by Sylvia Nobel
His pale brows bunched together. “No, why?”
“That guy, Joe, said you were a vet’s assistant or something.”
His face softened. “Yeah. I love working with animals. My dream was to study medicine like Gordon, but I had to drop out after a year. No money,” he said with a tight smile. “So, being a veterinary technician was as close as I ever got. Bethany’s happiness always came first. I worked part-time as a shoe clerk,” he said, pulling down fingers, “a vacuum cleaner salesman, bartender, night-manager at a convenience store…I’ve lost track now, but none paid enough to provide her with the lifestyle to which she felt entitled.”
“When did you have time to sleep?” I asked, my contempt for this self-centered woman rising by the second.
“I didn’t. I was like a zombie. And nothing I did ever seemed enough to satisfy her. Oh, I tried to convince myself that she’d learn to love me someday, but she was still obsessed with Gordon and set about making herself into a living Barbie doll until she finally got his attention. She had her nose done, cheek implants, laser skin resurfacing, liposuction, dyed her hair light blonde, hired a personal trainer, the works.”
I shook my head as he went on to explain how she’d finally ensnared Gordon in an affair that resulted in his wife leaving him. Payton, mired in debt because of her lavish spending and the astronomical medical bills piling up while his dying sister awaited her transplant, could do nothing to stop Bethany when she’d taken Brett and moved to San Francisco with his cousin. “She finally got what she’d always wanted, a big house by the bay, fancy car, all the things she said I couldn’t give her because of my devotion to my sister.”
“And that was a bad thing to her?”
His smile was rueful. “She likes to tell anyone who will listen that my concern for Laura bordered on obsession, but I’ll tell you what,” he said, pushing his empty plate to the side, “my sister taught me a lot about love and courage, and I don’t regret a moment of the time I spent with her.”
I couldn’t help but admire his upbeat attitude considering all the crappy things that had happened to him. Instead of feeling sorry for himself, instead of suffering from some major neurosis, he appeared to have reached a comfortable level of acceptance that granted him inner peace. But, it made my blood boil to hear how shabbily Bethany had treated this very compassionate, very sensitive man. I said, “Personally, I think you should be nominated for sainthood.”
Reddening, he grinned. “Well, thank you.”
“So, I gather since she’s back, things didn’t work out with your cousin?”
Scorn danced in his eyes. “He finally saw through her shallowness, called me up, begged my forgiveness and kicked her butt out. She got a real rude awakening when she came slithering back to the Sundog thinking she was going to continue her cushy lifestyle courtesy of mom and dad. Wrong! Things had changed for them financially, so in order to stay she had to agree to pull her own weight helping out with the guests.”
“What happened with your cousin?”
“He’s still trying to reconcile with his wife and I’m trying to make up for lost time with Brett.” He exhaled a protracted sigh. “And Bethany’s new goal in life is making it as difficult as possible for me to see him. In case you hadn’t noticed, she’s a master at laying down roadblocks and manipulating circumstances to her own benefit.”
“I noticed.” I hunched forward, resting my chin on my hands. “Tell me something, what did she mean about you erecting a shrine for Laura in the desert? Is your sister…buried out there?”
He shook his head, clearly irritated. “Bethany has a habit of over-dramatizing the situation. It’s really not a big deal at all. Laura’s dying wish was to have her ashes spread in the spot where we used to go for picnics when we were kids. I go out there sometimes, say a little prayer and just, you know, listen to the wind. I’ll tell you, it was the saddest thing on earth watching her waste away waiting…waiting for the healthy heart she never got.” His voice faltering with emotion prompted me to place my hand over his. “Payton, I’m so sorry.” He turned his palm upward and clasped my hand, his misty eyes brimming with gratitude. “Thank you. Thank you for caring. It was a terrible ordeal, but at least one good thing came out of it.”
I noticed the four elderly diners at the next table eyeing us with eager speculation, so I gently disengaged my hand from his. “What’s that?”
