who taught me about optimism and about
remembering what is important.
CHAPTER
ONE
There was something sad and lost about the big dog sitting by the side of the road.Looking
confused and worried, it watched Sara drive past. Or was that only her imagination?
Sara Winslow pressed one hand against the center of her chest, in the empty part that had never been filled. She had wanted a dog desperately when she was six.
And then when she was nine.
And again at eleven and thirteen.
Something had always made it impossible. Moves. Job changes.
Death...
She glared out the window. No point in dredging up the past. Her parents were gone, barely memories now. After the plane crash that had taken their lives, her grandparents had stepped in. They had been wonderful to Sara and her younger sister, even though taking charge of two lively teenagers had been a serious challenge.
Those memories were warm and secure. Sara had skipped a generation of caregivers growing up, and when her grandparents began to fail, she and her sister, Hannah, had stepped in to take care of them.
Now all she had was Hannah.
Loneliness was a shadow always waiting at the corner of her eye, assuming she let herself see it. And sometimes in the stillness of night Sara yearned to feel her mother’s touch or hear her father’s booming laugh. She still dreamed about a dog whose soft fur could warm her hands on long spring walks.
Stupid.
She didn’t have time to stop on a deserted road in the middle of nowhere. No, she couldn’t take in a stray dog—no matter how tired or sad he looked.
Sara frowned at the mountain road in front of her. Probably he wasn’t really sick or lost. Besides, she had her own worries, and miles to go before she could rest. She rubbed her tired eyes and peered back through the twilight. Maybe it was all in her imagination. After days of driving you started to see things that weren’t there.
Slowing her dusty Wrangler, Sara craned her neck and glanced back. The big chocolate Lab was still sitting beside the road. His fur looked thick and soft and his eyes shimmered against the purple twilight. She could have sworn he was staring after her, looking sad and a little wistful—just the way she felt.
Frowning, she glanced down at the rough hand-drawn map that Hannah had sent her a month before, in preparation for Sara’s vacation visit.
West on I-80. Connect to I-76 and pick up I-25 in Colorado. Watch for 40 in Albuquerque. South on 17 in Flagstaff.
Then watch for the red—
More roads followed a streaky area where the words became mottled as if Hannah had dropped something on them. Why did the thought of tears jump into Sara’s mind?
Impossible. Sara’s sister never cried. She was a spur-of-the-moment free spirit, with a good heart and a short attention span. Hannah never stayed anywhere long. She was the life of the party, the toast of a string of boyfriends, but she vanished before you knew it, off in search of new adventures.
Something burned at Sara’s throat. She swallowed hard, forcing away her uneasiness, the same way she’d done in Iowa. And Nebraska. And Colorado. She told herself she was overreacting. She hadn’t heard from her sister for almost a week now, not by phone or e-mail, but there was probably a perfectly good reason. Maybe Hannah had taken a spontaneous road trip to Las Vegas or L.A. She had a habit of getting restless. There was no reason to keep conjuring up grim images of danger. Sara would soon see that for herself when she reached the town of Sedona, nestled in the rugged red-rock country several hours north of Phoenix.
She leaned forward, squinting until she recognized the name of a road on Hannah’s map. With the full moon somewhere over her right shoulder, she turned west onto a winding two-lane drive below the first sprinkling of stars. She couldn’t shake the feeling that her life was about to change in ways she couldn’t imagine. The feeling left her uneasy rather than excited.
When she looked back at the trees beside the road, the big dog was gone.
* * *
As twilight faded into full darkness, Sara twisted through silent canyons filled with whispering cottonwood trees. The moon was high overhead when she saw the welcome glow of lights in the distance.
She frowned at the unbroken darkness stretching away on either side of the road. Who could live in an isolated place like this? It felt unnatural to be so far from other people. Hers had been the only car on the road for the past ten miles. Back in Chicago, every corner had a deli or a coffee shop. The Chicago L ran all night, and many bookstores stayed open until eleven.
