by Aimée Thurlo
“Of course. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but something’s been bothering Melvin lately. He hasn’t been getting much sleep. I’ve asked and all I get in return is that he’s been having some nightmares, I shouldn’t worry, and that he’ll deal with it. Has he said anything to you?” John asked. “I know Melvin respects your opinion.”
“No he hasn’t. If he can’t sleep, I think maybe it has to do with his accident. I can’t imagine anything more traumatic than that. You almost die, then wake up blind or nearly so, with no hope of ever having your sight restored.”
John nodded. “That makes sense. I just don’t know what to say about it, or even if I should bring it up at all. Any time I mention the accident he locks up on me or changes the subject. There must be more to it than he’s willing to tell.”
“Well, he’s the only one still alive that experienced the entire incident. I guess we have to let him make the first move. If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know, okay?”
“Thanks, Leigh Ann, for hearing me out. Just don’t mention I brought this up, though. I have to respect his word when he says he has his own way of dealing with this,” John responded.
Or not, Leigh Ann thought as Melvin’s uncle walked away. Some things needed to be talked about, or they’d eat you up inside. But how could she persuade Melvin to open up? That was the problem.
Barely ten minutes after John left, Leigh Ann saw what looked like a SJCSO department vehicle pull into a parking slot just outside. Dale had warned her to expect a visit from someone in the San Juan County Sheriff’s Office. Something told her this was it.
— SIX —
Leigh Ann took a quick look around the front room. There were only two customers and Jo was at the front register. Leigh Ann signaled her, pointing out the window.
“Go ahead, Leigh Ann,” Jo said as the door opened and a tall, slender man in gray slacks and a light blue jacket entered the store. The man had closely cropped brown hair, steel-blue, intelligent eyes, and wore a gold badge on his belt. Barely visible beneath his jacket was a handgun in a black holster.
After the officer introduced himself, Leigh Ann led the man down the hall and into her office. “Have a seat, Sergeant Knight,” she said. “If I recall, I spoke to a Detective Alvarez when my husband was killed. Is this your case now?”
“Detective Alvarez was on the violent crimes unit, Mrs. Vance, but he’s retired now. I work white collar. Crimes involving corporate theft, such as embezzlement, end up on my desk. The metal box and contents you turned in went to Detective McGraw, who replaced Alvarez, then came to me.”
“So Detective McGraw doesn’t think this is connected to Kurt’s death?” she asked, wondering if she should be disappointed or relieved.
“Your husband’s death was determined to be a hunting accident, and the individual responsible has never been identified. Unless substantial evidence suggesting otherwise comes to the department’s attention, we’ll be investigating what you found as a potential case of fraud. Would you please tell me, in detail, how you came to discover this box?”
Leigh Ann knew that Sergeant Knight had probably heard all about it, but she took her time and told him everything. The only thing she left out was finding the .38. Later, if a weapon like that became part of the investigation, she’d turn it in. Until then, she’d hang on to it.
Knight listened carefully, asking questions and taking notes during her statement. Leigh Ann explained her theories about the list of names in the notebook and told him about the storage compartment Kurt had rented. The detective commented that he planned to speak to the employees at the facility.
At last he seemed satisfied and put away his notebook, then said, “Do you have any questions for me?”
“Yes. From what you’ve seen of the evidence, do you think my late husband really stole that money?”
“At this point, that’s not at all clear. I spoke to his former business partners at Total Supply and both denied that any money had been taken. The largest discrepancy they’d found in the books was one that resulted from a five-dollar entry mistakenly entered as fifty dollars.”
“But the spreadsheets in that box show how the numbers were concealed. How do Kurt’s partners explain what I found?” she asked.
“According to Mr. Boone, you and your husband were having some marital problems around the time of his death. He speculated that you were still angry and are now trying to destroy your husband’s reputation retroactively. Mr. Hurley, interestingly enough, didn’t agree. He thought it was more likely that what you found was one of Kurt’s many gags, one he’d never had the chance to put into play. According to him, Kurt was a practical joker who loved watching people squirm.”
There was some truth in what Wayne Hurley had said, but even for Kurt, this seemed to be a lot of work for a joke. “What did they say about Frank Jones, the vendor that my husband clearly made up? Total Supply company checks were sent to my husband, payable in Jones’s name.”
“Hurley and Boone both said they had no record of a client or supplier by that name and that no checks had been made out to Jones. They also denied asking you about any files, other than those needed for the partnership settlement after your husband’s death. Were there any witnesses to either man asking you about Frank Jones?”
She shook her head. “No, but they’re lying. They repeatedly asked me about Frank Jones.”
It was becoming clear to her that Wayne and Pierre were covering something up. Had they all been underreporting to avoid taxes, or was something else going on?
“Unless I come across evidence that an actual crime has taken place, there’s not much more I can do. If something changes, I’ll get a forensic bookkeeper to go over Total Supply’s business accounts and records. Until then, I’ve got no case.”
“What if I find more evidence? Can I turn it over to you?”