“It made me aware of the appalling shortage of organ donors in this country. Get this, even if one does become available, it doesn’t mean the most deserving person will receive it.” His lips twisted. “Money, power and celebrity go a long way in pushing certain people to the top of the list.”
I eyed him closely. “Is that what happened to your sister? Did she get bumped for someone else?”
“The hospital denied it, but yes, I think so. Did you know that over sixty-five thousand people are on waiting lists for transplants at this very moment? And like Laura, over five thousand a year die before receiving either a heart, or liver, lungs or a kidney?”
“I had no idea.”
“It’s definitely been an eye-opening education.” He fixed me with a solemn look. “Tell me something, have you ever donated blood?”
“Sure.”
“And have you filled out an organ donor card?
“No.”
”Did you know they’re available at every blood bank?”
Guilt gnawed at me and I squirmed under his intense gaze. “No, I didn’t.”
“Bet you never gave it much thought, did you?”
“I’m ashamed to admit it, but no.”
“Don’t feel bad. Most people aren’t aware of it, or choose to ignore it. That’s what’s so sad. Think about the thousands of fully intact cadavers buried each year in ridiculously elaborate funerals when it would be so easy to have given the gift of life to another human being.” His rough breathing and passionate tone of voice had curious heads turning in our direction again. Apparently we were the lunchtime entertainment.
Blushing under the scrutiny, he steepled his hands against the flat line of his lips for a couple of seconds. “Making people aware of this problem has become my personal crusade since Laura died.”
“That’s all right,” I answered, admiring his sensitivity. “You’ve convinced me. I’ll fill out a donor card the very next time I donate blood.”
His smile matched the sparkle in his green eyes. “Bravo.” A silence fell between us and he glanced at his watch. “Well, thanks again for lunch. I’d like to stay and chat longer but I’ve got to make a couple of phone calls…”
“Hey, it’s nothing considering how helpful you’ve been to me.”
He rose and then hesitated beside my chair. “Do you think you’ll ever be back down this way again?”
I shrugged. “It’s possible.”
“Well, if you do, be sure to look me up.”
“You can bet on it.”
“Enjoy your new kitty.” Smiling, he accepted my outstretched hand and then with a final wave, strode towards the outside door leading to the saloon. When I looked around, everyone in the place was staring at me with a knowing smile. Good grief. No doubt they’d interpreted our meeting as a lover’s rendezvous. Good thing I was leaving town today. I hailed the waitress for the bill. The aspirin I’d taken earlier had helped dull the beginnings of a headache but my throat was growing increasingly raw. If things worked out as I hoped, I’d snag an interview with the caretaker at Morita, collect my new kitten and then get home as quickly as possible.
I stepped outside into the wind, smarting with the knowledge that so far I’d failed to come up with anything viable to help Lupe. It weighed heavily on me as I pulled my car keys from my purse and I nearly walked by the dented orange truck before I realized it was Froggy’s. I hesitated. This might be a perfect opportunity to corner the little weasel in the saloon and try to extract more information, but one glance at my watch told the story. I didn’t have enough
time.
I’d just stuck my key in the door when the sudden squeal of tires from behind startled me. Turning, my heart jerked uncomfortably as Jason’s red pickup skidded into the nearby parking space. The nasty-faced skinhead with the pit bull eyes sat next to him. Oh, brother.
Never taking their eyes off me, they slammed out the doors and strode in my direction. I drew myself up to my full height and returned their hostile glares. “Something I can help you boys with?”
Jason’s nostrils flared. “You headin’ out of town now?”
Even though my heart was throwing itself painfully against my ribs, I answered coolly, “I can’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“Cutter an’ me think it is.”
“Cutter, huh?” I glanced at his companion, aptly named I thought as he scraped the tip of a knife blade beneath one fingernail. His menacing stare wilted my insides, but I stood my ground. “It’s surprising to know you two actually can think.”
They exchanged a viperous look and moved closer. Backed against the car, I hastily looked around for a witness. Of course, not a soul was in sight.
