by Jane Heller
“I’ll do it,” said Jennifer, who bounced into the lobby to call Amanda.
“Personally, I think the lady flew back to New York without telling anybody,” Michael said. “Or am I projecting?”
I laughed. I knew Michael was dying to hop a plane out of town.
“She’ll turn up,” Terry said. “I’m just sorry we’re getting a late start today. We have a heavy schedule so I wanted to shove off nice and early.”
“What’s on our itinerary?” I asked. “More vortexes?”
“Yup,” Terry replied. “And a trip to Flagstaff by way of the famous Schnebly Hill Road.”
“Is your friend Will Singleton meeting us again?” I said.
“I doubt it,” said Terry. “He has his Vision Quests, remember. We were just lucky to run into him yesterday, lucky that he had some time on his hands.”
“Are you saying people really sign up for those glorified camping trips of his?” Michael asked skeptically. “Enough people for the guy to make his mortgage payments on his cabin?”
“Will isn’t in it for the money,” said Terry. “He’s in it because he believes in it. And because he loves it. How many people can say that about their jobs?”
None of us raised our hands.
“Amanda’s not in her casita,” Jennifer reported when she and Tina returned. “I had the operator ring her extension twice.”
“And she’s not in the gift shop,” said Tina.
“How about the restaurant?” asked Marie.
“Or the fitness center?” Billy inquired.
“We checked the whole building,” said Jennifer. “Mrs. Reid isn’t anywhere.”
“She has to be somewhere,” Tina snapped. “Nobody vanishes into thin air.”
“The air is thin in Arizona, no?” said Marie.
Terry smiled. “She does have to be somewhere,” he said. “Do you folks have a rental car in the parking lot?”
“Are you kidding?” said Tina. “Mrs. Reid had me get a stretch limousine to drive us here from Phoenix. I don’t think she’s set foot in a rental car in her entire life.”
“Okay. Let me ask you something else,” said Terry. “You were all with Amanda at dinner last night. Was she feeling sick? Was she upset about anything? Did she act strangely?”
“Did Amanda Reid act strangely last night? How would we be able to tell?” Michael smirked.
“She was just fine,” Jennifer said protectively.
“Not quite,” I pointed out. “She said she was ‘done in,’ that her body was sore from the hiking we did. That’s why she went to bed right after she took that phone call from her husband.”
“Harrison called her?” Jennifer said, the veins in her neck popping out.
“Well, I just assumed that’s who it was,” I conceded. “But now that I think about it, Amanda never said who the caller was. It could have been anyone.”
“Yes. Anyone,” Jennifer agreed, calming down.
“Let’s wait another few minutes and then try her casita again,” Terry said. “Crystal might be right—Amanda could have taken a walk and lost track of the time.”
We waited. And waited. And waited. It was nearly ten o’clock when Billy insisted on getting someone from the hotel to let him into Amanda’s suite. He returned twenty minutes later—alone—and informed us that there was no sign of her.
“I only took a quick look, but the place seemed okay,” he reported. “Nothing was stolen that I could tell. Her handbag was sitting right there on her bed, stuffed with cash.”
“It is time to worry, no?” said Marie. “It is possible that Madame Reid was kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped?” I gasped.
“For the wealthy, kidnapping is always a real threat,” Michael confirmed. “You didn’t find a ransom note in her casita, did you, Billy?”
“No, but I wasn’t looking for one,” said Billy. “What I found was her handbag, like I told you. I don’t think a kidnapper would take her and leave her money.”
“I say we get hotel security to search the grounds,” Terry suggested. “If she doesn’t turn up after that, they’ll bring the police in.”
“Does Sedona even have a police force?” I asked, picturing cops brandishing crystals instead of pistols.
Terry nodded. “I think we’ve got twenty officers in the department now, two of them detectives.”
“Only two detectives?” Tina said scornfully. “How in the world do they solve murders around here?”
“First of all, there hasn’t been a murder in Sedona since 1995, and that case is still in court,” said Terry. “Second of all, what makes you think there’s a murder that needs solving, Tina?”