“Of course, but here’s a piece of advice, Mrs. Vance. Be careful not to do or say anything that might be considered slander in regards to Total Supply or your late husband’s associates. They weren’t happy to hear about your discovery, and they might decide to get in touch with their lawyer if you keep pursuing this issue.”
“I appreciate your advice, and I’ll keep your card, Sergeant.”
“Thanks for your cooperation, Mrs. Vance,” Sergeant Knight said, standing to shake her hand. “I’ll be in touch if the situation changes.” He headed for the door. “I’ll find my own way out. Take care now.”
* * *
The day went by quickly after that for Leigh Ann. She and Jo, whose mood had improved immensely after talking to Ben, kept a lookout for strange cars, but there were no further signs of trouble.
“Maybe the driver who hit us has already done his worst. He wanted to scare us or get even, and now he’s ready to move on,” Leigh Ann said. “That vandalism with the paint could be nothing more than kids acting up right before graduation.”
Jo didn’t reply right away.
“You don’t think so, do you?”
Jo shook her head. “I have nothing more than a gut feeling, but I trust it. Keep watching your back.”
Knowing it was almost quitting time, Leigh Ann brought up the possibility of displaying Melvin’s maquettes. “What do you think?”
“That’s a great idea,” Jo said. “It’ll give everyone who comes in something new and interesting to look at and consider.”
Leigh Ann said good-bye and, promising to visit Melvin that evening to give him the news, headed out.
Alone on the highway, Leigh Ann’s thoughts drifted back to Jo and Ben. It had to be a special kind of hell to have a loved one fighting a war eight thousand miles away. She had a feeling that Jo never really stopped worrying. Yet, despite that, she still envied her.
Jo loved Ben and he loved her. Their relationship was one based on mutual respect and seemed virtually unassailable.
Leigh Ann sighed. Maybe someday she’d find that same kind of de
ep, steadfast love herself. Unfortunately, she was a rotten judge of men. From day one, she’d seen only what she’d wanted to in Kurt. Then by the time she’d realized her mistake, it had been too late. Reality had torn her apart like a Texas tornado, leaving her broken, and afraid to try again.
Now, when she looked at Melvin, she wondered if she was really seeing him for who he was, or whether her fantasies were getting in the way. After all, she knew about Melvin’s dark side, but not the reasons for it. Her conversation with John had suggested where it might have originated, but that was something Melvin had kept private. If she brought it up now, that might just compromise John’s relationship with his nephew without gaining anything helpful for any of them.
Pushing back those thoughts, she focused on the present. Leigh Ann tried calling Melvin on her way over to his home, but he wasn’t picking up. Although he often didn’t answer the phone, he’d given her a key and an open invitation to drop by whenever she wanted.
She smiled. That was one of the things she liked most about being friends with Melvin. He was always glad to see her, making her feel special and valued just for being who she was. Although their friendship had boundaries, or maybe because of that, it had also set her free.
* * *
Jo went home early, and although she’d spoken to Ben, she was more worried about him than ever. Everything he did as part of a medevac team was dangerous, and no matter how hard Ben tried to reassure her, the reality was he was fighting a war. There were few certainties in his life except that he faced danger and death nearly every hour of every day.
Although she wasn’t always successful, Jo tried not to show her fears or ask too many questions whenever he Skyped. Navajo ways taught that to talk about bad things was to attract them. Yet the constant uncertainty had a way of wearing her down.
As Jo drove up to her home and parked, she saw a coyote lurking around less than fifty yards away. Coyote was the Trickster in Navajo creation stories. Maybe his appearance today was a reminder that uncertainty was part of the pattern, too.
* * *
Leigh Ann arrived at Melvin’s while there was still daylight. As she pulled up, she saw Melvin, shirtless and wearing low-slung jeans, standing on his back porch. He looked beautiful in an earthy way, as much a part of the New Mexican desert as the sun-drenched mesas on the southern horizon. His copper skin glowed in the half-light and his muscular chest looked hard and toned to near perfection. Everything about him spoke of strength and the courage to endure.
Shrouded in equal parts of light and the long afternoon shadows, there was an air of mystery and danger about him. He lived at the edge of a perpetual mist so vast she couldn’t even begin to fathom it.
She sighed.
Then he turned toward her and waved.
Of course he’d heard the car—the Jeep’s engine had a definite roar and there were no other sounds out here except those that came from nature. She laughed as she got out of the Jeep.
“Be right with you,” he said, turning to go back through the house.
Fingers crossed, she hoped he wouldn’t stop to put on a shirt. He’d looked so sexy—a man alone at home, listening to the quiet.
“I’m glad you came,” he said, meeting her by the door. He’d put on a shirt, but it hung open, teasing her imagination.
“I tried calling first—”
“I disconnected the phone,” he said.
She heard the odd, hollow sound in his voice. For a second he looked … haunted. Maybe it was just the lack of sleep. “Are you okay?”
He nodded and led her inside his house. “While searching for an idea for my next sculpture, I tested out a few concepts, but I wasn’t satisfied with any of them. This time around, I’d like to create something different. I want a figure that speaks to the loneliness in all of us.”
“Any idea what kind of figure you’d like it to be?”