Here there was only darkness and silence. Arizona was not what Sara had expected. The huge sky that stretched away forever had touched the photographer in her, making her yearn to pull over for her camera, but that same rugged terrain left her with a heavy sense of isolation. You had to be self-reliant in a place like this. You could walk into a high canyon and never be seen again, leaving no clues and no witnesses.
Had her sister vanished that way?
She rubbed her neck and felt a wave of relief when she saw the little café and gem shop nestled beneath dark cliffs. Only a few cars were parked outside, but it would be a good place to get directions, since the last road Hannah had mentioned didn’t appear on the map.
When she pushed open the carved blue door, a bell chimed a cheerful two-note welcome. Nine heads looked up from a long oak table in the corner. Two men were playing Scrabble. Three more men were hunched over neat piles of poker chips. Three women—and one man—were knitting beside the poker group. The man who was knitting looked familiar.
Sara realized he was an ex-astronaut, in the news a few years earlier after he bought a microbrewery. After that he’d written some kind of cookbook.
A few of the people glanced up at her, but almost immediately went back to their quiet conversations. The feeling of easy camaraderie between everyone was almost tangible.
Sara felt a keen sense of being the outsider, covertly assessed and measured. That feeling faded as a short man with powerful shoulders came out from behind the counter, wiping his hands on a clean but well-used apron that said “Grateful Dead Revival Tour.”
“Welcome to Sedona, ma’am. You’re the first new customer I’ve had in two hours, so the first cup’s on me. What will it be? Coffee or tea?”
“Or me,” the astronaut muttered slyly from his seat near the wall, without looking up from his knitting.
“Just ignore Charly over there. He’s already had one too many tonight.”
“Too many root beer floats?” the astronaut countered. “Not a chance, Emmett.”
The two men continued to argue as Sara sat down at the counter and rubbed the tense muscles in her neck. “A tall coffee with just a splash of milk would be perfect.” She eyed the array of pies along the counter. All of them looked homemade. Calorie laden, but delicious, she decided. “A piece of pecan pie, too.”
“Good call. Fresh this evening, courtesy of Charly over there.”
The astronaut? He was cooking in a tiny café outside Sedona now? But it was none of Sara’s business. She swallowed a yawn, grateful for the deliciously scented coffee and rich pecan pie the owner set in front of her. She was surprised that she was hungry when she’d had an apple and an energy bar only an hour earlier.
The pie vanished in record time.
“You vacationing at the new golf resort, on your way up to Flagstaff or are you lost?” the café owner asked as she finished the last bite.
Sara hesitated, then pulled a commercial map out of her pocket. “I’m looking for Navajo Ridge Road. I don’t think I went past it.”
The room went silent. Tension seemed to grow as she felt the force of searching gazes behind her.
“No, you didn’t miss it. Three miles ahead, ma’
am. Make a left after the grocery and psychic healer.” The man studied her just a little longer. “Pretty rugged country up there. No hotels or resorts anywhere close. You sure you have the address right?”
For some reason Sara didn’t want to give him any more details. Not until she knew if her sister was in some kind of trouble. Instead, she gave a friendly smile, counted out change and laid it by her plate. “No, I’m just visiting. Thanks for the directions.” At the door anxiety made her turn. “About three miles down the road there was a big chocolate Lab. He looked lost.”
The man named Charly stood up and stretched. “That’s just Marlow. Don’t worry about him. He may be old, but that dog can take care of himself. He’s kinda restless these days, that’s all.”
Relief hit Sara in a rush. She buttoned up her sweater and nodded. “Glad to hear it. Thanks again for the directions.”
The bell chimed merrily as she walked out into the gusting wind and darkness.
For some reason it seemed as if she had left all warmth and safety behind her as she drove across the dark parking lot and headed out.
