The man next to him, a short Latino man, nodded and yelled yes. They all retreated across the street and watched their properties burn. Within minutes the road was clogged with all four of the Moab Valley Fire Department’s fire trucks. A minute later, the seventy-five-foot aerial water vehicle was on scene, its ladder extended above the burning buildings, dousing the flames. Thick columns of steam and smoke rose into the night, obliterating the stars. Paramedics arrived, and the Grand County Sheriff’s Department, and soon Silas was seated in the back of an ambulance. He could see Dexter Willis beyond the two paramedics who were working over his face, arms, and body. And beyond Willis were the still-blazing remains of the Red Rock Canyon Bookstore.
THE SUN WAS rising when the final flames were extinguished. All three buildings had collapsed as their log infrastructure was burned; the adobe now lay in smoldering piles. The cottonwood that had lived for a hundred and fifty years, sucking water from deep beneath the red sand, was gone. Three vehicles, including Silas’s Outback, had burned beyond recognition.
Silas was wrapped in a blanket, his face red as if he’d been sunburned. His hair, normally as bristled as a hedgehog, was singed and looked like a wire brush. There was an oxygen mask around his neck but he had stopped sucking on the air sometime in the last hour. His throat felt raw, as if he’d swallowed sand. Someone had given him a cup of coffee, but he hadn’t taken a drink; he held the cup in his hand, the contents now cold.
“Silas.” It was Dexter Willis. “Silas, you alright?”
Silas looked up at him. “Not so well, Dex.”
“I need to ask you a few questions. You okay with that?”
Silas nodded.
“Tell me what happened.”
Silas told him about falling asleep, and waking to the sound of the rock being thrown through the window, and then seeing a figure throw the Molotov cocktail through the opening.
“Did you recognize this person?”
“No, it was dark. There’s no streetlight out there. There was some light from the flames, but I couldn’t make out any features.”
“Man or woman?”
“I think it was a man. Just by the way he moved.”
“Could you make out any clothing?”
“I think he was wearing a toque … a wool hat, like a longshoreman’s cap. But it could have been anything.”
“What about on the street? Did you see any vehicles that didn’t belong?”
“I don’t think so, Dex. It was only a split second.”
“You’re alright?”
“Feels like I’ve got one hell of a sunburn, and my throat feels like it’s still on fire, but otherwise, I think I’m okay. A few burns on my hands. The fire was so hot that there wasn’t much smoke in the building, so I got off easy. Wish I could say the same for the store.”
“What did you lose?”
“Just every book I’ve ever collected. About seven thousand titles.”
“They were yours? Your own collection?”
“Yeah, mine and Penelope’s.”
“The fire inspector is going to want to talk with you. And I guess you’ll have to call your insurance people if they aren’t already here. Do you need anything?”
“Another new car.”
23
HE MADE THE CALLS FROM a phone at the municipal building.
“Katie, it’s Silas.”
“Oh Silas, are you alright? What happened?”
“Someone firebombed my store, with me in it. I’m at the Grand County municipal office. I’ve got a sit-down with the fire inspector coming up.”
“Were you hurt?”
“A little charred here and there. Might need some aloe. Otherwise, fine. Burned my shirt right off me but left me pretty much intact.”
“Did you see who did it?”
“No. Just a shape, a man. He seemed stiff, like maybe he had arthritis.”
“You think you know who did this, don’t you.”
“I have my suspicions.”
“Taylor knows what’s going on. He’s on his way into Moab right now. He thinks this is tied to the investigation into Penelope.”
“So do I.”
“Don’t hold out on him, Silas. He can help.”
“Where are you?”
“Salt Lake.”
“Robbie is there. He got in late last night. He called to say he was staying at the Holiday Inn downtown.”
“Give me his cell number and I’ll show him the town.”
“What are you going to do, buy him a hot chocolate?”
“DAD, ARE YOU alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. What about you?”
“I’m good. Do you want me to come back to Moab?”
“So you can what? Take care of me? I’m okay. A little singed. You should see my hair. No, don’t come back. But listen, Robbie, I want you to change hotels, alright?”
“Dad, seriously?”
“Just do it, alright, for me? And Katie Rain is going to call you.”
“The FBI agent? Cool—she’s really hot.”
“HOLY SWEET MOTHERFUCKER, are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. What about you?”
“Yeah, I’m good. I just got in from the mountains and heard the news.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m over at Back of Beyond Books. Hanging out in the Abbey section.”
“Watch your back, Hayduke. I think whoever came after me knows about you, and what we’re doing.”
“What are we doing?”
“We’re nailing someone’s ass to the wall.”
“Wow, you swore! You must be pissed.”
“Pissed doesn’t start to describe what I’m feeling.”
“DR. PEARSON, HOW are you holding up?”
“Well, I think I should get some sleep sometime soon.”
“This will just take a minute. Can we get you anything?”
“A glass of water. I’m feeling a little parched.”
