Broken Wings

by Sandra Edwards

  “Oh, I can pretty much guarantee,” she said, “when this is over...you will never forget me.”

  * * *

  Turner sat smugly with his feet propped on the desk. He was feeling pretty good about his chances of finally finding this treasure that was potentially worth millions.

  His right-hand man Timmons wasn’t nearly as confident. As Turner’s flunky, Timmons was there to do his bidding. And typically that’s what he did. In all his years of employ with Turner, Timmons had never, not once, thrown an objection his way. And why should he? Turner paid him—and paid him well—to do what he was told.

  Even so, here he was pacing the length of Turner’s desk, and quite frankly it was a little annoying.

  “What can go wrong?” Turner said without fear.

  Timmons stopped long enough to ask, “How do you know you can trust her?” And then he went back to pacing.

  “I had her checked out.” Shaking his head, Turner gave a dismissive wave. “She’s nothing but a two-bit con artist.” He clamped his hands together behind his head. “And she’s not ambitious enough to steal the treasure away from me.” Turner’s carefree attitude confirmed his belief in what he was saying.

  Timmons stopped again and faced Turner. “I don’t know, Boss…I got a bad feeling about this one.”

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER 2

  Rio Laraquette was either the smartest person in Vegas, or she was the dumbest. The jury was still out. It depended on whether or not there was an actual treasure at the end of Atkins’s map. There was only one way to find out.

  It didn’t take her long to pack up and leave town, heading north in her 1969 red Corvette. She’d thought about calling her friend Michelle before she left, but it was a bad idea. Michelle, who’d picked up the nickname Digger in junior high because she knew things, wouldn’t let it go once she figured out what Rio was up to. And she’d figure it out—they didn’t call her Digger for nothing.

  The trip to Carson City was a good day’s drive, and by the time she arrived the sun had begun its descent behind the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

  She scored a room at one of the motels on the south end of town. After hauling her luggage inside, she got on her laptop and sent an e-mail.

  Hey Uncle Gabe...I’m in Carson City. Never fear, things are in order. Paradise is on track and closer than you think. I just need to get my hands on the little birdie...Your loving niece, Rio.

  She closed the laptop and set it aside. Fleeting thoughts of food, specifically the In-n-Out she’d seen on the way in, rumbled down to her stomach.

  Maybe after a quick shower she’d drop in on the burger joint and then drive by the Tajan’s house. Rio knew there were two William Tajans in Carson City. William Sr. and his wife Carole; and William Jr. A background check had confirmed her theory that they were father and son.

  Her mind wandered off to the family. What did Carole Tajan think of her son? Rio thought it probable that Carole loved her son with all her heart.

  A mother’s love was something Rio had never experienced. She’d never known what that felt like, but she’d dreamed about it often enough. Her desire for it made fabricating this fantastic childhood as Audrey Tajan’s daughter an easy task. All she had to do was pretend Audrey was everything her own mother had never been. Rio had plenty of practice at that.

  In the bathroom, she stripped and stepped into the shower. Hot water streamed down over her and memories that she’d just as soon forget flooded her mind.

  Rio didn’t like thinking about her childhood, but as of yet she hadn’t figured out how to prevent it. And she’d give just about anything to stop those few select memories from sneaking back in.

  This wasn’t the first time she’d made up a mother—complete with wonderful memories of their life together. The process was like a forbidden drug she used to escape reality whenever she could. Until now, it’d been a forbidden taboo. But this time she had an excuse. It was part of the job.

  Thoughts of her mother—well, the only one she’d ever known—crept into her mind. She used her newly created faux mother to push the bittersweet memory aside. It didn’t work.

  Rio couldn’t have been more than four or five in her fleeting recollection of being in an elevator with her parents. She remembered tugging at her father’s jacket with tears in her eyes. She knew she was frightened but she couldn’t remember why. To this day she wasn’t sure if she’d been afraid of the elevator or something else.

  Her father had told her she’d never been comfortable in elevators after that, and even now she wasn’t fond of them. But nevertheless, on that particular day of Rio’s childhood her father had seen her fear and scooped her into his arms.

  “It’s all right, sweetheart,” he’d said, brushing her tears aside. “You’re safe with Daddy. You’ll always be safe with Daddy.”

  Her mother’s voice shrilled into her thoughts. “Really, James...you always pamper that child!”

  “Abby…” He defended his actions and Rio, shielding her with his arms. “She’s afraid.”

  “Well…it’s high time she learns this world is not a pretty place.”

  “Abby, she’s not even five years old.” Something in her father’s voice that day, something in the way he’d shielded her, had stayed with Rio.

  She struggled to shake the memory. Her tears mingled with the shower spray.

  How could a mother be so cruel? When Rio was little, she used to think there was something wrong with her. Something she’d done or said to make her mother despise her so. But how does a five year old warrant such malicious behavior?

  Her mother’s constant refusal to offer Rio love had haunted her—even now, long after the woman had abandoned her.

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER 3

  Rio popped a French fry into her mouth and checked the numbers on the houses as she cruised the residential street. 346. Great, 343 should be coming up soon.

