by Sylvia Nobel
“What’s goin’ on? Your face is redder‘n a baboon’s butt.” Her eyes searched mine for answers. “You know that guy?”
“Yes, I know that guy.”
Her freckled face was a mask of pure bemusement. “Well?”
“That’s Grant Jamerson.”
It took a few seconds for my answer to penetrate, but when it did she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Your ex-fiancé! What’s he doing here?” When I didn’t respond immediately she insisted, “Come on, girl, spit it out before I drop over dead from curiosity!”
Without going into great detail, I told her how’d he shown up unannounced at the same time Tally had arrived. “And I’m guessing Tally ain’t too thrilled about it.”
“Your guess would be correct.”
“Well, ain’t you in a fine pickle. Mercy me. Don’t look now but he’s walkin’ this way.”
I turned to meet his guileless blue eyes and my heart contracted with a mélange of emotions I couldn’t even begin to arrange into a cogent thought. As if my life weren’t complicated enough already. A charismatic smile aimed at Ginger accompanied his “Hi, I’m Grant Jamerson.” It took him all of sixty seconds to figuratively charm the pants off her, Nona and the other two ladies. I could have happily choked him.
When he finally refocused on me I asked pointedly, “What are you doing here?”
“Shopping.”
“Really.”
“Yep, thought I’d pick up a few souvenirs to commemorate my visit to the Grand Canyon State.”
“That’s nice.” I deliberately kept my back to Ginger and the other women but I could feel their inquisitive eyes on me.
“Yeah, I’m heading down to Phoenix now. Got an appointment to interview one of Judge Gibbons’s associates. See if I can scare up anything new on the case.”
I could tell he was needling me again. Maintaining his incandescent smile, he lowered his voice. “We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Yes, we do.”
He showed no signs of backing down. I swung around to Ginger. “Could you hold down the fort for a moment?”
“You bet your sweet bippy.” Her inquiring gaze promised an inquisition for all pertinent details upon my return. “Y’all take your time now.”
I fired him a look of annoyance and literally flounced from the canopy, marching towards the wild burro corral some fifty yards away. “Hey, slow down,” he panted, trotting beside me. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re not happy to see me?”
Almost to the corral I halted and whirled around. “Grant, what are you doing? Why did you follow me? Are you deliberately trying to ruin my life? Again?”
He appeared momentarily taken aback. “I didn’t exactly follow you.”
I gritted my teeth. “Really? Then how did you know I was here?”
“You probably won’t buy into the notion that I’m psychic?”
“Get real.”
His disarming grin seemed designed to lighten the mood. “Okay. The truth is I overheard your phone conversation this morning when you mentioned that you’d be here. Come on, Kendall. That’s Investigative Reporting 101 remember? Pay close attention to everything people say? Or have you forgotten all the things I taught you?” The coy nuance in his voice and smoldering glint in his eyes betrayed his double entendre.
Choosing to ignore it, I folded my arms. “Get to the point.”
Heeeee Hawwww! Heeee Haaaaaawwww! I looked over my shoulder at one particularly vocal burro that was soon joined by several others, causing a cacophonous racket.
His eyes sparkled with good humor. “This is a really classy place.”
“No one’s keeping you here.”
He didn’t respond and appeared for the first time to be ill at ease. Hands in his pockets, he rearranged a couple of pieces of gravel with his shoe before meeting my unflinching gaze again. “Can we talk about us for a few minutes?”
“No. We can talk about me,” I said, pressing a thumb to my chest, “and we can talk about you, but we can’t talk about us…because of you.”
He absorbed my accusation with aplomb. “Have you been waiting a long time to get that off your chest?”
“You have no idea.” We eyed each other steadily and as I stared into his mesmerizing blue eyes, an uncomfortable tremor traveled through me as the air between us became charged with emotion. Danger! Danger!
“I said I was sorry, Kendall. What can I do to make it up to you?”
“Nothing. Let’s just leave it alone.”
