by Jane Heller
“How about if I stay here by myself? All the Sunday political shows are on—‘Meet the Press,’ ‘Face the Nation,’ ‘The McLaughlin Group.’ I’ll have the time of my life.”
Terry shook his head. “I don’t leave you alone here, sport. You know that. Your choices are—stay at a friend’s house or stay here with a sitter. Maybe Will can bring Jean over when he comes to pick Crystal and me up. You can watch your shows with her, huh?”
Annie gave that idea the thumbs-up sign.
Terry got on the phone to Jean Singleton, who had been forced to flee the cabin, thanks to the media, and was camping out with her husband at the Jeep Tour office. While Terry chatted with her, Annie and I chatted with each other—about her homework for school, her friend Laura’s new puppy, Brad Pitt’s new haircut, you name it. I loved talking to her, no matter what the subject. Her enthusiasm was infectious.
At 8:30, Will and Jean arrived. Jean looked thoroughly exhausted; Will looked remarkably composed.
“I believe I will be protected by the truth,” he said when I commented on how calm he seemed under the circumstances.
Bless his heart, I thought. If the media had branded me a murderer, I’d have fled the country already.
Terry kissed Annie goodbye as he, Will, and I prepared to leave the house. “You’ll be okay, honey?” he asked her.
“Sure,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He tweaked her nose. “No reason. Later, dude.”
“Later, Dad.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Unlike my first trip there, when it was a stop on the Sacred Earth Jeep Tour, Cathedral Rock wasn’t teeming with adventurers this time, perhaps because it was only nine o’clock on a Sunday morning. In fact, for a major tourist attraction, the canyons felt eerily quiet, as if Amanda’s disappearance had cast a spell over the place, an aura of fear.
“Look. There are the kachina dolls, remember?” Terry said to me, pointing to the man and woman carved out of rock, standing back-to-back, perched imposingly atop one of the cliffs.
“I remember,” I said, gazing up at them. I also remembered Terry saying they warded off evil spirits. Where were they the day Amanda vanished? I wondered.
We began our climb, letting Will lead us up the canyon to the exact spot where he’d left Amanda. It was slow going. It had rained briefly but heavily during the night and, despite the brilliant morning sun, the hiking trails were still muddy, making for slippery conditions.
“We’ll take it nice and easy,” Terry advised, positioning himself right behind me in case I stumbled.
I tried to concentrate on my footwork, tried to watch where I was stepping, but I was more focused on solving a mystery, more intent on succeeding where the police had failed. I kept posing theories to myself as I hiked, kept picturing Amanda sitting on that blanket all by herself in the wee hours of the morning, kept wondering if someone had forcibly dragged her off or if she had gone willingly—where and for what reason I couldn’t imagine. Nothing added up.
“Tell me, Will,” I said to him. “I know it was the crack of dawn when you brought Amanda up here, but Laverne Altamont, a friend of Terry’s, told us that three of her friends saw you two that morning. Did you see them—or anyone else?”
“Unfortunately, I saw no one,” he said. “When I do my spiritual work, I look inward, as if my mind is a long tunnel. On the morning you are asking about, it was the same way. I was looking inward, meditating on Mrs. Reid so that I would be prepared for the ceremony I would be conducting. Vision Quests are serious business. For serious seekers.”
“That’s the part that puzzles me most,” I said. “Amanda Reid was no serious seeker. She was a superficial socialite whose single goal in life was to one-up Blaine Trump. She didn’t come here searching for meaning—she came here searching for media attention. She was dying for a way to promote herself.”
“Yeah, but did she die to promote herself?” said Terry. “And if she did die, how did she die?”
None of us knew the answer to that one, so we continued on our hike. Up, up, up Cathedral Rock. We’d been climbing for forty-five minutes or so when Will pointed to an area not far from where we had stopped to rest. It was relatively flat—a small plateau between the jagged peaks on either side of it. The perfect place for a picnic, a photo op, or, I supposed, a Vision Quest.
