by Sylvia Nobel
“Hey, Rulinda’s closing up in five minutes,” Ginger announced, “but she’s gonna do us a favor and bring a bunch of catalogs and a couple of sample arrangements back to her place. She says we can come by tomorrow afternoon after church and have a look at ’em. You want to meet me there around one o’clock or so?”
“I thought you were going to be at the fairgrounds again.”
“Naw. Some of the other gals from church will be holdin’ down the fort if we don’t get flooded out. But I’m free tonight if you want to work on some of the other stuff. Why don’t you pick up dinner? I’ll take the beef enchilada combo, no green onions.”
I hung up thinking that this arrangement would actually work to my advantage. A visit to Rulinda’s place might give me an opportunity to learn more about her brother Randy’s activities since his release from prison.
After I picked up the food, I arrived at Ginger’s place and chatted with Brian regarding his progress researching Judge Gibbons’s past rulings. He told me he’d already forwarded details on more than two-dozen cases to both Walter and me. I thanked him and then Ginger and I settled at her kitchen table. Following a lot of back and forth, which included a staggering list of her suggestions, I finally settled on announcements, music and the menu. And she reminded me that as soon as Myra Colton made her decision on the ice sculpture we’d choose a theme. With directions to Rulinda’s house tucked in my purse, Ginger accompanied me to my car, quizzing me each step of the way for additional details about Grant. But I sidestepped her questions stating my haste to get home and begin my quest for a suitable photo. And besides, I was totally beat.
By the time I eased into the driveway and killed the engine it was closing in on eight o’clock. My energy level hovered somewhere around zero. The two fitful hours of sleep from the night before had finally caught up with me. But bedtime would have to wait awhile.
I paused at my front door to breathe in the pungent scent of wet earth and rain-soaked desert plants noting that the cloudbank I’d seen earlier had sailed in and snuffed out the usual blaze of stars. Muted silver moonlight glowed against the outer rim of the thunderheads. While I was happy to have the much-needed moisture after the long, dry summer, it didn’t look too promising for the outdoor craft fair tomorrow or the second day of the antique car show.
Seated at my kitchen table, yawning periodically, I sifted through the collection of photographs I’d taken at the Starfire over the past seven months. Not wanting to be left out of the action Marmalade made a nuisance of herself playing with them, lying on top of them and finally knocking a pile onto the floor.
“Cut it out, you little stinker!” I admonished her lightly, leaning over to pick up the spilled contents of one envelope. But then, as if by magic, there it was right in front of me—the perfect picture of Tally sitting tall in the saddle astride Geronimo. Damn, he looked good on a horse. Imagining what the completed sculpture would look like and his reaction when I presented it to him triggered a smile of anticipation. Chuckling, I scratched the purring kitten’s chin. “Good job, Sherlock. I owe you an apology.”
The phone rang. I frowned at the screen, not recognizing the number. I hit the TALK button. “Hello?”
“Hi, Kendall, it’s Tally.”
“Hi there yourself. Got your message. Where are you?”
“A motel in Holbrook. We’re in the middle of one hellacious snowstorm. I-40’s closed up ahead. Big accident.” His voice had a gravelly undertone and he sounded whipped.
“Oh no. Guess that means more rain here. Well, as long as you’re safe that’s all that matters. What are you going to do with the mares?”
“Check on them throughout the night. Get them out, walk them around and try to keep them out of the wind. We didn’t have any other choice. Sorry about missing dinner.”
“Don’t worry about it. So…what time do you think you’ll be back tomorrow?”
“Depends on road conditions. It’s pretty icy. Could be late.”
I might be off the hook until Monday at this rate. “I hate to bug you again, but it would sure be nice and a lot safer when you’re going to be out in the middle of the boonies if you’d get a cell phone.”
Silence, then, “Yep, I’m thinking about it.”
At last! “Good.”
Another stretch of silence, then, “So…you going to tell me what my mother had to say to you last night?”
My chest tightened. “It’ll keep until tomorrow.”