“So, we can’t even be friends? We used to be good friends,” he went on, apparently trying a softer approach. “Have you forgotten all the things we had in common? All the amazing times we had together before…?”
I cut him off. “Before I developed asthma and couldn’t ski, couldn’t dance, couldn’t hike anymore? You mean before you got bored with me and started sneaking around behind my back with Elise? No, I haven’t forgotten, not for a second. But you know what? I have a new life now. You see this?” I asked, brandishing my diamond in his face. “You had your chance! I’m engaged to Tally now. Whatever you and I had together is over. Period. End of story.” I drew in a shuddery breath. “I really hated you for a long time, Grant, but I’m past that now. I’ve moved on with my life and you should do the same.”
“So there isn’t anything I can do, anything I can say, to talk you out of marrying this…backwoods cowboy?”
His disparaging tone got my blood boiling. Backwoods cowboy? Why did that sound familiar? I glared at him. “Wait a minute, what’s going on here? Has my mother been talking to your mother? Did they put you up to this?”
His ever-so-slight shrug in conjunction with the chastened expression on his face confirmed my suspicions. Nonetheless, some of the resentment I’d held against him for so long in my heart diminished a couple of degrees. What had he been thinking? That he could swoop in here unannounced and sweep me off my feet again? Did he think I’d still be so enamored of his good looks and charm that I’d chuck my new job, new life, and my new man to go running back to Pennsylvania with him? “This isn’t a romance novel, Grant,” I said softly. “I’m…I’m truly flattered that you feel the way you do, but I love Tally, I love Arizona and I’m very happy in my new job. I’m sorry, you’re on your own.”
He reached out and clasped my shoulders, his eyes beseeching. “Kendall, are you sure? We had a great thing going and you know it. Are you absolutely sure this isn’t just a…a rebound thing?”
“Positive.” I stepped back, breaking his hold on me.
He searched my eyes for another few seconds before sighing heavily. “You can’t fault me for trying.” He held out a hand. “Friends?”
I hesitated a couple of seconds before tentatively extending my hand. “Okay, friends.”
Heeeee Haaawwwww! We turned to see a burro with his neck craned over the pipe corral. He was shaking his head up and down, his teeth bared as if he were grinning in approval. “Apparently our buddy here concurs,” Grant remarked with dry humor, still gripping my hand. “Well, I’ll see you around.” Then, before I could object he leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the lips. “Just a little kiss between friends,” he said before turning to stride away. Bemused by his behavior, I stood still, staring after him. As he merged into the crowd my heart jolted uncomfortably when I noticed Lucinda Johns standing across the aisle staring at me with a calculating gleam in her dark eyes.
10
Accompanied by erratic gusts of wind I swung onto the narrow blacktop road that would take me to Hidden Springs. According to the Arizona roadmap my destination resided at the base of a mountain intriguingly named the Praying Nun. Within three miles, after passing a large RV park and scattered homes, the pavement abruptly ended. For the next twenty minutes I bounced and jostled along a dirt road pocketed with cavernous potholes and irregular ruts—telltale evidence of the recent heavy rains. As much as I tried to focus my attention on my clandestine mission, the disconcerti
ng incident with Grant still bothered me. It disturbed me greatly that the sensation of his kiss lingered on my lips. Ginger had grilled me mercilessly when I’d returned to the canopy and stood in open-mouthed amazement when I recounted the mortifying events of the previous night as well as the recent encounter with Grant.
“Good Lord, girl,” she’d lamented, shaking her head, “you got yourself trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea.”
No kidding. My repeated calls to the Starfire had gone unanswered and the vision of Lucinda making a beeline out there to tattle her twisted account of my innocent exchange with Grant added to my guilty angst. But one thing was in my favor. She might not have any better luck than me tracking him down.
I tried Tally’s number one last time and then lost the signal. I dropped the cell phone on the seat wondering if I should abort my mission to Hidden Springs and just head for the Starfire. Oh well, I’d explain everything to him later when we met for dinner. Might as well relax and enjoy the scenery.