Jason’s lip curled up on one side. “My folks might think you’re hot shit, but the rest of us don’t want a wetback-loving reporter snooping around sticking her pointed nose in places it don’t belong.” I took offense at the pointed nose remark. “So, you better be careful,” he continued, baring his teeth, “or it might get cut clean off.” Cutter’s guttural laugh was chilling as he swiped the knife in front of his nose.
These guys had seen way too many cop movies. I narrowed my eyes at Jason. “Don’t threaten me, you little punk.”
Still smirking, he slapped his buddy on the back and they sauntered towards the saloon entrance. When he reached the archway he swung back, very deliberately aimed his index finger at me and then depressed his thumb as if he were firing a gun.
17
The pea soup I’d hoped would make me feel better congealed in my belly like a cold lake as I cruised towards Sasabe, still shaking with anxiety-charged fury. My face burned and my arms felt boneless as yet another megadose of adrenaline drained from my system. Should I turn around and drive to the nearest sheriff’s office and report the incident? But what had they really implied? Would the authorities accept the word of a stranger against one of their own or dismiss their actions as youthful fun? But these weren’t just overgrown boys playing schoolyard bullies. Like the first time Jason and his cohorts surrounded my car, I’d sensed tangible danger behind their eyes.
The consternation swirling inside me rivaled the wind buffeting my car. Walter’s instincts concerning his wife’s late cousin might just prove to be true. It wasn’t lost on me that this latest altercation had something to do with my visit to the Shirley household. Cutter had scurried to rat on me to Jason. Did his involvement mean that the rumor linking Bob Shirley to a White power group was true? And if so, what were Jason and Cutter afraid that I might have discovered? The chilly sensation lodged in my gut gave credence to the intuitive feeling that I’d accidentally backed into something far bigger than Lupe’s story. Even though I’d apparently struck out on her behalf, my scheduled trip to Morita had suddenly taken on significance beyond that which affected Lupe. Would the elusive caretaker be able to shed any new light on the Mexican immigrant’s tale of alien abductions? Would Morita hold the key connecting Javier’s story to Lupe’s missing relatives? And if it did, what had frightened Bob Shirley so much that he refused to discuss the incident ever again? Frustration piled onto my feelings of defeat. This was a story I ached to follow up on, but my time to bring home any significant information was running out. And I had to be honest with myself. As much as the whole situation intrigued me, did I really want to return here and embroil myself in what could prove to be another dangerous assignment? And in light of Lupe’s deception concerning her illegal status, did I really want to take that risk for her? No, I convinced myself, the trip to Morita was now more for my own curiosity.
The tiny community of Sasabe was just that. Tiny. And it was for sale. A prominent sign offered it for three million dollars. Cruising along the peaceful street devoid of traffic, I noticed that a renovation effort was underway in an attempt to spruce up some of the old adobe houses and buildings. Some sported fresh pink and turquoise paint. A few parked cars and two elderly Mexican women sitting on a bench in front of the Post Office adjacent to a general store were the only signs of life. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to live here unless it was to enjoy total silence. The road curved sharply right, dipping down past a small house surrounded by a sturdy fence topped with concertina wire, guarded by two wildly barking dogs and a scowling gray-haired woman who never took her eyes off me. When I reached the top of the incline, a large red brick facility with a white gabled roof came into view. A large sign announced that I’d reached the U.S. Port of Entry and another in English and Spanish, welcomed me to Mexico, where the pavement abruptly ended. A wide dusty road continued southward towards the twin village of Sasabe, Sonora. I drove back and waved at the bored-looking U.S. Customs official in the guard station as I passed by. There wasn’t another car or truck in sight. The formidable white barrier separating the two countries snaked along the rough terrain until it dissolved into nothing more than a puny range fence. Easy entry into the country just a few hundred yards away from the official crossing. What a joke. I shook my head. Unless enough agents could be hired to stand shoulder to shoulder, forming a human shield extending along the entire two thousand mile border, there was no way on earth there could be enough manpower to stop the tide of illegal aliens.