“I don’t like the sound of that. Just lay it out for me now.”
I hesitated. Even though I would have rather waited and told him in person, why not get the pain over with? “Okay, here’s the deal. She’s willing to give us her blessing to marry in exchange for…my investigative services.”
“What?” The decibel level of his voice rose significantly. “What exactly does that mean?”
“That she’s out of her mind with worry over Riley’s death. I tried to explain to her how you felt about me taking this story, but she’s frantic to know what happened to him. She’s not sleeping, not eating. She’s got it in her head that because of this bad luck curse of hers, that now you or Ronda might be in some kind of danger.”
A short hesitation, then, “That’s just nuts. And you agreed? Kendall, I meant what I said.”
Again I was flattered by his protective nature, but at the same time irked. “Wait. Just hear me out. I appreciate your concern, but at some point, you’re going to have to relax and let me do my job.”
“I don’t want you getting into the middle of this.”
“So, what exactly are you saying? That I can’t accept any assignment that you deem…risky, without having a chaperone?”
“You could have used one a couple of weeks ago.”
“Funny.”
“Look, I’m not talking about all stories, I’m simply asking you to leave this one alone. I think it’s too dangerous.”
“Tally, you know how your mother feels about me. How many other opportunities will I have to make amends for…things?”
“So, you’re going back on your word.”
“Not at all. Come on. Be reasonable. Besides, how much trouble could I possibly get into? I’ll be working here in Castle Valley right under your nose.”
“Somehow I think you’ll manage.”
“Walter is going to stay on this story and I’m just going to do a little low-key snooping, make a couple of calls—”
“Oh, well that puts my mind at ease,” came his swift, caustic reply. “What good does it do to have my mother’s blessing if you wind up someplace minus your head? She had no business involving you in this and she’s getting a piece of my mind when I get back.”
Crap. He was just as annoyed as I’d feared. Was he right? Was it worth getting into a battle royal merely to please his loony mother? I had to admit to myself that it was more than that. But, as much as I yearned to immerse myself in the assignment, the answer was probably no. Deflated, I covered my true feelings with a crisp, “I thought it was a good idea at the time. I thought it might be a rare chance to get on your mother’s good side and bring a little peace to the household, but you know what? It’s not worth upsetting you. I’ll go see her myself tomorrow and tell her I can’t do it. Will that make you happy?”
“Yep.”
“Okay then. Done.” I hoped my bravado masked my acute disappointment. I primed myself to mention Grant’s appearance at the fairgrounds, but then I clamped my mouth shut. Why provoke him further?
“Tally?”
“Yep?”
“I love you. Be careful driving home.”
“Love you too.”
I’d no sooner hung up than the phone rang again. Recognizing my folks’ number, I suspected the game of phone tag I’d been playing with my mother had ended. I drew in a long, calming breath and pressed the TALK button. “Hi, Mom. What’s up?”
“Finally! I know you have an awfully busy schedule, but it shouldn’t take you a week to return a phone
call to your mother. Do you know how much it hurts my feelings when you ignore me?”
A flare of exasperation heated my chest. She was a master at playing the injured party while doling out copious quantities of guilt. But she’d chosen the wrong moment to lay it on me. “Speaking of hurt feelings, what about mine? Thanks a pantload for springing Grant on me with no notice. You could have given me a heads up. And what’s the big idea giving him my address and phone number without consulting with me first?”
“It’s not as if I haven’t tried. I can’t help it if you won’t return my calls. But enough recriminations,” she said, her severe tone turning solicitous, “I’m glad to hear that he did manage to find you. So, what do you think? Doesn’t he look marvelous? He’s such a sweet young man, so intelligent, on a great career path with such a bright future in Philadelphia—”
“Mom—”
“But the poor dear has lost so much weight since you broke up with him. His mother told me he’s been distressed and repentant about his naughty misadventure and that he’s willing to do whatever it takes to patch things up between you. By the way, Phyllis sends her love.”
