Drive-By Daddy & Calamity Jo

by Cheryl Anne Porter

“I was thinking in terms of a haircut, nail wraps, body waxing, something along those lines,” Lainey said desperately.

  “I can consider those things, too,” Jo answered, giving Case another look. “In fact, it might be a darned good idea.” She paused. “He must really like coffee. Either that, or he didn’t get enough for breakfast at the Copper Quest.”

  Realizing she wasn’t going to change her friend’s mind, Lainey gave her a exasperated look and stood up. “Maybe he heard mine’s better.”

  Case had his coffee and was heading for the door. Her eyes on him, Jo stood up and reached over to squeeze Lainey’s arm. “I’ll see you later. I’ve got work to do.” She checked her bag to make sure she had her notebook and pen, and hurried away.

  Outside, she glanced quickly around to see which way Case had gone. She caught sight of him disappearing up Battlehaven Avenue, his dark head easy to spot above the colorful array of sun visors, baseball caps and cowboy hats that surrounded him. Jo hurried along, trying to catch up, but got caught in the crowd dispersing from Charlotte’s lecture.

  One shell-shocked tourist was speaking to a companion as they left the empty lot where Charlotte had set up a lectern and some benches.

  “Who would have thought the Harris hawk was so lusty?” the lady said, fanning herself with a paper napkin.

  “Amazing,” her friend agreed, looking around. She propped her hands on her hips. “I know it’s a cliché, but I need a cigarette.”

  “You quit smoking ten years ago,” her companion chided.

  Jo hid a grin as she sidestepped the two women and dodged around those in her path. Case was a block ahead of her. Hurrying to catch up, she started to call his name, but was jerked to a stop by Martha Smalley. Besides being Julius Pangburn’s ladylove, Martha was an artist who made her creations out of wrought iron. Since she used a forge and anvil, she had muscles unknown to most seventy-year-old women. When she encircled Jo in a sympathetic hug, Jo couldn’t have escaped with a crowbar.

  “Jo Ella, Julius and I heard what happened last night, though of course we don’t know all the details.” She paused, obviously hoping that Jo would share a few. When Jo only answered with a sickly smile, Martha continued. “Steve wasn’t good enough for you.”

  “Tha-thanks, Martha.” Jo gasped for air as black dots danced before her eyes. Martha released her just before Jo would have needed smelling salts, and took her hand in a warm grasp.

  “All you have to do is let me know if there’s anything I can do,” she invited. “If you want me and my group to do something about Steve, we’ll be happy to.”

  “No,” Jo said, panic shooting her voice up an octave. Martha and her “group” were women to be handled with care. It was rumored around town that they practiced some form of homegrown voodoo. This could be proven by the number of their ex-husbands and philandering men friends who had developed embarrassing illnesses and quirks. Martha’s ex-husband, Lester, had a wandering eye that really did wander now.

  “Really, Martha, it’s fine. I’m fine.” Or would be, if news of her break up ever died down around this town.

  “Of course you are, dear,” Martha said, patting her arm. “But you can’t let a man like Steve treat you badly. Word will get around and then all men will treat you badly.”

  Jo winced and started backing away. “Thanks for your concern.”

  Martha waved her off and Jo turned, hoping the embarrassed redness was fading from her face. She forced herself not to fret over her new status as pity object of the week. Her heart wasn’t broken. Why wouldn’t anyone believe her?

  She forgot about Martha when she caught sight of Case once again.

  He had stopped before the large plate-glass window of Franklin’s Emporium. She was about to rush up and speak to him when the studied casualness of his posture made her pause.

  He seemed to be examining a display of antique kitchenware in the window. Did he collect rusty nutmeg graters? she wondered. She watched as he turned his head casually, right and left, then seemed to fix his attention on someone inside the store, all the while sipping nonchalantly from his cup. Only someone watching very carefully would have noticed his actions. Jo congratulated herself on being that someone.