I backtracked through town and moments later turned onto a dirt lane and bounced along, heading west. Noting the herds of cattle munching on the grassy hillsides, I presumed that I had re-entered the Beaumont property. After traveling only half a mile, I drove past a square, windowless building topped with a windsock, blowing straight out in the strong southwesterly wind. At the tip of a tiny airstrip that had been carved out of the desert floor, sat a faded red and white plane that I assumed belonged to Champ. I had a quick flashback to life in my cramped apartment in Philadelphia this time last year and found myself in awe of someone owning so much property that he had to use an airplane just to visit the boundaries.
When I glanced again at the open map on the passenger seat, a little jolt of surprise nudged me as I realized that the ghost town of Morita lay nestled in the shadows of the crooked stack of wind-sculpted rocks known as Wolf’s Head. I wondered why Payton had never mentioned that fact. But, of course, I’d never asked him.
After another mile or so, I buzzed over a cattle guard and passed an overgrown track to my right. Holding the steering wheel in one hand, I studied the map again. That should take me back to Dean’s place. Even though it seemed much further away, Morita was actually less than three miles from his ranch house.
A hazy rooster tail of dust ahead signaled another vehicle coming my way. Since the road was narrow, I pulled over to the right to allow what I could now identify as a Border Patrol SUV to pass. A little ripple of uneasiness skimmed along my spine when I recognized the driver. Hank Breslow. He stopped and signaled for me to roll down my window. “Are you lost?”
“No.”
A prolonged hesitation then, “Where are you headed?”
I couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe it was because of the way he’d treated Lupe or perhaps it was the glint of circumspection in his eyes. Whatever, I didn’t really want to tell him. But, he could easily follow me and find out. “Morita.”
“Why are you going out there?”
“I need to get a few shots of the area for my article.”
Appearing skeptical, he advised, “I’d be real careful if I were you. There are a lot of open mine shafts around and I don’t think I need to mention that a woman as attractive as you in such a desolate area along the border could be inviting trouble in more ways than one.”
I don’t know why, but I sensed that he didn’t want me going to Morita. “I appreciate your concern. I’ll be extra careful.”
He didn’t look thrilled with my answer. When he didn’t move I waved farewell, put my car in gear and drove on half expecting him to follow. Several glances in the rearview mirror confirmed that he hadn’t. Very strange guy. Or was I just overly suspicious?
If I hadn’t been traveling so slowly, searching for the cutoff to Morita, I wouldn’t have seen the brilliant flash of red out of the corner of my eye. I braked and backed up, staring at the vibrant clusters of scarlet tucked away beneath the grove of cottonwood trees to my left. It was too late in the season for desert flowers. Curious, I pulled the car to the side of the road and got out.
A sense of wonderment engulfed me as I encountered an unexpected carpet of green grass encircled by manicured shrubs and clay pots brimming with flowers. Above my head, the soft whisper of leaves added to the feeling of total serenity. What was this place hidden away in the middle of nowhere? My question was soon answered when I spotted a stone marker decorated with elaborately carved angels. Two large plastic vases filled with fresh roses stood to either side. Intrigued, I sat down on the little wooden bench opposite it and read the inscription. Sleep at last in blissful peace, darling Laura. In death lies the promise of new life.
How touching that Payton had gone to all this trouble to commemorate the place where his sister’s ashes had been scattered. Nevertheless, I couldn’t deny feeling a slight sense of uneasiness when I recalled Bethany’s cryptic assertion that Payton suffered from an obsession regarding his sister. I shrugged it off. Obsession might be too strong of a word. Deep devotion might be a better description. But as I again viewed the flowered oasis, the word shrine seemed more and more appropriate. Okay, I admitted to myself, maybe he was just a little obsessed. I left with a cold knot in my belly, not knowing quite what to think.
Behind the wheel again, the winding road became rougher, narrower, and suddenly dipped into a deep rocky arroyo. By the time I climbed back up to the other side, the crumbling remains of several structures crouching on the grassy slopes beneath the massive overhang of rocks caught my attention. The road curved ahead, vanishing into the distant hills, so I took the next cutoff and traveled south perhaps a quarter of a mile until the road finally dead-ended. All right! I’d finally made it to Morita.