Naughty misadventure? “Mom, you and Phyllis can stop now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m on to your little conspiracy. Listen to me carefully, I am not getting back together with Grant.”
“What makes you think there’s a conspiracy?”
“Oh, no reason, except you’ve made it quite clear from the beginning that you disapprove of my choice of men and that you two obviously designed Grant’s surprise visit for a reason. Do the words ‘backwoods cowboy’ ring a bell?” She’d used the derogatory phrase a half dozen times in the past couple of months.
“Whom are we talking about, dear?”
“Come on, Mom, you know. Tally?”
“Well, honey, if you think he’s a backwoods cowboy perhaps you should rethink your decision to marry him.”
My head felt like a pressure cooker whistling at full steam. We had arrived at our usual impasse—two stubborn Irish women butting heads, neither willing to back down. It reminded me of how my dad used to get up and quietly leave the room at the barest hint of trouble brewing between us. I knew her well enough to know neither of us would win this verbal exchange so best to end it. Switching gears, I modulated my voice to a more pleasant tone. “Guess who I ran into today?”
“Who?”
“Do you remember my friend Nora Fitzgerald?”
A slight hesitation. “You mean the girl who used to call you Stick?”
“One and the same.”
“Really? What’s she doing in Arizona? I thought she was somewhere in Idaho or Oregon.”
“Turns out she’s the number one forensic anthropologist at the medial examiner’s office in Phoenix and we’re working the same case.”
“What an amazing coincidence. How is she?’
I filled her in then added, “I invited her to our engagement party. She’s looking forward to seeing all of you again.”
“That’s nice. Speaking of the party, I’m still waiting to hear all the particulars.”
“I know. I know. I’ll e-mail you all the information soon. I still have a few decisions to make for final arrangements. Oh, and you’ll be pleased to know that we may even have an ice sculpture created by a very prominent artist who lives in Yarnell, which is a little town not too far from Castle Valley.”
“Well, how lovely. Your little desert community must have much more sophistication than I thought.”
I didn’t miss her dig. “Yes, Mom, and we have running water and electricity here too.” Before she could respond, I said hurriedly, “Listen, I’ve got to hit the hay. It’s been a really long day and I’m pooped. Thanks so much for calling. I’m really looking forward to seeing all of you in December. Say hi to everybody. Bye now.”
I clicked off before she could say another word and went straight for the refrigerator. After devouring four scoops of vanilla ice cream smothered in hot fudge sauce topped with cashews, I was so charged up that I completed a week’s worth of housework and laundry before tumbling into bed around midnight and slipping into a sugar coma so profound it felt like I was sinking through the mattress.
I awakened only once during the night to hear rain hammering on the roof. Snuggling beneath the covers, I fell back into blissful sleep until the irritating noise intruded on my slumber. Brrrrinnnnng! Brrrrinnnngggg! Relentless. Persistent. Brriiinnnng! What was that noise? It wouldn’t stop. Brrrrriiinnggg! Was it a phone? I tried, but couldn’t fit it into the entertaining dream I was having of galloping on my new horse across the open desert. There were no telephones in the desert, were there? I struggled to wake up but felt like a great weight was pressing down on me. With concentrated effort, I fought my way to consciousness and reached for the phone, croaking, “Hello?”
“Is this Kendall O’Dell?”
I squinted at the caller ID. I didn’t recognize the voice or the number. “Yes.”
“This is Marissa Van Steenholm.”
“Uhhhh…hi.” Blinking, I peered at the clock. Not quite seven. What an ungodly hour to be awakened on a stormy Sunday morning.
“I’m sorry to bother you so early, but um…well, it’s about this guy who checked in last evening. He was in an accident and his car was totaled. He asked the sheriff to drive him here and—”
“Excuse me, but why are you telling me this?”
“Because he seems like he’s in a lot of pain.”
“A lot of pain,” I repeated back to her, trying to break out of my lethargy and make sense of what she was saying.
“Yeah. I told him I think he needs to see a doctor. He gave me your number and asked me to call you.”