Tina stuck her fingers in her hair and began to braid it nervously. “I’m Mrs. Reid’s personal assistant,” she said defensively. “It’s my job to make sure that no detail is overlooked where she’s concerned. All I meant was that in the event that the worst has happened and Mrs. Reid has been kidnapped or abducted or”—she swallowed hard—“murdered, a two-detective police force isn’t going to solve diddly-squat.”
“No, but Harrison Reid may want to call in the FBI,” said Michael, who had shed his jaded, who-gives-a-rat’s-ass attitude the minute there was talk of kidnapping and murder.
“I really think we’re getting way ahead of ourselves,” said Terry. “Let’s start with hotel security and go from there.”
Hotel security was as clueless as the two patrolmen who arrived at Tranquility to file the initial report on the “missing heiress,” as Amanda was now being referred to. They asked us dozens of inane questions and after two hours came to the brilliant conclusion that Amanda had disappeared. It wasn’t until the two detectives took over, discovered three drops of blood in Amanda’s bathroom, and pronounced her casita a “crime scene,” that things got serious. Tina tracked down Harrison Reid, who knew someone who knew someone who had a private jet and would fly him out to Sedona immediately. I called Rona, who was adamant that I switch hotels. “If it could happen to her, it could happen to you,” she warned, even though we still had no idea what the “it” was that had happened to Amanda. And, despite Jennifer’s pleas not to, Michael got on the phone to his editor at Personal Life in New York, explaining that the article he had planned to write on the Reids had ballooned into a much meatier, newsier story. He also called the wire services, the network news organizations, and the tabloid TV shows, quickly establishing himself as the Dominick Dunne of the Amanda Reid case, the journalist who was actually on the scene and could, therefore, feed the nation with first-hand, up-to-the-minute information. Within a few hours, Tranquility was anything but, the hotel swarming with media and other usurpers of people’s privacy. So much for inner peace.
“I want to go home,” I told Terry. It was three o’clock that Thursday afternoon. We were sitting in his Jeep in the hotel parking lot, hiding from all the curiosity seekers and scarfing down the sandwiches that were supposed to be our lunch on what was supposed to be the second day of our Sacred Earth Jeep Tour. I was rattled by what had occurred that morning. Amanda Reid and I were far from bosom buddies, but I’d spent an entire day with her, I’d had lunch and dinner with her, I’d meditated with her. And now she was gone.
“I don’t blame you for wanting to go back to New York, Crystal, but you heard what the detectives said,” Terry reminded me. “You and the rest of Amanda’s pals can’t leave town until they finish questioning you. You guys were the last people to see Amanda alive.”
“We don’t know that she isn’t alive,” I pointed out. “We only know that she’s not in plain sight.”
“Right, but you’ve got to stay in Sedona regardless,” he said. “And since that’s the case, I want you to check out of this circus and move your things over to my house.”
“You want me to stay at your house?”
“For as long as they make you hang around.”
I regarded Terry. His khaki shirt very nearly matched the color of his hair, a lock of which had fallen a
cross his right eye. I had to fight the temptation to reach out and comb it back. I did not want to make contact with his forehead. God forbid I should poke him in his Third Eye.
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Terry. Really. But how can I move into your house?” I said, thinking of Rona and her admonitions. “And how can I check out of this hotel? I booked the casita for ten days. They’ll probably charge me for the rest of the week whether I’m here or not.”
“I bet they won’t charge you, under the circumstances,” he said, then smiled, which created little creases around his mouth that were not the least bit unattractive. “Look, Crystal. You’re shaken up about Amanda’s disappearance. You’re afraid it’s not safe here at the hotel. You’re dying to escape the media madness. My house is your best option. It’s not fancy but it’s tucked away in the woods. It’s got a guest room that looks out over Oak Creek. And the media doesn’t know it exists. Besides, if you come and stay with me, it’ll give us some time to catch up, talk, get to know each other again. And if you’re a good girl, I’ll take you on your own, personal Sacred Earth Jeep Tour, gratis. It’ll be fun showing you my Sedona.”