“Eugene, would you mind? So, I’ve been briefed by Sheriff Willis and the fire inspector. They’ve recovered fragments of the glass from the incendiary device from your store, but I doubt they are going to be much help. I don’t think our lab will be able to lift any fingerprints or DNA. That’s the bad news. The good news is we might have tire-tread marks. There was a set of pretty fresh tracks on the road about fifty yards from the store. They were messed up by all the emergency vehicles and footprints, but it’s a start. We’ve also got two video surveillance cameras in town that might have picked something up. Grand County sheriff’s deputies are requesting footage for review.”
“Here’s your water, Dr. Pearson.”
“Thank you, Agent Nielsen.”
“Dr. Pearson, can you tell us anything else that you remember from last night?”
“I heard a car go by right before. I heard one a little earlier too.”
“That could be helpful.”
“And, of course, I saw the guy.”
“What can you tell us?”
“Male, I think, but it’s hard to tell if he was young or old. He wasn’t as fluid as I thought a young man would be. A little stiff; arthritic.”
“Black, white, Hispanic?”
“I don’t know. I think white, but only because I would imagine a black person would be obvious in the dim light.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I’m as black as it gets in these parts; I’m not sure if I was wearing a hat and in the middle of a dark street you’d know I was African-American. You said to Sheriff Willis you thought the assailant was wearing a wool cap?”
“That’s right. And a coat. He had a coat on. I remember that because it was ungodly hot, even before the fire, and I wondered why he was wearing a coat.”
“Can you tell us if you’ve had any recent altercations that might lead anyone to want to try to kill you?”
“It’s funny, until you said it just now, I hadn’t really thought of it that way. I just thought someone was trying to send me a message;
you know, burn down my store.”
“They knew you were in there. Your lights were on. Your car was out front. Can you think of anyone?”
“I don’t know if I should talk about this.”
“You can’t be a suspect in an attempt on your own life.”
“That’s not what I mean. Agent Nielsen here recently threatened to put me in jail and ship me back to Canada if I interfered with your investigation into Penelope’s death. I take that sort of thing seriously.”
“Not seriously enough, obviously.”
“Eugene, it’s alright. Listen, Dr. Pearson, Agent Nielsen has a job to do. So do I. We can’t have you tripping up our investigation. But this is important. If you tell us who you’ve been rattling, we’ll let it go, but just this time.”
“I’ve got your word?”
“You’ve got our word.”
24
SPECIAL AGENT TAYLOR WALKED SILAS to the door of the municipal offices. “What now, Dr. Pearson?”
“It’s funny; everybody wants to know what I’m going to do next, as if I have some plan.”
“Don’t you?”
“My plan is to get a haircut. My head smells like a dead animal left in a campfire. I’m going to buy some clothing. Get a new cell phone. And then I’m going to rent a car. Maybe a truck. After that, who knows?”
“Our deal won’t cover you if you continue to investigate and get in our way; you know that, right?”
“Don’t worry, Agent Taylor, I’ll behave.”
AFTER RUNNING HIS errands, Silas ate breakfast at the Moab Diner, where it didn’t matter as much if he still smelled like a fire. He drove home and was relieved when he pulled into the driveway that his house was still standing.
He parked and quickly assembled his gear, loading it into the back of the rented SUV. He went to the bedroom last, throwing some clothing into a bag, and then opened the hiding place in his closet where he kept Penelope’s journal. It wasn’t there.
Silas stopped cold. Since discovering the journal the previous summer, he’d always guarded it closely. He took it with him on some of his trips, but most of the time, in an effort to keep it safe and secret, he stashed it in this hiding place. Nobody else knew where it was. Not even Robbie.
He searched the house, which didn’t take long. Even though he’d lived there for more than four years, the house was nearly empty. The journal was nowhere to be found. Had he taken it with him to Moab the night before? If he had, it would be cinders too, burned up in the car or the bookstore. But he knew he hadn’t. Someone had broken into his house and stolen the journal. How would they have known where to look? Nothing else had been taken. The thief knew what they were looking for. Whoever had done this was likely the same person who tried to kill him. What was the connection between the journal and burning his store? Was there something in that journal he had overlooked? Silas knew in his heart that he’d never have the chance to check; it was gone, and with it one of his last links to his wife.
He should call Dexter Willis and report the break-in. Maybe the perpetrator had left fingerprints. But he had never told Willis or Agent Taylor about the journal, and to do so now would raise many uncomfortable questions, and open him to further interrogation and accusations about obstruction of justice. And, Silas reasoned, the thief had likely worn gloves anyway.
He showered quickly, washing the last of the smoke and soot from himself. After putting on his new clothes, he left the house, locking the door behind him.
HE DROVE AS far Goblin Valley State Park, where fatigue overtook him. He pulled off the highway and rented a campsite, and fell into a restless sleep, plagued by claustrophobic nightmares about being trapped in ancient ruins, in a mine shaft, in a burning bookstore, while the world around him turned to ash.
THE ESCALANTE’S BROAD plateau was compressed beneath a sky dark with thunderheads. Silas arrived before noon the following day. Almost immediately after driving into town he came upon Hayduke’s gunmetal-blue Jeep, parked near the now-familiar pizza parlor.
He parked his Explorer nearby and walked into the restaurant.
Hayduke was his usual theatrical self, jumping to his feet and embracing Silas in a bear hug. “Holy shit, am I glad to see you!”