“I’ve never sculpted people before, but that’s what I want to do next. I won’t be duplicating a person or using a model. What I want to depict is something more elusive … a human figure that captures a longing for something destined to remain out of reach.…” He took a breath, then said, “What I feel when you’re near.”
For a moment, she found it hard to breathe. To have him sculpt a figure based on his feelings for her … the possibility was thrilling—and a little scary.
“No one would know the part you played in its creation but us,” he said, his voice seductively husky. “Will you help me?”
“How?” she managed after a beat.
“At this point you won’t have to pose, or model. What I’d like you to do is talk to me. Let me listen to your voice. Or you could sing.”
“Sing? Oh, good heavens, Melvin. I’d drive you straight out of the house!” she said and laughed. “I don’t sing, I wail.”
“Not true, I’ve heard you singing to yourself at the trading post a few times. You can carry a tune, and you have a beautiful voice that resonates with happiness, or sadness, depending on your mood. That’s part of what I want to keep in the foreground of my mind as I sculpt. Will you do this for me?”
She swallowed hard. “Yeah, I’d like that, but remember, I work full time.”
“Then come over in the evening. It doesn’t make that much difference to me. One more thing—you won’t be able to look at my work until it’s finished. Agreed?”
“Oooh, that’s going to be really hard,” she said, her voice trembling with excitement.
“Once it’s done, you’ll be the first to see it, and I’ll want your honest opinion. If you think it’s no good then it’ll never leave my workshop.”
“Melvin, I’m not exactly unbiased. I like all your work, but I have a feeling this one’s going to be amazing.” Instinct also assured her that this would be an experience she’d never forget. She might even learn something about herself in the process. Yet there was no denying the danger … for her … for him.
He stepped closer and ran his hands over her face with a tenderness that made her weak at the knees. “You’re excited and looking forward to this.”
“I am,” she said, not bothering to deny it. The low, masculine sound of his voice, his touch and nearness filled her with a delicious longing.
“First, I’ll see the image in my mind, then I’ll feel it become a part of me. Once that happens, we’ll begin.”
“You’ll let me know when you’re ready?”
“Yes.”
To see herself as he did … What an amazing thing that would be. More than anything, she wished she could have commissioned it right there and then, but there was no way she could afford anything she didn’t absolutely need.
As her thoughts returned to finances, she remembered the reason she’d come. Leigh Ann told Melvin about the special display they could set up using his maquettes if he allowed it. “It would be an easy way to drive business to you on a more regular basis, but of course, it’s up to you.”
“The models aren’t very detailed. They are more like an architect’s blueprints or an artist’s preliminary sketches.”
“If you were just going to get rid of them, like John said, why not allow us to use them? Most people have never seen something like that and it’ll generate interest in you, your work, and the creative process.”
He considered it silently.
“If my opinion counts, they’re beautiful,” she said, looking at the ones that had been placed up on the shelf.
“They’re fragile and tend to crumble. They’re not finished sculptures and will never be fired.”
“They’re still beautiful,” she said.
He came closer. “You’re easy to please,” he said, standing before her, just inches away.
She knew he was attracted to her. His voice always gave himself away, even when he wasn’t flirting. And now he was tempting her. Melvin’s shirt hung open and the urge to touch him, to run her hands over his beautiful hard chest, was nearly overpowering.
“You’re holding y
our breath. Just relax, I won’t run away,” he murmured.
The temptation to touch him was too great, and now they were alone. She placed her palm on his chest and ran her hand lightly over his skin, feeling his muscles tense in the wake of her touch.
Raw masculinity … that’s what he was. She’d dreamed of a moment like this. He was all hardness and strength. Using only her fingertip, she traced the top of his waistband, seeing his body strain against the fabric of his jeans and imagining what lay just beyond her reach.
Leigh Ann heard him suck in his breath and that’s when she suddenly realized that she’d crossed a line and was playing with fire. She stepped back quickly.
“It’s okay. Nothing will happen. You have my word. Touch is just another wonderful way for us to … communicate. You can see my face and know my thoughts, but all I have to go by is your voice and your touch—and in brighter light, your presence. Communicate more, if you wish.”
“All right.” She ran her hands slowly over his shoulders and upper arms and caressed his chest again, loving the way his muscles rippled and tightened.
His breathing quickened, but she knew he was a man of his word. He would allow her to caress him and enjoy that magic for as long as she wanted without making any demands.
After a moment, her heart racing, she moved back. “That’s what I feel when I’m with you.”
He smiled. “As with me, your heart’s in your touch. You’ve just told me everything I wanted to know.”
Although he seemed to have an iron grip on his emotions, the same couldn’t be said for her. She took another step back, trying to stop trembling.
With effort, she forced her voice to remain even. “So tell me, may I take some of those models to the trading post?”
“Sure, but hand each one to me first and let me check them in case they’re damaged.”
She did as he asked, and watched his hands glide over the hardened clay pieces, feeling for nicks, bumps, or edges. After making sure they were okay, he gave them back to her.
Carefully wrapping each piece using some of Melvin’s packing supplies—tissue paper and foam packing peanuts—Leigh Ann placed the maquettes into cardboard boxes.