  Smoothly, she moved up the sidewalk and came to a stop near him. She peeked into the store, but could see nothing except a milling crowd of shoppers. Barry Franklin was having a sale on headgear. Jo couldn’t tell who Case was watching in that throng. Everyone looked identical, sporting Barry’s latest creation, a hat embellished with a two-armed sahuaro cactus. Green heads bobbed throughout the store. She saw one hat that seemed a little different, a dark brown fedora that sported a bright red feather, but it disappeared in the throng. After a few minutes, Case took out a small blue notepad, wrote something down, and slipped it back into his pocket. He gave Jo a sidelong glance, then moved a few steps down the sidewalk, all the while keeping the interior of the store in view.

  Since she couldn’t figure out who he was watching, she decided to approach him. Turning, she gave him a brilliant smile as she pulled out her own notebook and pen. “Good morning, Mr. Houston. I’m Jo Quillan of the Calamity Falls Ingot. Are you in town working on an investigation?”

  His head snapped around, his gaze swept over her, his dark brows pulled together. “No,” he said.

  “A vacation, then?” she asked brightly. “What would you say to giving me an interview about your most famous cases?”

  “I’d say no,” he answered matter-of-factly, and started walking away.

  Undeterred, Jo scurried after him. She had never really dealt with a reluctant subject before. In this town, everybody wanted to talk.

  “Really, Mr. Houston, the readers of the Ingot would be thrilled to learn about the work you’ve done with the…”

  “No, Ms. Quillan,” he said, rounding on her. “I’m here on a vacation, not to give interviews. I don’t do interviews.” Then he whirled and stomped away.

  2

  “WELL, YOU SEE, that’s where you’re making a mistake, Mr. Houston,” Jo said, hustling along beside him. “People are interested in the kind of work you do. In fact, people are actually very grateful that you uncovered that insurance scam. It probably saved the taxpayers and policyholders millions of dollars.”

  He sent her an annoyed look and kept on walking. His long legs covered a great deal more distance than Jo’s, so she had to lengthen her stride to keep up.

  “So, Mr. Houston, what brings you to our fair city?” she asked brightly, juggling her bag, notebook and pen as they dashed along the sidewalk. She tried to ignore the fierce look in Case’s eyes as he glanced at her.

  “And do you think you’ll be in town for a while?” Jo gave him a hopeful, if trembly, smile.

  “No interview, Ms. Quillan. As I said, I’m in this town strictly on a vacation and I’d like my privacy undisturbed.”

  Jo started to argue, then thought better of it. If she antagonized the man, she’d never get her interview. She snapped her notebook shut even as she berated herself for giving in so easily. “Whatever you say, Mr. Houston,” she said breezily. “Welcome to Calamity Falls. Enjoy your stay.”

  Her quick capitulation drew a frown from him, as if he didn’t trust her. She manufactured a bright smile that didn’t seem to convince him either. With a quick nod, he turned and walked away. The powerful momentum of his stride, the set of his shoulders and the expression on his face had the crowds on the sidewalk parting like the Red Sea splitting before Moses. He stopped beside a trash can, threw in the paper cup with his unfinished coffee, and kept going.

  “Probably a good idea,” she murmured as she watched him leave. “He seems tense enough. Maybe he really is here on a vacation.”

  CASE WISHED he really was on vacation. He stopped at the corner and glanced around. Not that he would have chosen Calamity Falls for a rest cure. The town’s offbeat reputation was notorious throughout Arizona. He’d never had a desire to visit the place. He didn’t like offbeat. He lik
ed well-beaten smoky sports bars where an occasional fight erupted or a Diamondbacks game with lower-deck seats and a couple of beers. To him, that was heaven.

  Give him the rumble and bustle of Phoenix. The scorching heat radiating up from the melting asphalt on a July day, the heady aroma of diesel fumes and car exhaust—all that was the staff of life to him. He avoided anything rustic, rural, quaint or cute, and Calamity Falls qualified in all of those areas.

  Case surveyed the rough outline of the Mule Mountains as they punched the sky, and the small town that clung to their foothills. Consisting of many levels of twisting streets strung together by concrete stairs nearly a century old, it looked exactly like the resuscitated mining town he knew it to be. He’d grown up in a place almost exactly like this, and didn’t have much desire to go back. Some people were born for cities and he was one of them.