“I brought Mrs. Reid there,” said Will, his eyes fixed on the spot. “And I left Mrs. Reid there. Alive.”
“We know you did, buddy,” Terry said. “Now. Let’s check it out, huh?”
We all trudged to the scene of the aborted Vision Quest. There was nothing unusual about it, we discovered when we got there. No sign of a struggle. No sign of the blanket. No sign of Amanda.
“Last night’s rain washed away any footprints,” Will observed as he bent down and ran his fingers over the still damp ground.
“There’ll be other clues,” Terry said optimistically. “If not here, then nearby. Things will move a lot faster, though, if the three of us split up to search the area.”
Will and I agreed, so I went one way, Will another, Terry another, the idea being that we would each comb our section and yell if we found anything interesting. We were like kids on a scavenger hunt, except for one tiny detail: We didn’t know what the hell we were looking for.
My territory was east of the spot where Will had left Amanda, but it could just as well have been west or north or south. Peaks and valleys aside, Cathedral Rock was one giant mass of red rock formations, and, unless you’d spent years mapping out which was which and what was where, it all sort of looked alike.
Nevertheless, I studied the area to which I’d been assigned, checking, for example, for markings Amanda could have carved into the rock or fragments of the blanket Will had given her or even remnants of her broken fingernail. Nothing.
And then something several feet away caught my eye, something half-buried under the earth that had shifted during the rain storm, something shiny. At first, I assumed it was a crystal—the kind Amanda had tried to dig out of the ground at Bell Rock—but as I approached the object and saw how it sparkled in the sunlight, I surmised that it might be a piece of metal. Silver, I thought. Yes. Silver jewelry.
I hurried closer to the glittery article and when I came upon it, I knelt down and inspected it where it lay partially obscured by the rock and dirt and cactus.
All that was visible initially was a sliver of silver—a tip, a point, a sharp end of a larger object. And when I swept away the debris covering it, I saw that I was correct; the silver tip indeed belonged to a larger object—a silver cross inlaid with turquoise in the style commonly associated with jewelry designed in the American Southwest. What’s more, the silver-and-turquoise cross hung from a long black cord which, judging by its two ragged ends, had torn and come apart, probably causing the cross to drop off the neck of its wearer. Of course, there was also the possibility that it had been yanked off the neck of its wearer. During an argument, maybe. A very physical argument.
“Hey, you guys!” I shouted, my voice echoing across the canyons. “I think I found something!”
Terry and Will abandoned their battle stations and were with me in a flash.
“Look,” I said, pointing at the cross. “It could be evidence, couldn’t it?”
“If it’s evidence, then why didn’t the police collect it?” Terry said.
I shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t ‘sweep’ every inch of this place,” I said, recalling the term from my father’s favorite cop shows. “They sure as hell didn’t see the cross from all the way up in their search-and-rescue helicopter. For all we know, it could have been here for days. Since the morning Amanda disappeared.”
“I never saw it here before,” Will volunteered.
“But you told us you never see anyone or anything before a Vision Quest,” I reminded him. “You’re too busy looking inward.”
“That is true,” Will conceded. He dropped down to his knees to examine the cross more
closely, picking it up, rubbing it between his palms, then placing it against his forehead, then laying it across his heart. I assumed he was measuring its energy or testing its vibes or whatever.
“I do not know this cross,” he said finally.
That’s when it occurred to me: I did know this cross—or one that looked just like it.
“Terry,” I said anxiously. “Remember when you took our tour group out that first day?”
“How could I forget? It was the day we saw each other again after twenty years.”
“Right, but we had just climbed up to Airport Mesa and while you were scouting around for an uncrowded spot, I saw this blond guy talking to some sunbathers, telling them they were in a bad space. He was wearing a T-shirt with the phrase ‘There’s No Place Like Om’ on it. He was also wearing a silver-and-turquoise cross around his neck—a cross that bears a striking resemblance to the one Will’s holding. I asked you about the man and you told me he was a local character.”
