The woman from the Trust.” It did seem like the red-head had a feisty edge to her. “We’ve got to deal with her before she causes us trouble.”
“I don’t like what happened to Lisa and I’d hate for it to happen again. Let’s see if I can’t send Ms. Abbott on her way.”
Lee’s mouth clamped shut. He’d never been one to argue. Not that he gave in. Words never meant a lot to Lee.
Warren approached Darrell and Nora Abbott. She seemed agitated. “Did you know he worked there? Would he tamper with my brakes?”
Lee’s mouth clamped shut. He’d never been one to argue. Darrell leaned closer, his face wreathed in concern. “Do you have any proof? The sheriff in this county is—”
“Mormon and won’t help me. I know. Someone messed with Lisa’s brakes, too.”
Darrell’s frown of distress pleased Warren. “We can’t talk here. Meet me tonight.”
She obviously didn’t like the brush-off, but she nodded briskly and turned. She smacked into Warren. “Excuse me.”
He put out a hand as if to steady her, but it was more to keep himself from toppling. Her eyes flew open in recognition. Immediately she snapped her head to the right, then left, then over his shoulder as though looking for someone. People often wanted their friends to witness their brush with celebrity. She frowned briefly and returned her attention to him. “Mr. Evans.”
He gave her his easy grin, the one investors trusted. “And you’re Nora Abbott from Living Earth Trust. Darrell has told me about the accident involving that young woman making a film.”
Before she had a chance to respond, Warren continued. “I’m a great supporter of expanding Canyonlands boundaries.” She looked skeptical. “I’ve looked into Living Earth Trust and am impressed with your organization’s stellar reputation. I’d like to make a sizable contribution.”
Her eyes lit up. “We’re always looking for additional funding.”
“I’ve got some Hollywood connections. We’ll get a top-notch videographer, writers, and a director. Let me see what I can do,” he said.
She sighed. “That would be great, except we need the film before Congress votes in two weeks.”
Warren made sure to look disappointed and concerned. “That’s not good. However, they’ll vote again. This subject comes up often. Having spent a lifetime following political dog fights, my advice is that you present your strongest testimonial and not dilute it with a less than professional film. Then channel your resources on a spectacular film. I do have an in with Robert Redford.” For added impact, he acted as if he’d just thought of it. “Or even Ken Burns.”
She seemed to consider his pitch. Most people would have been salivating over an offer like that. He didn’t need unbridled enthusiasm. He just needed her to back off—and by the time she received any word from him, it would all be over.
Darrell’s grin flashed with charm. “Wow! Ken Burns. That would be perfect. Do you think you could do that?”
“But it wouldn’t come up for vote again for a year at the soonest, probably later,” Nora said.
“That’s unfortunate. But we don’t have much choice, do we? Perhaps you and Darrell can make a compelling enough statement to bring in the vote now. Just in case, let’s start the ball rolling for the next round and come back swinging.” Money, celebrity, promises of future success—he’d given her a golden triangle of reasons to leave town.
Darrell continued to cheerlead. “This is the best news we’ve had since … ” His face contorted in sorrow before he went on. “Lisa would have been thrilled.”
Time to close the sale. “Do you have a card? Never mind. I know I can contact you at Living Earth Trust. That’s in Boulder, correct? I’ll make some calls and get back to you early next week.”
Twenty-Four
Warren stepped from the noisy, cool restaurant onto the wooden boardwalk. He let the heavy log door bump closed behind him. He’d put in his appearance, made his generous offer to Nora Abbott, and said his goodbyes.
Christine had been right behind him, but one of her fans must have sidetracked her. Christine loved her admiring public, but probably enjoyed making him wait. She knew he wanted to get back to their spacious home by the creek.
He leaned against the side of the restaurant and watched as cars and RVs zipped past on the highway. Across the valley the cliffs rose in familiar splendor. It wasn’t in his destiny to lead his people to the new land but here, this harsh and rugged place, was his promised land. He thanked God for letting him come home.
He pushed himself upright and stepped across the boardwalk and down into the gravel. He held his head high, his shoulders erect. Not long ago, that posture wouldn’t have required conscious thought. Careful steps carried him across a rutted parking lot. With daily monsoon showers, the dirt lot stayed damp with muddy puddles.
His eye caught sight of a petite woman with blonde hair standing beside a beat-up Jeep. His breath caught as it always did when he saw someone like this. The reaction had been his personal torture for the last thirty years. He never forgot her. Every blonde woman with that height and build shot him back in time for a split second and his heart cracked every time.
Of course, none of those women ever turned out to be her.