Oh, why not? I thought. It really was the perfect solution. I couldn’t leave town. I was terrified of staying alone at Tranquility. Steven wasn’t coming to Sedona for another couple of days. What was the big deal? So Terry was a lousy husband. He wasn’t asking me to marry him; he was just offering me a roof over my head.
“You’re sure it would be okay with Annie?” I said, warming to the idea of meeting her. For all I knew, bouncing on trampolines was the “in” thing in Sedona—more New Age than having your ears coned—and she would turn out to be even more enlightened than Rona.
“I’m sure,” said Terry. “What do you say I give her a call, tell her you’ll be staying with us for a while, and then you and I go back to your room and pack your stuff?”
I shrugged. “I’m game if you are.”
Terry was the perfect gentleman, waiting outside my casita while I packed my bags. Yes, we were married once, but it was a long time ago so I was self-conscious about him watching me fold my intimate apparel. When I was finished, he drove me over to the lobby and I checked out of Tranquility, which was quite a task. The place was jammed with reporters and photographers and TV crews, and I was lucky to make it up to the front desk without getting crushed.
“Thank you for choosing Tranquility,” said Kara, the sweet young woman who had checked me in when I’d arrived. “We hope you’ve enjoyed your visit with us.”
I stared at her in disbelief. Enjoyed my visit? I was leaving a week early, thanks to the bodily harm that had come to the hotel’s most famous guest. Fortunately, Terry was right: They weren’t charging me for abandoning my casita on such short notice.
“I’d like to give you a forwarding address and phone number for me here in Sedona,” I told Kara. “My fiancé will be trying to contact me when he arrives on Saturday—he’ll be wondering where I am.”
I know, I know. If Steven was my fiancé, my man, my true love, why hadn’t I called him and told him what had happened and where I was going? Why? Because I still hadn’t decided if I would marry him, because I wasn’t absolutely sure he’d even show up in Sedona, given his devotion to his work, and because I wasn’t ready to advise him that I was leaving the hotel so I could move in with my ex-husband. Not after all the shit I’d given him about Stephanie.
Terry gave Kara his address and phone number, I paid my bill, and off we went.
Everything happens for a reason, Jazeem had said.
Jazeem’s little slogan was really starting to resonate with me now, even though I was slightly resentful of her for sleeping with Steven in that dream.
I followed Terry’s Jeep in my rental car. After a ten-minute drive, we pulled up to a small, white, two-story clapboard house with red shutters. It was nestled in the woods, along the banks of Sedona’s picturesque Oak Creek, just as Terry had said it would be; even from my car I could hear the trickling of the creek—soothing, like a gentle waterfall.
So this is where my ex lives, I thought, still pinching myself that I was in his company again, let alone sharing his home and hearth.
He carried my bags up to the front door, put them down on the stone threshold, and hesitated before inserting the key in the lock. He turned to me and shook his head.
“I just had a flashback to the day we moved into our apartment in the city,” he said. “I carried your bags to the door that day, too, remember?”
I sighed. “Seems like a century ago,” I said, lying through my teeth. It seemed like ten minutes ago.
He smiled, knowing me better than my words, and opened the door.
“Honey, I’m home!” he called out as we walked inside. “Come meet Crystal!”
I heard what sounded like a high-pitched squeal and then an immediate clompity-clomp of footsteps hurrying down the stairs.
I inhaled and exhaled slowly and deeply, just as Jazeem had taught me during our session, hoping I was sufficiently attuned, not to mention attired, for my first face-to-face with Terry’s special gal.
“Crystal, meet Annie,” he said proudly when she raced to his side to embrace him.
Chapter Sixteen
Annie was fetching, just as advertised. She had silky long brown hair that cascaded luxuriantly down her back, inquisitive brown eyes that held a hint of mischief as well as intelligence, a turned-up nose worthy of at least one of Amanda Reid’s plastic surgeons, skin so clear and creamy it would have been a crime against nature to cover it with makeup, and a lithe little figure more in keeping with a ballet dancer than a trampoline jumper.