“He is,” Terry said. “We all call him the ‘Om-bre.’ Get it? Hombre?”
“Very clever, but the point I’m trying to make is that he was wearing this cross the day I saw him at Airport Mesa,” I said. “He was also wearing it the very first time I saw him—in the parking lot at Tranquility, the afternoon I was checking into the hotel.”
“It’s not a one-of-a-kind piece of jewelry, Crystal,” Terry said. “They sell these crosses by the hundreds out here.”
“Yes, but when the ‘Om-bre,’ as you call him, turned up at The Hideaway the other night, he wasn’t wearing the cross,” I said. “I’m positive of it.”
Terry considered my observations. “So you think this cross is his?”
“I do. More to the point, I think it’s evidence,” I said. “He was wearing the cross the day before Amanda disappeared. He was not wearing the cross the day after she disappeared. And now, lo and behold, here’s the cross—only a short distance from where Will says he last saw Amanda. Coincidence? I doubt it.”
“For argument’s sake, let’s say the cross does belong to this guy,” Terry agreed. “What would—”
“Sorry to interrupt, but do we know this person’s name?” I asked.
Terry glanced at Will. “I don’t. You?”
“Not me,” said Will.
“I guess we don’t,” Terry admitted,
“Okay. Go on,” I said.
“Let’s say the cross is this guy’s,” he continued. “What possible connection could he have to someone like Amanda Reid? He’s a two-bit hustler, a small-time rip-off artist. One year he claims he’s a psychic. The next year he tells everyone he’s a numerologist. Now he walks around town passing himself off as a Reiki healer. He gets the tourists to spring for a few bucks every now and then, but most people in Sedona ignore him.”
“Maybe they shouldn’t,” I said. “Maybe he’s not as harmless as you make him out to be.”
“Maybe, but look at the facts,” said Terry. “Amanda isn’t the first New Age-crazed celebrity to make the pilgrimage to Sedona. If our friend with the cross really intended to rob or kidnap or even murder a rich-and-famous person, he would have had plenty of other opportunities before now.”
“Yes, but Amanda isn’t just another New Age-crazed celebrity,” I said. “She’s a ditz, a dim bulb, a dented can. She could have had some sort of encounter with this man and pissed him off. She had a habit of pissing people off.”
“There is a way to answer all these questions,” Will said in his solemn, unflappable manner. “We can go to this man, confront him with our suspicions, see what he tells us.”
Terry shook his head. “How do we find the guy if none of us knows his name? I’m willing to bet he isn’t listed in the phone book under ‘Om-bre.’”
We all pondered the matter. For some reason my pondering brought me back to Sergei’s pronouncements, to the words Terry and I had all but written off as the ramblings of a nutcase.
Amanda Reid is close by, yet somehow hidden from view.
That was the second message we’d been given that afternoon, the first having been that Amanda was alive.
If she’s close by, she’s somewhere in Sedona, I thought. And if she’s hidden from view, maybe it’s “Om-bre” who’s keeping her hidden. Maybe he’s holding her captive because he wants her to change her will and leave him everything. Maybe he’s holding her captive because he wants her to hire him as her personal Reiki healer. Maybe he’s holding her captive because he finds her irresistible.
Then again, maybe not.
You hold the key to finding her.
That was the third and most startling of Sergei’s channeled messages—that I had the answer to the mystery of Amanda’s disappearance.
There is a piece of paper in your possession. A piece of paper with writing on it. A piece of paper that will lead you straight to Amanda Reid’s door.
But I had rummaged through all the pieces of paper in my suitcase and carry-on bag, I thought, and I didn’t find a single clue. As for my purse, the reason I didn’t bother to fish around in there was that the only pieces of paper to speak of were money—the traveler’s checks and the bills in my wallet.
Wait! My wallet! Of course! What could I have been thinking? And I’d called Amanda a dim bulb!
Suddenly I remembered that I had dozens of business cards in the zippered section of my wallet—and that one of them belonged to “Om-bre.”