This woman stood with her back to him. It wasn’t her, either, but seeing someone so similar in this place stole another beat of his heart. He didn’t have many to spare, but he’d willingly give one to her. He started to look away just as she moved her head to give him a view of her profile.
The world stopped.
A swell of blood rose through him, rushed to his arms and legs, and surged through every cell. It couldn’t be. It was impossible. And yet, she stood in front of him.
Unconsciously, he moved until he found himself by her side. He heard his own choked voice before he realized he spoke. “Abigail.”
She squeaked and jerked around, her hand at her throat. Blood rushed to her face and her eyes, still crystal blue, flew open. She stepped back and flattened herself against the side of the Jeep.
Warren reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. “You are still so beautiful,” he told her.
She swallowed hard. “Get away from me.”
He understood her shock. They hadn’t seen one another for at least thirty years. No doubt he’d aged beyond her imagination, especially as a result of the cancer. She’d probably aged as well. She had to be almost sixty. Yet to his eyes, she looked the same as she did almost every night in his dreams. “Abigail, I … ”
Christine’s voice chirped from behind him. “
There you are. I’m ready to go.”
He couldn’t turn away from Abigail, even though he knew he had to. If he closed his eyes or looked away, she might disappear forever. He’d learned to live without her for so long. But now that she stood close, now that God had put her back in his life, he couldn’t let her go again.
“Warren?” Christine said.
Abigail brushed past him and hurried to the passenger side of the Jeep. She climbed inside, locked the door, and stared straight ahead.
Christine put a hand on his arm and shifted her gaze from him to Abigail and back. “Ready?”
A trickle of air leaked into his lungs and he blinked, fighting to appear normal. “Of course.” He forced himself not to glance back at the woman in the Jeep as he followed Christine’s elegant stride to the Caddy.
They opened their respective doors and slid inside. Christine let out a relieved breath. “Thank God you cut it short. All these people want to talk about is environmental issues and Darrell Burke’s future.”
Warren backed out of the parking space, his breath still ragged, his head a muddle of memories and desire.
He put the Caddy in gear.
The door of the restaurant opened and Nora Abbott walked out. She scanned the lot, then headed in the direction of the Jeep. Warren couldn’t help but follow her with his eyes. She gave him an excuse to look in Abigail’s direction and maybe catch sight of her again.
He expected Nora Abbott to climb into the sedan parked next to the Jeep. But she didn’t. She pulled open the driver’s door and plopped inside, her lips moving in conversation.
Nora Abbott and his Abigail. What was the connection?
twenty-five
Nora jumped into the driver’s seat. Abigail sat in the passenger seat, her head held at an angle, staring ahead, ramrod straight like a steel statue. Abbey sat up in back, greeted Nora with a cold nose to her cheek, and turned his attention to the windshield to help Nora watch the road.
“What’s the matter?” Nora asked.
Abigail appeared every bit as frightened as when the Jeep caromed down the mesa. “Nothing.”
Nora exhaled in frustration. “Mother.”
Abigail spied her from the corner of her eye without turning her head. “I can’t stand that man.”
“Which man?”
“Warren Evans. He’s a scoundrel and a cheat.”
Knowing how Abigail admired wealth, this news surprised her. “That sounds personal.”
“It is.”
“You know Warren Evans?”
Abigail folded her arms and stared straight ahead.
“Okay, cough it up. How do you know him and why didn’t you tell me about it?”
Abigail spoke through tight lips. “Did Darrell tell you anything about Polaris or Lee Evans?”
Nora started the engine. “Don’t evade the question. What about Warren Evans?”
Abigail’s jaw twitched with her clenched teeth. Without turning from the windshield, she said, “We knew him in college.”
“We, as in you and my father? Evans went to CU?” She didn’t remember that from the bios of the tycoon she’d read while in business school. What she knew was that he was from southern Utah, had grown up poor, built a windshield repair business that he leveraged to buy another company, and had kept adding and building businesses. He eventually became a corporate raider, had more money than anyone could count, and freely donated to charities.
“Only for a year or so, then he transferred to Yale.”
“And you were friends?”
Abigail reddened in agitation. “I wouldn’t call it that.”
Nora grinned. “You had a thing, didn’t you?”
“Stop it!” Abigail shouted the words. They echoed in the quiet Jeep, swallowed by Nora’s shock. Abigail still hadn’t turned from the windshield. “Just drop it. Tell me what Darrell had to say.”
Nora backed out of the parking spot, wrenched the steering wheel, and edged around the lot toward the exit. She strained to the right to make sure no one was driving through the alley.
Wait!
Her eye caught the white of Lee’s pickup. She slammed on the brakes as Abbey scrambled to stay on the backseat.
“What in heaven’s name?” Abigail gasped.