I said lithe little figure because Annie was ten years old.
That’s right. The lady was a kid.
“She’s pretty special, isn’t she?” said Terry after Annie had volunteered her age, along with her thoughts on affirmative action, welfare reform, and the balanced budget amendment. Annie wasn’t just a callow youth; she was a policy wonk.
I didn’t want to be rude to the child, of course, but all I could manage in the way of a response was an idiotic smile, so stunned was I that the female I’d been hearing about wasn’t the melon-breasted, banana-bread-baking earth mother I’d envisioned but a very precocious ten-year-old who watched more C-Span than she did MTV, apparently.
I had assumed—Terry had led me to assume—that he lived with a grown-up person, after all, not a minor. Or had I misunderstood him, the way I seemed to misunderstand everyone in Sedona? And where was the Mrs.? The only adult female around was the housekeeper, Mrs. Peebles, who, it was explained to me later, cleaned once a week and often doubled as Annie’s after-school baby-sitter.
“Dad said you two used to be married,” Annie remarked as she gave me the once-over.
“Yes, dear, we were married,” I confirmed. “When we were in our twenties. I hadn’t seen or spoken to your father in a long, long time until yesterday.”
“That’s what he told me. Do you think you two will marry each other again?” she asked with the bluntness only a kid can get away with.
“Hey, you,” Terry mock-scolded her, wrapping his arms around her and then tickling her stomach until she begged him to stop. When he did, he turned to me and said, with a wink, “Annie’s been on a marriage kick. Ever since Alan Greenspan and Andrea Mitchell tied the knot.”
I smiled. “Boy, Annie, you’re really knowledgeable about life in Washington,” I said to her, wondering what a little girl from Sedona found so intriguing about the goings-on in our nation’s capital.
“I’m interested in government,” she said proudly. “I’ll probably run for President when I’m old enough.”
Terry hugged his daughter. “You’ve got my vote, honey, but in the meantime, why don’t I show Crystal the guest room and let her get settled, huh?”
“Is it okay if I show her?” Annie asked eagerly. When her father nodded, she lifted one of my suitcases, pretending it didn’t weigh more than she did, and m
otioned for me to follow her up the stairs. “You can bring up the rest of her stuff, Dad.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a little salute.
I followed Annie up to the second floor, past what I assumed was the master bedroom, past Annie’s bedroom—the walls were plastered with posters of politicians, of puppies, of Brad Pitt—past a hall bath, to a small but cozy room with a double bed, a dresser, and, as Terry had promised, a restful view of Oak Creek. As I peeked out the window, I could also see Sedona’s ubiquitous red rocks as well as the Hollenbecks’ grassy backyard, complete with trampoline.
“My parents stay in this room when they come to visit,” Terry said, setting my bags on the floor.
“How are Peg and Ron?” I asked.
“Great,” said Terry. “My father’s had two hip replacements but nothing keeps him off the slopes in the winter.”
I was about to ask if Peg still skied, too, when the phone rang.
“I’ll get it. You two must have so much to talk about,” Annie said, tearing down the hall.
After she had vanished, I shook my head in amazement. “She’s special, Terry. Really adorable. But why didn’t you tell me you had a daughter?”
“I wanted to surprise you.” He paused, his expression thoughtful, pensive. “Actually, what I wanted to do was impress you,” he said, amending his first answer. “When we were married, you never thought I’d amount to anything, not that I can blame you. Well, Annie is proof that I amounted to something.”
“Terry, you’ve done very well, from what I can see,” I said, observing my surroundings, which weren’t lavish but seemed comfortable. “There’s your tour business and the real estate investments you were telling me—”
“It’s Annie who made it all happen for me,” he cut me off. “If it weren’t for her, there wouldn’t be a tour business or real estate investments or anything else, including this house. I’d be exactly the way you remember me: lost, adrift, hopping from job to job, waiting to grow up. Annie didn’t just change me. She reinvented me.”