* * *
It took three tries, but Sara finally found the spare key that Hannah had said was shoved between two stones to the left of the front porch. In her car lights she saw a small cabin that was a quirky mix of river stone, adobe and hand-carved rustic wooden beams. Small but snug, Hannah had called the cabin she was currently renting. She hadn’t mentioned that it was ten miles to the nearest town.
Behind her, Sara saw the lights of Sedona twinkling below the nearest mesa. But here on the rim the darkness was absolute. Something rustled in the bushes behind her.
Quickly she swung open the cabin door. She was immediately struck by a smell of dust and disuse. “Hannah,” she called loudly, flipping on the light switch at the door.
There was no answer. The living room was filled with mismatched wooden furniture in brightly painted colors. At least one of the chairs looked as if Hannah had painted it herself. Several manila envelopes lay on the coffee table, and after a long hesitation Sara scanned each one, hoping to find a clue to her sister’s whereabouts.
One envelope held what looked like some kind of spreadsheet listing dates and hours. The vertical line had a variety of abbreviations that made no sense to Sara. Trans. Hand. Comp. What was that supposed to mean?
But her head was aching from too much coffee and too much driving. Exhaustion from the past eleven hours on the road finally caught up with her. She yawned, checking out the rest of the cabin.
There was no sign of Hannah anywhere. Her suitcase was unpacked, and her clothes appeared to be distributed normally through the small closet, with no spaces. Her beading and jewelry supplies were still in a drawer in the kitchen. Since Hannah never went anywhere without her crafting tools, Sara decided her sister would be back eventually, after whatever restless urge that had struck her faded.
Probably this was one big wild-goose chase. She almost regretted giving up the shot at a job in New York photographing the Macy’s parade. That could have led to more high-profile jobs, and heaven knew, Sara needed more referrals. She had been working hard for too long, hoping to break into the competitive commercial photography field. But after eight years of close-but-no-thanks calls, she had learned that great portfolios were a dime a dozen. More often than not it was who you knew, not how well you shot.
But Sara wasn’t giving up the dream she had chased ever since she held her first camera. And this rugged corner of Arizona would be good for one thing. The high country around Sedona had stirring dawns and world-class sunsets, and she was determined to capture a few before heading back to Chicago.
After she made sure that Hannah was safe.
With sleep overtaking her, she had no more energy to ponder the mystery of her sister’s latest whim. She opened her camera bag and placed her beloved Nikon on the coffee table. After locking her car, she brought in her single suitcase and the rest of her photographic supplies, then collapsed onto Hannah’s neatly made bed.
She dreamed about skies that went on forever and a dog with melted-chocolate eyes.
CHAPTER
TWO
"So what did you think?” Charles Hamilton Vernon, ex-astronaut, ex-playboy and current pastry chef for the Red Rock Café and Grill, put down his nearly finished hand-knitted sock and leaned back in his chair. “Nice smile when she used it. Which wasn’t often.”
“No need for idle speculation, Charly. She’s probably a journalism student or a friend of a friend going up to visit Liz Stone.”
“Or going to see that young woman who was working for Liz.” Emmett, the café owner, propped an elbow on the counter. “Hannah something.”
“Winslow,” Charly finished. “But it’s a little odd to me. This Winslow girl shows up on Liz’s doorstep, broke and looking for work. Then Liz takes her on as a paid assistant without a second thought. Stupid thing to do if you ask me.”
“But nobody did ask you,” Emmett said firmly. “You know how Liz is. She’s used to being on her own and making her own decisions. She’s got a good sense of people. If she trusted that young woman, it was with good reason.”
The tinkle of the doorbell caught them by surprise. Charly’s chair went out from under him, banging onto the oak floor.
“Somebody told me I could get a decent cup of coffee and a mediocre slice of pie in here. Probably it was a lie. Seems like everybody lies these days.”
Coconino County deputy sheriff Jesse McCloud shoved back the well-worn brim of his hat and frowned at the silent group. “What’s got all of you tongue-tied, like something a coyote just tossed up?”