  She pulled up along the fence lining the yard and rolled to a stop near the gate. The yard was modest but well-kept. There wasn’t an over-abundance of trees or flowers but what was there was well-groomed and tasteful. There was nothing spectacular about the unpretentious house, but still, she found it warm and appealing.

  After a moment’s pause, she opened the car door and stepped out. Throwing her purse over her shoulder, she headed through the gate and followed the tattered path up to the porch. She paused at the door and drew a deep breath while fiddling with the strap hanging over her shoulder; consciously aware that the bag contained Audrey Tajan’s personal belongings.

  She exhaled in a long, slow sigh and summoned the the appointed persona. Once fully-immersed in her role, she tapped on the door.

  Within seconds a woman of Native American descent peered through the screen at Rio and smiled pleasantly. “May I help you?”

  “Hello…my name is Rio Laraquette. I’m looking for William Tajan.”

  “Which one?” she asked.

  At first thought, Carole Tajan figured this was another of her son’s spurned lovers who’d undoubtedly tracked him down here. But as she looked at her through the screen door there was something oddly familiar about this one.

  The girl cleared her throat. “The one who has a sister named Audrey.”

  “And you are?” Carole was curious now. And for the moment she forgot about the sense of familiarity.

  “I’m Audrey’s daughter.”

  Carole opened the screen door and gestured her inside. “My name is Carole Tajan.” She paused long enough to close the door. “Audrey is my husband’s sister. Where is she?”

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news,” she said. “Audrey died six months ago.”

  The woman raced to the other side of the room and fumbled with the telephone, leaving Rio standing by the door.

  While her host made a phone call—probably to her husband—Rio eyed her surroundings. The pale walls of the small room didn’t feel nearly as closed in as some might have thought. It was adequately furnishe
d with a couch, coffee table and a Lazy-Boy on one side of the room, and a modest entertainment center with a small telephone table on the other. There were hand-woven tapestries and a large dream-catcher on the wall behind the couch. Rio was intrigued by their beauty.

  “You’d better get home right away,” Carole’s voice interrupted Rio’s thoughts. “I’m fine,” she reassured the party on the other end of the line. “We have a visitor that you should probably see.” After another brief interlude, Carole hung up the phone and looked at Rio. “My husband...your uncle...will be here shortly.” She gestured to the couch. “Won’t you sit down?”

  “Thank you.” Rio nodded and moved toward the couch.

  “Can I get you something while we wait?”

  “A glass of water would be nice.”

  At that moment Carole made the connection between Rio and the strange familiarity she’d felt when she first saw her.

  Maggie Fuller. Rio looked like Maggie Fuller.

  * * *

  Bill Tajan felt a sense of urgency as he hopped out of his truck and headed toward the house. Well into his fifties, he was still in good shape and had no trouble getting across that yard in a hurry. His curiosity had provided ample motivation. He hadn’t a clue what this was all about, but his wife wouldn’t call him home for just any old visitor.

  Bill Tajan entered his house through the front door. He and Rio eyed each other.

  Considering that she was a walking, talking replica of a woman who had all but been promoted to sainthood by her descendants—had it been within the scope of their religion—Bill somehow managed to keep his cool. Of course, his heart was about to bust out of his chest. He couldn’t take his eyes off the girl as he crossed the room to his wife’s side.

  “This is Rio,” Carole said. “She says she’s Audrey’s daughter.”

  About a hundred different questions fluttered through his mind. But he couldn’t utter a single word. All he could do was stare at the stranger in his living room.

  “She also has news of Audrey,” Carole said with a delicate reserve.

  “Where is my sister?” Bill asked, still staring at her.

  “Hm…” Rio hesitated and looked away. “She died.” She sucked in a breath and her gaze traveled back to meet his. “Right before Christmas. She had cancer.” Tears pooled around her eyes.

  Bill’s mind emptied and his senses numbed. His only sibling was dead. Everything in him, everything he’d been taught about being a man told him he had to remain in control. His teachings failed him. His legs deteriorated under him like they were made of mashed potatoes. Bill dropped to the couch, burying his face in his hands.

  Carole was at her husband’s side and had a comforting arm draped around him before Rio had a chance to blink.

  She sat down in a chair across from them and made it a point not to look at them directly. Rio could only surmise that it must be difficult to hear about a sibling’s death. In that respect she sympathized with Bill Tajan. No matter why she was there, the man had lost his sister.

  It took him a few moments, but he pulled himself together and faced Rio. “I haven’t seen Audrey since we were kids,” he said, over a shaky voice. “Where has she been all this time?”

  “Vegas.”

  “She never said a word.” The news had left him stunned and grief-stricken. “She never called. She never wrote. Once she left, we never heard from her again.”

  An inward sigh washed over Rio. She started to feel better about her ability to pull this thing off. Sure, Turner had told her the story that had apparently been relayed to him by Audrey, but up until now Rio had no idea of the chances of its validity.

  Finally, the story was starting to ring true about how there had been a falling out between Audrey and her parents when she was sixteen. One that had caused a permanent rift in the family.