The washboard road meandered its way among a series of boulder-strewn hills that gave way to desert vistas dotted with plentiful stands of plump saguaro, prickly pear and barrel cacti. One bonus from the recent rains was the softening effect on the normally harsh landscape created by patches of vivid green winter grass sprinkled with colorful wildflowers. The eye-catching panorama provided a vastly different setting from the dreary, gray winters I’d known in Pennsylvania. After traveling another five miles and not encountering a single dwelling or passing vehicle I began to wonder if I was on the right road. I held the map in one hand and eyed it again. Yep. I was correct. I tossed it back on the passenger seat thinking that it was curious why anyone in his right mind would open a B&B so far off the beaten path. Little wonder it was called Hidden Springs.
I eased to the left hand side of the road to avoid a sizeable rock and about jumped out of my skin when a gravel truck suddenly rounded one of the switchbacks. Gasping, my heart constricted with horror, I wrenched the wheel to the right as the giant vehicle clattered by only inches from me. A quick glimpse of the driver revealed a young Hispanic male seemingly oblivious to our near collision.
My thundering heart was still locked in my throat when a second gravel truck roared by followed minutes later by a third. What the hell? As soon as I rounded the bend my question was answered. Beyond a sun-bleached sign reading RITTENHOUSE EARTHWORKS, domes of colored rocks and gravel dominated the desert landscape. Not a pretty sight. The ravaged ground, scraped clean of foliage and strewn with heavy equipment, presented a real eyesore in contrast to the pristine environment. A squat concrete building, probably the office, sat well off the road flanked by two dirt-caked pickup trucks. Still feeling limp from the after effects of the adrenaline rush, I drove on. There were no signs that civilization had ventured any further with the exception of one abandoned ranch, its overgrown fields, sagging fences and peeling adobe house all crumbling to ruin.
I accelerated up a steep, gravelly embankment and when I reached the crest I drew in an appreciative breath. From behind me the subdued rays of mid-afternoon sunshine highlighted the burnished pink radiance of a granite and quartz butte standing guard over a secluded valley. Fascinating. From this perspective I could see how the formation earned its unique name, the Praying Nun. It looked amazingly like a woman kneeling, her head bent in solemn prayer. Centuries of wind and water erosion had etched a series of stair stepping pleats in the rock that formed the impression of a nun’s habit gracefully draped to the ground. A prominent spire fronting it created the illusion of hands uplifted in prayer. Looming beyond the amazing pinnacle of rock, the hazy blue peaks of the Bradshaw Mountains, crowned with a soufflé of black-bellied thunderheads, created a striking panorama worthy of any calendar picture. I grabbed my digital camera and recorded several pictures before continuing down the hill. The accumulation of clouds, combined with the increasing strength of the wind, left little doubt in my mind that rain was imminent. The road dipped into the valley revealing the outline of several structures nestled beneath the clusters of cottonwood, sycamore and dark green tamarisk trees. Lush grass and mature foliage confirmed the presence of an abundant water table, creating an inviting oasis amidst the harsh landscape.
The road finally bottomed out and almost immediately a sign announcing HIDDEN SPRINGS sprang into view. Below it, a smaller sign read: VACANCY. Man. Talk about living out in the boonies. This was the middle of nowhere. Even more surprising was a massive collection of date palms that looked incredibly out of place in this desert setting. There must have been a hundred of them lining the main drive. They’d obviously been planted a long time ago, because the graceful yet gnarled trunks had arched towards each other allowing the fronds to intertwine and form a lacy canopy. Dappled sunlight filtered through as I passed by several outbuildings, a crumbling tennis court and an empty swimming pool that appeared to be in the process of renovation. The mouth of the curving drive widened to reveal two cars parked in front of a waist-high wall fashioned from smooth river rock. I braked to a halt. Directly ahead were three cottages and several hundred yards beyond them, partially obscured by desert willows, stood a two-story stone building. Judging by the architecture, I surmised it was the old hotel. A small REGISTRATION arrow pointed toward it.