  The frantic call he’d received had convinced him to come to Calamity Falls, though, so here he was.

  He tossed a look over his shoulder. Just his bad luck that the local paper had an eager-beaver reporter on staff who happened to remember him. When he saw that Jo had turned in the opposite direction, he allowed himself a thorough survey of her.

  Smooth, straight hair as rich as semisweet chocolate swung across her neck as she strolled down the sidewalk. Its red highlights glinted in the sun. Good-looking woman, he thought, his irritation giving way to admiration. His attention dropped lower, appreciating her long legs and the lush curves of her figure, traveling down her straight back to her narrow waist and softly rounded hips encased in snug, faded jeans.

  Nice back view, he thought. Made him think of Marilyn Monroe. He glanced at those long legs again. On stilts, he amended.

  She bent over to pick up a small, stuffed animal a backpack-riding baby had dropped onto the sidewalk. Case gave a friendly look to the way her jeans stretched across her behind. Darned nice, he amended.

  Distraction, he thought grumpily, and turned around. He was in Calamity Falls on business and he’d better remember that.

  As he’d taught himself to do years ago, he focused his attention for a moment, concentrating on the problem at hand. He’d lost the man he’d been following and needed to pick up the trail again. He could go to the man’s house, of course, and wait for him, but that wouldn’t tell him where the guy had been, whom he’d talked to and why.

  Case let his vision go soft. If he stared too long and hard, his quarry might elude him. Besides, his fixed glare would be noticed and bring unwanted attention. Across the street an elderly man appeared to be conversing with a lamppost. On second thought, maybe no one here would notice, Case thought, giving the man a wary glance. An unhappy thought had just occurred to him. What if the eccentricity that galloped through this town was catching like the flu or the plague?

  Too late to worry about it now. He’d been here for nearly twenty-four hours, plenty long enough for an incubation period. Case assessed the people crowding the street. He caught sight of a flamboyant brown fedora decorated with a red feather. Ah, there he was.

  With a glance in either direction, Case checked for moving traffic, then plunged back into the chase.

  JO HAD CALLED the few people she knew in Phoenix who might have an idea what Case Houston was doing in Calamity Falls. None of them could answer her questions. She sat at her desk and flipped paper clips into her empty coffee cup as she thought about the problem.

  She had been brooding on it for half an hour, ever since she’d returned from her abortive attempt to get Case to talk to her. The floor around her desk was littered with paper clips because she missed the cup more often than she hit it, or they struck and bounced off the rim.

  Across the office she shared with the Ingot’s editor and photographer, her uncle Don and aunt Millie, Don was busy writing up an account of last weekend’s football game between the Calamity Falls Red Devils and the Morenci Wildcats. Millie was cropping pictures of the game to go into the Ingot. They had busily discussed the game all morning, fascinated by every detail, proud of the high-school team members and their hard work.

  Millie and Don loved their small town paper. Jo loved them and was grateful for the opportunity they’d given her, but she wanted something more.

  Like Case Houston and whatever he was investigating. But what was it?

  The phone rang and since both of the other people in the room were engrossed in their work, Jo answered.

  “Please tell me the tingle is gone,” Lainey said, without preamble. “I’ve been worrying about it all morning.”

  “You know, experts say that most of the things you worry about never happen.”

  “None of those experts have ever met you,” Lainey sighed. “Did you get an interview with that man you were stalking?”

  “I wasn’t stalking him, just trying to talk to him. I didn’t get the interview yet, but it’s just a matter of time. I do have some conclusions to go on, based on facts, though. Fact, Case used to work for the state attorney general and is now on his own. I definitely saw him watching someone through the window of Franklin’s Emporium.”

  “So your conclusion is that he’s in town to investigate someone?”

  “That’s right, but I realize he’s not going to let me interview him. It was kind of rash and foolish to think he would.”

  “Jo Quillan did something rash and foolish?” Lainey said in mock wonder. “Alert the media! Oh, wait. You are the media.”

  “Very funny,” Jo said, not the least bit amused.

  True, she was occasionally rash and foolish—look at the number of months she’d wasted dating Steve. She needed to be much more circumspect and professional in her approach if she was to get Case’s cooperation.