  There had been a boy in town that Audrey had wanted to date, against her father’s wishes. Once denied access to the object of her affections, Audrey started sneaking around, meeting him on the sly. When her parents found out—things got bad, and then things got worse. Before anyone knew it, Audrey and the boy were gone. No one ever saw or heard from her again.

  Luckily for Rio, Bill had pretty much confirmed the story’s legitimacy.

  But he’d been staring at her ever since he’d walked in the door; probably trying to figure out how he’d ended up with a white niece.

  What if he didn’t believe her?

  Well, if she had to she could always say she was adopted.

  “Excuse me, sir.” It was time to realize her fears or defeat them. “But why do you keep staring at me?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I really don’t mean to offend you.” He stood and gave her a gesturing wave to follow him.

  She and Carole followed Bill into a small dining room housing an eight-chair table and a matching hutch. Either they had a bunch of kids or they enjoyed quaint dinner parties with their friends.

  Two paintings hanging on the far wall grabbed her attention. The first was of a warrior. There was no amusement painted into his face. If anything, he looked annoyed. Even so, he was handsome and his eyes captivated Rio. She wasn’t normally into guys with long hair, but like her father always said, “there’s a first time for everything.” —Too bad the guy was dead.

  Rio amused herself with a quiet chuckle and let her eyes journey to the other portrait. It was of a young white woman dressed in Indian garb.

  Rio stared at her—fiery copper hair and piercing jade-green eyes—if she didn’t know better she’d swear it was a painting of herself.

  What the hell! Rio’s head started shaking and she didn’t try to stop it as she looked back at Bill. “Who are they?” she asked, pointing toward the pictures on the wall.

  “They are my great-great grandparents.” He gestured toward the warrior. “His name was Tajan.” He passed a gesturing wave at the other painting. “And her name was Maggie Fuller.”

  Rio glanced back at her look-alike. Now that she’d gotten over the initial shock of their similarities, it hit her—“She’s the woman in the picture.” She looked at the Tajans. “My mother had a picture of her with two other women. I never knew about the picture until she died and I went through her things. She never talked about her family.”

  “May I see the photograph?” Bill asked.

  “Sure.” Rio dug into her shoulder bag and came out with a folded manila envelope. She fished around inside and came out with a small picture, offering it to him. “Here.”

  Bill and Carole studied the photograph together.

  Rio took a black jewelry case out of her bag. “She had this too. I’ve always wondered where she got it. Do you know?”

  With careful precision he slipped the case from her hands and eased the lid up. Seeing the intricate turquoise necklace, he bit into the gasp as it escaped. He hadn’t laid eyes on it since Audrey took off, more than thirty years ago. “This necklace belonged to Maggie.” His eyes never left the piece of jewelry. “It was a gift from Tajan.”

  “You can have it.” Rio shrugged. “If you want.”

  Bill—eyes still glued to the necklace—hesitated a bit before closing the case. And then, as if forcing himself, he handed it back to Rio. “No.” He shook his head. “It was given to your mother. Now it’s yours.”

  She made no move to take the jewelry case, and he forced it back into her hands.

  The sound of the front door squeaking open interrupted their duel of determined wills. The Tajans headed for the living room. Rio followed.

  A young man about Rio’s age, and just as white, was standing at the door. “Killer car in the driveway,” he said to no one in particular. “Who’s is it?”

  “I would say that it belongs to your cousin,” Bill said. “Billy...this is Rio. She’s Audrey’s daughter.” He looked at Rio. “This is our son…Billy Tajan.”

  Normally, his tall frame and athletic build would have caught Rio’s attention right away. But the spark wasn’t there
that she usually felt upon meeting such a handsome man. The only thing about him that ran through her mind was how odd it seemed that his skin was so white considering the darker complexion of his parents.

  Still, Rio didn’t want to be rude. She smiled and extended her hand out. “Hello, I’m Rio Laraquette. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Short brown hair complimented hazel eyes that sparkled as he studied her curiously. “And I thought I was the only one,” he said, and shook her hand.

  “The only one?” Rio asked.

  “Indian blood. Pale skin.” There was a bite in his tone, but she couldn’t tell if it was directed at her or their white skin.

  Maybe it was her likeness to his ancestor. Then again, perhaps he was on to her.

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER 4

  With Rio gone, the Tajans were left to make some sense out of what had happened. Bill needed to believe it was true. Carole wanted to accept it as the truth for Bill’s sake. But Billy, he needed more proof.

  He’d like it to be so. If it was, it meant there was another Tajan out there with pale skin, and he was no longer alone.

  “Do you believe her?” he asked his father with a touch of skepticism and a bit of hope.

  “The resemblance. The photograph. The necklace…which she left here.” Bill pointed to the jewelry case on the coffee table. “It’s true. She is my niece…and your cousin.”

  And then there were all those family tales about Maggie Fuller returning one day. Billy had never put much stock into the old legends, but Rio didn’t just look like Maggie—she was an exact replica. He’d heard about people resembling an ancestor, but this was different. If he didn’t know better, he knew they’d swear the portrait of Maggie was actually a painting of Rio.

  Once word got around about his new cousin, the girl would probably be elevated to sainthood. When that happened, somebody was bound to get hurt.