“Guess what?” I said excitedly, tugging on Terry’s shirtsleeve. “I know exactly how to get in touch with Mr. Reiki Healer. I’ve got his business card in my wallet!”
“So? Let’s see it!” Terry said, extending his hand toward me, his eyes on the fanny pack strapped around my waist.
“What are you looking at?” I said. “It’s not in there. My allergy pills are in there. And a couple of Kleenexes.”
“Jesus, Crystal. I thought women cram everything they own into their pocketbooks,” he said.
“Don’t generalize,” I said. “This isn’t a pocketbook—it’s a thing you wear when you want your arms free. Why would I bring a wallet to go mountain climbing? There aren’t any hot dog concessions around here, are there?”
“Okay. Then where is your wallet?” Terry asked, attempting to remain calm.
“It’s back at your house,” I said. “In the guest room.”
“Are you sure?” he said. “There’s no chance you brought it with you? In that thing?”
I unzipped the fanny pack and exposed its contents. Just as I’d indicated, there was a box of Benadryl and one of those travel packs of tissue. And a couple of Pepcid ACs. Just in case.
I smiled to myself as I suddenly thought of Steven, winging his way back to New York. I hoped his sinuses weren’t giving him trouble on the flight. I genuinely wished him the best.
“Crystal,” said Terry, bringing me back to the matter at hand. “I believe you about the wallet. I’m sorry. You can close that thing now.”
I zipped the fanny pack. “I guess we’d better head back to your house. On the double,” I said, then wondered how anyone could climb down Cathedral Rock “on the double.” You couldn’t exactly take two cliffs at a time.
“We’ll save a few minutes if we call Annie from the parking lot instead of stopping at the house,” Terry suggested. “Either she or Jean can find the business card and read us the information over the phone.”
“How will they know which business card is ‘Om-bre’s’?” I asked. “In the few days I’ve been in Sedona, I’ve been handed dozens of business cards, many of them by people claiming to be Reiki healers.”
“I guess they’ll have to look through all of them then,” he said and started down the canyon.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I placed the call to Terry’s house. Annie picked up after two rings.
“Hi, Annie. It’s Crystal,” I said. “We need you to do us a favor, okay?”
“What kind of a favor?” she asked.
“One that could get your
Uncle Will out of trouble,” I said.
“Tell me,” she said excitedly.
“My wallet is in my purse, which is in the guest room, on the bed,” I explained. “Would you mind running upstairs, finding the wallet, and bringing it down to the phone?”
She didn’t waste time answering my question. She simply dropped the telephone onto the kitchen counter and hurried off. When she returned within seconds, she was out of breath but sounding extremely pleased that she’d been included in our sleuthing.
“What should I do now?” she asked.
“Open the wallet and you’ll see a zippered compartment,” I said.
“Got it,” she said.
“Good. Unzip it and there’ll be a whole bunch of business cards,” I said.
“Got ’em,” she said.
“Beautiful. Pull out the cards and flip through them until you find one with a man’s name on it. He’s from here in Sedona, and the card should have the words ‘Reiki healer’ or ‘Reiki expert’ or ‘Reiki specialist’ printed on it, along with this man’s address and phone number. Oh, and Reiki is spelled R-e-i-k-i.”
“How do you spell the man’s name?”
“We don’t know his name.”
“So you mean I should just look for a card that says ‘Reiki’ something?”
“Exactly.”
There was a brief silence as Annie began to shuffle through the business cards.
“You’ve got a lot of these, Crystal,” she commented, “mostly from New York. There’s one for a BMW dealer, one for a beauty shop, one for a gastro…entom—”
“Gastroenterologist, honey,” I said, helping her with her pronunciation. “That’s a doctor you go to for acid reflux.”
“Acid what?”
“It’s not important. Tell me about the other cards, specifically the ones with Sedona addresses and phone numbers.”
“Well, there’s one for a guy who does emotional clearings.”
“That would be the waiter at Tranquility,” I said to Terry and Will, who were huddled next to me around the pay phone, hanging on my every word.