I bolted upright, accidentally dumping Marmalade onto the floor. “Who are you talking about?”
“Well, he claims that he’s your fiancé.”
“My fiancé?” My mind reeled in confusion. Why was Tally at Hidden Springs?
“Yeah, his name is Grant Jamerson.”
14
Her words were like a slap in the face. Fully awake now, I threw off the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. “Can you please put him on?”
“Sure.”
Muted voices. A scrabbling sound as the phone changed hands, then a weak, “Hi.”
The first thing I wanted to do was read him the riot act for misleading Marissa on the status of our relationship, but asked instead, “Grant, what’s going on?”
“I totaled my car.”
“I heard. Are you all right?”
“Not really. My ribs are giving me fits and my neck and right shoulder are killing me….”
“Well…if you’re injured, why didn’t you call for an ambulance?”
“I didn’t feel that bad last night. Only a little sore. I figured I just got roughed up a bit, so I took a couple of aspirin and went to bed. But, this morning, Jesus, I could hardly crawl out of bed.”
“What are you doing at Hidden Springs?”
“I took your advice.”
“My advice?”
“Yeah, I called around yesterday on my way back from Phoenix and this place had a vacancy.”
Why didn’t you just stay in Phoenix? I wondered, but didn’t voice the question, instinctively knowing the answer.
“I was driving over here, just taking my time, admiring the scenery when this humongous gravel truck came out of nowhere. The stupid shit ran me off the road and just kept going. Luckily another guy came by and went someplace to call the sheriff. Did you know there’s no cell service in parts of this state?”
“Yes, I know that.”
“Anyway, after I filed the report and the tow truck hauled off my rental car, the sheriff gave me a ride here.”
“So…are they bringing you a replacement car?”
“Yeah, but they can’t get it out here until sometime tomorrow afternoon or Tuesday.”
“I see.”
When I didn’t say anything e
lse, he responded with, “Sorry to bother you. I didn’t know who else to call. Is there a hospital in this one-horse town?” His voice sounded plaintive, like a little lost boy. Rats! I sat there wrestling with my emotions, feeling trapped just like I had during the confrontation with Ruth in Joe Talverson’s study. Considering Grant’s abysmal treatment of me, he didn’t deserve one ounce of sympathy. The opportunity to give him a taste of his own medicine was tantalizing, but then my heart caved.
“No, but there is a clinic.” I sat there indecisive for long seconds. “We only have one doctor in town. Tell you what,” I offered, my mind racing ahead, “I’ll try and get hold of Dr. Garcia and see if he can make a house call.”
Initial silence greeted my statement before he sighed, “Okay.” I’m sure that wasn’t the answer he was expecting. How naïve did he think I was not to guess his ulterior motive?
“Hang in there. I’ll get back to you.” I set the phone down and looked up the doctor’s number. In Philadelphia, I could have chosen from any number of hospitals, scores of urgent care clinics or, if I’d tried my doctor, I would have reached his service. In Castle Valley Dr. Garcia answered the phone himself.
“Good morning.” His voice sounded hoarse. Little doubt I’d wakened him. I explained the situation and he stated it would be preferable, since he might have to take x-rays, if someone could bring Grant and meet him at the clinic around nine. I thanked him and clicked off. Someone, of course, meant me.
With a groan of capitulation I called Marissa back and told her I’d be there in less than an hour to get him. I hoped. A glance out the window revealed a milky white sky, and the falling temperature had produced patches of ground fog. It wasn’t raining at the moment, but there was no telling what the condition of the Hidden Springs road would be after an all-night soaking.
I showered, dressed and fed Marmalade in record time. With a breakfast bar stuffed in my mouth, I shrugged into my coat, called goodbye to the cat and headed out the door. Climbing into the pickup I paused to admire the awesome spectacle of Castle Rock. Shrouded in mist, the summit barely visible, the jagged monolith appeared more imposing than ever. I breathed in the brisk air feeling invigorated. At that moment, the discomfort of the merciless summer heat seemed nothing but a distant memory.