  Jo sat up suddenly and her feet thumped to the floor as an idea broke over her like a dam bursting. “I know what I need to do,” she blurted. “I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up over Lainey’s squawk of protest.

  All she had to do was offer to help him in his sleuthing in exchange for exclusive rights to the story when he had successfully concluded his investigation.

  Delight rushed over her at the rightness of her idea. How could he turn down such an offer? The help of an experienced reporter would be invaluable to him since he seemed to be working on this case, whatever it was, all alone.

  Ignoring the small voice that told her he wanted to work alone, Jo jumped up, told her startled aunt and uncle that she was going to be gone for a while, grabbed her bag, and rushed out the door. She would go to the Copper Quest and see if she could talk to Case. Confident that she was on the right track, Jo trotted down the street to the base of the staircase that rose two levels to the inn.

  The Copper Quest was up on Manzanita Street, a tiny road with only the inn and one other house on it.

  Placing her hand on the cast-iron railing, Jo started up. By the time she reached Manzanita, she was winded, but determined to continue. She was pleased when she saw a black four-wheel-drive Jeep in the inn’s driveway. It looked like the kind of vehicle Case would drive. That didn’t necessarily mean he was there. After all, he hadn’t been headed back here when she’d last seen him, and he could easily have taken the stairs anywhere in town. Still, it was a place to start. When she spoke to the inn’s owner, Sharon Zonder, she discovered that Case was gone and wasn’t expected back anytime soon.

  Disappointed, Jo asked to use the restroom and Sharon directed her upstairs to the family’s bathroom on the third floor, since she was busy preparing to scrub the family’s dog in the tub of the downstairs bathroom.

  When she came out of the rest room a few minutes later, Jo started downstairs, then paused and looked back at the guest bedrooms. There were six of them, all named after various minerals found in the area; copper, turquoise, malachite, obsidian, fire agate and tiger’s eye. Meandering down the hall, she peeked into the rooms. They were beautifully decorated, each in the color of the mineral they were named after. She wondered which one Sharon had given Case.

  Was her friend
whimsical enough to give him one that matched his eyes? Perhaps Obsidian? Nah, Sharon was too businesslike for that.

  The doors of most of the rooms stood open, telling her they were empty of guests. The door to Tiger’s Eye was closed, though. Could that be his?

  Jo’s hand formed a fist and she lifted it to knock, then paused. She already knew he was gone, so why should she knock? She stared at the door with intense concentration as she debated the ethics of what she was about to do. She wasn’t snooping exactly, she rationalized. She was merely curious about what kind of man Case was.

  She was only going to put her hand on the knob and see if it was locked. It wasn’t as if she was going to go in and rifle through his things. That decided, Jo reached for the knob, then started with a shriek when a hand clamped down on her forearm.

  “Miss Quillan, we meet again.” Case’s voice, low and even, vibrated in her ear.

  Jo paled. How did he move so silently in those biker boots of his? She considered running, but his hold on her arm told her what would happen if she tried it. He’d hang on tight and she’d end up with one arm longer than the other. Instantly, she decided to bluff.

  She met his eyes and gave him a big smile. “Mr. Houston, I was hoping to run into you.”

  He lifted an eyebrow at her. She truly admired the way he did that, even while the fierce look on his face had her quaking in her Birkenstocks.

  “I’ll bet,” he said.

  “No, really.” She nodded as convincingly as possible. “I realize that my approach this morning was all wrong, so I decided.…”

  “To look for me in my room?”

  “Oh, is this your room?” she asked blinking innocently. “What a coincidence.”

  “Yes, isn’t it?” His tone was drier than the desert outside.

  He didn’t say anything more, only stood and waited for her to go on. She turned up the wattage on her smile. “Well, as I was saying, I wanted to speak to you.”

  “No interview. I’m on vacation.”

  “Then I think it must be a working vacation.” She tilted her head. “You seemed awfully interested in a certain group of people coming out of Franklin’s Emporium this morning.” She gave her arm an experimental little tug, but she might as well have saved her energy because he only responded by sliding his hand down to her wrist and encircling it.