“Thanks, it’s good to see you too.”
They ordered pizza and Hayduke ordered a pitcher of beer, and they sat in the quiet restaurant comparing notes from the last couple of days. Hayduke was beside himself with grief that the prized journal had gone missing, but quickly rebounded. “We got to get on with the show,” he offered as encouragement.
As noon approached the restaurant began to fill up. Soon most of the tables around them were filled with locals or tourists. As the pair finished their meal, Eleanor Barry walked into the restaurant with two men. She immediately saw Silas, and he thought she might turn around and walk back out, but in an obvious act of defiance, she sat down at a table on the other side of the room.
“What is it?” asked Hayduke.
“Eleanor Barry just walked in.”
“No fucking shit.”
“Josh, I don’t want a scene.”
“Hey, man, I’m not the one who just had his place burned to the ground by these fuckers.”
“Not now.”
“When?” Hayduke stood up, brushing crumbs from his beard and lap onto the table.
Silas reached for him but the young man was already approaching the Barry table.
The exchange was clearly audible over the din of the room. “You’re Eleanor Barry?” said Hayduke, extending a hand.
Barry tentatively shook it. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”
“I don’t know, maybe. Who’s this?”
“My husband, Frank, and one of our friends, Mac.”
“Nice to meet you folks. My friend Silas and I are just back in town trying to figure out who killed his wife.” Several people in the restaurant turned to look at Hayduke now. He was swaying back and forth with nervous energy.
“Mr. …”
“Name’s Hayduke.”
“Mr. Hayduke, we’re just having a quick lunch. I don’t think this is the time or the place—”
“Sure it is! That man right there, his wife was killed out there in the desert. She was my friend. She had just put the brakes on your big development scheme, and then she gets killed a few miles from where you wanted to build your resort. Tell me that’s a coincidence!”
Silas was on his feet, as was Frank Barry. Silas got a hand on Hayduke’s shoulder and said, “Come on, not now.”
Hayduke shrugged him off. “And then one of you fuckers burned down his bookstore, with him in it. Was it you?” he roared.
“You’re going to have to leave,” said Frank Barry, calmly. He was a large man, heavy across the middle, but clearly powerful.
“Come on, Hayduke.” Silas reached for the young man again.
“No, I’m sick and tired of this. You people think that because you’ve got money and connections you can get away with murder! Well, not this time.”
Frank Barry stepped in front of Hayduke as if to guide him out of the restaurant, but Hayduke would have none of it. He swung for Barry’s head, his punch forming a compact arc, like a practiced boxer. Barry managed to lean back enough that the blow just glanced his chin. People in the restaurant gasped. Mac was on his feet quickly and tackled Hayduke before he could swing a second time. The two men landed hard on the floor, sending chairs scattering around the restaurant. Frank and Mac got Hayduke to his feet and with powerful arms muscled him to the door and threw him out.
Silas was left standing in the restaurant. His eyes locked with Eleanor Barry’s for a moment; he tried to read an expression of guilt there, but couldn’t find anything. Silas turned and left. He had to walk past Mac and Frank, who were standing, arms crossed, at the door, waiting—hoping?—that Hayduke would try and return.
THE SINGLE GARFIELD County sheriff’s deputy stationed in Escalante arrived within five minutes. Silas and Hayduke
were still standing on the street near Silas’s Explorer, arguing, when the patrol vehicle pulled up next to them.
Hayduke looked at Silas, and then around at his options. The deputy got out of his SUV, placed a cap on his head, and with his hand on the butt of his sidearm, approached.
“Step away from the vehicle,” the deputy ordered. “Put your hands behind your head.”
Silas did as he was told. Hayduke hesitated. “Do it now, sir.”
Hayduke, exasperated and clearly disgusted, complied. The deputy searched him and then explained that he was being arrested. He cuffed Hayduke’s wrists behind his back and led him to the waiting patrol vehicle. Silas lowered his hands. His eyes locked with Hayduke’s and he watched the young man be loaded into the back of the car. Then the street was empty again and Silas stood alone on the sidewalk.
25
ROBBIE PEARSON STOOD IN FRONT of the BLM office just off the interstate in Salt Lake City. In a few minutes he was seated at a small table in a brightly lit room with a thick file folder in front of him and several tubes of maps.
“Let me know if you need anything,” the man who had escorted him into the room said before closing the door.
He spent two hours there, poring over the proposal for the Escalante Resort. He found plenty of reasons why Penelope would have opposed it, but little to indicate any corroboration between Senator Smith and Eleanor Barry, Paul Love, or Jacob Isaiah.
He was getting ready to pack it in when his cell phone rang. It was his father.
“I forgot to tell you the other day,” said Silas. “Before the fire at the store, I was doing some digging into Smith.”
“Yeah, I’m doing the same at the BLM. I’m looking at the Escalante Resort application and environmental impact statement right now. I’m not finding anything new.”
“What’s the date on the application?”
Robbie told him.
“You see, that’s too late. Something happened before that and Smith stopped talking about Glen Canyon, Lake Powell, and the Colorado River Compact.”
The Same River Twice Page 9