Nora gestured to the white pickup parked by the restaurant’s back door. “Lee’s pickup.”
Abigail eyed the vehicle, then Nora.
“For a man that makes his living off the land, he sure spends a lot of time in town.”
“Was Lee Evans at the bookstore after Lisa’s funeral? Is he the sour-faced man with the black hat?” Abigail’s forehead wrinkled.
“That’s him,” Nora affirmed.
Abigail settled back into the seat. “He seems to have anger issues. You remember Margie Bowen. Her husband went through a behavior modification course to learn to control his temper. Might do Lee Evans some good.”
Nora drummed her fingers on the wheel, thinking. “Lee works part time for Polaris. Lisa’s brakes went out recently, then our brakes went out. Plus, Lee ran me off the road after the funeral.”
Abigail inhaled and looked at the pickup. “You think he’s trying to scare you away from finding the film?”
“Or something worse.”
“Why would he do that?”
Did Abigail not pay attention to anything? “Maybe to keep Canyonlands’ borders from expanding. Maybe because he’s old school Mormon and hates that Rachel married Lisa.”
Abigail huffed. “You’re being ridiculous.” Nora pushed the gearshift into first and rolled forward. “Where are we going?”
Nora gunned the Jeep and popped out on the highway heading south into Moab. “To try to find some answers.”
Nora threaded her way through heavy traffic. Banners and signs celebrated the bike race and Moab buzzed with activity. She found a shady spot in the packed parking lot behind the Read Rock.
“Why are we here?” Abigail asked.
Nora opened her window for Abbey and scratched his ear. He loved napping in the Jeep and with a slight breeze and the shade, it didn’t feel too warm. “Marlene knows more than she’s telling me.”
They climbed from the Jeep and walked through the alley. “About what?” her mother wondered.
“Not sure.”
The bell above the door jingled as they walked in. Marlene stood at the display of local books with an elderly couple. Her gaze acknowledged them but she kept talking to her customers: “This is the best map for day hikes. Some of them are challenging, but there are some nice ones on level ground.”
The man flipped through the guidebook Marlene handed him. “We liked the rim trail at the Grand Canyon. Is there something like that in Canyonlands?” Marlene pulled another book off the shelf and handed it to the woman as they continued discussing the best hiking options.
Nora and Abigail browsed the shelves, waiting for Marlene. Nora settled herself by the paperback mysteries located close to the back room. Whispers and a nervous giggle filtered through the curtain. Someone was in the back of the store.
The floor creaked as Marlene led the couple to the cash register with three books. “How long will you be in Moab?”
Marlene was busy with the customers and ringing up the sale. With only a moment of hesitation and a deep inhale to control her nerves, Nora slipped behind the curtain and into the back room.
She waited several seconds for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Shelves and boxes cluttered the small space, which was little more than a wide corridor leading to a door that must open out into the parking lot. A secretary desk heaped with invoices, catalogues, and books was shoved against a wall.
A gasp brought her attention to the corner next to an open doorway. It must be a bathroom because a sink was visible. Two figures stood in the doorway.
Ab
igail practically shouted from the bookstore. “I’m not sure where she went. Maybe to the coffee shop down the street.”
The curtain was whisked back and light flooded the back room. Two teen-aged girls in ill-fitting pastel dresses huddled together.
“What are you doing back here?” Marlene lunged toward Nora, her big hand clamping on Nora’s arm. Marlene yanked her into the store and stood guard in front of the curtain.
Abigail pushed in front of Nora. “She had to use the restroom so I suggested she look back there.”
Temper pushed around the edges of Marlene’s eyes. “You said she went for coffee. I think she got nosy and went snooping where she doesn’t belong.”
Nora tried to put it together. “Are those girls hiding?”
Marlene lowered her eyebrows. “Not very well.” She whirled around and disappeared behind the curtain. Her muffled voice sounded stern. “I told you to stay quiet and keep this door locked. What if it had been the church people?”
The girls whispered. Marlene lowered her voice. A door closed and seconds later, Marlene appeared. “Sit down.” She indicated the reading nook in the corner.
When they’d settled, Abigail started in. “What girls?”
Marlene considered them a moment. “Those are runaways. They’re from Colorado City.”
Abigail gasped and put a hand to her mouth. “Polygamists. I saw this on 60 Minutes. They lock these girls away in their compounds, don’t let them go to school past the sixth grade, and keep them brainwashed. When they turn fourteen or so, they marry them off to middle-
aged men as second and third wives and they start having babies every year.”
Nora’s stomach turned. “Those girls?”
Marlene nodded. “It’s criminal, but the local cops around there are all part of the church.”
Tattered Legacy (A Nora Abbott Mystery) Page 16