I slid from the truck and stood there listening to the cheerful rhapsody of birds accompanied by the soothing rustle of palm fronds. I looked around. The shell of an abandoned stable stood off to my left, tall grass and weeds choking a narrow pasture. Odd. The place appeared deserted, no signs of life anywhere. But then it was only a little past three. Perhaps today’s guests had not yet checked in. As anxious as I was to investigate the crime scene, I figured it would be wise to obtain permission from Riley’s widow first. I headed towards the closest residence. The cottage sported a coat of fresh rose-colored paint and its neat flowerbeds were bursting with red, white and purple petunias. I pushed the gate open, made my way along a flagstone walk that appeared new, and rapped on the front door. No answer. I knocked again and this time the curtain on one of the open front windows moved slightly. A cranky female voice called out, “Didn’t you see the registration sign? Check in is at the hotel. Follow the walkway.”
Interesting. Not the sort of greeting one would expect from an establishment catering to paying guests. “Are you La Donna Gibbons?”
Hesitation, then “Who are you?”
“Kendall O’Dell. I’m a reporter for the Castle Valley Sun.”
“What do you want?”
“To talk to you.”
“Why?”
“If you’ll open the door, I’ll explain.”
“I’m not dressed.”
“I can wait.”
A full five minutes passed before the door was thrown open, revealing a gaunt-looking woman dressed in jeans and an unevenly buttoned flannel shirt. Shoulder-length, blonde hair streaked with gray framed her drawn features. I could tell by the delicate bone structure of her face that she’d once been a striking woman. Today, she looked pale, tired and not particularly happy to see me. I smiled in greeting. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions concerning the recent…occurrence here.”
Her eyes flared with displeasure. “You know what, I’m not having a great day and to be frank, I’m sick and tired of pushy reporters snooping around, tramping all over my property and then writing lurid stories about Riley. It’s disgraceful and it’s ruined our business. The last thing I need right now is another gruesome article that will chase away the few interested guests we have left, especially since the authorities still haven’t made any headway in identifying who might have done this…horrible thing. So, if you’ll excuse me—”
She was in the process of closing the door so I decided it was time to play the connection card. “Wait! I know this has been a difficult time and I hate to bother you, but…I’m kind of indirectly involved in this case.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yo
ur husband was my fiancé’s uncle.”
Her brows bunched together. “Oh? And who is your fiancé?”
“Bradley Talverson.”
First a blank look then recognition registered in her bloodshot eyes. She nodded slowly. “Oh, yes, I remember meeting him and his sister last year. They were decent to me.”
“Their mother is very distraught about the judge’s…passing and asked me to look into it.”
She appeared to be reconsidering her decision to expel me. “I don’t know what else I can tell you that I haven’t already told the sheriff and that bunch of news scavengers…but you can come in for a few minutes.”
“Thank you.”
She ushered me into a cozy living room filled with cheery floral-patterned Early-American-style furniture. Two cats lounging on the couch and one perched on the top of a wing back chair looked up at me with mild curiosity and yawned widely.
“Well, hi there, beautiful kitties,” I said, allowing the cats to sniff my hand before petting each of them. Loud purring filled the otherwise silent room. “I just adopted a kitten a couple of weeks ago.” Her expression of mild approval signaled that my innocent remark had earned me some points.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so short. I haven’t slept much the past couple of weeks.”
“I don’t think anyone has slept very well knowing there’s a madman roaming around someplace.”
She massaged her fingers as if she were in pain. “Would you like a cup of tea? I was just in the process of making myself one.”
“Sure, that would be great.”
She shuffled around the corner and I continued schmoozing with the cats, the gentle clinking of glassware and purring the only sounds besides the keening wind outside. Glancing towards the kitchen doorway I noticed six or seven prescription drug bottles lining the windowsill above the sink. It was then I remembered that La Donna Gibbons suffered from fibromyalgia. I didn’t know a lot about the debilitating disease except that some symptoms included extreme fatigue, headaches and arthritis-like pain. I knew from talking to Tally that she was in her early forties, but her waxy complexion and lethargy made her appear much older.