Charly went to get some coffee and the pie for the deputy, piling on extra whipped cream just the way Jesse liked it. “It’s the young woman who came in not ten minutes ago. She was wearing red cowboy boots.”
“Not a crime last time I checked.” Jesse’s boots rang out as he crossed to a table. “Anything else suspicious I should know?”
“She was asking the way to Navajo Ridge,” Charly answered flatly. “Only one person I know lives up there, and that’s Liz Stone.”
The tall deputy folded his long, lean body into a chair near the big picture window, scanning the parking lot as he did so. His eyes missed nothing despite his casual posture. “Maybe she was lost. Any of you think to get a license plate?”
Feet shuffled. There was a low ripple of muttered excuses.
“I thought not. I’ve been on since 4:00 a.m., Charly. If you’d allow me to eat this tolerable piece of pecan pie in peace—”
Charly slapped silverware on the table next to Jesse. “Tolerable? That recipe won a blue ribbon at the Sonoma Food and Wine Festival. But you’re only as good as your last cookbook,” he grumbled.
The lanky deputy sheriff of Coconino County hid a smile. Pulling Charly’s chain was one of his special pleasures, and his friend knew that, too. The two had sparred amicably ever since Charly moved to Sedona five years before. Jesse knew everyone in the room, knew most of their grandmothers and all of their grandchildren.
These people watched out for each other, which made his job a little easier.
“Heavy on the molasses this time, Charly.” Jesse made a big deal of savoring his pie, staring into the air. “Excellent bouquet. Strong opening notes, but a weak finish,” he mused.
“Blast it, Jesse.” Charly snorted. “I had that recipe from my grandmother, and she baked it for three presidents.”
Jesse knew that Charly had a deep fond spot for his recipes, and that his pecan pie was a prized family secret.
All the better to ruffle his feathers.
“Oh, shut up and sit down, Charly. The man’s just toying with you, can’t you see that? Your pie is the best thing west of the Mississippi. Everybody knows that.” Rosa Harrington put down the chemo cap she was knitting, then s
tood up. Without ceremony she walked to the kitchen, found a fresh pot of coffee and topped up the deputy’s cup.
Then she took a deep breath, bringing up the subject that no one wanted to face. They were all wondering why no one had seen Liz Stone or her new assistant. “We haven’t see Liz for almost a week, Jesse. What do you think? Is that woman in the boots some kind of clue?”
“Could be.” The lanky deputy stared at his coffee. “You sure she wanted Navajo Ridge?”
“No mistake about it. Darned attractive, too,” Charly muttered. “Nice eyes and a thoughtful way about her. She probably got those boots in New York or maybe on Rodeo Drive.” Charly shot a glance at Rosa, whom he’d been trying to sweet-talk for the past few years. “Not that I noticed.”
“And I’m the pope’s daughter,” the stunning white-haired woman muttered. “But what about Liz?” She glanced anxiously at Jesse, who was finishing his last bite of pie.
Jesse realized they were seriously worried, though Liz Stone was a strong woman who hated cities and liked living alone on her land up on the mesa. She could take care of herself, she always said.
He had no reason to suspect anything had happened to her. She often spread out her visits to town. But if these people were worried, he couldn’t brush off their concern lightly.
He drummed his fingers on the table. “I’ll drive up there and have a look tomorrow. How about that?”
“I think you should,” Rosa said quickly.
“So do I.” Charly stared from one person in the room to the next, giving voice to what all of them were thinking in their worries about the wealthy landowner. “I mean, where is she and why isn’t she answering her phone? Why is her car still parked in her drive up there on Navajo Ridge Road?”
“You think something has happened to her, Jesse? Remember there was a string of burglaries over in Cottonwood last month.”
Jesse stood up, frowning. He’d helped catch the burglars in question, though he didn’t mention that. There were more recent criminal activities than Rosa knew about, too. “I’ll check it out. You have my word.” The deputy started to put bills on the counter, but the owner shoved them firmly back toward him.
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